by David Bishop
You called?
"Finally. I need you to check if there are any more of these goons nearby."
Beginning scanning.
"And could you point me towards the lights?"
There's a switch on the wall to your left, about chest height. Turn that on, it should illuminate your location.
"Thanks." Dante was hitting the switch when the Crest spoke again.
But I'm not sure you're ready for what you're about to see.
The chamber was bathed in light, momentarily blinding Dante. He covered his eyes, squinting to take in his surroundings. Aside from the corpses near his feet, most of the available space was given over to rows of theatre seats, all facing a raised stage. The leading edge of the acting area jutted out into the seating, like the down-stroke of a letter T. Across this, more than a dozen figures in elaborate make-up and the flimsiest of costumes were engaged in numerous sexual couplings and muscular ménage à trois. Men dressed as women were pleasuring other men dressed as women, while their actions were appreciated by yet more men who appeared most intent upon pleasuring themselves.
"Bojemoi!" Dante stared at the stage in disbelief. "What do you call that?"
Oh my, the Crest replied. Kabuki porn.
Six ninja dived through the paper wall above Dante's head and landed on the seating in front of him, their weapons already drawn and ready to attack.
Sex and violence, the Crest sighed. You should feel right at home.
Dante dived behind the seats to avoid a fresh flurry of laser shuriken. His sprawling hands grasped a familiar shape on the floor. A mischievous smile crossed Dante's face as he pulled the Huntsman 5000 closer. "Diavolo!" he cried. "You bastards, I'm bleeding to death!" Two of the ninja broke cover to check his condition and were quickly dealt with, but the others stayed back. "Seems I've got an advantage over you," Dante announced. "You have to capture me alive, but I can kill as many of you as I want. Kind of evens up the odds, doesn't it?"
He stuck his rifle over the top of the theatre seats and fired a volley of shots towards where his hunters had been lurking. He was rewarded by several cries of pain, but when Dante peered over the top of the seating the ninja were nowhere in sight. However, most of the all-male Kabuki porn cast was advancing towards him, brandishing various sexual implements as weapons. The rest were still on stage, tending the actors wounded by Dante's unfriendly fire.
"Oops."
One thing's for certain, the Crest noted as Dante ran for the nearest exit, pursued by the naked actors. They know you don't fire blanks.
Spatchcock and Flintlock burst into the Okiya's reception area to find three ninja waiting for them. "Don't hurt us," Flintlock whimpered. "We're innocent."
The tallest of the warriors regarded them with suspicion. "Nobody is innocent in a whorehouse."
"True," Spatchcock agreed, his face curling into an innocuous smile. "But we're more innocent than most of the people in here. If you see what I mean." The warrior glanced at the smallest of his colleagues, looking for guidance. Spatchcock realised the strike team's leader was a woman. All her attention was focused on a device strapped to her left wrist, while her right hand was pressed against one ear.
"Fall back, let him come to you," she hissed. Only her eyes were visible but they displayed her anger eloquently. "Remember, we're to take him alive. I don't care how enraged the porn actors are. If they catch up with him, you'll have to intervene." She noticed the tall warrior trying to get her attention. One glance at Spatchcock and Flintlock was all she needed to decide the pair's fate. "They are of no consequence, let them go."
Spatchcock pushed the quivering Flintlock forwards, but somehow tripped over his own feet and bumped into the nearest ninja. "Sorry, sir, sorry, begging your pardon, sorry," he said, bowing apologetically as he hurried towards the Okiya's front doors. Once outside, Spatchcock scurried to the nearest hover-shuttle and jumped in. Flintlock was still standing on the dock, looking back at the brothel.
"What about Dante?"
"You couldn't wait to leave before, and now you're worried about him? Get in!"
Flintlock did as he was told. "I know Dante can look after himself but... did you see who was in charge of those ninja? A woman."
"I know." Spatchcock twisted the wheel of the hover-shuttle, sending it scudding away from the geisha house dock and towards the nearby Sea Falcon.
Flintlock was still watching the Okiya. "Nikolai always falls for a woman."
"They've been ordered to take him alive. I doubt even Dante can overcome all of them. So when they leave, we can follow."
"How? We don't know who this lot are or where they're going." Spatchcock retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it to Flintlock. The exile studied it, not comprehending. "What's this? A wristwatch?"
"Dante said they found him by locking on to the Crest. That's one of their tracking devices. I lifted it off that ninja when I bumped into him."
Flintlock smiled appreciatively. "Spatch, old boy, I could almost kiss you!"
"I'll want be wined and dined first, your lordship."
Dante burst from the kabuki theatre to find the four ninja waiting for him outside. He shot two before they could move, ducked beneath the lunge of another and smashed an elbow into the last one's face as he ran past. By the time his attackers recovered, the enraged and mostly naked porn cast was pouring from the theatre in hot pursuit. The resulting confusion gave Dante enough time to sprint away along the corridor. But the far end was also a dead end, with no doors or windows. Looking over his shoulder, Dante could see the angry mob hurrying towards him. He flung the butt of his rifle against the nearest wall, which ripped apart after a single blow. A sickly sweet, intoxicating scent billowed out from within, dizzying Dante with its alcoholic fumes.
"Fuoco, I remember that smell," he said, choking back the urge to vomit. "Whatever is causing that is how I got this hangover!"
Sake, the Crest observed, an alcoholic beverage made from fermented rice, and traditionally served at a temperature of between forty and fifty degrees centigrade. Congratulations, you've found the chamber where they warm the liquid in bulk before distributing it throughout the Okiya.
Dante looked through the torn paper wall. The chamber beyond best resembled a long swimming pool, its liquid contents stretching from wall to wall in all directions. A hatchway at the far end offering his only means of escape. "You're suggesting I swim through a tank of hot sake?"
Either that or take on two deadly ninja and a mob of murderous thespians from an all-male porn troupe.
Dante slung the rifle over his back and dived headfirst into the pool.
The strike team's leader could not understand how a single man had succeeded in escaping her insurgents. She cursed the survivors via her comms earpiece and set off with the two remaining team members to intercept Dante on the far side of the sake tank. "If you want something done properly, do it yourself," she muttered beneath her breath, sprinting through the Okiya's corridors.
Dante was halfway when he heard several splashes behind him. Don't worry, the Crest reassured him, that's the kabuki cast after you. The ninja are finding another way round.
"Easy... for you... to say," Dante gulped, in between mouthfuls of air and warm alcohol. "You're... not the one... being chased... by frustrated sex fiends!"
Now you know how most women feel about you, it fired back. Try not to swallow so much. You'll be too drunk to open the access hatch.
Dante spat out a long stream of sake and concentrated on swimming, but his attempt at the breaststroke was rapidly descending into doggy-paddle. When he reached the other side, his hands slipped on the side of the tank, whereby he sank down into the warm liquid. Frantic kicking got him back to the surface, by which time the actors were almost upon him. The nearest dived down and grabbed Dante's waist, fingers clawing at the thin strands holding the borrowed g-string in place.
Powerful arms plunged into the sake and grabbed hold of Dante's flailing limbs, pulling him up and
out of the intoxicating liquid. He scrambled through the access hatch and kicked it shut behind him. The lock automatically slotted into place, trapping the actors on the other side.
"I made it," Dante spluttered disbelievingly. "Remind me never to drink again."
Stay alive long enough and I might have the opportunity.
"We have orders to capture you alive," a female voice announced. The smallest of the black-clad figures stepped forward to confront Dante. "However, there is nothing in our instructions about delivering you unhurt. So far you have killed or disabled seven of my colleagues. For that you must pay a price."
"I'd offer you cash," he slurred, suppressing a hiccup, "but I seem to have left my money pouch somewhere. Don't suppose you've seen it, have you?"
The woman lashed out savagely, the back of her hand slapping Dante's face with the power of a whip cracking. He winced and rubbed his cheek.
"I'm guessing I should take that as a no."
The woman slapped him again, first to one side with her palm, then the other way with the back of her hand, repeating the treatment until Dante grabbed hold of her wrist with surprising speed for someone so drunk.
Try not to antagonise her, the Crest warned.
"The last time a woman hurt me that much, we were in love," he hissed.
I despair of you sometimes, I really do.
Dante's attacker glanced down at his crotch, the sake-soaked genitals rapidly shrivelling in the cool, air-conditioned atmosphere. "There's not much of you to love," she said, her lips curling in disgust.
"I've never had any complaints," Dante maintained, ignoring the Crest's protestations in his mind. "I could give you a demonstration, if you like?"
She wrenched her hand free, her dark eyes sparkling with anger. The lithe woman stepped aside and signalled for the others to take over. "Hurt him, but do not kill or cripple. I leave the rest to your imagination."
Dante braced his back against the access hatch, trying to concentrate enough to will his cyborganic swords into place. But the effects of his swim across the sake tank were taking hold, turning his attackers into eight men, then a dozen. "Now boys," he slurred, "you wouldn't fight a man without trousers, would you? Besides, I can't fight all of you at once. Be patient, there's plenty of me to go around, you know..."
The fight was over in less than a minute.
When the men were satisfied with their work, they stepped aside to let their leader look at Dante's bloody and bruised body. She removed the fabric masking her beautiful face and shook her long, black hair free.
"I should kill you now," she spat at Dante. "It's no more than you deserve."
FOUR
"Know more and speak less."
- Russian proverb
"The Tsar's Purge Squads did much to exterminate any visible opposition to the Makarov dynasty after the war, but undercurrents of resistance remained. Many were those among the Empire's noble houses who spoke of their loyalty to the Tsar in public, while fostering discontent and resentment in private. But few were willing to act upon their feelings while the threat of reprisal hung heavy in the air. One of the rare organised attempts to foment was the short-lived Parliament of Shadows."
- Extract from After the Tsar Wars,
by Georgi Lucassovich
Dante woke with another splitting headache and the stench of stale alcohol on his breath. All around him was darkness, the air heavy with dust and neglect. A faint luminescence struggled to illuminate his surroundings. When he tried to move, pain shot through every muscle and tendon in his body. "Bojemoi," Dante gasped. "How many elephants trampled on me?"
You've been beaten bloody, drugged and you nearly drowned in a tank of hot sake, the Crest replied. But at least you've got some clothes on now.
Dante peeled back a black, skin-tight top to discover a patchwork of bruises on his skin, the purple and yellow contusions showing he had been unconscious for more than a day. Tight grey trousers covered his lower half, preserving his dignity. "Shame. I was getting rather fond of that g-string. It's always good to feel the sun on your cheeks."
Dante, you wear a g-string on your crotch, not your face.
"I didn't mean those cheeks." Wincing in pain, he sat up. The floor felt smooth and solid, while the air around him was still. Directly overhead a circular glimmer of light offered the only hint of a way out. "So, where am I this time?"
Inside an oubliette.
"That's not some kind of whale, is it?"
Dante, just once I wish you would resist the urge to say or do the first thing that enters your head. Life would be easier if you didn't always act on instinct.
"Yeah, but it'd also be a lot more boring. Beside, you wouldn't get the chance to scold me, or give one of your lectures about things I don't understand."
The Crest snorted derisively. An oubliette, it said archly, is a dungeon with the only exit out of reach overhead. They are frequently circular or oval in shape.
"Like being stuck inside a gigantic egg?"
Must you always reduce everything to the simplest possible example?
"If I want to piss you off, yes." Dante peered about his confinement. "No sign of my rifle. But they'd have to be pretty stupid to leave me with a weapon."
Like your cyborganic swords, for instance...
"Yeah! I could use those to try and cut my way-" He stopped, realising the Crest was teasing him. "I would have thought of that without your help, you know."
Of course you would.
"I didn't ask to be bonded with you!"
Instead of trying to escape, why don't you argue some more?
"All right, I-" Dante bit his bottom lip, not trusting himself to say anything more. Instead he concentrated on recreating his cyborganic blades. But try as he might, the silver and purple circuitry failed to appear from his hands.
You've obviously been injected with a neural inhibitor that disables your cyborganics, the Crest observed.
"Pity it didn't shut you up too," Dante muttered. Before the Crest could reply, the glimmer of light overhead began changing, becoming first a crescent, and then a complete circle. A metal ladder descended until it stopped in front of Dante's face.
"Climb out," a stern female voice commanded.
"What if I don't want to?" he asked.
"Then you can rot down there."
I suggest you do as you're told - for once.
"Nag, nag, nag." Dante grabbed the lower rungs of the ladder and hauled himself upwards, his arms and shoulders protesting each movement with fresh stabs of pain. "Fuoco, you're worse than my mother." He emerged from the dungeon into the beams of numerous spotlights. The same female voice as before commanded him to push the ladder down into the oubliette and close the entrance. Dante followed her instructions, all the while squinting around himself, trying to get a grasp of where he was.
He stood in the centre of a large, six-sided chamber. The floor was covered by a pattern of black and white checks that stretched out to the corners. High on the surrounding walls were five platforms that jutted out over the floor. The spotlights were mounted on the edge of these, but Dante could make out two figures standing on each platform. Their shapes were silhouetted in front of open doorways behind them. None of their faces were visible, as each figure was wearing a hood. A familiar scent hung in the air, teasing Dante's senses. What was it? Lavender? Heather? He knew he had smelled it before, but couldn't recall where. His mind was still a drugged muddle.
"Welcome." The voice was male, deep and booming. Dante thought he detected some St Petersburg in the accent, but couldn't be certain.
"Err, hi," he replied, warily.
"Welcome to the Parliament of Shadows," the voice continued. Dante thought it was coming from the middle platform, but the resonant walls bounced sound around in circles, creating echoes upon echoes. "This is our council chamber, where we meet to discuss future strategies and interrogate those who have information useful to our goals.
"Any chance you could turn down the ligh
ts?" Dante asked hopefully. "I'm guessing you got me here for a reason, but I won't be much use to you blind."
"These beams help shield our identity. We are a cabal intent on overthrowing the Tsar. Each one of us represents a different noble house, a dynasty that would dearly love to see the Makarov regime swept away and an end to all tyranny. As such, we must protect ourselves from the Tsar's spies and informants. That is why we call ourselves the Parliament of Shadows."
"Uh-huh." Dante scratched the side of his face while smiling broadly up at his captors. "Crest, what's a cabal?" he hissed under his breath.
A secret plot, a conspiracy. Don't you know anything?
"That's your job," Dante muttered.
No, my job is to teach you, mould you into a potential Emperor.
"Good luck!"
"I don't believe we have your full attention," the booming voice interjected. "Perhaps this will enhance your concentration."
There was a clicking sound and Dante felt as if his feet had caught fire. Sparks of electricity were dancing across the surface of the floor and Dante was dancing with them, involuntarily bouncing from foot to foot, trying to keep himself airborne. Whenever his flesh touched the floor another jolt of electricity surged through him, jangling his teeth and wits together.
Another click and it was over, the black and white checks no long alive with the sound of sizzling skin. Dante collapsed to the floor, cursing loudly at the Parliament's leader. He pulled his feet towards his face and blew on them, one hand trying to waft cold air over the scorched soles.
"When you've quite finished feeling sorry for yourself," the voice said, "we will lower the intensity of our lights a little. Consider it a gesture of goodwill."