The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  The cage rose swiftly. Ruegger could hear the Balaklava, Kiernevar, and a dozen zombies laughing from below. He noticed that the death-squad did not join in.

  When the birdcage resumed its former place two hundred feet above the chamber’s floor, Ruegger picked Laslo’s head up by the hair and studied it.

  The eyes popped open.

  They blinked a few times, then narrowed as Laslo observed who sat before him.

  “Sinner!” Laslo cried. “Fornicator and murderer of your brothers!”

  Under his breath, Ruegger muttered, “Oh, fuck this.”

  “Listen to me, you sinner! Listen to me, the Word of God, and I will wash of you your sins—”

  Ruegger socked Laslo in the side of the head and sent him crashing into the other side of the cage, where he landed in the ribcage of one of the skeletons and became lodged. His face was still where the Darkling could see it. He resembled an evil television, a disembodied head trapped in the bare ribs of a dead man. Immediately, Laslo began a ranting tirade of some perverted strain of Catholicism and Ruegger could only swear and shake his head. He hoped the Balaklava found this amusing.

  “Fornicator! Sinner! Listen to me, and heed what I say!”

  Ruegger leaned back against the bars of the cage and waited. Surely, he thought, this must be hell.

  Chapter 2

  The day did not pass quickly or pleasurably for Ruegger. When Laslo wasn’t rattling on at the mouth about Christ and God, Ruegger was being lowered to the floor, where Kiernevar sliced him open all over again. The lunatic took no pleasure in it, though, as it was clear that when dealing with Ruegger he was under tight psychic control. Once Ruegger was hobbled again, he’d be raised back up to listen to another hour of Laslo’s sermon.

  Finally, just to shut the psychotic preacher up, Ruegger grabbed him out of the ribcage and sank his fangs into Laslo’s cheek. He drained the head until Laslo lost consciousness, and for that Ruegger was immeasurably glad. It was the best thing to’ve happened to him all day.

  With the brief surge of energy Laslo’s blood lent him, Ruegger telepathed a message to Harry, informing him that he’d failed in his mission and that now the Balaklava possessed one of the Libertarians’ tactical nukes.

  Harry took the message as calmly as he could. I’ll tell Danielle, he sent back.

  Ruegger thanked him and then leaned back in his cage, waiting.

  * * *

  When Ruegger had finally reached Harry, the mortal had been asleep in Danielle’s old bed amidst the chaos of the warren of rooms the Funhouse of the Forsaken inhabited. After breaking it off with Cloire, he’d wanted to put some distance between them and had gone looking for Sophia, but, unable to find her, he’d worried that he might have to return to his own room, which was very near Cloire’s. Not good. Thus he was glad when he ran into Claude, the four-armed dwarf and star of the Funhouse that he’d met on several occasions.

  Claude offered him a bed and a room to himself. It was the same chamber in which Junger and Jagoda had strung up Taurke and no one else wanted to room there, but Harry was happy to take it. Better than facing Cloire.

  Just before drifting off into a restless sleep, he’d looked up to find that old publicity shot of the Balaklava standing before their Tree. Torn to ribbons by Danielle’s darts, the image was hardly recognizable, but Harry knew it. As his last act before falling asleep, he tore the picture up, burned it and tossed it into a wastebasket.

  He dreamt of Cloire, of how he’d abandoned her. He’d had to do it, he reminded himself. She had wanted to go, after all.

  Then Ruegger popped into his mind and forced him back to wakefulness. Harry hadn’t known of Ruegger’s plight to find and salvage Maleasoel but was horrified to find his old friend in his current predicament.

  Hastily, he threw on some clothes and went searching for Danielle.

  She wasn’t in the room Sarnova had assigned her or the vacant room she, Ruegger and Jean-Pierre had holed up in after their adventures in the Refuge. Knowing that the best gossip would only be found in taverns, Harry boldly walked into the Floorshow, counting on his friendship with the Heir to allow him access, and was gratified that the gambit paid off.

  There he overheard the details of the great battle the night before … and of the great defeat. Finally, he learned that both Mauchlery and Sarnova, along with some odd companions—the Heir’s beloved, the Great White Hunter and the albino and his wife—had locked themselves away in the Dark Lord’s rooms. Reportedly, they were brainstorming. The soldiers who said this sounded derisive, as they’d lost some friends out on the battlefield near the lake.

  Harry finished his martini and hurried off toward Roche Sarnova’s suite, at last finding the room and the cluster of Castle Guards before it.

  “What’s your business, mortal?”

  “Were you there at the chess game last night?” Harry said.

  “Of course.” The soldier snapped his fingers. “Yes, I see your game now. You’re Lord Ruegger’s mouthpiece, aren’t you?”

  Harry grimaced but didn’t argue the point. “Yes.”

  “You’ve a message from the Heir?”

  “I do. It’s very important that I see the Dark Lord ... and, uh, the, um, new Dark Lord.”

  The Guards smiled. “Yes, we’ve been having trouble with the titling ourselves. However, we’ve been given instructions not to let anyone through.”

  “As I said, it’s an emergency.”

  The Guard debated the matter with his mates, then came to the conclusion that this human wouldn’t be risking his life if he didn’t speak the truth—and if it really was an emergency Roche Sarnova or Francois Mauchlery would be very displeased if the mortal was denied access.

  “Alright, then,” the soldier said. “But let me knock first.” The man did so, and a long moment of silence passed before Sarnova’s voice called out, “Yes?”

  “It’s a messenger from your Heir, my lord. Shall I let him in?”

  “Yes. Hurry.”

  Harry entered the foyer and moved into the den. When he at last saw Danielle and the bizarre scene before him, he almost wished he hadn’t come.

  Around five o’clock, Ruegger was lowered down again. This time, Junger and Jagoda were there to greet him.

  “Howdy,” said Junger, helping him out of the cage in a manner so gentle Ruegger didn’t know what to think. Then the assassin strolled into the cage himself and grabbed Laslo’s head. He lifted it for Jagoda’s perusal and smiled.

  “I suppose you’ve already sent off a message by now,” said the bearded one.

  “You … wanted me to send a message?” Ruegger said.

  “Of course!”

  Jagoda’s casual tone completely bewildered and, even, scared Ruegger. “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you think we gave you Laslo—so he could convert you?” The Balaklava laughed. “No, we just wanted to be rid of him for awhile while we plan what to do with him next—and also give you some false hope.”

  “Bastards.”

  “We’ve never claimed otherwise. Anyway, we intended for you to send off your message.”

  “Why?”

  “We knew your friends would be anxious to hear from you—and would expect, with your resourcefulness, to be able to get a word to them. So we let you. Let you give them the story as you saw it.”

  “But not the complete story,” said Junger, and gestured to Loirot and Byron. “You two, come here.” Reluctantly, the zombies obeyed. To Ruegger, Junger added, “We figured you’d be arrogant enough to think we zombified Jean-Pierre’s old crew just to imprison you. We were right, weren’t we?”

  Silently, Ruegger cursed himself. What were the Balaklava up to?

  A ragged zombie ambled out from the cluster of guards the assassins always kept with them, holding a large wooden crate in his arms. Wordlessly, he crossed to Byron and retreated.

  The big Australian opened the crate carefully and peered inside. His face betrayed only the smallest hint of
shock.

  “That’s right, Byron,” said Jagoda. “You’ve got the nuke. Now we want you to use it. It’s why we needed you three. Not only are you daybeasts, but you’re known figures in the Castle and won’t be questioned harshly. Hell, some still think you’re Vistrot’s diplomats. But we only need one of you for the main mission. So go, Byron. We choose you. Guides will meet you further up the trail. From there we’ll instruct you on what to do.” He turned a rueful eye toward the Darkling. “We wouldn’t want The Heir to overhear our plans, would we?”

  For a moment, Byron looked as if he would’ve liked nothing better, but then his face fell slack as his controllers overpowered his own personality.

  “There’s a good lad,” said Junger. “Now you, Loirot. We do have a task for you, as well. You’re to use your abilities to survive the sun to go out the rear entrance of the Sabo and through the little valley. You’re to meet with Subaire, tell her the new situation.”

  Ruegger couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Balaklava intended not only to nuke the Castle but to betray the Libertarians, as well. And they were letting him hear it all!

  Byron and Loirot departed to carry out their errands, leaving Ruegger, Kiernevar, the assassins and the other assorted zombies alone. Ruegger began to have a very bad feeling about this.

  “Guess you feel pretty stupid right about now, don’t you?”

  Ruegger glared up at Junger but said nothing. What more was there to say? He’d given up everything that ever meant anything to him in order to reach Maleasoel and bring her back to the way she had been. He’d failed, miserably, and try as he might to think of a way out of this, he just couldn’t.

  “Look, Ruegger, I can see you’re in a bind, but you know what—I think you’ll find us very willing to help you out. Heck, that’s what we’re here for—just good old-fashioned neighbors lending a hand—which you could use, by the way. We’ll even bake you a cherry pie.”

  They laughed and gestured toward the group of zombies. One well-preserved deader approached, holding in his arms the body of a pale little girl. The deader set the girl down just beyond Ruegger’s reach and withdrew.

  “Look at her, Ruegger,” cooed Jagoda. “Is she dead? No. Just asleep, and look at how beautiful she is. A beautiful little Romanian girl—what would you say her age is? Seven, eight? Somewhere in there. Well, we’re prepared to make you a deal. We’ve drained that little jewel of pretty much all her blood. Loses anymore and she’ll die. Probably die, anyway.”

  Ruegger looked at the discarded body and felt tears well up in him. Just how cruel could these bastards be?

  “You see?” continued the other. “We offer her to you. You can drain her, and of course in the process kill her, and then you’ll have strength enough to send out another message. It’s our gift to you. Really, an exchange, I guess you’d say. Your morals for our exposure. What do you say?”

  Ruegger wasn’t sure he could say anything. If he’d had enough fluid in his body just then, he’d be crying. But he didn’t. He just sat there, almost as discarded as the girl, and closed his eyes in horror.

  The assassins’ offer wasn’t real, he told himself. As soon as he began to feed from the girl, they’d snatch her away. Of course, they knew he wouldn’t do it. How could he kill this poor creature?

  He couldn’t. Even if his sparing her meant that she’d either die of the wounds they’d inflicted or would become a zombie herself, they knew he wouldn’t touch her. To save a kingdom, he wouldn’t kill a girl that, if he didn’t kill, would suffer a fate worse than death.

  So he did it.

  It caught them completely by surprise.

  He just lurched forward, sank his fangs into her neck and began to feed. At once, he could feel the old strengths returning to him. And with that blood, he finally found the strength to cry. And so he cried, as he took the girl’s life, drop by drop.

  Kiernevar rushed forward and yanked her away from him, howling and screeching like a banshee. He returned the body to the assassins, whose evil smugness was broken for a moment by utter shock. As one, they lifted their eyes to meet the Darkling’s, and he just smiled a bloody smile back at them.

  As soon as they’d recovered their wits, the assassins descended on him with long curving blades and cut him open all over again. Pain flared through every synapse of him, but he grinned through it all.

  “Damn you, Ruegger!” Jagoda shouted. “If you’ve sent off a message, we’re going to torture you till the sun explodes. You got that? So stop it! If you’re in the process of telepathing a message, STOP IT.”

  Ruegger just smiled. Let them think what they would. He hadn’t done it for them, or for himself, or even for the Castle or Danielle. He’d done it for the girl.

  They slashed and beat him, trying to draw out the blood and strength he’d just imbibed and ended up nearly killing him. Once they saw how bad off he was, their fury calmed and they backed away. He could see the angry confusion in their faces, but said nothing.

  “Fuck you,” said Junger. “We’ll make a zombie out of her, yet.” He laughed, as if a dark thought had just struck him. “And we’ll make her sit here in this room and watch you. How do you like that, Darkling? Her big dark eyes staring endlessly into you, her murderer? Every time you look at her, a little piece of you will die. Does that sit well in your conscience?”

  Still, Ruegger just smiled, thinking to himself that that would sit just perfectly in his conscience. He felt the blackness start to overwhelm him again, but it didn’t come; they’d beaten and cut him pretty good, but it wasn’t enough to erase the strength the girl’s blood had given him.

  Without much further ado, he was raised back up in his cage, but not so high this time. They wanted him to be able to look the girl in the eye. Maybe he was less than a hundred feet up. He smiled sadly at her, who even before his eyes they were bringing over into zombiedom, and lay back against the bars, waiting. And crying.

  Don’t worry, he thought at her. I couldn’t save you, but soon I will give you peace.

  When the Balaklava stormed out of the room, they left only Kilian, Kiernevar, the girl and a dozen deaders behind to keep watch over Ruegger. That suited him just fine.

  He waited for about twenty minutes, waited for the girl’s blood to travel throughout his body and do as much good as it could, then set his plan in motion.

  “Sabo,” he said to the cage, knowing that this is where its “mouth” was—where it truly fed—and knowing that it could hear him here as well as anywhere in the whole labyrinth. “Sabo?” He kept repeating the name for maybe five minutes, then felt his cage drop and rise suddenly. He smiled. “Sabo, if you can really hear me, do that again.”

  It did. Ruegger nearly cracked a tooth.

  “Alright,” he said. Briefly, he told it what he wanted from it and asked that, if it agreed, to bob him up and down again.

  He waited for a long moment, and then it did. Up. Down.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  He peered down into the large chamber, deciding upon his first course of action, and it didn’t take long.

  Using his newly awakened powers, he stirred the endless chains, just to make sure that he could. Then, without mercy, without even much conscious thought, he launched his initiative.

  The chains closest to the floor lashed out, all at once and in a motion so fast no one down there could have been prepared for it.

  The first chain struck and entered the girl’s head, felling her and putting her out of what would have been a most miserable existence.

  The second chain, or at least its heavy end link, smashed into Kilian’s brain, felling him instantly. Well, he’d killed Danielle’s pig, after all. Ruegger had promised her he’d dispatch the swine-killer, and now his promise rang true.

  Simultaneously, the chains smashed into the brains of the other twelve deaders. Some evaded the chains on the first pass, but none evaded Ruegger’s aim a second time.

  Finally, a chain drove through Kiernevar’
s head, but this did not kill the lunatic, as Ruegger had foreseen. That’s why, as the madman fought to extricate the heavy link from his head, Ruegger sent several more to ensnare him.

  The Sabo lowered Ruegger swiftly to the ground—so swiftly, in fact, that when the cage struck the ground it burst apart, its magics dispelled. Clumsily, Ruegger lurched out from the cage and smiled at the trapped Kiernevar.

  “You!” said the lunatic—hoarsely. A chain encircled his throat and gripped him tighter by the moment. “You …”

  Ruegger nodded. “You saved Danielle, and for that I’ll be ever grateful, but you’re an evil toad of a creature and I’ve got to lay you down, at least for now.”

  With that, the chain around Kiernevar’s throat constricted massively and, in one terrible motion, wrenched the lunatic’s head from his shoulders.

  “Night, night,” Ruegger said as Kiernevar’s gaunt carcass fell to the floor spouting blood and his head rolled off in another direction.

  Before the Balaklava could arrive—and Ruegger knew they would, seeing through the eyes and ears of their zombies as they did—he ran over to the fallen deaders and extracted a rusted saber from a zombie’s grasp. Before he could have second thoughts about it, Ruegger rushed over to the girl and hacked her into seven separate pieces, then ran to a wall, grabbed a torch and dashed back to her. The fire caught quickly on her clothes and drained, dry body and soon she was little more than blackened bones.

  For some strange reason, maybe because he figured it was probably her own religion, he made the sign of the cross over her remains and said, with feeling, “You saved my life, child. I thank you, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But I’ll never let them make a zombie of you again.”

  His eye darted about quickly, knowing his time was limited, and fell on the bodies of Kilian and Kiernevar. He sighed. Kilian, he would let ... live, if that was the right word ... in the hopes that if Ruegger ever managed to kill Junger and Jagoda the werewolf could be restored.