70

Sleeping Arrangements

Khumaka led them down, into the bowels of the great stone fortress. Murmux trailed along at the back, his eyes watchful and his shoulder blades twitching. He could see why Asher had declined to join them. Whatever manipulative games the bastard was playing, they did not involve debasing himself to such a journey. The whole place reeked. The air was moist and smelt of rotting seaweed. Everything was slightly damp, and the spiral steps were slick as they descended into darkness.

The rocky passageways might have reminded Murmux of the catacombs of his home but for the fact that the walls were carved from white, soapy limestone instead of night absorbing obsidian. There was no lighting in these deep passages, and Khumaka carried a single, smoking torch. Candle sent her blue witch-lights into the air, bobbing over the trailing crowd of humans, who muttered appreciatively. The old man eyed the lights with wild eyes and stepped further away from Candle.

They were low down, now, almost at sea level and the noise of the waves could be heard slapping against the rocks in perpetual motion. Sea air blasted in through narrow, unshuttered slits cut in the walls, setting the lights bobbing and Khumaka's torch shuddering. The scent of the sea was overwhelming and made Murmux want to sneeze. He wrinkled his nose and stepped carefully over a patch of seaweed, steadying himself against the soapy walls.

The elderly human led them further down, deep into the bedrock, they were well below sea level. They passed various narrow doors and openings. Peering in, Murmux could make out shadowy figures, that vanished as the witch lights bobbed by. If they were humans, they were quiet and quick to hide.

After a few more minutes Khumaka came to a stop outside a rickety door.

"Here we are," he said and pushed it open with a creak. "It's a bit crowded, but there's nowhere else."

There was silence as everyone surveyed the space. Murmux hid a smile. It was less a 'room' and more a hole in the rock – and a tiny hole at that. Calling it crowded was generous – the room was too small for everyone to stand in at the same time. Most of what little space there was, was taken up by half-rotten bunk beds, stacked three high. The place was filthy, and the air had a stale, unhealthy quality.

"I don't want to stay here," announced one of the children. "It smells funny." He was quickly hushed by his mother.

"You'll do as you're told, and be grateful for it," she murmured, bobbing a quick curtsey in Candle's direction. The girl looked back, appalled as if she was unused to such deference. Her manners were a strange mixture, Murmux pondered. She was a puzzle that he intended to solve. Behind Candle, Zephi was quietly prodding a mouldy old straw mattress. Some bugs wriggled out of it, and the child squealed. Everyone looked at her.

"Eww!" She said, and then popped one in her mouth when she thought no one was looking.

"This won't do," said Candle, turning to Khumaka with a frown. The elderly human sagged against the door.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, wiping his brow. "There really is nowhere else."

"What about my quarters?" She asked. "Asher said I would have my own room?"

"Your own suite, yes," said Khumaka, nodding. He scrunched up the corners of his parchment and then smoothing it out again as he spoke. "But that is for you. Humans are required to stay below. They are not allowed in the residential quarters except for your personal servants."

Candle's eyes brightened.

"Oh, you should have said." Whirling on the spot, she put her hands on Zephi's shoulders. The small girl jumped and sucked her fingers clean guiltily. "Zephi here is my personal maid."

"I am?"

"Yes." Candle turned, searching the room. Looking for him, Murmux realised with a jolt as their eyes met across the cave. "Murmux is my scribe." He laughed and then folded his arms, leaning back against the rough stone wall. The girl glared at him, so he wiped the smirk from his face. "Ahem, Murmux is my scribe and manservant. Narimab is my dresser and Huruben here, is my master of wardrobe-"

"I didn't see any luggage," said Khumaka, checking his list with some anxiety. He flipped the parchment back and forth as if it would provide answers.

"It's arriving later," said Candle, her lip twitching. She continued naming people, and their imaginary jobs until she ran out of breath.

"My lady," said Khumaka, dabbing his brow. "My lady, this is most unorthodox."

"I need a lot of help," said Candle, crossing her arms. "I am most incapable. It would be rude to draw attention to the fact." She looked around at the group. "This room should be quite satisfactory for five or six of you," she said. "The rest of you will come with me to my quarters."

She swept out of the room, and Khumaka scuttled after her, waving his papers.

"But my lady, your quarters... they are quite ample for yourself and one or two servants, but they are not large enough to house so many in comfort."

"That's quite all right, Khumaka," she looked up his harried expression, and her face softened, spoiling her imperious, privileged spawn of dragon act. "If anyone complains tell them I insisted. Please can you show us the way?"

The old man nodded and holding his torch high, retraced his steps through the limestone warren and back up to the cobbled courtyard. Once there, he proceeded through a dim passageway which led into the heart of the massive stone keep. Candle opened her mouth and stared up, gapping at the main hall along with her herd of humans. It was intimidating, Murmux allowed. He cast a disparaging eye over the wall – intimidating and gaudy.

The interior of the Angarrack was bone white, with chalky walls much finer than the damp bedrock passages below. At the centre was a great staircase that rose to caverness heights, twisting in a bone spiral, the banister railing forming spikes like a giant's rib cage. The holes between the stair slats were large enough for a person to fall though, but then what dragon would be afraid of falling? The effect was airy and open, with a brittle elegance that set Murmux's teeth on edge.

To the left, a massive archway cut through the rock, and open to the elements. The entrance was large enough for a dragon, and the wind swept through, carrying the tang of salt from the black waves that were visible beyond. Khumaka hesitated on the threshold of the great hallway and turned to a side door.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said to Candle, looking uncomfortable. "But I dare not take so many humans up the main stairway."

She inclined her head.

"Do what you must."

"The older generation spend more time in their true forms," Khumaka explained as he led the way up a side passage. "They seldom use the small passageways. But the younger lords and ladies, begging your pardon, find the small form more enjoyable. I wouldn't want to offend them – or you, of course my lady." To his delight, Murmux realised the poor man was sweating. "Of course Angarrack is only this crowded at this time of year. Normally we are more than capable of providing proper accommodation."

The elderly human blathered and yakked his way up several more flights of stairs. The small stairs, as Khumaka called them, were close and narrow, without the grandeur of the main stairwell. They passed several small folk sized rooms, all of them finer than those in the bedrock and then moved into what Murmux assumed from the scale, were the dragons' quarters.

"Nearly there," said Khumaka, and swung open a door. The humans spilt out into a wide rocky corridor that was set out like a gallery. Murmux sniffed, the hair on the back of his neck rising as a foul odour assaulted his nostrils. A spark escaped from his hand and pinged harmlessly onto the floor. Candle's witch lights sputtered and winked out. People bumped into each other as those at the front came to an abrupt halt.

Khumaka didn't seem to notice.

"Lady Hezekiah's private collection," he said, proudly, waving his hand to take in the breadth of the room. He did not notice the distraught faces of his audience.

Various objects were on display, arranged in neat rows. Some of them were labelled in a looping, elegant hand. All of them were dead. The bones of some great ocean leviathan hung from the ceiling in a limp imitation of life. An auroch skull reclined on a velvet cushion, next to the full skeleton of an imp. Six human heads were nailed to the wall in descending order of size. The skin was stretched yellowing and papery over gaunt bones, the hair stringy and oil-coated.

Someone let out a whimper and was quickly shushed. Zephi stared about her with great interest, peering at the nearest head and then reaching out one pale finger to give it a prod. "Please no touching," said Khumaka, turning sharply. "My lady takes great pride in her trophies. She will be angry if anything is disturbed."

Zephi put her hands behind her back and smiled up at him. She alone seemed unperturbed. But what fear could dead bodies hold for a child raised in the dark underbelly of the Necromancer's Keep? Murmux would have laughed at the shock in the human's faces, but for the fact that the next item in the collection was one of his late brothers. Dead as a doornail, the warrior hung, stuffed and suspended in perpetual, grisly flight for the rest of his nights. The laugh withered in his throat as Murmux walked past. He tore his gaze away from the glassy eyeballs that seemed to follow him accusingly as he moved. The humans were making him cranky with the stench of their fear. The hallway smelt bad anyway. Stale. The scent of embalming fluid and old death was suffocating. It reminded him of home.

Tightly bunched together, the humans shuffled down the gallery, following Candle and Khumaka. Murmux followed with a loose gait, schooling his face to disinterest. He was used to death, yes, but there was something about the trophies that was unsettling.

At the very end of the hall, hanging in pride of place, were two last grisly trophies. The first was a Necromancer's skull, complete with moonsilver horns glinting in the torchlight. The second, a massive dragon skull mounted on a plinth. The hollow pits of its eye sockets were deep with shadows. They shifted as Khumaka moved, giving it the appearance of life.

"A dragon," said Candle, seemingly unable to contain herself. Her fists clenched at her sides. Murmux wondered whether she was angry or scared. What kind of place had she come from that the skull of a fallen foe could elicit such a strong response? Such a human response?

"My Lady's sister," Khumaka said and carried on down the hall as if the matter warranted no further comment.

"Her sister," repeated Candle. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line. Murmux hid a smile. Persuading her to leave Angarrack would not be as hard as he had feared.

"I wonder where Asher keeps his collection," he mused aloud. Candle shot him a wide-eyed look, her cheeks losing what colour had remained.

"The young masters keep their collections in their own suites," said Khumaka, "in the western turret." He led the way through an archway and down another flight of stairs to the right. "Guest suites are in the eastern tower."

"Thank the Dawn for that, " Murmux said under his breath and resisted the urge to chuckle. The tension was making him giddy.

"Here we are," said Khumaka. He pulled open a great door to reveal a suite of rooms. The elderly human hovered anxiously, his eyes glued to Candle as he waited for her approval. Her herd of humans crowded around her, exclaiming and chattering at the top of their voices. Murmux rolled his eyes and hung back. He was sure the rooms would be luxurious and spacious. He just hoped the bastards had left some of their grisly trophies for Candle to admire.

"This is perfect," he heard Candle saying from inside the room. "It's lovely, Khumaka, please don't concern yourself." He rolled his eyes. "Can you bring us some extra blankets...for my staff?"

"Yes, yes, of course, my lady. Thank you, thank you so much." Khumaka reversed out of the doorway and bumped into Murmux's broad chest. Murmux glared down at him and was rewarded with a squeal. The human scuttled off to do whatever it was human slaves did.

He stood in the dark corridor for a moment, enjoying the moment of calm, before striding through the doorway to inspect Candle's new quarters. It was almost as vulgar as the main hallway, but he supposed it was spacious enough. More cave than room, one side was fully open to the elements. Dragons seemed to enjoy living in homes riddled with holes, Murmux mused. Probably something to do with their small brains and the fact that they were basically animals.

The star-speckled sky was fully visible, and there was a sheer drop down to the dark water below. Candle stood on the ledge breathing deeply, a look of delight on her face, as she looked out. One of the children ran tottering toward the edge, and she grabbed him before he got too close.

"This won't do," she said, handing the squirming child back to his mother, who bobbed a quick curtsy, to Candle's obvious discomfort.

"Better than the hole in the bedrock," said Narimab, inching towards the ledge and peering over with great caution. She shuddered and turned pale as she beheld the drop. "Maybe. I think I would prefer to sleep in one of the back rooms, if that is possible?"

"In here," called Zephi, and Murmux turned to see various doorways opening off the side. They led to three small chambers and a storage room.

"For your luggage," said Narimab with a laugh, as she peered around the door. "The dragons certainly know how to look after their guests."

"Their guests, yes," said Murmux. "Everything is wonderful as long as you have scales and stay on the right side of Lady Hezekiah."

The smile dropped off Candle's face, and Murmux almost felt bad. Almost.

"Let's move the furniture around," she said, after a moment. "I don't need this to sleep on." She waved to the large four-poster bed at the back of the room. "Help me move it into the back room, so we don't have to worry about the little ones tumbling off the edge while we sleep."

"How very modern," said Murmux, raising one eyebrow. Candle snorted, and then laughed again, the tension leaving her face as quickly as it had arrived.

"I wonder if grandpa would approve!" She mimicked Asher's gruff voice, a wicked grin spreading across her usually tense face. Murmux grinned back at her.

"You sound ridiculous," he said.

"So does Asher," she said, to his delight. "Alright, you lot, help me move this."

"How long are we staying?" Zephi asked, planting herself in the doorway, hands on her hips. She was right in their way, and Murmux nudged her aside with one foot.

"What?" said Candle, staggering backwards, as they half dragged, half carried the bed into the room. They dropped it with a thump. It was instantly swarmed by small children who settled on top of the pillows with beatific expressions.

"That's right, loves," said Narimab, wiping her brow, "get some rest while you can. We all should."

"How long are we going to stay here," said Zephi loudly. The obnoxious child did not like to be ignored. "When are we going to your home, Candle?"

Narimab and the other humans busied themselves, moving various bits of furniture around and pretending they weren't listening. Murmux folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door, eyes on Candle. She didn't answer, stared at the Necromancer brat, her face strained.

"It's okay, dear," said Narimab, patting Zephi's arm. "I think this is our new home now." The older woman looked weary, the deep lines of her face creasing. Murmux was reminded again, how fragile the humans were. "It's very nice after all. High walls, no wights, a roof over our heads...we have plenty to be grateful for."

"I suppose," said Zephi. "And there is chocolate cake." She looked around, as if expecting to see it materialise. "Somewhere."

"Maybe Zeb will show us," said Huruben. "At the Night Market or whatever it was."

"Get some rest now, dears," said Narimab, and the two older children tucked themselves onto the end of the bed.

"Yes," said Candle, "get some rest."

She turned back to the main cavern and sat on the edge, her feet hanging over as she frowned at the sea. Murmux contemplated going over but decided against it. He didn't need to nudge her in the right direction. Everything was proceeding as he had hoped.