Jonathan Howard - Johannes Cabal the Detective

“It was by the merest good luck that, when I found the gorge, I didn’t fall headlong into it, so harried was I. It was more than deep enough to kill a man, perhaps eighty feet into a fast-moving torrent with sharp rocks on either side. Scaling the side was impossible without equipment and the time needed for the descent. I had no choice but to run alongside it. The ground started to angle upwards, and I began to fear for my endurance again as every step became a torment in itself. The incline wasn’t great, but in my exhausted state it was the last thing I needed. Then, thank God, I saw the bridge.

“The bridge was a rope affair, obviously not meant for carts or horses or other beasts. Even to a man, the crossing of sixty feet or so across the ferocious drop would have been a little daunting. Anything, however, anything was better than staying on the same side of the river as Umtak Ktharl, and I quickly crossed, the bridge swinging and twisting beneath my feet as I firmly gripped the rails and ran like a tightrope walker with the Devil on his coattails.

“This was a double hope for me. Perhaps Umtak Ktharl would not be able to cross the bridge, what with his weakness for running water. Perhaps, like a vampire, he wouldn’t be able to pass over it. Second, even if he could, it would be my delight and my privilege to cut the guy ropes loose when he and, I hoped, Cabal were halfway across. I enjoyed the prospect of the pair of them tumbling into the angry white waters below. I fear I may even have been laughing a little hysterically by the time I reached the far side.

“Barely had I attained a hiding place by the mooring posts when Umtak Ktharl swept majestically into view and, without even a pause, moved onto the bridge. It would seem that my first hope was to be confounded. The sight of Cabal staggering exhaustedly up to the mooring posts on the other side and leaning on them while he wheezed unhappily reminded me of the second. I reached into my pocket for my clasp knife with murder in my heart. My hand found nothing but an old receipt and the stub of a pencil. The knife wasn’t there.

“I almost cried out loud with frustration. Of course, it wasn’t. Those damnable and damned bandits had stolen it from my ‘corpse’ back when they’d also relieved me of all my other belongings and my horse.

“I looked behind me; the path rose in a sharp zigzag up a very steep forested slope. I couldn’t hope to get far. My reserves were gone and the jig was up, but I was damned if I was going to go down without a fight. Anger making my thinking clear, I unlimbered my rifle from my shoulder and took careful aim at the approaching sorcerer. I breathed gently and, just as my breath was on its cusp, squeezed the trigger.

“My first shot caught him square in the chest, but made him pause only momentarily, as if he’d forgotten something and then decided it was not important.

“The second bullet struck him in the face; I think I had some vague thought of puncturing one of those eyes in the hope they were where his power lay. That is how desperate I had become. I heard the bullet ricochet off him as if it had struck rock. He shook his head, as if bothered by an insect, and advanced.

“I was down to my last bullet and all hope had run out. Umtak Ktharl was clearly utterly invulnerable to mundane weapons. On the other hand, I doubted the same could be said of that turncoat Cabal; I decided to let him have the last shot.

“I was grateful that the bandit whose rifle it had been had shown more concern with the maintenance of his weapon than with his personal hygiene. Every shot I had so far fired had gone exactly where I placed it. Despite the bandit’s peripatetic lifestyle, the barrel was well maintained, the action was reliable, and the sights were perfect. I trusted them implicitly as I placed foresight ’twixt back leaf and centred the whole upon Cabal. I aimed at his head with the expectation of the bullet’s trajectory taking it into either his throat or his upper chest. Either would be satisfactory. He was still wheezing pathetically, his whole frame heaving with the effort of drawing breath, as he stood half slumped against the mooring post. Then I paused. There was something peculiar here, something odd in the way he was moving. I lowered my sights and was delighted and ashamed by what I saw. His body wasn’t heaving with exhaustion at all but with exertion … exertion as he sawed fiercely through the guy supporting one side of the bridge with a small pocketknife. The whole thing had truly been a ruse; Cabal had been looking for such an opportunity, and had now taken it with both hands.

“Without a further second’s hesitation, I brought my rifle back up to the target and fired.

“It wasn’t a clean shot, I’m embarrassed to admit; I can only plead unfamiliarity with the weapon at that range. But still, it clipped the second guy rope nicely, severing a good half of its strands. Cabal almost dropped his knife with surprise, but saw what I had tried to do and waved at me. He redoubled his efforts, and the rope he was working on parted with a woody snap. The bridge leaned crazily to that side and Umtak Ktharl showed more emotion than I’d seen up to now; he actually seemed quite angry. The weight of the bridge was too much for the rope I’d damaged and, with a musical twang, that gave way, too. Now anchored only on my side of the gorge, it fell and swung to smash against the cliff wall. Bits of wood and debris rained into the stream to be instantly carried away.

“Umtak Ktharl, however, was not amongst them. With a countenance of utter fury, he hung in the air in the middle of the gorge, defying both gravity and our fondest hopes.

“I was at my wits’ end and had been for some time. Cabal was not, and that is something we should all be grateful for. He reached into his breast pocket and threw something at that remorseless monster. ‘Umtak Ktharl!’ he shouted, as whatever it was glittered and shone in its arc. ‘Catch!’

“I like to think it was Ktharl’s utter arrogance, his total belief in his invulnerability, that proved his downfall. He should have done almost anything except catch what had been thrown to him. I think Cabal, in his brief acquaintanceship with Umtak Ktharl, had seen it in his character and played upon it. What is it they say comes before a fall?

“At any rate, Umtak Ktharl caught it. The object had barely been in his hand a moment when it flashed an angry cobalt blue that illuminated the warlock so strongly I had the absurd impression that I could see his bones within him. With rising hope, I realised what it was. A tiny thing … nothing at all in the usual way of things.

“A small phial, two-thirds full of holy water.

“The water must have boiled in its tube, because it broke with the distinctive plink of fracturing glass I remembered so well from my dawdlings in chemistry as a boy. It must have been like a tube of acid shattering in his hand. Not enough to kill him or even hurt him, but more than enough to engage his full attention, to break his concentration and really, at that point, that was all that was necessary. The holy water flared and steamed like St. Elmo’s fire where it splashed upon him, he made some small, pathetic effort to beat the supernatural flames from his hand and arm, and then he was falling. It took only a moment to plummet the distance, and he was gone, lost in the frothing waters.

“Cabal and I ran downstream, eager to make sure that he didn’t make the bank. This time I’m sure I was laughing, laughing with sheer relief. There would be a tomorrow. It wasn’t the end of everything.

“I saw Umtak Ktharl first. Just the hint of an arm waving in the turbulent water of an eddy pool. Pinned against a rock underwater, once again having his sins washed away constantly.