Masque of Death (Kormak Book Nine) (The Kormak Saga 9)
Masque of Death
William King
Typhon Press
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Chapter One
Skeletons danced in the night-darkened street. A dozen of them skipped through the torch-lit gloom, reeling and brandishing their scythes. Two played drums with human ribs. Two played flutes carved from men’s thighbones. One leapt into the air and performed a cartwheel, landed badly and fell. Mud spattered the black dye on his flesh and marred the white of the bones painted on his torso.
Masked women laughed and fluttered fans inscribed with tiny skulls in front of their faces. Little children screamed. Vendors offered trays of sweetmeats and coconut delicacies to the crowd of revellers. The smell of rot and wine and tropical flowers filled the air.
Puppeteers and costumed jongleurs mixed with the locals who had emerged at nightfall to celebrate the Masque of Death. The well-off wore elaborate funereal costumes; their faces whitened with arsenic and the hollows beneath their eyes darkened with soot. The poor showed their ribs through tattered tunics, but they laughed and sang and shouted just as lustily as their supposed betters.
Kormak took it all in with a wary gaze. He ran his hand through his grey-flecked black hair and studied the crowd for signs of any threat.
People had talked about nothing else but this festival during the final stages of the sea voyage to Terra Nova. Would they make it in time to witness the huge street party? Would the winds be favourable enough for them to get there in time to acquire a suitably spectacular costume?
In the first case, yes. In the second case, no. Despite the best efforts of the Imperial weather witch, the winds had brought the Pride of Siderea in on the first evening of the great bacchanal which meant there would be two days and two nights left, but no tailor would be found to stitch a costume.
Only the taverns and brothels were open, and they were doing a roaring trade. The streets around the harbour were filled with sailors fresh from the ocean-going galleons and fishermen who had spent two hard weeks hauling as much finned silver from the sea as they could, to give them the wherewithal to celebrate the feast properly. The smell of their catch mingled with the other pungent scents of the docks.
A drunk reeled from the crowd and almost blundered into Kormak. He looked up, blinked owlishly and then made to raise a hat that was no longer on his head. After an instant, he took in Kormak’s tall, grim figure and staggered away to offer the marching soldiers his wine flask.
Sergeant Terves, squat, dark-skinned and grizzled, waved him aside in a friendly manner. The man tottered to a safe distance, turned, stuck out his tongue and made an obscene movement with his hips before vanishing into the crowd.
The marines laughed. They were happy to be ashore. They knew that if things went well, these would be their final hours on duty for a day or two, and they would be free to join in the revels.
Bare-breasted, red-rouged women catcalled them and made inviting gestures. The soldiers responded with good-natured insults.
“It will get wilder as the days go on,” said Orson. The massive merchant prince beamed. White teeth glittered in his chubby face. His triple chins contracted with mirth.
Kormak suspected the fat man had been behind an attempt on his life, but no one would have guessed it to look at him. Despite the sweat beading his brow, he looked totally at ease.
Orson said, “It always starts good-natured but as the days drag, tempers fray and hangovers get worse. People start to notice that their wives and husbands and lovers have been sleeping with someone else.”
Admiral Zamara laughed good-naturedly and said, “Ah but then they have probably been doing the same themselves.” He fanned his face with his tricorn hat then ran a hand through his thick blonde hair.
“People find it easier to forgive themselves their sins than to forgive others, in my experience,” Orson said. “What do you think, Sir Kormak?”
“I think that it is going to take us longer to get to the Governor’s Palace than I expected.”
“The crowds are always thickest after midnight,” Orson said. “People starve themselves during the daylight and then gorge themselves during the night.
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