Honor Bound Read online

  The adrenaline rose, we spoke fast and efficiently for the next half hour, and then, with Vicky clear on what she had to do until I returned, or called her, and with her fingers itching to get going and my wand tickling my leg in anticipation, I made us another quick sandwich, downed several cups of coffee, then left.

  This was going to be awesome. It would also probably be a total disaster.

  My Gang

  I drove to the ruined, abandoned part of the city, then parked out of the way, hiding the car behind a crumbling brick wall covered in graffiti. Passing under flyovers with the hum of traffic above, it was like a different world down here. Dark, smelly, gritty, and real. I liked places like this.

  Marshland was slowly spreading over the cracked concrete and taking over the canals and basins created to deal with water run-off because so much of the city was concreted over. Much of it was either low or dry because of the heatwave. Trolleys, bicycles, prams, and the detritus of a city peeked out above murky water, algae drying that hung from handlebars making it feel like I was walking through a weird mangrove swamp.

  The heat was awful, the humidity high, and there were flies and mosquitoes swarming, which was something that had never happened before.

  I passed the homeless, the high, and the hostile, but nobody tried anything. They all knew me, and they either nodded, smiled, or looked away, depending on how guilty they felt.

  Eventually I came to the manhole cover I was looking for but always found hard to locate, and with a little magical help I got inside and climbed down into the sewers. The strong light was where I'd left it the last time I visited, so I hurried through tunnels both modern and antiquated and made it to Beast's lair in no time. I picked up the pipe beside the huge sluice gate, no longer used to contain water, and rapped in the right combination.

  Huge chains rattled and grunts could be heard from the other side as the door lifted and heat like a furnace hit me, the stench of sweat and meat strong but something I'd grown accustomed to.

  "Arthur?" said Beast with a frown. "You always come at night. You want to work out?" he asked, pumping away doing curls with dumbbells he'd fashioned from two scaffolding bars and a series of thick rusty cogs. He had the face of an angel and the body of a demon, and you did not mess with him, or even consider it.

  "Nope, not right now. This is, ah, kind of a business call. I want you to do a job. With me, and Vicky, and, er, a few others." This felt awkward as I never, ever, under any circumstances, worked with anyone but my current partner. The more people, the more to go wrong.

  "I'm retired," said Beast, then he turned his incredible frame away from me, his back so thick and wide it was like staring at some kind of genetically mutated superhero. Move over Hulk, Beast was the real thing.

  "I know, I know," I said, trying to dodge the machines, the pulleys, the cables, the plates, bars, and other torture devices he used to build his spectacular physique.

  "So why ask?" he said, suddenly turning back to me, looking genuinely interested. He took me off-guard as he so often did. Alfonse was softly spoken and kind-hearted, but a true man of violence and in his younger days, long before I was around, he had been someone to avoid at all costs.

  "Because I need you, and I think you need me. You want some excitement, something to get you out of this cave and doing something worthwhile."

  "Not interested." Alfonse positioned himself inside a contraption loaded with plates and slabs of steel and began pulling on a thick bar, drawing his elbows down and back. Apparently it was good for the back, of which he seemed to have several.

  As he clanged and banged and grunted and the sweat streamed off his body, I waited patiently, and then, when he'd finished his set, I said, "It's to piss Cerberus off. I mean, really piss them off. This is the biggest job of my life and I'm freaked out, man, don't know if I can do it, certainly not alone. I need you, and you need this."

  "Well, why didn't you just say so?" he asked as he untangled himself and strode over to me. He slapped me on the back, I tried not to fall, and he grinned widely. "Tell me all about it."

  So I did.

  One down, who was next? With a sigh, as I closed the manhole cover after laying it all out for Alfonse, I figured I may as well get the worst part of the day over with now, so it was with rigid shoulders, and ice in my heart, dread knotting my stomach, but my resolve unshaken, that I went to see a very annoying wizard.

  Smelly and Hairy

  I climbed the steps to Sisiminimus' loft, the smell of something I can only describe as what I imagine rancid tuna soaked in blue cheese essence then decanted into tubs of high octane jet fuel making it hard to breathe. Most of the smell would be emanating from a corner of the huge space above where piles of blankets, old paint-splattered canvases, and rags aplenty acted as a nest for an ancient, crotchety wizard.

  He was also the best forger in the country, probably the world, and could make just about anything if paid enough.

  Sure enough, as I stepped into the open-plan space, the walls once white now all the colors of the rainbow and others I was certain hadn't even been invented, loud snoring could be heard from the fetid corner. The pungent pile rose and fell rhythmically as Cousin It snored away, festering as he grew hairier and stinkier day after day, year after year.

  Light streamed in through the high studio windows, the thick filth not enough to banish the sun on such a beautiful day. Sisiminimus seldom left his studio, liked to wallow in his sourness with only himself and the numerous artifacts cluttering the walls for company. They were piled up on various workstations, many partially assembled, or disassembled. It was impossible to know what was real and what was fake, and that was the whole point.

  I sighed as I entered this strange world, wondered if there was another way, but knew there wasn't or I wouldn't be here, so strode over to the "bed" and coughed politely. The wizened wizard of yesteryear was grumpy at the best of times, and there never was a good time, but a bad one was when he'd just woken up.

  No reaction, so I coughed louder, and then pulled back layers of rags stinking of white spirit, grubby blankets, sheets of unnatural color, and when I finally hit mounds of moldy clothes that looked like they'd disintegrate if I touched them, and I certainly had no intention of doing so, I saw his face peering out at me, eyes open and staring.

  "Hi, it's me," I said with a smile and forced joviality that felt as sincere as a cat promising it just wanted to be friends with a mouse.

  "Bugger off, I'm busy."

  "You were sleeping."

  "Like I said, busy."

  "I've got a job for you," I sang, teasing the mini-yeti. "You're going to love it."

  "Not interested, got loads of work. Busy year. And it's hot, and sunny, sleep until it's dark. Piss off."

  Knowing I didn't have the patience with so much to do, and taking a real risk with my health and my life as the hairy wizard was prone to becoming murderous when treated with anything but utmost respect, I nonetheless grabbed a long stick covered in paint and used it to peel back the layers until a very naked, filthy, hairy creature that was somehow a man was revealed curled up and sucking on a strand of ashen hair.

  "Hell, why don't you wash?" I asked, unable to stop myself. He was thick with the grime of years, maybe decades, his actual skin color impossible to discern. He was dark, like a wet pebble on the beach, or a toad hiding under a rock, which I guess was more apt, in the few places where the dirt wasn't layered too thickly, but most of him was multi-layered with paint, mud, specks of gold leaf, tiny lumps of metal that had merged with his skin, sawdust, wax, and I was sure things were crawling on him.

  "Can't, I'll lose my power." Sisiminimus grabbed a handful of what looked like an old shirt and began to cover himself. It disintegrated in his hands. With a sigh, he sat up, rubbed at his eyes, then grabbed bunches of his long hair and yanked it behind his head. Strands fell and littered his bed; guess he really was building a nest.

  "What, if you wash?"

  The hairy Yod
a scratched under his armpits. I gagged and had to look away. "Yeah, who knows what important stuff I'll lose down the plug hole? Could be gold between my legs."

  "I don't think there's anything precious between your legs, old man, nothing anyone would want."

  "Watch your tongue. Bloody kids today, no respect for their elders."

  "And how old are you, exactly?" I'd always wondered, but the legend that was Sisiminimus was evasive, and his past was clouded in mystery, tall tales, and a hell of a lot of intrigue. He'd been employed by kings, chased by gods, and pissed off most everyone he'd ever come into contact with.

  "Older than you. Help me up."

  Reluctantly, and trying not to breathe, as he truly smelled like he had rotten tuna matted into his hair, I hauled him to his feet and took several steps back. He wandered off, checking on drying paper, moaning about the quality of fake diamonds, and generally avoiding me.

  "Okay, here's the deal," I said, "and you're gonna love it." He ignored me, but I knew he was listening. If he thought he could earn, he'd be interested, no matter what he said. It was just his way. "I've got the biggest heist in history planned, the real deal, and to pull it off I need your help. But there's no time to waste, it's happening today with or without your help. If you want in, you can pretty much name your price. Cash or artifacts, and there'll be lots to choose from. We're stealing from Cerberus."

  With that he dropped a bowl of something purple that hissed and spat then ate through the floor. He ignored it. As he turned, eyes wrinkled like prunes, he said, "Cerberus, eh? Well, if you're gonna screw with those fuckers then I'll help. Nasty bastards the lot of them. Especially that Carmichael."

  "You know him?" I asked, shocked.

  "Oh yeah, sure do. We got history. Long time ago now," he said dismissively. "But I remember. He deserves all he gets."

  "You, er, know what he is?"

  "Of course. A fucking twat."

  "Oh, yeah, right." Guess the fact he was a vampire was a very well-kept secret just as Ivan had said. I wasn't about to share the information as I'd made a promise.

  "So, you're in?"

  "Just tell me what you want. But it will cost you. A lot." The wrinkled walrus in miniature rubbed his hands together with glee, and then we got down to business.

  With everything set, I left and took a few minutes to get oxygen to my brain as I leaned against the wall in the alley outside, wondering how he could function in such an environment. But he would do as I asked, so it had been worth it.

  The cost was astronomical, but he'd insisted it was the best he could do under the circumstances. The circumstances being that even if it gave him the chance to shove it to Cerberus he was still a thieving git and knew he could milk me dry. It didn't matter, Ivan had said he'd cover any and all expenses, plus pay out to me and Vicky an amount that was truly staggering.

  All we had to do was survive.

  Right, who was next?

  More Old Wizards

  Varela and Nohr were good guys. Traditionalists, quirky, and not to be crossed, which was how I liked my wizards, but without the pungency of Sisiminimus. They were also funny, always keen, and very excitable. The odd couple didn't get out much, didn't get involved in much of the magic world as it now stood. Both were from a different time and place, had values at odds with the up-and-coming generation, which I guess I did too.

  They were powerful but overlooked, and that's a dangerous thing in a wizard. Many went off the rails when they got older, did stupid stuff, and often ended up getting themselves killed because they thought they had something to prove. These two had nothing to prove. They were content in their own mottled skins, happy to have been through so much and survived, and felt no need to push the limits just for the sake of it. So they were that rarest of things, old wizards with their marbles mostly intact.

  Wizards have the ability to live extended lives, but most end up passing over not long after citizens because of the dangerous nature of magic and because of the kind of people attracted to this life of adventure and intrigue. It's wild, madcap at times, and very volatile.

  As I knocked on the door to a small terraced house, I wondered how long I'd manage to live for. If it hadn't been for the extra lives gifted to me by Sasha then I'd have already been long gone, many times over, but I'd been more careful of late, hadn't got myself killed for ages, so who knew?

  The door was opened cautiously and I looked down to see Varela staring at me shiftily. When he recognized me his face lit up and he shouted, "Arthur! You've come to visit."

  "Thought it was about time. Can I come in?"

  "Yes, yes, certainly," he said excitedly, opening the door wide to reveal a dark, narrow hallway that confusingly led right to the back of the house and an old glass door that was just clear enough to show a tiny patch of grass. Weird.

  "Thanks." I stepped inside and he edged around me then closed the door.

  "Nohr, it's The Hat. He's come to visit," Varela shouted, seemingly just into the corridor.

  With that, Nohr appeared from out of the wall, the plasterwork sliding aside then closing behind him. Damn, that was one impressive secret door, I'd have to ask how they did it.

  "Arthur! This is a surprise," said Nohr, pumping my hand furiously.

  I smiled at them both, two wizened wizards you'd swear were brothers, then got distracted as something banged from the other side of the wall.

  "Neighbors, eh?" I asked, unsure exactly where the rest of the house was, or what was going on. "How's it hanging, Nohr?"

  Nohr pushed back his brown wizard's hood to expose a face hard to discern beneath the insane eyebrows, the beard and hair. So alike were this pair, it was hard to tell them apart unless you knew them well, but I'd known them for years so had it down pat.

  "I'm Varela," said, er, Varela.

  I glanced from one to the other, and Nohr pulled back his hood too, and I said, "Oh, right, sorry. It's the robes, and the beards. How you guys doing?"

  "Great."

  "Fantastic.

  "Cool. Um, can we talk?"

  "Sure, come in," said Nohr.

  "I am, aren't I?"

  "No, I mean in properly. This is just so the postman doesn't see what we're up to." He indicated the hallway.

  "Oh, right. Okay then. Lead the way."

  Varela walked casually to the wall and muttered something. A doorway opened and I was ushered inside.

  "Wow, this place is huge."

  "Nice, eh?" said Nohr.

  "Awesome." I stood just inside, then turned as the door closed, only to find that from this side it was a wall of mirrors, not even a hint of it being a door. Then I turned back to the room, if you can call it that, and took it in.

  "We keep it quiet, even the other side of the street don't know what we've done, but it's been like this for ages."

  "Years," agreed Valera.

  "Well, I'll be..."

  "So you like it?" asked Nohr, seemingly keen that I did.

  "I do. I really do."

  We wandered away from the wall of mirrors and into a massive, long, single room the size of the whole goddamn terrace. Spaced evenly along the left-hand wall were doors painted different colors, the ones people would see from outside, and simple, discreet windows with various curtains, blinds, nets and the like, all very mundane. But they'd knocked every wall down between the houses, removed every staircase, everything.

  I could see up to the apex of the roofs, strengthened with thick beams that looked like oak. The walls were smooth plaster and painted endless colors, the wood natural, the effect dizzying, inspiring, and utterly magical. It must have been four hundred feet long. There were even scooters, and skateboards.

  There was a small kitchen alcove, a couple of rope hammocks strung up in the middle of the room, a single door which I assumed was for a bathroom, and everything else was given over to peculiar objects from countless countries. Large glass globes, quartz skulls, pitchers containing weird bubbling liquids, piles of what appeared to be
sand, stuffed animals, antique furniture that tried to grab you as you walked past, pictures and paintings both abstract and so real the heads as well as eyes moved to follow you, and birds, brightly colored birds flying this way and that, landing on my shoulders and my hat then squawking and flying off.

  There were nests in the rafters, some on the floor with wary birds eyeing me viciously, large eggs underneath them, and then I stopped dead and stared. "Is that a fucking Dodo?" I asked, pointing at, you guessed it, a Dodo.

  "It is. We've got loads, do you want one?" asked Nohr hopefully. "They're greedy buggers and they keep stealing bits of my beard."

  "Um, no thanks. Look, guys, I've come to make you the offer of a lifetime."

  "We're in," said Nohr.

  "When do we start?" asked Valera.

  "Whoa! I haven't even told you what it is yet."

  "Doesn't matter. We trust you, Arthur, and you know us, always out for a spot of adventure. What's the plan, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows, great fat things that drooped down to his beard, and stared up at me with hope in his eyes.

  They were always like this, loved to get into some seriously dodgy stuff, but this was keen even for them.

  "We start right now, today. The job is going down tonight, and there are others involved. Don't worry, only the very best, and it's to shove it to Cerberus."

  "Dirty buggers," said Nohr.

  "Parasites," agreed Valera.

  "So you're in?" I asked, knowing they were but feeling this should have taken a little longer.

  "Fancy an egg?" asked Nohr.

  "Um, I'll pass, but thanks. So, here's the plan."

  It took a while, mainly because I kept getting distracted by all the awesome stuff, but we got there in the end. They knew what they had to do.

  It was with a heavy heart that I finally left, as I could have spent weeks exploring their collection. Another time.

  Maybe.

  The Final Piece

  This was a puzzle within a puzzle, a complicated, almost mind-bending trip through my repertoire of cunning plans and then some. This wasn't how I worked, ever. Vicky and me managed to screw things up just fine on our own.