Paul Durham - The Last Reckoning

“Much better now that you’re back,” he said warmly.

Harmless carefully lifted his left arm and slowly clenched and unclenched his fist. From the short sleeve of his loose-fitting shirt, Rye could see that the muscles of this arm were noticeably smaller than his right one. It was still covered in a green mosaic of tattoos from shoulder to wrist, but where skin was visible it had taken on a greyish pallor. And his forearm was etched with an angry pink scar, raised and jagged, as if the victim of a sawblade. Rye knew that, in fact, it was the remnants of the near-fatal Bog Noblin bite he’d received last spring. The night he’d disappeared into Beyond the Shale, the Dreadwater clan close behind him.

“This old companion has seen better days,” Harmless said, running a finger over the damaged limb. “There’s still a tooth in there somewhere. Alas, extracting it is beyond my crude medical skills. I’ll get to Trowbridge to visit Blae the Bleeder soon enough. It’s been far too long and I’m afraid his business must be suffering from the extended absence of his best customer.”

Harmless gave Rye a wink.

“Your mother has helped me get most of the bog rot out of my lungs,” he added with a nod to the steaming cup on the table. “Although if I have to drink another cup of her foul herbs, I think I may jump right back into the muck.”

He shot Abby a playful look. She narrowed an eye in reply.

“If you don’t stop complaining and take your medicine, I’ll throw you back in myself,” she said.

“Riley,” Harmless said, becoming more serious, “how was your visit to Miser’s End?”

“I stayed there for a long while, just like you said. And left the clovers where you told me.”

Harmless nodded, satisfied.

“I don’t think anyone saw me, though,” Rye added, recalling the unusually quiet afternoon. “Troller’s Hill – and all of Mud Puddle Lane – seemed … deserted.”

“ He will have seen you,” Harmless said, and Rye knew he meant Slinister. “With his own eyes or someone else’s. And that’s all that matters. Did you play it up?”

“I looked very sad. I almost shed a tear.”

“Excellent. If nothing else, you’ll have a future in the theatre.”

“I said ‘almost’,” Rye clarified.

“Close enough,” Harmless said. He picked up the cup with his good hand and sipped it. He grimaced and coughed. Leaning over to a wooden bucket, he expelled something black and thick from his throat, then wiped his mouth on his shoulder.

“What now?” Rye asked.

“Now we stay here,” Harmless said, “and rest. And catch up on better times.” He rubbed his chin and his weary eyes turned wolfish. “Then, in another day or two, when Slinister will have assumed the O’Chanters have left for good, you will return to Drowning.” Harmless’s jaw tightened. “And summon a Call.”

“A Call?” Rye asked.

Harmless nodded. “And not just any Call. It will be a Call of all Luck Uglies, near and far. And with it, we shall bring a Reckoning to Slinister and the Fork-Tongued Charmers.”

RYE SAT ON the grass outside the old bog hopper’s shack as the sun began to dip low in the sky. She heard the door creak over her shoulder, and Harmless hobbled outside to join her. He let out a low whistle as he carefully eased himself down on to the ground beside her.

“I may need to find a walking stick like yours until I get my legs back under me,” he said with a tight-lipped grin, eyeing the cudgel across her back.

Rye returned a smile and gazed at the clouds overhead, tinted purple in the late afternoon light.

“I wasn’t acting, you know,” she said.

“Come again?” Harmless asked.

“At Miser’s End,” she said, turning to him. “I wasn’t acting. I was sad. Seeing that headstone there – just waiting for you.” Rye clenched her jaw in silence for a moment. “When Leatherleaf pulled you from the bogs, I was sure it was too late.”

Harmless nodded grimly. “After all these years of close shaves and near misses, I thought it was finally my turn to hop the fence.”

“But you lasted for so long under there. You never gave up.”

“Yes, well, that’s not entirely true,” Harmless said with a sigh. “In fact, in the darkness, with the pressure of the bogs closing around me, you might say that I accepted my situation. I wasn’t waiting for some miraculous rescue – the unlikely arrival of you and your red-bearded friend was entirely unexpected. The reason I held on was so I might savour my fondest memories for as long as possible.” His grey eyes met her own, and he placed his palm on her cheek. “I clung to my visions of your mother … your sister … and of you. For even in the most hopeless depths, your faces make me smile. And whenever my time is finally up, I plan to go with a smile on my face.” He flashed her a smirk. “Not that I’m planning on going anywhere soon.”

But Rye didn’t find his words to be particularly reassuring. “What was it like – being buried under there?” she asked. She pinched her eyes tight and shook her head. “Sometimes I shut my eyes and try to imagine how awful it must have been.”

“Don’t,” Harmless said firmly, but kindly. “It’s not something you’ll ever have to discover.”

Rye reopened her eyes. “Slinister called it the Descent,” she said, remembering his ominous words. “Is that the punishment for violating the Luck Uglies’ code?”

Harmless nodded. “It’s a cruel fate, but an effective deterrent.”

“Have you ever sent someone to the Descent?” Rye asked hesitantly, then wished she hadn’t.

Harmless just cocked his head towards her sadly, then narrowed his eyes and stared out at the bogs in the distance. Rye supposed that was answer enough.

“Have you seen Leatherleaf in recent days?” Harmless asked, studying the shadows falling across the mire. “Of everyone who has ever done me a favour, he is the most unexpected of all.”

Rye shook her head. “I think Shady chased him off. Maybe for good this time. I haven’t seen either of them since Leatherleaf burrowed in after you.”

Rye reached into her pocket and retrieved Harmless’s broken necklace.

“He gave me this,” she said, and handed Harmless the loose runestones and torn leather band. “I didn’t know how he came by it, but I feared the worst. It seems our own chokers no longer glow either,” she added, fingering the band round her neck.

Harmless examined the stones in his hand. For the first time, Rye noticed how closely the circular pattern tattooed on his palm matched the runes on the stones.

“This was torn from my throat when I lost my struggle with several Fork-Tongued Charmers,” Harmless said. “Leatherleaf must have found it. I sensed that a Bog Noblin was following me in recent weeks. I had assumed it was another one of the Dreadwater, but was puzzled that it didn’t attack.”

Harmless furrowed his brow. “The destruction of my choker explains why yours no longer glows. But that matters little now.” Rye was stunned to see him cock his arm and cast the handful of loose stones out into the brush. “Whatever power the runestones once had to protect has faded anyway.”

Rye shook her head quizzically. Harmless spoke slowly while his eyes stared ahead, as if observing a scene far in the distance.

“Many years ago, when the Luck Uglies drove the Bog Noblins from the Shale, I led that charge. I was merciless. I unleashed the Gloaming Beasts on them – Shady and others – and when they fled and hid, disappearing in the bogs, I kept hunting. I surprised them while they were helpless and hibernating for winter. I dug them from their burrows while they slept, dragging them out one by one.”