A Dwarf With No Name: Short Story Taster (Annals of the Nameless Dwarf) by Derek Prior & D.P. Prior

Author:Derek Prior & D.P. Prior [Prior, Derek & Prior, D.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Homunculus
Published: 2010-12-21T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

NAMELESS

Each stroke of the razor sent black hair to the floorboards. Rodents as tame as house cats scampered and gamboled through the growing pile. Besides the scraping of the blade and the breathing of the barber, the only other sound was the squeaking of valves on the oil lamps as a boy killed their flames. A hooded lantern hung above the barber’s head, throwing grotesque shadows across the shop—a twisted demon with a sword that hacked the scalp of a squatting aberration.

“Beard as well, d’you say?”

“Aye,” Nameless muttered through the mummifying strictures of his depression.

The shadow demon hesitated, its sword held aloft for the killing blow.

“Just want to be sure,” the barber said. “Don’t get many dwarves in here. In fact, you’re the first.”

The barber came round the front holding the razor beside his ear. Shadows fled before him.

“Sure you’re comfy? I can get Mikey to fetch a box to rest your feet on.”

“No.” Nameless’s voice was little more than a rasp.

He tried to focus on the barber, but it was like squinting through a long, dark tunnel. With the effort it would have taken for him to climb out of a hot tub on a cold day, Nameless willed himself beyond his clotting memories and forced his attention back into the world.

The barber had a hard face: wrinkles like scars, red and angry; eyes narrow and darting—the sort always seeking an opportunity. The way he held the blade was at once effeminate and clinical. His stance was both sloppy and poised, conveying weakness with a rumor of violence. As he slipped back behind, Nameless imagined the razor nicking his throat, and felt the plaster of his face crack into a smile.

“D’you get much call for barbers in Arx Gravis?” The blade glided down one cheek and came to rest by the jugular.

“Not much call for anything in Arx Gravis these days,” Nameless said, watching a rat scamper across the floor. “Place is empty. A city of ghosts.”

“Get away!” The blade scraped below Nameless’s chin, and the barber flicked hair from it with a snap of his wrist.

“News must travel slowly in Malfen,” Nameless said.

“Don’t travel at all, if you ask me. Not much call for it here.”

The barber stepped back in front, wiping the blade on his apron. His eyes glinted like fool’s gold, his face unnaturally long and pallid in the lantern-light. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but nobody comes to Malfen unless they have to. What did you do?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Kill someone?”

Nameless shut his eyes, letting the wave of bloody faces wash over him, hearing their cries, seeing the condemnation in their eyes. His muscles stiffened. His hands gripped the chair so tight the wood began to creak.

The barber seemed to get the message and resumed his scraping, until finally he stood back and held a mirror up in front of Nameless’s face.

“Smooth as a baby’s… Well, you get my meaning.”

Nameless winced. He had to tell himself the barber couldn’t possibly have known about what he’d done—couldn’t have been referring to baby Marla.

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