Empire Of The Undead (21 page)

She quickly closed the door. “Natopurus. He never. We did not open the door.”

The red-haired man laughed. “That’s right. I had nearly forgotten. I wonder what happened to him.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” she asked.

“Not really,” Iullianus said, rising from bed with the bottle of fieldberry wine in his hand. He drank deeply from it and winced. “Beer makes for a better morning after drink,” he said with a sigh. “Natopurus is a man of the world, he understands.”

“He’s not in the hallway.”

“Hopefully, he found a woman who was willing to let him come between her sheets. Some women would really like that beard of his. She could wrap it around her tits.”

Rowanna laughed despite herself.

“We’d better go find our ship,” Iullianus said. “Some haste may be in order.”  Not long after, the two were in the common room. Natopurus lay sleeping on a table. Even in sleep, his face looked angry and his beard was matted with chunks of vomit.

Wan light streamed in through the front door. Iullianus shook the alchemist awake.

“There’s no time to lose,” the Roman said.

“Cocks and cunts, you Roman scum. Wait a moment. Not all of us tasted a woman’s flower last night.”  He looked at Rowanna with an ambiguous stare that she found unnerving.

He sat up slowly, his back creaking audibly. “Never do that again,” he said. “I came with you of my free will and I do not appreciate being excluded.”  He reached carefully for a flagon of water.

“Not to worry,” said Iullianus. “We will get our own room next time.”

Rowanna was about to protest this presumption, but the look he gave her made her laugh again instead.

“It’s like that, is it?” said Natopurus darkly. “Well, let us go.”  The Dacian man sighed and stood up. “I would like to eat, but I suppose I’d lose any food on the ship anyway.”  He brushed the flecks of vomit from his beard and washed his face.

“Maybe the sicknesses of sea and drink will negate each other,” Rowanna suggested.

Each of them moving with more deliberate care than usual, they moved out the door into the rainy morning.

The docks were not far. Following Iullianus, they slipped through a few alleys, avoiding the guards posted at the harbor entrance. The tide was well on its way out, but a few ships bobbed at their berths.

“That’s it,” Iullianus said, pointing to a far ship. It was an older vessel with only one sail. “That is our escape.” 

No people were visible on the ship at all, nor any sounds of preparation. The gangplank of the ship was down but there was no one on it.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Rowanna said, clutching at Iullianus’ arm. They were looking at the ship from a dilapidated wooden building. The Roman guards were far enough away that they would not be able to hear them.

“Indeed. There is something sinister about that silent ship,” Iullianus said. “Stay here, and be careful. Don’t let the guards see you.”

The ship creaked loudly.

As Iullianus stepped forward, Natopurus added, “Step carefully. There’s a smell in the air that I dislike.”

The red-haired man turned and shrugged helplessly. “One should be born either king or fool. And I, well, I am no king.”

He slipped across the street, footsteps improbably silent. The guards were facing the other way, toward the city, and would have only had a few seconds to see him. He sprang lightly onto the boarding plank and within a few steps was on the ship.

“Jupiter, help me now,” he said softly, though his voice carried across the water. He drew his sword and started swinging. Rowanna leaped away, springing into the street. But Natopurus caught her arm and pulled her back into the doorway.

“Look,” he said. She followed his gaze. The legionaries on guard were trotting over to the ship. A severed head tumbled down the gangplank. It was pale, disheveled, and bloody. The eyes that stared out from the head were completely white.

Rowanna started shaking. “Not here, not now,” she said.

The Romans had drawn their blades and had their shields cautiously extended. They went up the plank two by two, as alert as for any battle.

The skies around them darkened with the suddenness of a candle being snuffed out. She’d seen such transformation in the mountains, but never like this. The rain poured down, a heavy curtain of a deluge.

“We must return to the tavern,” Natopurus said. “We will die out here.”

She shook her head, already soaked from the torrential downpour. “We must help him.”  She could barely hear her own voice.

“Do as you please,” Natopurus shouted. “Fair you well.”

He turned and slipped around the building into the alley. She ran across the dock, onto the plank. There were too many lifeless, she could tell already. Iullianus was surrounded by them. The Roman soldiers were slashing at them, but the ship was crawling with corpses. Three of the soldiers were already down. A lifeless was chewing on one dead soldier’s foot, sandal and all.

Rowanna moved quickly through the rain. Her spear was on her back and reached awkwardly to heft it in her hands. The lifeless turned its head to her and she stabbed it in the eye. With a bloody gurgle of surprise, the thing fell to the ground.

Iullianus had a short blade in each hand. He pivoted, striking at creatures coming at him from all directions. When he saw Rowanna, he cried, “Get out of here. I’ll meet you at the tavern when I’m done getting my exercise.”

He sliced a creature’s head in two with one blade, while the other weapon lashed out and stabbed another shambler in the chest. His hand was extended for only a moment, but it was long enough for a longhaired creature to latch onto it and bite deeply.

“Fuck!” Iullianus yelled. With his other hand, he withdrew his sword from the creature’s head and stabbed viciously. He hit the thing on his arm directly in the nose. His blade came out through the other side of its soggy skull.

Then a lifeless latched onto his back. It chomped at his neck.

“No!” Rowanna screamed and she sprang forward. She stabbed at as many lifeless as she could, aiming for their eyes. Even with her spear's reach, she could not get to Iullianus before she, too, was surrounded.

She was aware of the Roman soldiers breaking and running as she stabbed at the dead dirty hands that grabbed for her. It was time to flee the arena of the ship, but she was trapped by the flesh-eaters, they were everywhere. A sea of teeth, groans, nails, and hunger.

Suddenly, there were hands on her waist. Warm, human hands. She turned to see Iullianus. She sighed in relief, but something was wrong. His skin was pale, his pupils shrinking before her. There were lifeless gnawing at his legs and at his arms.

“Feel so strange,” he said weakly. “Never should have played Dacian drinking games.”  He took three steps, hefted her into the air, and threw her off the ship.

****

Rowanna climbed from the harbor some time later, coughing dirty water from her soaked lungs. She'd just managed to keep hold of her spear, but there was no one to use it on. The plague had not spread from the ship, not yet. Iullianus, his red hair visible even in the rain, was squatting over a Roman corpse, shoveling brains into his mouth from the dead man’s broken skull. He did not see her. She found her way to the tavern, numb, exhausted, and immensely sad.

The tavern was full of travelers taking shelter from the storm. They stared at her with wide-eyed wonder, but she paid them no heed.

She marched down the hall and burst into the room, leaving her spear against the door. Natopurus sat on the floor, vials and potions spread out before him. He had changed into dry clothing. A small dagger lay on the table beside him.

“You’re still alive,” the alchemist said, his tone neutral. “Do be careful, as this is a delicate process.”

She marched up to him, clothes dripping and hair clinging wetly to her face. “They got Iullianus. We haven’t got much time.”

He laughed. “That’s good. Remember, we want the Romans to die.”

“He’s not like the others.”

“They’re all like the others.”

“Natopurus,” she said slowly, “I want a potion to cure him. I know you have one.”

“Yes, I do have one. I certainly don’t intend to waste it on a Roman, no matter how taken you are with him.”  He picked up a vial filled with grey powder.

“That has nothing to do with it!  He led us here, and where will we go without him?”

“As to that,” Natopurus said, pouring the powder into a wooden bowl filled with a blue liquid. “I’d rather lead myself than trust that man.”

She had to do something. “I’m sure there must be some way I can convince you,” she said. Her voice was lowered seductively. She hated herself for resorting to this, but time was slipping away. She leaned down, brushing her breasts across his shoulder. Her clothing was sodden and she dripped onto him and into his bowl.

“By Zalmoxis, woman. I warned you to be careful. And, no. I don’t know what that Roman saw in you, but I like my flowers a little fresher.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open as she blinked in surprise. She wondered what Iullianus would do?  She’d tried pleading, had tried sex. What was left, save violence? 

There was a scream from the rain-soaked streets. Rowanna was instantly up and peering out the window. It took a few moments, in the gloomy grey, to see what she feared. There were three of them, shambling through the streets. Lifeless.

“What is it?” Natopurus asked, his back to her as he added a sprinkle of red powder.

“Lifeless,” she said dully. “There is nothing in this city that can stop them.”

“Apart from the army outside.”

“They’ve torn apart other armies. It only takes one creature, and no city is safe.”

He grunted but said nothing. He was still concentrating heavily on the process before him. “What are you making?” she asked, watching the lifeless stumble ever closer.

“Something to clarify my mind. Alchemists take such things often.”

“I never saw Zuste do anything like that.”

“I tell you,” he said bitterly, “that man was scarce an alchemist. He was more interested in sleeping under the stars than selling potions. And I needn’t remind you that this world we live in is because of him.”

That was all it took. Before she knew what she was doing, she had his dagger in her hand and had the blade pressed into the back of Natopurus’ neck. She crouched behind him, squatting on her heels.

“Give me the cure,” she said, her voice reverberating with command.

He raised his hands slowly. There was a long pause before he spoke. “No. You will have to kill me, and you do not know where the potion is. Without my knowledge, you won’t find it. Forget the Roman, Rowanna. He is already gone.”  His voice was as smooth and calm.

She grabbed his hair with her other hand. Pulling his head back, she whipped the knife out across the front of his throat. She could see the startled fear in his eyes as she stared back at him coldly.

“Last chance, alchemist. Give it to me.”

“You’re crazy. Do you love a Roman so much you’d kill a countryman?  Remember, even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time.”

“Love has nothing to do with it. I think he can keep me safe.”  Her voice was ice as she pressed the dagger tip into his throat and fresh blood blossomed onto the blade. She wondered at his question: did she love the big man?  It had been the disparaging of Zuste that had enraged her.

Even with the knife at his throat, the man laughed. “He’s doing well so far.”  The alchemist reached into the bag at his side and withdrew a small vial.

“Here,” he said. “You have convinced me of your duty. Take it. I will make another.”

Rowanna released his hair and pulled the dagger back from his throat. She took the invaluable glass container and examined it. It was filled with a blue liquid that seemed to sparkle even in the dull light. Acting on a hunch, she threw it to the ground with as much force as she could. It hit the floor and shattered, glass shards cascading away as the precious liquid leaked into the wooden floorboards.

“What are you doing?” Natopurus cried. He sounded more upset than she had ever heard him.

“I know what the cure looks like,” she said, hoping her voice sounded confident. “Zuste had them too. Do not try to fool me.”

He laughed at that, too, but did not fully hide his fear. “You are not as stupid as I would have thought,” he admitted. “Though the elixir you destroyed was worth more than your life, and all in it.”

There was more screaming and the sound of heavy footsteps from outside. Rowanna could feel time slipping away. She glanced to the door, and was stunned when a fist hit her squarely on her jaw.

She remained on her feet, and reflexively got her hands up in time to block the next blow. Natopurus scrambled to his feet. She rose too, the knife held before her.

The alchemist snarled at her. She stepped into him and slid her dagger into his stomach. The blade passed through the lowest part of his beard and sunk into his soft flesh.

The alchemist didn’t say anything, only glared at her with a look of impotent sadness, of betrayal and suffering. He sank to the floor without making another sound. Blood spilled from his guts.