Dagger and Scythe Read online

  Chapter 4

  Dagger’s castle was more like a large ruined estate in Ichorisis. It was certainly based on grand castles, but on a much smaller scale. It was probably once home to a rich, noble family who relished the ancient architecture.

  It was built into the side of a mountain, with a single path winding its way over the rock where Scythe and Dagger now stood in the front courtyard. The east side of the estate ended at the point where a cliff plummeted hundreds of feet. The west end was guarded by the mountain wall itself. It was easily defended by the landscape alone.

  The stone and mortar was old and cracked, waiting for that one final breath of wind to topple it over. The few towers were in the same state. Bats flew about, little more than small shadows making the stars wink. There had to be dozens living on those towers, perfect for messages. They could use them the living did with carrier pigeons or ravens.

  Scythe saw there were vines climbing up the walls. The vines covered so much of one corner all that could be seen was foliage and moss. It was as if the plant was trying to protect its friends, not realizing the harm it caused. Scythe could see herself growing mushrooms in its damp shade.

  From this side, the stone may have been somewhat intact, but during the walk up, Scythe saw that on the north side an entire section had crumbled away. Rooms and hallways had been exposed to the elements for decades. She couldn’t wait to explore them.

  “I love it. You just found this place by accident?” Scythe asked.

  “Yes,” Dagger replied. “There’s a graveyard nearby. I’ve been digging up bones to fix the furniture. Should I carry you over the threshold, dear wife? I believe that’s a common tradition with the living.”

  The joy at the sight of her potential new home hardened into trepidation again. By his tone she knew he was joking, but it was different now. They were officially married, and that tainted the fun from before. Their natural flirtations had been an ongoing gag since they’d met, and that had never changed, until now.

  Scythe took a breath, telling herself to calm down. Dagger hadn’t changed much, given their so-called new relationship. If anything, he’d been nothing but kind. He even left her alone until the bat arrived with directions to his castle.

  She decided to hold onto their old fun. Marriage could be nothing more than a title.

  “There’s no need, dear husband. This lady’s legs can walk on their own.” She left Dagger’s side and approached the main doors.

  She could feel Dagger’s eyes following her. She had to admit she didn’t mind, as long as he kept a distance. He was an attractive man. He always had a tricky smile, but it was never cocky. He always appeared to be having fun, and it was usually at some living person’s expense. His black eyes seemed cold, but they were never that way to her. His smile changed when he looked at her too. She knew what those changes meant, and she had always played it off or shied away. If things had gone differently in her mortal life maybe they could have built something.

  The main door suited the rest of the estate. The wood was worm-eaten and soft from rot. The metallic shriek it gave sent a shiver down her spine.

  The main hall was huge, with a staircase wound along the wall, the steps started on the left and climbed to the second floor entrance on her right. It was made of the same stone as the walls, as if it were cut from the rock itself.

  “Feel free to explore all you want,” Dagger said, standing beside her again. “I’d join you, but I have business to take care of in the cellar.”

  “Business?” Scythe asked.

  “It’s nothing important. Call it a guilty pleasure.” He shrugged.

  “Alright, is there a kitchen anywhere?”

  “Yes, I can show you.”

  “I’ll find it. I’ll see if I can make some tea from the leaves outside. Care to join me in the courtyard later?”

  Their bodies may be dead, so they didn’t need food, but tea was always relaxing.

  Surprise lit up his black eyes. “I’d like that. There’s a garden balcony on the second floor. Maybe we could meet there?”

  “Sure, just give me a few hours.” Scythe smiled back at him and began to climb the cracked staircase to explore.

  The rest of the estate was just as glorious. It was easy to find the exposed rooms on the northern side; all she had to do was follow the draft. She passed the balcony Dagger mentioned. The first bedroom she found had been a child’s. There was a single small bed with curtains draped over the four posters. The once-pretty fabric dissolved at her touch. The mildew from the ruined bed wasn’t pleasant, but the draft from the open wall helped. Whether it had been natural erosion or broken in a fight, she didn’t know. The floor fell away, revealing the open sky and forest below. A fall from this height would easily kill a living being. Scythe marveled at the sight of the pine forest below the cliff.

  Moving tentatively, Scythe peered around the corner through the open wall. The fall might not kill her, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. Her bones could still break. To the left there was an office with books on the floor and a desk broken in half. Below, she could make out the floor of another corridor.

  This was leagues better than her cave back in Skiachora. The cave was well-furnished and warm, but this estate was beautiful.

  She found the kitchen easily enough, along with an abandoned parlor where Dagger had started fixing the furniture. He’d used strips of leather to bind one chair together. Human feet replaced the ones on the broken couch.

  The kitchen itself was small but cozy. Taking the heavy iron kettle to the pump just outside, she filled it with water. Once there was a steady fire burning under the kettle, Scythe went back to the courtyard. She always enjoyed tending to plants and watching them grow.

  Scythe picked several leaves from the belladonna plant and headed back to the kitchen. Once the tea was steeping, she left it to look for Dagger.

  It took a moment to find the proper passageway, but she finally found the cellar door. The door was in better shape than the main entrance, being protected from the elements. The black hinges were thick as they ran along the surface of the wood. The creak it made while opening sounded like a child’s scream.

  The stairs led down to a more complex set of hallways and rooms. One of which was full of shelves and dusty wine bottles. The kegs were big enough for two grown men to fit inside. Cobwebs covered the kegs, and dust coated the inside of her throat.

  Examining the faded label on one bottle, a scream crept up from the corridor. Scythe put the bottle back and followed the sound. Another staircase led deeper into the bedrock.

  What she found was even more exciting than the wall-less bedroom. This mini, ruined castle had its own dungeon, and the corridor opened into an elaborate chamber.

  There was a large bed of coals in the corner. Iron pokers waited in the glowing warmth. Various instruments lined the walls on shelves and hooks—some for which she couldn’t even guess the purpose. Chains decorated the walls, and a table with leather straps sat in the center.

  There was a shirtless man strapped to this table. Dagger stood over the man, watching his stomach rise and fall in pain. As Scythe got closer she could see what Dagger was so focused on.

  There was a black spot growing in the skin of the man’s midsection. It looked sunken in at the center, then stretched out into inches of black tendrils in his veins. There was a thick line rising over his chest and up his neck, it ended just under his jaw, marking the path of whatever he had swallowed. His eyes and teeth were clenched in pain, but he didn’t scream again.

  “What do you think?” Dagger asked.

  “I’ve never seen this before. What did you give him?” Scythe marveled.

  “My own mix,” he said. “I don’t know what to call it.”

  He poked at the depression in the man’s stomach, and the man screamed.

  “So, watching shirtless men writhe in pain is your guilty pleasure?” she asked, eyeing him.

  Offence crossed his eyes, but when he looked up
and saw Scythe was joking, he laughed. “Experiments and their reactions are,” he explained with a half-smile. “I wouldn’t have been able to see this if he was clothed.”

  “Well, he may have to stay here. I don’t think our guest is feeling well enough for tea. I came to let you know it’s done. I’ll meet you on the balcony. By the way, do you need his fingers?”

  Confused, Dagger replied, “No, just his stomach.”

  Scythe picked a meaty cleaver from the wall of assorted knives. The dying man screamed as she brought it down hard on his first two fingers. She wiped the cleaver clean, replaced it where it hung, then gathered up the fingers.

  Leaving Dagger with the shirtless man, she went back to the kitchen and found the tea had steeped well. After locating a tray and mismatched goblets, she took them upstairs.

  The balcony Scythe had passed previously was lined with windows and a glass door. Most of the glass panes were broken, and spider webs glinted in the open spaces.

  The door, not centered in its hinges, led to the wide stone platform overlooking the cliff and the forest below. Scythe set the tray down on the wooden table, which was surprisingly still whole. The legs were sturdy, but most of the wooden tabletop had been eaten away by rot. Dagger must have replaced parts of it. He had fixed the chairs as well, similar to the ones in the parlor below. She hadn’t known how handy he was. She wondered if he had been a craftsman in his former life.

  Scythe sat, enjoying the silence. There hadn’t been sugar or cream in the kitchen, and there were hardly any useful utensils. She used one of the fingers from the dying man to stir her tea, ensuring most of the leaves had dissolved.

  After a few moments, Scythe heard the door creak open. Dagger took the other chair and poured his own tea. He picked up the other finger and looked to her quizzically.

  “There weren’t many spoons,” she shrugged.

  Dagger chuckled and stirred the tea as she had.

  “So that man below,” Scythe began, “was he sanctioned as a victim by Maniodes?”

  “Technically, yes. He was a baker in a small village in the east. There was meant to be a single death, but nothing more. At the same time, I needed a new lab rat. A man going missing causes a similar confusion.”

  “But it’s not what Maniodes had in mind?”

  “No one saw me. The experiment ended shortly after you left us, anyway. I didn’t break any of the rules, only stretched them.”

  “Do you think torturing the man counts as crossing the boundaries, though? You know, ‘going too far’?” Scythe made air quotes, imitating Maniodes.

  “You going to report me?” he asked, setting down his tea.

  Scythe wondered if Maniodes would spare her if she ratted on Dagger. The god might force only Dagger to go grey, killing him permanently. She didn’t want to kill Dagger, though. They’d worked well together in the past.

  “No, I’m not. You found a loophole and took advantage. It’s not like I’ve never done that before.”

  “I remember the man in the tree. What you did with that tree was art,” Dagger commented, relaxing again.

  Scythe remembered that tree well. The man hadn’t been a job—that’s what really got her in trouble. She had been enjoying the night by herself in some city, she couldn’t remember which. While exploring the alleys, a man had approached her, assuming she was a prostitute. It was a simple misunderstanding, and she had been having a good night. She played along, luring him to a nearby park before disemboweling him. She relished in the shock on his face as his intestines spilled onto the cobblestones. Taking off his limbs was easy enough with her scythe. She then decorated a nearby sapling with him. She stuck his head among the branches, his face still contorted in terror. She then wove his intestines in and out of the lower branches. It had been a great night until Pitch ratted her out.

  “Thank you.” She hadn’t known he’d seen it. “How did you find it?”

  “I was with Maniodes when he went to see it, after Pitch told on you.”

  “That little pustule. I had to spend three days in the river because of him.”

  Maniodes had sentenced her to be tied at the bottom of The Acheron riverbed. As she lay there, souls floated past her, glowing green. For three full days she writhed against the water in her lungs, unable to breathe even though her body went through the motions.

  Scythe had been more careful ever since, making sure no evidence led back to her.

  Until the village she and Dagger had burned together.

  “So, you’re alright with this arrangement?” Dagger changed the subject, watching her. “Our so-called marriage?”

  “Might as well make do with an odd situation. At least you’re handsome.”

  “I was being serious.”

  “So was I.” Scythe felt good admitting that.

  “Thank you,” he said, sounding surprised. “You’re quite attractive yourself, my lady.”

  “Call me lady all you want. I’m not calling you lord the way other pale housewives do.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to.”

  “Keep those expectations low, and we’ll be fine.”

  Dagger chuckled again. Scythe joined him this time. Their odd friendship hadn’t changed. She breathed a sigh of relief over the tea.

  Chapter 5

  The rest of the week was pleasant, though boring, in Dagger’s opinion. Scythe had chosen her own room down the hall from his own. He was surprised she had even decided to stay. He helped her move her belongings from the cave she’d lived in, too. Her cave had been well-furnished but not well-organized. It had obviously been a good home to her, but he was glad to see her happy and comfortable in the new estate. The move hadn’t taken much time, only a day since she left most of the furniture behind. Most of the things they moved were clothing, jewelry, and weapons. The woman clearly had a passion for violence and oddities, but she had a flair for fashion as well. Each day, Scythe seemed to have a different dress, yet few shoes.

  It reminded him a bit of his younger sister. She had enjoyed new dresses as well but in a simpler style. Dagger remembered being dragged to several shops with his sister and mother before his death. They weren’t the wealthiest family in the city, but they were well-off.

  Thinking of his sister pained him. She would be gaining the entire family fortune now that he was dead. His heart went out to her, being alone with so much responsibility. She was probably running their home and fortune now anyway, given their mother’s condition.

  He remembered when she was eleven, she had broken a vase by accident. She was excited about something, he couldn’t remember, and her swinging hand had knocked it over. Tryphania, their mother, was in another room, heard the crash, and came to investigate. There was no time for the two of them to hide the evidence, so they waited for their mother’s wrath. She was never cruel, but her illness had started to take hold, causing spells of confusion that irritated her. Dagger never blamed her for being irritated. The woman was losing her mind, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Though at thirteen, he didn’t truly understand it yet. When their mother came and saw the broken pottery, Dagger had expected his sister to lie and blame him, like most little sisters do, but she told the truth immediately. Even later in life, his sister had never changed. She was always level-headed, and nothing seemed to bother her. They were always a bit different, where she was calm facing their mother, he was always afraid of getting in trouble

  Dagger forcibly turned those thoughts away. He could do nothing for them now. His worry didn’t matter. Turning back to his current project, he finished securing the skeleton hand to the leg of the chair. Once the human hand was in place, Dagger turned the chair upright, making sure it was finally level. His studies while alive never really let him practice his skill. Once dead, though, he had plenty of time.

  He couldn’t feel much of the cold weather anymore either, but he still had lit a fire against the night regardless. The strong winds caused the only disturbance. Drafts filled the estate, and
some sections howled like the damned if the wind hit them just right.

  There was a sharp tapping at the window, and it wasn’t the usual glass rattling in the panes. Turning toward the high arched windows, Dagger saw a bat in the leftmost one. Tossing his tool belt onto the chair, he strode over and opened a small section of the window. The bar on the outside had been Scythe’s idea, a place the little creatures could rest when delivering messages.

  The bat now hung upside down on the bar, no doubt exhausted from the windstorm. A small scroll was tied to its hind leg. Grateful it hadn’t blown away, Dagger untied the parchment.

  Before reading it, he set the scroll aside and gently picked up the bat. It was skittish and battered against his hand but calmed when he set it down on the inside ledge. He left the window open for the bat to leave once properly rested.

  He picked up the scroll and unfurled it. There were two pieces of parchment with Maniodes’s handwriting scrawled across it. There was no formal greeting, only business.

  “The two of you have been rather quiet these past few days. I hope you’re enjoying married life.”

  Dagger could imagine the snakelike smile on the god’s lips as he wrote it.

  “Either way, there is a job I’d like carried out. There is going to be a wedding at Kaliasma tomorrow night. I want you both there, and you are allowed one victim each. You cannot pick the groom, though. This is to be a kind of punishment for him for cheating his business partners. I know it will be difficult to go completely unseen at a wedding but be discreet.”

  “Finally,” Dagger sighed.

  He and Scythe had kept busy, but the boredom was making him restless. Dagger left the parlor to look for Scythe.

  He found her quickly enough, in the kitchen cleaning off the skin and meat from a couple of human legs they’d dug up last night for materials. She used a curved razor to strip the meat from the bone. Her red hair was tied back to keep it out of her work. The leather apron covered the sleeveless black silk dress appropriately. Her feet were bare on the cold stone floor.