A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) Page 21

  When Muriel turned around ten she remembered finally moving out of the boarding lodges and having a permanent home in the public harbour. There were a lot of other working girls in that street that became like sisters to Muriel. While her mother was entertaining her ‘husbands’ Muriel would go out, sometimes until late at night and spend time with these women. This lasted until around Muriel’s twelfth birthday when one of her mother’s sailors brought an unfortunate gift back for her mother. Not a fine necklace or spices, but instead cholera, brought back from another of his wives in The Dark Gulf. Muriel took to looking after her mother as her symptoms worsened. At first it was just internal disturbances, nausea and dizziness that led to violent vomiting and diarrhoea. Muriel cried as she told him of how at such a young age it worried her so, but when her mother’s stools started turning to a gray liquid and the muscular cramps followed, she could not cope alone anymore.

  Muriel’s street sisters started caring for her mother, sparing what money and time they could for the little girl they had got to know, but they couldn‘t keep it up forever. It took almost a full year for Adelaide to die. Muriel told Harold how the image of her mother’s puckered blue lips in a cadaverous face stayed with Muriel forever, it was how when she had seen what William could do she was not scared for she had seen something worse and did every time she closed her eyes. Alone and scared, Muriel relied more and more on her street sisters who took to showing her their trade. Muriel’s first client had been when she was just thirteen. She would never be able to forget that time, the feelings as the man’s hands roughly probed her. The rawness she felt and his sharp thrusts as he ignored her yelps of pain. She told Harold that sometimes before she met him she would awake screaming at night, still able to smell the foulness of spirits on his breath and feel the blood that stained her legs after he had finished. Muriel had worked as a bunter, a helper for the older girls for the next few years, just trying to make enough money to pay the rent on the house and keep fed. She had learnt the language well and you would never have known she had not been born to this life. Things had been hard for her and she had seen and done things no child should have to, but she had been lucky in some aspects to work for herself. That was until one night she took on a Drow client. He was over from Portse on work, or so he said. It turned out that he had been staying for a long time. Her ‘still tight cunny’ as he put it would be worth more than she was getting and he offered her a home in return for a share of money each week. That was how she came by her current home and had been working for O’Brien’s gang down by the docks that night. O’Brien had been good for her, when he was sober, even helping her to learn to read in return for a little action now and again. Muriel had planned to learn to read and get away from the docks. She wanted to get a job as a scribe for a noble or even as a house maid but it hadn’t worked out that way.

  When O’Brien was drunk, the night she had met Harold, he had beaten Muriel for not getting a client, demanding double the money by the end of the evening. Muriel’s voice trailed off and with her story over, Harold did not know what to say to her. Harold longed to make her happy, to take her away from all this but the horrors she had been through came as such a shock to him that all words failed in its wake. It was no wonder Muriel had been so strong for him; she had always had to be. She didn’t know any other life than of pain and fear.

  “Muriel, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could take all that away. Give you the life you deserved. Stop all those things happening.” Harold paused. “I want you to have the keys to Thistlebrook Cottage. It was our summer home when I was a boy. It’s the place I told you of in Port Lust. It needs work but you will be safe there. I want you to have it.” Harold said. Muriel cradled his face and smiled before shifting around so she sat in his lap. His heart began racing and she kissed him. Harold knew she felt it as his excitement rose beneath her. With the same caring grin Harold had loved since he’d first saw it, Muriel smiled at him.

  “But only if you come with me.” She said kissing him again. Muriel had never told anyone the story of her life. It was too shocking for her to cope with most of the time and she expected people to run away after hearing it. People tended not to be able to see past what she’d done. They saw her as soiled but Harold wasn’t like that. Not anymore. Her hands reached down to his fastening and gently she took him and caressed him as he grew hard they begun to move as one. Their beings entwined as their bodies combined and their lips met repeatedly. Panting and glowing deep red, she laid abreast him. She moaned and Harold’s body replied. He could see the sadness in her eyes still but it was fading, being replaced with warmth.

  Chapter 31: Green Mile Harold didn’t know how he got from the saddest story he had ever heard to lying with Muriel. It had all happened so fast. Harold guessed they had both been feeling that way for days and the prospect of finally being free spurred it to happen. They crawled from bed around four in the evening it was still calm and mostly dry outside with only a few clouds threatening to change that and bring the rain back. They both dressed and prepared to make their way to find a courier to take a letter to the Times noble. It is strange really how pleasant the walk was. The long lie-in had fully re-energised them and any doubt they had of being together had been washed away in the moment of ecstasy. Harold thought to hell with what was proper for a middle-class-gentleman and he held Muriel close to him, their steps perfectly in time. The sun’s golden rays cascading down over the water reflected a beautiful contrast to the city, even with the water as soiled as it was. The moment in time was perfect. They stopped at the jetty just outside the fishmonger’s guild and there, below the setting sun, Harold kissed Muriel for the last time. As Harold pulled away still feeling her warmth on his lips he watched as Muriel’s eyes grew wide. Harold moved too slowly as he saw her gaze turn to fear. The impact hit his ribs like a war hammer and Harold fell into the water. The world spun out of control as Harold went under sinking deep into the icy waters. With barely a moment to think he struggled and crashed back into the open air gasping for breath. His eyes found Muriel grasped tightly in William’s embrace.

  “ You did not think we had forgotten about you did you, Harold? You know where to find me if you’re brave enough. It might even be in time to save your little sweetheart if you’re quick.” William said, and then forcefully kissed Muriel and began to drag her away. She struggled and tried to scream but his hand was clasped tightly over her mouth. Harold began swimming frantically for the jetty but by the time he pulled himself to the shore, she was gone. The crowd of people that had stopped and gathered in the street did nothing but stare at him. It angered him that the typical city dweller would not raise a hand to help a women being dragged off like that, a sad fact of the time it had become all too common. Not one of them had moved to save her. Harold knew they would not have stood a chance but at least it might have given him the time he needed to have got to her. Harold had no choice now but to go and face William after all. It seemed that what the priest said had been true. The Rakta Ishvara would not leave anyone that knew about it, alive. Harold left the canals and headed home to prepare. He would risk death for a chance to save Muriel.

  Nightfall came and Harold had taken to hiding in the attic. The guard came more than once to search the lower floors but they didn’t come up into the small hatch that was all but hidden above the wardrobe in what had been Muriel’s room. Alone in the dark with a few candles burning Harold read through the priests diaries looking for some clue as to how to beat William. The silence drove him to insanity by the time the bells called out midnight and this is where this story goes full circle. When this tale started, we joined Harold alone and scared of shadows flicking from his candles, scared for the beast that is the Rakta Ishvara and now it is time to tell of what happens after. When morning came, Harold finished writing in his diary and slammed it shut; sealing it with twine along with the books he had kept from Paul before sending it to his mother. Harold knew it was unlikely he would return and proving his inno
cence was now second to explaining to his mother why she would lose both men in her life so close together. Harold hoped she would understand. He had lived in fear for weeks, but he realised he could not run anymore. He attached a note to the books in which he instructed his mother to sell the shop. After all, he was not coming back and Harold was no longer a tailor. He could see no way of returning to that life now. There was only one way he could see him beating William. Even if he could save Muriel, his life would be changed forever. He ended the letter by telling his mother how he loved her but that he could never come back. Harold planned to go back to Saint Anne’s. He would arm himself with the herbs the priest had so stupidly told him were toxic to the Rakta Ishvara. Grabbing the iron fire poker his father had used so well as a weapon, Harold slipped it under his trench coat and made for the door.

  The morning outside was still as dark as night and in the distance the wind howled through the valley of buildings. Harold had been on edge as he made his way to Saint Anne’s. When he arrived he was worried the guard had been there, although there was no sign of it other than a shuffling of the leaves upon the floor. Harold was beginning to get a sense for their presence. He found the door to Saint Anne’s locked. The fire poker wedged into the side of the frame made light work of the latch and the door flew open after the second or third tug. Inside, the smell of flash powder from detectives confirmed Harold’s suspicion. The church was all but empty, only the bats fluttering above in the wooden arches of the roof and the odd moth unlucky enough to become lunch as it followed Harold inside, kept him company. Thick clouds of mist from the river blocked any light from entering the chapel’s windows. Harold strained his eyes in the darkness, looking for the prayer candles he’d seen on his last visit. He found them atop a table not far from the font and lit one of the small wicks. The gentle glow it gave off was fairly useless, but it was better than nothing. He cradled its tiny flame from the breeze created as he walked, and made for the catacombs. Creeping as quietly as he could Harold made his way down into the darkness. There was a swift darkening shadow below that almost made him drop the candle as the breeze caught the flame. A second dark shadow raced across the wall much closer. There was a crash from below and the sound of something soft hitting the floor before scurrying off. Harold sucked in his breath ready to face William.

  “Muriel? ” He called out. The scratching stopped but no one answered. “Muriel, are you there?” Suddenly a shadow caught the corner of his eye. Harold dropped the candle and swinging the poker with all his might, he struck something soft. Harold heard a squeak and watched as the mouse’s beaten body fell down behind the candle towards the foot of the stairs. His heart pounding, he gazed into the room below. William was not there and neither was Muriel. Harold was glad to see that the bodies of Paul and his father had been removed. At least it had not been left to be feasted on by rats. It was just a shame the smell of rotting flesh hadn’t left with them. He gasped for breath as he held onto the handrail running down into the depths. The coffins had been slid aside and most of the leaves gathered up into piles. He scooped up a good handful of the leaves and couldn’t believe what he was actually going to do next.

  The Queens that was where it had really all started, the first time he had seen William. Using three of his last five shillings, Harold took a cart to the building site that had already formed around the tavern’s old ashes. Just as he hoped, the hatch was still accessible. As Harold waved the cart off and paid his dues, he approached the hatch. Even better, the lock had recently been broken. Harold scattered a few Abrus leaves around the entrance of the hatch his skin burning as he did so. He hoped it would persuade William to stay in the darkness below. He crushed the rest of the leaves against the iron fire poker, the oil coating the bladed edge. Harold gripped the handle and he remembered the description of the spears in the temple from Paul’s diary. Now wasn’t the time to daydream though, he needed to focus. Keeping an image of Muriel in his mind, he made his way down, dropping into the darkness below. The cellar was dull, but the holes in the roof where the tavern supports had once been, let a shallow light slither through. The dusty beam of light seemed afraid to enter the cellar fully. There were no cockroaches scuttling around down there and Harold knew it was because William was there, somewhere out of sight. It was too quiet, far too calm. Even the noise from the busy dockyard above did not seem to be able to breach the walls and cascade down. There was no sound of loose rubble falling, no sound as stones heated up from the freezing night. Even the noise of continual dripping sounded wrong. It was as though the droplets fell reluctantly. Standing there mesmerised, Harold gazed around trying to take in every shadow that might be a threat. To his immediate left, a pile of rubble had fallen from the ceiling. A scorched oak beam had collapsed with it and jutted out like a tree growing in the forest. The western wall that was once filled with kegs from floor to ceiling was now empty, the brickwork battered and flaking. The plaster was crisp and hanging off in weak strands, if the wind could find its way in from above the wall would have fallen easily, bringing in the moist soil that lay just beyond it and the sound of rushing water hinted that an underground river passed close by or a flooded part of the labyrinth at least. To Harold’s right lay a small doorway leading to the second room of the cellar. It was the entrance to the larder. Harold remembered how it used to smell of fine herbs, strong meats and fresh vegetables. As he approached the doorway, the door itself blown through and burnt, all he could smell was smoke and ashes. Pausing with his back against the lime bricks making up the arch, Harold listened through into the next room. Somewhere inside was a faint breathing sound carried on the breeze.

  “ Muriel.” He called out, unable to help himself. The sound of a muffled voice was heard in response.

  “You surprise me Harold. I really wasn’t sure if you would be foolish enough to come.” William said from out of the darkness of the small room. Harold needed to get him talking, to pinpoint where he was, before leaping through into the pitch black.

  “You better not have hurt her.” Harold shouted. He listened for a reply so hard his eardrums ached with the effort.

  “Not yet, you are lucky. I found a steady supply of whores to feed on while I waited. I wanted you to watch this one die.” William took a step, the ash below his feet parting softly, but not silently. This let Harold know he was to the right of the doorway, somewhere close. Harold felt a light dusting fall down the back of his neck and knew that William was directly opposite on the other side of the wall, less than a foot of brickwork separating them.

  “Let her go and I will be yours without a fight.” Harold said trying to buy some time.

  “What would I have to gain from that? You won’t win against me and I would lose a snack.” William’s confidence annoyed Harold but he knew he must not get angry. He needed to keep a clear head that was the answer.

  “This is your last warningדחא תא ינשה.” Harold said keeping William behind him on the wall. William laughed giving Harold the chance he needed to move himself along slightly his fingertips tracing the edge of the doorway.

  “Well you surprise me with the length you would go to. I hope you are ready to deal with the consequences’.” William said. Harold knew exactly where William was and the revelation that Harold had taken one of the Rakta onto himself shocked William for just long enough. Harold had hoped William wouldn’t be able to sense it as it was too soon but it would still give him a fighting chance. Harold gripped the wall’s edge with his free hand and spun himself around the wall, swinging the iron poker in front of him as he went. It clashed against William faster than even he could dodge and pinned William against the wall. William growled and pushed back hard, gripping Harold’s neck like a vice. Harold choked on his own blood but he would not give up that easily. Harold, with his hand still stinging from the impact against the brickwork, wasted no time in lunging again in Williams’s direction. The poker pierced flesh and Harold kept pushing, William’s resistance, at first strong as an o
x, seemed to be failing as Harold used all his might pressing into the unseen. The Abrus oil seemed to be working as William’s grip weakened. Harold had no idea where he had punctured but he didn’t care. Charging forward the two interlocked and crashed into the central wall, bringing down a landslide from above as the roof fell in as they broke through the dividing wall. Daylight flooded in and for the first time Harold saw William clearly. His dark black eyes stared, fixed squarely on him. Both William’s hands clasped the sharp end of the poker which was rammed into his gut. Harold so much wanted to spare a glance towards Muriel, just to make sure she was safe. To check that the roof hadn’t hurt her as it had fallen but with William waiting for his chance, and the room rapidly filling with freezing water from the adjacent tunnel, Harold knew he couldn’t afford the luxury and had to be fast. He let go of the poker just long enough to cup his hands together into a fist and he smacked down onto the poker handle, forcing the pivot in the poker to rise upwards. Harold’s hands were sliced open like soft cheese but he hit it again. The sound of breaking bone and a screech from William was followed by a spray of congealed blood as the poker wedged itself between Williams’s ribs and the callus of the Rakta Ishvara. William’s body fell limply to the floor. Harold hit the handle repeatedly wanting to be sure that William was really dead. Eventually the poker ripped free and sank to the bottom of the water. William’s ribs had been cracked open, exposing the weak larva inside for what it was. Clasped around William’s heart the small creature pulsated for a few seconds, and then finally stopped. It let go of the heart and went to swim away. Harold bent down and picked the small leach-like creature up. Holding it in his lacerated hands the creature was no bigger than a halfpenny. He dropped it to the floor and with his heel put an end to it all, only then able to look for Muriel. She lay close by coated in filth and her mouth barely above water level but she was alive. She’d been lucky and avoided the heaviest of the cave-in. Harold fell to his knees and quickly pulled the rag from Muriel’s mouth.