XLIV - Sand Sharks

  The first sounds that Sybil heard break through the silence of that barren main street were the coughs and moans which escaped from the windows of almost every home. The muted clop of Elpis’ hooves stepping along the earthen road did little to drown out the sounds of sickness that drifted through the air all about them. For the second time in only a few short minutes, Sybil found herself feeling exceptionally grateful to be wearing her mask.

  Shrouded bodies waiting to be collected lay on the dusty street outside of the more quiet homes. From other abodes came the sound of quiet sobs, which replaced the coughing and groaning that had likely been an ever-present chorus only a short time earlier. The constant haze of smoke in the air which swirled on the regular gusts of sea breeze reminded Sybil of where most of these unfortunate people would soon end up. Never had she been around so much death and suffering in her entire life. Dusktide somehow felt even more apocalyptic than it had when they had first arrived—an impressive accomplishment that she would have once deemed nearly impossible to achieve.

  “My desire to depart from this place only grows stronger with each passing minute,” she said to her mentor.

  “As does mine,” he said, “but we cannot leave until our task here is complete. Steel yourself for what lies ahead, my apprentice—for you will not be able to accomplish what is required of you if you enter this ordeal with a distracted mind.”

  The first souls that they saw in the entire city came in the form of three unkempt men standing outside of a house to their right. One of them, a burly, bearded man, leaned against the closed front door of the little building, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The other two lounged against the wooden wall of the house in a similar fashion. None of them spoke as Vlad and Sybil passed, and instead they only stared at the duo with three pairs of suspicious, unblinking eyes. Vlad offered them a slight nod as they went by, which went unreturned.

  When they were clear of the trio, Vlad shot his companion a quick glance. “Omitting Sir Godwin, the only creatures I’ve ever come across who held more malice in their stares than those three men have all been undead,” he said, “and even then, I’m sure I’ve seen more compassion within the eyes of some strigoi as they made every attempt to sink their fangs into my flesh.”

  “This place’s reputation is proving to be far more accurate than I would have liked,” she said.

  “Aye,” he said, “and I fear that its validity is only going to grow the longer that we persist here. This city has certainly earned its infamy—this much has already been made abundantly clear.”

  They continued on for another few minutes. Sybil watched as rats scurried out from sandy burrows or patches of overgrown bramble and darted in front of Elpis’ path. The horse snorted briefly as the rodents passed, but not once did she slow her pace at the sight of them. Sybil realized just how strong the mare’s resolve truly was; she knew the horse had certainly seen far worse than a handful of rats during her many travels with Vlad, and it would take quite the unsettling sight to spook her to any significant degree.

  On Vlad’s suggestion, Sybil willed Elpis down a side alley which took them off of the main street. Another minute or so of riding saw the perpetual sound of illness suddenly replaced by a torrent of laughter and merriment. They quickly traced the source of this incongruous jolly to a ramshackle building that stood ahead of them on Sybil’s side of the coach. The building possessed no signage out front, but its general shape as well as the carrying on held within was enough to tell them that it was some sort of restaurant or tavern.

  “Hold here for a moment, Night Owl,” Vlad said as they passed in front of the building. “The folk in this establishment seem agreeable enough if they are content to be so merry at such an early hour of the day, and seeing as we have yet to come across a single guard or other figure of authority in this city, I suppose this place shall be as good a place as any to begin querying after a theoretical physician.”

  Sybil frowned, even though her companion could not see it. She glanced at the establishment, then back at Vlad. “Are you sure you don’t wish to find a more… respectable location to begin our search, Ibis?”

  “I’m not certain we’re meant to find one,” he said. “And besides, you needn’t worry. I shan’t be inside for long.”

  “You mean you’re going in alone?”

  Vlad nodded. “Of course. One of us needs to stay behind and guard Elpis and our transport, and since I have made this same query more times than I can count, it is only natural that I be the one to go inside while you wait here.”

  Sybil thought on this for a brief moment. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said, despite not feeling entirely convinced.

  “Then we are in agreement. We cannot very well leave all of our possessions alone here in a city like this. Elpis is as resilient as any steed, but she can only do so much to ward off potential thieves.” Vlad climbed down from the coach, prompting Sybil to do the same. “Remain vigilant while I am gone. With any luck, I shall be back in just a few short minutes.”

  “Alright,” she said, “but be careful.”

  “Of course,” he said again. “Shout for me should you find yourself in distress, and I shall do the same should I need your assistance.”

  Sybil nodded her understanding, which prompted her mentor to walk away from the coach and approach the entrance to the establishment. He pushed the rickety, old door open and stepped inside, leaving Sybil alone in the street with Elpis. She placed her back to the coach and leaned against its wooden surface with her arms crossed and her eyes on a constant swivel, a task made more difficult by her mask. More than a minute of uneventfulness passed, during which the worry in Sybil’s heart began to slowly subside. She thought that perhaps Dusktide was not as bad as it had initially seemed; perhaps the space she found herself in was not as filled with brigands and cutthroats ready to strike at a moment’s notice as she had originally thought.

  But then two figures appeared from around the corner, and that dying seed of worry bloomed once more in her chest.

  As they drew nearer, Sybil quickly recognized them as the two companions of the burly man who she and her mentor had witnessed guarding that door earlier. One of them looked thin and bony enough to topple over at the first suggestion of a slight breeze; the other looked considerably healthier, and was of a more moderate build. Both of them sported unkempt beards and hair, as well as filthy, ruinous clothing that had likely never been washed once in their long, pitiful, tortured existences.

  The duo came within a few feet of Sybil and the carriage before coming to a stop. She vaguely heard Elpis snort from somewhere very far away moments before the thin man looked at her with a devious, yellow-toothed grin.

  “Lookit this,” he said. “The lad from earlier is all by ’is lonesome. And what a terrible place for ’im to have lost ’is way, eh?”

  “Aye,” his companion said. “Absolutely terrible, indeed. Perhaps we could be so kind as to give ’im some directions… right after we’ve relieved ’im of the contents of ’is coach as a small reward for performing such a kindhearted service.”

  Sybil’s hand went to the hilt of her dagger. She glared at the men with her pair of dark, unblinking eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll find that I’m exactly where I wish to be, and I shan’t react kindly toward any attempts to take me elsewhere.”

  “She’s a lass, then,” the average-built man said. “Looks as though you owe the lady an apology, you moronic oaf.”

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  “Indeed I do,” the thin one said. “I’m quite sorry, miss. I cannot say I’ve ever met a woman who was a Plague doctor. I hope I’ve caused no offense.”

  “No offense has been caused or taken,” she said. “Now kindly move along while that still remains true.”

  “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that now, lass,” the thin man said. “Offense or no offense, we’ve already committed to claiming our reward for helping you, and that is exactly what we intend to do.” He unsheathed a short blade from his hip that was nearly as slender as he was, and which was covered with about as much rust as Sybil was certain inhabited his brain. “I s’pose you’ll be the one who decides just how easy it’ll be for us to collect it.”

  His companion followed his lead and unsheathed his dagger, but not before Sybil had relieved hers of its sheath.

  ___

  Vlad replaced the outside haze with the gloom of the tavern. Darkness swirled in that tight space, which easily dominated over the meager light generated by the handful of dull candles and braziers that dotted the walls and tables. Any windows that existed there were either boarded up or looked to be permanently shuttered; a hearth sat cold and dark in the corner of the room, likely unused since the beginning of spring.

  Vlad counted eight men sitting around the tavern. They were scattered all about the place, with some of them sitting at the counter and others at the small selection of tables. All of them nursed half-finished tankards of various liquids despite Vlad not seeing anybody behind the counter to serve them.

  Their uproarious merriment came to an immediate end as soon as Vlad stepped into the tavern. All eyes turned to look at him as silence suffocated that cramped space. Vlad paused in the doorway for only a brief moment before taking a few slow, cautious steps inside.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” the Plague doctor said jovially. He was acutely aware of the shuffling movement behind him as one of the patrons subtly shifted their body to be in front of the only way out of the building, almost as if on impulse. “I do not intend to disturb your exuberance for any longer than is necessary, and thus I shall keep my presence here brief. I am a travelling Plague doctor, as I am certain that my outfit suggests, and I simply wished to see if one of you fine fellows would be able to point me in the direction of the nearest physician. I would very much like to have a discussion with them regarding your city’s ongoing struggle with Plague.”

  One of the patrons, a man possessing a burn scar on his temple that was partially obscured by a black mop of hair that matched his messy beard, stood from his spot at the counter. He eyed the sword at Vlad’s belt before speaking. “Never seen a Plague doctor carrying steel like yours before,” he said, his charred voice matching the burn on his face. “Some folks in this city might not take kindly to you wearing such a thing so openly.”

  “Might be we should relieve him of it so that nobody gets any unfortunate ideas,” another man at the counter said. This one remained seated, but he looked eager to leap to his feet at a moment’s notice.

  “I can assure you that my weapon serves as nothing more than a necessary precaution against the less-than-desirable acquaintances that I make while on the road,” Vlad said. “Seeing as none of you respectable gentlemen fit this mold, I doubt I should find any reason to draw it while in your presence.”

  The scarred man considered these words for a few moments before he spoke next. “In any event, if it’s a physician that you’re after, then I’m afraid you’ve arrived too late. Our last one died of Plague hardly a week ago. Nobody has seen fit to take up the mantle ever since.”

  “A terrible tragedy,” Vlad said. “Who, then, sees to the disposal of deceased Plague victims? The smoke rising from the center of the city tells me that somebody must still be tending to such activities, and since I’ve not seen a single sentry since arriving here, I am forced to assume that the grizzly task is a community effort.”

  “This city hasn’t employed a proper sentry in quite some time,” a man at one of the tables said. “Everything in Dusktide is run by the Sand Sharks, including the protection of its people and the disposal of Plague bodies.”

  “And where can I find one of these Sand Sharks?”

  The scarred man grinned. “You happen to be looking at a handful of them right here.”

  His companions all grumbled or chuckled their affirmations as if they were all caught up in a brief swell of pride. Vlad allowed a beat of silence to pass before he spoke again. “That is excellent news,” he said. “Now, if you do not mind—”

  The Plague doctor’s words were interrupted by a pained shout. A moment later came the sound of Elpis’ distressed grunts, followed by Sybil’s yelling voice. “Unhand me!”

  “Night Owl!” Vlad took half a stride toward the exit, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, but he was stopped in his tracks when patrons rose to their feet and drew weapons of their own. Silence once again returned to the tavern.

  And it sounded so much more sinister than ever before.

  ___

  Sybil slashed at the average-sized man before he had a chance to strike. Her blade ran along the side of his face and opened a thin crimson line in his cheek and ear. He staggered away from her attack as he shouted with the pain of his fresh wound, his free hand going to the bleeding gash which spilled red down the side of his face.

  Elpis made her distress known through a series of short grunts, but the horse remained where she was. The thin man reached out and grabbed Sybil by her unarmed wrist and prepared to strike her with his blade.

  “Unhand me!” Sybil cried. She did not wait for her assailant to comply; instead she buried her dagger into his slender forearm, which promptly loosened its grip on her wrist. Sybil pulled her dagger free as she twisted away from her slender foe; the man attempted to slash at her as he bellowed with the agony of his new opening, but his attack was clumsy, and he missed her by a wide margin.

  Sybil had twisted so that her back was facing the tavern, and she now heard the door coming open behind her. She turned away from her injured foes, hoping to see Vlad coming out of the building, but her stomach sank when she saw a third ruffian, a stiletto already drawn and in his hand. The man sneered at her as he advanced while his injured companions both did the same. They quickly surrounded her on three sides.

  And they were all moving with deadly intent.

  ___

  Vlad watched as the stiletto-wielding ruffian stepped out of the tavern. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he knew that to make any sudden movements would spell an early end for him. Of the six patrons who stood with their weapons drawn on him, two of them were equipped with pistols. It would not be difficult at all for one or both of them to place a metal ball into his head or neck, ending his rescue attempt on the spot.

  One of these gunmen was the scarred man, who kept the pistol held at a deadly angle. “You’ll stay where you are,” he said. “Move and I shan’t think twice about placing a ball directly between those empty eyes of yours. We'll see how well your mask protects you then.”

  Vlad stood as still as he was able to. He kept his hand gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword, and continued to glance around at his collection of foes. He silently weighed his options in his mind, none of which seemed ideal.

  But then the seventh patron, who had been the only one not to draw a weapon on Vlad, suddenly pulled two pistols from his belt. He aimed one at the scarred man and pulled the trigger, blasting a hole in the man’s chest and sending his body collapsing to the ground before he even knew what was happening. While this shot rang through the tavern, he turned his second pistol on the other gunman and opened the man’s neck with a bright spray of vermillion. The second gunman managed to get a shot off before his body crumpled to the ground; it took one of his companions in the forehead, killing him instantly.

  Vlad used the chaos of the three shots to make his move. He lunged at one of the shaken men while drawing his dagger, which he promptly embedded into the man’s chest. The man fell to the ground with a surprised groan, taking Vlad’s dagger with him as he went. One of the standing men thrust at Vlad with his shortsword; Vlad drew his own sword and deflected the incoming blade in the same fluid, practiced motion. He then slashed his staggering foe across the chest, who fell away from the blow with a groan of his own.

  The surviving ruffian, seeing that his companions had all been slain, turned and sprinted for the exit. Vlad’s rescuer pulled a scimitar from his belt and leapt after the escaping man; he slashed the brigand across the back with a single quick, deadly stroke. A surprised croak was all that escaped from the dying man’s throat before he went silent forever.

  Vlad disliked the notion of slashing a fleeing foe in the back, but the urgency of the situation caused him to temporarily overlook the morality of his new companion’s actions. “Thank you, stranger,” he said, “but our work is not yet complete. My apprentice needs our help, and we must go to her aid!”

  “Worry not,” the stranger said. “I get the sense that your apprentice is just fine, but you need only step outside in order to see as much for yourself.”

  Vlad rushed toward the door without speaking another word. He stepped over the bodies of his fallen foes as he went, but he paid them no mind; there would be time to assess them after he was certain that Sybil was safe.

  The Plague doctor threw open the door and stepped out into the early morning sunlight. He expected to find his apprentice locked in combat with several more ruffians, but he was surprised to find her standing near their coach, her dagger and whip in either hand and with three foes lying dead and bleeding at her feet. Standing beside her was a young woman with long, auburn hair which flowed in the morning breeze. She held a sabre that was slick with fresh blood.

  Vlad’s new companion stepped out from the tavern. When he saw the scene before him, he chuckled. “I told you that you had nothing to fear,” he said. “No harm can befall you when you’re accompanied by The Light of the Shattered Moon.”