Page 13

The Spiked Monkey

“ S

o, which is it this time, the Spiked Monkey or the Devil’s Cup?” Amelia asked, making Lucius frown down at her question and Nero shrug her shoulders.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

A strange look was exchanged between the girls before Nero rolled her eyes and said,

“Come on, let’s try the Spiked Monkey first, I hear they drank the Devil’s cup out of rum the last time they handed in their bounty.”

I had a feeling I was going to like these McBain brothers.

Now as for this unspoken issue that Nero had with these shifter brothers, it started to come to light as we walked towards the pub.

Especially as one name became the focus.

I didn’t know what this Vern had done, but I could hear them talking about him as I followed behind.

For it soon became clear that there was some history between the witch and this shifter.

Lucius seemed to have his own issues with them, as let’s just say, he wasn’t all that fired up to involve them. But with little choice, we found ourselves in search of the brothers, despite whatever beef he had with them.

Naturally, I didn’t give a shit as long as it got us what we needed.

And as for the brother’s McBain, all I knew was that they were one of a kind.

Each of them a shifter of a type, a Cockatrice, a Gryphon, and a Wyvern.

Yet, together, they became so much more, having the ability to join as one.

An undefeatable creature that had certainly aided us in the War of Souls that day.

I just lived in hope that they would aid us one more time, as I didn’t want to think about how limited our options were if they didn’t. Hence why we were walking the cobbled streets and weaving our way through the first town found when entering Lucius’s Kingdom of Death.

The crammed collection of buildings all stood different and unique with only one thing in common…

the question of how they were still standing.

Unstable wooden structures were precariously added above stone dwellings.

As if being only an afterthought and a way of adding more space in what was an already overcrowded street.

Most looked to be made from scrap pieces, no doubt made from whatever they could get their hands on.

“Well, that’s cheery.” Amelia was the first to comment when we finally came to stop outside a mismatched building, one built like all the rest.

Although, it had to be said that this one was significantly bigger than those around it.

But she hadn’t been referring to the Tudor-style building, with its warped glass windows that sat in arched wooden frames.

She had been referring to the crude sign above the paneled door we were all standing in front of.

The top half of the building was jettying out from the bottom floor, increasing the space above where they no doubt had rooms for rent.

Rows of curved horizontal beams known as breastsummers supported this upper floor, creating that typical Tudor style.

An important structural feature, seeing as their purpose was to bare the weight above.

Although with the way the whole building was leaning to the left, then I wouldn’t say it was doing a great job at preventing future collapse.

Under this jettying was an arched door, its frame was one made of stone slabs to match the walls of the ground floor.

“I thought the name Spiked Monkey meant he would be drunk, not run through with literal spikes,” Amelia said, looking up at the hanging sign that had a taxidermy monkey attached to it.

One that was wearing a little striped jacket and an eye patch.

It was also pinned into a dancing position with spikes through its limbs and the biggest spike through its head.

“And why is it dressed like a pirate?” Amelia then asked, making Nero laugh before pushing open the rickety, wooden door, whilst telling her,

“Come on, you’ll see.”

And see we soon did, which then led Amelia to once more voice my thoughts before I had the chance.

“Oh… well this is… not what I expected,” she admitted as she stopped dumbstruck in the doorway.

“Welcome to the Spiked Monkey,” Nero said with a chuckle.

One glance around the place and I had to wonder why the pub wasn’t called Davy Jones Locker, as it would have been far more fitting. Fuck, but I almost expected Johnny Depp to come staggering around the corner dressed as Jack Sparrow.

The large room was a mixture of stone and exposed wooden beams, which wasn’t surprising. No, what was unexpected was the pirate theme that decorated the whole place. The bar facing us was a whole wall made entirely of wooden barrels turned on their sides and stacked to the high ceiling.

Each one was tapped and ready to be drained dry.

This matched the barrels that had been used as stools, positioned in front of the long planks used as the bar top of polished wood that was being wiped down by a barmaid, who wore a buttoned-down Victorian-style black jacket.

Her cravat of ink black silk was tucked close to her neck so that no skin was showing.

She also wore a high-top fedora hat which looked like it had seen better days.

The black material was covered in burn marks and scratches, while the thick dark ribbon at the base was frayed around the edges.

Her hair was replaced by that of curling black tentacles that were as thick as my wrist and tapered down into pin points.

Tentacles that were very much alive as they curled seductively around her breasts, with one even coiling in her pocket and one stroking at her chin.

Her skin was white as snow, making the obscure shadows under her glowing bronze eyes appear even darker and therefore giving her an unwelcoming and malevolent aura.

This theme continued with the rest of the clientele, as each demon seemed to gravitate towards the pirate theme in some sort of way. Whether it was wearing the tricorn hat, with its three-pointed embellished wide brims, or some other element referring to the sea.

Demons and Hellish souls of all shapes and sizes filled most of the room and were sat on long wooden tables. And for those that couldn’t find a seat, their only option was to stand around more empty barrels. These acted as makeshift tables for customers to set down their frothy ale down.

Old ship lamps hung down from the exposed beams by thick chains, the burnt glass barely clear enough to show the flickering of candles within. Added to this lighting were glowing orbs hanging in net baskets, as well as wax-covered bottles at the centers of each table that held bleeding red candles.

There was also what looked like private rooms off to the right and a stage area off to the left.

A raised platform with smaller round tables arched in front of it for those that wanted to be closer to whatever act was about to play.

The stage was framed with a curtain of fishing nets and used sails hanging from old ship masts above.

On this raised dais was a varying number of demonic looking instruments. Each sat waiting for the band to appear and pick up their tuneful weapon of choice, as clearly these were to be no conventional musicians.

There was a harp made from a giant spine, with its strings wound around each vertebra.

There was also a pair of tall drums made from skin stretched over the top and held into place by crooked finger bones glued to the sides.

A battered looking harpsichord sat off to the side of the stage, with its white keys made from what looked like crudely carved horns, and the black keys were talons curled between them.

Needless to say, one look at the place and it was enough to make me clap my hands once and rub them together.

“Now this is my kinda place.”

Amelia gave me a wry look and said, “But of course, it is.” Which she finished off by rolling her eyes.

“Hey, just be glad Marcus isn’t here,” I pointed out. And I wasn’t wrong, as he would have been the first one up on that stage, band or no band.

“Good point, but hey, for what it’s worth, Uncle, I think you would rock a pirate hat.” I smirked down at her, nudging her shoulder before winking.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Let’s get this over with, should we?” Lucius suggested in an irritable tone.

Amelia and I exchanged a grin before scanning the crowd, one that seemed to move in sync. However, it wasn’t to look at us. No, it was to look towards the stage area as a staggering cloaked figure stepped up to the center, just as the musicians emerged from the sides of the curtains.

A skeletal demon was first to appear, jumping to the stage and tapping his high heels made from barnacles over to the harpsichord.

Tossing the tails of his long jacket behind him as he took his seat on the torn leather stool.

Then he blew the dust off the keys before cracking his bare fingerbones out in front of him.

The next one to take the stage was a human male vessel. One dressed in a Victorian Steampunk outfit, complete with metal top hat and patchwork-leather military style jacket. He carried with him a long ivory horn, one hollowed out with holes drilled at the top.

He then removed a pouch from one of the many belts at his waist before pinching out some tobacco.

He used this to start packing inside the horn before using a long, gnarled stick he plucked from his hat to push it all down.

After he was satisfied, he clicked his fingers and created a flame big enough to light the end between his fingertips.

To which he was then free to smoke it, inhaling it a few times from its narrowest point.

This caused the holes at the top to emit little plumes of smoke, making them rise up in puffs with every note he played.

A female dwarf was up next, stepping towards to the tall drums. A pair that ended up barely under her chin, making me wonder how she was expected to play them.

Like many of the customers, she too was wearing an oversized tricorn hat. One that she kept in place by tying her two long braids up and over it. Something that ended up squeezing the sides of the hat tighter together.

As for the harpist, a tall, gangly, yellow-skinned demon walked out on two peg legs that looked to have been carved from hard coral.

He wore a trilby hat that had a feather sticking out of a spine bone on the side.

A hat that sat off to the right of his head so as to make way for the single bull’s horn sticking out of the left side.

His goat-like features gave him a permanent scowl, as if there were a million other things he would rather be doing right now.

Added to this were three other musicians and like the horn blower, they all had human vessels.

Each of which were dressed similar too, adopting the steampunk style in their own unique way.

Like the slim, tall, Black man whose persona was clearly a crazed watchmaker.

As the time pieces were either hung from each item of clothing he wore or sewn into the material.

This theme continued to his top hat which was covered in time faces, with the minute and hour hands spinning around quickly as if time was on fast forward.

And as for his instrument of choice, he stepped up to a large cello that looked more mechanical than anything else.

It even had a steam pipe coming from the side that was puffing out red smoke rings.

The next was the guitarist, a man dressed entirely in black, with long, twisted black dreads half tied back from his broody face.

He had a trimmed goatee and looked more like a villainous pirate than any other person here.

His black eyes held not a speck of white, making him look void of all emotion.

He swung the guitar around from his back, before stoking the length of the neck and whispering to it, as if it was the love of his life.

That was until he watched with keen eyes as the last musician emerged.

A beautiful female with curly purple hair rioting outwards from the goggles she wore at her forehead.

Her outfit matched her hair, as she was dressed like a sultry saloon girl, with a long ruffle skirt pinned up short at the front.

Her corseted top left little to the imagination as the ruffles at the top allowed for a lot of cleavage to be left on show.

Which didn’t seem to be a problem, seeing as half the pub looked to be in love with her… including the guitarist.

As for what instrument she played, she soon brought up her violin, one decorated with leather looking skin folded in such a way it looked like howling souls were trying to escape the hell of her music.

Now as for the unknown singer, like I said, he had already taken center stage.

Which meant all that was left, was for him to nod to the pretty violinist as a signal to start.

Something she grinned at, quickly winking in return and giving the guitarist cause to scowl.

But then the second she started playing the plucky, catchy tune, one by one, the rest of the musicians followed.

And as for the mystery singer, as soon as the beat really started to kick in, he finally revealed himself by tossing his cloak off to the side.

Then as he started belting out the words to some sea shanty song, I heard Amelia hiss,

“Oh, you have to be shitting me!”

This told me instantly that she recognized him. But then, she wasn’t the only one, because Nero smacked a palm to her forehead and finally said his name…

“Gods be damned ballocks, Vern.”