Chapter 48. Easy

  His head. Bring the dwarf’s head.

  The words echoed in Jeremiah’s ears. Even the ashen tainted air of the Pit was crisp and fresh compared to the air inside that house of horrors, but Jeremiah was still back in that awful room, hearing those words again and again.

  “Talk to him,” whispered Delilah, “You can figure something out together.”

  “Don't be stupid,” said Bruno, “You'd be giving away your only advantage. He's not your friend, he's likely going to kill you. Either he kills you and you don't get into the cult, or you don't kill him and you don't get into the cult.”

  “Come on,” said Monty. “Let’s get you out of here.” He gripped under Jeremiah’s elbow and pulled him along, and Jeremiah realized he’d barely been walking.

  “What do you mean, get me out of here?” he asked.

  “Whatever that was, it wasn’t for you,” said Monty. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s written all over your face. So we’re getting you out of here. Somewhere beyond their reach. You’ve started a new life once, Jay of Shabad, get ready to do it again.”

  “Wait, hang on.” Jeremiah pulled his arm free, “We're just walking away? After all Ive done youre telling me no?” Was this a trick? Maybe Monty had been given the reverse of the instruction Jeremiah received—Was Monty going to lead him to some quiet shadow and strangle him?

  “Jay, I’m not stupid. I know you’re not either. I know what they asked you to do.” Monty spoke matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather. “But you’re not a killer, and whatever's going on in there is beyond anything we need to be involved with. So we’re getting you out of here.”

  “Hang on,” said Jeremiah again. He stopped walking. “What about you? You can’t just walk away from everything, they’ll come after you too.”

  “I have no intention of leaving anything. Don’t worry about me, I can protect myself more than well enough for their kind. But I can’t protect you to the same degree, not while you’re in Elminia. So if you would kindly stop dawdling, I’m trying to save your life.”

  “Lead the way,” muttered Jeremiah.

  He followed Monty out of the Pit. In the meantime, his mind raced. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe he could bring another head? There were plenty of bodies around these days, maybe any old dwarf would do—it wasn’t like the corpse in there had been taking a close look, right?

  If he told Monty what he needed, maybe Monty could help him think of something. But that would lose him the only advantage he had, which was that Monty assumed he wouldn’t do it.

  “Unless he's about to do the same to you,” said Bruno.

  His own thoughts felt like an angry swarm of insects, swirling and buzzing and overwhelming. A cold sweat beaded up on the back of his neck. He felt cold all over.

  They crested the lip of The Pit, moving from shadow to shadow. Monty moved more like a hunter in the dark than a sneaking thief.

  “The world isn’t going to miss one gangster,” said Bruno.

  “He’s not just a gangster, he’s trying to protect me. He’s trying to protect his family.”

  “You knew you’d have to do things you didn’t want to do ,” said Allison. “This is why I didn’t want you out here.”

  “But I am out here. I accepted the mission.”

  The mission. How important was the mission? Was it worth a good man’s life? Was it worth a good man’s blood on Jeremiah’s hands?

  Was a single man’s life worth throwing away everything? He and his friends flee Elminia, back to the conspiracy they left, only worsened in their absence? They abandon the empress and the city to whatever fate was threatening to swallow it whole?

  Was everything he’d done until now a waste? Cutter, Gus, Allison and Bruno—all that pain and suffering would just be thrown away because Jeremiah was too much of a coward to do the hard thing.

  “You’ll never be able to take this back,” said Delilah.

  He couldn’t.

  He had to.

  “Then take every advantage you can get,” said Allison.

  “You don't owe anyone a fair fight,” said Bruno.

  Jeremiah felt for the little burlap parcel. It was nestled snug in his pocket, waiting for him.

  “It will make it easier,” said Allison.

  “Is easier what you want?” asked Delilah.

  “Easier is what I need.”

  With trembling hands, Jeremiah unwrapped the piece of burlap. The oily wad shined in the moonlight.

  “You chew?” Monty asked.

  Jeremiah nearly dropped the parcel. “Uh, yeah. Sometimes.”

  “Bad habit,” said Monty. “Come this way, there’s a getaway up ahead that will do nicely.”

  Jeremiah tucked the clump into his cheek. It tasted like a leather treatment chemical and rotting meat. He gagged and nearly spat it in the dirt. His mouth was bone dry, but he forced his jaw to work the vile wad, feeling the oily juices slip down his throat.

  Jeremiah’s gums ached. The cold in his body began to drain away. He wasn't feeling warmer exactly, just a lack of cold.

  “Okay, that's a good start,” he thought, “I'm starting to feel less nervous. Now I can think more clearly.”

  “Here,” said Monty. In an instant he was gone, slipped between the rotted beams of a collapsed house, a space just barely big enough to fit through.

  “Remember…use…for,” whispered Bruno as Jeremiah followed Monty into the dark. He was sure what Bruno had taught him would be useful here, but he was struggling to remember. It was becoming difficult to remember Bruno at all.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The tunnel was pitch black. Monty lit a torch for Jeremiah’s benefit. Jeremiah realized they were in one of the tunnels like he had taken to the palace when he’d first arrived in Eliminia. It felt like several lifetimes ago. Had he been with anyone else during that visit? The detail seemed unimportant.

  “We’re almost there,” said Monty.

  Jeremiah followed dutifully. He realized he couldn’t taste the clump of plant anymore. His mouth felt numb.

  “He can't…could…ask…,” said someone’s voice in his head. A strange, errant thought. Jeremiah shook it off.

  Jeremiah considered his options. A spell would take too long, be too obvious and would not guarantee a kill.

  “Wait, hang on.” The thought floated across his head, unanchored and unfamiliar. “ I’m not ready to murder someone in cold blood!”

  Was that his own voice? It seemed very far away, strange and irrelevant.

  “Keep a lookout here,” said Monty, “I’m going to check ahead.”

  There was another dagger, he realized, the magic one. That would make all of this even easier. All he had to do was choose a target.

  The lungs? No, a mortal wound was too difficult and slow. He didn’t want Monty to be able to react.

  The brain? Dwarven vertebrae were particularly thick and durable. The possibility for an instant kill was there, but that was a tiny target. A miss would mean a flesh wound at best.

  “We're clear, come on,” said the old dwarf. Jeremiah followed.

  That left the heart. Dwarven hearts were more centrally located compared to human hearts, and buried in muscle from the front. But from behind and below there was very little protection.

  “Just a few more blocks,” the dwarf was saying. “The last minute passenger will be expensive, but…” he trailed off as he looked at Jeremiah.

  “Hm?” asked Jeremiah.

  “You alright?” asked the dwarf. “You look…calm.”

  “I feel calm,” said Jeremiah. “Surprisingly so.”

  “I see. Better than panicked, I suppose. Don’t worry, we’ll have you safely on your way soon.

  “Okay,” said Jeremiah.

  The old dwarf continued to talk as it walked. Talking was good. The words were irrelevant, but talking meant distracted.

  Jeremiah leaned back, eyeing his target’s back, visualizing the vulnerable paths to his beating heart. He needed to start the blade low and thrust it upwards to go under the ribs.

  “I…how…stop!” That voice again. It wasn’t helpful now, so Jeremiah ignored it.

  The target was still talking. It turned and put a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder. It seemed to be expecting some sort of response, so Jeremiah nodded, once, the target turned its back again.

  Jeremiah shuffled, masking the drawing of his dagger. He thrust the weapon into the target’s body, just as he’d planned. Yes, that was correct. He’d pierced the heart, the blood told him as much. Fortunate that the target wore no armor. Now was it a twist? No, that’d be needed for a normal blade, but for a magic one he could just wrench. There we go.

  There was a rapid series of impacts as something slammed back into Jeremiah's stomach, but the flexible armor beneath his robes protected him.

  Now where was that connection point? He really wanted to make sure the heart was fully disconnected. Upper left should be-no, this is from behind, it’s mirrored. Ah yes, the dwarven aorta branches off the right first, unlike the human aorta which goes down.

  That should do. The target toppled, and Jeremiah withdrew the blade. He flipped it onto its back, and it smiled at him for some reason. The target placed one of its massive hands on Jeremiah’s cheek and said something soft, nearly inaudible. But words didn't matter. What mattered was that it could still reach him with those huge, dangerous hands. It was still a threat.

  Jeremiah slashed the target’s throat open, and winced as the blood stung his eyes.

  “No…” said a voice in his head. He had no idea whose, nor did he care.

  “Onto the hard part,” he said.

  Even with a magic dagger it was grueling work. The target’s musculature was dense, and a dagger was a poor tool for the job. But eventually, the head came free. He set it aside to drain.

  “Oh darn, I don't have a bag.” Jeremiah sighed. What a pain.

  Fortunately, a sack of refuse was always within easy reach. He decided not to empty it, the objects within would help absorb any leaking blood.

  As he stuffed the head into the bag, he felt movement in his robes. The frog that lived in his pocket was trembling.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, then smiled at his own foolishness. Frogs couldn't talk. If it became too bothersome, he'd just leave it somewhere.

  “You…won't ever…time,” said someone.

  He retraced his steps, leaving the corpse where it lay. It no longer mattered. All things considered he had completed his task in good time. A bit messy, sure, but alas it was messy work.

  Jeremiah enjoyed the night air as he walked back in the direction they had come, bag slung over his shoulder. But he began to feel off as he walked. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Something niggled at him.

  He checked the bag, worried he’d forgotten something. But no, the head was still in there.

  The head.

  That bothersome feeling him gnawed at him, growing worse as he walked.

  “Did that…how could I…how,” thought Jeremiah.

  He was starting to feel cold. He shivered, rubbing his arms as he walked. and he was starting to shake again. He became aware of something in his mouth, and spit out a dried up wad of plant matter. What had that been for again?

  “To make things easier,” came the answer.

  Things? What things? Had he done something bad? He did what needed doing, wasn’t that right? There was an important job to be done, and he had done it. He wished Bruno were here, Bruno would understand. Or maybe Allison, she might too. Delilah…no, she wouldn’t.

  Deilah. He could hear her now. “Your hands were tied? You had no other option? Think now, there was nothing you could do?”

  Jeremiah took a minute to rest on a darkened stoop. He should keep going, it wasn’t safe to just hang about. But he just needed to sit down, at least until he stopped shaking.

  His breathing was starting to speed up, his heart was pounding.

  “Oh no,” he thought. “Oh shit, oh shit. What did I…did I?”

  The bag. There was something in the bag, something bad. It was like he was holding something he had plucked from a dream, the details of its origin hazy and indistinct. With growing dread, he lifted the flap and looked inside.

  The blue-flecked green of Monty’s eyes staring back at him, the light long since gone. Jeremiah gasped and closed the bag.

  “I killed him,” he said. “Oh gods, I killed him.”

  But the words didn’t feel real. The memory was fuzzy, distant, like a story he had heard from someone else.

  “The drug made it easier,” he thought, “just like she said.”

  He waited for the impact of his actions to crush him. He wanted to throw up, or scream, or cry, or anything. But it never came. It was too distant, the association was too weak to hit him the way it should. The way Monty deserved.

  “Buddy? Are you okay?” he asked Gus, peering into his pocket. Gus was curled up tiny, but reached out just a little to snap at Jeremiah’s finger, before curling back up. “I’m sorry buddy. I did a real bad thing.”

  He waited again for the impact, but again there was only that terrible absence.

  He had to get home. His friends would know how to help. He grabbed the bag and started to walk, then stopped.

  “Help do what?” he thought. “They can’t unkill him. It’ll be dawn soon. I have to get back, or everything will be wasted. I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I don’t even know what I’m scared of. Shit, I killed him. I cut his whole fucking head off! He said something, and I didn’t even care what. I didn’t care about anything.”

  Jeremiah turned toward the Pit and kept walking. He tried to ignore the dreadful weight in his bag, bouncing against him with every step.