The Nekropolis Archives (23 page)

  "Too bad ugly – or body odor – doesn't equate with driving skill," Ortzi said. "Otherwise, he'd be qualified for the Grand Prix back on Earth."

  Lazlo ground his teeth, sending small sparks shooting out of the corners of his mouth. He glared at Ortzi, and from the way his muscles were bunched up, I knew my demonic friend was getting ready to burst his bonds and show the Elders what happens when someone insults his driving.

  I couldn't afford to stall any longer.

  "Tell me something, Gizane. Where do you get your make-up?"

  Gizane drew up the hood of her robe as if to hide her face and gave her fellow Elders a sideways glance.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, zombie."

  "I'm not criticizing," I said. "It's nicely understated – the eye shadow, the eyeliner, the rouge, the lipstick… all very naturallooking. And you, Ortzi. Your beard is a deep, rich brown, but the color is a slightly different shade than your hair, and you've got a significant amount of gray at your temples. A man's beard usually goes gray before his hair. I suppose you imported the stuff you use to color it from Earth."

  Ortiz started to cover his beard with his hand, but then he must have realized he was only drawing attention to it and lowered his hand once more – though it looked like it took an effort for him to do so.

  I turned to Zorian then. "And unless my dead eyes deceive me, I see a small flesh-colored hearing aid nestled in your right ear, Zorian. Another import, I take it?

  Zorian glanced at his fellow Elders, and all three of them looked nervous as hell.

  "I don't understand, Matt," Devona said. "Now that you've pointed out those things about them, I can see them all, but why would Arcane bother using mundane items like that? Wouldn't they just use their magic to improve their appearance or repair their hearing?"

  "I'm sure that's what Talaith would prefer. But these three aren't the only ones who prefer non-magical ways of solving problems – or just enjoying life. Take a good look at the crowd. You'll see people wearing wristwatches, talking on cell phones – the real thing, not handvoxes – texting on BlackBerrys, taking digital pictures and video of us… More than a few folks are listening to music on their iPods, and a number of the children are playing handheld video games. And if you'll look really close at that alley over there, you'll see someone sitting on the ground typing furiously on a laptop. Probably blogging about our imminent demises. All of them are trying to hide their toys, but they're doing a crappy job of it."

  Now the assembled villagers were starting to look nervous too.

  "I still don't get it, Matt," Devona said. "Lots of people in Nekropolis use imported Earth technology, whether in its pure form or adapted somehow by dark magic. What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is that these people are subjects of Talaith," I explained. "And she's not particularly fond of technology – especially not after how things turned out with the Overmind. By Talaith's edict, technology of any sort is illegal for the Arcane to possess or use as long as they are within her Dominion. If she catches any Arcane with technology, she punishes them." I smiled at the three Elders. "Most severely."

  The Elders paled.

  I went on. "Talaith has a huge problem trying to enforce her edict, because pure technology is fascinating to the Arcane, almost to the point of addiction. Chemicals, medicines, and machines that can perform wonders without requiring a spellcaster to use her or her own energy to power them? What could be more wondrous? Merrowvale is one of the outlying villages in Glamere, so close to the Boneyard that it's a simple matter to smuggle technology in and far enough away from Woodhome that they don't worry too much about getting caught. If you went into their homes right now, you'd probably find flat-screen TVs, DVD players, video game systems, personal computers, refrigerators, microwave ovens, washers and dryers… you name it, they've got it, and portable generators to power it all. And now they've captured us and their mistress is coming here to get me." I smiled at the Elders. "What makes you think you're going to be able to hide all your toys from Talaith when you couldn't hide them from me – and I'm not even a Darklord."

  Gizane grabbed the collar of Zorian's robe and turned him to face her. "He's right! Talaith will find out! She may even already know!"

  "And if she doesn't," I said, "I'll make sure to tell her the moment she arrives."

  People in the crowd began wailing and crying. They had a good idea what sort of reaction they could expect from their mistress once she discovered their village's tech-fetish.

  "Don't panic!" Ortzi said. He gave me a sly look. "If we destroy the zombie along with his friends, there will be no one left alive to tell Talaith anything."

  Gizane and Zorian looked at him hopefully.

  "But Talaith gave you specific orders not to destroy me," I pointed out. "If you burn me up along with my friends, how will you explain it to Talaith? And even if you could come up with an excuse that she'd buy, she'd punish you all for stealing her chance to get revenge on me."

  Gizane and Zorian no longer looked so hopeful. In fact, they both looked as if they might vomit at any moment.

  "Then we're lost!" someone in the crowed wailed. "There's nothing we can do!"

  "There is one thing," I said. "You could let us go."

  "Are you mad?" Ortzi shouted at me. "Talaith would be sure to punish us in ways beyond imagining if we did that!"

  "That's true," I admitted. "But not if the citizens of Merrowvale release us, then tell Talaith we got away because the three of you screwed up and allowed us to escape."

  "Is your brain as dead as the rest of you?" Ortzi snapped. "Zorian, Gizane, and I would never permit the villagers to do that – and even if somehow they succeeded, we'd simply tell the Dark Lady what really happened."

  "True again. But the villagers could tell Talaith that after you let us escape, they killed you in her name for your incompetence. Then there would be no one left to tell Talaith about what really happened, the villagers could keep all their toys, and the Dark Lady would be none the wiser."

  Zorian tried to look calm, but the lines of sweat trickling down his face told a different story. He kept shooting sidelong glances at the crowd in the square. "I think you've underestimated the good folk of Merrowvale, Mr. Richter. They would never do anything so heinous simply to keep their…" He broke off as he noticed the villagers staring quietly at him and his two fellow Elders. The lux crystals of the villagers who carried staffs began to glow a baleful red, while others started making intricate hand gestures and chanting mystic phrases.

  I turned my head so I could see Devona and Lazlo.

  "You might want to close your eyes. I have a feeling this is going to get real ugly, real fast."

  The villagers let out a roar as they surged en masse toward the dais.

Devona, Lazlo and I were hoofing it on the Obsidian Way. I'd been tempted to ask the villagers if we could borrow some horses, though the beasts tend to shy away from me, probably because of my smell. And if they turned up their noses at me, I couldn't imagine how they'd react to Lazlo's stink. But after seeing what the villagers had done to their Elder – and the zeal with which they'd gone at it – I decided not to push our luck. A mile and a half isn't that far to walk, even on stiff, partially damaged zombie legs. But time, as they say, was of the essence. Talaith had already been on her way to Merrowvale when the villagers released us, and it wouldn't take her long to arrive. Once she saw that we'd escaped, she'd come looking for us, and as long as we were in her Dominion, we weren't safe. We needed to get to the Boneyard, and we needed to get there fast, and I doubted we were going to make it on foot. If worse came to worst, I would give myself to Talaith and urge her to let Devona and Lazlo go, but I knew the Witch Queen wouldn't go for it. She'd kill the both of them just to hurt me further. So either we all made it or none of us did. Once more, I attempted to cudgel my zombified brain into providing a way out.

  I knew the Darklords constantly strove against one another – within the boundaries set by Dis, that is. They spied on and schemed against one another, tried to outdo the others' accomplishments and win favor in the eyes of Dis. They ruled their individual Dominions and the inhabitants thereof absolutely, though some of the Lords were more involved in their subjects' lives than others. Still, it was considered an act of great transgression for a Darklord to interfere with another's Dominion and its subjects.

  I also knew the four remaining Darklords had to be aware of what Talaith had been up to tonight. Even if it was borrowed, the sheer power she was expending would stand out to them like an atomic bomb detonating at a July Fourth celebration. In fact, the other Lords were likely keeping close watch on the situation right now, if for no other reason than to make certain Talaith wasn't somehow gearing up for an attack on them.

  And then I had an idea.

  I lived in the Sprawl. That made me a subject of Varvara, didn't it? If I called upon the Demon Queen, might she intervene to save one of her subjects? No, I decided. Varvara liked me well enough, but we weren't friends. What she liked about me was the amusement value I offered as a zombie ex-cop trying to survive in Nekropolis. But I doubted she'd find a confrontation with Talaith amusing, especially when the Witch Queen was filled with the combined mystic power of her subjects. Varvara might miss me when I was gone, or she might get a laugh out of my demise, but she wouldn't help me.

  I looked up, trying to see if Talaith was on her way. I saw no sign of the Witch Queen.

  As if reading my mind, Devona said, "I feel psychic pressure at the base of my skull, Matt. She's coming."

  I quickly explained my idea about the Darklords watching.

  "If they are, then that means Father is watching too," she said thoughtfully. "And he knows I'm here and in danger. But if that's the case, why hasn't he done anything?" She looked up into the sky. "Father!" she cried. "Father, help us!" But nothing happened.

  Maybe I'd been wrong about the Darklords watching. Or maybe they were, but Galm was constrained by one of the Accords, or maybe he just couldn't afford to expend any of his power so close to the Renewal Ceremony, even to save the life of his own daughter. Or maybe his reasons were political. From what I understood, Galm and Talaith, while not the best of friends by any means, had about as cordial a relationship as any two Darklords can.

  But I knew a Lord who Talaith wasn't on such good terms with – a Lord she'd planned to attack with the Overmind before Dale and I destroyed it.

  A voice whispered in my mind then, thick with barely restrained fury.
Another valiant attempt to escape me, Matthew, but
you're too late. Look up.

  I did and saw a figure swiftly approaching from the western sky. Talaith sat upon an airborne throne of black marble held aloft by a pair of giant flapping raven's wings growing from the throne's back. Despite myself, I was impressed. Much classier than a broom or carpet. I knew we had only moments before she reached us. Once again, it was time to do something desperate.

  I raised my hands to the heavens. "Lord Edrigu! Hear me! You are Master of the Dead; I am a zombie! Will you allow Talaith to insult you by attacking one of your own subjects? I ask you to help us, if for no other reason than to spite her!"

  I waited, but nothing happened.

  Nice try, zombie.
Talaith's thought-voice was smug.
But Edrigu would never da–

  And then, as if Talaith's comment was a cue, the air near us shimmered and a shadowy coach appeared.

  It was Silent Jack's Black Rig.

• • • •

We didn't have time to think about it.

  "C'mon!" I shouted, grabbing both Devona's and Lazlo's arms and pulling them toward Jack's coach.

  "I'm not going to ride in a ghost hack!" Lazlo protested. "I'm a real cabby! Besides, I'm not going to leave my cab. We have to go back and–"

  Talaith was close enough now for us to hear her voice, and she shrieked, furious at Jack's sudden appearance. She gestured and a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground less than three yards from where we stood.

  "I'm going to shut my mouth and get inside," Lazlo finished.

  The door of the coach sprung open of its own accord, and we climbed in: Devona first, Lazlo second, me last. I pulled the door closed after us, and it shut with a muffled click. The interior of the coach was dark and the wood looked… insubstantial, somehow, as if you could put your finger through it if you pressed hard enough. But what else could you expect from a ghost coach? At least it was solid enough to keep the rain out.

  I thumped on the roof to get the driver's attention. "Let's go, Jack!"

  Silent Jack, true to his name, didn't reply. His whip cracked soundlessly, Malice and Misery let out a pair of inaudible whinnies, and we began to move. But the horses didn't pull us, at least not in the usual way. The entire coach, horses, slid forward as if on a conveyer belt, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. There was no bouncing or juddering; the ride was eerily smooth.

  I pushed aside the curtain over the rear window and saw Talaith pursuing us, eyes flashing with mystic energy and blazing bright with anger and frustration. The Witch Queen poured on the speed, but inch by inch, we began to outdistance her.

  Damn you, Richter!
a furious voice thundered in my head.
This isn't over!

  It is for now, I responded, and settled back in my seat. I'd survived another encounter with the mistress of Glamere.

  I looked up at the ceiling and thought of Jack sitting atop the coach, driving the horses onward in silence. We'd gotten away, but, I wondered, at what price?

FOURTEEN

The coach neared the border between Glamere and the Boneyard, but instead of heading for the Bridge of Lost Souls, it aimed straight for Phlegethon. Before we could protest, the coach had passed through the wrought iron fence at the side of the road – somehow allowing us to pass through as well – and continued through the air as if the road had never ended, bearing us easily across the river of green fire. I wonder if any Lesk, the giant serpents that plied the flaming waters of the river, were looking up, disappointed we hadn't fallen in. But I didn't look out the window to check. Some things are better left a mystery.