Frank Tuttle - Hold The Dark

And then she grinned and held out her hand for me to kiss.

“An honor to meet you.” I let the hand hang there, forced myself to meet those moist dead eyes. “You saved my unit twice, out in the Serge.”

Hisvin giggled, and the hand fell away.

“Well done,” said the corpse. “You should know I’d have gutted you had you dared to kiss my toy.”

I swallowed, nodded.

The corpse hissed as something inside it burst, and the smell of it filled the cab and I fought back the urge to retch.

“I’ve been so bored since the Truce,” it said, winking and dabbing at the black fluid gathering at the corners of her mouth. “Why, I was just ambling about my rooms when word came from Avalante of some small amusement concerning blood-cults, kidnappings and a bold finder with a plan to end it all.”

The carriage charged around a corner, throwing the corpse against me. She was cold, and even her hair smelled strongly of death.

“I’m just trying to bring a woman home.” My skin crawled where she’d touched it. “What happens after that is no concern of mine.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about what happens after,” said Encorla through the corpse’s decaying throat. “I’ll be seeing to that.”

I just nodded, falling back on the old Army maxim that the less said around officers, the better.

“I thought it might increase your potency if you were seen entering and then leaving my carriage,” said Encorla, with another big dead smile. “I’ll let you out in front of Wherthmore. Will that suit you, goodman?”

Another nod. I even forgot about the smell long enough to briefly ponder how Father Foon would react to the news that Encorla Hisvin’s famous horseless carriage was pulling to a halt at his door.

The dead woman clapped her hands together in something like girlish glee.

“Oh, isn’t this such fun?” she gurgled. “Deception, secret meetings, all this skulking about!”

“It’s a riot,” I managed. Old stories of Encorla’s infamous snits were clamoring inside my head, each one more horrific than the last, each one vying for my immediate and total attention.

“I thank You for Your assistance,” I said, making the capital letters in my words as plain as I could.

The dead woman waved away my thanks. “Do not thank me. Amuse me. Scatter these miscreants. Save your imperiled damsel. I shall watch, of course.” She trailed a shriveled finger across my chin. “If an opportunity presents itself, I might even join you, on your noble quest.”

I gobbled something like thanks, refusing to pull away from that awful cold digit.

The Corpsemaster laughed, spewing black gobs of spittle on the carriage’s red velvet seats. Then she let me turn away.

Screams followed us, and the sounds of panicked horses. Just before the dead cabman brought the carriage to a screeching, bone-jolting halt, the cab suddenly filled with flies, and the stench, renewed, rose up and engulfed me.

“Be about our business, finder,” said the dead thing beside me. “Use my name whenever and however you please, but use it well, you hear?”

The door swung open. Flies buzzed, scattering into the suddenly empty street.

I gagged, stumbled out and swatted.

The dead thing tittered. “Oh, and goodman-if you would like the company of this woman, just say so. I can send her around. Any night.”

I reached out, caught the door and slammed it closed.

The dead thing laughed, loud enough to echo. Crows flapped and cawed.

I threw up in the gutter, and turned so I didn’t have to watch the dead driver wave goodbye.

I sat in a shade and waited for the shakes to pass.

People gave me wide berth. The ones who’d seen me leave the black carriage pointed and whispered. That wouldn’t hurt my plan, so I sat there and pretended to watch a pair of mockingbirds have it out with a scraggly tailed squirrel.

Encorla Hisvin. Not a name I ever wanted to hear again. Certainly not a person with whom I wanted any association. Like everyone else, I’d heard that Hisvin’s friends tended to die just as horribly and just as frequently as his enemies.

I waited an hour. I could still smell the stink, still imagine blue-bellies crawling at the nape of my neck and buzzing close to my mouth. I was about to get up and find Halbert and make my last stop at my last church mainhold when a hand fell on shoulder.

I whirled. My right hand was instantly in my coat pocket, grasping my old Army knife.

Darla saw, and stepped back-hands held up and open.

“I’m sorry, Markhat. I spoke, but you didn’t hear me.”

I let out my breath.

“Sorry,” I gruffed. “I picked a loud bench.”

Darla shook her head. Her eyes were locked on mine, not playfully. “I heard…the black carriage.”

I just nodded.

“I don’t know what that…person would have to do with Martha.” She spoke carefully, pausing in her words to let pedestrians pass, pitching her voice so only I could hear. “Are you all right?”

I stepped around the bench. Darla’s hands were warm, warm and soft. She hugged me, wordlessly, and she smelled of soap and a fruity perfume and thank the Nine High Heavens nothing else.

“We just had drinks,” I said. We started walking. I went with the flow of traffic. Soon Darla’s hand slipped into mine. “Turns out Hisvin is just a lonely old soul who loves cats and longs to be loved.”

Darla kicked my shin. “Not everybody has a sense of humor,” she hissed.

I saw the dead woman’s bloated face again, heard that wet, slurred laugh.

“No, no, I suppose they don’t.”

“So what now, Markhat?”

We passed a jeweler’s shop as she spoke. I saw us, briefly, reflected in the glass. She was tall and pretty. I was merely tall. Tall and worried. My clothes were rumpled. My hair needed some attention.

“I visit one more church mainhold. Ellsback. Spread a little fear. Shake a few cages. See what darts out.”

Darla rolled her eyes.

“You ignored my question. So I’ll ask it again. What now, Markhat?”

I shook my head. “I just shared a cab with a pair of week-old corpses, Miss Tomas. I’m a little past cryptic. Way past obtuse. Somewhat too bedraggled to engage in subtlety.”

Darla sighed. We paused to cross the street, and I looked up for the first time to see where we were.

“Men are such lumps sometimes. But as excuses go, that was unique. So I’ll let it pass, for now, as long as you take me to someplace nice, buy me an expensive meal and do it right now.”

I frowned. Traffic rattled past.

“Darla, I can’t now. I’ve got to find Halbert, got to head to Ellsback.”

Darla grabbed my elbow and planted herself in front of me.

“You’ll do no such thing.” Her eyes were bright, and she wasn’t smiling. “Markhat, you’re pale. Your eyes are wild. I don’t know what happened, today, but you look like you’ve not just seen a ghost but had your face rubbed in its sheets. You couldn’t intimidate a stable boy right now and you know it, so there’s no use arguing. Anyway, we’re here, and I’m hungry. I don’t like white wine. And leave room for dessert.”

A uniformed doorman opened a big oak door, and Darla swept inside. I gawked for a second.

“They serve a good steak here, pal,” said the doorman, beckoning me inside. “But they serve it indoors.”

Something did smell good. Darla stood inside, hands on her hips, smiling.

“I won’t break you,” she said, as I joined her. “I’ve still got money of my own, you know.”

“No you don’t.” A waiter led us to a table, and knew Darla by name. I wondered just where the Hell I was.

“This is called the Hearth,” said Darla. The waiter pulled back her chair, and she sat, and I managed at last to do the same. “I take it you don’t eat out much.”