Grim Work by Hillman Jon

Author:Hillman, Jon [Hillman, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

UNDERDOG

These stairwells could have done with something more than grey stone and the odd torch. They really were becoming quite tedious. Each of them wound upwards in exactly the same way. Same width, same height, same colour. Nonetheless, even with their uniform design, Marigold still managed to catch his foot on one of the final stones, pitching himself chest first onto the uneven flagstones of the sixth floor of Cezare’s funhouse.

He took a moment to get the breath back into his lungs, and quickly became very aware of something watching him. He looked up to see the bottom of several pillars and a pair of pale green calves fitted into steel boots. The calves – the most interesting, and potentially dangerous thing he had noted – became knees, became a mail tunic, became the seated form of an aged and one-eyed roughskin, or ‘gretch’ as the beasts referred to themselves as. A roughskin was a lot like a man, except for the notable negatives of them not dying quite as easily, having flat noses that were no good for breaking, and impressively protruding lower jaws, held in place by oversized, sharp teeth that gave them quite the underbite. Roughskins spoke the common tongue, but their dentally challenged maws mangled it somewhat. That probably explained why they hated the name ‘roughskin’; ‘gretch’ was at least something they could manage.

Marigold picked himself up and brushed off the dust. He readjusted Sear behind his back. Quite the embarrassing entrance. The eye-patched roughskin sat before him had to be the oldest specimen he had ever seen. They were strong beasts, but were so prone to brutal in-fighting that few of them managed to live to see their few wispy strands of hair grow grey. This one looked particularly bored, probably hadn’t had a fight in hours. “Bit fucking dramatic, don’t you think? Just sat there like that, waiting?” he asked the aged roughskin. “How long have you been sat there? If you’ve been waiting for me this whole time your arse’ll be as numb as the stone you’re sat on.”

The roughskin shifted in its seat, perhaps accepting Marigold’s concern about circulation.

“Don’t talk much, eh? Well, fine by me. Means we can get to it faster.” Marigold made for Sear’s hilt.

“You’re done, Marigold, your time hash come to an end,” the roughskin snarled.

“Well, now, that sounds quite like you know me.”

“Korag knowsh Marigold, and Marigold knowsh Korag. Fink back, warrior.”

“Korag? Hmm… Korag,” Marigold pondered, tapping his foot and rubbing his chin. “The missing eye?” Marigold nodded towards Korag’s eyepatch. “Was, er… Was that me?”

Korag’s face crumpled with disappointment. “Yesh.”

Marigold chewed over that tidbit of information for a moment. Yes. He did vaguely remember a Korag. “Korag! You see, that’s why I didn’t recognise you. The eyepatch is new, isn’t it? Well, it’s part of why I didn’t recognise you; it’s been about twenty fucking winters since we fought, you halfwit, and you’re not the only roughskin I’ve dealt with since then .”

“Sho confident. Shtill sho shmug.

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