City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [187]
‘I do.’
‘Hmm. You considered a blade rather than toxins?’
‘That could be messy . . . I don’t want to be involved in a simple fight, not if I can help it.’
The old man turned and looked at the shelves like he was searching for something in particular. ‘Clostridium botulinum,’ he breathed, and turned round with a small knife, holding it reverentially in front of him. He placed it on the countertop.
Nelum was impressed with the filigree of work: it was the most ornate and uncanny knife that Nelum had ever seen, with a marblelike handle and gold edging. Dark substances oozed beneath what appeared to be a transparent surface – no, the blade itself seemed to be constructed from some form of liquid, yet one capable of holding its shape.
‘Using this won’t be pretty, since Botulinum causes extreme paralysis and physical distortion. One of the most toxic substances I deal with. Myth has us believe that people used this to stop themselves from ageing – insane to believe that, but I’ve heard funnier things about the past . . . This is called a botulinum blade. Fabricated from the poison itself.’
‘How can I trust that it works?’
‘Who knows what they got up to in times gone by – but they was darker folk than in our own day. Now, wait here.’ The old man stepped away to the back and Nelum was left with only the sound of laughter eerily drifting somewhere in the distance. He eventually returned with a steel cage, inside which a fat rat scampered aimlessly. Beckoning Nelum closer, he sat the cage down and poked the strange blade between its bars. The rat merely brushed up against the tip of the blade, but instantly it began to shudder, then convulsed, its entire body contorting and blisters forming under the fur. It finally collapsed on its side and Nelum realized it had died, but its body was still reacting violently to the toxin.
‘I’ll take it,’ Nelum declared.
When the old man described a phenomenally high price, Nelum was forced to reach for a second purse of coins. The blade was wrapped up and boxed and slipped under Nelum’s cloak, before he left the broken-down building to find his horse.
*
A knock on his chamber door, and Brynd jolted awake to find he’allen asleep across his missives. Zones across his shoulder and necad become bitingly stiff from the combat.
A messenger shuffled into the room, announcing more bad news.
There had been confirmation from the scouts that the enemy werndeed taking prisoners. Over a thousand citizens of all ages were noocked up in a warehouse somewhere in the west of the city, anhips were lining up to transport them to the north.
*
Later that night, Brynd asked Nelum to meet him in the obsidiahamber to discuss a possible mission to the warehouse. Lupus watanding by the far wall, studying maps of the area that the enemad captured.
The central table seemed increasingly an extension of Brynd himself, so much of his business was now conducted from here. This wasn’t soldiering any longer, it was administration.
After explaining the news in detail he rested on his elbows and peered across at his lieutenant. The man seemed more agitated than he’d ever known, and it seemed he had not listened to a word just said. Brynd knew this to be totally out of character for him.
‘Part of the Night Guard’s duty is protection of the Empire’s subjects,’ Brynd said, by way of reminder. ‘It seems there are many innocent civilians imprisoned and waiting to die, and I believe we must devise a way to get them out of there with minimal loss of military personnel.’
‘Agreed.’ Nelum frowned at the table. ‘I’m sure I can come up with a strategy.’
Brynd wanted to do that himself, but as a gesture to Nelum, he backed down. ‘If you wouldn’t mind. So long as absolute stealth is integral to—’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Nelum snapped.
Ungrateful bastard. ‘Lieutenant, you need to show some more respect for your commanding officer.’
A pause, as Nelum searched his mind for the right words. ‘I find it difficult,