"Wight Chapter Six" by James ´Jimbo Fett ´ Inwood

“Do you have the money, my little friend?” Asked the voice from out of the shadows.

“Of course. Here it is” The short little man with rodent-like features produced a small bag and handed it to the man who was sitting in the dark corner of this rather squalid room.

The man sat on a simple wooden chair, yet he treated it as if it was a throne. On either side he was flanked by two enormous men: each armed with pistols and knives. He opened the little bag by undoing the string. It contained a small amount of silver coins that he counted.

“Excellent work!” He purred.

The small little man did a simple bow.

“But how did you obtain it?”

The small man grinned showing his yellowed teeth. “Only through the usual slit-his-throat method.”

“I wish you would be a little more subtle in collecting the debuts owed to me.” Sighed the shadowy man.

“Gutter trash, nothing more. Plenny more from where that came from.”

“Point taken my smelly little friend. You are dismissed Perimus.” He snapped his fingers and another man appeared behind Perimus to escort him out of the dingy room.

A few minutes later the very same man, who was in fact the doorman, came back. “You got another visitor master.”

“Oh?”

“Mister Hodge.”

“Let him in.”

Mister Hodge walked into the room, unlike Perimus he did not have his confidence as this was a situation he would rather find himself out of.

“Well well well. Mister Jeremiah Hodge. What brings you to my little den of evil? Could It have something to do with the vast amount of coins that you owe me through your little, habits.”

“I…” He started but was lost for words. He stood there like a frightened rabbit.

The man behind him landed a heavy punch on his shoulder that knocked the aristocrat to the dank floor.

“C’mon spit it out. Don’t keep Mr Vrixus waitin’” He snarled.

Hodge scrambled to his feet, least he get a kicking.

“Yes! Of course…I…er…I have something that should put a considerable dent into the money I owe you mister Vrixus…this…er….this…BOOK!” He flourished the ancient book that he had found a month ago - the very same book that led him to the barrow a few days ago.

Vrixus took the book, he opened it and scoffed. “Worthless!”

He threw the book at Hodge which smacked him clean on the forehead , toppling the fat little man. A boot came down on Hodge’s neck. He looked up gasping for air at Vrixus.

Unlike his surroundings Vrixus was dressed immaculately in a well made blue waistcoat with silver buttons. He had a well trimmed moustache and a delicate face that was topped with white-blonde hair - yet his eyes were a venomous green.

“You have had a month to pay back the money you owe me. The money - MY money - that you squandered on drink and skirt, and you have the audacity to pay some of it back with an old book!?” He let his foot off Hodge’s neck.

“I’m…sorry.” Hodge pleaded.

“Whatcha think eh?” Speaking to the doorman that had punched Hodge. “Should we throw him into our little gaol for a few days and let Boris play with him?”

“I think we should leave him in there. See how long it is before Boris finishes him.”

“What’s the longest anyone’s ever survived?” Vrixus asked, as Hodge slowly turned a shade of white at the mention of Boris’s name.

“I think it was two weeks. He died of a sore throat - screamed too much.”

“Well I doubt Hodge will last that long.” Laughed Vrixus.

“Alright, alright. I can pay you through something else, I swear! Just don’t put me in that lunatic’s prison, I’m begging you!”

“Defiantly wouldn’t last a day!” Grinned Vrixus. “Alright you little pig, up you get, and god help you if you try and cheat me.”

Hodge fumbled for a few seconds in one of his pockets and produced a small gold coin.

“Oh for the love of…”

“LOOK!” Yelled Hodge.

Vrixus snatched it out of his hand and examined the little gold coin.

“This coin hasn’t been seen for centuries you little turd!”

“But mister Vrixus, can you not feel it? It’s made of pure gold I tell you!”

“So?”

“I know a place where there are hundreds of those little coins. And more treasure than you have ever dreamed of!”

“What a pretty little tale Mr Hodge, I’m sure Boris would like to hear it as well.” He nodded towards the jailor who had entered and produced a thick set of shackles.

Hodge, now a ghostly shade of white, snatched the book up and opened it towards the back page. The very same page that had a map of the barrow.

“This is proof positive that I’m not lying Vrixus!” “Were else could I have got that piece of ancient gold?”

“I don’t know. Alright Hodge, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re a buffoon, but I don’t think you’re that stupid. You may leave without the book.”

“Thank you merciful Vrixus!”

“Get out my sight!”

Hodge quickly scuttled out of the room escorted by the doorman.

Vrixus sighed as the doorman returned. “Send for Perimus again.”

He looked at Boris who stood near him. “Sorry, no new victims for you.”

Boris didn’t understand him.

“NO VIC-TIMS!” Vrixus yelled. Only then did Boris waddled back off to his gaol.

“You just can’t get the manpower these days.” He said to himself.

* * *

Once again the wight was in trouble. It was the early hours of the morning and, although the sun was just peeping over the horizon, he could feel the suns rays beginning to wither his flesh. It was only through last nights confrontation with the other wight had he managed to steal enough life energy to sustain him against the sun light.

But he knew that it wouldn’t stand against a full blast of morning sunshine. If he wanted to continue his search for the necklace he would have to quickly find shelter. The city was too far and he was miles away from any thick forest.

He was just about to lose all hope when he heard something very strange - music. It had been such a long time since he had heard music being played, but he knew it the instant he heard it. Someone was playing the flute.

Near the road was a small caravan. That was where the music was coming from, yet he couldn’t see who was playing it, all he could see was a pair of feet sticking out of the caravan hovering just above the ground.

As the wight neared the strange little set of feet he felt a strange longing to touch the feet - to touch them without his gloves. He quickly shook those thoughts away as he stopped in front of the person.

It was an elderly female dressed in a brightly coloured head scarf that covered her entire head. She was totally absorbed in her playing of the flute, which was a beautifully crafted wooden one; she hardly looked at the wight let alone greet him. As he examined her face he noticed that her eyes were out of focus from what she was doing. The woman was in fact blind.

The closer he looked at her face the more he began to see what was wrong with her: e saw the blood pumping around her wrinkled skin, the functionless eyes and the broken veins. It was such a beautiful sight, so inviting if only he could just reach out and….

He looked down at her feet: she was wearing some sandals and a brown skirt. From her attire and the caravan he guessed that she was a gypsy; there was also a small bowel in front of her, just below her feet.

In a quick fit of impulse he threw a coin in. It jingled about for a second then stopped.

The old woman stopped playing. “Most kind of you.”

The wight smiled and said. “No problem mah dear.”

The old woman continued to play. But the wight’s smile was quickly removed as he felt the advancing light of the sun began to slowly burn him; he had no choice but to take action.

“Could yeh help me ah bit?”

The old woman stopped playing and looked around. “Who bothers Annie D’veer?”

“Jus ah traveller in need of ah rest.”

“Do you come from far away? No matter, kindness repays kindness. Only, fate has robbed this old woman of her sight so you must bare with me.” She put her flute away and got down from her caravan; she gripped the edge of the wooden cart with one hand while the other groped around for something. She found it - a wooden stick.

She looked around trying to work out where he was. “Now, how can I help you?”

“I’m here.” He said while gripping her forearm with his hand that was - fortunately for Annie - gloved.

Her neck spun around wildly. “Good heavens! Your hand is like ice! Come, get into the caravan.”

He clambered into it and sighed in relief as he was now away from the suns haughty glare. As he helped the old lady in something was nagging him to attack her, to drain of what was left of her life, but he put such thoughts away through sheer force of will.

“So.” Began Annie. “What brings a traveller like yourself outside the city?”

He thought hard for a minute. “Lookin fer someone. Someone important.”

“Huh.” Snorted Annie. “You’ll find all sorts in that city. Do you have a name?”

He was caught off guard with her line of questioning. “Mah name?” He thought hard for a few seconds. Just what is my name anyway?

“I don’t really have a name.” He said finally.

“How sad, yet how strange!” Annie exclaimed “It must be horrible not having a name, here, let me play you another song.”

Soon she was playing a passionate tune on her wooden flute while the wight sat staring at her moodily, and then around the inside of the little wooden caravan. It was a fairly spacious one with two grubby mattresses on the wooden cart that his rump was placed on - it got numb so he began to lie on one of the mattresses hoping Annie wouldn’t mind.

He looked up at Annie: she was quite content blowing away into that simple wooden flute producing such beautiful, haunting melodies that slowly lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Vrixus grinned as Perimus was led into what he liked to think of as his “throne room.”

“Yes?” Perimus asked.

“I think we should discuss this in a more secure room, away from eager ears.”

Vrixus dismissed his doorman and moved his wooden chair to one side. He then produced a key that he slotted into a key hole that was concealed by his own chair. Perimus watched in quiet surprise as he opened a secret door - he half expected to see a dusty crypt or the entrance to some ancient labyrinth; instead he saw a well furnished bedroom complete with en suite bathroom. It was hard to believe that Vrixus mingled such opulence with grimy squalor.

Vrixus entered the room and opened a small drinks cabinet. As Perimus entered the room he beckoned him to close the door after him.

“Drink?”

Sensing danger, Perimus quickly got to the matter.

“No thank you. What do you want me to do?”

“Simple job this time. Find a way to kill Hodge.” He quickly drank his whiskey as he finished that.

“A simple job indeed.” Grinned Perimus. “Only, why should he be killed?”

“I don’t pay you enough so that you can question my motives!” Vrixus snapped.

“I want you to kill Hodge, but I don’t want you doing it in you’re usual crude style, I want you to make it look like an accident or suicide.”

“How much?”

“Depends on how well you manage to do.”

“So what guarantee do I have that you’ll pay me anyway?” Glared Perimus.

“Simple: you don’t. You’re in no position to bargain with me anyway, wouldn’t want people catching wind about you’re true nature would we?” Vrixus casually poured himself another glass of whiskey.

Perimus was awestruck by that last sentence. “How did you know….who told you?”

“I have contacts all over this city: eye balls and ear holes that are eager to part with their knowledge - for a price of course.”

“All right, you dirty little…I’ll do it.”

“Good man. Your…uh…“gift”, should make it easy for you to quietly slip on Hodge and put him out of his misery.”

Perimus nodded. This job would be easy without his unique talent - a talent that he had no control over. A talent that he would not be able to take advantage of until in a few days.

He was about to walk out of the room despite Vrixus not dismissing him when he spoke again, looking over the glass of wine he had half drunk; his eyes alight with glee.

“Don’t even think about betraying me Perimus. Because it would be a damn shame if the witch hunters knew what I did.”

With an icy chill running down his spine Perimus left the room.

* * *

He woke up in the caravan, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

“Are you ok stranger?” Asked an elderly man that the wight presumed to be Annie’s husband. He was knelt down looking at him with a mixture or sympathy and curiosity.

The wight looked up at him, he noticed that it was night at last but he also noticed that his hand was over his brow ready to…

“NO!” He shouted.

It was too late. Annie’s husband had placed his hand on the wight’s bare skin. The wight sighed in ecstasy as what little life force was drained out of his body and into his own parasitic soul.

In a spilt second he thought: this is wrong.

“Gerroff!” He smacked his hand off his brow, but it was too late he fell to the floor of the caravan spluttering and with slight spasms.

“Whu…whu…what. What….kind of…devil…are…you?”

“You shouldna touched me.” The wight said rather feebly.

The silence following was so intense that the wight almost cried. He got down on his knees next the fallen man and with his gloved hand felt a pulse - their was none.

He stood up and looked at Annie: she was fast asleep and hadn’t heard a thing.

The wight put his gloved hands to his ears and ran out of the caravan sobbing with the words “what kind of devil are you” ringing in his head.

He ran towards the city not bothering to look back.