Husk: A Maresman Tale (9 page)

“Most cases?” Jeb had heard that sort of thing before—that not all husks were bad. He knew some of the hunters felt the same way, but what choice did they have? First time they showed any sympathy, they’d be back to the mud with some hard bastard like Mortis pissing on their graves.

Marlec watched him carefully, pursed his lips, as if considering how much to say, then leaned across the table. “Even husks are not beyond salvation.”

Jeb exploded with laughter, the spray of spittle making Marlec sit back and wipe his face. Before he had a chance to make a more suitable reply, the wench returned with his breakfast, and suddenly nothing else mattered. He tore into the eggs and ham, savoring each warm, salty bite. In between mouthfuls, he slurped some coffee, then picked up a hunk of toasted bread and made an effort to slow down. While he heaped eggs and ham onto the toast, he shook his head.

“You mind telling me what brings a Wayist to Portis? Ain’t exactly like they’re crying out for a—what do you call it?”

“Church.”

“That’s it. I mean, less you’re planning on floating one out on the sea, in between the fishing boats.”

Marlec covered his mouth with a hand, smiled behind it. “When the Lord wants me to preach to the good folk of Portis, maybe that’s what I’ll do. I am here for an entirely different reason.”

Jeb took a bite of his food, chewed it over and over. When he swallowed, he did his best not to let on he was enjoying Marlec’s impatience at not being asked to elaborate. After a long slug of coffee, Jeb finally took pity.

“What reason’s that, then?”

“Same as yours. I’m here for the husk.”

Jeb wiped his mouth and nodded slowly, like he wasn’t surprised.

“I’ve been following it for some time,” Marlec said. “And before you ask, yes, I am aware of what it can do… has done.”

“So, you know it’s a stygian sorcerer, then?” Jeb said.

Marlec looked baffled, and Jeb realized he’d lost a point. He was the one should have been probing for information, not the other way round.

Still, no sense fretting about it now. Could be that sharing a confidence would net one in return.

“The husk that’s in town.” Now it was Jeb’s turn to talk softly. “Saw it on Boss’s land, helping load a wagon with somnificus, if I ain’t very much mistaken.”

“Narcotics?” Marlec said, with a surreptitious look around the room. “On Boss’s land? I mean, I met him briefly upon my arrival, but…”

“Me, too,” Jeb said, biting into a piece of toast. “Don’t surprise me none, either, what I gleaned of Boss. Big question is, how much does the sheriff know? I mean—”

“You think he’s involved?”

Jeb shrugged. In a small town like Portis, you’d expect the sheriff to know what was going on under his nose, but then again, with the sort of crowd the Sea Bed attracted, any number of things could be going down at the same time. There was only so much one man could do.

“Certainly hope not. Assuming the husk stays put, the only way I’m gonna get to it is with the sheriff’s help. Boss has more guards than the First Senator’s manse. We’ll need a posse to get in there.”

Marlec rubbed his chin and let out a long, slow breath. “And this… stygian is responsible for the killings?”

Jeb sucked on his top lip. “Not so sure. Either it is, or it’s down to some sex-crazed fisherman with a penchant for salty dogs and seamen’s logs.”

Marlec frowned, touched his fingertips to his lips, considering. “But… there’s just the one husk, you say?”

“I’d know if there were more. This one was hard to find. Has an amulet that dampens the blood trail.”

“Interesting.” Marlec’s face lost all expression, making it impossible for Jeb to read him. “And it has to be killed?”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Jeb said. He wolfed down the rest of the toast.

Marlec watched him patiently, creases working their way around his face as he mulled things over. Finally, he said, “What if I were to come with you?”

Jeb drained the last of his coffee and stood. “It’s a nice idea,” he said, eyes settling on the card game that was now in progress. Dame Consilia saw him looking and waved him over. The pool of men surrounding her had shrunk to a puddle now that her attention was on seven-card. “But you try preaching to a stygian, it’ll have your liver roasting on a spit in no time, and that’s just the good bit. First course will be your entrails, while you’re still alive and watching. Know how a stygian does that?”

Marlec’s face lost all color, and he swallowed thickly.

“Takes those long, curly fingernails of his and rakes them across your belly.” Jeb made a swiping motion, and Marlec winced. “Leaves a gash like a gaping smile. Then, it reaches inside and hauls them out, big snaking lengths of slime-covered offal that it slurps down like spaghetti. You have spaghetti in the city?”

Marlec gave the careful nod of a man trying not to vomit.

“Course, this one might be a bit different,” Jeb said. “Stygians aren’t exactly known for…” He spared Marlec the details of how they’d found the Outlanders and the three dead Maresmen. “Let me just say, the other victims, they were all… compromised. You know, in a way you might call shameful. That what they found in town?”

Marlec’s chest rose and fell heavily, and then he nodded.

“Thought as much,” Jeb said. “So, maybe our stygian’s fallen in with the wrong company since crossing the Farfalls and picked up bad habits. Or maybe he’s some sort of messenger from your god, come to hold a mirror up to society.” Jeb didn’t believe either, but nothing else seemed to make any sense. In any case, he had better things to do than sit and speculate with a Wayist.

“Thanks for breakfast.” Jeb pushed his chair under the table and started over toward the game.

“Husks are not beyond redemption,” Marlec said. “Not even half-husks.”

Jeb turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You hunters,” Marlec said. “Can’t be a Maresman without being part husk, can you?”

The eyes on Jeb from the nearby tables burned holes in his skin.

“So?”

“You expect me to believe it’s just the human side that keeps you in check?” Marlec said. “Look around you. Look at where you grew up.”

What was he saying? That people were more depraved than husks? Had to admit, it sure looked that way at times, especially in Malfen.

Jeb moved back to the table and kept his voice low. “You sure do know a lot about me, Wayist.”

“It’s my business to know. I can help you. I’ve helped Maresmen before.”

“Thought you weren’t proselytizing,” Jeb said.

Marlec shifted in his seat and wrung his hands. “It’s not my intention. You are nowhere near ripe.”

Jeb scoffed. “You can say that again.” He was about to turn back to the card table, but Marlec grabbed his arm.

“I know about the contract you’re under—that all you Maresmen are under. I know what will happen if you don’t follow through on your orders.”

Jeb pried his fingers off. “Maybe I want to. Maybe I don’t want husks running amok this side of the mountains.”

“I can hide you,” Marlec blurted out. “I’ve done it before. Twice.”

Jeb narrowed his eyes. “Gilkrieth? Neumal?” The two missing hunters they’d never accounted for. Both had been sent after the same husk; Gilkrieth first, and when he didn’t come back, Neumal went with instructions to put him in the mud if the husk hadn’t already done it. Neither was seen again, and the husk was never captured. Word was, it was the same husk that had killed the other three hunters, but in each of those cases, a body had been found. Thing about that, Jeb realized: none of them had been eaten. Savaged by a wild animal, perhaps, though some of the bite marks were the kind you might pick up in a whorehouse. The more he thought about it, the more he found it hard to believe it was the stygian. But it was the amulet that sealed it for him. It’s the only thing that made sense, the only thing he could think of that accounted for him losing the scent on the way to Portis. Maybe it was some kind of rogue stygian, depraved and yet suppressing its barbaric lust for human flesh for… for what? So that it didn’t give the game away by making it obvious what manner of husk was doing the killings?

Marlec watched him patiently, then nodded when Jeb finally looked to him for an answer. “Both quite safe. I can help you, Jeb, if you’ll allow me.”

Jeb’s heart slammed about in his chest. “How?” he wanted to say, but he was still thinking on his revelation. The three hunters had been found in varying states of undress. One had his face smeared with red kiss marks, and Rang Lurin’s britches bore the stains of his arousal. The third had claw marks on his back that Jeb would’ve died for. Why hadn’t he made the connection earlier? Must have been the pounding to his head, addling his mind. Both the Portis murders had occurred near Carey’s Hostelry, with a whore suspected. Marlec probably took the look of horror on his face as a flat rejection of his proposition, but it was far more than that. This was the place Jeb didn’t want to go. He was too weak, and he didn’t mind admitting the implications were just a bit too worrying.

And this husk is responsible for the killings?
the Wayist had said.

“You know something, don’t you?” Jeb spat the words at Marlec like an accusation, which is what he guessed they were.

Marlec must’ve misunderstood his meaning. “We are all sons of the light, Jeb. Neither husk nor man belongs to the night or to darkness.”

“Not what I mean,” Jeb said. “You know something about what’s going on.”

“Know what?” Marlec said, spreading his hands.

“That there’s more than one husk.”

Marlec shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he gestured to the barrel chair Jeb had just vacated. “Please, sit back down.”

Jeb caught the roll of Dame Consilia’s eyes across the room as he did so.

“I think I may have made a mistake,” Marlec said. He drew in a deep breath and pinched the end of his nose.

“Go on.”

Marlec let out a sigh, rolled his head, as if gathering the confidence to say what was troubling him. “It is no coincidence that you and I are here at the same time.”

Jeb leaned across the table and fixed him with a hard look. “Oh?”

“I have… I’ve been following you since Arnk.”

“Not possible,” Jeb said. “I’d have known.”

“And yet, I was mere hours behind you all the way across the Fells. Just like I followed Gilkrieth out of Malfen, and was there waiting when Neumal came to replace him.”

Jeb’s mind was awhirl with the possibilities. “If I didn’t know it was a husk taking down Maresmen, I’d have to say you’re painting yourself a prime suspect.”

“I was hoping they’d lead me to the husk,” Marlec said. “I’ve been aware of this one for a long time, but it’s elusive. I thought the hunters might have a better chance of getting close.”

“Why?” Jeb said. “You gonna read it a sermon?”

Marlec lowered his eyes and stared at his intertwined fingers. “My god is all good, Jeb. Everything he creates is good. It can be no other way. I thought—”

“Husks have nothing to do with the Wayist god,” Jeb said. “They’re dreams come alive, remember? Nightmares of the Cynocephalus, and we all know who his father is.”

“Even the Demiurgos,” Marlec said, “even his most infernal demons were ultimately created by the Lord.”

“You try telling them that, Marlec. Even if you’re right, and they were made by your god, don’t you think they’ve fallen away a bit too far for your prayers and good intentions to make a difference?”

Marlec let out a defeated sigh. “For the Lord, nothing is impossible.”

“You don’t believe that,” Jeb said. “Let’s face facts. This husk you’ve been trailing has killed three hunters already. Before that, there was a spate of killings in the Outlands. In every case, sex was involved and then butchery. What the Abyss were you thinking?”

“You think you can stop killing by killing?” Marlec said. His voice sounded calm enough, but a fine tremor ran beneath his robe, and his fingers closed into fists.

“Only way.”

“No,” Marlec said. “No, it is not.”

Jeb bared his teeth in a smile full of sarcasm. “Oh, of course. Your sect has the monopoly on ways, don’t it?”

“Just the one,” Marlec said. “The one true Way.”

“So, let me get this right,” Jeb said. “If you go round dishing out love, everything will turn good, right?”

Marlec shifted on his seat, a mix of emotions warring over his face. “Well, in a sense—”

“You tried that on a shark or a gator? Because if you haven’t, I could save you the trouble and tell you exactly what would happen.”

“Now you’re being facile,” Marlec said.

“I might agree with you, if I knew what that meant.”

“You’re ignoring the complexities of the issue.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Jeb said. “I’m not completely stupid. I’ve got a nose for context. But let me pose you a question, my angry friend—”

“I am not angry,” Marlec said.

“Oh, you are,” Jeb said. It was written all over him, but you had to admit, he made a valiant effort to suppress it. “You catch up with this husk that’s been having its way with people and butchering them, what’s your plan, to go on nature walks with it and have jolly evenings round the camp fire?”

Marlec closed his eyes for a few seconds. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then fixed Jeb with a steady gaze.

“I am more than aware of the dangers, but risk is part of my charism.”

“What’s that,” Jeb said, “your charm?”

“My specialty, you might say. My function within the body of Wayists.”

Jeb chuckled and let his eyes drift over to the card game, where Dame Consilia was plumping up her chest and starting to look as dour as her retainers. Things didn’t appear to be going well for her.

“Where I come from,” Jeb said, “a man who takes unnecessary risks is an idiot.”

Marlec sighed, and this time he seemed to wilt. He followed Jeb’s gaze to the card table, shook his head, and then topped up his mug with water.

“Getting hungry,” he said. “Makes me irritable. Please forgive me.”

“Order something to eat, then,” Jeb said, beckoning a serving wench over.

“No.” Marlec waved the woman away. “I can’t.”