"Almar Gothurdle and the Silver Bane: Chapter 2" by Jermaine Leroy Joseph

2:

A shriek in the night awoke them both. Guido shot from where he lay, dragging Almar from his bed as he used some arcane gesture to light every candle in their small room. Before Almar had even woken, the man had cast his indigo eyes out through the keyhole of their room, cursed that they had no windows and returned to his own bed. Finally opening his eyes, Almar groaned, tugged imaginary covers that had remained on the bed, and attempted to roll over. He found himself blocked by the wall, groaned again and then, with a cry, shot up.
“Did you wake me up?” He asked sternly. He felt cold steal into his leg and winced, aware that he would likely limp in the morning. He didn’t want to take it out on Guido, he seldom did, but the man stood by his bed staring with his magic sparkled eyes. “Can’t a man sleep?” The shriek came again, as though in answer. A blood curdling thing that made Almar stand hurriedly, the motion making the candle on the table go out. Guido, wordlessly, handed him his own candle before entering the bathroom and taking the lit willow candle from above the toilet. Before he closed the door, Almar caught a glimpse of the delicate toilet. It brought a small smile to his face until another shriek rent the air. “Make haste!” He said.
Fumbling the key free, Almar slid it into the lock, found that the door was already unbarred and opened the door. He saw Guido shrug, mime eating, and then nodded. Guido had opened the door to get something to eat. That was fine then.
They were not the only ones that entered the passage. In the darkness, the red walls and the red carpet seemed too much like the maw of a great beast, ready to devour everything that lay in its path. Almar looked down the corridor, raising his candle higher, squinting into the darkness. A portly woman with a frilly nightcap on and wearing a blue gown, had her hands to her face in shock, her eyes round with weariness and fear. Beside her a tall, hawk nosed man with too large eyes on his profile, tried to calm her with a hand on her shoulder while muttering into the night. Further down a young woman with long golden tresses brushed her hair as though she had not a care in the world, though occasionally she paused and looked about as though dazed. Guido moved into the corridor, his own candle held high. Almar glanced at the electric lights, saw that they had gone off and wondered why.
The sound of squealing behind him drew his attention. Turning, Almar found that he was both surprised to see two figures in the darkness, and unsurprised that one of those should be Mr. Green, his huge girth pulling free of the armchair with an audible creak. Raising his candle to them in greeting and suspicion, Almar saw that the fat innkeeper was accompanied by a woman as thin as he was wide, the bones of her body seeming to glow beneath pasty skin. There was something positively ghoulish about her. And her eyes! Even Guido gasped behind him. They were bulged like the features of a constipated gargoyle, leering somehow regardless of her thin almost bloodless lips. Blinding Hell she was a horror to look upon. Was that cobwebs in her lank, brown hair? Was that a multicoloured dress she wore? To bed? Almar felt himself losing his presence of mind and whispered to Guido without turning.
“By all the gods, Guido, she’s a terrible sight.” He smiled wanly as the innkeeper struggled to get about the table to them, the woman behind him trapped behind his enormity.
“I think she’s quite pretty, actually.” Guido said dreamily. In shock Almar turned, saw that he was misunderstood and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Eh…? What is it?”
“What is it?” Almar hissed in repetition, lowering his light to better see the weasel looking man and his distraught wife. They had drawn closer to them, as though trying to listen in on his conversation. “I was not talking on that golden haired siren by the last stain in the wall. I was on about…” He paused, turning in the corridor to face the innkeeper who stood right behind him. “Good. Mr. Green… my good innkeeper what is the meaning of…” A louder cry hammered into the still and quiet. Behind him, the distraught wife yelped and cuddled her husband. Guido grimaced and made his way to the woman by the first room. Almar watched him go for a moment and then faced Mr. Green squarely. Now that he could see in the light, it was obvious that the woman with the fat man could only be his daughter. She seemed years younger, and far too skinny. Almar had already decided that the years of the innkeeper’s family could possibly be counted by the amount they weighed.
“Might be someone in the streets falling over.” The man offered. He glanced at the thin woman beside him, watched her pick her nose with a long, red lacquered fingernail. It almost seemed as though the innkeeper waited to see if anything would be pulled free. In disgust, feeling ill at the sudden image, Almar shook his head. “Or someone could be standing up.” Mr. Green said cheerfully. Understanding that the man was mad, Almar nodded, assessing the situation in his mercurial way. Someone had been hurt. No person cried out like that for the sheer fun of it.
“People don’t shriek when they stand up.” He said through gritted teeth, choosing to explain the point. But, in response, the man laughed. Down the corridor, a high pitched giggle sent shivers up his spine. This was perhaps his worst night ever. Worse even than the time he had slept on a hill, to catch a spider that had grown too big. “Nobody does.”
“Then why do I always squeal when I stand from my chair, Master Gothurdle?”
“You nincompoop! That’s the blinding chair!”
“Are you really Almar Gothurdle?” An awed voice said.
“No, it is the sound that I make trying to stand. The same noise that I make when I sit.” The innkeeper, so saying, urged the thin woman back to where she had stood so he could sit down. Likely to prove his point.
“Don’t you care what goes on in this place? Look here…”
“Where is here?” The innkeeper chuckled, trying to squeeze between his tiny desk and the red wall. Almar saw the wall flicker some, and ascertained that there must be another room there. Then, smiling, he realised that it must be the innkeeper’s room. “Master, you should sleep. Nothing happens here in Calm Spire.” Almar recalled looking down upon the village in the heavy downpour, remembered thinking how insignificant the place was.
“Where is here, exactly?” He muttered sarcastically. With a grunt, Almar let his gaze linger on the desk. Why would the table be so clear, so void of any paperwork? Did they have paper? Shaking his head, he turned and almost let out a shriek of his own. The portly woman he called the Distraught Wife stood close enough to eat his face. The hunger in her eyes suggested that she might actually do so, regardless of propriety and witnesses and the plain fact that it was just not normal. Slowly Almar backed away a step.
“So… are you?” She said quietly. He could scarcely believe that such a voice could come from such a round woman. She was not as wide as the innkeeper, no. Not yet, anyway. But she had a smooth roundness that he found quizzical.
“Am I what? Scared?”
“No. Are you Almar Gothurdle?” He frowned and shook his head in denial, trying to move past her. It proved a near impossible task. She had become quite an imposing figure in the dark corridor. Raising his candle to see better, Almar looked into her bright piglet eyes and then sighed. Perhaps it was answer enough. “Oh my… you actually might be. Is there going to be a mystery here Master Gothurdle?” He shrugged in response and looked for the innkeeper. The man just sat, watching with a strange smile on his face. His eyes were dreamy in the dim.
“I am given to believe that is impossible, madam.” He began to limp towards Guido, who saw his approach and wet his lips. What was the man doing? It was obvious, of course but… what was he doing? “I am being given to believe that there is no here.” Leaving the puzzled woman to her strange eyed husband, Almar made his slow way to Guido, counting how many stains on the wall marked doors. By candlelight he saw five other stains on the wall. Five rooms then, but where were the inhabitants? How many people were in the inn? Had the innkeeper spoken of this? Almar doubted this but put careful consideration into the possibility that perhaps someone within the inn had had a nightmare, and had shrieked out. Three times…? He thought with a frown. No person woke and slept from a nightmare three times, shrieking loud enough to wake the whole inn. To wake the dead, you mean. He wondered if this had anything to do with the strange woman beforehand.
By the time he had limped to Guido, he had decided that he had wondered enough for one night.
“Almar, this is Gabriella.” The indigo eyes gleamed as he gestured. “Her room actually has a window.” Almar’s head, which had been lowered in tiredness, now raised a fraction. He could not help the movement. Above, the steady drumming of rain began again. Almar was puzzled. He hadn’t heard it stop. “Almar, are you listening? She saw…” Another shriek rent the air. This time, even the music and laughter from the common room, which had become almost natural upon arrival, paused in its merriment. This cry, unlike the others had the chill sound of death in it.
“Get all you know from her!” Almar limped to the inn’s front door, tugged it open and shivered. He had forgotten how could it had been before they had come to Calm Spire. Ruefully he looked upon his clothes and sighed. Another load of garments drenched. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“You’re crazy, you can’t go out there.” Almar turned. At least the Distraught Wife had a husband that spoke to suit his look. He had spoken with the voice of a deranged spectre. “He’s mad. Tell him he’s mad, man!” Presumably, he spoke to Guido. The indigo eyes flashed in the revealed moonlight that came through the open door. Humour.
“He’s not crazy.” The Distraught Wife said, startled and eager. “He’s Almar Gothurdle. That means he can’ be insane.” Taking such a hilarious thought with him, Almar ran a hand through his long brown hair and darted, still limping, into the heavy downpour.
The haze of falling rain made it hard to see by, the sound of it so alike thunderous applause that Almar thought that his senses had temporarily taken leave of him. It was only when he saw the Distraught Wife beside him, her face comically shocked at the intensity of the weather, that he realised that he had not yet taken a step. He saw her smile at him, and reassessed what he had previously thought of the woman. The smile made him think that recognition was not bad at all. Nodding in response he began to lead into the rain, looking up at the inn to see which window on its left wing overlooked the roads.
“Almar!” Guido shouted to him, waving a hand that wreathed itself in golden flames. Almar paused slightly, his stride faltering. When had Guido been able to do that? “Down there. It looks like… I can’t quite place it.” Nodding, Almar motioned the Distraught Wife closer, seeing the fervour in her pigmy eyes.
“Can you describe it to me, Guido?” He called. “I’m nearly blind in this.”
The golden glow flared brighter, piercing the haze, and the darkness to reveal a shadow by a rotting cart. A sign creaked in the faint wind. Squinting, Almar saw that it showed a gun and a horseshoe. Strange. He remembered Mr. Green saying that they had never heard of horses. Or had it been seen horses? Shrugging his thoughts away like a discarded cloak, Almar stumbled on to the shady figure lying by the worn cart. The woman with him, surprisingly agile and fleet for her size, reached first, backed away and screamed. A moment later, Guido poked his head from the window, his hand glowing yet again. His eyes locked onto the figure, and the woman shrieking. Shaking his head, the young man’s head disappeared again leaving only traces of his magic to light the way. By the time Almar reached the figure in the rain, the Distraught Wife had quietened to sobbing.
Gently, he brushed her aside and looked upon the figure. The only thing he could do was shake his head.
The figure lay twisted at such a crazed angle that Almar could feel agony himself, although it could have been his leg again. Yet there was no doubting that the person had died in pain. The wide hood faced downwards into the cobbles, the gloved hands clawing at the air above the unmoving head. Even the legs hung like hangers, corkscrewing to either side like lunatic twigs. Still shaking his head, Almar circled the body, aware that no trail would be found on the cobbles, in the rain. Suddenly, he stopped, his fingers drumming on his leg.
He had been near blind upon coming outside, and he felt that any person would be hard pressed, alone, to see well in the heavy rain. But that gave rise to too many questions. What was the deceased doing outside, in the rain? Were they meeting someone, and if so who? And, if the latter question were found to be answered fruitfully, could not that other be the murderer? He paused in his assumptions and rubbed rain from his face. It was a useless task, but it gave him the semblance of having a clearer mind. Could this not be a death of natural causes? He looked at the hands, clawing at the air above the strangely turned head. No, he had seen enough death.
Kneeling down, Almar looked up and saw shadowy faces peering down at him. Behind, the Distraught Wife proved that he had named her aptly, at least. Gulping slightly, with a nervous caution he rarely felt, Almar reached down to pull the hood away and saw something on the cobbles that made him stop. Several strands of silver hair were plastered beside to the cobbles by the rain. Lifting them carefully, Almar put them into his robe pocket and stood. Of a sudden he felt unsafe. He looked to see the Distraught Wife turn and run into the rain, turning a corner. About to call out, he saw a golden light in the gloom and nodded Guido over. In greeting his friend allowed the glow to die down.
“Natural causes, do you think?” When Almar shook his head, Guido moved strands of black hair from his eyes. “Then what could have killed her? There is no blood.”
“Not here.” Almar paused. “Let us look at the deceased first, Guido. Let us see what manner of death this is.” So saying, they knelt one on either side, counted to three and turned the body. “Blinding Hell and floating ghosts!”
“By the gods!” Guido looked at Almar in shock. “I’ve never seen such a thing.” Almar nodded in agreement, drawing back the hood of the person. It was a woman. A fair one at that. “No wonder there was no blood here, Almar…” He seemed unable to go on. Instead, he rose and looked about, his usually placid face turning into a mask of determination. “Someone watches, Almar Gothurdle. I can feel their hate; feel their ill will towards us. Towards you in general…” Almar glanced at his friend, aware that the only time Guido ever used his surname was in times of need.
“Well, at least we may not be bored here.” Almar frowned, first looking about him before staring at the body in the rain. “We must make sure that the people of the inn do not find out the particulars of this night. That woman... the one that seems on the verge of a nervous breakdown…”
“The one with the pig like eyes?” Guido’s voice was tight. Were they still being watched? In reply, Almar looked up at the window. No one glanced down now. Likely they were talking to the Distraught Wife at the very moment.
“She saw only a body, wrapped in a cloak and hood. That, in the least, we can be thankful for.” He surveyed the body a final time, knelt and checked for identification, or any items. “Nothing…” Rising, he coughed, remembered how cold it was, and shivered long. “Are we still being watched?”
“Not now, no. But they are still nearby, likely returning to a safer place.” He paused. “But the hate Almar… I wouldn’t have imagined that something could hate you so much; and you seemingly personally.” He looked at the body.
“Few things can be believed until they are seen.” Almar said sagely, looking at the strange corpse.
It was purest silver. Drained dry of liquid and turned into silver, even to every strand of hair. Even the fingernails.
“And I understand the hatred.” He laughed bitterly. “I loathe the colour silver!” Even Guido laughed at this. “Are you skilled enough now to…?” Almar looked askance at his young companion, aware that there were still things that they did not know about each others’ skills. Guido nodded, stepped forwards and flung a clawed hand towards the silver corpse, sending a charge of black lightning into the metal figure. They watched as it began to melt, split apart, and then as it seemed to fade from existence leaving only a smoky image wafting upwards through the rain. Almar sighed, wanting to ask where his friend had learned such a skill, but he understood that they both had enough questions to answer.
As they began to hurry back to the inn, Guido looked into the darkness of the tall building’s shadow. “I didn’t know you hated silver.” He said. And then, briefly: “We should be wary.” Almar nodded, allowing him to enter the inn first.
“Yes.” He took the strands of hair from his robe’s right pocket, holding them tightly. “Wary of the Bane.”