Lee Battersby - The Corpse-Rat King

“I… I don’t know.”

“No. I don’t suppose you do.”

They sat in silence for long minutes, until the door opened and Gerd stepped through. He looked from Marius to his grandmother, and back again, frowning.

“You told her,” he said finally.

“Yes.”

“You told her.”

“Yes. I did.”

“What on Earth did she–…?”

“I’m in the room.”

Both men turned towards the old woman, sitting upright at the table, staring at something immeasurably far away. In an instant, the anger left them.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Right,” she said, standing. She felt her way along the edge of the table towards the chopping block and cooking utensils stacked in the far corner. Marius realised that it was the first time he had seen her need assistance to move around the room. If Gerd noticed he said nothing, but it was obvious to Marius that something had left the old woman, some spark of resistance towards the fates. “Mister…”

“Spint.”

“Spint, says you’ll be going with him.”

“Grandmamma, I don’t want…”

“You’ll be needing something to tide you over.” She busied herself rummaging amongst the bags and baskets, emerging with a cobb loaf and small bag. “This should see you for the day.”

“Grandmamma…”

“Take a good stick. You can’t go wrong with a good stick.” She coughed, a sound that was as much sob as anything, then steadied herself and made her way back to the chair. “Mister Spint says he needs to go straight away, so you’d best be on the hop now, boy. Give me a kiss.”

“Grand… yes, Grandmamma.” Gerd stepped forward and kissed her offered cheek. She grabbed his neck, and held him to her for a moment.

“You be careful now, boy. Just… be careful.”

“Yes, Grandmamma.” Gerd straightened, and took the bag and loaf. He stepped past Marius to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“I love you.”

The old woman said nothing, then, finally, “Off with you now, boy. Come home soon.”

Gerd opened the door, and stepped through. Marius made to follow.

“Mister Spint?”

“Yes.”

“See him right, you hear me?”

“I…” He saw her then: old, small, frightened; sitting alone at her table, with her only comfort standing outside, suddenly alien and terrifying to her. He stepped backwards, and silently put the door between them. Gerd was waiting a dozen steps away, head bowed. Without a word, Marius joined him.

They stopped long enough for Marius to wash the drying remains of the old woman’s soup from his face and arms. Then they were outside the village and running down the mud track towards the plains at the base of the mountains. They ran in silence, avoiding each others’ gaze, letting the lie of the land dictate their progress. The ravines closed in behind them, closing them off from sight of the village, until they ran between grey walls that pressed against their minds with solemn finality. It was not until they had left the mountains behind and were well into the long, slow undulations of the flatlands that Gerd finally spoke.

“Why?” he asked, as they crossed a trade road and leaped across the drainage ditch on the other side.

“Why what?”

“Why did you tell her?”

“Because…” Marius stared at the grasses around him, at the open horizons and the roads he could not follow, “I’m sick of lying. I mean, look at me. Look where it’s gotten me. I’m just… I’m just sick of it.”

He put his head down, ignoring the world and the sunshine and his own mind. The dead men ran on for several more minutes.

“She won’t survive, you know.”

“What?”

“Grandmamma. She won’t be able to cope with it. Your truth.” Gerd glanced at him. “You’ve killed her.”

After that, there was nothing left to say. They ran on, through the rolling plains of the Scorban Flatlands, skirting the farmlets and freeholds that dotted the plains like breadcrumbs, maintaining their tireless pace through both day and night. They travelled for six days, swinging past the distant lights of Borgho City and passing through the wonders of the Grass Fields without pausing; crossing the battlefield where their deaths had occurred with nothing more than a glance at each other and a thin-lipped tightening of their jaws; finally pushing down towards the coast, altering their stride as the smooth plains gave way to the more broken lands of the coastal ridge, tying their path to the roads that criss-crossed the lands outside the capital, following the major highway between Scorby and Borgho, all the while keeping themselves hidden from view, a hundred metres or more from the road’s edge, behind the fences and the first line of trees. Finally, as night was falling and they were no more than a day’s journey from the capital, Marius called a halt. They settled in a small clearing amongst the trees, gathered branches and leaves from the surrounding forest floor, and built a fire. They sat on either side, staring into the flames. Marius held his hands towards the fire, examining their backs in the flickering light.

“Funny,” he said at last, surprised at how loud he sounded.

“What is?” Gerd looked through the fire at him, face clouded with suspicion.

“I shouldn’t need a fire. But I do.” He turned his hands, stared at his palms. “Once it’s night, and I’m still, I still feel the cold. My hands are freezing.” He looked up, caught Gerd’s look. “Why do you suppose that is?”

Gerd shrugged. Marius stared at him for several seconds. “You do too, don’t you? Look at the way you’re huddled around yourself. You’ve been shifting around ever since you sat down, warming one side then the other. Why is that, Gerd? Surely, surely we shouldn’t feel it. We are dead. Aren’t we?”

“Well, I am.” Gerd raised a hand to his chest. “A Scorban soldier sliced me like a haunch of beef. I’m sure you remember.” He ran his fingers across his chest, and Marius could imagine the scar he felt. “You let it happen, after all. Did you get a good view?”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry.” Marius looked into the flames again, saw the battlefield laid out in its depths. “I am. I should never… it’s been a long journey since then. I’m really sorry.”

Gerd sighed. “You bloody well should be.” He stood and rounded the fire to sit by Marius’ side. “I should hate you.”

“Why not?” Marius smiled, a short, bitter movement of his lips. “You’d hardly be alone.”

“No, I imagine I wouldn’t.” Gerd held out a hand towards his companion. “I don’t hate you. I did. But not anymore.”

Hesitantly, Marius took the offered hand, and they shook. “Why not?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since we left Grandmamma.” He poked at the flames with a stick, watched the sparks that swirled up into the darkness. “She’s going to die, and when she does, there will be nobody there to look after her, to make sure she’s okay, surrounded by all those dead strangers.”

Marius had his own thoughts on who would need protecting from whom once Grandmamma made her journey below, but he kept them to himself. Gerd was staring off into the night, and he sensed another of his home-spun soliloquies approaching.

“Maybe I died for a reason. Maybe it’s so I can help her, once she’s arrived. It’s all I’ve ever done. I’m good at it. I like it. Besides, I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s not like you ever lied to me.”

“Sorry? What?” Marius’ eyes widened.

Gerd smiled. “You promised me adventure and riches, and seeing the sights of the world. Well, you’ve given me those. Not the riches, admittedly.” He laughed. “But adventure, sights, experiences?” He waved at the surrounding night. “You weren’t joking, were you?”