Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  “Shog, Albert,” Shadrak said. “Tell me you didn’t…”

  Albert rolled his eyes. “I think we can safely say there was never any risk of that.” Mind you, given the senator’s immense bulk, there might not have been much choice, if he’d been the domineering type. It’s times like these when pharmaceutical genius was a man’s best friend. “Don’t worry, darling, you’re still my favorite.”

  “Just get on with it,” Shadrak said, “’less you want me to shove your head in lard-boy’s crotch till he pops.”

  Albert made a face and risked a look. Mercifully, whatever horrors might have dangled there were buried beneath rolls of fat. “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten.” Just thinking about it made him feel sick. Best not to even go there. What people saw in all that messy business was beyond him. Just give him a good book and a steaming mug of cocoa any time. “Right, well, he’s docile as a doting damsel. I’d say we have a good five minutes before he’s completely comatose.”

  Buck burst into the room just as Albert was situating himself on the edge of the bed once more. Wasn’t the cretin supposed to be out bending the ears of the underworld’s finest? Surely he hadn’t succeeded? That would be too much to hope for, but it would relieve them of the unsavory task of questioning Rollingfield…

  “Girly’s after your balls, Chef. Don’t know what you gave her, but it sure stinks out the crapper.”

  “Girly?”

  “Bitch,” Shadrak said.

  “Her that was slumped at the bar,” Buck said. “You know, long black hair and that.”

  Albert pinched the bridge of his nose. The cretin had to tell him this, why?

  “So, what’s your shogging point?” Shadrak said. “Ain’t you got any word on Shader yet?”

  Buck puffed out his chest and gave a frowning shake of his head. “Nothing. Not a word on the streets. But we’ll find him, if this don’t work.” He gave an uncertain look at the senator sprawled atop the bed. “I got my best man on the job.”

  Albert scoffed at that. As predicted, the toe-rag hasn’t spoken to a single guild contact, presumably because he carries as much weight with them as a latrine scrubber with His Holiness, the Supreme Ipsissimus of the Nousian Theocracy. Best man, my foot. “Are you saying there’s been some kind of miracle, and your boy’s not inherited a single one of your defining traits?”

  “Eh?” Buck said.

  Before Albert could answer, the sound of dry-heaving interspersed with cursing and a bowel-splitting blast of flatulence came from downstairs.

  “Oh, how awful,” Albert said. “Poor dear. What did you say here name was again?”

  “Bitch,” Shadrak said.

  Albert sighed. “Real name.”

  “Rhiannon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I prefer bitch.”

  “Must have given her too big a dose. Oh, well, accidents happen. Shall we?” Albert leaned over Rollingfield and pried open an eyelid. Dead as a doornail. He gave the senator a resounding slap in the face. Well, not quite dead, which was as it should be.

  Rollingfield smacked his chops and muttered something incomprehensible. His liver-spotted hand groped around the blubber burying his crotch. “Oooh, where is it, my boy. Find it for Papa.”

  Albert held either side of Rollingfield’s face. “Look into my eyes, Senator.”

  “Oh, yes!” Rollingfield’s chins quivered, and his tongue darted between his lips. “What else? Anything, anything at all.”

  “Good, Senator. Now listen.”

  “I’m listening, dear boy. I’m all ears for you. Tell me you like what you see. Go on, tell me.”

  He jiggled his belly fat and tried to roll over, but Albert kept him pinned on his back. Last thing he wanted was to be confronted with an arse-crack like a canyon and a vile podex all puckered up and pleading… Don’t even think about it. Do not go there!

  Despite his best efforts, “Urgh,” slipped out involuntarily.

  Behind him, Shadrak sniggered.

  “Think I’m gonna throw,” Buck said.

  The door opened and closed, and Buck’s footfalls sounded like a herd of cattle stampeding down the stairs—not that Albert had ever experienced stampeding cattle, but one heard about such things from butchers and rustlers, or whoever happened to be offering the primest cuts at the time.

  “Future guildmaster, you say?” Shadrak said.

  “It’s how you like them, Shadrak. Be honest. Now, can we get this over and done with?”

  “My way’s better.” Shadrak patted the knives in his baldric.

  “I didn’t cultivate”—Albert clamped his hands over Rollingfield’s ears and hissed—“such a high-up political ally just to have you send him bobbing down the river.”

  “Not in Sarum now, Albert. Mind you, he’d keep the fish in food for months, if we could get his fat ass out of here.”

  Albert sighed and did his best to tune Shadrak out. He removed his hands from the senator’s ears, eliciting a jowl-wobbling, overly moist smile.

  “Ooh, you are naughty,” Rollingfield said. “But I like it. Whispering your salacious secrets, and not letting me hear because I’m such a bad boy.” He rolled onto his side and slapped himself repeatedly on the buttock. “Bad Grayum. Bad, bad, bad Grayum.”

  Albert looked at Shadrak, who merely shrugged and mouthed, “Should’ve given him more.”

  Indeed. I wanted him suggestible, not suggestive.

  “Senator,” Albert said above the spanking. “Senator!”

  Rollingfield flopped onto his back and lifted the apron of flab that had been covering his nethers.

  Oh, Mother!

  Albert shifted his gaze to the senator’s glazed eyes. “Before we… Before we get down to business, uh… Grayum—”

  “Gray-Gray. Call me Gray-Gray.”

  “Before we get down to business, Gray-Gray, I wanted to ask you to do something for me.”

  Rollingfield propped himself up on one elbow. His face was flushed, and his wrist was making brisk rhythmic motions that Albert didn’t want to think about. “Anything you like, dear boy. Absolutely anything.”

  “It’s about the senate.”

  “Oh, no, not now. Rut first, politics later.”

  “But you said anything, Gray-Gray, remember?”

  Rollingfield sighed and fell back on the bed. “One of those, are you? A little tease. Very well, what is it you want to know? Be quick now.”

  “A friend of a friend went to the senate building earlier today, and he’s not been seen since.”

  “Tall fellow in a brown hat and a white thingymawhatsit?”

  “Surcoat, Senator?”

  “If that’s a tunic-y thingy with a red embroidery-doobry.”

  “Yes, Senator. Do you know—?”

  Shadrak’s breath was hot on Albert’s ear as he whispered, “That’s him. Ask where he is.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you,” Albert hissed back, swatting the midget away. Because I obviously wouldn’t have thought of that myself.

  Rollingfield pushed himself into a sitting position and peered at Shadrak. “Who’s the little fellow? Not that it matters.” He patted the mattress. “Come on, sonny, don’t be shy.”

  Shadrak growled and stalked over to the far side of the room.

  “Senator,” Albert said, “I need to know what happened to this man. His name is—”

  “Shader,” Rollingfield said. “He told us at the trial. Well, we call them trials, but it’s merely a formality, all over in a jiffy. Only way to deal with these religious types. Good looking fellow. Such a waste, come morning.”

  “Waste? What do you mean?”

  “Enough,” Rollingfield said. “I don’t know what was in that cocktail, but I’m going to explode if I don’t have you right this instant, and then I mean to have your little friend, too. Oooh, I’ve not felt so vigorous in years.”

  “A moment more, Senator.” Albert frowned at the glass on the nightstand. For whatever reason, the powder seemed to
be having a paradoxical effect. He could only assume it was down to the absorbency of the blubber. “He’s going to be executed? Tomorrow? Do you know where he is now?”

  “Well, the prison, of course. Now do be a good chap and suck—”

  “Prison?” Albert’s heart lurched at what he thought Rollingfield was suggesting, and he swallowed a mouthful of bile.

  “Small one,” Rollingfield said, glancing at Shadrak. “Just like you. A teensy-weensy, prisony wisony. Do you know—”

  Shadrak strode over to the bed. “Tell me where, and if it’s a prick you want, I got one right here.” He palmed a dagger as he spoke.

  “Oh, yes,” Rollingfield gasped. “Yes, yes, yes.” He rolled onto his hands and knees.

  “Street,” Shadrak said. “What street’s it in?”

  Rollingfield twisted his neck to look at Shadrak, a thick rope of slobber running from the corner of his mouth. “Ooh, I feel… sleepy.” He flopped over onto his side.

  “Street!” Shadrak said, raising his dagger.

  Albert grabbed his wrist and held up a staying finger. It was finally working, thank the great pie-maker in the sky. But another second, and it would have all been for nothing.

  “The prison, Senator. We could all go together, and there the four of us could do such things. You said you liked the look of Shader, remember?”

  “Ooooooh, yessssss,” Rollingfield said. “101st… Arse-end of the basilica buildingy-thingy… sena… senate build…”

  Rollingfield’s mouth hung open, and drool trickled down his chin onto the sheets. Within moments, he was snoring like a pig with a bad cold.

  “I do hope I didn’t accidentally overdose him,” Albert said. “Could be catastrophic for his liver.”

  “He’ll live,” Shadrak said. “You never make mistakes in that department, Albert.”

  Albert smiled internally. “No. No, I suppose I don’t. Come on, let’s leave him to his beauty sleep.” He certainly needs it.

  “How you gonna explain him waking up here?” Shadrak said.

  “That’s Fargin’s job. Now, do you have any idea where this senate building is? What was it he said, 101st Street?”

  Shadrak tapped the side of his head. “All in here, Albert. All in here.” His eyes narrowed to bloody slits as he looked at the snoring senator. “I was gonna ask him about that thing that attacked me.”

  “Bit late for that now,” Albert said as he opened the door and gestured for Shadrak to go first.

  Buck was loitering on the stairwell, arms folded across his chest.

  “Thought you were coughing your guts up,” Albert said.

  “Yeah, well, would’ve done if I could get a turn in the crapper.”

  “Then how…?”

  Buck gave a sheepish grin.

  “You swallowed it, didn’t you?”

  Buck hawked up a great wad of phlegm and looked like he was about to spit it out until he caught Albert’s glare. Made you wonder about the kind of male-bonding activities he got up to, not to mention the company he kept. He gulped it down and did his best to look serious. “So’d he spill?”

  “What on earth are you… oh, the beans, you mean. Did he talk? Indeed, he did.”

  “Are we gonna stand about on the stairs all day, or do I have to sling you down them head first?” Shadrak said as he pushed past Buck. “With any luck, you’ll break your bleedin’ neck.”

  “Oi,” Buck said.

  Albert put a warning hand on his shoulder. “Come on, don’t upset the poison pixie.”

  They followed Shadrak into the restaurant. He pulled out a chair from a table, reversed it, and sat down.

  “This prison on 101st Street,” Shadrak said to Buck. “What do you know about it?”

  “No way,” Buck said, taking the chair opposite. “No shogging way. That’s only the most heavily guarded place in New Jerusalem. No one gets in or out. Not never.”

  Albert paused, halfway to the kitchen. It sounded to his ears very much like a challenge. He was about to go back and join them, but then he remembered what Shadrak was like. The albino would leave no stone unturned. He’d eke out of Buck every last detail he knew about the place, and then he’d plan for every possible scenario. If they’d had the time, he would have probably staked the prison out for a week or two until he was absolutely certain about what needed to be done.

  Shadrak looked up from the table and caught Albert watching him. A look of understanding passed between them, and Albert started to turn toward the kitchen, but then Shadrak said, “Don’t think you’re staying out of this, Albert. I’m gonna need your expertise.”

  “You have a plan? Already?” The cretin hadn’t even filled them in on what little he probably knew yet.

  “Let me put it another way,” Shadrak said. “I ain’t letting you outta my sight till I get my plane ship back. Got it?”

  Just then, Rhiannon came stumbling out of the latrine. “I’m coming with you. To get Shader, I mean.” She promptly doubled up, vomited, and went back in.

  Albert winced and looked away.

  “No,” Shadrak said. “You are most definitely staying here.”

  “Yeah,” Buck said, like he was suddenly someone important.

  “You, too,” Shadrak said. “No offense. You might shit the locals, but I know a pillock when I see one.”

  Buck’s mouth was working silently, but he clearly couldn’t think of a retort.

  Shadrak steepled his hands on the table and fixed him with a stare. “Now,” he said, “impress me with your knowledge of the prison.”

  “Impregnated, it is,” Buck said. “There’s no way you’ll get your mate out.”

  Albert slapped a palm to his forehead as he joined them at the table.

  “What?” Buck said. “I ain’t kidding.”

  “I know,” Albert said. “That’s what worries me, but the word you’re looking for is ‘impregnable’.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Shadrak clicked his fingers. “You two finished? Good. So, what makes it impregnable? Locks? Traps? The number of guards?”

  Buck shrugged at each suggestion.

  “All of the above?” Shadrak said.

  Another shrug.

  “So, tell me if I’m wrong, you don’t know shog all about it, and you’ve never been there, right?”

  Buck grimaced and drew in a deep breath. “I hear things.”

  “Who from?” Shadrak slid off his chair and came round the table toward him.

  If he’d had the height, Albert thought, Shadrak would have been pretty intimidating, but even without it, Buck was fidgeting like a virgin on her wedding night—if indeed there are still such things as virgins of marrying age, yours truly excepted.

  “Well, people say things—”

  “The guilds?” Shadrak said.

  “Maybe.”

  Shadrak grabbed him by the collar. “Maybe? What the shog do you mean, ‘maybe’? Do you or do you not know anything other than bullshit about the prison?”

  Buck shook his head, his eyes welling up. “Only what I told you. I don’t know nothing more’n that.”

  Shadrak wrenched him from his chair and bundled him toward the door. “Then shog off, and don’t waste my time.”

  The door swung open, and a tall, bald man with a gray box beard came in. Albert’s heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of the white toga. Surely the senate hadn’t worked out what had happened to Rollingfield and come for him so soon.

  Before anyone could speak, Shadrak booted Buck up the rear and sent him tumbling into the street. At the same time, an armored man in a black great helm entered. He was short—not as short as Shadrak, but about the same height as Rugbeard, who was still snoring away at the bar.

  “Nameless,” Shadrak said. “About shogging time. What kept you?”

  “I kept him,” the bald man said.

  “Nameless?” Albert said. “What kind of a—?”

  The latrine door
slapped open, and Rhiannon staggered out once more. She looked green as a corpse, her eyes bloodshot and sunken. “Oh, great,” she growled. “What the shog do you want?”

  The bald man looked down his nose at her. “From you, nothing more at this juncture. When you are… recovered, we should talk.”

  “Nothing to say to you,” she said, propping herself on a stool next to Rugbeard and reaching for a bottle.

  “I wouldn’t,” Albert said. “The stuff I gave you doesn’t mix well with alcohol.”

  Rhiannon groaned and held her head in her hands.

  “Thought you’d found a way to get that thing off your head,” Shadrak said to Nameless. “Got a belly full of booze and gone to sleep it off.”

  “The feeding takes time,” the bald man said. “And there were other matters.”

  “Such as?” Shadrak said.

  “Other matters.”

  “It’s all right, laddie,” Nameless said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Just making sure I’m safe—” He rapped the side of his great helm. “—after what happened.”

  “I ain’t got a shogging clue what you’re talking about,” Shadrak said, “but right now, I couldn’t give a stuff. We got problems of our own. Shader—”

  “He’s not back from the senate?” the bald man said.

  “Yeah, like you didn’t know,” Rhiannon said.

  “I didn’t, but perhaps I should have.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” Rhiannon said.

  “Me? Nothing. There’s nothing I can do.” For an instant, the bald man looked haunted, and something fiery flashed across his eyes. He regained his composure in an instant, though. “I am… I am already overstretched, and some actions are just a little too—”

  “What, you mean you can’t be bothered?” Rhiannon said. “Or is the great Aristodeus a coward as well as a creep?”

  “You wouldn’t understand if I told you!” he thundered. A hush settled over the restaurant, as if lightning had just struck.

  It was Nameless who finally broke the silence. “Way I see it, laddie, if you won’t or can’t do anything, you should go pour yourself a drink and let the grown-ups do the thinking.”

  “Did I hear right?” Albert said. “Aristodeus, is it? Come, let me get you something to eat.” It never hurt to know a person’s gastronomic preferences. One day, the knowledge could prove invaluable.