‘Excuse me?’
‘That poet will never sing again.’
She frowned above her blood-smeared hand. ‘You are most cruel, sir.’
‘Me? Have you heard him sing?’
A voice quavered down from the stairs above. ‘Is Tiny dead? Tiny feels dead. Are these Tiny’s teeth? These look like Tiny’s teeth.’
‘Good thing you took point, Tiny,’ called up Apto. ‘Otherwise, who knows what might’ve happened!’
‘Tiny hates critics.’
They stumbled into a room, collapsed exhausted to the floor. Barunko had ceased his blubbering, and now sat wiping his eyes and nose, his hands glistening in the faint torchlight.
Slowly regaining her breath, Plaintly set her back against a stone wall. ‘Great work, Barunko,’ she finally managed.
‘They scared me,’ said Barunko, knuckling his eyes. ‘Came out of nowhere, right in front and there I was, right in front, too. It was like, the two of us, face to face, and his face was so … so ugly! I had to punch it, I couldn’t help it!’
Lurma suddenly bumped against Plaintly. ‘Shh!’ she hissed. ‘We’re not alone!’
‘What?’ Plaintly looked up, and her eyes narrowed on the tall fat man in the brocaded robes who stood near a floor-to-ceiling cabinet on the other side of the chamber. The man was frowning as he studied the Party of Five.
Symon The Knife hissed, ‘Mortari, give me my knife, damn you!’
‘I got it,’ said Mortari, crawling over. ‘I took it out of that man’s shoulder! Did you see me do that? Oh, throw it again!’
‘Damn you, Symon,’ said Lurma, ‘if only you had two knives, you could take them both down!’
‘There’s only the one,’ said Le Groutt.
‘What? Is there? Oh! Where did the other one go?’
‘It’s the fucking Grand Bishop,’ said Le Groutt.
Symon readied his knife and then threw it. The weapon struck the wall near the ceiling. It fell to the floor in two pieces.
‘Shit!’ cursed Symon.
‘Here, try this,’ said Le Groutt, pushing the coil of rope into The Knife’s hands. ‘Tie him up or something!’
The Grand Bishop then spoke, his voice thin and querulous. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’
Plaintly climbed to her feet. ‘We’re the Party of Five, that’s who we are!’
‘But there’s six of you.’
‘What?’ Plaintly looked at the others and then said, ‘No, there’s five, can’t you count?’
‘That’s right,’ said Le Groutt. ‘Five. The priest’s fucking illiterate.’
‘No,’ said Lurma, ‘there’s ten of us. I always thought it a strange title—’
‘You’re in my Chamber of Collections,’ said the Grand Bishop. ‘I didn’t invite you.’
‘Never mind that shit,’ said Plaintly. ‘We’re here for the Head of the Thieves’ Guild, and we’re not leaving without her!’
The round-faced man’s brow wrinkled slightly, and then with a shrug he turned and opened the cabinet and collected a severed head from one of the shelves crowded with dozens of other severed heads. Gripping it by the hair he held it out. ‘Here, then.’
Plaintly gaped. ‘But that’s – that’s – that’s—’
‘The head of the Thieves’ Guild,’ said the Grand Bishop. ‘Wasn’t that the one you wanted?’
‘Hey!’ cried Le Groutt, ‘where’s the rest of her?’
Squinting, Barunko added, ‘She’s shorter than I remember her. I think. I don’t really remember her at all. Is that her? She’s short!’
The Bishop frowned. ‘Do you want it or don’t you? Oh, and did you happen to meet a demon prince? We lost him down here. Him and the Indifferent God, and now we’re running out of time.’ He set the head down on a table and then brushed his pudgy white hands. ‘I have to go.’
Plaintly licked dry lips and then looked about, quickly, before saying, ‘Le Groutt, collect that head, will you? We’re getting out of here.’
The Grand Bishop then departed through a secret door in the wall behind him.
Lurma leapt to her feet. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s take the other one!’ And she sprinted forward until she slammed into a wall, where she slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Frowning, Plaintly said, ‘Barunko, pick up Lurma. We can’t be waiting around down here any longer, not with a demon prince wandering around!’
Barunko rose to his feet. ‘Pick up Lurma. Where?’
‘Mortari, guide him over, will you?’
Grumbling, Mortari walked up to Barunko, who grasped him suddenly and flung him into a wall. ‘Did he reach the hook?’
‘No,’ said Plaintly, ‘that was earlier, Barunko. Now we just need you to carry Lurma and Mortari.’
‘Why, what’s wrong with them? Are they dead?’
‘Unconscious,’ explained Plaintly. ‘Le Groutt here will take you to them.’
‘Okay,’ said Barunko. ‘Carry them out. Got it. Le Groutt? Who’s got my wrist? Let go!’
‘No!’ cried Plaintly, ‘don’t—’
But it was too late, as Barunko punched Le Groutt, sending the man to the floor in a heap.
‘Okay,’ said Plaintly. ‘Barunko, you just stand there, and Symon will drag them over to you, all right?’
‘All right. Got it. Drag who?’
‘Lurma and Mortari and, uh, Le Groutt. Think you can carry all three of them?’
‘Carry? Not sure,’ said Barunko. ‘I mean, if Barunko was here, why, I bet he could!’
‘You’re Barunko, Barunko,’ said Plaintly.
‘Okay, good, hey there’s bodies all around me!’
‘That’s Symon pushing them closer,’ said Plaintly, ‘so now all you have to do is pick them up one by one.’
Symon turned to Plaintly. ‘Le Groutt can’t carry the head anymore, Plaintly. Who should take it now?’
‘Well,’ said Plaintly, ‘since you lost your knife, why don’t you?’
‘Damn,’ said Symon, ‘I should never have broken that knife.’
‘That’s how it goes on a mission like this one,’ said Plaintly. ‘Nothing seems to go as planned and then, all of a sudden, it’s mission accomplished! Now all we have to do is evade the demon prince and the Indifferent God, and all those other demons and those headless things.’
‘I’ve got three bodies here,’ said Barunko. ‘What do you want me to do with them?’
‘Just carry them,’ said Plaintly. ‘Symon, you got her head?’
‘I got it, and since her hair’s real long, I could swing her like a weapon, maybe even spin round and round and throw her. You know, this could be better than any knife! Symondenalian The Head Niksos!’
‘Smart thinking, Symon,’ said Plaintly. ‘All right then, take the lead, will you? Barunko’s right behind you, and then it’s me taking up the rear.’
‘Watch out for that darkness behind you, Plaintly,’ said Symon. ‘It’s been chasing us all night!’
‘I will, Symon, thanks for reminding me. Now let’s get going!’
Ophal D’Neeth Flatroq stepped out through the side postern gate and paused to brush at his green silks. All things considered, the audience had gone rather well, he decided. Formal proclamation announced and here he was, still in possession of his head. Indeed, it occurred to him that he might have to revise his notions regarding maniacal tyrants, as King Bauchelain had proved surprisingly polite, and not in any way inclined to either foam at the mouth or enact highly unjust but altogether expected punishment to the hapless messenger delivering unwelcome news.
Unfortunately for the citizens of Farrog, the approaching forces of Nightmaria weren’t much interested in anything but the thorough sacking of the city, the slaughter of its modest army, and the ousting of both the Church of the Indifferent God and the new Royal Line of King Bauchelain, the latter two as messily as possible.