Year 923YC, in the Year of the Church

HIDDEN IN SHADOW, a viral watched two breathers dump a body into the canal. He fiddled with a lump of silver at his neck, waiting for them to leave.

Vespers had ended. Acolytes in white woollens scurried away in the late-autumn moonlight. Raising the hood of his cloak, Threadfin Todder stepped away from the church wall, and crossed the cold earth towards the canal docks.

He paused by a gutter, still in the shadow of the church. Lightweight, the crossbow took seconds to load with a self-cocking lever. His other weapon was an iron dagger strapped to his leg. He touched the bone hilt before moving on through the frozen mulch and litter that was Lame City.

He sidestepped slush-rimmed puddles, which had frozen over. Reflections were dangerous, and anything could be watching.

The building he sought was four stories high, grey brick paled by a gibbous moon, and squatting close to the water. Disused warehouses lined the dark flow of the canal, which was dotted with rotting barges.

Threadfin never was one to let opportunity slip by, and was soon yanking at a dead woman’s fingers, prying loose those gaudy rings. The fact the corpse was still twitching didn’t stop him. He grinned on sight of the spring-powered clock, in the style of a pendant. Lost knowledge those, and priceless. He shook it, and heard ticking. Old Atlantian. He’d pried one open once. A complicated mechanism, it quit working once he fiddled with it.

Should keep those two bastards happy, he thought. He’d hauled her out of the water easy enough, since they hadn’t weighted the body. Making him wonder if they’d been amateurs, or maybe they hadn’t cared. Only the most powerful ignored loot this good. Didn’t even try making it look a mugging, and why bother? None cared. This was the Muck. Grim-blinded breathers got what they deserved anyhow.

‘Quit squirming, you daft dead bitch.’ He placed his leather boot against her skull and made a show of it. Why a corpse would still want to be, up and at ’em, might’ve bothered other folk, but not Threadfin Todder.

Pity the other hand was missing fingers. She looked like the type who wore too many rings. He scanned about for sign of three lumps of flesh, carrying weight, wriggling across the earth.

Her undamaged hand reached for his face, but he slapped it down. The one time a woman wanted to go funny on him, and she was fish bait. He was no catch with his desiccated, green-tinged skin, sunken eyes and lank hair, but he wasn’t that desperate. Of course, he knew what was happening. Now, he enjoyed a joke as much as the next undeader, but she was taking it too far.

He freed the last of the rings, then a silver crucifix from around her neck. Never have too many of those. He kicked the corpse off him, and stepped away, tired of the game.

‘Alright,’ he said aloud. ‘Enough, come on out.’ Standing side-on, he aimed the crossbow, arm outstretched as he sighted along its length. One could never be too careful in Lame.

The woman’s arms flailed like some possessed rag doll the rich used to import from Atlantis before it went and disappeared.

‘I know it’s you. Game’s up.’

Giggles erupted from the shadow of a doorway. Out stepped a girl of seventeen, thereabouts. A scrawny creature with tufts of blond hair and a face smeared with dirt, her skin also had a greenish tinge. Tezcat Licolo wore rags like all Muckers, under a dirty blue coat she’d traded for. He relaxed, lowering the weapon.

As far as he knew, they were the last two.

He didn’t depend on anything but a blade, which he wasn’t very good with, or the small one-handed crossbow, which wasn’t very effective. Truth be told, which he didn’t always do, he’d fired the crossbow but once, at a rat.

Tezcat, on the other hand, didn’t need weapons. She was stronger than any he’d heard of. It made her a target, for those who noticed such. He’d taken it upon himself to make certain none did. Breathers hated the undead despite the fact few living had met one.

The dead woman flopped onto her belly and tried shoving herself up. Threadfin stifled a laugh. It looked like she was doing exercises. Was a bit late to be worrying about her health. A chuckle escaped him before he could stop. No, best not encourage her. It was for her own good.

He tried keeping his tone serious. The smile kept slipping back. The girl was talented. ‘Enough already.’

‘Doesn’t you want to kiss your, girlfriend?’ She skipped towards him, and waving her arms, made the corpse dance on its knees. The dead woman’s head tossed back and forth, the neck bones creaking as the swollen lips puckered.

‘Not unless I want to bring up last month’s guck.’

Tezcat frowned as she dropped her arms. The corpse fell flat with a wet thump. ‘You know, you used be more fun afore.’ She fidgeted with her fingers, rubbing at her dirty smooth skin. Still young, her body hadn’t decayed much. ‘Does you never think of me … you know, like a sister?’

‘I already have a sister.’ She was far away, and well rid of him. In the whole wide terrible world, it was all that mattered.

‘Yeah, but she’s a breather, and she don’t take care o’ you. Not like I does, not no more. She don’t understand you, not like me, and I is here. She’s never here.’

He was rifling through the dead woman’s clothes again, in case he’d missed something, but paused to give her a stern look. ‘No one cared for me better. Not her fault she can’t be here.’ Was her fault he was stuck in Lame, but she’d had her reasons. Good ones, no doubt. ‘Besides, you always disappear. Sometimes I can’t find you for days. Anyhow, I don’t see why you’re getting all upset.’

‘I’m angry at her.’

‘How can you be mad at someone you’ve never met? I’ve told you next to nothing about her.’

She grimaced, and then held out an object in her hand. ‘Look, I got you a present. Bet she never got you presents?’

He stopped what he was doing and stared at the leather bag she had produced from somewhere within her blue coat. It had a wooden stopper in a narrow, wrinkled neck. ‘You told me,’ she said, ‘you know, that you had a problem. Wasn’t easy getting hold o’ it, but I was told it would work. Cost me forty scrips too. Don’t look at me like that. I have enough hidden. Got it, you know, from a breather what don’t ask questions much.’

‘What is it?’

‘They don’t like it. It’s called paper, or no wait, peppermint oil. It came in on them ships in Paldan, I think. They got all sorts o’ weird stuff. You want a lemon?’ She dug one out of her blue coat, offering it.

Eyeing the offensive yellow lump, he shook his head. Damn infestation was getting out of hand. He’d already gotten a salt bath to dry him out and used the last of the natron weeks ago. ‘Thanks, but what do I do with it?’

‘Try rubbing it on or drink it. I dunno, maybe both. Oh,’ she added, digging into her other pockets, ‘I got what else you asked for too.’ She handed him a blue clay pot. This one contained natron from the dry lake beds of Valtar. ‘Cost double from last time though.’

It was getting harder to acquire such items without raising suspicions. ‘You get enough for yourself?’

She nodded. ‘We used do stuff together, ’member?’

‘Not sure I do,’ he said, busy stuffing the jar and leather bag into his own pockets along with the loot. There was nothing more on the corpse worth a bother.

 ‘Don’t lie. You do ’member. We freaked them poshers at Paladin Fervent’s party with them dead moggies. Never heard as much screechin’ and squawkin’ and those was the guests. That moggy with no eyes was priceless.’

Threadfin paused a second time, and gave the girl a longer look. Underneath all the dirt, her skin was pale despite its olive cast. Her hands and lips had a bluish touch. In many ways, they were kin, both despised and cast aside. ‘I guess,’ he said, ‘I do kind of think of you like a sister, sort of.’

She gave him a big smile. ‘You ’member we gave them acolytes huge boils on the bum that time?’ She erupted in laughter. ‘Thought they’d … they’d caught a form o’ plague. None o’ them could sit for a week, and ’member that old paladin wearin’ a facemask shooing them half naked out o’ the church with a brush?’ She was gripping her sides now in hysterics. ‘They was, they was runnin’ … clutchin’ their white …’

He fought the urge to join her. Yes, it was a good night. ‘Times have gotten dangerous. Exemplars have been nosing about, and there’ve been murders. You know what breathers are like. Told you before, you shouldn’t display your magic. What if someone saw, eh? They might take you for a viral, and then what?’

‘I is a viral.’

‘Yes, but they don’t know that.’

She shrugged. ‘Tis you that needs watchin’ after. I mean, what would you do without me?’ She grabbed his emaciated forearm and gave it a tight squeeze, grinning. ‘I’s your guardian angel, me. Saved you from hurt three times now, hasn’t I?’

‘No need to keep a tab,’ he muttered. ‘Anyhow, that third time doesn’t count. Was you who put me in that position in the first place.’

He spotted a shadow detach from the wall nearby. Shoving Tezcat behind him, he grabbed his crossbow from where he’d set it on the ground. At this range, he would kill his target without question. Well, fine, no point kidding myself. Perhaps not kill then, but seriously wound. It was a small crossbow, after all, one of only two in existence. What if I shoot whoever it is in the face? Yeah, that might work.

‘Threads,’ cried Tezcat, ‘no!’ She rushed to place herself in his way, waving her arms. ‘He’s a friend.’

Two feet in height, the shadow materialised into a cloaked figure holding a rotten branch like a staff. It emitted a series of growls as it hobbled towards them. Nothing of its features was visible.

Threadfin took a step back from them both. He kept the weapon aimed at the creature’s face, while at the same time clutching the lumpy crucifix at his neck. ‘What are you doing with one of those?’

She glanced down at the creature, which was hugging her right leg. ‘Tis just a mongrel.’

‘I know what it is. What are you doing with one?’

‘I like him.’

‘Listen,’ he said, taking a moment to calm himself. ‘You know they’re not liked around here. Damn pests eat all the food, not that nobody’s got much.’

‘Thought you don’t care ’bout breathers? Why you care what they eat?’

‘They give us a bad name, well, a worse one then what we already got. You know there’s fools think we and mongrels are all the one.’

‘You mean they gives you a bad name. I doesn’t got a name. There’s no other undeaders around here I’ve never seen, but us.’

‘That’s aside the point, Cat. They finger anything they get their claws on. It’ll rob you blind soon as you turn your back.’

‘They is nothin’ but tall tales and you know it. I heard they’s good with words and stuff. Capital uses them as scribblers and so does them Church paladins. Bet he’s smarter than you. Not his fault he’s down on his luck.’

‘The word is scribes.’

‘What I said weren’t it, scribblers.’

‘Look, people around here don’t like paladins. They hoard all the money and everyone else gets nothing. It means folk don’t like anyone who works for them. Breathers take notice of your friend, and they might just notice you. Besides, you don’t know where it’s been.’

‘Don’t know where you been, but that don’t bother me. And I don’t see how he’s different from any o’ us.’ She’d folded her arms, a scowl on her face. He knew the look well. His sister had worn the same when being as grolg-headed. It was the way of women, living or undead. ‘What’s your problem, anyways?’ she huffed. ‘Since when you care what breathers think? We steal too, don’t we?’

‘We don’t have any choice.’

‘Neither does he.’

‘We take from those who got more, and then most when they’re cold and stiff.’

‘You’re cold and stiff.’

The creature uttered a growl and stamped its staff as though cursing him with a spell. Probably was. He took a few more steps back. He still hadn’t lowered the crossbow, ready to shoot if it turned on her. None knew what mongrels did, nor much of anything about them. They appeared to understand human language but none, living or undead, knew theirs. That they were intelligent and crafty was enough for him. His sister’s mongrel had been just as bad.

She bent down and whispered to it. It turned about and hobbled into the shadows, and then he lowered the weapon. ‘Found it hurt a few weeks back. Twas dying, Threads. I think mayhap Sprog feels he owes me.’

‘You named it, Sprog?’

She stepped closer to gawk at the loot remaining in his hands. ‘Nothin’ good?’

‘Here,’ he said, passing her the ring with a fat red stone. ‘Trade this, but be careful where and to who, and keep it away from the mongrel.’

‘Paladin Ralan comes here once a month lookin’ about. Stupid do-gooder rubbish for the Church I guess. Bought a silver locket off me once and a necklace I filched from the Glut last summer. Looks at me all weird, like he knows stuff, but he’ll pay.’

‘Be careful of him. A breather like that could turn, and don’t settle just because you’re hungry, you hear? You won’t get full value, but worth least a hundred scrips, this one. Hold out for seventy.’ Virals ate sea grasses mostly, sometimes molluscs and fish too. Something in seafood helped keep the rot at bay, not that he knew what it was. Lame, however, wasn’t near the sea and kale was getting expensive. Buying it at all was risky. There were folks who knew about their needs, not many but some. The exemplars knew. Undead children needed to eat the stuff daily. At Tezcat’s age, she needed it four times a week. Threadfin stole what he could.

She examined the ring in the dying light. ‘What’s got you robbin’ the dead, anyhow? Not seen you do that in years. Thought you was movin’ up in the world, like you always gob about. Weren’t you into bigger stuff?’

‘I have commitments, and Crawl’s blackened my name. You know, ah, since the, ah, outbreak.’

She slipped the ring safe within her coat. ‘I didn’t do nothin’, I didn’t.’

He gave her a hard stare until she looked at her feet. ‘You’re a special one.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be okay. He’s forgotten about it by now I expect.’ Not bloody likely. ‘I’ll find a way out for the two of us.’

‘Three o’ us.’

‘Eh?’

‘Sprog, he’s coming too.’

Threadfin groaned.

‘When we going? Where? Soon? Can we go south? I always dreamt o’ seeing the Gulley. Never saw a wall that tall afore. We’ll see giants. I heard they’s got wings, right? Can they fly? I bet they can’t, but then what they got wings for? You never saw a giant? Hey, you listening to me?’

Muttering under his breath, he then said, ‘Well, as to all of that, I got word from Crawl an hour ago.’

 ‘Don’t go back,’ she begged in a soft voice. ‘Don’t trust him, again. You don’t need him. We done fine by our own. Let’s just go.’

He tried his, no nonsense, I mean business, face. ‘This has nothing to do with you, understand? I’m just telling you out of courtesy, case anything happens.’ He softened his tone a little. ‘Look, I don’t have much say in all this. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. It’ll be okay.’

‘Who’ll watch your back?’ she whispered, looking crestfallen.

‘Promise me, you’ll stay out of the way. I don’t need a bodyguard, nor a girl, even an undead one.’

‘I’s not a bodyguard,’ she whispered. ‘I is your guardian angel.’ She turned and walked away.

Rogue had no one else. Not that he was much. He feared for her. Last time was too close for comfort. The prime had been a bit upset about it. He hadn’t found a safe way to help her escape, yet, but he would.

He glanced back at the woman’s corpse, and saw it move. ‘Cat, you still messing about?’ He took a few steps away and searched for sign of the girl. No, she was gone. He turned back to study the corpse. The dead woman was still. Was he imagining it? He stepped closer, wary. The body was motionless, but within the half-frozen puddle she lay in, her reflection wasn’t. Too late, he failed to avert his gaze.

 The reflection’s eyes opened and sought him out. It tried to speak, hands reaching for him from the water, seeking his help. The reflection, however, wasn’t of the dead woman at his feet.

It was of his sister, Aiyana.

Within the puddle, polluted by blood and mud, he saw a gigantic creature cloaked in flame, clawed hand reaching towards her. He could tell its size from what was around it. Perhaps twelve feet tall, the dark giant stood within the shattered walls of a city. The dead lay in piles at its feet. Aiyana turned to face it, standing her ground resolute and stubborn as always. Beside her, another figure formed, blurry, though it looked feminine. The figure stabbed his sister through the chest with a shining blade. Threadfin cried out.

The vision faded, coalescing into another, this of a dark-skinned woman he didn’t know. She gestured at him, urgent, before the vision melted away.

Threadfin forced his gaze from the water. You should know better, he thought, angry at himself. Reflections were dangerous things. Turning, he fled from the docks into an alley and out onto the dark streets of Lame.