Nekropolis n-1

by Tim Waggoner

  I’d seen them-and other Demilords-around the city before, but after our recent encounter with Yberio I now viewed them in a different light. Maybe they weren’t quite as powerful as the Darklords, but they weren’t saddled with the responsibilities of the five Lords, either. The Demilords were incredibly powerful beings free to do as they pleased, and they had no need to conserve their strength to help renew Umbriel once a year. In that sense, they were more powerful than the Darklords, and I wondered if-like Yberio-they resented being passed over by Dis during his Wanderyear in favor of the five current Darklords, and what they might intend to do to even the score one day.

  The party wasn’t confined to the ground, though. The Atrium extended several stories upward, and numerous beings flew or levitated above our heads, some swooping and darting about, while others merely circled slowly-perhaps hoping to spot prey of one sort or another below. Ichorus was there, no doubt having accompanied Fade. I wondered if they were an item. If so, I bet that would be one tidbit of gossip that would never appear in Fade’s tabloid column. A number of ghostly figures were ballroom dancing in the air, their graceful moves somehow perfectly complementing Kakaphonie’s thunderously strident melodies.

  Devona kept swiveling her head this way and that, trying to take it all in and failing dismally. It was like trying to hold the ocean in your arms. No matter how hard you work at it, it’s just not going to happen.

  “Varvara has a one-word philosophy,” I shouted to be heard over the Scream Queen and her band. “More!”

  “She certainly appears to live by it!” Devona said.

  The Atrium of Demon’s Roost looks as if it had been ground zero during the explosion of an atomic kitsch bomb. Gaudy pastel-colored carpeting, black velvet paintings in neon-tube frames, mirrored disco balls spinning above…We passed a wall collage formed from thousands of tiny cheap toys from fast-food kids’ meals, and soon after that, my favorite piece, a thirty foot-tall pewter statue of Elvis gazing benevolently down on a flock of plastic pink flamingos.

  “Oh, my,” was all Devona could manage to say.

  “Quite a change from the Cathedral, isn’t it?”

  We stood for a moment and regarded at each other. Neither of us looked our best right then. I was a broken, decaying mess, and Devona was covered with Yberio’s drying blood. Neither of us had commented on what had taken place in the veinburn lab, partially because we didn’t have time to talk about it, but also I suspect because neither of us was exactly sure what to say. I was touched that Devona had felt the need to avenge Dale’s death for me, but I was also once more painfully aware that we might have only a couple days, maybe even only a few more hours, together if Lord Galm wouldn’t or couldn’t use his magic to preserve my body. We’d come to mean so much to each other in such a short time, and I didn’t want to face the very real possibility that what was growing between us would die before it had a chance to be fully born. So we looked at each other and didn’t speak, but Devona took my hand and gave it a squeeze and that was enough.

  Even with all the tumult in Demon’s Roost, the tolling of the Deathknell could be heard, the sound muted and distant, but unmistakable. None of Varvara’s guests seemed to notice, or more likely they just didn’t care. After all, the Renewal Ceremony had been taking place every year for over three centuries. It was nothing special to them. They were far more concerned with obtaining their next drink and/or lover. But then, none of them knew about the Dawnstone and the use to which it would soon be put-unless Devona and I could stop it.

  We continued on pushing, shoving, elbowing, and in a few cases kneeing our way through the crowd until we came to a bank of elevators. There were five, all the same, except the last on the left. That one had a red button, while the others had white buttons. And standing in front of the red-button elevator was an eight-foot-tall muscular creature with blue skin, shaggy black hair and a wild, unkempt beard. Its red-tinged eyes were the size of saucers, and huge incisors jutted down from behind its upper lip and curved outward like tusks. The thing wore only two items of clothing: a loincloth made from tanned human hide, and a necklace of tiny human heads.

  “What is he?” Devona asked.

  “His name is Jambha-it means jaws in Hindi-and he’s a rakshasa, a demon from Hindu mythology. That’s Varvara’s private elevator he’s guarding. If anyone tries to use it without permission, he eats them.”

  Devona looked at me. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Well, he doesn’t eat them right away. Among other things, back on Earth rakshasa were known for devouring the dead on battlefields. They like their food to age somewhat, say a week or two.” I put a hand up to block my mouth so Jambha couldn’t read my lips. “Watch out for his breath. I don’t have a working olfactory system, and even I can’t stand the stink of it.”

  Without another word, I led Devona over to Jambha. As we drew closer, we could see that the heads on the necklace were replicas of ours, little Matt-heads alternating with little Devona-heads, one after the other, all the way around. The neck stumps were ragged, as if the heads had been torn off by force, and they were fresh. Tiny drops of blood fell in continuous patters from the torn necks and onto Jambha’s blue chest.

  “How-” Devona began.

  “Rakshasa are masters of illusions,” I told her. “So don’t believe everything you see.”

  When we came within three feet of the demon, I stopped us. Any closer, and we’d be instant demon chow.

  “Hey, Jambha,” I greeted him. “It’s been a while.”

  The rakshasa looked me over from head to toe, and I felt like a piece of rotting meat in a demonic butcher’s display case. A line of drool rolled down from his left tusk.

  “You smell absolutely appalling,” Jamba said, and licked his lips with a forked tongue.

  “If that’s a compliment, I guess I should say thank you, but keep your distance: no free samples, remember?” Since rakshasa love dead, rotting meat, in my current state I was like a walking ten course meal to Jambha, dessert included.

  Jambha looked disappointed, but he recovered quickly. “No sample, no elevator ride.”

  I had a detached rotting ear I could give him somewhere in one of my pockets, and I started to fish around for it, but then I caught a glimpse of Devona’s watching me with disapproval. I remembered what she’d said about the price I’d paid Waldermar-a page out of my memory. What kind of man thinks so little of his own experiences that he’s willing to sell them for a few darkgems? So while giving Jambha the ear would’ve been the easy thing to do, in the end I decided not to.

  ‘Listen, Jambha, we need to see Varvara right now. It’s vital we catch her before she heads to the Spire for the Renewal Ceremony. Let us through.”

  “And I told you: no sample, no ride.” He looked at me, his saucer eyes filled with carrion-lust.

  The Deathknell sounded again, reminding me we didn’t have time for playing around.

  “Don’t make me do it, Jambha.”

  The rakshasa scowled. “Do what?” he said warily.

  “I have a pair of true-sight glasses in my pocket. If you don’t let my friend and I use Varavara’s elevator right now, I’ll hand them to her and tell her to take a good look at you.”

  Jambha’s scowl eased into a worried frown. “You’re bluffing.”

  I shrugged.” Only one way to find out.”

  The rakshasa and I stared each other down for a moment, but in the end Jambha sighed, pressed the button for us, and then stepped aside.

  “Go on,” he said miserably.

  The door slid open and Devona and I stepped onto the elevator, both of us trying to ignore the disconcerting way the tiny Matt and Devona heads on Jambha’s necklace all grinned as we walked by. Inside, there was only one button and I pushed it. As the door slowly closed, Jambha hurriedly said, “If anything does fall off, and you don’t happen to have need of it, I’d appreciate it if you’d save it for me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Then thankfully t
he door shut and the elevator began a smooth ascent. We rode upward to the lilting strains of a Muzak version of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Varvara’s odd sense of humor seemed appropriate given what had brought us here.

  “This will take us straight up to the penthouse,” I told Devona, “which is probably where Varvara’s at right now, getting ready for the ceremony.”

  “Do you really have true-sight glasses?” Devona asked.

  “No. I don’t know if such things exist. I just made them up to bluff Jambha.”

  “Why would a rakshasa care if I looked at him with true-sight glasses-assuming any existed-or not? He certainly didn’t seem overly concerned about his appearance before.”

  “Remember when I told you rakshasa were masters of illusion? In Jambha’s case, he uses his abilities to hide his true body from everyone’s eyes: in reality he stands a little under three feet tall and has arms like pipe cleaners. Not exactly the best look for a Darklord’s guard. If word get out about his true appearance, Jambha would not only be embarrassed as hell, he’d never be able to work security in this town again.”

  “I’m just glad he let us get on,” Devona said, “and I’m impressed that Varvara lets you use her private elevator. How do you rate? No, let me guess: you did her a favor once.”

  “Not quite.” I didn’t want to go on, but Devona was looking at me expectantly. “She finds me…amusing.”

  “Oh. In a good way or a bad way?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  “Do you think she’ll listen to us?”

  “There’s no telling with Varvara. She might hear us out, or she might have us executed for bothering her before the Renewal Ceremony.”

  Devona looked suddenly alarmed.

  “Relax; I was joking about the last part.” At least, I hoped I was joking. It all depended on what sort of mood Varvara was in.

  The elevator glided to a stop and the door opened to reveal a boudoir of silks, satins, and a thousand overstuffed pillows scattered everywhere. Every possible shade of red and pink was represented, and I later learned from Devona that the air was thick with the mingled scents of a dozen different cloying perfumes mingled with a truckload of potpourri. The whole place was like a romance writer’s wet dream.

  Half of the large room was taken up by a monstrous canopy bed upon which lay the still, naked body of an obscenely muscled man. At first I thought he was dead, but he stirred slightly, and I realized he was only nearly dead.

  I stepped off the elevator, and Devona followed. On the far side of the room, a stunningly beautiful redhead with a body that made most centerfolds look like concentration camp survivors stood before a mirrored wall, checking her outfit-a skin-tight dress made entirely of emeralds.

  “That doesn’t look very comfortable,” I said.

  Varvara didn’t take her eyes off her reflection. “Comfortability is not the point.” She turned around and examined her rear.

  “Then what is?”

  “Maximum amount of soul-gnawing envy from all women in the vicinity and maximum number of painfully unendurable erections from all men.” She nodded. “I believe this will do nicely.”

  Varvara turned away from the mirror. “Hello, Matthew.” She quickly looked me up and down. “You are aware, I trust, of your achingly desperate need of a makeover? So, what brings you into my bedroom this fine Descension evening? And with such a cute little friend!” Her brow crinkled as she frowned at Devona. “Though you could use a good hosing down, dearie. A bit of advice: next time you decide to snack on someone, wear a bib.”

  She turned to me and smiled. “Don’t tell me you want to get a foursome going, Matthew. I’m afraid I don’t have the time, and Magnus-” She nodded toward the insensate slab of beefcake sprawled on her bed-“does not have the energy, and most likely won’t for some days to come.” She gave her boy-toy an appraising look. “I do hope I didn’t break him. Victor Baron made him especially for me, and this was the first time I’ve had the chance to put the dear thing through his paces. He acquitted himself well enough, but there were a few moments there where I thought he might stroke out. Ah well, I suppose I can always send him back to the Foundry for a tune-up if necessary.”

  Now that Varvara faced us, her single non-human feature-unless you count her exaggeratedly feminine body as non-human-was evident: her slightly overlarge eyes. They contained multicolored flecks which rotated slowly around the pupils. All demons, regardless of type, had those flecks, and they remained no matter what form a demon might assume. Varvara’s eyes were more striking than most demons’, though. They possessed an intensity that reminded me of an apex predator: cold, calculating, and always in the process of trying to decide whether or not to attack. She flashed us a dazzling smile that almost, but not quite, wiped away the eerie sensation of those savage eyes constantly sizing you up.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Varvara, but I’m not exactly up for those sort of games, if you know what I mean.”

  She walked over to us, every step runway model perfect, even with the incredibly steep high heels she was wearing. She leaned forward, nearly spilling out of her emeralds in the process, and whispered in my ear, “You could always watch.”

  And then she stepped back and laughed.

  “Matt told me you find him amusing,” Devona said icily. “Is it because he puts up with you cruelly taunting him like that?”

  I shot Devona a warning glance. Maybe it was jealousy, or concern for my feelings, or both, that had prompted her to speak out, but talking like that to Varvara is not exactly conducive to your health.

  The Demon Queen regarded Devona impassively for some time, but Devona stood her ground and stared at Varvara with equal intensity. And even though I didn’t need to breathe, I held my breath anyway.

  Then Varvara smiled. “I like you,” she said simply. Underneath her words was an unspoken message: I think I’ll let you live.

  I released my breath.

  “I’d really love to stay and chat, but I must dash. Have to help Dis and the other Darklords keep Nekropolis going for another year.” She sighed theatrically. “Dreadfully dull, but I suppose it has to be done.”

  She started toward the elevator, but before she could reach it, I called after her.

  “I have a favor to ask of you, Varvara.”

  She stopped and turned around. “A favor?” She smiled slowly. “Why of course, Matt. We demons love to do favors-for a price.”

  I held up my hand and displayed Lord Edrigu’s mark. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of trade right now.”

  She frowned upon seeing the mark, and her manner became serious. “What in the Nine Hells have you been up to?”

  So I told her.

  When I finished, Varvara said, “I wasn’t even aware that Galm had the Dawnstone, and now he’s lost it. Intriguing.”

  “You know about the Dawnstone?” Devona asked.

  Varvara waved the question aside. “Honey, when you’ve lived as long as I have, there isn’t a whole lot you don’t know.” She turned toward the mirror and looked thoughtfully at her reflection. “I wonder if there’s a way I can use this to my advantage.”

  “This isn’t the time for scheming,” I said sternly.

  Varvara turned away from the mirror. “While the Dawnstone is a potent token of power, I’m not sure it really poses much of a threat. Still, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to telepathically check with my fellow Lords, especially since the Renewal Ceremony is soon to begin.” She nodded to herself as if making a decision. “You two wait here.” She turned and headed for a closed door on the other side of the room.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  She stopped. “To a private chamber where I can concentrate more effectively. We Darklords have built up quite strong psychic defenses against each other over the millennia, and it’s going to take some effort on my part to get even a simple message past their guard-if I can.”

  “What about contacting F
ather Dis?” I suggested.

  She gave me a withering look. “Darling, you don’t contact Dis; he contacts you.” And with that she walked to the door, opened it, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

  “Private chamber?” Devona said. “That looked like her-”

  “Bathroom, yeah. But you have to admit, ‘private chamber’ sounds a lot classier.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “You heard her: we wait.”

  Devona went over to the mirror and examined her transparent reflection. “I wish now that I had gone to Father right away. What if we can’t stop whoever it is from using the Dawnstone?”

  I joined her in front of the mirror, though I didn’t particularly appreciate the chewed-up zombie it showed me. “There’s no point in worrying about might-have-beens, Devona. All we can do now is our best. In the end, that has to be enough.”

  She didn’t look convinced, so I decided to try to take her mind off her recriminations while Varvara attempted to contact the other Lords. “This is more than just a mirror, you know. It’s Varvara’s dimensional portal.”

  Devona took a half step back, as if afraid the mirror might suck her in. “You and Dale came to Nekropolis through here?”

  “This is Varvara’s personal portal. She has a larger one down in the lower levels of the Roost, which is what Dale and I used.” I smiled. “I don’t think we would’ve lasted very long if we’d popped out into Var-vara’s bedroom-especially if she’d been busy entertaining company.”

  Devona stepped back to the mirror. “I’ve never seen Father’s portal. I wonder how it works.”

  “The one downstairs is pretty simple. All you have to do-” I reached out and tapped the glass three times with my index finger. The mirror shimmered and our reflections were replaced by an image of a park just before sunset-trees, benches, neatly trimmed green grass, birds singing, people walking, holding hands, riding bikes, in-line skating…From the trees and the way people were dressed, it looked like late spring. And then I realized: sunset. Horrified, I tried to push Devona out the way. But she planted her feet solidly on the floor, and with her strength, I couldn’t budge her.