by Peter McLean
“Quite,” I said, “so I’m not fucking doing it. Sorry Papa, but bugger Menhit. She can whistle for this one, goddess or not.”
He nodded slowly. “That your choice to make, Don-boy,” he said, “and I can’t say I blame you. Remember though, every decision have its consequences.”
I swallowed my whisky and stared out across the park.
Didn’t it just.
* * *
I got home sometime in the early afternoon, and found Trixie had gone out. I shrugged and went through to the kitchen, biting back irritation when I saw Mazin in there watching two lads unloading groceries. I mean don’t get me wrong, it was nice not to have to do shopping and all that shit but this was my home, you know what I mean? I didn’t like finding it full of strangers.
“Hi Mazin,” I said.
He turned and bowed to me.
“Lord Keeper,” he said.
The other two dropped to their knees without a word.
Oh for fucksake… These had to be Mazin’s boys then, members of the Order of the Keeper. These were my “people”. They did grocery shopping, apparently.
“Get up, lads,” I said. “I’m not, um, as formal as Rashid was. Go on, you’re all right.”
They got slowly back to their feet, giving Mazin nervous looks. He nodded and they went back to filling my kitchen cupboards with no end of shit I hadn’t asked for and didn’t really want. I could see half of it going in the bin in a few months once it had grown arms and legs and started trying to escape. I’m really not much of a cook, to be honest with you, and as far as I knew nor was Trixie.
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers and sighed.
“Any idea where Trixie is?” I asked Mazin.
“The Madam Guardian had business to attend to,” he said.
Oh joy. That was never good.
“Right,” I said. “Look, Mazin, no offence but get your boys here to finish up and clear off will you?”
He bowed again, and I’m sorry if he looked a bit hurt but for fucksake. I really wasn’t cut out for the whole “having servants” thing and I valued my privacy too much to be putting up with this in such a small flat.
Why the fuck, the Burned Man demanded suddenly, are we still here?
That made me jump. It had been quiet for so long I had almost managed to forget about the bloody thing.
What? I thought.
Seven hundred and however the fuck many million fucking dollars, Drake, it said. Maybe he won’t give you the actual money but make him buy you a fucking house! Make him buy a big fucking house, you stupid twat.
It’s not my money, I thought back at it. Besides…
Besides fucking what?
Oh God, this was where I was going to look stupid again, wasn’t it? Why not? Because Trixie had looked after this place so faithfully for me, that’s why. Because this was where I had first met her. Because… oh for fucksake I didn’t even know why, really. Because I’m a stupid sentimental sap who was hopelessly in love with her. Most of all it was because everyone seemed to want me to be somewhere else and I’m a stubborn bastard. That was the essence of it, I supposed.
Shut up, I told it, for want of a more eloquent argument. Actually no, if you want to talk then tell me this – how much power does a god with no worshipers have?
The Burned Man was quiet for a moment, and I like to think I had nonplussed it a bit with that one.
Less, it said, after a pause. Less than it would have done, but certainly not none. Are we talking about our beloved goddess of slaughter here?
I let Mazin and his boys out and locked the door firmly behind them.
Yeah, we are, I said as I put the kettle on. At least there was fresh coffee now, that was something.
The Burned Man pondered for a bit.
Hmmm, it said at last. That’s a fucking good question actually. I mean, she came through her Veil like a thunderbolt and knocked that Dominion into the middle of next week, but she’s done fuck all since.
Exactly, I thought. Which makes me wonder…
You’re not as fucking stupid as you look, Drake, it thought, and I found myself glad it had apparently slept through my chat with Papa Armand.
I liked the little bastard to have some respect for me, after all.
Right, I thought. So if she used up most of her stored power on the Dominion, and recreating that power isn’t going too well due to no one having a clue who she even fucking is anymore, then… she probably isn’t so tough right now, is she?
The Burned Man’s laugh was horrible.
No, no she probably ain’t, it said. Oh what a fucking shame. Want to go round to her place and let me kick her arse?
Oh for fucksake, no of course I didn’t. She had defeated the Dominion for us, and however that had ended I owed her that much if nothing else. That and I had sworn to serve her. I still put some importance on that promise, I just didn’t agree that it extended to walking into Hell for her.
No way, I said. I just want to be sure that I can say “no” to her when I have to without getting my head torn off.
Yeah, I reckon you can, the Burned Man said. She won’t fucking like it, though.
No, no I had never expected that she would.
* * *
Trixie came back a couple of hours later, while I was finishing the sandwiches I had made myself. She had a face like thunder and a black eye.
“Oh bloody hell, Trixie!” I said when she came in. “You’ve been to see Menhit, haven’t you?”
Trixie glared at me. She took her coat off and threw it on the sofa. She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse, and her arms were covered in bruises.
“What do you think?” she said.
I pushed my hands back through my hair and stared at her. I couldn’t fucking believe it.
“And?”
“And I told her we wouldn’t do it,” Trixie said. “And she hit me. She beat me like a dog, Don, and she told me that I was the most worthless guardian she had ever heard of and that you are the most faithless Keeper she had ever encountered, and she commanded – commanded, mind you – that you be at her house at seven o’clock this evening to explain yourself in person.”
I looked at her and I felt about six inches tall. I had felt the same way every time my dad had battered Mum and there hadn’t been anything I could do about it. There hadn’t been anything she could have done about it either other than run away and leave him, and of course as a good Catholic wife she’d never have done that. There was plenty Trixie could have done about this, though, and I just didn’t understand why she was putting up with it.
“Oh God, Trixie,” I said, “I never… I didn’t mean you had to go and say ‘no’ to her yourself.”
“I know,” she said, “but I’m your Guardian, Don. It’s my job to do this sort of thing for you. If you say ‘no’ to Menhit then it falls to me to deliver the message.”
“Shit,” I said. “Oh shit I’m sorry, I never even thought…”
“No,” she said. “You didn’t.”
She went into the bathroom and closed and bolted the door behind her.
I sank onto the sofa with a weary sigh. I just couldn’t stop fucking things up with her, could I?
* * *
I had to go, of course. Whether Menhit still had the power of a god or not was a bit of a moot point just then, as far as I could see. She had hundreds of millions of pounds, and these days that virtually came to the same fucking thing. She had also, if the two big lads she’d had with her in Edinburgh were anything to go by, been recruiting some pretty serious muscle. Yeah, I had to go, or I would be brought.
Mazin drove us out to Surrey late that afternoon, me in a good suit and Trixie sulking in the seat beside me in black jeans and a long-sleeved black silk blouse that hid the bruises on her arms. Her eye was looking a lot better but it wasn’t healed yet. I looked at her beside me in the car and sighed. I had to ask. I had to try to understand, if only for Mum’s sake.
“Didn
’t you try and stop her?” I asked quietly, not wanting Mazin to hear.
Trixie looked at me.
“She is our Mother, Don,” she said. “If she feels the need to discipline us then so be it.”
Now I’m sorry but I’d had enough parental “discipline” growing up to see that for the pile of steaming horseshit that it was. My dad had been more than happy to batter me when my poor mum couldn’t get in the way quick enough, and I wasn’t fucking having it any more. I simply wasn’t. I wasn’t going to be made to feel nine fucking years old and helpless again, not by her or anyone fucking else. Never again. Besides, Menhit might insist on being called Mother but that was all it was, a form of address. No, I wasn’t having this at all.
“Look,” I said, “I went to see Papa this morning. He backed up what I was trying to tell you the other night. She isn’t all that powerful any more, whatever she might say. If she tries to hit you again, for God’s sake don’t let her.”
“I…” she said. “Don, I’m a soldier. I can’t be insubordinate to my commanding officer.”
“Well I fucking well can,” I snapped. “I’m no more a soldier than I am an angel, and I’m not having it. Not again.”
I wasn’t scared of her now, I was too fucking angry for that. This was going to stop, right now.
Good, the Burned Man thought in the back of my head.
Trixie winced.
“Well,” she said, after a moment. “This is going to be an interesting meeting, then.”
Yeah, I had a feeling it would be too.
We didn’t talk any more after that, and I just sat and watched the motorway roll past us. After a while Mazin took an exit onto a big junction and turned off onto a dual carriageway, and then a few miles later onto a country lane. Eventually the big Mercedes nosed between high wrought iron gates and onto a sweeping gravel drive that led up to a Georgian mansion. For fucksake, Menhit didn’t do things by halves did she?
Mazin parked outside the enormous house and a huge black geezer in a suit came out to meet us. He nodded to Mazin as he opened the car doors for us.
“Lord Keeper, Madam Guardian,” the bloke said. “The Mother will receive you in the blue drawing room.”
Oh fuck me how posh does a house have to be to even have a “drawing room”, never mind a choice of them so you have to give them names? We followed this goliath in a suit up lichen-covered steps and into a grand hall, where he showed us down a dimly lit corridor and through to a room done out in pale blue and white like an old Wedgwood plate. Menhit was reclining on a chaise longue in front of a fireplace, a tall glass of red wine in her hand. She arched her eyebrows at us as we entered.
“Good evening, Mother,” I said.
I mustered a respectful bow but I was buggered if I was kneeling to her. Trixie followed my lead and did the same.
“Ah, my rebellious children,” Menhit said, setting her wine down on a side table. “Explain yourself, Lord Keeper.”
Right, so we weren’t being offered a drink then. Or even a seat, it seemed. The big bloke had followed us in, I noticed, and he’d brought a mate with him. They closed the double doors behind them and stood in front of them like they were giants carved out of Armani and obsidian.
“I don’t see what you want me to explain,” I said. “I’m not going to Hell for you and nor is Trixie. That’s it pretty much explained, as far as I’m concerned. Mother.”
Menhit was on her feet too fast to follow, six foot five of lean, hard muscle and barely contained murder. Her elegant evening dress swirled around her ankles as she took a step towards me.
“You disobey me, Keeper?”
“I do in this, yes,” I said. “I’m not doing it.”
I looked into her eyes and I saw the lion in her, glaring back at me in fury.
She’s going to go for you, the Burned Man said. Get out of my fucking way, Drake.
Lots of things happened at once.
Menhit roared and her hand flashed towards my head, her fingers hooked into claws that would probably have ripped my face clean off.
The Burned Man barged past me and took over just in time. My arm shot up to meet hers, lent an unnatural strength and speed by the Burned Man’s rage. The back of my wrist hit the inside of Menhit’s forearm with a crack like a tree hit by lightning, stopping her blow a foot from my face.
“No,” I said.
Menhit roared at me again, her eyes flashing brilliant amber in the dim light. I took a half step backwards and my outstretched hands burst into flames. The two mercenaries were moving away from the door now, startled into action by the sudden violence, but I knew Trixie would have my back. Sure enough I heard the familiar whummf as her sword appeared in her hands, the blade already burning.
I stood my ground and faced down She Who Massacres.
I’m sorry but not any more she didn’t, not if Davey and Papa Armand were right. And from the look on her face I was pretty damn sure that they were.
“No, Mother,” I said, the fires streaming up from my hands as I held her gaze.
I wasn’t backing down, not now. It was time to put my life in order, I had told myself, and getting out from under Menhit was a big part of that. I knew some of that was the Burned Man’s thinking, pushing back against any sort of authority but its own, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be bullied any more.
“Lord of the Below,” she whispered.
I nodded. She knew that of course, she had known that from the start. She had recognized the presence of the Burned Man inside me the first moment she had seen me. That had been most of the reason I had had this bloody job inflicted on me in the first place, I was sure. All the same, she obviously hadn’t realized at the time just how much that might be liable to bite her on the arse eventually.
“I respect you, Mother,” I said, “but there are things I will not do. Not even for you.”
“Stay back,” I heard Trixie say behind me. “Draw those guns and I will kill you both before you can use them.”
I knew she meant it. Trixie didn’t kill humans if it could be helped, but that in no way meant that she wouldn’t. I think Menhit’s bodyguards knew that. They backed off, and no one got shot.
“I…” Menhit said, and for the first time since I had met her she sounded unsure of herself. “Keeper, this must be done.”
“Not by us,” I said. “If you have made common cause with Adam then so be it, Mother, although that’s something I would advise against. But if you have, then look to him to find a way to do it. I’m not going into Hell, and I won’t see Trixie sent there either.”
“I see,” Menhit said. She sat down on the chaise, and waved at her bodyguards. “Go away, both of you.”
They backed slowly out of the room, their wary eyes never leaving Trixie and her burning sword. When they had gone Trixie closed the doors behind them and stood in front of them with her sword in her hands. The flames went out, I noticed, but she kept the blade erect in front of her like some sort of carving of a medieval knight.
God, but she was magnificent.
Now that I was sure Menhit was calm, I let my own fires die away and sat down in an armchair across from her. Perhaps now we could talk like grownups instead of posturing at each other.
“I mean you no disrespect, Mother,” I said again. “Truly I don’t.”
Menhit sighed and picked up her drink. She took a long swallow of her wine and regarded me over the rim of the glass.
“Tell me, Keeper,” she said, “what is the purpose of a war goddess in a time of peace?”
This was a time of peace, really? Had she seen the fucking news recently? The question threw me a bit, I have to admit.
“Um,” I said.
“I have no land, no people, no worshipers,” she went on, and I had to admit that was pretty much where I had been coming from. “I have grown soft and indolent, decadent and diminished at the end of my time.”
I looked at her, once again taking in the sheer, murderous ferocity of her. I
f this was Menhit grown soft then I dread to think what she must have been like back in her day.
And I just fronted her out, I thought. Fuck me, that’s a turnup for the books.
Sometimes the Burned Man was almost worth putting up with, I had to admit.
All the same though, Menhit’s day was a fucking long time ago now, wasn’t it?
“This world has no need of me, Keeper,” she went on. “Oh, there is war enough for everyone but it is a modern war, fought by machines and weapons that kill from a mile distant and more. Who burns sacrifices to Menhit in this day and age? No one.”
No, no I supposed they didn’t. Odd though it may sound, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for her.
“The world moves on, Mother,” I said, for want of anything better to say.
She nodded, her thin black braids swinging around her leonine face.
“It does, Keeper,” she said. “Once this thing is done, when this last revenge is taken, I shall retreat behind my Veil once more. One day this world will lose its technology, and man will fight man face to face once more upon the bloody sands. Then they will call out to Menhit, and I shall return in fire and blood. But that day is… far away.”
I blinked at her. Right… Yeah. That was a fucking cheerful thought, wasn’t it?
Post-apocalyptic visions aside, I was all in favour of her buggering off back behind her Veil. Well, behind a Veil anyway. Hers was dead, if Rashid had been telling the truth, but I was sure there were ways and means. Either way, it sounded like a bloody good plan to me.
“Well,” I said, “it would be my honour to keep your Veil, Mother.”
She nodded.
“And this other thing, this thing you will not do,” she said. “I understand, my Keeper.”
There, that didn’t go too badly, did it?
Chapter Sixteen
There were those famous last words again.
Menhit let us go after that, and Mazin drove us back into London in the comfort of the Mercedes. It was maybe ten at night by then and I was feeling pretty damn good. I had faced down Menhit, and proved Papa Armand right. If she really had still been as powerful as all that then she would have just bloody well made me do as I was told. But she hadn’t, had she? No, we had called her bluff, me and the Burned Man, and she’d backed down.