The Walk

There was blood on the floorboards.

Quite a lot of it, actually. Nerissa had found it very difficult to take a life without a lot of blood spilling everywhere. It had a habit of just getting out. She took her knife with the carved bone handle and wiped it on her tunic which was now coated in a spreading dark red stain. She could pass it off as wine stains to the crowd in the tavern downstairs. Yes, that would be easy enough. Besides, they were making such a racket down there it would be easy for her to just slip out without anyone even noticing. Where was the fun in that though? If she just wanted to escape unseen she could cause a distraction, wear a disguise or climb out the open window, scurry down the vines that covered the walls like a rat and slip into the night like a… well, a rat. She could cast a spell. But there were rules for this sort of thing, paperwork and pages of legislation to stop her doing exactly that. The Mutual Concordat alone was enough to give her pause when considering to tap into her magic potential and the less said about the Treaty of Ambrose the better. So, she would have to settle for the usual route, the one that made the most sense and the one she had planned for. Wrap up the body, push it out of the window and into the sea and walk out the front door. Follow the street up to your room at the Cattery and be done with it, wash your hands, a cup of tea.

Bed. Done.

Only that's not quite what happened. Nerissa folded up the body, they’re surprisingly limber the first hour or so after death, before the mortis sets in. This one had been a banker, accountant, teller or something non-descript that required few follow up questions lest you risk severe boredom. The contract stated embezzlement, Nerissa didn’t really understand how you could embezzle money at a bank, but Nerissa didn’t really understand banks and had kept all her frags in a sack under her pillow. It was hell on the neck though. She rolled up the body in the green woven floor rug but stopped suddenly, listening.

She couldn’t hear the tavern anymore. Not five minutes before there was a constant stomping, hollering, singing and glasses clinking but now, nothing save for a low almost silent rumbling like thunder from many miles away. She became very aware of the noise of all her movements, the leather in her boots squeaked like a family of mice every step and her stomach gave a slight growl that was akin to a bear in this silence. She sighed, she shouldn’t have had the eggs. Her instincts kicked in and she moved to the door and with the lightest touch checked the lock. Still in place. There was very little furniture in the room that she could use as a barricade if it came to it. A timber bed stand, driftwood closet and a small iron banded chest at the foot of the bed hardly made for a fortress wall. The decision to leave very quickly and very quietly came on strong and without a second thought she hauled the body to the window and in one motion, tossed it and swung herself out onto the vines against the wall. The splash came a few seconds later. A sudden onset of rain poured from the clouded sky, the kind of torrential downpour usually only seen exclusively on the day when one forgets an umbrella. She stole a glance down to the wide and deep Aspien river that bisected Whaeldrake. The body bobbed in the murky water for a few seconds then, taken by the rapid currents, disappeared into the other garbage that floated on the river like chunks of onion in a bad soup. The gas lanterns on the streets below were already lit and the evening fog had crawled out of the river spreading its tendrils into the city like a hungry sea creature. She could make out shadows in the fog, some of them wearing hats and petticoats out for an evening stroll, clearly unprepared for the sudden rains. A strange fashion choice, Nerissa thought. She hadn’t seen coats and hats like these for some time.

The vines she clung to carried on along the tavern wall but the trellis stopped. The roofs then, she thought and turned upwards to the slanted slate roofs. Most streets were narrow enough that they could be leapt across fairly easily making this an effective method of traversal on paper. In reality, these were often rain-slick deathtraps where a foot on the wrong tile was a one-way ticket to a caved-in skull or shattered spine, unfortunately, at this stage, she had little other choices.

From the roofs, the city unfolded like a balled-up piece of paper, one that had been dipped in tea then tossed about in gravel and glass for a bit for good measure. It was also giving off a constant layer of mist and smoke as if it were smouldering or about to burst into flames at any moment. It was one of the many reasons the city appealed and disgusted Nerissa in equal measure. She didn’t want to be anywhere else, quite frankly.

Although something seemed different about it tonight. Where was the smell? Usually, the city was positively festering with the rank odour of stale river water, gutted fish and old beer but tonight the odour was little more than a passing stink like she was smelling it through a dense cloth. Even the delicate petrichor brought on by the rains was as dull as a bottled version of it. Moving along the roof it struck her that not a single ship lingered in the river, the waterways normally loaded with ferries and steamboats were empty. She glanced up at the moon, it wasn’t late enough for it to be this quiet, was it? Stranger still, the end of the roof never seemed to come, more and more slates just seemed to appear at the edge of the roof the closer Nerissa got to it, always giving her a few more steps to the edge. She began to run, for all the good that would do, and predictably the effect continued. Nerissa paused, what was going on?

‘It isn’t quite the same, is it?’ Nerissa span on her heel and into a crouch, a blade flashing into her hand ready to throw and another within reach from inside her coat. The Rambler appeared before her in the guise of a haggard old man with a wide-brimmed hat. A wiry silver beard hung from his face reaching almost to his waist. ‘Things are different.’ He said, his voice was like a tomb, hollow, heavy and old. The surprise was the only thing keeping Nerissa on her feet, she should have bowed, got to her knees, anything other than standing there gawking but here she was, standing there and indeed gawking.

‘Why...’ Nerissa began but then realised the strangeness of a mortal questioning the divine on why they did anything at all. If all the churches and ministers couldn’t do it then how was she supposed to understand? The Rambler sat on a stool that had materialized beneath him. He drew a pipe from inside his long coat and, despite the rains, lit the end with ease and began to smoke. A second stool materialised, wooden and hand-carved with small figures walking in dense woods around the rim of the seat. Nerissa watched the figures move in slow purposeful motions. ‘So,’ She started again, clearing her throat. ‘Are you here to take me on The Walk? Talk about my sins and ask me to be a better woman in the future?’ The Rambler tapped his pipe and exhaled a thin wisp of smoke.

‘I do find the best time to talk is when you’re walking.’ He gestured openly to the world around them that had become a forest of impossibly tall trees wreathed in mist. Dark green vegetation coated the ground and the stools had become moss-covered rocks. There was a moisture in the air, thick like breathing in river water. ‘Something about the open-air sets the mind a-wandering. I’ve had my happiest conversations when I’ve been walking but you might need to be sitting for this one.’ Nerissa put her daggers away and sat down, fidgeting nervously. The Rambler eased himself off his seat and stepped to the edge of the roof. The city had returned, the trees disappearing as quickly as they arrived. The moon was hanging low in the sky now with an almost daylight brightness, so close you could have touched it with a tall pole. The Rambler let out a long sigh. ‘This part is never easy.’ He muttered to himself as if Nerissa wasn’t within earshot. ‘I’m afraid this will come as quite a shock, Nerissa but no, I’m not just here for The Walk. Well, in a way I suppose I am.’ Nerissa’s jaw tightened at the use of her name. ‘I’m afraid you're dead.’ The world slipped away like wet paint in the rainwater. Nerissa went to fall but found she couldn’t, the dark space around her simply moved with her falling motion, the seat stuck to her as if glued. The streets and the city were gone, replaced with an endless length of darkness.

‘But I killed him… I climbed out the window onto the roof I…’ Nerissa stammered recounting the events in her memory but the words were coming slowly, her mouth was difficult to move, it had a weight to it that wasn’t there before. The Rambler interrupted.

‘You fought with an accountant or a teller or something of the like but I’m afraid it went rather badly for both of you. Yes, you got the body outside and into the river but then fell in along with it. Didn’t you notice all the blood? Didn’t you feel the water when you hit it?’ The image returned to her now, the knife in her gut, her knife in his neck. Her skin felt slick and slimy. The rain, of course.

‘Oh, fuck.’ She whispered, not really knowing what else to say. The Ramblers face sagged and then his shoulders shrugged and he gave a genial sort of smile.

‘Never mind, ey?’ He said and patted her back the way that one might when consoling a friend who’s just dropped ice cream. The darkness receded into the woodland vision Nerissa saw earlier. She felt the mud at her feet, heard the chirps of birds and the wind rustling through the leaves, caught the smell of fresh pine and, yes, petrichor again. ‘Come along now, The Walk is your chance to tell me all your wrongdoings, what you could have done differently if you had the chance. You don’t have the chance, mind you, but it’s good to talk.’ The trees cleared aside like boats on a river for them as they walked. Over the crest of a hill, Nerissa looked down and saw a harbour nestled into a mountainside. A sun was setting in an orange glow across a red sea that went on endlessly into the horizon. ‘Silvercreek Landing, where the Ferrymen can take you where you need to go when we’re done here.’ The Rambler said, answering a question that hadn’t been asked yet. Nerissa swallowed.

‘Oh, shit.’ She said, because, quite frankly, there was not much else to say.