Chapter 3

Frankie

The first thing I learned about being rich in another world was that nobody had invented banks.

This presented a problem. The sack Azrath had given me weighed about forty pounds. I had no idea how much money that was or what anything cost. And the room they’d given me didn’t have a lock. It did have a human skull over the door. I wasn’t sure if that counted.

I’d asked about going home before they brought me upstairs.

The Boss had been examining one of the bullets I’d fired at him.

“Put the hole back,” I said. “The one I came through.”

“The exchange is complete.”

“Good. Complete it backward.”

He turned the bullet between two fingers.

“The ritual sought a servant, Francesco. It did not seek your city.”

“It found it.”

“It found you.”

I looked at the circle. There was a black streak across the stone where my shoe had dragged when I landed.

“Open another.”

“Without the completed path, another casting would find another destination. You might enjoy it less than this one.”

“Then find the path.”

That made him look up. I remembered the invisible fingers around my throat and adjusted my tie.

“Please, Boss. I got people there.”

“Such work takes time.”

“How much?”

“I have learned to be patient.”

Easy for him. Nobody was expecting him for supper.

He sent a servant to show me out. I stopped beside the circle anyway. Put my hand into the space where Chicago had been. Cold air. Stone on the other side. I went around the rim. Same result. The servant waited until I finished making a fool of myself.

“Your rooms, sir.”

* * *

A pale curve marked the inside of my wrist. I had tried washing it off. Whatever the trip had done to me, soap wasn’t putting it right. I pulled my cuff over it and counted what I had left. Guns. Cigarettes. The key to my apartment.

Forty pounds of money nobody I knew could spend.

I put the key away and tried to judge whether the gold would fit under the mattress. A horn sounded outside: one long, low, miserable note. Then another. I’d been in this place maybe three hours.

Already somebody needed something.

I left the gold where it was. Anybody who stole it wasn’t getting far with that sack. The corridor outside my room was full of movement. Skeletons marched toward the stairs. Men in black robes hurried after them. Two creatures with horns carried a rack of spears between them. I stopped one of the robed men.

“What’s going on?”

He stared at my hand on his shoulder. Then at me.

“A challenger has come for Lord Azrath.”

“A what?”

“A hero.”

Of course. I followed him upstairs. The fortress made more sense in daylight. Not much more. It sat on top of a hill overlooking miles of farmland, forest, and scattered villages. Black walls surrounded the place. Towers rose at each corner. There was a moat, except the water was green and something large moved beneath the surface. I decided not to ask. Azrath stood on the battlements in fresh robes.

Apparently even dead guys had dinner clothes.

Below us, the gates were opening. Skeletons formed two lines along the road. At the far end stood the hero. I stared.

“That’s a kid.”

Azrath turned his burning eyes toward me.

“He has issued formal challenge.”

“He can’t be more than fifteen.”

“Is that significant?”

I looked down again. The kid had a lance about three feet too long for him. His armor didn’t fit either. The breastplate hung low over his stomach. One shoulder piece was larger than the other. His helmet kept falling forward and he had to shove it back with one hand while holding the lance with the other. He was shaking enough that I could see it from the wall, but he held his ground. Azrath raised one skeletal hand.

“Prepare my armor.”

I stared at him.

“You got armor?”

“Naturally.”

“You’re a skeleton.”

“The technical term is lich.”

“Right. That means nothing to me.”

A pair of servants hurried away. I looked at the kid again. He took one step toward the fortress. His knee almost buckled.

“Let me handle this.”

Azrath tilted his head.

“You?”

“Unless you really got nothing better to do tonight than murder somebody who still gets pimples.”

The green fire in his eyes narrowed. Then brightened.

“Very well. You may serve as my champion.”

I went downstairs. Nobody stopped me. That was new.

I was starting to like management.

The kid raised his lance when I came through the gate. Up close he looked younger.

“Stay back!”

“Easy.”

“I have come for Azrath the Undying!”

“Yeah. Heard you. I’m his champion or something.”

“I challenge him to honorable combat!”

“Also heard that.”

The kid swallowed. His lance shook harder. I stopped about ten feet away.

“You got anything after that?”

He blinked.

“What?”

“The speech. You done?”

His mouth opened. Closed. I waited. He finally lowered the lance an inch.

“Who are you?”

“Frankie.”

He stared.

“Frankie what?”

“Moretti.”

That seemed to confuse him. Good. Made two of us.

“Why are you here, kid?”

“I told you.”

“No. You told me what you’re doing. I’m asking why.”

His jaw tightened.

“I came to kill the Lich.”

“Sure.”

“I will.”

“Absolutely.”

His face reddened.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

That shut him up. I pointed at the armor.

“That yours?”

His eyes moved away.

“My father’s.”

There it was.

“Where’s your father?”

Silence. I waited. The kid’s grip tightened.

“In the dungeons.”

“Why?”

“He owes tribute.”

“How much?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know. They took the grain.”

“Who?”

“The collectors.”

I looked back toward the gate. Several servants had gathered inside to watch. Among them stood a gray-green orc with tusks and arms about the size of my legs. I recognized him from the ritual chamber. He’d been standing near Azrath’s throne when I arrived. The kid kept talking.

“They took our grain. Then the goats. Then Mother’s silver. Then they came back for coin.”

“You had any?”

“No.”

“So they took your father.”

He nodded.

“What does your father do?”

“He’s a miller.”

They had arrested the guy who ground the village’s grain after taking the village’s grain.

Idiots.

I looked toward the orc.

“You.”

He frowned. I pointed.

“Yeah, you. Big fella.”

His expression darkened. He stepped through the gate.

“Shiiruk the Despoiler.”

That explained nothing.

“You handle the dungeon?”

“I command many things, human.”

“Great. Go get his father.”

Silence. Shiiruk and the boy weren’t the only ones watching me now. I was getting tired of being a novelty. Shiiruk laughed. Not a friendly laugh.

“You do not command me.”

“You’re the guy who can get his father?”

“Yes.”

“Then go get his father.”

He walked toward me. Up close he was taller than I’d thought. Seven feet, easy. Maybe more.

“Know your place, human.”

I’d heard that tone before.

Different city. Same asshole.

“I know my place.”

I pointed toward the fortress.

“Apparently it’s high enough that the dead guy with the crown lets me make decisions. Now go get the kid’s father.”

Shiiruk backhanded me hard enough to knock me flat. For a second the world went white. Then sound came back. Somebody laughed. My mouth tasted like pennies. I braced one hand against the dirt, spat blood, and got up. Shiiruk grinned. That grin bothered me. I looked toward the battlements. Azrath stood above us. Watching. Two orcs near the gate started forward. Azrath raised one finger. They stopped. Interesting. I’d been here before.

The boss wasn’t going to get involved. That suited me just fine. Shiiruk was fair game now.

Vincent Bellafonte didn’t raise no sissy.

I looked back at Shiiruk.

“All right. Let’s play.”

His grin widened. I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. I didn’t know what this thing was. It clearly wasn’t human, but I knew a guy’s voice when I heard one. Didn’t matter if you were Italian, Jew, or Chinaman. Everybody had family jewels to protect. Turns out whatever this guy was kept his in the same place.

Useful information.

Shiiruk folded forward with a sound like a dying cow. I slipped the brass knuckles from my pocket.

Best twenty dollars I’d ever spent.

First punch caught him across the mouth. Second went into the ribs. He swung blind. I ducked. Mostly. His fist clipped the side of my head and sent me staggering. Christ. Guy hit like a truck. He came after me. I stepped inside the next swing and drove the brass into his stomach. Three times, quick. He grabbed my coat. I hit him in the throat. Not hard enough to crush it. Hard enough to make him reconsider. He threw me. Picked me right up and threw me.

I hit the dirt shoulder-first and rolled. Everything hurt. Shiiruk charged. I got one knee under me and waited until he was almost on top of me. Then I moved. He went past. I hammered the brass into his kidney. He roared.

Looked like those were in the same place too.

I worked him over from jaw to ribs to stomach, then back to the jaw. Kept changing it up so he couldn’t get his size behind a swing. I might’ve been back at Moe’s Gym in the Windy City. Eventually he dropped to one knee. I hit him once more.

He raised both hands.

“Mercy.”

I stopped. Just like that. My arm, my ribs, and my face all hurt, and my suit was filthy. But the lesson had been delivered. I put the brass knuckles back in my pocket.

“Say you understand.”

Shiiruk looked up at me through one swelling eye.

“Understand what?”

“Next time I tell you to do something, you do it.”

He stared at me. Then his head lowered.

“I understand.”

I spat blood into the dirt.

“Good.”

I held out a hand. He stared at that too. Then took it. I helped him up, though Christ, he weighed like three hundred pounds.

“Now go get the kid’s father.”

He went.

Nobody laughed.

That was better. A few minutes later Shiiruk returned with an older man beside him. He was a thin man with gray hair and a bruised face. The kid dropped the lance and ran to him. I looked away. Family business didn’t need an audience. When they were done, I asked Shiiruk what the man owed. He told me. I still had no idea what the number meant.

“Wait here.”

I went back upstairs. The stairs had gotten a lot longer after the scrap. I was definitely going to feel this in the morning. But lessons needed teaching. I was still figuring out where I stood here, and I couldn’t afford to look weak. I got the sack and brought it down. Shiiruk stared as I counted out the coins.

“That settles it?”

“Yes.”

I handed them over.

“Then he’s square.”

Shiiruk took the gold. The father stared at me.

“You... paid it?”

“Looks that way.”

“Why?”

“Because jail ain’t earning anybody money.”

He didn’t seem to understand. That made two of us. The kid picked up his lance. I reached into the sack again and grabbed a handful of coins.

“Here.”

He stared at them.

“For what?”

“For not coming back.”

He looked offended. I pushed the gold into his hands.

“Listen to me. You got guts. That’s good. Guts without brains gets people buried.”

His father started to speak. I held up a hand.

“Your old man’s square this time. Find a way to earn more of this.”

I tapped the gold in the kid’s palm.

“Plant something. Sell something. Steal something from somebody I don’t work for. I don’t care. But I can’t cover for you next time. Capisce?”

He nodded, then looked down at the coins.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What should I call you?”

“Frankie.”

Behind me came a deep, swollen voice.

“Sir Francesco.”

I turned. Shiiruk stood with one hand between his legs and the other pressed to his mouth.

“Frankie’s fine.”

“Sir Francesco.”

The kid straightened.

“Thank you, Sir Francesco.”

I sighed.

“Sure.”

He told me his name was Elias. Then he and his father started down the road. Halfway to the trees, Elias looked back. I pointed at him.

“Don’t come back.”

He nodded.

I had a feeling he would.

Azrath invited me to dinner.

I wasn’t sure why. He didn’t eat.

The table was enormous. There were twelve chairs. Only two were occupied. Mine had a cushion. His did not. A girl moved quietly between us pouring wine. She was young and pretty, with brown hair pulled back from her face. She kept her eyes down. Everybody around here did that. Azrath watched me over steepled fingers.

“You spared the challenger.”

“I did. What about it?”

“You paid the prisoner’s debt.”

“He was a kid in way over his head. I been there before.”

“And then gifted the boy enough gold to purchase perhaps three farms.”

I stopped with the wine halfway to my mouth.

“Three farms?”

“At least.”

I looked toward the sack beside my chair.

That was useful information.

“All right. Maybe I overdid it.”

Azrath leaned back.

“Why spare him?”

“Because killing him would’ve been stupid.”

The green flames flickered.

“Explain.”

I chose my words carefully. The boss didn’t look happy. I’d been at dinners like this. The kind where you were either gonna get paid or get whacked. I cursed my stupid code.

“You want people farming your land, making things, paying tribute? You need ’em alive.”

Azrath said nothing. I continued.

“You take everything a guy’s got, what’s he supposed to pay you with next year?”

“More can be taken.”

“From what?”

Silence. The girl poured more wine. Azrath’s gaze sharpened.

“You suggest excessive tribute diminishes future tribute.”

“Exactly. Law of diminishing returns or somethin’. I wasn’t too good in school.”

“And imprisonment removes productive subjects from their labor.”

“Now you’re getting it. You don’t get paid if the miller can’t mill. Then everybody else starts starving without their bread and beer.”

I took another drink.

“Or they show up with torches because you left ’em nothin’ to lose.”

He stopped leaning back in his chair. I’d seen Vincent do that when somebody finally said something useful. Azrath tapped one finger against the table.

“If they resist, I can simply destroy them.”

“Sure.”

“Then who’s left to pay you?”

The girl made a tiny sound. Almost a laugh. Azrath noticed. So did I. Neither of us said anything. Azrath leaned forward.

“You speak as though I should fear peasants.”

“Nah. Peasants ain’t the problem.”

“What is?”

“You squeeze people hard enough, they get desperate. Desperate people start praying for heroes.”

I pointed toward the window.

“Next thing you know, some asshole in shining armor shows up at your gate.”

The girl’s laugh escaped, quick and bright. Her eyes went wide and her hand jerked. The wine pitcher clipped my cup. Red wine spread across the table.

The room went silent.

The girl’s face lost all color. Azrath looked at the spill. Then at her.

“Replace her.”

Two guards moved. The girl froze. I frowned.

“Whoa.”

They stopped. I looked at Azrath.

“Don’t replace her, Boss.”

The guards waited. Azrath tilted his skull.

“Boss.”

“Yeah.”

“What is this title?”

“The guy in charge.”

“I am Lord.”

“Same neighborhood where I come from. You call the guy who calls the shots Boss.”

“Boss.”

He considered it. The green fire brightened.

“I approve.”

“Well, I’m glad, cause I ain’t learning all your fancy words.”

His gaze shifted toward the girl.

“She has failed in her function.”

“She spilled a little wine.”

“Precisely.”

“I need somebody to show me around.”

Azrath looked back at me.

“Do you?”

“I don’t know where anything is. I don’t know what anything costs. I don’t know who works for who. I gave a kid three farms this afternoon.”

“An excellent point.”

I gestured toward the girl.

“She knows the place.”

Azrath studied her. Then me.

“You request her as your reward?”

I shrugged.

“Sure. She ain’t too bad to look at.”

The girl went somehow paler. Azrath raised one hand.

“Granted.”

The guards stepped away. I looked at her.

“What’s your name?”

Her lips parted.

“Mara, my lord.”

“Frankie.”

Her eyes flicked toward Shiiruk, who had been permitted to stand beside the door despite looking like he’d lost an argument with a locomotive. His good eye narrowed.

“Sir Francesco.”

I closed mine.

This was going to be a problem.

When I opened them again, Mara was still staring at me. Terrified. I figured she’d calm down once she realized I wasn’t going to have her killed over a tablecloth. Besides, things were looking up. The kid and his father were headed home. Shiiruk would think twice before swinging at me again. I had a local girl who could explain where the hell I was, and enough money to buy farms by accident. Best of all, I got through dinner without getting whacked.

For a first night on the job, I’d done worse.