Squire

By Dan Hallagan

Squire Cornelius and his two companions flee the drudgery of Farmstead in the middle of the night and head for Cattivo, a densely populated city in the mountains; the perfect place to begin a life away from the cruelties of their former agricultural overlords. But Climbers are Climbers, and the big city contains only more cruelty and more violence. Every street is gang territory, controlled with savage efficiency by the slumlord squires and barons who sell protection, run crooked gambling operations, loan money, and break skulls. Cornelius and his companions struggle to stay one step ahead of imprisonment and death.

Meanwhile, the powerful angel who has commanded Cornelius’s story delights in the horrors he describes, the exact story of Hell she hopes will convey the despair of the real thing to her reader. But Cornelius, while certainly violent and cruel, is not a simple creature; he is motivated by his vast passions that, at times, do not appear Hellish at all.

Where will the passions of Cornelius lead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Hallagan
• Release date: Jul 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310615092

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Road to Cattivo

Grassland, Manningham, Northern Continent

I fondly look back upon those first few days on the road with Giovanni and Lazzaro. We traveled in comfort; I had provisioned our little party in the style that only the wealthy can afford—to be honest, the biggest problem was hauling everything along with us. Most of the provisions packed into two duffel bags: the one in which I had carried Lazzaro, plus a matching bag I had hidden near our first campsite. The combined weight of these two bags prevented me from traveling rapidly or for extended stretches; however, considering the extraordinarily slow pace of my two small companions, it worked out well enough. I would shuffle along carrying the two heavy bags—a weightlifter with a heavy dumbbell in either hand—while Runt and Lazzaro followed behind at a brisk walk.

When my arms grew tired—usually after about two or three hours—we would find a sheltered place and rest. The rolling grasslands that encircled the agricultural developments of Farmstead posed more of a challenge to a creature the size of a large orange than one might think; the dominant wild grass reached to my waist, well over the head of a serf. We quickly learned that I needed to function as a plow with Runt and Lazzaro staying within my trampled path.

Given our pace, I estimated that it would be at least a week until we reached our destination: the city of Cattivo. I spent the first day simply listening to Runt and Lazzaro talking as they followed along behind me, feeling much like a father listening to the nonsensical chatter of young boys.

Whoa. Look out for that hole, said Lazzaro.

It’s a tiny animal hole! exclaimed Runt, pointing at nearby tracks.

"You could live in there."

Runt laughed. I think you’re right! I heard their voices growing more distant behind me and quickly concluded that they had stopped moving. I set down the duffel bags with a groan of relief and turned to see Runt and Lazzaro peering into an animal burrow.

Hello in there! called Runt in a playful voice, his hands cupped around his mouth. The sound rattled in the hole.

I tell this simple story because at that moment, a moment still clear in my memory, I realized something profound about my companions: what I was seeing in their horseplay was not recklessness or immaturity, but release. Freedom had made them giddy. In the case of Lazzaro, almost a thousand years of absolute servitude had just ended.

I was moving to break it up when the owner of the burrow, undoubtedly not pleased at the noise and the dirt kicked down its hole, jabbed a whiskery nose into Runt’s face with a high-pitched bark, causing the small Climber to flail backwards and land hard.

Lazzaro pointed at his companion and howled. I briefly joined in as Runt climbed to his feet with a silly grin, but then decided we needed to make better time. Come on, guys. It’s not impossible that the viscount sends guards in search of us. My comment quickly sobered them. I picked up my satchels and started plowing my way through the grass in the direction of the big city set into the mountains.

After a time, Lazzaro spoke from directly behind me. I hadn’t thought about that. We’re not that far from Farmstead; why aren’t these hills crawling with his yeomen? I could hear deep concern in his voice.

Everything is for sale, Lazzaro.

That the millennial serf did not respond showed he understood.

Runt, however, did not. What do you mean?

They don’t know we’re gone, Lazzaro answered for me.

How could they not know?

My guess, he continued, is that Cornelius paid the barracks squires to wait a long time before letting anyone know we were missing.

Close, but not exactly, I said.

Runt then surprised me with a perceptive question. Why would they honor any deal after they know you are gone?

No reason that they would, I said. It was strange having a conversation with them behind me; I had to shout for them to hear. "But the deal is not over."

What?

I bribed them in two payments. For example, I paid the squire in charge of the bonded serf barracks one ruby for your release, Runt; one ruby for his silence; and one ruby to be delivered to him at the end of next week. Same thing for you, Lazzaro.

What about Demento? asked Lazzaro, referring to the squire for whom he had picked beans.

Same thing. One ruby to not concern himself with your absence, one ruby to be delivered at the end of next week for keeping up the charade.

That’s a lot of money to spread around, said Runt.

I am still surprised no one ratted you out, said Lazzaro. I am even more surprised that a crazy squire like Demento would even listen to you.

I laughed. Give me some credit, boys. First of all, I didn’t tell them that we were running away to Cattivo. I told them that the viscount had given me an important mission; he had reliable reports that serfs and peasants were stealing from him, and I needed to train several serfs to be his eyes and ears in the fields. After the viscount’s appearance at my rank battle, everyone in Farmstead knew that I was well connected. I was now carrying out a new job, and the viscount wanted the investigation kept quiet. The ruby was evidence of my authority—after all, squires do not walk around handing out rubies, do they?—and a token from their loving lord and master. The viscount did not suspect them, of course, and, if they helped the investigation, there would be another ruby forthcoming when each of you returned to your duties.

Lazzaro started clapping. Genius!

They’re not getting paid next week, are they? asked Runt.

Of course not, I said. Can you imagine the confusing story they’ll tell? I couldn’t keep myself from laughing as I thought of Demento trying to explain a nonexistent secret investigation to Roberto. I looked up at the sun riding high in the sky. Come on, lads; there’s a whole lot of day left. We want to be close to Cattivo when all hell breaks loose in Farmstead. I picked up my pace.

What about you? asked Runt as he jogged along my trampled path.

What about me?

Won’t Roberto see that you’re missing?

I continued stomping towards the northwest, crushing the thick grass with a purpose. Nope.

Why not?

Because I sent him a message that I was taking my winnings from the rank battle and visiting Capitale. Capitale was the capital of Manningham and in the opposite direction of Cattivo. "A two week vacation."

Won’t that infuriate him?

"Absolutely, but what can he do? He is no doubt planning his revenge even now. He will bring the wrath of the viscount on my head like an avalanche…in two weeks. I would even wager he is secretly delighted that I have gone somewhere without permission; I have given him the chance to crush a contender for the viscount’s favor. He will be whispering in the viscount’s ear while I am away, poisoning my future."

Wow, said Runt, simply.

I laughed out loud.

Chapter 2

The Road to Cattivo

Grassland, Manningham, Northern Continent

What do you know about Cattivo? shouted Lazzaro over my shoulder as I plowed along through the endless waist-high grass on our third day out of Farmstead.

That it’s big, a place we can get lost in. And far away from Farmstead.

I’ve been there before. It’s a dangerous place, you know. I stopped and turned around. My trampled path extended as far back as the eye could see—two hours of work. Really? Tell me about it!

Big. At least a million.

A million? exclaimed Runt.

At least, said Lazzaro. I went there a few times in a previous life. Completely different from Farmstead, that’s for sure!

I asked the question that had been worrying me since my decision to leave. How much freedom will we have? Can we find a place to lay low, to fit in?

Are we stopping? asked the millennial serf.

I was still clutching the two heavy duffel bags; the conversation had seized my complete attention. I hefted the bags to test if my arms were tired. No, I feel pretty fresh. I faced north and started trudging. Go on, I shouted.

Well, the city is run by gangs, he shouted back.

Gangs? What kind of gangs? I had visions of burning and looting. Wild, screaming bands of Climbers roaming the streets with weapons. Violence everywhere. I didn’t mind violence, but if Cattivo lacked any order, it would be a tough place for Lazzaro and Runt to survive. Climbers fighting and rioting all the time?

No, not those kinds of gangs. Very organized. Run by nasty bosses. Viscounts and barons, I think.

Organized was good. What do they do there? Do Climbers work? Farm?

I’m not exactly sure, but it’s a real city with slums and factories. He paused. And lots of gambling, I remember.

Runt perked up at this. Gambling? Do they have animal fights?

They had everything.

So these gangs are organized? I asked.

Yes. Every square inch of the city is someone’s turf. If you don’t belong to a gang that can protect you, you’re going to pay.

Pay I can do.

Lazzaro laughed. With your wealth, I bet you can live like an earl! Don’t let anybody find out about those diamonds, though. You’ll have every gang in Cattivo fall on you like starving dogs.

"Good advice. For me and for you guys, right, Runt? As far as anyone knows, we’re dirt poor."

Got it! shouted Runt over my shoulder, and I didn’t doubt that he did.

Chapter 3

The Road to Cattivo

Grassland, Manningham, Northern Continent

My first glimpse of a Climber corpse shocked me. I hadn’t thought such a thing possible.

The sun had just set on our fifth day out of Farmstead. Looming ahead perhaps a half a day’s journey away, a black line of trees smudged the horizon—the northern end of the very same forest through which Knight Giuseppe’s party had traveled on our way to the diamond mine. Rogue pockets of immature trees now dotted the prairie grasslands as if the forest were a spreading rash.

The corpse lay near a cluster of three saplings, and even in the dying light, it would have been impossible to miss the trampled grass scarred by gouges that exposed rich, black soil. Blood was everywhere, seemingly far more than any one Climber body could contain.

Runt, Lazzaro, and I encircled the grisly remains, careful not to tread in any still-wet puddles of blood.

"Why is this here?" asked Runt. The corpse appeared to be peasant-sized, lying face down, its left arm missing completely.

I don’t know, I said. It’s where he was killed, I guess. The right arm—a single teardrop tattoo next to the Manningham bar-M clearly visible—and the legs were intact, but the flesh on the back of the skull had been ripped off, exposing patches of bone so white they appeared to glow in the dusk.

"No, I’m not asking why the body is located here; I am asking why there’s a body at all. I thought that when Climbers die, the body collapses in on itself and the soul or whatever you want to call the glowing life force vanishes to be reborn as a serf elsewhere."

That’s what’s supposed to happen, muttered Lazzaro.

I squatted down and studied a patch of the white skull bone in the waning light. Look at this. I reached out with a finger and traced deep grooves in the bone. This guy’s head was gouged by something very, very sharp. Dark blood had pooled around the corpse.

Runt took a little step backwards. Don’t touch it! He spun in a circle, searching the shadows. Let’s get out of here.

Maybe there are some ways you can be killed so that you don’t come back as a serf, I said, not moving.

"Come on, Cornelius, Runt urged, let’s get away from here. You don’t know who or what did this, but I bet it ain’t friendly. And I really don’t want to meet it in the dark."

Lazzaro snorted. Can’t say I disagree with him.

I straightened and walked over to my bags, which I had set down on an unstained section of grass. In a brief moment I had extracted a razor-sharp knife, thin and almost needle like, in a sheath with a leather strap. I held the weapon against my outstretched left forearm and gestured towards my companions. Guys, tie this on for me.

Silently, Lazzaro came forward and secured the sheath to my forearm.

Let’s go, Runt repeated, putting his fears into action by turning away from the corpse and starting towards the line of trees, now barely visible in the dim light. Before I could pick up my bags, we heard a soft scraping of movement. We spun back towards the corpse, our eyes wide as they searched the shadows for the killer, undoubtedly returning for another victim. My hand flashed to the hilt of my knife and froze; I did not want the noise of unsheathing the blade to interfere with my already poor hearing.

Silence, then more scuffing. I could see nothing. As unnerving as the scraping may have been, the deep, wet gurgling that followed—a horrifying sound that I can only describe as liquid pain—caused Runt to gasp, turn, and start running.

Runt! I stopped him with a shout. Look, I said, pointing. I had discovered the source of the noises and solved the mystery of the corpse at the same time.

Our corpse was not a corpse. The butchered Climber, lying face down, his skull almost fully exposed, was attempting to crawl, the rigid fingers of his one arm digging into the soil and spasmodically jerking the weight of his body forward. The gurgling issued from within, and was surprisingly loud given that his mouth and face were completely buried in the bloody, ripped soil. I suddenly realized he was screaming, through all that pooled blood, into the earth.

I reached out with my foot, intending to flip him over, when the screaming abruptly stopped and his body jerked a final time. The red glow of the arena—of all Climber deaths— seized the body and collapsed it downward. It noiselessly crumpled in on itself and then vanished, leaving behind only the tortured, bloody ground.

Well, I muttered, that was interesting.

That was freaking horrifying, corrected Runt. "Now, let’s go." Lazzaro grunted in agreement.

I had no argument with them and quickly picked up my bags. It appears that we’ll need shelter during the night around here.

From nearby in the dark where Runt was struggling through the tall grass, I heard my friend sarcastically mutter, You think?

After traveling for about ten minutes, we located an outcropping of rocks and dug in. No one shut their eyes. Animal noises dominated the night, and, in the minds of Runt and Lazzaro—two appetizing balls of flesh no larger than an orange—everything was a predator.

About an hour into our vigil, Runt spoke. Why do they try and eat us, Cornelius? he asked quietly from the relative safety of our gouged-out ditch.

What do you mean?

Once we die, we vanish. What’s there to eat?

I don’t think animals know any better. We look and smell like meat. I chuckled. "We are meat. Then I remembered what Giuseppe had told me only a week ago. Except the ghost cats. The ghost cats know." I shuddered.

What do they know? asked Lazzaro.

They know you can’t eat a Climber too fast. They eat pieces while the Climber is still alive. They start with the limbs first and then drink the blood. Like that Climber we just saw lying in the dirt, everyone thought, but no one said. Silence hung over our little trench, and I realized that this discussion wasn’t the best idea. Try and get some sleep. There’s nothing I can’t handle out here. My words were hollow, but I felt a keen obligation to remain awake and protect them should an actual predator appear. When the ghost cats began shrieking just before dawn I had no trouble staying alert.

Chapter 4

The Road to Cattivo

Forest, Manningham, Northern Continent

How long does this forest go on? groaned Runt yet again. My small companions’ pleasure at being able to leave behind the heavy prairie grass and walk comfortably on a dirt path had long since given way to exhaustion. We were nearing the end of our second day in the dense forest that surrounded Cattivo, days that had followed sleepless nights dug into makeshift bunkers listening to predators growl and shriek all around us. I felt that most of these predators were harmless, made large and fierce by imagination and the vulnerable size of my companions. But nights that began with the snuffling of harmless rodents ended near dawn with the shrieking of ghost cats, actual predators that I knew to be very real and very dangerous.

We needed to sleep tonight or we would collapse and be at the mercy of the forest.

The path, however, remained a pleasant surprise, smooth and shaded from the sun by the high broadleaf trees. Intense afternoon sunlight illuminated the canopy above, providing a chlorophyll-green sky to chase away the shadows. Like the walking dead, we shuffled in single file: Runt, Lazzaro, and then me.

I didn’t bother answering Runt, but continued plodding, counting steps to take my mind off the burning fire in my arm muscles, now into their third hour holding the two bags, less heavy than they used to be. Extreme fatigue muffled the voice in my head warning that we should be looking for a place to dig in for the night.

The air hung still and hot under that canopy, and bright green hopping insects that opened gossamer wings at the tops of their hops stirred as we shuffled by, announcing our passing to the trees.

Mindless exhaustion explained why our pathetic little company walked right into the trap. The path began to descend and bank sharply right to negotiate a dense stand of larger trees; in our state, all our energy was focused on the short, stabbing little steps needed to keep our top-heavy bodies from spilling forward and rolling down the slope. I was just about to tell Runt and Lazzaro to stop so that I could rest my arms and prepare myself for the sharp descent when someone else did me the