The Song of the Sycamore by Edward Cox

Author:Edward Cox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2019-06-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The dead called me Sycamore. They and I didn’t care for sentiment.

Mutley – the lowest of humans in life, a sickening brute in death – led me to the location of her murderer. Through the streets of the Tinman District we drifted, unseen but sensed as one senses the brooding presence of the storm above. Citizens, whose unconscious we tapped at, were reminded of their time in the war, remembering how they had learned to feel the threat of danger on the wasteland; and I imagined that their memories stayed with them long after the ghoul and I had passed.

‘I want my revenge,’ Mutley hissed.

Whether she deserved it or not was an academic point, though I wondered if she was at all aware of the irony inherent to a situation that she wouldn’t be in if she hadn’t been so devious and incorrect concerning my true nature.

It came as no surprise when Mutley led me to Wendal Finn’s lodging house, or when we ventured up flights of stairs to the floor and room directly above his. Nel was at home by this time. Her lodgings were as sparse as Wendal’s, and she was in a dire condition. I assumed she was already dead at first. That Mutley might have to go without Sycamore’s justice was somewhat pleasing. But then Nel stirred. Weakly. And addressed the human inside me with a whisper.

‘Wendal …’

I could feel him weeping.

‘I knew you’d come,’ Nel said.

She had been beaten so severely that her face was swollen with bruises and blood matted her hair. She lay on her back, hands clawed and trembling, speaking through broken teeth and mashed lips. By the way her legs were twisted and resting at uncomfortable angles, it was obvious that she felt nothing from the waist down.

‘I killed Mutley,’ Nel said, her voice clearer now. ‘But I couldn’t get away from her people, and …’

They had beaten her to a pulp, leaving her for dead in her own home. Perhaps as a way to let Wendal know that his contract with Mutley was now terminated. This was my assumption, of course, but also the logical aftermath of the visions that had accompanied Mutya Bryn’s Song.

At the gambling house, not long after Wendal left, Nel and Mutley had fought in Mutley’s private office. It was over quickly, with barely enough time for blows to be exchanged, because, during the brief struggle, Nel managed to pickpocket Mutley’s ether-weapon. One shot of magic had blasted the criminal’s life from her body.

‘I-I know you told me to sit tight, Wendal, but Mutley backed me into a corner.’ She huffed tears. ‘She wasn’t going to let us live, no matter what she told you.’

Behind me, Mutley’s ghoul had smeared itself across the wall like a blanket of oil, covering the door, quivering with anticipation.

‘You did what you had to,’ I said. ‘I’ll take care of you now.’

Nel could open only one of her eyes, and it looked at me curiously. ‘I’ve never heard you speak Salabese before.

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