Iron Quill - Dark of the Knight - The Mask Maker

[Paddywhack]

I know I will be dissqualified as I don't have time to finish trimming it down to size, but maybe someone will enjoy reading it - I'm not happy with it yet though. Work has been a nightmare recently...

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The Mask Maker

The woman’s sobs clung to me, whipping around me and tugging on my ears before being swallowed in the evening mist. I sighed, pulling my jacket tighter against the chill air. I started walking down the dim streets to get as far from the crime scene as possible. Other guardsmen could finish collecting any evidence and removing the body.

The body. I shivered, the hair on my arms rising. Nasty. The poor woman’s husband had been skinned, raw bright red muscle exposed in long ragged strips across his body and face. Wide gaping rivers of glistening meat. Dark blood had flooded the banks and poured onto the floorboards producing lakes and ponds. It was hard to get out of my head. Especially the fifth time.

I picked up my pace and kept my head moving from side to side. And my beat ran right up on top of the quarantine wall. Bad things happen this close to the ruins of the old city. I ground my teeth in frustration. The fifth murder in under two weeks and all in my beat. The Captain was breathing down my neck to find a killer, any killer. Thankfully this last widow was able to give me a possible lead.

Turns out the widow’s husband, one Bertram Edilheist, had been a frequent patron of The Goat’s Head, a hole-in-the-wall bar a few streets over. Most of the poor neighborhood stopped in there on occasion, but I remembered that two of the other five victims had also been regulars at The Goat’s Head.

There are no coincidences. Not in this city. It was the first possible lead I’d had since this particular horror began.

I could also use a drink.

The bar itself was nothing special, smelling of sweat, stale beer and the stink of lost dreams. Loose straw was scattered across the floorboards and the tables were a mismatched bunch of trash heap rejects. A couple of half drunken miners stood post outside the door griping in whispers about their foreman. This was my third night sitting in the smoke and candlelight, scanning for someone or something that stood out.

The gruesome nature of the recent murders had kept even this toughened neighborhood indoors, but the bar still had a reasonably good crowd. The reason for the crowd, even with the recent murders, was currently swaying her way over to me.

“What will you have sir?” she said, her honeyed voice dripping from perfect lips. Her hair bounced, glowing even in this dim light, a golden shine framing a soft and lightly tanned face. Her eyes were pools of caesious water, the mix of blue and green urging you to dive deeper. I had to swallow hard before answering.

“Another beer, please.”

As she turned I, and many other eyes, watched her eagerly as she walked away. She was stunning. One of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her name was Gwen and she was the owner’s niece, recently in from Earthside and her uncle should be ecstatic to have her on payroll. Her presence was assuredly the reason for the number of men in his bar. She served drinks and at least once a night sang for the crowd. Her voice wasn’t good enough to win a place at The Star. Soon some rich gentleman would discover her and woo her away, but while she was here she was the center of attention for every man in the bar.

I sipped my beer leaning back into the shadows. I sat there for several hours, getting tired and a little tipsy when someone finally caught my attention.

There was nothing extraordinary about the man, except perhaps how homely he was. I admit I am no Prince Charming in the looks department myself. I am at best average. Unmemorable is the best word for me. My only distinctive feature is a strong jaw and a pronounced dimple in my chin.

This man was another matter altogether. He was small and thin with a good dose of seeping boils along his neck and a nose about three sizes too big for his head. A fleshy beak protruding from a face scrunched and creased with wrinkles and dirt. He was scrawny, his limbs and ribs were just sticks bundled together like kindling. His pants were dirty and ragged at the hems and he wore simple leather sandals. He looked homeless, but used several large coins to pay for his last drink, muttering softly to himself.

This bar was full of unattractive men. This city, and the mines in particular, can be harsh and prematurely aged many of its inhabitants, but there was something besides his noxious appearance that set me on edge. Every man in the bar would follow her as she worked, but his stare was different. The look in his eyes as he tracked Gwen put me in mind of a predator. It was the look a starving wolf might give wounded sheep. Ravenous and brutal.

In short order he finished his beer and hurried out of the bar. I didn’t have any reason to suspect him of anything, just a gut feeling that made my hair twitch. I’ve learned to trust my gut over the last couple of years. I followed him outside where the perpetual evening mist had turned to a heavy fog. The fog here gave me the jitters. It seemed to roll in from the direction of the quarantined zone, not the river. That’s just not right.

The lamp lighters had already made their rounds, but the thick fog was doing a fine job concealing his small frame. I struggled to keep close enough to hear the scuffling of leather on stone as he threaded his way through the old buildings. I realized he was headed toward The Wall, that high stone barrier between the honest citizens and the unexplored, deadly part of the old city. The only people that went near the wall were reluctant guardsmen and criminals. I followed for about twenty minutes when he stopped suddenly and began fidgeting, hopping from foot to foot and mumbling. He was definitely waiting for someone. Even if he wasn’t involved in the murders, he was involved in something criminal. I quietly pulled my pistol and leaned against the corner of a building, waiting.

A short wait in the dark and another figure dropped, slithered almost, over the wall. The small man fell to his rump at the suddenness of the appearance. The newcomer was clothed in a long black robe and a cowl that hooded his face. The thin form towered over the smaller man and I caught glimpses of long pale fingers jutting from the wide sleeves.

I dropped down into the thick fog, pulling my pistol and slowly made my way closer, my heart bouncing in my chest like a drum beat.

“…coulda given me a heart attack,” the beak-nosed man complained as he got to his feet wiping his hands and grinning eagerly, “Do you have it?”

“Of course,” the robed figure replied in a strange sing-song voice, “but first your payment.” Those long pale fingers reached into the robe, pulling forth an unusual necklace. The silver chain stretched from around his neck, growing longer as he pulled it forward, cradling a large black gem in those thin fingers. I couldn’t tell what kind of stone it was, but it was as black as his robe and glowed from within.

He held a large sewing needle between thumb and forefinger and gave a single quick jab into the small man’s finger. Those same long fingers grabbed the small man’s bleeding finger and held it over the stone, a single viscous drop of blood falling onto, into, the black gem. I was very close now and almost gasped out loud as the grimy little man jerked upright and the shadow behind him peeled off the ground and was sucked into the black stone with a loud slurping sound. The small man relaxed and slowly, piece by piece like a horrific jigsaw puzzle, his shadow reappeared on the ground behind him.

“Now gimme it!” the man cried out desperately, his hands reaching out before him. His finger still bled and small drops of blood scattered left and right as he shook in anticipation.

The dark figure nodded and pulled forth something from his robe. “This is really one of my finer pieces,” it said in a tinkling voice. “You did a wonderful job finding such exquisite material for me to work with. I really do think you will be quite pleased.” He held the item out and the small grabbed in quickly, giggling like a mad man and spinning about.

I couldn’t get a good look at it as he spun about. The small man’s prancing stopped and he straightened his arms, holding his price up to light and I finally got a good look. I couldn’t help myself, I retched onto the cobblestone. All those poor souls had been skinned and mutilated, families torn apart, five men dead so this sick, twisted little man could have a mask, a full hood made from dead mens’ skin.

I raised my head and the robed figure turned to face me, hissing and crouching defensively. I couldn’t see a face in that cowl, but there were two large red glowing eyes pinning me like daggers. “Fool!” the thing cried at the small man.

I screamed and before either of them could move I fired my pistol. I know my aim was good, hell I wasn’t more than a dozen paces away, but my bullet smashed into the Wall behind it, bending around the robed figure. The thing screeched one more time before jumping and crawling back over the Wall into the ruins. Fine by me, I wasn’t going after him alone and not when I had my killer trapped. I turned my gun on the horrible little man.

He had dropped to the ground his back to the brick wall as he fumbled with his freakish prize. I walked up to him and he screamed, a mixture of joy and frustration, as he pulled the mask over his head. After seeing that…thing…that had made the skin mask I wasn’t taking any chances. I pulled the trigger until I heard the dull thunk as it ran dry.

The small man was hit several times and lay face down in a growing pool of blood. I carefully approached the body, but my stomach turned again. The man I had followed couldn’t have been more than five foot three and his pants had scraped the ground. Now those pants barely passed his knees, the body well over six feet long. I swallowed and carefully turned him over. The man lying before me was no longer that hideous, boil encrusted, beak-nosed little bundle of bones. This man was handsome, a perfect face with strong jaw and perfect skin. His body was muscular and fit like an athlete, marred only by the bullets holes I had put in him. The mask made from his victim’s skin was gone. I never found it.

I heard him gasp once and he feebly tried to reach up to me. I knelt down warily, close enough to hear his dying whispers.

“…Gwen…”

I stood staring at the Wall for a long time after he passed.

Edited October 30, 2012 by Paddywhack