Kultus by Richard Ford Page B

thought, it would give the thing some impetus.
    As the leader raised his knife high, there was an expectant hush. Blaklok’s grunt as he threw the can was heard by almost everyone, and they looked around in time to see the rusted canister fly above their heads; all but the head man, who was still intent on his target. Before he could bring the knife down on his young victim, he took the canister full to the face. The clang of rusty can on nose was drowned out by his yelp of surprise.
    One of the robed figures turned as Blaklok stepped out of the dark.
    ‘Defiler,’ he shouted, lifting an accusatory finger. Blaklok drove his fist into the man’s face, dropping him where he stood, leaving a cloth-of-gold heap on the floor.
    As the congregation turned to face him, Blaklok could see that they were all ordinaries, not the lean hungry-eyed fanatics who were usually associated with the worship of demons.
    Thaddeus took two more swings, but these were not fighters, and when two more of them hit the ground the rest were instantly cowed. He looked towards the exit and saw a stooped figure trying to slink away.
    ‘Where are you off to, Bates?’
    Tarquin Bates froze, then turned, giving his insipid grin.
    ‘What is the meaning of this?’ shouted the bearded man, grasping his bloody nose. His gold robe had fallen back and Blaklok could see the expensive attire beneath.
    ‘I’ll ask the fucking questions,’ replied Thaddeus, strolling forward through the crowd, which quickly backed away. ‘No one minds a bit of religious worship and all that, but blood sacrifice? That’s a bit strong for a bunch of part-timers like you, isn’t it?’
    ‘This?’ said the man, pointing at the urchin in front of him who was beginning to look bemused. ‘It’s not real. We weren’t going to go through with it.’
    Thaddeus looked from the bearded man in front of him to Bates, who seemed on the verge of turning tail and fleeing the building. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ By now Blaklok had reached the front of the room, and stood in front of the head man. With a deft snatch he grasped the knife from his hand and hooked one of the bearded man’s nostrils on the end of the blade. ‘This looks real enough to me. Name?’
    ‘Erm, T-Trajian Arkwright. Of the North Spire Arkwrights,’ he replied, not daring to move lest the blade slice him a wider nostril.
    The North Spire. An opulent area full of ‘old money’. Packed with wannabe families just dying (or killing) to become Noble Houses. This one was obviously trying to spread his influence in a non-conventional way. Most likely his ‘congregation’ were made up of other stuck-up arseholes all trying to juice one another for notoriety and prestige. Anyway, this Trajian was obviously scared. It wouldn’t hurt to try and milk him for more information.
    ‘So what’s all this in aid of then? Trying to commune with Valac are you?’
    ‘N-no,’ replied Arkwright, still hanging like a fish on a hook. ‘It’s more of a w-wake we’re having.’ Blaklok’s brow furrowed. Was this one taking the piss? ‘O-our sect leader was murdered recently. Earl W-Westowe. This is just a celebration of his life.’
    ‘Well,’ said Thaddeus, lowering the knife. Arkwright gave a sigh of relief. ‘It looks like you lot might have upset the wrong bunch. Shows you what happens when amateurs get in over their heads. And as for you, Bates. You should know better.’
    Tarquin Bates cringed, the grin on his face wavering. ‘I was just here to help them, that’s all. Just educating them a bit.’
    ‘And did you educate Earl Westowe? Is that why he ended up dead?’
    ‘That was nothing to do with me, honest. Rumour is he upset someone in the Cistern. Weren’t nothing to do with our… worship.’
    Thaddeus looked around. They were all scared. Bunch of pretenders playing at demon worship. Where did they think it would get them? He considered giving them a warning; telling them that no good would come of