When Details Align
Dancing With Death: Part Six of Ten
Dancing With Death is the sixth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the sixth chapter.
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This is a fantasy series—not quite grimdark, but dark nevertheless—with complicated and believable characters doing their best to survive in a world simply indifferent to their existence.
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When Details Align
They danced and danced and danced some more, swapping back to the faster, louder room at some point, the beat even more frenetic than earlier, Flin’s steps progressively wilder, arms above her head, swaying, flailing, eyes closed. She felt weightless, floating in her own cloud, feet barely touching the ground.
When she opened her eyes she realised everyone else in her group was missing. She vaguely remembered someone, maybe Niffen, maybe his sister, Ounell, telling her they were going to get some cooler air and rest for a time, but she had no idea how long ago that had been. She also remembered eating another two mushrooms and hugging Shint, telling him how much she loved The Caverns, seeing her own joy reflected in his eyes.
‘Time to rest again, I think,’ she said to herself, smiling at her fellow dancers, who made space for her to move to the striped yellow and black door.
She wandered from tunnel to tunnel and room to room, not quite sure what she was looking for but enjoying the exploration. Finally, she sat down with a large tankard of light beer in a room hazy with smoke and rested, toes still tapping to the beat in her head.
After finishing her drink, Flin left the room, following a different corridor, then another. As Shint had said, she tried every door she passed, peering into rooms strewn with cushions and sleeping people, or others with low tables and card games, people eating or drinking or sharing in various scents of smoke.
She wondered how large the complex was, especially when she tried several doors and found them locked. What was hidden behind there, locked away? Were they stores, or rest areas for staff? Flin guessed it was one of the largest businesses on the island, and she made a mental note to ask who owned it.
Ahead, she saw two shorter figures, hooded and wearing short kilts and she hurried to catch them. She longed to talk to the Tanuthian, to learn their tales, but she was too late—they passed through a door, which was then locked behind them. Perhaps they were staff, or perhaps they had their own community down here, below the city. Flin had so many questions. Seeing them made her remember Youlbridge, and she breathed deeply and slowly, one finger twisting a spiral in her hair, trying to calm herself.
Looking around, she felt a little lost and the sensation made her heart race, the memory of being beneath Youlbridge flooding her, the soft light no longer comforting, but a dim, dangerous menace, her sense of joy slipping. She heard the beat of the drums from somewhere ahead and her mind twisted the sound into something large approaching, something hungry; no longer were muffled voices friends she had yet to meet, but those who wished her harm.
‘No, I am safe. I am safe.’
‘You are safe?’ The question came from behind her, ‘Why do you say that? What is safe?’
Flin managed to compose herself, somehow neither jumping or shrieking at the sudden voice. It took her another moment to realise she had spoken aloud, and the man had replied in the same language.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ Flin was unsure how she had missed him.
‘No, that is my fault, I have a bad habit of creeping around silently, of not being seen at times,’ he declined his head towards her. ‘Please accept my apologies. I am Mart.’
‘Flinders Jeigur, or Flin Goldenfingers, or Flin Manytales. It depends.’
‘You are a musician, you work here?’
‘Yes, and no. I work,’ she paused, looking at the man properly for the first time, taking in his clothing, a long dark leather coat covering him from neck to ankle, a glimpse of weapons at his belt, telltale bulges showing where he was concealing them. He must have been hot. ‘I work elsewhere. Do you work here?’ She gestured at the bulges, ‘Are you a doorman? You speak Interior.’
‘I speak several languages. I work here, yes, and elsewhere too,’ he smiled, ‘Why did you say you were safe?’
‘Bad memories, tunnels,’ Flin gestured around her, then paused and added, ‘Why are you wearing a coat in here? Are you not hot?’
‘As I think you noticed, the coat is just to hide my weapons. The other staff thought it would be a good idea.’ The man smiled again, alarmingly disarming, ‘Most people do not even see me, let alone the fact I have these.’ He patted his waist.
‘What do you do here with those?’ Flin asked, reframing her question to make up for his evasion, also pointing to his hidden weapons. Other than the cudgels on the doormen, and the belt knives everyone carried, she had seen no weapons within The Caverns. He was quiet for a moment, before replying.
‘I’m hunting. Looking for,’ he paused, ‘I suppose you’d say something, rather than someone. I think it was once someone. I am not really sure.’
‘You are hunting a monster?’ Flin asked, then paused and thought, adding, ‘You are hunting the vampire.’
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ Mart was silent for a moment, ‘Not many people use that name in public. Tell me, Flinders Jeigur, Flin Manytales, what do you know of the vampire? Do you have time for a drink and a talk? It might help. Anything you want to eat or drink, it’s on me. Or on The Caverns, more precisely.’
Flin felt suddenly ravenous and desperately thirsty. She shook her head to clear it, faint trails and sparkles of blue light followed at the corners of her vision, the mushrooms awake inside her. She felt the urge to sit down and nodded mutely to the man, following as he led.
They passed several doors, before reaching one which was entirely orange.
‘Through here,’ the man held the door open and Flin entered, but not before checking the interior and noticing a dozen other people sitting around low tables. Her mind was hazy and felt full of wool, but she still had her survival instincts.
The room was not large but it was full of conversation. A woman stood behind a small bar and looked up when they entered. Flin thought she saw lines of tension on her face, then they were gone, replaced by a smile. The man Flin had followed ordered drinks and food, she rang a small bell and a boy arrived, listened to the order, and ran off through another door, almost without pausing.
They walked to an empty table in a corner and sat down on the cushions, the woman behind the bar bringing over two pottery tumblers and a large crock of beer. The man thanked her and waited until she was out of earshot.
‘Now, Flin Manytales, what do you know about monsters? What do you know of the vampire?’
Flin poured herself and Mart some beer and thought for a moment, pulling out the details from all the stories she knew.
‘I could tell you stories of monsters all day and not get to the end of them. Of vampires, not as much. I know stories suggest they can fly, others that they shape-change to bats or owls or crows. They drink blood, that is true in every tale I know. They can make you a vampire by biting you, but not draining completely. They sleep in the day, in dark silent places, usually caves,’ she gestured around them, ‘or ancient tombs or cellars. They burn in the sun, hate keys and hemlock, can freeze you in place with a whisper or a spell, can be kept asleep if you place a stone in their mouth, or a stake through their chest. They are the never-dead, like certain other creatures, in a wide variety of tales. It is very hard to destroy them. They appear in stories throughout the world I have travelled, and that is a long way indeed.’
The man was silent for a time, sipping his beer and nodding.
‘I knew some of that, but not all. I have travelled to the Interior, and even as far as Eastsea, and I too have heard stories of this creature wherever I go. I collect tales of monsters, and I hunt the monsters themselves. Usually, one town’s monster is simply a rabid wolf, or a wounded bear but, sometimes, it is more than that.’ He looked around the room carefully, then leaned in closer, ‘When it is more, it can be very very hard to stop. That is where the legends, the tales of as many cultures as possible are essential. When details align, it is a sign, a marker of what I need to do.’ He stopped talking again, frowned, and ran a hand through his short hair. ‘This vampire, this creature, it is the hardest job I have taken.’
‘Why do you think it is here?’
Mart began to respond, then paused as the boy returned to the room, bearing a tray of food. He took it to their table and carefully laid it down. The man slipped him a small coin and the boy ran off, smiling.
‘It’s useful to keep the staff on my side. Here, eat,’ he gestured.
There was a platter with roasted meat, cut thin, another with another meat, pulled apart, several dipping sauces, small, thin pancakes, and sticks of vegetables. Flin watched as the man rolled meat, sauce, and vegetables together in one of the wraps, and copied him. The mixture of food styles on Taura Furnace never ceased to fascinate, and this was a dish she had never seen before.
‘It’s from further south, the island of Hima,’ Mart said, noticing her expression, ‘I came up that way, from Eleventh Harbour and along the Ribbon. Now, let me tell you what I know, but please tell no one else. The Forge is being very careful to control the details of this creature, of what is happening, and I would hate to lose my job.’
Flin nodded, enjoying the food and washing it down with the mild beer.
‘I also believe it needs blood to survive. How, I do not know—none of the dead have been found with bites or teethmarks. The killings—this time—began some time ago now, nearly three moons. It was just luck I was here. I had been planning on leaving for the Interior again, I had heard stories of a giant flying lizard sighted somewhere in the marshes north of Mamak, and wanted to track them down. The thing is,’ he took a large swallow of beer before he continued. ‘The thing is, it was found not too far from where we sit. The Caverns employ a team of engineers, to keep the place from falling down and to find other rooms, other possible dancehalls. The whole of Taura Furnace is riddled with tunnels. Most are from the volcano herself, but some are made by people—or other Talking Races, maybe. The team was led by a Tanuthian, an Underworlder, you know? They know more about the underworld than anyone else and his engineering skill was, apparently, remarkable. He had detected a large chamber behind an old wall, and they broke through. There was no air inside, but they were ready for that, and left before there was any risk. When they returned later, they widened the hole and went inside. This is where the story gets strange.’
Mart paused long enough to roll another wrap of meat, and Flin copied him, trying a different combination of meat, vegetables, and sauce.
‘I spoke to a woman who was also on the engineering team. Her mind is damaged, but I believe her account. She is the only witness to what happened, the others left Taura, or, well…’
Flin took another mouthful, the part of her brain which gathered tales and songs and story storing away the words, subconsciously altering, embellishing and crafting a better version. She could not help it, her long training and urge to perform too strong. The better her stories, the more she earned. The more she earned, the more chance there was of affording her way home.
‘There were five of them. Three men, one woman, and the chief engineer. The Tanuthian was the first to die. When they entered the chamber, they were happy—it was large and strongly vaulted, other blocked passages suggesting doors and ventilation systems. It was exactly what they were paid to find. Then they found the corpse. It was dressed in rags, with a sash around its waist, as used to be the fashion here a generation ago. It was very, very dead, mummified, dried out completely. There was no telling what had killed it, no marks that they could see, although they were loathe to touch it, that wasn’t their job. The body looked like it had simply laid down on its back to sleep, and died, slowly drying over the years.’
Mart took another mouthful of beer and cleared his throat. Flin did not say anything to fill the pause: she had learnt long ago not to interrupt if she was getting the detail she needed, and there was certainly no need to coax anything more from the man, his tale was rich already, and would make an excellent story for a dark winter’s night with just a few changes and extra layers.
‘The chief engineer ordered his second to go and tell the manager they had found what they had been looking for, and to organise some labourers to remove the corpse. She was climbing out the hole they had made when she heard a noise behind her and turned. That is what damaged her mind. The Tanuthian, her boss and friend, was suspended in the air a husk of what he had been, blood and other fluids leaking from him, pooling in a series of floating balls. The sound she had heard had not come from him, however, but from the corpse, which was now sitting up, making a strange, crackling, hissing sound. She did not wait, but ran, and could hear the others in the team behind her, doing the same.’ Mart stopped and looked directly at Flin, ‘You don’t seem too surprised. You’re not laughing or giving me the look which usually means someone is questioning my own sanity.’
‘I’ve seen things and I’ve heard others from voices I trust. In my vocation I have learnt it is better to listen with an open mind. Some stories may be just stories, but I wonder how many have a seed of truth behind them, something—no matter how small—to start the tale growing. Sometimes, that which seems most outlandish, most far-fetched, is told exactly as it happened. Now, carry on, please.’ She waved her hand and watched as it seemed to leave a trail in front of her.
Mart nodded, silent for a moment, thinking about Flin’s words, then he continued.
‘The second engineer ran very fast, all the while hearing that strange noise in her head. She said she still hears it when she tries to sleep. To her credit, she returned a little time later, with eight of the Cavern’s guards—the doormen and those who guard the coin. When they got to the chamber there was no sign of the corpse, sitting or laid down. It was gone. There was blood, and the shrivelled remains of the chief engineer. And footprints, leading towards a fresh hole in the chamber, where another wall had somehow been pulled apart. No one ventured far into the new tunnel, instead they stayed and guarded it as the room was cleaned. Then they blocked the tunnel with a triple layer of masonry, hoping that whatever had been awoken would be sealed away inside but, as you know, that did not happen.’
He reached into a pocket and withdrew a piece of cloth, eating some more of the meat and taking a long drink before he unfurled the cloth and handed it to Flin, who studied it, running her fingers over many small stitches in an array of different colours.
She knew it was a map, but could not work out of what. It seemed strange, a jumble of colour and thread.
‘What is this?’
‘It is a map of this part of the city, around the Caverns. It is embroidered so it can be used just as easily in lower light, underground. The reason it looks different is because it represents what is above and what is below the surface. See, this top layer, here, those are the roads and streets. Here, these are the tunnels of the Caverns and, here, those are other tunnels and caves we know about.’
Flin looked back at the map, tracing lines and trying to understand it.
‘And these?’ she asked, pointing to small yellow crosses, ‘I am guessing they are where the deaths have occurred?’
‘Yes. All the deaths. Not just those the city above knows about. The Caverns have lost staff, the temple you passed on your way here has lost two priests. In total, we know of thirteen deaths. The people who run the Caverns are paying for the hunt to find this monster, this vampire—they know it is their fault it is free, and they know they might face closure without being seen as proactive. That’s why they pay me. So far, though, I’ve always been just a little too late.’
‘Have you seen it?’
‘Once.’ Mart nodded. ‘Just once, as it was leaving. It,’ he paused and cleared his throat, ‘it turned and saw me and I froze. I was terrified. Flin, it was floating above the ground! Then it simply came back down and walked away. It knew I was frozen, it knew I was useless.’ He lowered his head, ‘I let everybody down. I could have stopped further deaths, could have confronted it.’
Flin was silent for a moment, her mind distracted by small flickering blue lights appearing at the edge of her vision. She wished she had not eaten the mushrooms.
‘I suspect, if you had attacked it, it would have killed you too. I’ve heard stories of other creatures which can freeze victims with a stare, transfix them in place entirely. How were you planning on killing it? It was walled up alive, something that looked dead, but wasn’t? What about the blood, the draining, the fact it floats? This must be sorcery of some kind, some sort of magic?’
‘I had a pair of throwing knives made, blades coated with silver. I heard a tale that it can paralyse these creatures, turn the tables on them. Then I can have it dropped down the temple shaft, into the molten rock.’
‘That’s the plan? What if you miss?’
‘I won’t. I’m a good shot, always have been, and I’ve been practising a lot.’
‘And if the silver won’t work?’ Flin asked, ‘I heard silver was for other monsters, wolfmen.’
‘Then I’m fucked, and the Caverns has to find someone else to do their hunting.’
Flin looked at the man, studied him closely. He was perhaps in his early thirties, his face smooth and youthful, but his eyes carried age. A white scar ran across the back of his right hand, standing out against skin which was gradually losing its tan, a series of dots were tattooed on his left. For a moment she felt an urge to touch the dots in turn.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Far away. I was born in Greystilts, but left when I was young. Why?’
‘You can always run away, you know? That is the sensible option, rather than chasing a predator like this. Run far, far away. But,’ she held up a hand to forestall his inevitable rejection of her idea, ‘but, in case it helps, let me tell you more of the stories I know about similar creatures. Or maybe the same one, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something in there, in the details, which can help?’
Flin rolled another pancake and ate it silently. She drank deeply, and noticed that the blue flickers seemed to somehow respond to the beer. She frowned, unsure what was best to clear them from her system, then she began her tale. Perhaps telling stories would help.
‘What I believe to be the oldest of the stories I know comes from my old home, from before I was apprenticed. It is a tale from the mountains, of a creature which lived in dark ancient woods, preying on isolated individuals and leaving them drained of all their blood. Other animals were found, similarly drained. Let me tell the whole.’
She began, and then she told another, a more recent story of a mining team who discovered a similar corpse which rose from the dead. Then another, of a caravan south of The Pit, attacked each night, no matter what they did to protect themselves. She started on a fourth story, set in the immediate aftermath of the fall of the Ninth Tower in Eastsea, and a spate of killings which followed, but she did not finish. Instead, the door burst open and the serving boy entered at a run.
He came straight to their table, a short, breathless whirlwind, gulping air and gasping.
‘What is it Peither? Catch your breath,’ Mart said.
‘You are to come immediately, sir. There’s been another killing.’
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