A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(29)
“You want to rob a poor little girl?” he asked with mock innocence, and walked after her, wearing a mischievous grin. Blackwood appeared to have frozen in place.
“Do you want to leave?” I said.
“No. Let’s get this over with.” He led us after the others.
Charley guided us onto quieter, more cramped avenues. On the way, we passed wreckage of burned houses and hovels, scorched buildings with broken windows and smoke-blackened walls. The smell of damp and rot permeated the air.
“Korozoth mostly attacks at night,” Charley said, happily playing tour guide. “Lot of people lost their homes.”
On the corner opposite us, a bare-knuckle boxing match was in full swing. Two shirtless fellows circled each other, punching and jabbing as the smell of sweat and blood and ale filled the air. Drunken men jeered and shouted as they watched.
“They’re animals,” Blackwood said, shielding me from view.
“They’re desperate,” I said sadly. “They feel cheap, so that’s how they behave.”
To our left, women in pancake makeup and rouge slid shawls from their shoulders to reveal pushed-up breasts and bare arms. They smiled at Magnus and Blackwood, who looked away.
Charley took us down an alleyway, past two dirty and ragged men begging with tin cups. I gave them each a coin. As we rounded the corner, I gasped.
An Unclean man huddled against the brick wall, gazing blankly at the world ahead. There was no question that he’d been touched. His right arm had ballooned to a grotesque degree, the flesh white and pale green and patched with rot. The entire right side of the man’s head had swollen to three times its normal size, so that he had to lean it against the wall in an effort not to tip over. A few wisps of hair dotted his scalp. Shiny, clear fluid dribbled out of his eyes, so foul-smelling as to make one sick. It was clear which Ancient was responsible. Molochoron, a great festering ball of mold and filth, had touched this man—touched but not killed him. I knelt before him, a handkerchief to my nose.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. The man didn’t respond. His breathing sounded raspy and soft.
“He can’t hear you,” Charley said. “He’s dead to the world.” I took the last coin I had and pressed it into his hand. Magnus gently urged me to follow the group.
We moved along a flight of rickety wooden stairs that led up the side of a brick building. There was a door at the top, which bore the painted words:
JENKINS HARGROVE
MAGICIAN AND CONJURER, TAROT AND CHARMS
NO LOVE POTIONS
Charley knocked. A little boy with a dirty face opened the door, and inside we found five other children working in a corner. A stove kept the room quite warm. The children were carving pieces of dark wood to make more totems. “This is my home,” Charley said.
Besides the mattress and the stove, the only other furnishings were a wooden table and four chairs. The table was covered with glass bottles and tin cups. Though outside it was a bright afternoon, grime caked the windows so completely that we remained shuttered in twilight. The walls were exposed brick and chunks of broken plaster. Walking around the bare space, I noticed a patchwork curtain separating a corner of the hovel into its own private area.
Charley hugged two of the children and introduced them to Magnus as her sister and brother. They pecked her with questions. Had she brought them anything to eat? Did she sell any totems?
“Where are your parents?” I said.
“Dead and gone, miss,” Charley replied. Magnus gave her two guineas. The children rejoiced, and I felt ill.
“And your master?” There was a banging noise. The man from my dream stepped out from the curtained private area. He bowed to us and hobbled over to the table, moving like an arthritic crab, all sideways-stepping and gnarled limbs. Easing into a seat before us, he spread a deck of cards on the table.
“Come in, dear lady and gents, an’?’ave a look upon your future. We are but ’umble folk, dear miss, an’ think—” Here Hargrove stopped and looked at us, his eyebrow raised. He recognized me. “Miss. How pleasant to make your acquaintance.” For one terrifying moment, I thought he’d mention the dream. “And your companions. How charming.” He nodded to the boys. Blackwood nodded back.
The magician changed upon the instant. He stretched and popped his joints into place, so that his legs straightened and his head settled right on his shoulders. “A thousand pardons, dear gentlefolk. I mistook you for easy marks that might be swayed by pity to donate a few coppers. How may I assist you?”
“We wanted to join His Lordship on a charity visit,” I said, glancing at Blackwood. “I know it’s not his usual day of the week.”
Hargrove took a glass bottle of something from his collection on the table, poured a little liquid into a tin cup, and handed it down to Charley. The smell was frightful.
“Drink your gin, that’s a good girl.” She took it with glee.
“You know, I’m not sure that’s appropriate for a growing child,” I said, watching her guzzle it.
“Well, I try to keep her in ale, but it’s an expensive habit.” He laid out three cards. They showed a woman with a wand, a man with a sword, and a grinning skeleton that capered down a road. This was unlike any game I had ever played. “I’m the magician Jenkins Hargrove, purveyor of the finest arcane artifacts and occult odds and ends. I read tarot, tell your fortune, traffic with spirits, and raise the dead, but only on a full or new moon, and never on church holidays.” He looked up, his dark eyes dancing. “You’re sorcerers, come down from your lofty perch to gawk at the little people. How refreshing.” He turned the cards facedown, and when he flipped them up again their pictures were different. They showed a boy and girl kissing, seven coins falling through the air, and a man with a cloak and a pointed hat making a toy soldier dance. Hargrove narrowed his eyes at me. “I’ve never seen a female sorcerer before,” he said.