Deep Dark And Dangerous
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“What do you think, Captain?” asked the Duke of Lune. He was looking at the map on his table and frowning.
“I don’t like it,” said O’Leary with a scowl of his own. “If I’m not mistaken this is an area where there’s been a lot of fighting over the last couple of years.”
The Duke nodded. “We have reason to believe that some of those fighting factions are still active in the region and we’ve had reports of sightings from scouts out here.” He glanced up at O’Leary. “You know how hard it is for us to get accurate intelligence about the Deep Dark these days; the only way we can be sure our information is reliable is if we send out our own scouts to investigate.”
O’Leary frowned again as he looked down at the map. “It doesn’t look good, does it? We could be walking into a trap.”
The Duke shook his head. “No. That’s why I brought you along. You’re one of our best scouts; you’ll be able to spot anything untoward before we get close enough to see any danger.”
O’Leary shrugged. “All right then.” His face softened. “But just because they’re not expecting us, that doesn’t mean we won’t run into trouble. This whole part of the continent has seen so much bloodshed recently, we can hardly expect peace now.”
“True enough,” agreed the Duke. “That’s what worries me most – all this violence has made it very difficult to find safe passage through the Deep Dark. Even though we have plenty of men, I’d rather not risk losing anyone else.”
“Why is that?” asked O’Leary. “Because I hear tell the folk around here aren’t friendly towards outsiders. They seem to have a problem with anyone who comes in from the outside. The last thing we want is to cause any more problems than we already will.”
“Yes,” agreed on the Duke. “Which is why we need your help, Sergeant.”
“Well, let me put it another way: even if no one attacks us, we may well find ourselves having to fight someone or other sooner or later.”
The Duke laughed. “I doubt it. If they’re really out to kill us, then surely they would have done so by now. Besides, we haven’t encountered anybody hostile since we left the capital.”
O’Leary grinned. “Good, ’cause if we start killing people we might as well pack up and go home, eh?”
The Duke smiled back. “Very true. So far the locals have been remarkably civilized.”
“So far,” said O’Leary thoughtfully. “And yet…” He turned away from the map and leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded across his chest. “Don’t take this wrong but, what exactly is it we’re doing here anyway?”
The Duke sat down behind his desk and picked up a piece of parchment, reading aloud. “‘As you know, we have had considerable difficulty in finding a route through the Deep Dark. It seems the local tribes have either abandoned their old ways or never adopted them in the first place.
We were hoping that your experience would enable you to discover whether or not there is a viable route.’ There’s something odd about that sentence. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. Just wondering why they bothered mentioning the tribes if they’re not going to mention where they live.”
“Maybe they wanted to make it clear they weren’t asking for volunteers, just sending them out as observers. Still, it sounds as though they’re worried about losing their people to the tribesmen.”
“They should be. Look, I don’t mind helping out but I’ve got my orders and I’ve got to obey them. Now, I’m supposed to meet up with Lieutenant Hargrave, but I suppose it’s too late for him to catch up with us now. Do you happen to know where he is?”
“He went ahead a few miles earlier today and sent word he was planning to camp for the night. If you hurry you can catch up with him.”
O’Leary grunted and stood up. “I hope so. But I wouldn’t count on it. Why did I ever agree to this crazy idea? I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t have gone straight back to the barracks when I had the chance.”
***
Lieutenant Hargrave woke up early in the morning and stretched out in the tent he shared with two other soldiers. After yesterday’s long march, he was glad of the rest.
Outside, the sun was rising in a cloudless sky, promising another hot day. The lieutenant lay still for a moment longer, listening to the sound of the birds singing in the trees nearby. Then he rolled over and pulled himself out of bed. A quick glance around the tent showed him that both of the others were already awake and preparing to leave.
He felt surprisingly rested after the previous day’s exertions and decided to keep up the pace. Yesterday had taken its toll on everyone; fatigue and hunger seemed to have taken over. Today they would be making better time. As soon as breakfast was finished he set off, heading westwards and following the road south.
A little while later he saw a figure walking along the path some distance ahead, and he slowed down until he caught up with the man. The lieutenant recognized him at once – Sergeant O’Leary.
“What are you doing here?” asked the lieutenant. “Didn’t the captain tell you to stay put?”
“No, sir,” replied O’Leary. “I came looking for you.”
“You’re supposed to wait until the next patrol catches up with you.”
“But I wasn’t sure where you’d gone,” said O’Leary. “When I saw you coming this way I followed you.”
Hargrave frowned. “This isn’t the right direction for you to be going. You’ll get yourself killed!”
“If you hadn’t come back I didn’t think I could trust you any longer.”
Hargrave sighed. “All right, fine. But don’t expect me to follow you all the way. This is our job and we’ve got to stick to it.”
O’Leary nodded, smiling. “That’s all right, sir. I won’t ask you to do anything foolish.”
The lieutenant shook his head and walked on in silence. They reached the village of Cairnsbridge shortly afterward and stopped for lunch before setting off again. In the afternoon they passed several villages and farmsteads, each one inhabited by the same sort of folk as those they had seen the day before.
Their clothes looked similar too, made from coarse woolen cloth and patched together with leather. None of them paid much attention to the travelers passing through their lands.
Once darkness fell they found a good campsite in an open clearing near the edge of a forest and settled down to sleep. When he awoke the next morning Hargrave took stock of his surroundings, then began searching around for any signs of the tribespeople who must surely live somewhere close by.
His gaze fell upon the remains of a small fire in the grassland beyond the tree line. He wandered closer, trying to work out how many people had been living there, then noticed that someone had left behind a pair of boots. One boot was lying beside the fire pit, and the other was half-buried in the earth.
Hargrave picked it up and examined it carefully. There was no blood on the sole or heel, nor any sign that anyone had died there. It appeared to have belonged to a woman.
He walked over to where the second boot had lain and tried pulling it free. Nothing happened, however. Carefully, he probed the soil with his fingers, pushing aside clumps of grass and dead leaves, but nothing more than dirt and mud came away with him.
Finally, he dug deep enough to reach the base of the boot. At last, something gave way and he managed to pull the shoe free, revealing a bare foot inside.
After that Hargrave continued digging for a few minutes, then returned to the first boot. Working slowly now, he managed to scrape away the earth from beneath the sole, exposing the lower part of the ankle joint. Beneath the skin, he found what looked like a dried cut. It ran vertically up the calf muscle towards the knee, stopping just short of the joint itself.
As if sensing his presence, the foot stirred. Slowly, the leg straightened, then bent backward so that the toe pointed directly upwards. A thin stream of urine dribbled out of the side of the boot and ran into the grass.
For a moment the lieutenant froze, transfixed by what he was witnessing. Then he jumped backward and turned to run. Before he had taken three steps though, the boot snapped shut and the foot fell heavily onto the ground, shaking the earth as it did so.
***
“Is everything ready?” asked the captain.
They were gathered in the command tent, which had been hastily erected in the center of the camp. Lieutenant Hargrave was standing nearby, holding his musket tight against his chest. The captain was sitting on the wooden stool by the entrance flap, resting her hands on the hilt of her sword. Her face was grim. She glared at Hargrave with eyes full of hatred.
“Yes, Captain,” said the corporal. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
She turned to look at him. “Are you certain about this? Because if you aren’t—”
“I’m quite confident, Captain. We can handle ourselves well enough.”
The captain grunted, then stepped outside. “Take cover,” she told everyone else. “And stay alert.”
From outside Hargrave heard the sound of shouting. As soon as he was sure nobody else could hear them, he moved quickly forward, stepping carefully over the bodies scattered across the floor of the command tent. He kept his musket held tightly under his arm, keeping one hand on the butt. With the other, he pulled the knife from its sheath.
Someone screamed from outside, then the sound of gunfire echoed loudly. After a moment, a loud thud rang out, accompanied by a cry of pain. Hargrave heard someone cursing and running past the tent. More voices shouted out, then suddenly there was silence.
There were two ways out of the tent, one leading further along the row of tents and the other opening out into a larger area of open ground. Hargrave hurried towards the latter and slipped outside. For a moment he stood still, listening hard.
No sounds reached him, except for the occasional creak of canvas flapping in the breeze. He crept cautiously along the edge of the open space until he reached a point where he could see the rest of the camp.
It seemed deserted. Every building was dark and quiet, all the doors firmly closed and latched. There wasn’t even a guard posted outside the command tent. That surprised him; usually, at least two men would be stationed here at night. He looked back at the tent again and saw that the door was slightly ajar.
Perhaps the corporal had opened it when he was making his escape, although why he should bother doing so was a mystery. They were both armed, after all, and the odds of being caught were very slim indeed.
Then again, maybe they hadn’t planned on coming back.
Hargrave edged forward until he could peer through the gap. The interior was pitch black. From somewhere behind him came the soft crackle of dry twigs snapping as an unseen creature crawled closer.
His heart began to race as he realized how vulnerable he was without his torch, and he thought of the time he had spent searching for the corpse in the woods near Wensleydale. Now he knew what lay beyond those trees – or rather, he thought he did. All he needed to do now was find the body himself.
Slowly, he made his way around the back of the command tent. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but gradually he became aware of faint shapes moving around inside. He drew the knife and placed it in front of his mouth, ready to use it as a last resort if need be.
He inched forward until he was close enough to reach through the gap in the doorway. In the darkness, he felt his way along the wall and tried to locate the corner where the figure must have fallen. When he finally located it, he gently pushed his fingers underneath.
It was hard work because the corners of the walls were covered in mold. Eventually, he found the body and lifted it up. The corpse was wrapped in a filthy blanket that smelled strongly of rotten meat and vomit.
This is it!
The body was heavy and awkward and took more effort than expected to drag out of the tent. But eventually, Hargrave managed to get it outside. Once he was sure no one was watching, he dragged the corpse into the shadows between the buildings and hid it beneath some discarded crates. Then he went back inside, closing the door behind him.
A quick search revealed nothing suspicious, just more boxes and sacks of supplies stacked neatly away. One thing caught his eye, however: a large box filled with candles and matches. A small lamp hung suspended above the box, illuminating the items inside.
Hargrave picked it up and examined it. It was similar to the lamp that had hung beside Lord Bancroft’s bed at Buckkeep Castle, although this one lacked any mechanism to light it. Still, he reasoned that since it was designed to hang above a table, perhaps it didn’t require fire to operate. He put it down and returned to the door, taking the lantern with him.
As he stepped out into the open area he paused, looking around nervously. Where was everybody? He listened intently, trying to identify the direction of every noise, but apart from the gentle rustling of the wind in the branches overhead, everything sounded silent.
Cautiously, he walked out into the center of the camp, then stopped abruptly. Someone was standing right beside him, holding a lit match aloft.
The End