The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  “I don’t like this,” the Major whispered.

  D’Aguila eyed him distastefully, although he had just voiced the same complaint minutes ago. Now was different. Now they had really and truly committed themselves. To speak ill of the mission at this point was infantile, and to whisper such things to a man like Raulf was actually somewhat suicidal.

  Realizing his error, the Major lowered his eyes and started to slip into the following platoon.

  “Not so fast, Major,” Raulf said.

  The man turned back, shamefaced, and returned to Raulf’s side.

  “We’ll need you in order to navigate the maze,” D’Aguila reminded him.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I just thought—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Now go up ahead and use your spoonbender techniques to ensure that our fodder doesn’t lead us down the wrong way. And, Major, be sure that you don’t lead us the wrong way, either.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The nervous man shuffled off, disappearing into the throng ahead.

  Raulf heard someone’s throat clear behind him and turned to find one of Malie’s messengers, a short stocky fellow wearing a smug expression.

  “The Mistress wishes to inquire of our progress.”

  “Tell her we’re on the way,” Raulf said.

  “How long will it be?”

  “Do you think I’ve been to this godforsaken place before? How the hell would I know how long it’ll be? Why, you have to go to the powder room or something? I’m just following the directions your Mistress gave me. Now get the hell out of here before I decide to put you in the front platoon.”

  The man smiled, smug as ever. “She’s your Mistress, too.”

  Raulf laughed. “That’s right, you little toad. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  The man scowled arrogantly. Apparently he thought being a part of Maleasoel’s elite company was enough to protect him.

  Raulf, determined to set the record straight, added, “Pillow talk. It’s the sort of thing that can get an uppity page flayed alive.”

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “Then you’re one stupid son of a bitch.”

  “Stop this,” said Maleasoel, just then emerging from the following platoon.

  The messenger spun to her. “I’m sorry, Mistress. What brings you up here?”

  She approached D’Aguila and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Raulf accepted it, offering nothing in return and knowing too that nothing would be accepted.

  “I came to give your Captain a kiss for good luck,” she told the messenger, then extricated herself from the situation as quickly as she had complicated it. Or, perhaps, resolved it.

  D’Aguila smiled again, taking pleasure in the man’s discomfort. “As I said,” Raulf said. “Pillow talk.”

  Chapter 10

  News of Mauchlery’s coup spread fast, and Ruegger noted the varying reactions he saw with interest. Some shades, obviously relieved, shouted and smiled and embraced each other. Others—a somewhat smaller faction—milled about looking grim. Ruegger sympathized with both sides, but he had a feeling that the story of the War of the Dark Council was far from over.

  When they were ready, Ruegger, Danielle, Harry and the rest of the group (with the notable exception of Kharker, who had gone off to be with Sarnova) found their way to the Floor Show. Normally the establishment didn’t permit mortals to enter, but Ruegger’s new status as Heir to the Throne was enough to ensure Harry’s admittance—despite the fact that the throne he was heir to was in serious question. Still, it was clear that most everyone in the Castle still considered Roche Sarnova their leader, even if he was to be incarcerated for the time being.

  Before entering, Danielle pulled Ruegger aside and told the others to go on in, they’d be right behind. She led him by the elbow to a dark alcove and asked if he was alright.

  “Fine,” he said. “You?”

  “Decent.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Can we go now? You’ve won your freedom, so we should be able to leave this damned place.”

  “We still don’t know why Ludwig died.”

  “We know Sarnova didn’t have Ludwig killed, and we know the Ambassador didn’t do it, either. What else have we to do here, besides getting ourselves killed?”

  It was a good point, and he admitted as much. The problem was that the reason behind his old friend’s murder seemed to be intricately linked with the war and the Scouring. Someone had wanted Liberty to attack the Castle, and that someone had done a good job of assuring that this would happen. The best bet was Subaire, Roche Sarnova’s nemesis … and if indeed Mauchlery had surrendered to her, she would be headed right this way. If he and Danielle could just hold on a little longer, Subaire would be within their reach.

  When he said as much, Danielle replied, “This place isn’t going to last that long, Rueg. The Libertarians are here already. The only thing left for us here is to await the Libertarian invasion, not to mention whatever the Balaklava are cooking up. But the War of the Dark Council is over, and so is Roche’s dream.”

  For a long moment, Ruegger said nothing. One way or another, Ludwig had indirectly died because of Sarnova’s dream to make peace with humans and establish a homeland for all immortals. As far as Ruegger was concerned, that made it his, Ruegger’s, war as well. Not only that, but he liked the idea.

  “I’m the Heir,” he said at last. “I’ve got responsibilities to Roche.”

  Danielle glanced away. “I’d hate to abandon him, too, evil bastard that he is, but he’s lost. The best thing we can do for him is encourage him to give up his dream so that he can remain king. Hell, what am I saying? The Libertarians are going to nuke this place—or at least assault it—before he even has the chance to give in. So really the best thing we can do for him is to urge him to get the hell out of here.”

  “He won’t.”

  Danielle growled in frustration. “Baby, I don’t see why we should stay. The Undead Jerusalem will have to wait awhile. A long while. In a day or so, when the Libbies attack, this place is going to be a pile of ash. We should leave while we can.”

  For a long moment, he said nothing. Laughter drifted down the hall from the Floor Show, and it sounded very distant, as if on another world.

  “You’re right,” he said. “We should go.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. “Goddamn it, I know there’s a but.”

  He kissed her. “You go. Maybe that would be best. But there are answers to be found here yet, and if I play my part in events to come … and do it right … I might be able to sway the outcome of the fight, one way or another. I can’t leave, Dani, don’t you see? But you can. You can be free and safe and far from here. I’d like that.”

  She stared at him, and when music drifted out from the Floor Show, tears sprang from her eyes.

  “Fuck that,” she said. “If you’re staying, I am.” She wiped at her eyes, and when she spoke next her voice was coarse: “Now let’s get that drink.”

  * * *

  The Libertarian procession snaked through corridors and passed countless side-branches before following a large tunnel that sloped upward, leading to a different floor of the labyrinth. Raulf didn’t like this. For some reason, the maze seemed alive to him, its walls nearly oozing malicious thoughts. As he crossed a particular bridge, he stared down into the glowing red liquid that flowed under him and frowned when he saw the wretched tentacled shadows swimming through the river. What sort of place was this?

  Cautiously, the procession moved on, following the directions Maleasoel had been given. Raulf shuddered to think what might happen if even a part of those directions was incorrect. To be lost in this place—

  Best not to think on that.

  The Libertarians found a twisting series of tunnels that spiraled downward. Many other corridors opened out into this one, and the sounds emanating from them were far from reassuring. At one point, the procession passed through a medium-sized domed chamber, scarred by l
arge, deep cracks and studded with high ragged ledges. On some of the upper ledges, strange prehistoric bird-like things rested warily, their gazes fixed on the trespassers below, leathery wings cocked behind their narrow backs. They were almost like prehistoric dinosaur-birds, whatever they were called, except for their human-looking eyes, which boasted all the colors of the rainbow, and the fact that canine teeth protruded from their long hard beaks. From the jagged fissures in the walls, luminous red eyes peered out, but of these creatures’ bodies nothing could be seen. Which, as far as Raulf was concerned, was just as well.

  Seeing nothing that posed an immediate threat, Raulf ordered the Libertarians to continue their march.

  At last, the spiraling tunnel leveled out, but by this time Raulf had completely lost his bearings. He seriously doubted whether or not he could find his way out of here—which, he suspected, was just what their “allies” had in mind. All he knew was that his army was several levels down from the one on which they’d entered.

  Raulf’s head snapped up as cries of alarm came from the front of the procession. With a contingent of soldiers, he rushed forward through the first platoon and the human fodder.

  “Jesus God, Mother of Mary,” exclaimed one of his men when they reached the source of the commotion.

  Ahead gaped the entrance to a very large chamber—the largest Raulf had seen yet. Most of the entranceway was blocked by a large colossus that seemed to be fashioned from innumerable human and immortal body parts. Its mouth, though, was distinctly its own, and it poised, open and slavering, just beyond the first humans. Each of its teeth were, like Raulf’s, wickedly sharp—but unlike his, they were all at least the length of his forearm.

  D’Aguila’s soldiers raised their weapons.

  “Hold,” he commanded. “Let’s see what this thing does.”

  The beast snapped its maw a few times, as if demonstrating its power, then waved a stiffened crab-like limb in through the archway. Its pincer (made somehow out of people) shot straight toward Raulf—and stopped. The pincer snapped three times, asserting its authority, then withdrew.

  Raulf leveled his machine gun at the thing. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but if you can think, declare yourself—friend or foe?”

  The monster, having no lips to speak of, used its several tongues to lick its gums and chuckled. So: it had vocal chords. Could it speak without lips?

  “If you’re a friend, snap your pincer once.”

  Its pincer closed sharply, then opened again.

  “Hold your fire,” Raulf told his troops. “It doesn’t seem to be hurting anybody.”

  “But, sir, what do we do with it? We can’t get past it.”

  “Keep an eye on it. And you,” said Raulf, pointing to another of the soldiers, “come with me. We’ve got to report this to Malie. The rest of you, stay here. Shoot it if it acts hostile. I’ll send up the first two platoons to keep you company.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Raulf loped back through the rank and file, ordered the first two platoons forward past the human fodder and made his way to Maleasoel and her circle of lackeys. He found her deep in discussion with a messenger from the rear end of the procession; Raulf had appointed the man himself. Seeing the urgency on Malie’s face, Raulf stepped forward and said, “Let me guess. Some monster’s closed in from the rear.”

  “Do you mean the same thing’s happened up front?” Malie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We could go around them,” suggested one of her advisors. “We could slip through the fissures and take an alternate route and just cross our fingers that we wind up in the right place. I mean, we’re almost there now.”

  “Captain, what do you think?” Malie said.

  “I think these things are emissaries from our friends. I don’t know how they were made, but I’m guessing that, whatever their construction, they were sent to advise us not to fuck with them. And I don’t think this will be the end of it.”

  It wasn’t. In seconds, fins—dozens of them—sprouted from the walls, the floor and ceiling. Apparently attached to creatures in the earth, the fins started circling. Slowly at first, then faster, faster, until they swarmed in a frenzy, showering dirt. Raulf spat it out of his mouth, swearing.

  “What is this?” Malie shouted to the walls. To Raulf: “More emissaries?”

  “Hell if I know, but I suggest holding our fire unless they actually start attacking.”

  Despite his words, Maleasoel’s lackeys and surrounding elite guards tensed. Sooner or later, one of them was going to fire, and Raulf didn’t think these finned creatures would like that too much. Suddenly, on three sides of Maleasoel the finned things broke free of the earth and stopped there, not attacking, not retreating. The trio, which seemed to be some sort of worm/fish hybrid, opened their large whiskered mouths, revealing sharp teeth, fetid gray tongues, tonsils—and, sticking up from the rear of their mouths, three sets of rotting hands, one per monster. These hands hauled their owners forward so that soon three heads popped free of the different worms’ insides.

  Zombies. Once again, Raulf swore.

  The zombies pulled themselves from the insides of their living chariots and grinned unwholesome smiles down on the assembled Libertarians.

  “Good day,” one said, and touched a finger bone to his peeling forehead. “You’re the Lady Maleasoel, right?”

  “That’s me,” she said, and Raulf admired her cool.

  “Sorry to’ve alarmed you,” the zombie said. “It’s good to be outta there. Damn, but it’s right unpleasant riding around in these shark-thingies. They’ve got some serious stomach acid and no mistake.”

  “Aye to that,” one of the other minions echoed.

  Raulf cut to the point. “I’m Captain Raulf D’Aguila, second in command of Liberty. Tell us why you’re here.”

  “Call me Ambassador Red,” the central zombie said.

  “If you’re zombies of a chalgid, Ambassador Red—which I assume you are—can you just patch us through to your bosses telepathically? I think that might speed things up a little.”

  “That ain’t in the blueprint, Ralf. Anyway, Masters sent us here to tell you to proceed.”

  “Excuse me?” said Malie. “You were sent here to tell us to proceed? Couldn’t we just have done that anyway?”

  “Could’ve,” Red smiled. All three zombies laughed, but then Red’s wasted face grew serious, almost sinister. “Masters wanted you to know that you’re in their world now. Ain’t no easy out here in the Sabo, ‘specially not when they are the Sabo. We coulda killed ya right here and now, had we wanted.”

  Malie gritted her teeth and smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “I think we all see the point, needless as it was. Just so you know, we’ve got several nuclear weapons with us. You kill us, we kill you.”

  Red shared a look with his comrades. “Girl’s got the tide, boys. Best watch out now. Anyway, deary, I think the Collages will have moved along by now ... and I suggest you do the same, lest our rides get hungry. The Lords Junger and Jagoda will be waiting for you in the chamber up ahead. Y’all just watch your backs, now, hear?”

  * * *

  Once seated, Harry ordered a martini and Cloire ordered a Jack Daniel’s, while Jean-Pierre ordered tea and Sophia a gin and tonic. Ruegger and Danielle accepted a bottle of red wine, on the house, as the manager personally let them know.

  “I could get used to this,” Danielle said.

  Ruegger smiled. “Don’t. Once we have our answers and the fight’s over, we’re out of here, have no fear. I don’t plan to stick around and waste my time on some throne, or whatever the Heir gets. And—well, that’s not the only reason.” He exchanged a look with Harry, who nodded understanding.

  “Works for me,” Danielle said.

  “I wouldn’t stay that long,” Cloire said. “I’ve got a very real feeling this peace is only temporary.”

  Jean-Pierre nodded. “The Libertarians are still out there, somewhere, and Junger and Jagoda have t
aken over the catacombs. I doubt they’re going to give their new home up without a fight.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the worst of it,” Harry said, eyes on the martini that he was holding up to the light as if looking for traces of poison. “That’s the Libbies and their nukes.”

  “Kharker says they have more,” agreed the albino.

  “You believe him?” asked Sophia.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s just hope they stick to the plan,” Danielle said, then frowned. “Scratch that. I mean, they can’t very well go through the mountain now, can they? Their only shot is a frontal attack, and let’s all hope they don’t want Sarnova bad enough to do it that way.”

  “Malie’s smarter than that,” Sophia said.

  “She is,” Ruegger said. “But she’s also changed since you’ve seen her last. She’s not the same. She’s … gone cold.”

  “Like me?”

  “You don’t feel cold to me,” Jean-Pierre said, his hand on hers.

  “At any rate,” Ruegger said, “I’m not sure what to expect of Malie anymore. I want to hope for the best, but …”

  Danielle, smiling hugely, glanced around at all of them. “This is great, guys,” she said at last. “I mean, us, all together. Working for the same thing. I finally feel like we have a chance of coming out the other side of this mess.” She paused. “We are together, right? I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Sophia frowned. “Exactly what are we trying to accomplish, Danielle?”

  “To help Roche Sarnova achieve his vision, of course—to make sure he wins this fight and is able to bring about his Undead Jerusalem. Besides, if any of the others win … if they take over the Empire … I don’t expect them to do anything good with it.”

  “No,” Jean-Pierre said. “I don’t expect so. Roche has been keeping Subaire on a leash for years; she hates humanity and has always felt immortals should be ruling humans. And Malie’s made no bones about wanting Liberty to take over the world. As for Junger and Jagoda, my gods, if they won …”