The Finisher Read online

  “A mixed compliment,” I said.

  “And an accurate one. Two thousand coins, Vega. And as I said, that includes information leading to Herms’s apprehension. You needn’t catch him yourself.”

  “Or kill him. Like you said, that’s also acceptable to earn the reward.”

  His eyes opened fully, revealing pupils darker than I had ever realized. “That’s right. That’s what I said because that is what Council has said.”

  He stepped aside, implicitly acknowledging that I could leave.

  As I started past him, he gripped my shoulder and jerked me toward him. He whispered in my ear.

  “You have much to lose, Vega Jane. Far more than you know. Help us to find Quentin Herms.”

  He let go of me and I rushed from the room, more scared than I had been in a long time. Including the attack from the garm. At least with the garm, you knew how it could hurt you. With Domitar I wasn’t sure. I just knew I was afraid.

  I only stopped running when I was nearly a mile from Stacks.

  It occurred to me while I was running that the reward was meaningless to the other Wugs. Quentin had gone into the Quag, which meant no other Wug could find him. The idea of the reward had been directed at me. They wanted information on Quentin. And they thought I alone could provide it.

  My lungs heaving, my mind jumping from one awful conclusion to another, I suddenly realized that I hadn’t changed from my work clothes. Even more catastrophic, I had forgotten my cloak. And in the cloak was the book I had found about the Quag.

  I felt like I would vomit.

  Would Domitar look in my locker and find it? If he did, would I have to become a fugitive as well? Would the reward for my return dead or alive be two thousand coins? Ten thousand coins?

  I had to get the book back. But if I returned now, Domitar would grow suspicious.

  Then, in a flash, I suddenly had a plan, one that turned everything upside down.

  IT WAS THE third section of night and I was on the move again. The sky over Wormwood was not clear. The Noc was gone from sight. Drops of rain plopped on me as I hurried along, my head down, my heart full of dread. There was a rumble across the heavens and they lit up and then boomed. I froze. Every Wug had seen spears of skylight before and then heard the thunder-thrusts. That didn’t make it any less frightening. Yet something was scaring me even more.

  I had never been to Stacks at night. Not once. Now I had no choice. I had to get the book back now before it was discovered in my locker. For all I knew it might already have been.

  I stopped about twenty yards away from my destination and looked up. Stacks rose up out of the darkness like some imperious demon waiting for prey to draw just close enough for it to have an easy meal.

  Well, here I was.

  I didn’t know if they had guards at night. If so, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Run like Hel, probably. What I did know was I wasn’t going in through the front doors.

  There was a side door hidden behind a pile of old, decaying equipment that had been sitting there probably since my grandfather was my age. As I passed the mounds of junk, every nook and cranny seemed to hold a garm, a shuck or even an amaroc. As the skylight speared and thunder-thrusts boomed again, there seemed to be a thousand eyes in that metal pile, and all of them were fixed on me. Just waiting.

  The door was solid wood with a large, ancient lock. I slipped my slender tools into the mouth of the lock and did my little magic — the door clicked open.

  I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could, licked my lips, drew a long breath, then shook my head clear.

  I used my lantern now because if I didn’t, I would knock into something and kill myself. I moved slowly along, hugging one wall and peering ahead. I was also listening and sniffing the air. I knew what Stacks smelled like. If I smelled something else, I was going to flee.

  A few slivers later, I opened the door to the locker room and slipped inside.

  I felt my way along each locker until I reached the seventh one down, which was mine. There were no true locks on the lockers, just simple latches, because no one ever brought anything of value here. At least no Wug had until I stupidly left the book that could land me in Valhall. I slowly opened the door, and that’s when it hit me.

  I dropped my lantern and nearly shrieked. I stood there hunched over, trying to keep the meager dinner I had eaten at the Loons inside of me rather than on the floor. I reached down and picked up the lantern and the book. The book had fallen out and hit me on the arm. I relit my lantern and leafed through the pages. It was all there. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I never dreamed it would be this easy.

  I stopped thinking that when I heard the noise. My good fortune had just turned into disaster.

  I put the book in the pocket of my cloak and turned my lantern down as low as the flame would go and still allow me to see an inch in front of me. I stood still, listening as hard as I could.

  Okay, I thought with an involuntary shudder, that was the sound of something large and swift. I knew of several creatures that would make sounds like that. None of them should have been in Stacks. Ever.

  After one more sliver frozen, I sprinted down the hall of the locker room, away from the door I came in. This turned out to be a good idea, because a sliver later, that door crashed to the floor. The sound was inside the room with me. It was clearer now. It was not the clops of hooves, or the scratching of claws on wood. That ruled out a frek, garm or amaroc. That left basically one creature.

  I shook my head in disbelief. It couldn’t be. Yet as I thought this, hoping beyond all hope that I was wrong, I heard the hissing. And my heart stopped for two beats before restarting.

  We had been told about these vile beasts in Learning. I had never desired to see one for real.

  They could move incredibly fast, faster than I could run, actually. They did not come into Wormwood proper, and they almost never went after Wugmorts because there was usually far easier prey to be found. To my knowledge, three Wugs had perished by them when they had ventured too close to the Quag. I did not want to be the fourth.

  I kicked open the other door and shot through it like I was being propelled from a morta. But the sounds were growing closer still. When I made it to the back hall, I could go one of two ways. The left would take me out of here by the side door from which I had entered.

  The only problem was, I saw eyes that way. Big, staring eyes that locked on me. There were about five hundred of them, if I had time to count, which I didn’t. My worst fear had just been confirmed and then doubled.

  There was a pair of them after me.

  I went to the right. That would take me up the stairs. Up the stairs was forbidden. Anyone working at Stacks who tried to go up the stairs would have his or her head cut off by Ladon-Tosh and thrown in the furnace with the rest of the parts. But Ladon-Tosh wasn’t here at night. And even if he were, I would take my chances with him over what was coming at me.

  I flew up the steps, my knees chugging faster than they ever had. I hit the top landing and sped off to the right. I glanced back once and saw the innumerable eyes barely thirty feet behind me. I told myself I was never going to look back again.

  Who the Hel had loosed these things in here?

  Something occurred to me as I ran down the upper corridor. These things were the guardians of Stacks, but only at night. That was the only way they could be here. It could be the only reason that no Wug had been attacked during the light. You did not keep these creatures around as pets.

  And that meant someone in Wormwood could do the unthinkable. Someone could control them, when we had always been told they were wildly uncontrollable. Not even Duf would ever attempt to train one.

  I reached the only door on the hall. It was at the very end and it was locked. Of course it was locked. Why would I think it would be open? I grabbed the tools from my cloak, my fingers shaking so badly that I nearly dropped them. The creatures were coming fiercely now; they sounded like the rush of a waterfall
. The screeches from all those mouths were so high-pitched that I felt my brain would burst with the terror of it all. It was said the screech was always the last thing you heard before they struck.

  As I inserted the tools in the lock and worked frantically, all I could think of was John. What he would do without me.

  They were right on top of me now.

  The screech is the last thing you hear before they strike.

  The screech is the last thing you hear before they strike.

  I didn’t know whether I was brave to keep my back turned in the face of their charge, or else the biggest coward in Wormwood. As my tools turned and the door opened, I assumed it was bravery.

  I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it. I ran my fingers over the wood, hoping it was thick enough. I was knocked down when they hit it. One of the fangs actually came through the boards and nearly impaled my shoulder instead of simply tearing my clothing. I slid back along the floor and crashed into the far wall, knocking something over. Metal clanged down all around me.

  I looked over at the door as it took another blow. More fangs split the wood.

  Less than a sliver later, one of the heads broke through. A pair of eyes stared at me, barely six yards away. The hole was too small for the rest of the bulk to get through, but either the hole would grow or the door would come down.

  I groped around in the dark. That was when I noticed the tiny door behind the big metal thing that had fallen. The door was barely three feet tall and the knob was curious. I looked more closely. It was a face, yet not just any face. It was the face of a Wug screaming, cast in brass.

  There came another smash against the door. I just had time to look back as the massive portal collapsed inward and the beasts sprang through the opening. Now I could see them both fully. I wished I couldn’t.

  Jabbits were massive serpents with one key difference. There were at least two hundred and fifty heads growing out of the one body along its full length. And all of them had fangs full of enough poison that one bite would drop a fully grown creta. All of them made the screech. And all of them were, right this sliver, charging at me.

  They were a thousand nightmares rolled into a massive, thunderous wall of murderous devilry. And their breath smelled like dung on fire. I was not speculating now. The foul odor made me gag when I needed all the air I had to flee.

  I grabbed the screaming-face knob, turned it and threw myself through the opening, kicking the door shut behind me. But I didn’t feel the relief of a safe harbor. This door, tiny and thin, had no chance to stop the relentless juggernauts that are jabbits after prey. It was said that nothing could stop them once they were on the blood scent. I stood and backed away. I drew the small knife I had brought with me and waited, my heart thumping, my lungs heaving.

  I told myself I would not cry. I promised myself I would strike at least one blow before they killed me. It was said they lingered over their prey. I had also heard rumors that it was possible the poison didn’t kill but merely paralyzed, allowing you to stay alive until they were halfway through devouring you. No one knew for sure. No one who had been attacked by a jabbit had survived to tell about it.

  I prayed to everything I could think of that this was not the case. Let the poison be what killed me. I did not want to watch myself disappear piece by piece into their gullets.

  “Good-bye, John,” I said between tortured breaths. “Please don’t forget me.”

  Every Wugmort had a time to die. This was surely mine.

  I stood there, chest heaving, my pitiful knife held high in some ridiculous semblance of defense and my gaze on the little door, waiting for it to collapse inward with my death to follow.

  Yet the little door didn’t come crashing down. There was silence on the other side. I still didn’t move. All I could think was the jabbits were being tricky, perhaps waiting for me to let my guard down before attacking. Reason quickly dispelled this idea. I couldn’t possibly defend myself against them. They just had to knock down the door and eat me.

  Sliver after sliver went by and nothing happened. My breath started to level off and my chest stopped heaving. I very slowly lowered the knife, though I kept staring at the little door. I strained to hear anything. All those awful fanged heads bumping up against that slender piece of wood. Screeches that made your brain feel as if it were on fire. But there was nothing. It was as if sound from out there could not reach in here.

  I put my knife away. I had dropped my lantern back there. On the other side of the door. I was not going out to try and retrieve it. And yet, for some reason, it was not completely dark in here. I could make out things, so I slowly turned in all directions. Because the door was small, I had expected the room to be as well. But it wasn’t. It was a vast cavern with walls of rock, seemingly bigger than Stacks. I could not even see the ceiling, so high was it. And then my gaze fixed on the wall opposite me.

  There was a drawing on it. I drew a quick breath when I saw what it was — three hooks attached as one. The same design as on my grandfather’s hand and on his ring found in Quentin Herms’s cottage.

  I forgot about the three hooks as I stared around at the other walls. They were suddenly awash in different lights and sounds. I jumped back as I saw what looked to be a flying slep with a rider astride it, soaring across the rock. The rider threw a spear and there was an explosion so loud and real that I covered my ears and dropped to the floor. A million images seemed to flow across the stone as I watched in disbelief, my eyes unable to keep up with them. It was like watching a great battle unfold in front of me. Screams and moans and cries mingled with bursts of light and the sounds and visions of blows landing and bodies falling. And then the images faded and something else took their place. And that something else was even more terrifying.

  It was blood. Blood that looked as if it had just been spilled. As I watched, it started pouring down the cavern’s walls.

  If I’d had enough breath in my lungs, I would have screamed. But all that came out was a low, pitiable moan.

  Then another sound came to push my panicked thoughts in a new direction: a roar that was nearly deafening.

  I turned to my right. Where there had been a solid wall was now the opening of a long tunnel. Something massive was heading toward me, but I couldn’t see what it was yet. I could only hear the sound. I stood rooted to the spot, attempting to decide if I should try my luck with the jabbits outside the door or stay here. A moment later, I had no decision left to make.

  A wall of blood exploded out of the tunnel and engulfed me.

  I managed to flip over so I was facing another tunnel where the blood was thrusting me. Up ahead, the tunnel ended. I was hurtling toward a sheer wall and my thought was that I would be smashed against it and die instantly. The roar became so loud I could barely think. And I suddenly saw why. The blood was cascading downward at the end of the tunnel. It just dropped off. How far down it went I wasn’t sure, but if the roar I was hearing was any indication, the blood was falling a long, long way. And I was about to plummet over this edge.

  I tried to swim against the flow. That turned out to be completely and utterly useless. The current was far too strong. I was maybe fifty yards from the edge, mists of red spray rising up from the abyss, when I saw it — something suspended across the end of the tunnel. I didn’t know what it was. But I did know what it could be. My way out of this nightmare. My only way out, in fact.

  If I missed, I was going to die. But if I didn’t try, I was certainly going to die. There was an outcrop of rock to the left, just below the suspended object and just before the drop-off.

  I timed my jump as best I could. I would not get a second chance. I leapt, pushing with my feet off the outcrop of rock, my arms and fingers stretching as far as they could. Only I swiftly realized it was not going to be enough. I hadn’t pushed hard enough or jumped high enough. I kicked with my feet as if I were swimming and angled my left shoulder lower and my right higher. I stretched until I believed my arm had popped out
of its socket. The abyss seemed to scream at me. I heard the blood crashing on what I supposed were masses of rocks at the bottom.

  My hand closed around what turned out to be a chain. The links were small and shiny, and at first I was afraid they would not be strong enough to hold me. Yet they did. For far less than a sliver.

  I fell, screaming, down into that awful chasm. When I thought my situation could not get any more terrible, I felt something truly horrible.

  The chain was wrapping itself around me, link by link, until I was completely immobile. Now I had no chance of attempting to swim, even if I survived the drop. I closed my eyes and waited for it all to end.

  I FELL A LONG way. I don’t think I opened my eyes the whole way down. Yet in my mind’s eye I could see things in the bloody river as I plunged down past them. Faces came out of the dark depths to peer at me for a moment.

  My grandfather, Virgil Jane. He loomed up and stared at me with sad, empty eyes. His mouth moved. He held up his hand and showed me the mark on the back of it, the twin of the one on the ring. He was saying something, something I strained mightily to hear, and then he disappeared.

  More figures slid past me as I continued my descent. Thansius. Morrigone. Jurik Krone laughing and pointing at me. He shouted something that I took to be Your punishment, Vega Jane. Your doom. Then I saw Roman Picus with his fat, bronzed timekeeper, and Domitar sucking on flame water. John came next, looking lost, followed by my father, holding his hands out to me. And, finally, my mother looking pleadingly as her only daughter fell to her death. Then they were all gone. The swirling blood closed farther in on me, like giant, gripping hands.

  I opened my eyes. I wanted to see what was coming. I wanted to face death with the little courage I had left. I hit bottom gently. It felt comforting somehow, like falling into my mother’s arms. I was not frightened anymore.

  I lay there because, well, actually, I couldn’t move. The chain was still wrapped tightly around me. I held my breath as long as I could to keep the blood out. But finally I had to take a breath. I expected the foul liquid to rush inside my mouth and my lungs to fill like a pair of buckets. I closed my eyes because I just had to.