Free Johannes Cabal The Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard Page B

loud.” Cabal had almost reached the gates. “You always were such a nuisance,” said the thing to himself, and blurred into motion.

    It took slightly longer to get back to the train than it had to get to the Grimpen Burial Ground, as they’d only been able to travel at night. Eventually, the low hills gave way to the marshlands, and soon they were close to the disused rail spur. Even at a distance, they could see the long ridge rising above the surrounding land, and the flare of work lights in the middle of the obviously thinned copse of trees. As they got closer still, Cabal pointed out the train itself, its dark bulk looming ominously along the length of the earthwork.

    As he spoke, he absent-mindedly placed his hand on the twin puncture wounds over his jugular vein. He had been relieved to discover that he was still able to go around in the sun with only his hat and dark glasses for protection, rather than the coffin lined with the soil of his homeland that he had feared. Even the detail of the coffin had turned out to be an old wives’ tale; Cabal’s travelling companion had been happy to sleep anywhere during the day, just so long as no ray of sunlight had been able to touch him.

    As they got closer still, they started to make out more details. The trees blocking the train’s access to the main line had been chopped down and the stumps torn up. Many of the other trees in the copse had also been felled. The woodpile on the train looked impressively high. The logs would be green and damp, but at least they would fuel the train until it could get better supplied. Great naphtha torches had been thrust into the chippings of the rail bed, flaring into the night sky. Here and there, figures worked diligently and without pause. Bones had created some extra personnel of his own volition. Cabal wasn’t sure if that was good or bad at first, but, given the scale of the work, it couldn’t possibly have been done in time if Bones had only had the dubious services of Denzil and Dennis to call upon. Bones had done the right thing, he concluded.

    “My God,” he heard his companion sigh when he saw the locomotive close up, and he was secretly pleased. Bones and his workers had done a magnificent job. The demoniacal locomotive had been carefully cleaned and repainted. The black was so intense that it was hard to say where the train stopped and the night sky started. A thin red line, the colour of venous blood, ran along the side of the boiler and detailed the cowcatcher and smokestack, the only concessions to colour. But it was the first car after the fuel tender that caught the eye. Painted in reds and yellows against a blue-and-black background, the name of the carnival curved and twisted in extravagant fairground curlicues, ornate yet instantly readable. His companion stopped and laughed.

    “You were very confident, Johannes,” he said.

    “I knew if I couldn’t get your help it was a hopeless case. Alternatively, you’d kill me. Either way, it couldn’t do any harm to anticipate.”

    Bones spotted them and stepped down to the edge of the track. “Hi, boss! How do you like her?” He gestured up at the board. “‘The World Renowned Cabal Bros. Carnival,’ just like you asked.”

    “Excellent work, Mr. Bones. I knew I could rely on you. Incidentally, I’d like to introduce …”

    His companion stepped forward, smiling, and held out his hand to Bones. “Horst Cabal. Delighted to meet you.”

IN WHICH CABAL APPLIES HIMSELF WITH MIXED RESULTS

    Johannes Cabal sat at his desk and watched his blotter rock. Across from him, a large clothes chest lay in the angle of the wall. It was long and exactly the sort of furniture that makes avuncular uncles—the worst kind— point and say, laughing, “Ey up! Have you got a body in there?”

    Of course he did. Inside lay the body of his brother, Horst, on a layer of blankets, cold as clay but irritatingly handsome with it. Horst’s effortless charisma had always