Heraclix and Pomp: A Novel of the Fabricated and the Fey Read Online Free PDF Page B

encountered your kind before.”
    Von Helmutter stabbed again, missing short of his target’s belly, then slashed upward, opening a shallow cut across Heraclix’s chest that welled up with quicksilver, glittered, and again disappeared, leaving the skin etched where the dagger had met flesh.
    But, rather than following up with another thrust, the graf swatted at some invisible pest that had taken an interest in him. His hand connected with the assailant, knocking it aside.
    Von Helmutter advanced, once more, toward Heraclix.
    The graf’s free hand suddenly shot up to his eyes. He screamed something incomprehensible, dropping the dagger to the ground as he reached up with the other hand to cover his nose, which had begun to bleed profusely.
    The onlooking soldiers muttered among themselves.
    Just then, the graf’s breeches fell down around his ankles. His hand shot down to cover his exposed groin. He screeched out in pain and dropped to his knees, one hand trying to protect his face, the other his naked crotch.
    The guards moved in, the experienced ones assisting their commander, the inexperienced ones laughing at his embarrassing plight. In the background, the one called Von Graeb seemed to be hiding a smile behind a raised hand.
    Heraclix turned round and round, not knowing where to go or what to do.
    “Pomp!” he cried out.
    “Here I am!” she said, alighting on his arm, coming into visibility. The left hand, almost instantly, calmed itself.
    “Where to?” he asked.
    “That way!” she giggled, pointing east.
    The pair bowled their way through a set of guards who had set themselves to receive Heraclix’s charge.
    Heraclix ran through the streets, bounding over carts and barrels, knocking over anything he could to create obstacles for any pursuers. Soon, he and Pomp ran across a bridge, disappearing from the guards’ view.
    Von Graeb stooped down to pick up the silver dagger that Von Helmutter had dropped. It was a crude weapon, rough hewn from a single silver vein, with marks on the handle that might naturally have occurred in the ore from which it was extracted, or might have been intentionally carved—a set of sigils whose purpose he could not divine. He wrapped it up in a cloth in order to return it to Von Helmutter.
    “A dead giant lives. A ghost fixes the dice of chance to turn a prediction of misfortune into one of good luck, then the Chief of the Imperial Guard reveals himself as a demon-hunter trained by who-knows-who or what. Grandmother would have known what to make of this,” he said to himself. “But she’s gone now,” he sighed, “and I am left to winnow through my own memories for enlightenment.”
    While the others were attending to Graf Von Helmutter, Von Graeb surreptitiously wandered over to look into Mowler’s apartment. He looked back to where the men were helping the indignant Graf to gather his things. “I wonder,” Von Graeb said, “If there’s a connection . . .” He turned to the burned out remains one last time, then, shaking his head, he began to walk back toward his men. “How odd,” he said. “How very odd, indeed.”

C HAPTER 4
     
    E very flash of white—every mislaid ribbon, painted door, or cloud in the sky—sent Heraclix darting for cover in an alleyway or behind a wagon. His wounds still ached with a burning pain that ebbed and flowed, though it never fully left him. He didn’t want to encounter Von Helmutter or his men again, that much was certain. Nor did he want a repeat of the uncontrolled actions, his uncontrolled actions, that had resulted in the death of the young guard.
    Mid-day burned off any remaining clouds that had lingered through the morning. Heraclix and Pomp found shelter from the sun in an abandoned stable near the outskirts of town. Insects bothered the golem’s seams but kept a respectful distance from Pomp, who baffled them whenever she appeared. She was so like a bug, yet so unlike a bug. What was a tiny insect to think of her?
    “You