Glen Cook - Shadows Linger

“All right. All right. Let’s have it.”

The being counted out coins. Raven pocketed six of each ten. He handed the rest to Shed. As he did so, he told the tall being, “This man is my partner. He may come alone.”

The tall figure inclined its head, took something from within its clothing, handed it to Shed. It was a silver pendant in the form of serpents entwined.

“Wear that if you come up alone,” Raven said. “That’s your safe-conduct.” Under his icy stare Shed slipped the pendant into a pocket already filled with silver.

He ran the arithmetic. One hundred twelve leva as his share. It would have taken him half a decade to accumulate that much honestly. He was rich! Damn him, he was rich! He could do anything he wanted. No more debts. No more Krage killing him slowly. No more gruel every meal. Turn the Lily into something decent. Maybe find a place where his mother would have proper care. Women. All the women he could handle.

As he turned his wagon, he glimpsed a high chunk of wall that hadn’t been there last visit. A face stared out. It was the face of the man he and Raven had brought in alive. Its eyes watched him.

Whisper delivered us to a broken-down castle named Duretile. It overlooks Juniper in general and the Enclosure in specific. For a week we had no contact with our hosts. We had no language in common. Then we were graced with the presence of a thug named Bullock who spoke the languages of the Jewel Cities.

Bullock was some kind of enforcer for the local religion. Which I could not figure out at all. It looks like a death cult at first. Look again and you find death or the dead not worshipped but revered, with bodies fanatically preserved against some millennial revival. The whole character of Juniper is shaped by this, except for the Buskin, where life has so many concerns more vital than the welfare of the dead.

I took an instant dislike to Bullock. He struck me as violence-prone and sadistic, a policeman who would solve his cases with a truncheon. He would survive when the Lady annexed Juniper. Her military governors have a need for his ilk.

I expected annexation to occur within days of the Captain’s arrival. We’d have it scoped out before he got here. One word from Charm would do it. I saw no indication the Duke’s people could stop it.

As soon as Feather and Whisper had all our people in, including translators, Bullock, the Duke himself, and a man named Hargadon, who was senior Custodian of the Dead, meaning he ran the Catacombs where bodies were stored– they led us into the bitter cold atop Duretile’s north wall. The Duke extended an arm. “That fortress over there is why I asked for help.”

I looked at it and shuddered. There was something creepy about the place.

“We call it the black castle,” he said. “It’s been there for centuries.” And then he gave us a chunk almost too big to swallow. “It started out as a little black rock lying beside a dead man. The man who found them tried to pick the rock up. He died. And the rock started growing. It’s been growing ever since. Our ancestors experimented on it. They attacked it. Nothing harmed it. Anybody who touched it died. For the sake of their sanity, they decided to ignore it.”

I shaded my eyes, stared at the castle. Not that unusual, from Duretile, except it was black and gave me the creeps.

The Duke continued, “For centuries it hardly grew. It’s only a few generations since it stopped looking like a rock.” He got a haunted look. “They say there are things living inside there.”

I smiled. What did he expect? A fortress exists to surround something, whether built or grown.

Hargadon assumed the narrative. He had been in his job too long. He’d developed an official’s pompous style. “For the last several years it’s grown damned fast. The Custodial Office became concerned when we heard rumors– out of the Buskin, so unreliable to be sure-saying the creatures inside were buying cadavers. The accuracy of those rumors remains a source of heated debate within the Office. However, no one can deny that we’re not getting enough corpses out of the Buskin these days. Our street patrols collect fewer than they did ten years ago. Times are leaner now. The street poor are more numerous. More should be expiring of exposure.” A real sweetheart, this Hargadon. He sounded like a manufacturer whining because his profit margin was down. He continued, “It’s been hypothesized that the castle may soon be beyond a need to purchase bodies-if it is at all. I’m not convinced.” Came down squarely on both sides of a question, too. That’s my boy. “Its occupants may become numerous enough to come take what they want.”

Elmo asked, “You think people are selling bodies, why don’t you grab them and make them talk?”

Time for the policeman to enter his bit. Bullock said, “We can’t catch them.” He had a but-if-they’d-let-me-do-it-my-way tone. “It’s happening down in the Buskin, you see. It’s another world down there. You don’t find out much if you’re an outsider.”

Whisper and Feather stood a bit apart, examining the black castle. Their faces were grim.

The Duke wanted something for nothing. In essence, he wanted to stop worrying about that fortress. He said we could do whatever it took to eliminate his worry. Only we’d have to do it his way. Like he wanted us to stay inside Duretile while his men and Hargadon’s acted as our eyes, ears and hands. He was afraid of repercussions our presence could cause if known.

A few Rebel fugitives had come to Juniper after their defeat at Charm. The Lady was known here, though little considered. The Duke feared the refugees would incite trouble if he was suspected of collaborating.

In some ways he was an ideal overlord. All he wanted from his people was to be left alone. He was willing to grant the same favor.

So, for a while, we stayed tucked away-till Whisper became irritated by the quality of information we were given.

It was filtered. Sanitized, it was useless. She cornered the Duke and told him her men would be going out with his.

He actually stood up to her for a few minutes. The battle was bitter. She threatened to pull out, leaving him twisting in the wind. Pure bluff. She and Feather were intensely interested in the black castle. Armed force could not have levered them out of Juniper. The Duke subdued, she turned on the Custodians. Bullock was stubbornly jealous of his prerogatives. I do not know how she brought him around. He never was gracious about it.

I became his companion on investigative jaunts, mainly because I learned the language quickly. Nobody down below paid me any mind. Him they did. He was a walking terror. People crossed the street to avoid him. I guess he had a bad reputation.

Then came news which miraculously cleared the obstacles the Duke and Custodians had dumped in our path.

“You hear?” Elmo asked. “Somebody broke into their precious Catacombs. Bullock is smoking. His boss is having a shit

hemorrhage.” I tried to digest that, could not. “More detail, if you please.” Elmo tends to abbreviate.

“During the winter they let poor people get away with sneaking into the Enclosure. To collect deadwood for firewood. Somebody got in who decided to take more. Found a way into the Catacombs. Three or four men.”

“I still don’t get the whole picture, Elmo.” He enjoys being coaxed.

“All right. All right. They got inside and stole all the passage urns they could lay hands on. Took them out, emptied them, and buried them in a pit. They also lifted a bunch of old-time mummies. I never seen such moaning and carrying on. You better back off your scheme, for getting into the Catacombs.” I had mentioned a desire to see what went on down there. The whole setup was so alien I wanted a closer look. Preferably unchaperoned. “Think they’d get overwrought, eh?”