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Chapter 4: Shop Keeper

Chapter 4: Shop Keeper

Mara did not wait for him to agree.

The moment she decided the matter was settled, she turned toward the nearest street leading back to the city wall and started walking. She had no supplies, no idea which gate faced Yama, and only the vaguest understanding of what waited beyond the walls, but confidence carried her through the first twenty steps remarkably well.

Rook remained behind.

The pale chain stretched between them until it became visible, its links sharpening from light into something almost solid. Mara felt it tighten around her wrist, yet continued walking.

Behind her, Rook grunted.

She glanced over her shoulder. He stood exactly where she had left him, arms folded across his chest while the chain pulled against him. Smoke curled from the darkness covering his forearm.

"You’re going the wrong way," he said.

"You could show me the right way."

"I could."

The chain brightened.

Rook’s jaw tightened as pale cracks spread through the blackness of his Brand. The contract had apparently found sarcasm insufficient.

Mara smiled. "Is that burning you?"

"No."

Smoke continued rising from his arm.

"It looks like it’s burning you."

"I’ve had worse."

She took another step.

Rook was dragged forward half a pace. The enormous coffin on his back rattled as its contents shifted, producing the unmistakable sound of an entire weapon shop being thrown down a staircase.

He stared at the chain. Then at Mara.

"Fine," he said at last. "Your funeral."

"I’m already dead."

"You’ll be amazed how little that improves the experience."

The burning stopped the moment he began walking after her. Mara faced forward with the smug satisfaction of someone who had successfully won her first argument in the Underworld.

Rook passed her three steps later.

"This way, Third."

"My name is Mara."

"I remember."

"Then use it."

"No."

She hurried to keep pace with him. "Where are we going?"

"To stock up."

"You finally agreed to leave?"

"No. The Brand forced me to participate in your suicide. I’m simply trying to make it expensive. Since I’m not paying anyway."

He changed direction, steering them away from the gate and deeper into the city. Mara stopped just long enough for the contract to pull sharply against his arm.

Rook looked back. "What now?"

"The gate is that way."

"Yes."

"We’re walking away from it."

"Also yes."

"You said we were leaving."

"I said we need to stock up first."

"I don’t need anything."

Rook looked her over from head to toe. The clothes she had died in were dirty, torn around one shoulder and still dusted with corpse ash. She possessed no weapon, no food, no map and apparently no understanding of what any of those deficiencies meant.

"You’re right," he said. "The Abominations may mistake you for rubbish and leave you alone."

Mara glanced down at herself. "You’re not dressed much better."

"I’m not the one they’ll try to eat first."

"Because you’re a Reaper?"

"Because I smell old and unpleasant."

"At least you’re self-aware."

He gave her a sideways look before continuing.

They crossed through several districts as the damaged Beacon flickered overhead. The city remained crowded despite the absence of daylight. People bargained over food they did not need, drank things their dead bodies could not digest and pushed carts loaded with objects collected from a thousand different civilizations.

Mara kept looking around.

Something about the streets bothered her. She could not identify it at first. The city contained young faces, old faces and bodies that had died at every stage of adulthood, yet something remained conspicuously absent.

She slowed near a stall selling preserved memories in stoppered glass jars.

"Where are the children?"

Rook stopped.

For once, he did not immediately answer with an insult.

Mara looked farther down the street, checking the crowds again. "There aren’t any. I haven’t seen a single child since we entered the city."

"You won’t."

"Why?"

"Children have no sin worth weighing."

She turned toward him. "None?"

"Not enough to be called here." Rook adjusted one of the chains crossing his chest. "No burden. No karma. No wrongs they properly understood. When they die, they go straight to Yama."

Mara looked up at the pale strands of the Beacon twisting through the dark sky. "They don’t have to cross the wasteland?"

"No."

"They don’t become Reapers?"

"No."

"They don’t wait here for centuries?"

"No."

The answer should have comforted her. Instead, the absence felt heavier now that she understood it. This enormous city was not merely inhabited by the dead. It was inhabited by those the Underworld had judged old enough to carry blame.

Rook resumed walking. "Enjoy the revelation later. We need explosives."

She followed after him. "That was a very abrupt change of subject."

"Explosives usually are."

They stopped before a broad stone building reinforced with iron plates. Hooks, ropes, pickaxes, blades and sealed wooden boxes filled the display windows. A rusted sign hung above the entrance.

THE LAST RESORT

Someone had nailed a smaller board beneath it.

WE SELL FIRST RESORTS TOO. CUSTOMERS SIMPLY REFUSE TO BUY THEM.

Mara stared at the sign.

Rook pushed open the door. "You’ll fit in here."

A bell chimed above them. Half a second later, a crossbow bolt struck the wall beside Rook’s head.

Mara ducked.

Rook did not.

From behind the counter, the shopkeeper lowered a crossbow fitted with three bowstrings and a revolving cylinder. He was a broad man with a bald head, a heavy leather apron and one milky eye. The other narrowed when he recognised Rook.

"Still alive?" he asked.

"No."

"Shame."

The shopkeeper looked at the pale chain between Rook and Mara. His expression softened with immediate pity.

"Oh," he said. "You poor woman."

"I’ve known him less than a day," Mara replied.

"Oh," the shopkeeper repeated, somehow sounding even more sympathetic.

Rook placed both hands on the counter. "Are you done?"

"Not remotely, but customers are scarce." The man rested the crossbow beneath the counter. "What do you need?"

"Three sacks of grave-lime. Two jars of abomination-repelling powder. Iron hooks, long teeth. Fifty feet of grave-thread. Six thunder charges, four collapsers and something that burns underwater."

The shopkeeper listened without writing anything down. "Dragon bile?"

"Too bright."

"Widow oil?"

"Too slow."

"Drowned-man phosphorus?"

"Too wet."

Mara frowned. "Something that burns underwater is too wet?"

Both men looked at her.

The shopkeeper leaned closer to Rook. "Very new?"

"She still asks questions."

"She’ll recover."

Rook continued. "Give me two tins of black phosphorus, then. I also need memory nails, salt cord, a skinning blade, a hand drill and enough corpse ash for three weeks."

"Four," Mara said.

He glanced at her. "Three."

"We don’t know how long the journey will take."

"I know roughly how long you’ll last."

"Four weeks."

"Three days."

"Four weeks."

Rook looked toward the shopkeeper. "Three weeks."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Good compromise."

"It wasn’t."

"No compromise ever is."

He disappeared through a curtain at the back of the shop. Something heavy crashed beyond it, followed by a muffled curse and the sound of glass breaking.

A sign beside the counter caught Mara’s attention.

DO NOT HANDLE MERCHANDISE WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Beneath it, written in darker ink:

THE MERCHANDISE HAS ALSO BEEN INFORMED.

A hand inside a nearby jar pressed its palm against the glass.

Mara moved away from it. "Is this a recurring theme? The double signs..."

"Someone finds it funny..."

The shopkeeper returned carrying two bulging sacks under one arm and an iron case beneath the other. He dropped them onto the counter, making several items on the shelves jump.

"Powder is fresh," he said. "Should repel anything below Third Mourning."

"Should?" Mara asked.

The man rubbed his chin. "There was a disagreement between the manufacturer and the Abominations."

"Who won?"

"The Abominations. That’s why I’m selling his remaining stock."

Mara stared at the sacks.

Rook opened one, sniffed the grey powder and tasted a pinch.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking it."

"You put corpse repellent in your mouth."

"It’s real."

"How can you tell?"

"My tongue went numb."

"That proves it’s poison."

"In sufficient quantities, everything is poison."

The shopkeeper nodded toward Rook. "He’s right."

Mara said. "Your support isn’t helping."

While Rook inspected the thunder charges, Mara studied the weapons lining the walls. Some were familiar, swords, axes, spears and bows, while others had been made for bodies that could not possibly have been human. One polearm had three handles. A set of armour possessed space for six arms and no opening for a head. Several blades were chained inside their scabbards, and one continued whispering insults at anyone who passed.

Her attention returned to Rook’s coffin.

He had used nearly every kind of weapon within it against the Abomination. He had wielded them with enough skill to keep the creature trapped and helpless, yet none of his attacks had delivered the final blow. The younger Reaper had arrived, frozen the exposed core and ended the battle with a single strike.

"What about abilities?" she asked.

Rook continued counting charges. "What about them?"

"The man outside the city. The one with the frost."

"What about him?"

"He froze the creature’s core."

Rook closed the iron case. "Observant."

"How did he do it?"

"Coldly."

Mara waited.

Rook picked up the grave-thread.

"That isn’t an answer."

"It ended with a period. It qualifies."

The shopkeeper sighed from behind the counter. "Every dead soul brings something with them from the moment they died."