The Bandalore Read online

  ‘Blast you! Are you trying to scare a man to death?’ Gilmore stumbled back from the basket he’d just set down. Silas reached out with the hand that held the bandalore, instinct propelling him to attempt to steady the man. Gilmore slapped at the air, warding him back. ‘Don’t touch me with that damned thing, its liable to break my bones and turn me into dust.’

  Silas drew back his arm. ‘It could do such a thing?’

  In the distance the troublesome voice returned, bellowing anew about something incomprehensible.

  ‘I don’t bloody know but that’s what a scythe’s for, ain’t it? Death and destruction, and all things no good?’

  ‘Destruction?’ Silas’s eyes widened. He was faintly aware that the shouting had shifted into song, the sort that a drunken sailor might release after a night in the pub. The screeched notes, though muffled, were hideous upon the ears.

  ‘Well, what do you think death is if not destruction of life?’ The indignant man tugged his striped shirt back into place.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Silas said. ‘How do you know this? Who told you of the bandalore?’

  Gilmore planted his hands on his hips, and rolled his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

  The off-key singing, notes intent on drawing blood from eardrums, grew louder. The singer was somewhere near the main gate, but still out of sight. The dreadful pitch only added to Silas’s temper.

  ‘Yes,’ Silas declared. ‘I damn well would like to know. Is there to be no privacy whatsoever in this damned place?’

  ‘Every time you step out that bloody door you’re in a foul temper.’

  ‘That is hardly accurate, but I have good reason for a sourness of mood.I feel like an animal in a zoological garden here. Now tell me who spoke about the bandalore.’

  Gilmore spat on the front step, barely missing the basket of food which Silas noted smelled especially wonderful this morning. If he wasn’t mistaken there were scones to be had. ‘Not that I need to tell you a damn thing, you pompous giant, but if you must know, nobody tells me any bloody thing directly. I have to keep me ears open, and take what scraps I can find.’ He flung his hand towards the wisteria that draped down the side of Silas’s cottage. The flowers shook so hard a veritable rainstorm of petals descended. ‘Tend the garden, Gilmore, make those plants grown, Gilmore. Feed us well, like a good little gnome, Gilmore, but don’t expect to be invited to any meetings, or consulted on any matters. Any of you lot ever say thanks to an elemental like me? Not bloody likely. Not even her ladyship.’

  ‘Elemental? You’re another?’

  ‘Unless you’re looking to get those pretty teeth of yours smacked from your head,’ Gilmore scowled, ‘then you’d do best to stop talking about my kind like they’re some kind of plague. There’s only four of us in her Ladyship’s service and you can treat those other bastards as you like, but if you don’t show me some respect, your next basket might just be your last.’

  Silas raised his eyebrows. ‘That seems somewhat extreme.’ As the petals floated around him, it dawned on Silas that the wretched singing has ceased. The silence quite divine.

  ‘Well it’s in me nature. The earth is a mercurial thing wouldn’t you know. Good day, Mr Mercer.’ Gilmore spun on booted heels and made his purposeful way along the front of the cottage. He had reached the still-fluttering wisteria when all at once a shadow launched from the cover of the foliage. Gilmore released a high-pitched squeak as the figure enveloped him and sent them both into a rolling tumble. The force of the blow was such that they completed several rotations before hitting the coarse surface of the gravelled path that ran around the extremity of the village. Gilmore landed atop his attacker, who enveloped him in a bear hug.

  ‘Let me go you monster,’ Gilmore screamed, short legs flailing. His feet landed more than one blow against his attacker’s nether regions but he was still unable to free himself. Just as Silas decided to intervene the man beneath the elemental broke into a peel of delicate laughter, as though having his family jewels pounded upon was a laughing matter. A slow crawl of unease played against the back of Silas’s neck. The dainty, airy sounds of amusement were strikingly familiar.

  ‘Damn you, Pitch,’ Gilmore cried, breathless. ‘You are a son of a bitch if ever there was one. Take your dirty hands off me.’

  Finally the small man wriggled free, and his attacker was revealed. Silas fastened his grip around the bandalore, his unease shifting into downright despair. Tobias Astaroth, that most disconcerting of men, lay with legs and arms spread indelicately upon the ground before him.

  Chapter 11

  Pitch did not stay horizontal for long. He rocked to his knees, grabbing a hold of Gilmore’s legs before the man had a chance to flee. With a wink sent Silas’s way, Pitch pushed himself to his feet, dangling the unfortunate Gilmore as though he were nothing but a bag of the potatoes he had so recently lamented growing. The way the diminutive man jerked and kicked to release himself looked certain to jar his spine.

  ‘Set me down, I swear I’ll set the very earthworms against you,’ Gilmore roared, an impressive thing from such a small set of lungs.

  Again came the laughter, though this time with raspier, darker notes. Pitch’s eyes were dull, there was a cut upon his lips that still bled, and he stumbled as he tussled with the struggling man in his grasp. ‘Go on then, you piece of piss.’ He slapped Gilmore on his backside. ‘Show us how fearsome a gnome can be with a piece of dirt.’

  He staggered but still kept hold of his captive. Pitch was clearly drunk. Silas noted the large brown stain upon the white of his linen shirt with great consternation. The mark appeared not dissimilar to blood.

  Gilmore cried out, more pain in the sound this time. ‘You’re breaking my leg, you bastard.’

  Silas looked to the bandalore, hoping there might be a musical direction sung to him. But the wood was quiet. He should go to the man’s assistance, Silas needed no magical trinket to tell him so. Man, or gnome, Gilmore was in clear distress. But Silas hesitated.

  ‘Dear me, do you think I would truly do such a thing?’ Pitch’s words got away from him, slipping and sliding from his intoxicated tongue. A shadow curved around his right eye, a rising bruise.

  ‘I know you would,’ Gilmore hollered. ‘You crave harm more than your cock craves fucking.’

  With no warning, Pitch landed a punch against Gilmore’s belly. Half-hearted as it was, it at last spurred Silas from his reticence. He took a step forward.

  ‘Tobias! Set him down, now.’ Jane moved across the green, clad in a nightgown of the most delicate white lace, combined with her airy way of moving it was as though a ghost rushed towards them. ‘Now, Tobias, I will not ask you again.’

  Pitch’s smile was a cruel slash across his damaged face. ‘As you wish. Catch him if you can.’ He lowered Gilmore and seemed certain to set him down, albeit on his head, but at the very last moment drew back his arm and swung the frantic Gilmore straight up into the air. Without an ounce of effort apparent, Pitch’s throw sent the screaming, kicking man way up high. Soaring higher even than the tip of Silas’s cottage roof.

  ‘Help me!’

  He seemed to hang in the air for a moment, until his descent began. His scream curdled the blood.

  ‘Gilmore!’ Silas dashed in beneath the unfortunate gnome’s skyward journey, seeking to position himself so he might catch Gilmore when he fell. A dangerous notion, considering the speed of descent that must come from reaching such heights, but what else was he to do? The man would surely die if he impacted the ground from such a distance. ‘What have you done?’

  He glanced at the grinning man at his side. The viscousness that simmered within Pitch’s emerald eyes was breathtaking.

  ‘Stop!’ Jane’s command came with a rush of violent wind. A great force that swept past Silas, lifting the hairs on his head. The gust swept in beneath the tumbling Gilmore, and at once his downward journey halted. A dead stop in mid-air. The gnome sobbed, hanging limp against his invisible support, drif
ting slowly down, a leaf upon a gentle breeze.

  ‘Why must your ruin my fun?’ Pitch folded his arms, staring hard at Jane as she approached, a pout upon his full lips. The sun drifted from behind a cloud, its rays setting his eyes alight once more, and marking the pronounced angles of his face. Despite his notable injuries his odd beauty, accentuated by bowed lips and long dark lashes, was still evident. But captivating as his face may be, which Silas would admit to no one, Pitch held all the ferocity of a wild cat in his slight frame. His physical delicacy was a dangerous ruse.

  ‘You’re a mad bastard. A fucking lunatic.’ Once safe upon the ground Gilmore’s fury erupted. He lined up to level a kick at Pitch’s shin, growling further profanities. Admirable bravery, in Silas’s opinion, if not a little foolish. ‘If she knew what was best for her she’d get ride of your damn dae—’

  ‘Gilmore,’ Jane said. ‘That will be all.’

  ‘She should never ‘ave brought ‘im here.’ Gilmore glowered at her, stunted leg at the ready. ‘He’s a bloody maniac. Little wonder Arcadia kicked ‘im out. Look at the bastard. All bloodied up cause he ain’t happy till he’s hurtin. I know I don’t account for much around ‘ere, but that don’t mean I need to be in fear of me life every day. And that’s what I am with that one.’ He placed himself at Jane’s side before turning to jab a finger at Pitch who had taken to cleaning his nails. ‘Those of us here who ain’t so powerful as you and the lady are just playthings to ‘im. Like a cat with a broken bird. And it ain’t right, he ain’t right.’

  ‘Oh by the gods, shut up.’ Pitch pressed his hands to his ears, knuckles cut and bruised, and launched into head-ache inducing song, swaying as though his tune had any hope of being danced to. Here stood the dreadful off-key culprit of earlier. Jane ignored the display and leaned down to speak with Gilmore. Silas couldn’t catch her words, whispered as they were, but they seemed to placate the flustered fellow and he left them with one last glare aimed at Pitch.

  ‘That’s enough now, Tobias.’ Jane’s nightgown held the pinkness of the sunrise, the satin and lace wrapping each and every curve.

  With a languid sigh Pitch did as he was bid. Letting his hands drop to his sides.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Jane folded her arms across her chest, covering up nipples that sought to pierce through the fine material. ‘Or are you too drunk to recall that you do not live in the village but in the Lodge?’

  ‘Now there’s a fine question. Why am I here?’ Pitch giggled. His dancing had brought him closer to Silas, the odour of liquor strong. The harsh cruel lines had left his face, and he appeared tired now rather than unkind.

  ‘Must you indulge in your bloodsport in your formal wear?’ Jane frowned. ‘I’ve asked you, more than once, to consider your dress.’

  Pitch fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. ‘I could simply prance about in the ring naked, if that will save your concerns.’ He tripped over his own feet, and collapsed onto the grass, face first, highly amused by his own clumsy fall. Silas regarded him anew, wondering how this man could have so discomforted him just a few moments earlier. ‘I won, in case you’d like to know.’ Pitch told the grass. ‘Quite think I may have broken most of the bones in the second chap’s body. But they know the whisks…risks…when they step into the bring…sing…ahh, ring. That’s it. Ring, with me.’ He shoved a hand into his hair scrubbing hard at the back of his head. ‘I may have indulged to celebrate, bust…just a little…cocaine is medicinal of course.’ He rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. ‘But why am I here? Bloody good question.’ He pouted. ‘Perhaps we were going to fuck?’

  Jane wasted no time in answering. ‘No.’

  ‘Pity. I did so enjoy it last time.’ Pitch launched to his feet with shocking speed and was right up against Silas before he had chance to draw breath. The reek of stale beer and sweet things upon him. Pitch pressed his hands to Silas’s chest. ‘Were we going to fuck? Now that is something that would pass the time. I’m guessing you have an enormous—’

  ‘Sir, remove yourself.’ Silas shoved him away, taking a great step backward. Beneath the layers of his clothing, his skin tingled where Pitch’s hands had laid against him. ‘I’d ask that you not touch me.’

  ‘Well, you’re no fun at all.’ Pitch cocked his head to one side. ‘Satty tells me you had a very successful evening last night. What did you get up to? Did you bed a whore or watch the baiting of a bear, or perhaps manage both at once? Now there is something I strive for.’

  ‘Who is Satty?’ Silas studiously ignored his question.

  ‘Lady Satine.’ Pitch made a mockery of a bow. ‘She’s pleased with you.’ He punched Silas’s arm.

  ‘Oh.’ Silas cried out. ‘That is really not necessary.’ Bruising was certain to follow considering the ferocity of the blow.

  ‘None of this is though, is it?’ Pitch waved his hand over one shoulder, giving little indication what this was. ‘We have that in common, you know. Both of us just as dead as the other. Well, perhaps you’re more dead than me, I suppose. I’m a step behind.’ He belched. ‘Trapped in this ridiculous flesh cage.’ He pinched at his arm, and his expression darkened. ‘It was amusing for the short-term, when I could leave this gods forsaken place. But now…it’s no fucking fun. Which I suppose is exactly what they were hoping for. They are clever, you know…with their punishments. My, what a big word that is. Parnishmants.’

  Silas blinked, at a loss as to what the man was slurring about.

  ‘Oh, Tobias, not the lament again,’ Jane said. ‘It really doesn’t become you.’

  ‘My apologies, princess, for inconveniencing you.’ He stumbled and Silas had to stop himself from offering assistance. What a peculiarity this man was, to elicit revulsion and pity within the same moment. ‘Shit, I believe my toof…tooth broke with the effort of using such a grand word.’ He spat, the glob landing dark and thick on the ground. ‘Oh no, my mistake, I believe a cock did that. I can highly recommend the Spaniard’s Inn, Mr Mercer. Wonderful servicing upon the tables.’

  Silas cringed at the man’s foul diatribe, but his thoughts lingered on Pitch’s earlier words, his talk of flesh cages, and punishments. As to what a flesh cage might be Silas did not like to imagine. And if Pitch were being held here unwillingly, what crime had this capricious man committed?

  ‘Tobias, you need to return to your lodgings,’ Jane said, gently now. ‘Sleep off this mood, and everything else you’ve taken.’

  ‘My powdery friend will not allow that, I’m afraid.’ He tapped the side of his nose, and returned his scrutiny to Silas. ‘You are dressed, come have a drink with me.’

  Shuffling his feet, Silas shook his head. ‘It is barely morning.’

  The change in Pitch’s temper was as visible as a cloud passing over the sun. But where there had been ferocity before, there was dejection in the slump of his shoulders, the weakness of his grin. ‘Sod you all then, I will pleasure myself well enough.’

  Damn the sunshine with its manipulating rays, for they chose that moment to illuminate the gathered party once more. Pitch was revealed as fairly hollowed with fatigue, his battered face pale, and an air of quiet desperation about him that caught at Silas in the most peculiar way.

  ‘We could, ah,…take a drink in the cottage, if you like?’ Silas marvelled at the foolish invitation coming from his own lips. Was he truly mad with lack of sleep? ‘Coffee perhaps?’

  Surely Jane would save him from his own empathetic insanity. But she said nothing, in fact she seemed rather to be daydreaming, a vacancy to her gaze, staring up at Silas’s cottage in silence.

  ‘Certainly, if that’s what you would like to call it.’ Pitch clapped his hands, a jovial drunk once again. ‘A threesome is a damned good way to begin a day, I can assure you.’ His melancholy had vanished entirely, and Silas cursed his gullibility.

  Jane’s focus returned, and she rolled her eyes. ‘I shall not be joining you, gentleman.’

  ‘Are you certain you won’t come in?’ Silas wrung his hands.
‘I mean, for a coffee of course.’

  Pith staggered towards the front door. Silas regretted ever opening his mouth with the offer.

  ‘Thank you but no, Mr Mercer.’ She touched a hand to his arm. ‘You will be quite all right, I assure you. And I believe it may do you well to learn more about one another, now that your eyes are opened, ankou.’ Silas did not even other to ask how she knew. ‘And of course if you wish to indulge in intimacy—’

  ‘Miss Handel,’ Silas recoiled in horror. ‘I intend to drink coffee. Absolutely nothing more. If Mr Astaroth intends-’

  She laughed, the tinkling sound as pretty as birdsong. ‘Calm yourself. He goads you, nothing more. And he would harm you at his peril.’

  ‘He seemed to have no such concerns with poor Gilmore.’ Silas eyed Pitch where he stood swaying over the basket on the doorstep, attempting to use his toes to lift the cloth draped to protect what lay beneath.

  ‘The Lady Satine is his master. He’d no sooner bring true harm to those who serve her than he would give up sugar, or his fights. But he is still adjusting to his place here, he’s not been here much longer than yourself, and his life has much changed. Tobias enjoys taunting us all. He knew full well that I was coming to Gilmore’s aid. He knew the man would never come to harm. Mr Astaroth was simply enjoying our fear. He rather hungers for it. So I would suggest you do not feed him. Enjoy your coffee. I assure you, Mr Mercer, I will not stand idly by if I hear you scream. Unless of course, your screams are of a more delicate nature.’

  ‘Miss Handel, I told you—’

  Jane’s smile danced wickedly, and he saw that she played with him. ‘Good day, Mr Mercer.’

  Jane swept away, and there was no doubt in Silas’s mind this time that her feet did not touch the ground as the sylph moved.