Chapter 40
Forty
Dathka was clearly surprised by my sudden arrival. “Carnavon?”
“Where’s Gerzog?”
“Obviously not here. I escaped him hours ago.” She saw that I was ready to draw my weapons. “So you can relax.”
“You relax.” Was this some kind of trick?
Had she escaped, or had he let her free?
Was this a double cross? Or, since we’d already been double-crossed, a triple cross?
I didn’t know. This was exactly why I should never have consorted with crooks to begin with.
“As of this morning, Carcalla’s got the entire Latrocinium tearing the city apart looking for you. What the hell’s going on?”
“I told you, I escaped.” She remained seated but slowly lifted her hands to show me they were empty.
She was wearing the same black clothing she’d been wearing on the island.
Other than a split lip and some cuts and scratches, which were alarmingly red against her eerily white skin, she didn’t appear to be too damaged.
“The minute I could escape my bounds, I did.”
“What’re you doing here? Hiding?”
“No,” she snapped, offended at the suggestion. “I’m no coward.” Then she nodded toward the statue behind her. “I’m seeking inspiration.”
“For what?”
“How to best kill Gerzog, slaughter all his men, and reclaim the treasure so I can present it to my father to regain his trust and respect.”
It was then I noticed what name was on the plaque for this particular statue.
Brotbeck. Saint of Murder.
Well, shit… No wonder this section of the Habitation of Phradumius was so abandoned and unloved.
Brotbeck was represented as a thin, gangly man, with protruding eyes and a receding hairline.
In his bony hands, he held the symbols of his office, a garrot and a knife.
I was really glad this statue didn’t come to life and tell us his story as, frankly, I didn’t want to hear it.
The illusionists who’d gifted their enchantments to this place had probably refrained from animating this unsavory one, because hearing the story behind his ascension would likely scare the children.
“He grant you any wisdom yet?”
“If the gods had granted me wisdom, I wouldn’t still be here, sitting uselessly upon my ass now, would I?”
As fine of an ass as that may be, I trusted her about as much as an expanding lava bubble that was about to burst. “I don’t even know how this guy rates sainthood. Murdering seems more life fiend behavior to me.”
“Maybe the gods think some pricks just need killing… How’d you find me anyway?”
“You’re a no good, dishonest, thief.” I held out one hand. “Give me my enchanted bullet back.”
She scowled, then touched her pockets until she found it and pulled it out. “I forgot I even had that on me.” She tossed it over. “Here.”
I caught it, then held the round of ammunition up to the light to inspect it. The wax paper case seemed intact, and the enchantment felt just as I’d left it. I hurried and stuck it through one of the empty loops on my belt.
“Gerzog seized both my pistols, so I’ve got nothing to shoot it out of anyway. The bastard stole all my charms too. I’ve got nothing left but my wits.”
“And your oh so charming personality.”
“Before you lip off too much, I do have this.” Dathka had showed me her empty hands, but with the flick of a wrist, she dropped something from her sleeve into her palm.
I think it was a shard of glass, with a handle of wrapped rag.
“I broke an old mirror in the room I was tied up in and used this to cut myself free.”
“Then why not run back to the Latros for help? I’d think flesh and blood murderers will be of more use to you than an absent immortal.”
“The world is never absent murder, Carnavon.” Dathka sighed as she decided to level with me.
“I can’t return as a failure. Ever since I arrived in the Core, I’ve been trying to earn my father’s respect.
He told Cutter Joran to teach me, to see if I was worthy of the family business.
Watching over you Outcasts was a test to see how I could manage on my own.
Instead, I got outmaneuvered by a mercenary and placed the Latrocinium’s interests in danger.
I’ve become a liability, and there is nothing that the great Carcalla hates more.
If I come back crying for Latrocinium help, it marks me as weak.
I must handle this without them, and return my captor’s head, or my father will for sure send me back through the gate. ”
“I’m sorry you’ve got daddy issues, but if I don’t bring back the treasure, we’re still getting evicted.”
“You know when that happens, he’ll surely kill a couple of you at least, as an example to everyone else why debts must be promptly paid. That’s his way.”
“Your dad and his pet gladiator have made that abundantly clear. So where’s Gerzog?”
She remained cagey on that topic. “I don’t know where he is right now.”
“But you know something. You know where he’s going to be, don’t you?
You need to do this without Latro help? Well, the Outcasts sure as shit aren’t Latros.
You can look your father in the eye and tell him you did handle it on your own, by gathering forces who were already in his debt.
He’s out nothing. Problem solved. Let’s go. ”
“Hmmm…” Dathka studied me, and must have decided I meant business, because she turned back at the statue and said, “I asked you for help, Brotbeck, and it seems you have answered my prayers in a rather direct fashion.” She stood, then bent over to gently place her offering at the statue’s base. “Praise Murder.”
“Is that an ear?” It sure looked like a human ear, or at least most of one.
“It’s from one of the men Gerzog left guarding me. When I said I cut myself free, I wasn’t only talking about the ropes.”