Nature's Servant (2 page)

Rekkit rode wildly through the woods, cursing loudly as low hanging branches snagged in his hair and ripped at his clothes. The sounds of thudding hooves just behind him told him that fat Olaf still kept up with him, and the distant sound of angry shouts told him that the villagers hadn’t given up the chase. He cursed again as the gradient steepened and his horse’s breathing became even more laboured, its sides lathered with the froth of exhaustion. If they carried on like this for much longer its heart would fail and it would die right under him. It wasn’t actually his horse, but one he’d stolen from the very people who were chasing them up this god-cursed hill. The gradient steepened again and he could hear Olaf’s horse slowing down, unable to bear the fat man’s enormous weight. Desperation threatened to overwhelm him as he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, pushing his failing mount to go just that little bit further.

Rounding the trunk of a large conifer, he saw a low, broken wall blocking his path. There wasn’t any time to change direction, and he could feel the horse’s muscles bunch, preparing to leap.
Its powerful haunches sprang beneath him, and for a moment he thought he’d cleared the wall but a sickening sound that was half thud, half snap told him his horse had caught its hind leg. A great spasm went through the beast as it landed, and it was all Rekkit could do to throw himself off as it screamed and rolled to the side. He hit the ground hard, and one of the horse’s flailing hooves caught him heavily in the ribs. Rekkit grunted, feeling like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer, but managed to roll out of range of the horse’s agonised thrashing.

His first thought was of the villagers, who
’d been close behind them right up to the bottom of the hill. They were sure to catch him now, and who knew how they treated horse thieves in this god-forsaken backwater! He tried to stand, but sharp pain lanced through his side, leaving him gasping.

“Dumb beast
,” he muttered to himself. What was the point in stealing a horse that not only goes and breaks its leg but then goes on to break your ribs? Gingerly he pushed himself up so he could peer over the wall. He looked back down the trail to see how close the villagers were, but to his amazement all he could see was fat Olaf, huffing and puffing up the slope on his own two legs. Rekkit scanned the trees for as far as he could see, listening intently for sounds of pursuit, but apart from Olaf’s laboured breathing there was nothing to hear at all. Rekkit didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Why would they let them go like this, when they’d spent hours running them to ground?

Pushing aside that worrying niggle, he watched Olaf struggle up the hill. Rekkit sighed. The fat man had been with him for five years now. Rekkit had thought of abandoning him more times than he could count, but Olaf had his uses and for some reason the partnership seemed to work. Olaf was as loyal as he was fat, and he was almost supernaturally quick with his hands. He could pilfer small items or even slit a purse and pocket its contents better than anyone Rekkit had ever met. Yes, he whined like a woman and spent too much of their hard-earned money on food and ale, but his skills had kept a roof over their heads many a time when some of Rekkit
’s grander schemes ended in disaster. Much like this one, Rekkit mused irritably.

When Olaf finally reached the wall he pushed his sweating bulk over it and collapsed red-faced onto the ground, his huge chest heaving in massive gulps of air.

“Where’s the horse?” Rekkit asked harshly.

“
Died,” Olaf gasped. “Back…down….there,” he said between breaths, gesturing feebly towards the trail with a fleshy arm.

Rekkit cursed and drew his hunting knife from its scabbard with a loud rasp. Olaf
’s eyes flew open in alarm, eyeing Rekkit’s knife with fearful uncertainty. Rekkit laughed harshly and stepped around the fat man towards his horse, which was still thrashing, but only feebly.

In one swift motion Rekkit reached down and drew his knife across its throat - bright red blood fountained across the ground. Rekkit stepped back to avoid the blood, but some of it spattered on his shoes and leggings. Cursing again in disgust, he lowered himself carefully to the ground next to Olaf, wiping his knife clean on a long tuft of grass. Shimmying backwards till he was resting against the wall, he stared accusingly at his partner in crime, but try as he might he couldn
’t find a way to blame this on Olaf.

It had been Rekkit
’s own planning that had gone awry. He’d watched the villagers go about their business, seen who stabled their horses at the inn and how long they left them for. He’d rushed the job, choosing to go ahead and steal the horses when he should have waited another couple of days to make sure of peoples’ routines, and the angry owner of one of the horses had spotted them as they were trying to sneak off into the forest. His shout had roused the villagers, and the rest was history.

Rekkit scratched his chin thoughtfully. Given how badly things had gone, they should have been caught by now. They should be being dragged back towards the village to wait for whatever they called justice in these parts, but amazingly, here they were, still free. They
’d gained nothing from the robbery of course, but things could be much worse. That worrying niggle returned to Rekkit again. He didn’t like things he couldn’t make sense of.

“
Where are the villagers?” he asked Olaf roughly, voicing his uncertainty.

Olaf
’s face had lost some of its redness and his breathing, though still heavy, was back under control. “Dunno,” he said. “They were righ’ behind me and then they weren’. Guess they stopped.”

“Yes but why?” Rekkit snapped impatiently. “I mean, they had us, and they must have known it, but then they turn back and let us go?”

Olaf frowned in concentration, clearly grappling with the difficult concepts Rekkit presented him with. Rekkit didn
’t expect any pearls of wisdom from his partner, and accepted that, as usual, he’d have to make sense of things himself. He pushed himself up as delicately as he could, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He’d have to find somewhere to rest up for a bit until that healed, but first they needed to get away from the village. They couldn’t go back the way they came. During the chase, they’d been funneled up a steep-sided gorge into the hills, and the only way back down led to the village, so they’d have to go forward.

Rekkit took a few dozen paces further up the hill and stopped in surprise as the path flattened out. The wall his horse had broken its leg on was an outlying boundary of a much larger series of buildings. Between the trees, spreading away on all sides, were tumble-down old buildings and walls of all manner of shapes and sizes. Despite their crumbling condition, Rekkit could see past the obscurin
g layers of ivy clinging to the long-abandoned structures. The stone had a marble-like quality, shaded in faded hues of pale rose, gold and ivory. The rooftops had mostly fallen in, but here and there a dome topped the delicate constructions. Finely carved traceries covered many of the walls, and through the distant trees he could see elegant spires and domes rising dreamlike into the late evening air.

Suddenly the loss of the horses and even his broken rib seemed unimportant; surely such a place held hidden treasures. He walked towards the nearest building that still had a roof. Despite the quality of the stonework and the intricacy of the carvings spreading over its walls, it was clearly just a house. Stepping over the crumbled remains of what had once been a door, Rekkit stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in amazement as he looked around the interior.
Everything was just lying around as if the owners had walked out one day, never to return. The dinner table was set, though whatever food might have been there had rotted away to nothing more than old bones. Rekkit picked up a knife, rubbing off a thick layer of dust, an avaricious light gleaming in his eyes when untarnished, shining silver was revealed. Pocketing the knife, he left the building, keen to get his fat partner and show him what they’d stumbled upon. Rekkit was intoxicated by a sudden thrill of greed. It looked like this wasn’t going to turn out to be such a bad year after all.

When he reached Olaf he kicked him in the side.
“Get up fatty,” he said cheerfully.

“Gerroff!” Olaf said indignantly, reluctantly pushing his large frame into a sitting position. “What’re yeh kickin’ me for?”

“Because there’s no time for lazing about when there’s treasure lying around for the taking,” Rekkit said slyly.

Olaf’s eyes brightened. “Treasure? Really?”

“Yes Olaf, lots of treasure. Now get off your fat backside and help me go get it,” Rekkit responded.

“Okay,” Olaf said slowly, “but can we ’ave some supper firs’?” He eyed Rekkit’s pack meaningfully.

“No we can’t have some bloody supper first, you greedy sod,” Rekkit responded angrily. “You can eat when our packs are loaded with treasure.”

Olaf’s eyes took on a sly look. “But won’t there be more room in the packs if we eat what’s in ’em?”

Rekkit was about to shout at Olaf to get moving, but bit back his response. He knew Olaf was just thinking of his belly but what he said actually made sense, and if the treasure was heavy then they’d need plenty of strength to carry it on foot. Besides, it didn’t look like it was going anywhere in a hurry.

“Okay my friend, let’s eat,” he said magnanimously. He would have told Olaf to eat quickly if there was any need, but Olaf always ate quickly. Opening his pack, he divided out what was left of the cured ham and loaf of hard-bread he’d stored in there for the last couple of days. They wolfed down the dry meal as quickly as possible, washing it down with swigs from Rekkit’s wineskin.

Rekkit waited impatiently while Olaf carefully licked each of his pudgy fingers, making sure he got every last crumb. The fat man eyed Rekkit’s pack once more. “There isn’t any more food,” Rekkit said, knowing his partner’s never-ending hunger was not satisfied.

“Didn’t ask,” Olaf said defensively.

“You didn’t need to,” Rekkit said dryly. “Are you quite ready now?” he asked in a tone that only allowed one answer.

“’Course I am,” Olaf answered, and began to struggle to his feet.

Rekkit watched disdainfully for a moment before extending a hand and pulling the enormous man upright. “Good god man! You need to sweat some of that weight off.”

Olaf looked at him resentfully, hurt blossoming in his eyes. “No need t’get personal,” he mumbled. Rekkit ignored him and stalked off towards the ruins, knowing Olaf would be plodding along behind him as always like a faithful hound.

Rekkit led him back through the outer ruins to the building he’d entered, leaving him stupefied in the doorway when he saw the abandoned dwelling and all of its possessions.

“Not too bad eh!” Rekkit said brightly. His eyes flitted round the room, searching for things more precious than silverware, and then he noticed that Olaf still hadn’t moved. In fact the fat man looked somewhat uncomfortable. “What’s the matter?” he snapped, exasperated.

Olaf looked round the room uncertainly. “I don’t gerrit,” he responded. “It don’t feel right.”

“What do you mean it ‘don’t feel right?’” Rekkit asked furiously. “It doesn’t get any more right than this! All this stuff just lying around and we don’t even have to steal it. This is a thief’s paradise, a once in a lifetime opportunity, and all you can do is stand there and say “it don’t feel right!” Are you a moron?”

Olaf hadn’t lost any of his nervousness. “Who’d leave all this jus’ lyin’ around? Somethin’ really bad must’ve ’appened.”

“Of course something really bad happened,” Rekkit snapped, “but whatever it was happened a long time ago. No-one’s touched this stuff in decades.” He indicated the thick layer of dust lying over everything. “Bad luck for whoever lived here, good luck for us!”

Olaf still looked unhappy. “The villagers didn’t want ter come ’ere,” he said. “Why’d they turn back when they could ’ave all this treasure?”

Olaf’s question reawakened the urgent niggle Rekkit had felt earlier, but he refused to listen to it. “Because they’re superstitious peasants, just like you!” he answered forcefully. Rekkit softened his tone, forcing himself to speak more gently to his partner. “Now come on Olaf, can you trust me just this once? We’ll head further into the city, see if we can find a palace or something, and be in and out as quick as it takes us to fill our bags? Right?”

Olaf hesitated for a long moment before nodding, giving in to his persuasive partner as Rekkit had known he would.

“Good lad,” Rekkit said, striding over to Olaf and clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said, leading the unhappy fat man out of the house. They wove through the trees towards the graceful minarets and domes in the distance until the trees began to thin and they found themselves on broad boulevards leading between elegant buildings. Though they were faded, the gentle, pastel shades of the walls still spoke of light and space, and the whole place would have had an inviting air if it wasn’t for that damnable niggle that seemed to be increasing in urgency all the time. Olaf’s words came back to Rekkit as he walked, and he tried unsuccessfully to push the idea that something didn’t “feel right” out of his mind. Olaf started to mumble to himself behind him, and though he couldn’t make out the words he knew the fat man was profoundly disconcerted. In a moment of honesty Rekkit admitted to himself that he was starting to feel the same way.