Husk: A Maresman Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

was a sleaze bag with a thirst for the booze, but that’s not uncommon round here. Mother was another thing, though.” He looked off into the shadows, as if remembering. “Abandoned the family when the kids were only this high. Shog knows where she got to. And as for Ilesa, last I heard she was seen down New Jerusalem way, probably whoring for a living. Course, that was a long time ago. Could be dead now, for all I know. Died of starvation, most likely, or the pox.”
    Bones rolled his head from side to side. “Heard she was out near Malfen a few years back. Worked the guilds in New Jerusalem before that, till things went bad. Ended up in the brigand settlements for a time.”
    “And you know that how?” Boss said, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.
    “Got customers there, Boss. Trappers using the Malfen Pass snag some mighty exotic stuff from—”
    “Yes, yes, all quite illegal, I’m sure. Am I right, Jeb?”
    Jeb merely snorted. People around Malfen had been doing it for as long as he could remember: crossing into Qlippoth for a spot of hunting. More’n a few never came back, but those that did could fetch a lot of coin for their catches—dead catches, of course. Anything living would draw the ire of the Maresmen. And then it clicked: Bones was stuffing the dead husks so they could be displayed as trophies. Jeb wasn’t sure it was illegal, but it damned well would be once the senate got wind of it.
    “Don’t get me wrong,” Boss said, “the Fana lad’s not to blame for what he is, but there’s nothing to be done for him. All we can do is knuckle on down and look at what’s best for the town.”
    Jeb nodded slowly. He had a soft spot for the lad, himself, what with growing up in Malfen. It wasn’t like food was easy to come by, and he’d had his fill of people like Boss back then; people who’d sooner kick you into the gutter than give you a hand out of it. It was all about money for that type, which to Jeb’s mind set them on an equal footing with the husks coming over from Qlippoth. He sniffed and allowed himself a slight shrug as he pulled the door open. Way of the world, is what it was. You had to be realistic.

5
    A T THE TOP of the rickety stairs, Jeb could see Maisie the serving wench bending over a bed through the open door of a guest room. Didn’t take no genius to work out he was in the right place. She huffed and groaned as she plumped the pillows and tugged the sheets straight. Jeb had half a mind to stand there a while and enjoy the view, but she turned and gave a startled yelp.
    “This mine?” Jeb said, tipping his hat.
    Could’ve been a brothel, what with the pastel pink wall hangings and the satin bedspread. Bed itself was a copper framer, sort that squeaked like an infestation of rats when you tossed and turned, and even worse than that with company. A tin basin stood opposite the foot of the bed, a pitcher of water and a folded towel beside it. There was a woodworm-damaged nightstand to one side of the headboard, more holes in it than Case Carson’s arrow-pocked corpse after the Maresmen brought him down. Husk like that’d taken cooperation between the hunters, the likes of which Jeb had never seen before. No happy alliance, that, though. Maresmen were better off left to work alone. Someone had a grudge, or someone didn’t pull their weight, it weren’t uncommon for accusations to start flying about not sticking to the contract—because that’s what it was: hunt down the husks, or it’d be assumed your worse side had got the better of you, and you’d be next.
    Maisie’s cheeks went a shade pinker than the room, and she ran an appraising eye over her handiwork.
    “Will it do? I mean, the colors ain’t right, but the mattress is soft, and the bedstead’s got a good spring to it.” She pushed down on it a couple of times to illustrate.
    “It’s a room,” Jeb said, shrugging off his coat and letting it fall to the floor. He slung his hat on the bed and sat on the