Iron Quill 2013 (Can You Keep A Secret?) - Silent As The Grave

[ScrewedUpDice]

Vardy was a man that didn't so much walk, as loom, with little in the way of morals, and a constitution similar to his physical stature. He baulked at nothing; be it the spilling of blood with fist, boot or blade, in a hot blooded street fight; the more methodical killing of anyone he was required to do away with; or the task he was currently engaged in, which seemed to be a natural progression, given the trajectory of his violent interacts with his fellow man.

The wooden shovel sliced silently through the loose earth, avoiding the tell-tale sound of metal hitting stone that a more usual implement would produce. Vardy worked methodically, tossing earth onto a ground sheet, so as to obscure the evidence of disturbance. This was not his first grave robbery. Six foot down shovel tip met coffin lid. He crouched awkwardly in the narrow shaft he'd dug, the top third of the coffin revealed, and marred by his boot prints. He pushed iron hooks between the lid and body of the coffin, tossed the rope they trailed out of the hole and proceeded to follow them upwards, hands finding purchase on turf and gravestone in his ascent. A heave upon the ropes snapped the lid of the coffin, the noise muffled by the earth, while the miasma of decay filled the air with no such hindrance. Vardy descended into the reeking hole, and moving aside the sundered coffin lid, revealed its occupant, small in life, and wasted away further in death. Grasping the man by the collar of his funeral suit, his fist rivalling the sunken dimensions of the corpse's head, Vardy lifted him enough to loop a rope under his arms, and returned once again to the surface.

Like some macabre fisherman he hauled his catch from the depth of the earth, without ceremony or consideration and deposited the corpse at the graveside. He then set to refilling the grave, finally topping the hole with the carefully cut sod which he had removed and placed aside as he began his work. His last act was to replace the wreath of flowers that had sat propped on the gravestone prior to his arrival.

The shovel was broken down into the blade and two sections of haft to be stashed about his person. Bundling the body into the crude sack formed from the ground sheet, he swung it over his shoulder and left the cemetery unobserved except by stoats abroad on their own grisly errands.

____________

Vardy made his way to the meeting place by means circuitous and ill favoured by most right thinking persons in Malifaux. This wasn't done through any wish to avoid confrontation and questioning about his morbid cargo, but rather so as not to be seen with it at all, by anyone with a tongue given to wagging, and thus invite rumours that might pass for the truth, no matter how scant a foundation they sprang from.

His destination was no more salubrious than his place of departure. Beyond the bounds of even the meanest rookery he slipped inside an abandoned building, descending rotting stairs that barely held the combined weight of Vardy and his passenger. Shouldering aside a door that was more paint and rot than wood he entered a basement filled by dim candle light, and occupied by another breathing human, the first time Vardy had been willingly in the company of either for many hours. He deposited the body upon a table at the centre of the room. The ground sheet seem to form the tablecloth for a particularly gruesome feast, the body upon it now lying miles distant and yards below the point where it had begun the night, resting in peaceful repose.

The man who had been waiting spoke, only to be cut off.

"That's another wager..."

"Shut up Stoller."

Stoller was as different to Vardy, as to be seemingly a separate species; a vulpine to Vardy's ursine. The only points of commonality the pair shared was their ragged appearance, and a dangerous, unsettling air that set them apart even in a place know for the malign hearts of the majority of its inhabitants. They were bound together by the thinnest threads of circumstance, desperation, the potential for profit, and the indulgence of the other in their most dark of urges.

The three waited in silence, two out of choice, one with no choice at all. Vardy leant against a damp wall, arms folded, Stoller restless and pacing. The sound of the stairs creaking under the tread of footsteps brought both men out of whatever personal reverie they had been wandering in. Neither were actively alarmed, but both were ready; anyone happening upon them by chance was going to find their night ended in an unpleasantly terminal manner.

The woman that entered the room did so in perfect expectation of the scene that would greet her. Going simply by outward appearance she looked more likely to be found in a gin palace, or in an alley near one, rather than in a dank cellar. The undefinable aura that separated Vardy and Stoller from the common man clung to her yet more heavily than to either of her companions however, marking her as one of their company.

"Any complications?"

Stoller spoke first, as was his predictable want.

"I got what we needed, sweet as you like Faye."

Vardy shook his head, the evidence of his task having been accomplished without incident being laid out the table before them.

Faye held their gaze for a second longer, and finally addressed her attention to the corpse.

"We finally get to talk, Kellow."

____________

"Where am I?"

The spirit's voice skittered at the edges of conciousness for Vardy and Stoller, as if coming from rooms distant, rather than from the silvery smear in the air in front of them, no more consistent than the moon reflected upon storm wraked seas .

Faye's perception was far clearer, thanks to breach born talent. Kellow's form was distinct, his voice clear.

"Where? That hardly matters."

The dead no longer held the perspective on the world they had when they were living, and while a breathing prisoner might wake screaming, the spectres were more detached.

"Who are you?"

"You're asking all the wrong questions. You should be asking what, not where or who."

"What do you want?"

"Better. What does anyone want? We want your secrets Kellow. We know about the deal."

"What deal?"

"You know the problems with secrets? Two people can't keep a secret. One can take it to the grave with them, but two? As soon as it's shared it's out in the world, and then all it wants is to be told. It wants to be found out. It slips out when you drink, or when you sleep. Used to be the best way to keep a secret, back Earthside, was to kill anyone who knew about it. How hard can it be? Dead men tell no tales."

Kellow didn't seem to see the irony.

"This side of the Breach, well, a secret is never safe. The walls have ears, the hills have eyes, and Neverborn freaks can get straight into your head, and pluck it out, then there's the Guild with the rack and thumb screws, or Arcanist magics. It's no surprise someone decides the risk is too much, and the best way to shut you up is to open your throat. Only that doesn't work like it used to back home. Someone like me brings you back. Here the dead don't get to stay silent."

He seemed determined to prove her wrong for the moment.

"You made a deal. Respectable merchant, but on the side you did work for the Breach smugglers. Ran their goods and kept their ledgers. Thought you'd kept your name out of it, but like I said nothing stays secret. Not when I want to find it out. There's always someone who knows someone else, who knows something he's not meant to tell, but lets on anyway You're the link in the chain. I want names and locations. I want to know where their lesser breach is."

"You've got the wrong man."

"You think just because you're already dead we can't hurt you? I can send you far worse places than where we pulled you from."

Kellow stayed silent, but couldn't keep realization of his plight from showing on his face.

"You need to understand we're not joking, and that it's not just you that's in danger here."

Stoller stepped forward at this cue, and reaching into his jacket, pulled out an object and threw it on to the table, at the feet of the corpse. Kellow looked down upon a doll, well loved, and horribly familiar. Stoller filled the pause.

"She's a bonny girl, be a shame if something happened to her or her ma."

"Promise not to hurt them, and I'll tell you."

"Start talking, and we'll see."

#

Sorry for the rather naff title.

MYSTERY INGREDIENTS:

THEME: How to Keep a Secret (Inverted somewhat)

CHARACTER: The Bookkeeper (Kellow, after a fashion)

LINE: "How hard can it be?"

ITEM: Casket

Word Count: 1,494

This has been a difficult one, as story ideas just kept growing beyond the bounds of the word count, or becoming better suited to being saved for something else down the line. I love to say this is a culmination of all of the stories that got put to the side, but it's mainly the product of trying to hit the deadline. Think that's about it with the excuses. Hope it's an enjoyable read.