Rare Kinds

CChapter Eight

The room was dark and simplistic. The main focus was the circle of glass at the center of the floor and the railing around it; the rest of the room was in shadow. The room was called the Viewing Floor and in it any cell could be seen through the glass. Both Lent and Maria leaned against the railing watching Nicholas for lack of anything else to do. They were both anxiously waiting for a summons after which the Master would tell them if they'd live to see another day.

Lent had to rely on her most of the way up to the safe house. The antidote had been slow working and it had been difficult to put on foot in front of the other, let alone climb the cliff face and traverse the rainy, winding road that lead to the doors of Weather Rock.

Just before they had entered the room, Lent had an opportunity to be examined and given a fresh change of clothes. He was happy to be wearing something that wasn't covered in his own blood. Maria hadn't bothered to change and it was obvious that she'd never get to wear that dress or coat ever again.

She was wearing Lent's blood like a scarlet letter. It stained her whole front. The gold badge over her heart was now a dullish brown. Her hair was still damp from rainwater and clinging to her face. To Lent she gave the impression that she hadn't noticed any of these things but there was too much on their minds sat the moment. So much had happened in so short a time.

"You're right," Maria admitted in a tight voice. "He does seem harmless."

She seemed somehow surprised and angry which wasn't atypical for Maria. She was always angry about one thing or another and it was usually because something wasn't as she expected. Lent wondered if she ever felt regret. Regardless he still thought it was necessary to rub it in a little.

"You would have known he was harmless if you had stopped to find out."

Maria threw her arms up. "If he'd really meant us harm there probably wouldn't have been time," she pointed at his face, holding her hand out like a pistol. "Better to shoot first." She clicked her tongue as she pulled the imaginary trigger. "Then go through his pockets for evidence."

It wasn't unusual in their line of work to find oneself in a situation where the equivalent of a kitten could turn out to be capable of and/or keen on violent dismemberment. So there inside his head he cut her some slack. They didn't need to speak about it; it was something they both did for each other.

Although she was being silly because what sort of evidence would they have been looking for? A copy of The Murderer's Handbook: Not Just Right Between the Eyes hidden somewhere in his pajamas? Lent sighed but he couldn't call bullshit without possibly getting slapped.

"Agreed," he said. "Shoot first." He made a show of looking at his bandaged shoulder. "But you missed."

"That wasn't my intention."

Lent rolled his eyes. Of course, he told himself. She had been aiming for Nicholas' head. Regarding Nicholas, they'd been given one instruction: WATCH. Did she even see the same thing Lent saw last night? It had been unnerving to see Nicholas appear out of then air, but Lent's first instinct had been to draw him in. They both knew that Nicholas couldn't do anything within the bookstore. The wards were too powerful, and, whatever Nicholas may be, he was bound to the magical laws Lent had set on the place. Nicholas could do them no harm magically.

He could always shoot, stab or punch him, but especially now Nicholas didn't seem like the type for physical violence.

Whatever Maria had seen, if it had indeed been different, frightened her enough to make her forget that the bookstore was the safest place for all three of them. She was scared enough to try to shoot him in the eye with a crossbow.

Lent didn't say any more. He could only speculate what had been going on in her head when she pulled the trigger. He wanted to know, but whatever Maria had to say about it she would undoubtedly tell the Master herself. It was best if they didn't discuss her momentary lapse of judgment; it was too soon and discussing it now would only lead to an argument.

He was grateful that Maria chose to come back with the antidote. She could have left them both there. Left Nicholas in the bookstore to go mad with a soon to be decomposing corpse of a poisoned Tangarian. She was absolutely capable of doing so and she had taken so long to bring the antidote back that he thought she had abandoned them.

Maria wasn't really the one he was worried about. Sure, she may be sacked or worse but she could hold her own anywhere. Roger was on his mind. Why would he risk using something like Instruction Parchment? It was incredibly stupid, since it could be used against him, and if he had lost it somewhere in Nicholas' world how would that have been explained?

Instruction Parchment had too many problems which was why it was outlawed. It was developed by someone who didn't have a flair for naming things and only wanted a laugh at parties. It wasn't so funny when someone got hold of it and instructed their victim to kill, which wasn't so bad, but things could get messy. One could be instructed to do anything.

The paper was still available underground, but you had to know the right people and be able to pay a large price. Unfortunately, Roger knew all the right people in Haidakam.

"What's wrong with you?"

Her words jerked him out of his cloud of thoughts. He blinked; surprised that he had still been staring at Maria the entire time.

Lent shook his head. "I'm disappointed," he said. Maria looked confused. "Thinking about Roger."

"You expect too much of him."

She was totally right.

In fact it was widely known amongst the Master's ranks that just enough of the right people thought too much of Roger. Roger was… Roger. He did whatever he wanted regardless and accused everyone else of doing the same. When he was caught he would dare someone to do something about it. He got bolder and bolder as time went on, and although Lent trusted him with his life, he couldn't trust him to do exactly what was asked of him. Roger would do it, but he'd do it in his own way. His way was usually bloody, messy, and everyone would know about it.

It wasn't as if he'd forgotten all of this. Roger wasn't his partner. He didn't have to keep up with him. Mohan, poor Mohan, had to deal with it, and he didn't seem up for much tomfoolery these days. Roger, for the most part, was Mohan's problem.

Now, he was everyone's problem.

How in oblivion was he supposed to explain to the Master?

"It's not going to be easy once he gets back."

Maria's laugh echoed in the room. "You know I'll be gone before Roger shows up."

"Dealing with him will be simple. Nicholas is here. Roger won't care about anything else. It's the Master I'm worried about."

Maria turned away and looked down through the Viewing floor. Nicholas was slumped in the corner of his cell in a deep sleep. Maria didn't say anything more. Her head was bent down, her damp hair shadowing her face.

She seemed so vulnerable just then, and Lent reached out to comfort her. She moved so fluidly away it was as if she had been anticipating it. Lent was used to her acting in this fashion. He just stuck his hands in his pockets and kept quiet about it, which was best when one was dealing with Maria.

Suddenly she shivered and clutched at her chest. "I can feel him," she said, and the air around them grew cold. "He's here."

"Great," Lent whispered, visibly tense. She was obviously talking about their Master. "I'm almost sorry I had the antidote."

"If I hadn't given it to you we'd both be dead." They locked eyes then. The air prickled with words unspoken but they were both too physically drained to argue. Maria was the first to look toward the door. "Should we wait until he comes to get us?"

"I'd prefer that, yes."

They both turned their attention back to the viewing floor. Lent was trying desperately to anticipate what he would be asked and what, if anything too specific, he should say about Roger. He knew Roger could speak for himself, but as one of his friends Lent felt compelled to defend his actions, no matter how ridiculous they were.

There hadn't been anything new on Nick since he'd arrived, and there hadn't been much to get out of him. He knew nothing of what he was and hadn't exhibited any unusual qualities since he had appeared in front of the shop the other night.

Roger and his habitual rule breaking, Maria and her trigger happy fingers, the pain of the poison still leaking out of his body, all of this was increasingly frustrating. Why did he always have to get in the middle of Maria and Roger doing horrible things? Lent always got maimed in one way or another. Being Maria's partner usually got you stabbed or beaten beyond recognition and left for dead in an alley. Once he was hog-tied and thrown into a river (if one could call it that. The river in King's Town was a slurry of disgusting waste.) after Maria stabbed someone at King's Town Pub.

To this day he could not drink mead without thinking of nearly drowning in a river of sewage. People around him in pubs usually could not drink mead without thinking of Lent screaming and vomiting into a mug of his own mead. Nowadays, in King's Town Pub, Lent was the only one who ever ordered mead as people of King's Town had long ago decided it wasn't worth it. Why he continued to order it was a mystery even to himself.

Lent rubbed fiercely at his temples. As it turned out, he did feel a little bad for Maria. She had said that she now owed someone a giant favor for the antidote and doubted she'd be able to repay it without doing something incredibly nasty.

Lent, at the time, didn't really care for her right then and had told her so or wished to tell her so but had promptly passed out. He had wanted to tell her that he didn't care if she had to pull out her own teeth and shove them up her ass, but now Lent idly wondered what it was that Maria was obligated to fulfill. Favors weren't what they used to be in their line of work. Hopefully all she had to do was kill someone and that'd be the end of it.

"Is—is he drooling?" Maria asked.

"What?"

They both squinted down at Nicholas' sleeping face.

****

"Water, Lemon's Semi-Quality Gin, and a washcloth." Roger looked around for a place to set these things but there wasn't an area that hadn't been despoiled with blood spatters and pieces of human flesh. "Just take one of these things from me, will you?"

Mohan reached for the gin and raised an eyebrow at the label. "Semi-quality?"

"This situation isn't exactly classy, friend." Roger set the jug of water on the floor and dipped the washcloth into it. As he wrung it out he watched Mohan staring at the label on the bottle without really looking at it. "Usually you tie them up and wait for me to come and kill for you. What happened here?"

"Don't." He wouldn't even look at him. "I'm not ready." Mohan took a large gulp from the bottle, wheezed and then took another. Roger couldn't help looking at the numerous scars on his arms as Mohan cleaned himself with a corner of a sheet. Something deep inside Roger twisted painfully when faced with what Mohan had been doing to himself. "What was that thing you were going to tell me?"

"Oh, yes. As I was having that oaf chase me, I ran through this alleyway by the church."

Mohan let out the most melancholy laugh Roger had ever heard. "You think we should still go through with this?"

Roger frowned. "Hold all questions until the end, please."

"Sorry." Mohan took another drink, signaling Roger to continue with a lazy wave of his hand.

"It's not that far from here and if there's any reason to hurry up and get this thing over with," Roger gestured dramatically to the state of the room, "It's definitely to get as far away from this as possible."

Mohan stared as Roger unbuttoned the one cuff on his left wrist—the remaining fragment of his destroyed shirt—and let it fall to the floor.

Mohan scoffed. "We're leaving it like this?"

"Yes, fuck it."

Mohan smiled and raised the bottle again. "Good idea."

"I have a plan," Roger rushed out as he ran the washcloth up his right arm. Mohan groaned and fell back against the bed. "Oh calm down. It's not the best, but it's simple."

"What is it, then?"

"We do the job and we get the fuck out of here."

Mohan sat up and stared at Roger, confusion evident in his expression. He looked, for a moment, as if he was about to leap up and punch Roger in the jaw, but instead he laughed.

"A sudden change of heart!" he said, and Roger narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. "I believe I said something to that effect last night."

"You were angry and acting stupid. When I say it, it somehow seems intelligent and justified."

"Only now that I've bloodied the room."

"Only now that you've bloodied the room, yes."

"His name is Laët, by the way."

"Who? The drunk guy? Who cares. It doesn't matter." Roger then snatched the glasses from Mohan's face. "Now, let's wash off some of this blood, change, and get going before more of those Northmen show up."

"There could be more?"

"Of course there's more. Always more," Roger said while cleaning of the glasses. He took great care with them, as much as he could, polishing them with a part of a grey curtain that didn't have blood on it. "Wouldn't you go looking for your friends if they'd been out all night on a dangerous mission?"

Mohan smirked. "Right."

"Also, you should never leave anyone alive," Roger handed back his glasses. "For future reference."

"Noted," he said quietly, still holding his glasses, but after a beat he finally looked Roger in the eye. "What was that you were humming earlier?"

"I was humming?"

"Up the stairs, just outside the door. I heard you," he said.

Roger had just raised the now pink washcloth to his chest, but his hand stopped in mid-action. His whole body seemed frozen—his expression completely bewildered. He paused for an excruciatingly long amount of time before finally he laughed and shook his head.

"I have no idea. I thought I had it, seriously, but no." He resumed washing, but then found himself once again humming that infuriating tune. Only fragments of it were coming through and it was driving him crazy. Where was that song coming from?!

Mohan slammed the bottle of semi-quality gin on the floor, got up and strode over to Roger. He slapped him firmly on the face and then snatched the washcloth from his hand.

"If you don't stop humming I'll rip you apart."

***

A little while later they were mostly clean and in less than completely bloody clothes. Things, now that they were headed in a take 'em and get out of town region of desperation, were actually pretty good. They were back on track which was the important thing and after they dragged this Laët fellow out of the church by his ankles they could literally leave the gory night behind them forever.

What was more important of course was getting back before Maria fucked things up for him. The more time they spent in this terrible city the more likely it became that she had. They had to hurry up and do this thing now so Roger could get back to him.

The Northmen were probably really going to go after them now, which did present an interesting question: what had they been doing here really? Roger had seen the church. It wasn't exactly a stronghold, and really, who cares about some idiot claiming sanctuary? Roger didn't. Mohan didn't. Which was why they were probably given the job of retrieving the drunken fellow.

At any point they could have just burst in that giant hole in the side of the place and taken him if they wanted. Why would they still be here? This town was terrible. Not even a full night in and Roger had already destroyed the best suit he had ever had. And this town wasn't even trading city. They were pretty much closed off on this side of the country. Cliffs at the coast, dense forest all around. No sun. Unfriendly people. It wasn't a place one would prefer to spend any amount of time. Well, Roger thought, unless one was forced.

"So," Mohan breathed beside him in a whisper. "Where did you dump the body?"

Roger had barely registered the words. He whispered back, "Got rid of it," then he pointed down at a trail of blood leading down the stairs. He couldn't say anything else. Mohan grabbed his arm.

"We're just leaving it," Mohan repeated Roger's words. Roger wondered why there weren't any people around. Mohan did something horrible to this man, whoever he had been that made the bloody trail, and no one heard his screams? "Fuck it," Mohan said decisively, "Remember?"

Roger began to feel very uneasy about all this. It was a peculiar feeling, as he didn't experience it often. Something was wrong with Mohan. He didn't know what emotion to express, so he settled on anger and shook Mohan's grip from his arm.

"You've let all this happen and you're asking me where I dumped the body?" His friend looked lost, his eyes looking right through him, "You're right. It's crazy." He laughed and Roger's eyes widened. He did sound a bit insane. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I don't want to pry, Mohan," Roger backed him up against the wall. "It's been clear that something has been going on for some time." He grabbed onto Mohan's arm and rolled up his sleeve, exposing numerous teeth marks there, healed but scarring his flesh. "And it appears that whatever it is has recently come to a head—"

"Don't!" Mohan shouted and jerked away from him. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he reopened them he whispered this time. "Can we just get out of the inn first?"

Roger eyed him for a moment before backing off, and they both followed the bloody trail from the outside of their room, down the stairs, through the public area where a few chairs were overturned and smeared with blood. The trail continued out the door and into the street where it stopped abruptly. The scent ended in the center of the street but there was no body. No evidence but blood.

Roger's skin tingled. Something warm and dark pooled in his belly. He began to feel a bit dizzy for some reason, something he couldn't put his finger on. He licked his lips and couldn't feel them. Roger's eyes blurred as they tried to focus on where the trail ended.

Mohan tugged on his shirt. "Fine," he said, "Let's walk and I'll say what I can."

Roger bent down and swiped a finger through a particularly large puddle of coagulating blood before Mohan grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him the other way.

Roger tried not to concentrate on the strange feeling in his stomach. He was angry with Mohan, scared for him.

"I've seen you do incredibly horrible things, Mohan," he said, surprised at how tired he suddenly sounded. "But there was always a body. Well," Roger stopped walking for a second. He had almost lost his footing there, and took a second to look down to find out what the hell was going on down there with his feet.

Hmm, they looked fine. Roger licked the blood off his finger, deep in thought. It tasted different. He gagged unexpectedly and wiped his finger on his pants.

"Are you all right?"

Roger ignored him. "There was always a body until we got rid of it, of course." Roger looked at him, cocking his head. He must have had the most curious expression on his face because Mohan looked worried. Had he been drugged? It kind of hurt to breathe, but he almost felt like laughing. He was suddenly hungry again and he almost forgot where he was. Then he remembered. "There's never been nothing at all left."

"There was a hand," Mohan corrected. He was still looking at Roger as if he was going to fall over at any moment. This annoyed Roger further. "You look sick."

"I do believe we've established that the hand belongs to the one that got away," Roger said dreamily, "Wherever he may have gone…" he trailed off, staring through Mohan, his eyes clouding over.

"You're not even watching where you're going. It's disturbing."

"I think I'm drunk."

"You've never been drunk."

"I think I've been poisoned then."

"Are you ever interested in things that happen to me?"

"That bastard's blood," Roger gasped and leaned against a building to throw up on it. "That's not—" he began, but never finished as more of the foul smelling blood sprayed out of his mouth and splattered against the wall. He straightened immediately afterward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm fine."

Roger could feel Mohan's eyes on him. It was a moment before he broke the silence.

"I don't know what's going on with me. It's like a twin, I think. I don't know. It's me and it's not at the same time," Roger hunched over at the wall and threw up again. Mohan waited until he was finished to continue. "It comes on like a shadow, pulls me into the dark. When it takes control the only thing I feel or think or desire is—"

"Blood."

"Yes, actually."

"No, I need some, but sure," Roger said, trying to seem uninterested. He was breathing heavily as he leaned over the part of the building he had just painted a dark, deep red. "That's a good story."

Honestly it filled him with fear. Did the Master know what was going on with Mohan? If it didn't, what would he do when he found out? The same thing he was doing to the drunken fellow and Nicholas, probably. Roger spat on the ground beside his feet.

"You don't need any blood. It will probably just make you sick again," Mohan sighed, his tone was desperate. "Shut up and listen to me."

Roger threw up again and failed at looking dignified while doing so.

"You are so pathetic," Mohan said, and reached over, combing his fingers in Roger's sweaty hair, holding it away from his face for him. "This is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen you do."

"I've done worse, I'm--" He tossed up again. Mohan's fingers in his hair felt a little strange, but there were other things to worry about, and the conversation wasn't exactly going where he wanted it to.

"That's true; there have been more disgusting displays. It was last night when you were having a fit about Nicholas. Did you manage to break everything in the room?"

Roger flushed, suddenly irate. "What the hell are you doing?" He stood up and shoved Mohan away. "I'll fucking punch those glasses right off your face." He still felt a bit sick but he tried his best to keep it down. Mohan was overdue for a good telling off, even after the night's events. "We both fucked up tonight, all right? That's both of us for a change."

"I'm just saying that if you continue you'll give yourself away!"

Roger didn't even know what that meant but it served as fuel for his building anger. He snatched Mohan's glasses and threw them on the ground.

"You son of a bitch!" Mohan was completely taken aback.

Why must he be so irritating sometimes? What could he be saying? Give himself away, what does that mean? Just speculating made him reach out and grab Mohan by the collar.

"Hang on," Roger said and shook him a little to get his point across. "I'll knock you out if you say another word! You're pissing me off, friend. The real issue here isn't me. You're biting yourself, which is fucking sick by the way, and you're worried about me revealing myself? What does that mean? Explain yourself!"

"Don't lecture me on what's sick, you're obsessed with someone you don't even know," Roger scoffed at that but Mohan rushed to finish, "And it's only now that you're concerned and questioning the Master's motives. All because of some job you let go to your head!"

Mohan looked down for his glasses and saw them partially crushed under Roger's foot.

"Happy accident," Roger said with a shrug. He picked them up and handed them over. "You should be thinking about this too."

"Fuck you," Mohan said and yanked the glasses from him.

Roger started walking off, in the direction of the church. Mohan followed, fuming behind him.

"I'm serious! Can you honestly think of why he wants these people? Think about our usual procedure—" Mohan snorted and mumbled something about how silly it was for Roger to start talking procedure when he didn't follow one. Roger pushed on, "He sends us names, profiles. We go on runs for a reason. We chase the bastards down and if they resist capture we're allowed to use brutal force. It's because our usual suspects have run off world for a reason. They're bad men and if they want to hide, it's our job to flush them out and give them what they deserve."

Mohan didn't say anything. Roger couldn't tell if he was listening or not, he just kept walking down the street as he spoke, listening to Mohan's footsteps behind him.

"And every once in a while, granted it's been a long while, we're asked to follow or snatch up someone who has no business in the Master's cells. They haven't done anything wrong. He just wants them. Ever wonder why?"

Mohan sighed, but when he spoke he just seemed tired rather than upset. "I thought we had decided to just do the job."

"We are."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You don't have a problem taking down people without a reason," Roger said flatly.

"Neither do you. Why do you care all of a sudden?"

"I want a reason."

"Now you do. Because of Nicholas. You don't give a shit about Laët. You couldn't even remember his name earlier."

"I don't care about Laët, no, but I do want to know why. I want to know what he wants with them."

"What's it to you?"

"I don't trust him," Roger stopped walking and faced Mohan. "He's using me—us."

Mohan pushed past him, refusing to stop. "I'm not going to talk about this anymore." Roger scoffed and abruptly darted into a nearby alleyway. "Where're you going?"

"It's right here," he whispered, refusing to look back at Mohan. "I'm going to be sick again and then we'll climb through that large hole in the wall. Be quiet."

"This is ridiculous. Why is there a hole in the wall?" Mohan whistled once he noted the size of it. Roger shushed him.

"I don't know if you noticed," Roger snapped, "But this whole place is rather sad. I can't imagine how it looks in the day light. Anyway, shut your face and let's get this over with."

Roger threw up on the ground and they both stepped over his sick as they climbed through the hole into the church.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Again, sorry it took so long. I have not forgotten about this story. I have so many notes, but I tend never to have time to piece them all together. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for reading. I will try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!