A Woman of the Swamp

5. Martin, The Necromancer

The guards escorted the four of them to a predictably lavish room adorned with a plethora of dead creatures and religious artifacts. Skulls of mythical beasts adorned the walls with no effort at organization. No doubt, Martin wanted everyone to think he killed them in faraway lands, but Nick knew better. It was more likely the creatures were killed for Martin in exchange for large sums of money. Nick was particularly galled by the long, slender skeleton of an African plesiosaur. Killing a fresh water dinosaur that somehow survived extinction deserved respect, not to be passed off as someone else’s trophy.

They descended tiered steps leading down to a sitting area in the center of the room. A glass wall stretched from floor to ceiling providing panoramic views of the carnage in the pits. A loud gong sounded as a new match started. Two men stood in the center of the arena holding baseball bats while gates on the sides ground open revealing a veritable horde of the undead.

Martin sat in a plush chair that was halfway between a recliner and a throne. His hair hung in long dreadlocks, adorned with gold bangles, jewels and bones. As they all entered, he was mid conversation with a tall, mousy woman in a jet-black suit. “Of course I can give you a warranty on it, but that’s not going to cover any personal incidents you might have along the way. Might I suggest again that you take the teeth out? It’s for your safety.”

The woman bristled. “If I take the teeth out, then no one’s going to be scared of it, will they?”

Martin threw up his hands. “It’s an undead shark, Beatrice. I think people are going to shit themselves either way, but aesthetics are important, I understand.” He swept a hand under his dreads, causing the bones in them to clack together. Just try and stay away from the tank. You’re one of my favorite customers, and I would hate to lose you.” He winked at her.

The woman blushed. “You truly are a devil, Martin, but a devil I like. The teeth stay, but we’ll make sure to keep the family behind thick glass at feeding time.” Her eyes glittered with the calculated malice only found in the ultra-wealthy.

“It’s that kind of prudence that is going to lead you to a long life.” He stiffened slightly as he noticed the new guests entering the room. “Beatrice, I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to cut our time here short. Please, enjoy the fights from one of our luxury booths. I’ve got some old friends to deal with.”

Beatrice gave a pained sigh and looked at the new guests with disgust. “Alright, Martin, but next time I come to visit, we need some quality time. It’s been far too long.” She glared at the four of them as she left the room and blew Martin a parting kiss.

Martin sat back in his chair and looked straight at Nick; deep suspicion rooted in the expression. “So, you leave a man for dead, wait for him to get back on his feet, and then bring a government agent into his halls.” He made a quick motion to one of the guards who set out a few chairs. “I’ve imagined our reunion many times, but never quite like this.”

“Sorry, should have brought flowers.” Nick couldn’t place Martin’s tone. They were either about to get free drinks or be slowly disemboweled in front of a crowd.

Martin laughed. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. You’re lucky I have a sense of nostalgia, or you’d be in the back of a pickup truck with lead shoes headed for the bayou.” Martin exhaled, the air whistling through tiny, bejeweled ornaments in his teeth. “Don’t stand about or I might change my mind.”

When none of them moved immediately toward the chairs, Martin sighed and motioned to the guards. Nick soon found a rifle pressed at his back and he moved to sit without further protest. As far as hostage situations went, it was comfortable. They weren’t bound, and the furnishings were lavish. In the pit below, one of the men got off a particularly vicious blow with a baseball bat, sending a zombie’s severed head spinning toward the plexiglass barrier. It collided with a wet thunk.

“I do love what you’ve done with the place. Top-notch vibe you’ve cultivated.”

“Yes, it took us a few years to get constructed, but we’re now ranked one of the top fighting pits in everything but food safety.”

Nick’s stomach grumbled audibly, and he winced at the memory of the kebabs. “Good for you. And you’re looking well.”

“No thanks to you.” Martin held up his left arm and pulled back his sleeve. A line of black stitching and scars ran around his bicep. The pigmentation on the forearm didn’t quite match the upper arm, but it was close.

“That’s a nice bit of work there.”

Martin flexed his fingers, twiddling them through the air. “Well, when the options are die to infection or cut off the arm, you make decisions quickly. I picked this beauty up on a trip to Jamaica. The locals were kind enough to share some healing spirits with me. I won’t call it good as new, but it’s better than I expected after you kicked me into my fighting pit.”

“Are we ever going to meet someone you haven’t betrayed?” asked James.

Nick shrugged. “Martin betrayed me first. So, really—”

“Betrayed you first?! I invited you over for drinks!”

“But you were going to ambush me.”

Martin scoffed. “No, I wasn’t! I just wanted to show you my latest establishment, you prick. I had commemorative glasses made. We were supposed to be friends, remember?”

Nick fumbled, replaying the incident in his head. There hadn’t been many guards…

“While he’s thinking through that. Miss Codwell, I understand you’re here to do something about The Red Death.”

Shirley bristled at the thought of an underground necromancer knowing her by name. “Yes, I hear they’ve been causing some serious trouble down here. Bad for business?”

Martin nodded. “Bad for business indeed. No one wants to pay for my little games here if undead abominations are walking the streets for free. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand.”

Nick nodded. It made perfect sense, in a messed up, twisted sort of way. “So, this is a win-win for you?”

Martin clucked his tongue. “Well, I can’t just let you walk away with something for nothing, can I? You’ve done me a great dishonor, Nick. Again, I thought we were friends, and seeing you again…” He moved a hand over his heart and looked pained. “It breaks me. I need reparations.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Shirley, speaking before Nick could try to weasel his way out.

“Well, fair is fair as they say. Nick left me in a fighting pit, I think it’s only fair we give him the same treatment.” Martin grinned.

Nick swallowed hard and tasted copper. It had been a little over a year since his last entry into a fighting pit and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. “Well, if I have to, Shirley is going with me.”

“No way in—”

Lopsang cut her off. “There’s no need for that. I’ve seen Nick fight, and I’m sure he could wriggle his way out of that, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

Martin shifted in his chair, focusing on Lopsang for the first time. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“No, we haven’t, but I imagine you’ve heard about me.” Lopsang made a gesture to a silver mask mounted on one of the walls. “That’s from the Herukas, isn’t it?”

Nick cursed himself for not seeing it. The Herukas were a cannibalistic cult living deep in the Kwiyae, a dangerous region nestled in the Himalayas. Years earlier, Lopsang had single-handedly dismantled the cult, literally and figuratively. It had been a bloody mess, but an inspiring show of force Nick would never forget.

“Yes, I picked it up at a lovely little black market.”

“Why does everyone keep bringing up The Black Market today?” Nick felt a knot in his throat at the simple memory of beauty. The painted skies, vendors hawking illegal weapons; it was paradise and a paradise he would never return to.

“Quiet, my friend, the adults are talking.” Martin revealed a gold-plated pistol and set it down on the arm of his chair, pointing at Nick.

Both Nick and James flinched reflexively, but neither Shirley nor Lopsang moved a muscle.

Lopsang clucked his tongue. “I’d put that away. If you’ve acquired that little artifact, then you doubtless know what happened to the Herukas.”

“I actually heard a companion of my friend over there had something to do with that… Was it you?” Martin’s eyes showed a curiosity more than anything.

Lopsang lifted his palms.

“I heard it was a demi-god.”

“You heard correctly.” Lopsang snapped his fingers and a small puff of blue smoke appeared. He ran a hand through it idly, letting the fine powder settle on his fingers. While Lopsang’s godly powers were long lost in the Land of the Dead, his skills in close-up magic had significantly improved. “My father was one of the many old gods forgotten in favor of more traditional religious paths. Buddhism is the way of the land now, but that doesn’t mean the powers of those who came before disappeared.”

Martin shrugged. “As a Buddhist myself, you have no conflict here.”

Nick laughed and Shirley elbowed him in the ribs. He resisted the urge to call out Martin’s habit of religious camouflage. There were likely idols from hundreds of faiths stashed away in drawers and private rooms, all waiting until he had the right customer to bring them out. As a form of protection, he also wore a necklace bearing the symbols of every major religion. Nick had a similar conglomeration in the trunk of his car back in Midway. It was a smart practice, but seen from afar, it was hard to believe it ever worked.

Lopsang narrowed his gaze. “My qualm is not with your religious beliefs. You’re going to give us the information we seek, or you’re going to end up like the Herukas.”

Martin sat forward in his chair. “Now you’re threatening me? From where I’m sitting, seems like we got all the guns, and you’re left with a few traces of blue powder.”

“They had a lot more than you did.”

Martin looked from his soldiers and then to the deadly menace in Lopsang’s eyes.

Nick always admired Lopsang’s ability to bluff. It had gotten them out of a few sticky situations and into a few more. The real question was how far he had made it through David Copperfield’s book of basic illusions. Blue powder was fine, but not enough to stop a bullet.

Martin grimaced. “Fine, no pits. But you can’t have something for nothing.”

“Your life isn’t nothing.”

Martin laughed and eased back into his chair. “I do like this one, Nick. You’ve done well on your muscle. So, in exchange for a name and a location, you’re going to let me mark your friend here.” He pointed to Nick and said something to the guards in a foreign language.

Before Nick had a chance to feign indignance, they brought back a tattooing needle.

Lopsang looked at Nick and then the needle. “Deal,” he replied before anyone could protest.

“My kind of bargainer.”

“Lopsang, you are the worst.” Nick was already rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, Martin, I’ve already got one stupid tattoo that saved my life, no harm in getting a second to spare us all a little bloodshed. But after this, we’re even.”

Martin thought about it. “Sure, after this, we’re square.” He picked up the tattoo gun and hooked it to a small tube that ran out from beneath his chair. “Left palm please.”

Nick pulled his chair closer to Martin’s and held out his left palm. “Give us the name.”

Martin started up the tattoo needle. “Let me have my fun first…”

The guards escorted the four of them to a predictably lavish room adorned with a plethora of dead creatures and religious artifacts. Skulls of mythical beasts adorned the walls with no effort at organization. No doubt, Martin wanted everyone to think he killed them in faraway lands, but Nick knew better. It was more likely the creatures were killed for Martin in exchange for large sums of money. Nick was particularly galled by the long, slender skeleton of an African plesiosaur. Killing a fresh water dinosaur that somehow survived extinction deserved respect, not to be passed off as someone else’s trophy.

They descended tiered steps leading down to a sitting area in the center of the room. A glass wall stretched from floor to ceiling providing panoramic views of the carnage in the pits. A loud gong sounded as a new match started. Two men stood in the center of the arena holding baseball bats while gates on the sides ground open revealing a veritable horde of the undead.

Martin sat in a plush chair that was halfway between a recliner and a throne. His hair hung in long dreadlocks, adorned with gold bangles, jewels and bones. As they all entered, he was mid conversation with a tall, mousy woman in a jet-black suit. “Of course I can give you a warranty on it, but that’s not going to cover any personal incidents you might have along the way. Might I suggest again that you take the teeth out? It’s for your safety.”

The woman bristled. “If I take the teeth out, then no one’s going to be scared of it, will they?”

Martin threw up his hands. “It’s an undead shark, Beatrice. I think people are going to shit themselves either way, but aesthetics are important, I understand.” He swept a hand under his dreads, causing the bones in them to clack together. Just try and stay away from the tank. You’re one of my favorite customers, and I would hate to lose you.” He winked at her.

The woman blushed. “You truly are a devil, Martin, but a devil I like. The teeth stay, but we’ll make sure to keep the family behind thick glass at feeding time.” Her eyes glittered with the calculated malice only found in the ultra-wealthy.

“It’s that kind of prudence that is going to lead you to a long life.” He stiffened slightly as he noticed the new guests entering the room. “Beatrice, I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to cut our time here short. Please, enjoy the fights from one of our luxury booths. I’ve got some old friends to deal with.”

Beatrice gave a pained sigh and looked at the new guests with disgust. “Alright, Martin, but next time I come to visit, we need some quality time. It’s been far too long.” She glared at the four of them as she left the room and blew Martin a parting kiss.

Martin sat back in his chair and looked straight at Nick; deep suspicion rooted in the expression. “So, you leave a man for dead, wait for him to get back on his feet, and then bring a government agent into his halls.” He made a quick motion to one of the guards who set out a few chairs. “I’ve imagined our reunion many times, but never quite like this.”

“Sorry, should have brought flowers.” Nick couldn’t place Martin’s tone. They were either about to get free drinks or be slowly disemboweled in front of a crowd.

Martin laughed. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. You’re lucky I have a sense of nostalgia, or you’d be in the back of a pickup truck with lead shoes headed for the bayou.” Martin exhaled, the air whistling through tiny, bejeweled ornaments in his teeth. “Don’t stand about or I might change my mind.”

When none of them moved immediately toward the chairs, Martin sighed and motioned to the guards. Nick soon found a rifle pressed at his back and he moved to sit without further protest. As far as hostage situations went, it was comfortable. They weren’t bound, and the furnishings were lavish. In the pit below, one of the men got off a particularly vicious blow with a baseball bat, sending a zombie’s severed head spinning toward the plexiglass barrier. It collided with a wet thunk.

“I do love what you’ve done with the place. Top-notch vibe you’ve cultivated.”

“Yes, it took us a few years to get constructed, but we’re now ranked one of the top fighting pits in everything but food safety.”

Nick’s stomach grumbled audibly, and he winced at the memory of the kebabs. “Good for you. And you’re looking well.”

“No thanks to you.” Martin held up his left arm and pulled back his sleeve. A line of black stitching and scars ran around his bicep. The pigmentation on the forearm didn’t quite match the upper arm, but it was close.

“That’s a nice bit of work there.”

Martin flexed his fingers, twiddling them through the air. “Well, when the options are die to infection or cut off the arm, you make decisions quickly. I picked this beauty up on a trip to Jamaica. The locals were kind enough to share some healing spirits with me. I won’t call it good as new, but it’s better than I expected after you kicked me into my fighting pit.”

“Are we ever going to meet someone you haven’t betrayed?” asked James.

Nick shrugged. “Martin betrayed me first. So, really—”

“Betrayed you first?! I invited you over for drinks!”

“But you were going to ambush me.”

Martin scoffed. “No, I wasn’t! I just wanted to show you my latest establishment, you prick. I had commemorative glasses made. We were supposed to be friends, remember?”

Nick fumbled, replaying the incident in his head. There hadn’t been many guards…

“While he’s thinking through that. Miss Codwell, I understand you’re here to do something about The Red Death.”

Shirley bristled at the thought of an underground necromancer knowing her by name. “Yes, I hear they’ve been causing some serious trouble down here. Bad for business?”

Martin nodded. “Bad for business indeed. No one wants to pay for my little games here if undead abominations are walking the streets for free. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand.”

Nick nodded. It made perfect sense, in a messed up, twisted sort of way. “So, this is a win-win for you?”

Martin clucked his tongue. “Well, I can’t just let you walk away with something for nothing, can I? You’ve done me a great dishonor, Nick. Again, I thought we were friends, and seeing you again…” He moved a hand over his heart and looked pained. “It breaks me. I need reparations.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Shirley, speaking before Nick could try to weasel his way out.

“Well, fair is fair as they say. Nick left me in a fighting pit, I think it’s only fair we give him the same treatment.” Martin grinned.

Nick swallowed hard and tasted copper. It had been a little over a year since his last entry into a fighting pit and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. “Well, if I have to, Shirley is going with me.”

“No way in—”

Lopsang cut her off. “There’s no need for that. I’ve seen Nick fight, and I’m sure he could wriggle his way out of that, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

Martin shifted in his chair, focusing on Lopsang for the first time. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“No, we haven’t, but I imagine you’ve heard about me.” Lopsang made a gesture to a silver mask mounted on one of the walls. “That’s from the Herukas, isn’t it?”

Nick cursed himself for not seeing it. The Herukas were a cannibalistic cult living deep in the Kwiyae, a dangerous region nestled in the Himalayas. Years earlier, Lopsang had single-handedly dismantled the cult, literally and figuratively. It had been a bloody mess, but an inspiring show of force Nick would never forget.

“Yes, I picked it up at a lovely little black market.”

“Why does everyone keep bringing up The Black Market today?” Nick felt a knot in his throat at the simple memory of beauty. The painted skies, vendors hawking illegal weapons; it was paradise and a paradise he would never return to.

“Quiet, my friend, the adults are talking.” Martin revealed a gold-plated pistol and set it down on the arm of his chair, pointing at Nick.

Both Nick and James flinched reflexively, but neither Shirley nor Lopsang moved a muscle.

Lopsang clucked his tongue. “I’d put that away. If you’ve acquired that little artifact, then you doubtless know what happened to the Herukas.”

“I actually heard a companion of my friend over there had something to do with that… Was it you?” Martin’s eyes showed a curiosity more than anything.

Lopsang lifted his palms.

“I heard it was a demi-god.”

“You heard correctly.” Lopsang snapped his fingers and a small puff of blue smoke appeared. He ran a hand through it idly, letting the fine powder settle on his fingers. While Lopsang’s godly powers were long lost in the Land of the Dead, his skills in close-up magic had significantly improved. “My father was one of the many old gods forgotten in favor of more traditional religious paths. Buddhism is the way of the land now, but that doesn’t mean the powers of those who came before disappeared.”

Martin shrugged. “As a Buddhist myself, you have no conflict here.”

Nick laughed and Shirley elbowed him in the ribs. He resisted the urge to call out Martin’s habit of religious camouflage. There were likely idols from hundreds of faiths stashed away in drawers and private rooms, all waiting until he had the right customer to bring them out. As a form of protection, he also wore a necklace bearing the symbols of every major religion. Nick had a similar conglomeration in the trunk of his car back in Midway. It was a smart practice, but seen from afar, it was hard to believe it ever worked.

Lopsang narrowed his gaze. “My qualm is not with your religious beliefs. You’re going to give us the information we seek, or you’re going to end up like the Herukas.”

Martin sat forward in his chair. “Now you’re threatening me? From where I’m sitting, seems like we got all the guns, and you’re left with a few traces of blue powder.”

“They had a lot more than you did.”

Martin looked from his soldiers and then to the deadly menace in Lopsang’s eyes.

Nick always admired Lopsang’s ability to bluff. It had gotten them out of a few sticky situations and into a few more. The real question was how far he had made it through David Copperfield’s book of basic illusions. Blue powder was fine, but not enough to stop a bullet.

Martin grimaced. “Fine, no pits. But you can’t have something for nothing.”

“Your life isn’t nothing.”

Martin laughed and eased back into his chair. “I do like this one, Nick. You’ve done well on your muscle. So, in exchange for a name and a location, you’re going to let me mark your friend here.” He pointed to Nick and said something to the guards in a foreign language.

Before Nick had a chance to feign indignance, they brought back a tattooing needle.

Lopsang looked at Nick and then the needle. “Deal,” he replied before anyone could protest.

“My kind of bargainer.”

“Lopsang, you are the worst.” Nick was already rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, Martin, I’ve already got one stupid tattoo that saved my life, no harm in getting a second to spare us all a little bloodshed. But after this, we’re even.”

Martin thought about it. “Sure, after this, we’re square.” He picked up the tattoo gun and hooked it to a small tube that ran out from beneath his chair. “Left palm please.”

Nick pulled his chair closer to Martin’s and held out his left palm. “Give us the name.”

Martin started up the tattoo needle. “Let me have my fun first…”