“Lucifer needs the slugs too much,” Crick explained. “They do most of the digging for him. Of course, he can’t really direct where the slug tunnels go, but they add to his palace for free. At the same time, the slugs stabilize the tunnels with their secretions. He only has to shore up the occasional roof. Plus, the slugs are good at patrolling the existing passageways. If he loses the odd fighter, he doesn’t really care.”
“You know a lot about this.” In the dim light, Batanya couldn’t read their client’s expression, but she had the impression he flinched.
“Yes,” he said. “I was a prisoner here for quite some time. Lucifer enjoys talking.”
“This is information it might have been good to have before,” Batanya said. “Not so much about your imprisonment, though that’s interesting, of course.” Batanya could be polite when she chose. “This stuff about the slugs . . . We needed to know that before now.”
“Why don’t you tell us something else we might need to know?” Clovache suggested. “Just in the interest of keeping you alive.” Another slug was coming. They could hear the distinctive dragging sound, inhale the noisome smell. They were stuck here for a few minutes.
“Belshazzar heard from an informant that the conjuring ball was in the private cabinet of the King of Hell,” Crick said. “It was a commission steal. I was hired by Belshazzar partly because I’m good, partly because I owed him a lot of money anyway. But I did succeed in getting the ball, though it was in the darkest corner of the darkest cabinet in Lucifer’s apartment . . .”
“Less with the colorful and more with the facts,” Batanya said firmly.
Crick was a bit disconcerted to be knocked out of his storytelling groove, but he nodded obligingly. “Actually, it was in a special room off the king’s bedroom. His, ah, toy room, so to speak. Belshazzar was pretty sure I’d get to see that room when Lucifer found out I was actually one of the last of the Harwell Clan.”
Batanya’s eyes widened. Clovache looked bewildered.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means our client here has special physical attractions.”
Clovache looked him over, couldn’t see it. She liked her men big and burly. “Like what?”
When Crick just shrugged, Clovache looked at her lieutenant. “What?” she asked.
Batanya said, “Crick here has two penises.”
“Get out of town,” Clovache said. “Really?” She sounded both admiring and intrigued.
Crick nodded, trying to look modest. “There are few of us left. We don’t tend to be model citizens, according to the rules of other societies, so the Harwell Clan has been decimated in the last decade.”
“Is there anyone who doesn’t want to hurt you?” Clovache asked.
“Sure. You two.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Batanya muttered. She pulled her hood down and ran her fingers through her short black hair. “Okay, so how’d you get the conjuring ball into the barracks?”
“They didn’t know I had it,” Crick said. “When I decided it was time to take my leave of the king—his demands got rather tiresome—I ran away, taking the conjuring ball with me. When it was obvious I was going to be captured, I concealed it.”
“Where?” Batanya asked bluntly.
“Ah, in the only available place.”
“And they didn’t search you thoroughly?” Batanya was professionally astonished. “It wouldn’t get by us.”
Crick half-bowed to them. “I have no doubt,” he said politely. “However, they thought I might have stolen one of Lucifer’s big pieces of jewelry or some of his coins, which could not be concealed in the same manner, and they didn’t think of checking me to see if I’d made off with anything else of value. I, ah, couldn’t tolerate the concealment anymore, so in a moment when no one else was in the room, I hid the ball. They’d parked me in a room in the barracks while the sergeant needed them to beat another prisoner, and that gave me ten minutes locked by myself in a room without a window. I took advantage of the opportunity.”
“So you want us to take you back into the barracks, find the room where you were held, extract the conjuring ball, and get you out again alive. To return you to Spauling. Where you have to seek sanctuary because Belshazzar wants to kill you. Or perhaps you want to send the ball to Belshazzar in the hopes that he’ll honor his original contract with you. And King Lucifer wants you back in his playroom.”
“I suppose all that’s true,” Crick said. For the first time, when he tried to sound cheerful, he failed.
“Belshazzar is angry because of your tardiness and your loss of the ball, and Lucifer is angry because you ran away before he’d finished playing with you.”
“That’s a fair summary,” Crick admitted.
“How’d you get the fee for the witches at the Collective? I’m just curious,” Clovache said. “It’s not my business. But I know they don’t extend credit.” Batanya’s shoulders heaved with silent laughter at the idea.
“Ah, well, I may have lifted a few things from the houses of various nobles in Spauling.”
“A few things? Must have been more like a cartload, to have afforded us.”
“You’ll be interested to know I got a price break as long as I specified the two guards I wanted to hire.”
Both the women became very serious instantly. “Trovis,” hissed Batanya.
“He really has a big hate against you,” Crick said. “When he heard where I needed to go, he jiggered around the duty roster so that your names came up.”
Batanya and Clovache looked at each other. “When we get back,” Clovache said, “we’ll take care of him. This has gone on long enough.”
“Why does he hold such a grudge?” Crick asked. The two turned as one to stare at him. “Oh, ladies, come on! We’re in this together. If I make it back alone, I’ll kill him for you.”
“Good enough,” Clovache said. “My esteemed senior, here, turned him down so forcefully she broke his arm.”
Crick whistled silently. “I take it a plain refusal wouldn’t suffice?”
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Batanya said. “He was waiting in my room when I came home one night. I tried being tactful, which doesn’t come easily to me. I tried being firm. I tried being rude. He persisted. The time came to try force.”
“He broke her nose,” Clovache said to Crick. “He broke her collarbone. But she broke a major bone of his, so she won.”
“He cried,” Batanya said, her lips curving in a slight smile. “But enough of happy reminiscences. We’ve hunkered here long enough. Time to be on the move.”
This time Crick had to brace himself a bit before he stepped out into the larger tunnel. Batanya thought she knew what had made him run before he was ready, during his earlier stay with the king. Maybe he’d lost his nerve, maybe he’d lost his ability to handle the physical tastes of Lucifer, but Batanya was willing to bet he’d lost his tolerance for the tunnels.
She couldn’t deny that she shared a bit of that feeling. In fact, Hell was awful. She took a deep breath of the thick stinking air, and the closed-in feeling began to lay a blanket over her normal brisk spirit. The indirect light wasn’t bright enough to really illuminate the way; it was better than nothing, but its dull consistency added to the gloomy atmosphere. They’d moved out again, but their pace was too slow. Batanya felt that their energy was being sapped by the place.
Batanya realized their mission had to be completed at what speed they could summon. They needed to get out of the tunnels and back home before they grew too tense—or too depressed—to cope. She’d never encountered such a set of circumstances.
“You remember our last mission?” she said suddenly to Clovache.
Clovache was visibly surprised at Batanya’s question. “Of course.”
“That was a very bad situation. The building exploding, our client being completely defenseless and unable to walk. Yet I never despaired, and I never thought we wouldn’t get out of it.”
“The tunnels are getting to me and Crick, here. You don’t seem to be as bothered by them. You may have to take over the lead.”
“I don’t mind them. Just say the word, senior.”
“Thanks, junior. I’ll let you know.”
Batanya turned and began to lead the way again. Crick kept possession of the map, using whispers or a pointing finger to give directions. They kept to smaller tunnels so they’d be less likely to meet up with Hell’s denizens. The downside to this stratagem was that when they did meet up with a creature, there was no side tunnel to help them dodge the attack, which came instantly. During an incredibly long journey that seemed to last at least six hours, but actually lasted perhaps two, the Britlingens killed at least ten of Hell’s odder creatures. Only by the narrowest of margins, the three avoided the slow but inexorable progress of two slugs. Batanya’s fingers began to tremble, and she knew the time was approaching when she’d have to hand over leadership to her junior.
But before she had to cede her position, they were captured.
It happened very quickly. They were caught in the worst possible situation, in a long stretch where there weren’t any hidey-holes to duck into. Also, the tunnel was gently curved, so the oncoming enemy was hidden from them until there was no possibility of escape. No change in sound announced their coming. These soldiers were like large dust bunnies. They progressed by rolling silently down the slick floors. At first, Batanya was inclined to laugh, but Crick’s expression told her that they were in big trouble. “Run!” he said hoarsely. “Run!” They reversed, but Batanya, who was now in the rear, was overcome within seconds.
It was like being sucked up in a vacuum cleaner, Batanya thought, as she gagged and choked on the dust and bits of hair and trash that made up the creature’s body. It managed to get strands twisted around her wrists and to lift her off the floor so she had no traction. She began to kick out and throw her body from side to side, but somehow the dust bunny surrounded her with strands and particles of debris that restrained her efficiently.
“Clovache!” she called. “You?”
“Held fast,” came a muffled voice. “Crick?”
There was only a choked series of coughs to indicate Crick’s position.
The ball began rolling down the tunnel, Batanya inside. She rapidly became so dizzy that her priority changed from escaping the creature to not throwing up.
The heat increased as her encompassing, nebulous captor rolled through the passages. Finally, the sense of constriction eased. The wretchedly sick Batanya felt that they’d arrived in a large open space. Then movement blessedly ceased, and all the threads and bits of debris that had snared her simply unknitted. “Oh, shit,” she said, a second before she landed on a stone floor that had never known the passage of a slug.
The impact knocked her breathless for a minute, but the second she could inhale she was on her feet with her short sword drawn. The dustball that had held her rolled away, and for the first time she saw Lucifer’s great hall. It had a high vaulted ceiling and was randomly dotted with stone pillars. There was a throne carved out of the stone; it had been created when the rest of the hall was mined, and it stood in dark splendor by itself in the middle of the vast space. The handsome gentleman standing on its bottom step was wearing a three-piece suit and a neck scarf decorated with a huge ruby stickpin. He was blond. He was smiling.
“I always thought Lucifer would have black hair,” Clovache whispered, as she got up on one knee. She was a yard away, and she had given in to the impulse to vomit. Crick? Batanya looked around for their client, and she found him on the floor behind her. She positioned herself in front of his prone form and got ready to fight.
“Brave but foolish,” said the blond man. “Look.” He pointed behind her, and very cautiously Batanya turned her head. Just in the edges of the light that hung over Lucifer’s head was a host of creatures—demons, more of the quadrupeds, wolf-men, snakemen, dust bunnies, humans. There were at least two hundred of them, and they were all armed in one way or another.
“Well, shit,” Batanya said for the second time. She nudged Crick with her heel. “Shall I die in your defense?” she asked. Crick groaned, rolled on his side away from her, and puked, considerately aiming away from her boots. Clovache staggered upright and with fingers that were shaking so hard they were almost useless, she attached her wrist crossbow to her left arm, the bow cocked and at the ready and the arrows neatly lined up in their strap. Batanya had never been prouder of her junior.
“Surely he doesn’t want you to,” Lucifer said. “You two are so . . . formidable. The great thief Crick wouldn’t want to condemn two brave warriors to death unnecessarily?”
“No,” Crick moaned. “No, don’t do it.”
“That’s good, Crick! Now they can provide entertainment for my troops,” Lucifer said, smiling angelically.
“The Collective would frown on that,” Batanya said.
Lucifer’s smile dimmed a little. He strolled over to the little cluster of shaken outer-worlders. His nose didn’t wrinkle when he got within smelling distance, so Batanya figured his olfactory sense must have been damaged by his long sojourn in the fetid air of Hell. “The Britlingen Collective,” he said, only the faintest trace of a question in his voice. The two women nodded in unison. Lucifer made a face; a disappointed face, Batanya decided.
“I have no wish to fight the Collective,” Lucifer said. He brightened. “On the other hand, who’d know?”
“If we don’t come back, everyone would know,” Batanya said. “Our souls belong to the Collective. You’re aware of our death clause?”
Everyone who’d heard of the Britlingens had heard of the death clause. When a Britlingen died, his or her soul appeared in the recording hall, reenacting that death. The reenactment was recorded for posterity. The recordings were required viewing during the course of instruction.
“Perhaps some of my people could keep you just at the brink,” Lucifer suggested. “They’re quite talented at that.”
“They’ll die out of sheer pigheadedness,” Crick said, his voice raspy. “Lu, what the hell?”
Lucifer was close enough now for Batanya to see every detail. He was formed like a man, and was extremely handsome; his short blond hair was more golden and thicker than Crick’s, but it was smoothed back in the same way. Lucifer was also thin and well-muscled like Crick, but he made no pretense at foolishness. Even a sick bodyguard could register the avidity in his eyes when he looked at the recaptured Harwellian.
Clovache stood on Crick’s far side, her back to Batanya’s. There was a long moment of tension while they waited to hear what Lucifer would say.
“Oh, all right,” Lucifer said. He sounded both gleeful and a little sulky, as if he’d gotten what he wanted but it could have been a little better.
“All right what?” Batanya said, not relaxing in the least. A wolfman was snarling at her from three yards away, and she was keeping her eyes on him. He was close enough to a canine to give her the creeps. She was ready to sweep the sword across his throat, given half a chance. She could feel Clovache trembling at her back. The trip through the tunnels had taken its toll on the junior Britlingen.
“We’ll make a deal,” Lucifer told them. He took a step closer. “Stand down, and your client only has to stay for a week with me. Fight, and he stays the rest of his life.”
“Why are you willing to make such a deal?” Batanya said, after examining the idea briefly. “Kill us both, and you have him forever anyway.”
“True. But you’re right, I don’t want to get in bad odor with the Collective,” Lucifer said. “I’ll hold you all for a week, enjoy the delights of Crick . . . then you can all three return to the Collective, more or less unmolested. Besides, when I was taking inventory a few days ago, I found that an item is missing from my collection of wonderful things. I’d like to ask Crick a few questions about that, while we’re having fun. But I swear he’ll live, espec
ially if he talks quickly.”
Batanya’s leg was touching Clovache’s, and she could feel Clovache’s leg begin to shake a bit harder.
She didn’t believe Lucifer, of course, but she couldn’t think of any counteroffer that would give them an advantage. The wolfman advanced an inch or two, his lips drawing back from his fangs. Another one of the four-legged creatures with a net eased a little closer on her left.
“What is the law?” Batanya said quietly.
“The client’s word,” Clovache whispered. There was a moment of silence.
“I accept your offer,” Crick said to Lucifer. His voice was devoid of any inflection.
“Oh, that’s good then,” Lucifer said. He beamed at the three. “Ladies, you can stand down. I have a lovely jail just waiting for you, and you can enjoy it all by yourself. I won’t permit any company. Crick, for you I have something else entirely.” The host of creatures circling them began yowling and laughing, or making whatever noise passed for it.
Batanya turned to help Crick up, and their eyes met squarely.
“He won’t keep to his word,” Crick said very close to her ear.
“What shall we do?” Batanya said. “We can fight to the death. I will kill you now, if you would prefer that to him.” She jerked her head toward the advancing Lucifer.
“No,” Crick said. “That part’s bad, but not fatal. I can get through it and even enjoy some of it. He won’t let me go, though. Something will happen to me, or you. We have to get out with the conjuring ball. I might as well die here if I don’t get out with it. It’s in Barrack Three, on top of the first cabinet on the right.”
Batanya said, “All right,” having no idea what she could do with the knowledge. “I’ll ask to speak to you in a couple of days.”
Crick patted her on the shoulder, turned to nod at Clovache, whose face was streaming with sweat, and then bowed to Lucifer.
Charlaine Harris Page 4