A Woman of the Swamp 2-4

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4. Martin, The Necromancer

The team of guards escorted Nick, Shirley, James and Lopsang to a predictably lavish room adorned with all manner of dead creatures and religious artifacts. Skulls of various mythical beasts adorned the walls with no effort at organization. No doubt, Martin wanted everyone to think he had killed them in his journeys, but Nick knew better. They had certainly been killed on Martin’s behalf, but likely for a good sum of money. The room was tiered, with steps leading down to a main sitting area that overlooked the fighting pits below. Rather than the traditional stands, a glass wall stretched from floor to ceiling providing an unobstructed view of the carnage. Already, a new bout had begun with a horde of shambling zombies chasing two men with baseball bats.

            Martin sat in a plush armchair decorated to look like a throne. His hair hung in long dreadlocks, adorned with gold bangles and other treasures. 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? Really makes for a safer experience on the whole.”

            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 if you want to keep the teeth in, be my guest. Just try and stay away from the tank. You’re one of my favorite customers, and I would hate to lose you in such a gruesome way.” 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 that only the ultra-wealthy could truly achieve.

            “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.” The hunger in her eyes was enough to make Nick blush. 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 face slow and painful deaths.

            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 god damned bayou.” Martin exhaled a long breath, the air whistling through tiny, bejeweled ornaments in his teeth.  “Don’t stand about or I might change my mind. Brian,” he motioned to the guard, “just brought you chairs, and it’s not really his job, so be polite.”

            When none of them moved immediately toward the chairs, Martin sighed and motioned to the guards. Nick soon found a rifle being pressed in 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 comfortable. 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. Really top-notch underworld vibe you’ve cultivated.” Flattery didn’t always work but was always worth a try.  

            “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 too.”

            “No thanks to you.” Martin held up his left arm and pulled back his long 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.” Attaching new limbs was no easy matter.

            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 own fighting pit.” Malice glittered in his eyes.

            “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 had been surprised at the time that there had been no guards to fight through after his act of betrayal. Had he made a mistake?

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

            Shirley was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of a prominent underworld necromancer knowing her name but didn’t flinch. “Yes, I hear they’ve been causing some serious trouble down here. Bad for business as it were?”

            Martin nodded. “Indeed, it is. No one wants to pay for my little games here if there are undead abominations 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?” Occasionally, things just worked out. In the end, Shirley was still going to shut the place down, so it didn’t matter much either way.

            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. Really, I thought we were friends, and seeing you again…” He moved a hand over his heart and looked pained. “It breaks me. I think I’m going to need some 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 it was not an experience he was keen on repeating. “Well, if I have to, Shirley is going with me. We made a deal on our way in here.”

            “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 bit of a tight schedule.”

            Martin cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think we’ve been properly 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 mountainous region nestled in the Himalayas. Years earlier, Lopsang had single-handedly dismantled them, literally and figuratively. It had been a bloody mess, but an inspiring show of force Nick would never forget, but things had changed. Lopsang no longer possessed the powers that had led to such an easy slaughter. James was the price he had paid for them.

            “Yes, I picked it up at a lovely little black market the last time we were there.” Warmth filled Martin’s face at the memory.

            “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, pointed right 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, but some fear crept into the edges of his limbs.

            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. “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.”

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

            Nick laughed out loud 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.

            “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 the same as the Herukas.”

            Martin’s eyes widened and he sat forward in his chair. “Now you’re threatening me, friend? 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.”

            Time to see if those magic classes paid off. Since losing his powers, Lopsang had taken up sleight of hand in his spare time. It was part of an effort to desperately maintain a mystique that didn’t feel the same without the threat of otherworldly disembowelment.

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

            Nick had always admired Lopsang’s ability to bluff. It had gotten them out of a few sticky situations and into a few more. He hoped that this was going to be one of the former.

            Martin did a quick mental calculation and decided it wasn’t worth the risk. “Fine, I’m not going to have your friend fight in the pits, but as I said, I can’t let you have something for nothing.”

            “Your life isn’t nothing.”

            Martin laughed and sat back in his chair again. “I do like this one, Nick. You’ve done well on your muscle.”

            Nick had never thought of Lopsang as his muscle, but he let the comment slide, because it was going to get them out of fighting zombies in a pit, an outcome he generally found favorable.

            “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 to Nick and to 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…”