“We’re going to pretend we have you two in custody,” Batanya explained to Amelia and Narcissus, who had pulled on his clothes. “If we herd you ahead of us, that’s a good way for Narcissus to guide us to our client without it being obvious we don’t know the way.” Amelia nodded. She was so anxious to leave the jail that she couldn’t form words.
The Britlingens held their new weapons at businesslike attitudes. When Batanya glanced down at the gun she held, she found she had no idea what would happen when she fired it, or even if she had it pointing in the right direction. Narcissus stepped ahead of them, casting a look over his shoulder to make sure they’d all noticed his beautiful butt. They smiled at him reassuringly and nodded to show encouragement and admiration. He led them to the right into the large trunk corridor they’d traversed to get there.
When they passed another group of Lucifer’s soldiers, Batanya gripped the gun so hard she thought it might bend, but no one questioned them. One woman whistled after Narcissus, which pleased him no end, though he seemed equally happy when a snakeman pinched his left lower cheek.
“When you get through with him, pass him along,” hissed the snakeman.
“Lucifer wants him,” Batanya said, shrugging.
Because of the uniform tunics they’d donned in the prison area, they went a long way without challenge. The two Britlingens looked very different without the hoods of their summer armor, and they were certainly sufficiently tough to pass as guards. As they moved through the tunnels, the traffic increased and the tunnels themselves became wider and decorated with paintings and lamps. These bits of civilization gradually increased in frequency and splendor, until they found themselves in the audience hall where they’d first seen Lucifer. Narcissus led them across this, though they were going much more slowly now because of the groups of servants or soldiers who were also crossing the large space. Hell sure was busy. Lucifer wasn’t in the great hall, to Batanya’s relief. She wanted to reclaim Crick when there weren’t scores of Lucifer’s minions around.
After they’d freed their client, all they’d have to do was fight through all these savage creatures to get to the surface, or at least find some quiet and undisturbed spot so the Britlingens could trigger their beacon and their party could be returned to the castle in Spauling.
That was all they had to do.
Batanya quelled a moment of despair. Britlingens never gave up. There was a client to save. She thought of her picture going up on the Wall of Shame, and her lip curled in distaste.
They were brought up short just at that moment by the four guards barring the two magnificent doors. Narcissus’s dead halt meant this was Lucifer’s personal suite.
Talk their way in, or just start killing? If a troop of soldiers hadn’t appeared just at that moment marching by on some other business, Batanya might have found out how well her new sword worked. But there were at least twelve soldiers, and two of them were the quadruped net-throwers. Batanya had formed a strong disinclination to tangle with them again, if she could help it. Clovache glanced at her senior, a question in her face, and Batanya nodded.
Clovache said, “Lucifer wants these two,” jerking her head to indicate Amelia and Narcissus.
“He didn’t say anything to us,” the guard with the fanciest uniform said. She was a huge woman with golden skin and golden eyes. Narcissus fluttered his eyelashes at her, and she choked back a surprised laugh. “I’m Ginever, day captain,” she said.
“I’m Clovache, prison guard. The Master apparently told Marl, who ordered us to bring them,” Clovache said.
Ginever looked surprised, as if Lucifer talking directly to Marl was unlikely. It probably was, considering Marl had been a lowly prison guard overseer.
“Let me just ask,” she said. “He’s got his shiny toy back, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s playing.”
Batanya felt an unexpected wave of pity for Crick. The Harwell Clan was nearly extinct because of its members’ unusual physical attribute. Being gifted had its price. When Batanya had the time to be curious, she promised herself she’d learn the clan’s history.
“This one is wanted to join in the fun,” Clovache said, pointing to Narcissus. “You can see the attraction.”
“Oh, yes,” said the golden woman, smiling. “Oh, yes. He’s been here often enough before. Well, I must check.” She knocked on the left door, a quick set of three raps. Her ear to its surface, she waited. She must have heard some sound of assent, because she drew back to open the door. Batanya exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
“In, prisoners, move your feet!” she said, as curtly as a real prison guard. Ginever was no fool and certainly had a full complement of arms as well as three comrades, and the sooner they were out from under her eyes, the better.
Clovache led the way, followed by Narcissus and Amelia Earhart, with Batanya prodding from behind with the sword.
Lucifer, a flogger in his hand, was standing by a pillar. Crick was bound to the pillar, his back exposed and striped with blood. Batanya gulped, resisting the nausea that rose in her throat. Lucifer was staring at them, trying to figure out their presence, and in the split second before he could decipher their intent, Batanya leaped at him with the sword.
She got him, right through the stomach, but not before he managed to swing the flogger. It raked Batanya’s back without enough force to draw blood through her clothing, but enough to make her dig in the sword for all she was worth.
Lucifer’s beautiful face was twisted with anger. Despite the blade in his guts, he said, “I’ll kill you for this, if I live.”
“Oh, of course you’ll live,” Clovache said. Narcissus was looking at Lucifer hungrily, as if seeing someone else lovely was enough to excite his libido. Amelia was throwing up into a pot on the floor. Crick looked at them as if they were all as beautiful as Narcissus. But what he said was, “Get me out of this.”
“The key?” Batanya said. Lucifer sneered at her. Batanya pulled a dagger from her belt. “You don’t need both those pretty blue eyes,” she said. “Which one do you want the most?”
“On the table by the bed,” Lucifer said. Clovache ran to fetch it, and Batanya risked a glance to check on Narcissus and Amelia. Suddenly Lucifer bellowed at the top of his lungs, and in quick response there was pounding at the door. Ginever called, “Master? Master?”
“Kill them all!” Lucifer yelled, and the door began to bow inward.
“Find an exit,” Batanya told Amelia, who’d finished being sick. “There’s sure to be one.” Amelia nodded, braced herself visibly, and began scanning the walls of the huge room. It was a very busy boudoir. It contained an enormous bed, many hangings, lots of torture paraphernalia and knickknacks, and a roaring fire; about what you’d expect of the personal apartment of the King of Hell.
“Here,” Amelia called. She’d pulled aside a wall hanging depicting—well, it was as complicated as the threesome of soldiers they’d seen in the tunnels—and sure enough, there was a door.
“It doesn’t lead to the surface,” Lucifer said. “You’re all going to die. But not before I have some fun with each of you, I hope.”
“You already had fun with me,” Narcissus said plaintively. “Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”
“Just kill him right now,” Lucifer advised Batanya, and for a second she was tempted. But there were other things to do, and besides, she had a jumbled feeling that killing Narcissus would be like breaking an ancient porcelain vase. He wasn’t very useful, but he was beautiful.
Lucifer’s wound was healing, as she’d expected, and he wouldn’t be on the floor for long. The pounding at the door had accelerated, and there wasn’t time to do more than wrap one of Crick’s chains around the no-longer-bleeding lord and lock it with one of Crick’s locks. Clovache had Crick moving and had picked up one of Lucifer’s tunics and pulled it roughly over their client’s head. Crick himself bent with obvious pain to pull on some shoes, and then they were tumbling out the door Amelia had found.
> Batanya hadn’t been sure Narcissus would follow, he’d seemed so intent on forcing a compliment from his former lover—or torturer; but the beautiful youth trailed after them, though he didn’t seem nearly anxious or urgent enough to suit her.
The door had to be blocked behind them. There was nothing in the dusty passage to help them do this, and the door didn’t lock on this side.
Clovache said a few choice things, and Crick said, “Stand back.” His voice was shaky but clear, and Batanya was grateful that he was well enough to remain on top of their perilous situation. Crick muttered a few words under his breath and pressed his hand in a curious gesture toward the door.
“It will hold them for a few minutes,” he said, and they hurried away. “That’s pretty much all the magic I have, so don’t expect more,” he added, getting the words out with an obvious effort. The passage was stone-floored like the rest of the underground palace, but it had been made strictly by men. The roof was braced, and there was no slug slime on the floor and walls.
“Do you know where this leads?” Batanya asked Narcissus.
“I didn’t even know it was here,” he said. “I never tried to escape from Lucifer before.” Of course not.
It would have been wonderful to have Crick’s map, but there was no telling where it had gone after Crick had been stripped. It wasn’t like they had a lot of choices to make; the passage had so far not branched off.
“We’re going northwest,” Crick said, when they paused to get their breath. By now, the back of Lucifer’s tunic was striped with Crick’s blood. His face looked even bonier than it had before. Batanya admired his fortitude. “That’s the direction of the guards’ barracks.”
“You’re still determined to retrieve the conjuring ball,” Batanya said with resignation.
“I might as well go back into that room and let him kill me there if I don’t return with the ball. I held out telling him where it was. I can’t come back to get it.”
“Crap.” Batanya wanted to pat him or choke him, she wasn’t sure which.
“What is the law?” Clovache said sullenly.
“The client’s word,” Batanya said, with resignation.
They started out again, trying to move faster. Amelia was uncomplaining, but she was panting heavily, and she stumbled from time to time. Narcissus was in better shape, but he was not as keen as the rest were on getting out of Hell. Crick kept pace gamely, but he didn’t object when Batanya put her arm under his shoulder to help him along.
The passage did branch off, finally, though the dust on the floor would surely indicate which way they’d taken. There was no help for it. They barged on straight ahead, since according to Crick that was still the best way to the barracks. The passage had led them slightly uphill, Batanya had noticed, and ahead of them they saw extra light coming from a grate in the floor.
The small group paused, and Clovache whispered into Narcissus’s ear, “You must keep silent.” They crept forward as quietly as they could, and Batanya felt Amelia’s arm quiver with the effort the older woman was making to calm her ragged breathing.
When they got very close to the grate, Batanya leaned Crick up against the wall and stepped silently up to it by herself.
She was looking down into one of the soldiers’ mess rooms. There were about twenty various creatures sitting around a table eating bread and meat, and drinking—those that had mouths—from bowls. They were all talking (or growling, or hooting), and when there was a loud alarm, at first they ignored it. Suddenly a large snakeman bounded into the room, and he bellowed (as much as his throat would permit him), “To arms! Lucifer has been attacked!” Whether from devotion or fear or professional pride, the collection of soldiers cleared out of the mess hall in double quick time.
“Shit,” Batanya said, and Crick tried to smile.
“I agree,” he said. “But at the same time, this is the last place they’d expect us to come, and if they’re clearing out, this is our best chance to retrieve the ball.”
“Which way?” Batanya said, having no argument to make with that.
“Forward,” he said, trying to put some energy in his voice.
So on they hurried. Two more grates were passed, Crick taking a careful look down each one, and at the third one he said, “This is it.”
Batanya’s shoulders wanted to sag with relief, but she kept herself braced and ready for action. She had an awful feeling she could hear the sound of pursuit coming up the passage; it was some way distant, but their pursuers would catch up quickly since they were all fit. So she wouldn’t think about what would happen after that, she squatted down to remove the grate, which wasn’t secured in any way; why would it be? Before she could speak, Crick grasped the rim and lowered himself down to the bed that was almost squarely beneath the grate. Crick gasped in sudden pain and dropped heavily, and the bed broke. Crick ended up on the floor, curled in a ball. In a flash, Batanya lowered herself through the opening and dropped a lot more gracefully.
“You idiot,” she said as she helped Crick to rise. “Where is it?” He pointed to some cabinets lined up against the wall, obviously intended to hold the soldiers’ effects.
“On top,” he said. “On top of the first cabinet to the right.” This proved to be a narrow cabinet with three lines scratched on it. Batanya opened the cabinet, stood on the lowest shelf, and heaved herself up. Sure enough, back against the wall where it would be out of sight, there was the conjuring ball, hastily concealed by Crick months before. It was wrapped in a rag that had been used to wipe it clean. Remembering where Crick had kept it concealed, Batanya was grateful. She grabbed the ball and leaped down, bounding over to Crick in almost the same moment. He took it and tossed it up to Clovache. Batanya gripped Crick around the hips and lifted. Clovache and Amelia reached down and seized Crick’s upstretched hands, and together they bundled the thief up into the passage again. Once he was out of the way, Batanya made a good leap to seize the lip of the opening herself, and with the help of the two women she managed to join the others, just as the door of the room below opened with a crash.
“Now,” she said to Clovache. “Now!”
Clovache pressed a lump behind her ear where the beacon was implanted. Then she pressed it again. Batanya reached behind her own ear and pressed hers three times. Five people to transport.
Nothing happened.
“Fuck,” Batanya said. “Can the ball get us out of here?”
“I don’t know how to get it to . . .” Crick began, and then the sounds of pursuit became immediate. Batanya swung around to face the oncoming horde, and Clovache picked up her short spear and hurled it at the lead figure, one of the snakemen. He fell and the others stumbled around him, but it was only a matter of seconds before they were overwhelmed. Crick dropped the conjuring ball, and Amelia retrieved it automatically. “I want to go back,” she said, almost weeping.
Pop!
There was confused swirl of colors and sounds, the impression of a high wind, and they were standing under a brilliant sun on what appeared to be a small island. The sea surged all around; there was no other land in sight. There were a few palm trees, and Batanya heard a bird scream. A wrecked airplane was crumpled on the beach before them, a dead man lying next to it. Amelia’s face was a study in shock, and Batanya was sure her own face matched it. Clovache, thinking very quickly, seized the conjuring ball from Amelia’s hand, and said, “To the beacon.”
Pop!
The sounds and colors again, the dizzying whirling feeling, and then they all arrived on the platform in the hall of the magicians and mechs.
There was quite a crowd in there; and it took Batanya a long second to realize she didn’t need to kill them. Clovache actually took a swipe with her short sword, which made her commander leap back smartly.
“Hold!” Flechette bellowed. “Hold, you fool!”
After a moment of reorientation, Batanya understood she didn’t need to stand in front of Crick any longer, and she stepped aside. Crick was double
d over, gasping in pain. Amelia stared around her, so stunned it would be hard to pick one emotion from another as they crossed her face. After a moment’s evaluation, Narcissus trotted down the few stairs to the handsomest person he could see, a young mech woman. Though he was grimy and wearing his prison tunic, she looked at him as if she’d seen the face of a god, which Batanya supposed was not too very far from the truth. Narcissus held out his hand, and the mech had a hard job to decide whether to shake it or kneel to kiss it. She settled for holding it and basking in the smile Narcissus bestowed. “Do you like dogs?” he asked her.
Batanya and Clovache helped Crick down to the floor. Crick said, “For a bit, there, we didn’t know if you would get us out in time.” He made an effort to sound casual. That was exactly what Batanya had been thinking, but she hadn’t wanted say it out loud (especially in front of her junior).
“This asshole almost prevented us from extracting you,” Flechette said, and for the first time Batanya noticed that Flechette was gripping Trovis by the arm. “He tried to persuade the magicians and mechs that you’d sent a false signal, that the minions of Hell would home in on the beacon if they acted on it.”
“I didn’t believe him,” said the young mech woman, with a shy smile. “I called Flechette to overrule him.”
“Can I execute Trovis?” Clovache asked. “He has tried to have us done in more times than I can count, and all because Batanya wouldn’t lie with him and broke his arm making him back off.”
“Ah,” said Flechette. “Perhaps we shouldn’t kill him . . . but he must be punished.”
Clovache still had the conjuring ball. Though Trovis made an effort to dodge and to twist out of Flechette’s grip, Clovache ran her arm around Trovis’s neck, looked down at the ball, said, “Go back!” Pop! She and Flechette and Trovis were staring at a vast green sea, scraggly palm trees, a wrecked airplane, and a dead man.
“Drop Trovis’s arm,” she told Flechette, who did, at least partly from surprise at getting an order from a junior. Clovache took a step back from the gaping Trovis herself, gripped Flechette’s shoulder, concentrated on the ball, said, “Back to the hall,” and Pop! They were back in the magicians’ hall.
Must Love Hellhounds Page 7