Dead Letters: In The Ruins Of Hope Read online

handsome, with a well-detailed beard and two green gems set into the eyes.

  It stood in the center of a large bowl filled with some dark water and out from it, tipped over on its side, was was a placard. Mary set it upright and found a tarnished book under it. The faded gold leaf on the cover spelled out: Tales of the Marvelous Alphonse Graylegg, the Mad King of Mandria. Whatever had been written on the sign had become unreadable due to large scratch marks that carved through every word. Mary smiled as she picked away some mold from the weakened, damp book.

  Old king Alphonse was a favorite of hers. Some of the tales she was sure had happened. The Grayleggs had ruled Mandria since the First Kingdom split. The stories of their exploits were favorite topics in just about every pub. But any story about the mad king never failed to split the sides when wine was flowing enough. From opening a free theater where he would read poems stark naked to appointing his favorite horse to head the treasury. Every tale was more and more scandalous.

  She opened it, eager to thumb through the weathered pages and maybe find one she hadn't heard before. Every page had been written over in hasty, jagged lines.

  IT CRAWLS

  From the basin of black water, Mary could hear that strange croaking again. Only this time louder and coming much faster. It was as if the water had began to boil, the roar of it unsettling. Mary backed away as it bubbled over to spill out on to the floor. Dozens of black dyed bones tumbled out in a waterfall of inky slime. Legs and ribs, spines and fingers started to form arms to pull across the floor toward her. Mary turned to run just as the whole building gave a rattle.

  A great boom filled the air and startled her so much she tumbled down the steps to land in a heap. Her left arm ached and a small cut dripped blood down her nose. As she tried to right herself. Dazed, she watched a few drops fall onto the stone floor where they disappeared. As if the ground had sucked her blood up. She struggled to her feet in time to see that the ooze had added a dozen chattering skulls to its form. It threw itself forward at her in a breakneck charge.

  Mary let out a shriek as her wooden legs managed to take her away from the horror, toward the door, toward freedom. Her lantern lay forgotten on the top of the stairs, but her mind pushed that worry away. Just make it to the exit. The hall wasn't that long and the way out was only a few hurried steps ahead. When she crossed the threshold of the massive doors, a cold fell over her as tight as a wet blanket.

  Her head split open in white hot agony, as if she had taken an ax to the back of it. More blood poured out of her ears and nose. She staggered but kept on her feet . Mary continued to lurch forward, almost blind from the pain in her skull. She almost tripped over the door which she'd taken off the hinges. She cried out and quickly ran back through the little storage room toward the exit. She could smell the storm, feel the fresh dampness from the rain. A smile face as she threw herself through the door way...

  and into a nightmare.

  Mary lay there on the warm carpet for what felt like hours. She focused on her breathing, just letting her body work away the tension. The carpet smelled like it had had a fresh cleaning, all woolly and earthy. She knew there were candles lit nearby. The few times she had opened her eyes since finding herself here had made them ache from the brightness. Her head walked a fine line between slightly woozy to near blackout. The only thing she felt more than the pain was confusion. Why wasn't she outside? How could see be here after smashing through the door?

  She had brought bits of the wood with her, they stung her hands and arms as angry reminders that it had indeed happened. Mary could still hear the ooze clattering, but it was far away and faint, hunting for her. She pulled herself to her knees and willed her eyes to open. The hall was beautiful. The black stone of the walls polished to such a shine one could be forgiven in thinking they were mirrors. Paintings stared down at her, some with stern eyes, others with tight mouths not used to a smile. Torches burned and above her, and in smaller glass domes, the shimmer gas flowed.

  Nothing would stay in focus, the world looked in a haze. As if everything were under water and no amount of rubbing her eyes would make things any clearer. She was seeing this place as it had been at its height, as the dead still see it. But her living eyes struggled to make sense of it all. She had heard stories of this. Legends where anguished souls would pull people into a phantasmagoria, a dream of the dead.

  Time had no sway here and nothing was ever as it seemed. None of those fables had ended well, she remembered, and Mary felt her eyes burn with tears. She clenched her hands into fists and beat at her knees. She wouldn't let them fall, wouldn't let that thing find her bawling on the floor like a little girl. She shrugged off her pack and emptied her pockets.

  Mary set out the tarnished silverware and the sphinx figurine. She left the silk. From her cloak, she produced two matches and a box of tinder. Her side pouch yielded only a bit of dry jerky and ten silver pieces. Not much, but one of the knives from the set still had a bit of an edge. She knew it wouldn't do much against the spirits that lingered here, but was better than nothing. A door creaked open ahead of her and a young boy's voice called out.

  “Oy when's the grub?” Mary threw the meager supplies into her sack and brandished the tiny knife at the open door just a few steps in front of her. “Come on, come on. I got a hunger!” Slowly, Mary took a step closer. From behind her came a croak, closer. She rushed into the room. Mary slammed the door shut, a panic on her lips. It died as she caught sight of the boy who had been calling her.

  On the bed, wrapped up tight in a white sheet, was a boy no more than ten summers old. His face looked as if it was at a slant, due in part to a bulbous and sloped forehead. One of his eyes was easily three times the size of the other and milky. He was bound in linens by ugly iron buckles and rawhide straps. In a way that he looked like a strange caterpillar.

  “Oh, for all the stars. I'm saved.” His one good eye looked this way and that, on either side of her and all around. “You did bring dinner, right?”

  “What?” Mary was shocked at her own voice. The voice of dry leaves in the wind.

  “You're kidding right? Don't get between Slim and his meal, now. Cats have been eaten for less, dogs too. But only the little ones.” He started to inchworm his way to the edge of the bed. “Joke's been fun, give up the nosh.”

  “Slim?”

  “Slim, yes,” He cocked a bushy brown eyebrow at her. “Me. I am Slim. In no small part thanks to you playing silly games with my food.” He tried to swing off the side of the cot, failed twice before finally toppling to the ground. Mary moved to catch him, but the instant he hit the floor, Slim slithered lightning fast between her outstretched arms. He wormed around her legs, and up her back. Mary spun and flailed, knocking him off her. He landed with a grunt.

  “What's this then, I can smell it there. Game's won, can't hide morsels from me.” He rolled and undulated, giving Mary the unsettling impression of a maggot. Slim grinned at her, showing gapped teeth and yellowed gums. Mary remembered the jerky stump and opened her pack. Slim rocked back and forth, his giant milky eye blinked rapidly. When she reached in, a sharp claw dug into the back of her hand and a voice, almost like a purr, filled her head.

  Only a fool gives something for nothing.

  In the darkness around her hand, she saw a pair of bright yellow eyes. She pulled her arm back out, slow to show him the hunk of dry meat in her palm. Slim let out a whistle and began licking his lips with a patchy tongue.

  “That's a good lovely, give us those treats now.”

  “What are you going to give me?” Mary asked, holding the food just out of reach.

  “Whats this then, a trade?” He sounded shocked. “For such a little thing?”

  “That's all I've got.”

  “You've got a toss, a mouses dinner that.”

  “Well if you don't want it...” She moved to stow the jerky away. Slim shook his head so quickly that giant eye seemed to still spin even when he stopped.

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nbsp; “Don't be hasty, don't be hasty.” Slim looked this way and that before he nodded toward a small trunk at the end of his bed. “There, have a grab at that.” Mary opened the chest. It creaked like a scared cat. Inside, right on top of a bunch of blankets, was a small bow. It was like a child's toy, not much longer than her forearm.

  “What, no arrows?” Mary felt her mouth go thin.

  “Nah, won't let me have any of those they wont.”

  “Who are they, Slim?”

  “The brothers, silly. All black robes and sour eyes. You must have seen loads of them out there.” Slim inched closer to her, his eye focused on the food in her hand. She bent down and held it out to him. He opened his mouth impossibly wide, and she tossed the meat into his maw. He groaned in ecstasy. Munching and gnashing the tough chunk with such delight Mary couldn't help but smile.

  “Where am I?” He chewed thoughtfully, mulling something over.

  “That would be a gift, unless you got another goody for me?”

  “I don't have anymore food. I'm sorry.” His face fell. He looked as sad as she had ever seen someone.

  “It's alright. Thanks for the bite, miss.” He rolled away from her and snaked back toward the cot. “You're where all us loony loons go, Our Last Hope.”

  “Loony loons... an Asylum?”

  “Fancy name for for such an