Chalice of the Dead #5

05 – Reece: Just Another Job

AT five o’clock in the morning, the night train from London rolled into Fenhole station. With a hiss and a blast of steam, the driver released the pressure from the boilers. Most passengers still lay in their sleeping compartments, leaving Reece largely undisturbed apart from a ticket inspection.
No one dared take a seat beside the grim-faced man in the long leather coat, with its striking scar across his face. He had now arrived in Fenhole, the destination of his assignment. The much-advertised dog hunt had not drawn him here. But the dogs themselves were indeed part of his assignment. It concerned not only the supposed hellish beasts and the mummies; its principal objective was a map that must not, under any circumstances, remain in Fenhole. That was why his first destination in town was the cartographer Dourif. Only after that would he meet the informant, who would hopefully provide him with all the essential information.
Reece exhaled. He was already fed up with this shit.
He had only just returned to London from his last mission, and without so much as a pause was dispatched straight on to Fenhole.
Sleep? Who needed sleep? Grossly overrated, he thought with biting sarcasm.
“Welcome to Fenhole. Please disembark; the train stops here.“ A conductor made his way down the aisle, checking each row for sleeping passengers. With an irritated grumble, Reece pulled his boots from the opposite seat, rose, and slung the leather rucksack over his shoulder. The conductor squeezed himself between the rows to let him pass and wished him a pleasant stay.
As if assignments were ever pleasant. They all ended in some sort of shit or other, which then dragged a miserable trail of consequences behind it.
The familiar Fenhole weather greeted him on the platform. The air stank of the moor, and an unpleasant drizzle coated everything in damp cold.
He pulled a silver cigarillo case from his pocket and placed one between his lips.
The informant would not arrive at a hotel near the station until eleven o’clock. The Ironpan, if he remembered correctly. Six bloody hours he still had to kill. Well, there was enough time to have a look around. He had been to Fenhole several times before, but if the rumours about the Cu Sith were true, a patrol through the main streets could do no harm. The numerous poster boards there would give him a quick overview of recent events.
Before setting off, he placed his rucksack on a bench inside the dimly lit station building and took out the three separate components of his repeating shotgun. A few swift movements were all it took to assemble the weapon, which he then secured in its designated back holster beneath the rucksack. He checked his two pistols as well and considered whether he ought to use Osman. In the end, he decided against it. That was to remain his ace in the hole, and there was no immediate danger for the time being.
With the rucksack back on his shoulders, Reece stepped onto the square outside. Only two steam-powered metal carriages waited under a pair of lanterns, quietly hissing as they hoped for passengers.
“Eh, the hunt’sh already shtarted,“ someone slurred. By the station door crouched a stinking old man with only a few sad stumps of teeth. Wrapped in layers of tattered blankets, he had a skinny, filthy dog trembling beside him beneath the rags.
“Where?“ Reece asked. It could not hurt to take a look. He had the time, and it was always better to have a target rather than wander aimlessly.
“Up there.“ The old man pointed north with his skinny arm. “North gate. They’re all shootin’ each other up out there.“
Reece gave a curt nod and set off in the direction. After nearly an hour, he reached the North Gate, paying the impressive menhirs little attention. The two stone monoliths were part of the enormous stone circle surrounding the entire moor – a source of countless local legends and ghost stories. Near the last house, he stopped and looked into the pitch-black forest. Two riderless horses stood at the edge, but there was no sign of the hunters. They had truly ventured into the darkness of a moor where a supernatural fog had lingered for twenty-five years. Were the Cu Sith involved? But what did they hope to gain if a hundred hunters lay dead in the mud ? It made no sense. In the end, they surely knew that it would not summon one Paladin, but at least a dozen.
Reece briefly considered going to the forest edge when he saw a light approaching from there. If it was one of them, he should avoid being seen for now. Better to observe from above.
He left the stone gate and searched the surrounding alleys for a taller building that offered a clear view of the square. There were plenty of those here, as the houses seemed almost to surge towards the menhirs, piling up against them like a wave. Yet no building dared to cross the line between the stones.
People still sensed where forbidden ground began. Especially given Fenhole’s history, no farmer would dare lay a foundation stone within the stone circle.
That made the hunt in the fog seem all the more absurd. But that was no longer Reece’s problem. Eventually, he found a crooked half-timbered house that rose above the surrounding rooftops and offered a good vantage point. The old beams provided enough support for Reece to make his way to the roof with some skill.
But instead of watching the gathering place in front of the North Gate, something else caught his attention. There was a fire. Beyond countless rooftops and chimneys, he saw a tower engulfed in flames, and now the faint ringing of alarm bells reached his ears as well. He could not make out what was burning. For the moment, however, he paid the fire no further attention and turned back to the person he had climbed up here to observe in the first place.
He took a small pair of binoculars from his trouser pocket and studied the person on the square. The man was a constable, and despite the poor light, Reece could make out his pale skin and nearly white hair.
Naga? What the hell is he doing here? This could not be a coincidence.
He swept the binoculars along the forest edge, checking for others among the trees. Nothing stirred.
Reece decided to leave that discovery alone for the time being and put away the binoculars. This time, he would not go off on his own again. His boss’s latest lecture on proper conduct still echoed in his head. Christ, the Crow had been furious. No wonder, considering the bail money he had once again had to pay to get Reece out of prison.
So he would proceed as planned: Dourif, then the informant, then a telegram with everything he’d discovered. El jefe would decide what he was allowed to do next.
He slid back toward the roof edge, but the moment he moved a boot over the ledge, a police officer suddenly appeared and stopped near a gas lamp.
They crawl out of every corner at the most inconvenient moments, Reece thought irritably. It would be difficult to explain to the policeman what he had been doing on someone else’s rooftops. So Reece moved to the roof’s edge beside the neighbouring house and judged the distance. Fortunately, the houses stood so close together here that he could jump from roof to roof with a little running start.
He crossed several streets this way until the gaps between rooftops became too wide to jump.
Surely there had to be a dark alley somewhere that would let him climb down.
He had barely finished the thought when he heard a muffled, gagged cry.