The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6)

by Richard Raley

  Not Raj, some detached, obsessive part of my brain told me. He was in a tux like you and there’s no turban.

  “Someone fell . . .” Welf whispered.

  “From up here?”

  He only nodded.

  “That’s like . . . a long way,” I said after running up against math when trying to guesstimate how far the fall was in feet. The Ultra dorms for the four-years are like three to four stories tall. Then you had a story each for the apartment floors. So . . . five to seven story fall.

  Maybe if it was a corpusmancer or an aeromancer. Maybe I could manage it, but only if I conjured iron bones on my entire body at just the right moment before impact, I thought a little less detached this time.

  “Follow me,” Welf said. For once I didn’t complain about him ordering me around.

  Both of us instinctually raced down the stairs. No place for thinking, just instinct. Always been instinctual. Maybe not as much as when I was the fourteen-year-old punk newly arrived at school, but I’m still fighting all them instincts to this day, eighteen-year-old-graduate-student me didn’t have much of a chance.

  Instinct sent the both of us down the stairs. Never been fast and Welf had to watch his head, but we moved about as fast as either of us had ever taken those stairs. Doubt it even took us forty-five seconds. Fast. Almost broke our ankles fast.

  By the time we were on the cement that surrounded the building, one of the boys had run off towards Admin. Admin with all them teachers. Too close for comfort I always thought living in the Ultra dorms, but now . . . seemed much too far away.

  Knowing Welf would try to move people with words, I just used my shoulders and my arms to push a way through the crowd, which had added a few more four-years. A chunk of Bi’s had joined the Singles, giving us about forty onlookers. Older kids moved out of my way, either from the pushing or just recognition.

  Finally got a look at the three girls kneeling around the cryomancer. No Vicky, but the girl holding the cryomancer’s head was Makayla. Or Genesis. Listen, now’s not the fucking time for you to complain about my ass being a sexist objectifier of women, okay? A man’s dying! He’s got a penis . . . that makes him more important!

  Makayla—we’re going with Makayla this time—had her hands bracing the cryomancer’s neck. Her body heaved with sobs, but she held on for all she was worth, no matter how sticky and thick the blood on her hands grew. Blood seeped from a head wound and had dripped down his face all the way to the ground. His arm and an ankle were bent wrong and his breathing was rapid and labored.

  With all the blood and the massive information intake, it took me a moment to realize I recognized him.

  Then I couldn’t think about anything else for a good ten seconds.

  It was Leo Sarducci. Head of Class ’08, the Hexs this school year. Guy that made a deal with Welf to kick my balls during our Bi Winter War. Same guy that wasn’t so bad after that . . . him and Miranda had been a thing for a while. Fuck me, I thought over the fact Leo Sarducci might not live five more minutes from the look of him.

  He didn’t look good.

  At all.

  I stood there, studying him, and I realized I was exactly the wrong kind of mancer to help in this situation. No steel or glass to break, no people to punch, not even an artifact to craft. There used to be healing artifacts, but the Rejuvenation Society lobbied for them to be banned and the Guild acquiesced. Cuz when cocksuckers and greedy twats get together, we all lose. It’s like Alien vs Predator, except worse.

  Leo Sarducci might die, my brain finally screamed, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Ultra, Artificer, special as you are, don’t matter shit for saving his life.

  Welf followed in my wake, eyes wide. Necromancers were equally worthless at saving human life. Although if he had a Construct I suppose it could have risked running Leo to the Infirmary. And hey, if Leo died, Welf could bring him back for a little chat.

  Cuz ya know . . . that ain’t morbid and freaky or nothing.

  “Who found him?” I asked.

  A faunamancer Tri raised her hand. White girl, medium height, stocky build, curly auburn hair cut close to her scalp. “I’m a Camping Club member,” she whispered, “we don’t just do camping. We take care of the livestock in the stables, ya know. I had a shift, so . . . he was just lying there, like this. All alone.”

  Welf knelt down by Leo, who was conscious but in very obvious pain. “Forget how it happened,” Welf got on with his usual patrician commands. “That boy went to inform Miss Strange?”

  The faunamancer girl shook her head. Her colors had her last name on them, just like all of ours. Smart. First name . . . I racked my memory, never good for anyone who wasn’t at worst one year younger than me at the school or happened to be one of my History students. Falcon Smart, I remembered. No judgment on if ‘Falcon’ is a stupid name—totally is—but she came from a prestigious family of faunamancers. They all named their children after animals. No one could have foresaw how that led to Bear-Does-Shit-In-The-Woods Smart or Doggystyle Smart, but . . . well, what can ya do?

  Falcon Smart shook her head. “He went to find the Lady. We already sent another boy to look for Miss Strange.”

  Welf put a hand on Makayla’s shoulder. “You’re a hydromancer, isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “They don’t teach that until we’re graduates,” Makayla sobbed. “He’s dying . . . his pulse is so weak and there’s blood and I think his back might be broken!”

  Welf pointed at three of the remaining boys one after another. “Run to the Hexs’ floor, call out for Sabine. You run to the Pents’ floor, call for Asa. You run for to the Heps’ floor and call for Mary. Tell them Leo is hurt and they must hurry.”

  After the three ran off I couldn’t help but comment, “You just sent a kid onto the Three Queen’s floor asking Mary O’Connell for help healing someone.”

  Welf met my eyes. My eyes ain’t pretty like his. Welf has them tombstone gray eyes you hear about from romance heroes. Me, I’m just dirt. One step above mud, but it’s an important step. “If she helps save him then I will forgive every transgression she’s committed against my family, Foul Mouth.”

  “We’ll never see that kid again . . . the things that’ll happen to his poor pee-hole . . .”

  “This is not a situation for your jokes!” Welf snapped at me.

  I shrugged, glancing at Leo again. Fuck, he shouldn’t even be alive. We all knew it, but no one said anything. Had to be a sixty foot drop. Leo probably bounced when he hit the cement.

  Welf went on to point at the last boy and the third girl. “You go make the Singles return to their dorm. You the Bi’s. Don’t yell, just be authoritative with them. You are the elder, that means it is your responsibility to be in charge.”

  There was some complaining, but the younger students quickly started filing away. Up above us, the three boys neared the graduate floors, already yelling for Asa, Mary, and Sabine. Don’t think I’ve ever seen Mary in the Infirmary, she’s not that kind of hydromancer, but Sabine and Asa are. Straining my eyes, I thought I could just see Miss Strange jogging out of the Admin building with a couple nurses in tow.

  I reached down to grab Leo’s hand. The one on the not-so-broken arm. It was cold, cold enough it hurt to hold, but I clamped on and didn’t let go. I knelt down beside him on the cement, leaning forward so he could see me without moving. His blue eyes focused on me, seemed to recognize my face. “Not what you want to wake up to in the morning, I know,” I joked with him.

  His lips pulled back, trying to form words or laugh or . . . just random electric nerves firing, I’m not sure.

  “You just got to make it a couple more minutes,” I kept talking. “Miss Strange is coming. Ugly or not and all that ball kicking a long time ago or not, I’m here for you. So are Makayla and Falcon. Welf don’t like to admit having emotion, but I’m pretty sure even he feels something for you too.”

  Leo seemed to notice Welf for the first time and he flinched when he di
d. His hand grabbed tight to mine, trying to pull me towards him. My fingers went numb as I leaned in, my brow furrowed over the reaction. “What’s up, man?”

  A wheeze escaped Leo as all four of us still with him tried to listen to what he was saying.

  “Don’t talk, man,” I told him. “It can wait.”

  In Leo Sarducci’s eyes I saw resignation, but also fury. Everything he had left managed to get words through his lips, “He . . . pushed . . . me.”

  “Who?”

  No more words, just that lone hand releasing mine to point right at Welf.

  Falcon looked at Welf in horror, stepping away from him. Before we could calm her, off she was, running toward Admin and right on by Miss Strange. Up above us, members of the graduate years ran out onto the stairs and balcony railings to look down on the scene. I saw Val with Miranda, Val in sweat-shorts and a geeky t-shirt with some sci-fi meme on it, while Miranda was wearing a nightie. I was so shocked by the moment my brain didn’t even register the fact that it should complain about that many freckles in public.

  “I lost his pulse!” Makayla yelled. “He doesn’t have a pulse!”

  Welf shook his head at Leo Sarducci’s dying body. “What did he . . . I don’t . . . I was with Hope,” he muttered in confusion. “You saw that, Foul Mouth!”

  Miss Strange arrived with a blast of hydro-anima.

  She brought him back from the dead.

  For a few minutes.

  Leo Sarducci never spoke again, his last words an accusation towards his murderer.

  Up above us there was gasping and shrieks as everyone realized who had just died.

  I watched as Miranda buried her face into Val’s shoulder, heaving with sobs.

  Welf grabbed me. “You saw I was with Hope!”

  Heinrich von Welf had just been accused of murder and I was one of the key witnesses.

  If it wasn’t Welf, then who was it?

  My eyes drifted up again, finding the highest balcony. They found the only three women in Class ’07. I could just make out the smile on Catherine Hayes’ face. Next to her, Mary and Teresa shook from head to toe, from excitement or fear they probably didn’t even know.

  Catherine Hayes.

  This wasn’t the revenge I expected from her and I had zero clues for how she could have managed it, but all them instincts told me it was her. I knew it, had to be.

  Just had to prove it.

  Session 164

  “You’re taking me through the front doors?”

  “Just following orders,” Estefan mumbled for the hundredth time that day. Or that night. Or the next day. Plane trips shouldn’t go from one to the next, but this one did. With the stopover in LAX we had ourselves a good fourteen hours of travelling. Microwaved Chicken Alfredo, a baked potato, and a few Dr. Peppers got me through the night. Estefan and Miles let me have a fork at least. If they didn’t I would’ve had to bring out Poug’s glass-metal knife to eat the potato. FBI or no FBI with me, guessing that would’ve caused a riot from the stewardesses.

  Plane was behind me.

  Good.

  Travel, fucking hate travel.

  Slept most of the time. Couple bathroom trips with Estefan following like an obedient guard dog. “You gonna wipe for me too?” I asked him. He just glared back. “Seriously, man, you know what I am, you know what I can do to metal and you know what this plane is made out of. What exactly are you worried about me getting up to in this bathroom? Giving myself a blowjob? I haven’t had the Marilyn Manson rib-removal surgery done, so that’s not happening. Neither is whatever else you’re imagining. I’m traveling with you to the Guild. Willingly. Calm the fuck down.”

  “Just following orders.”

  Guess that was somewhere in the fifties or sixties.

  Just following orders.

  How different a world I’d be living in if I’d done the same.

  Just follow orders.

  Join the Guild right out of the Asylum like I was supposed to. Like Plutarch wanted. Like Guild Master Massey expected. You would have learned the one-hundred artifact designs required to be named a Full Member in Artifice by now. Then, arriving at my door I could have greeted you as Brother. But instead . . . you’re out there alone, I heard Plutarch say again, as he had months ago when I sought his help in crafting Mini’s golem.

  Just following orders. Can’t remember the last time I followed orders. Followed instructions occasionally . . . like when Plutarch taught me. Or advice, like the kind Ceinwyn gave about how to set my Artificer shop up. But orders? When? Winter War maybe? Or the road trip with Ceinwyn, maybe that counts.

  Ever since I graduated, I picked chaos and disruption every time the choice was offered to me. Fought with Annie B at every step. Got in a gang war with Hector Vega. Didn’t wait for Ceinwyn to show up to save Christmas Ward. Risked everything for Annie B even when she wanted me to let her die. Got in the cage with Sapa.

  Orders . . . they’re for the dumb fucktards who still haven’t given up on civilization, not for King Henry Price.

  If you gave up, then why you still trying to save it?

  Orders had Estefan lead me through the front door. The Guild Hall . . . or the Hall of Artificers—never really memorized whatever grandiose name they came up with—it always reminded me of some bank, even more than the Vamps’ Great Bank did. Old New York or London bank, lots a cavernous space and plenty of marble pillars—with a whole row of secretaries and functionaries at the far end. You couldn’t ever imagine that hall being filled to capacity. Could announce a rave with accompanying dosages of free narcotics, you’d still never fill it. Something indulgent about that much free space. Something oppressive about the emptiness in the spaces between. So much space that the space itself feels like it’s watching you, judging you.

  Every inch, filled or empty, marble or wood the color of wet dirt, cries out with geo-anima. Both untouchable natural geo-anima and the lingering taste of geo-anima used long ago, from mancers and the sons of mancers, all the way back five-hundred years. Wasn’t poetic license to say the pillars sung for me, cuz they did. Last time I’d ignored the anima concentrations stuck in each, but now I knew a bit too much about fairies to turn a blind eye. Thirteen pillars in all, the mancer’s number, the odd one out at the very center of the Hall. Not just sentient concentrations, but raw geo-anima itself was pulled through the pillars. We compare what a mancer does to a pool. Fair to call those rivers then. What do they do with it? Power the Pit beneath?

  Last time I’d walked right through, down to the secretaries at the other end. Been a few Guild members inside, grouped together in conversations or scurrying from side-door to side-door. Now the Hall was overflowing with them. Two rows, one on either side of the massive front doors, white pillars bracketed behind them.

  In the entire world there’s just over a few thousand Artificers. At the moment, a good five-hundred were in that Hall. Sometimes you try to piss a guy off and sometimes it works better than you ever expected, I couldn’t help but think. Massey wasn’t just playing his trump card and calling me to account, he really was trying to punish and embarrass me before every peer I had on the planet.

  About to get burned, Price. Got to stay silent. Got to show you’re impervious. Don’t yelp out like the time Val lit your ass on fire.

  Five-hundred Artificers. Perhaps not the entire Guild, but a massive swath of it. No sign of other employees either, no Intras, no anima donors. Artificers in Guild robes, with Guild skullcaps, standing in the Guild Hall, before the brown with golden trim pennant of the Guild hanging above them from the ceiling.

  GUILD.

  GUILD.

  GUILD.

  We are many, you are one; we are old, you are young; we are together, you are alone.

  Join or die.

  Resistance is futile.

  Choose your badass quote, we’re so powerful we don’t have to say a word.

  Our presence is enough.

  Kneel and know wonder.

  “Fuck
me,” Estefan grunted as the main doors snapped shut behind us. He grabbed a handful of my geomancer’s coat, whether to steady himself or to pretend at controlling me, I’m not sure.

  On my other side, Miles gulped in some courage.

  The Guild members had been conversing when we entered, but now silence reigned supreme. Every eye was on me. Weighed, measured, and found wanting. Their robes were marked with their Guild rank. Journeyman for the youngest, to designate they had created their first artifact. Full Member in Artifice, to show they had mastered the one-hundred classical designs of artifice. Auxiliary Member in Artifice, for those who weren’t talented with artifacts, but proved themselves in other areas of the Mancy and whose value had been recognized. Master Craftsman, usually awarded after twenty years of membership to those who had proven themselves dependable. Head Craftsman, given to whoever was currently in charge of an artifact production line. Counselor to the Master, almost uniformly graybeards who had been with the Guild for half a century, these men advised and decided what course the Guild would take. And they always choose the same course their forebearers have taken before.

  Guild Master . . . right at the center of the two lines, all the way across the Hall from where I entered. Alexander Massey. Most parts of the One-in-a-Million World can’t wait to stuff your expectations back down your throat, but not Massey. He was exactly what you expected out of him. Old Mancy, old bodied, old fashioned, prudish, priggish, and all around my complete opposite. He was in his sixties, neither the Old Guard of the Lady’s generation, or one of the coming powers like Ceinwyn Dale, Moira von Welf, or Mordecai Root. His was of the generation largely ate up by the Counter-Culture War, only in London Massey didn’t see most of the action, which focused around the Western United States and the Pacific Rim.

  Massey was one of those people who weren’t around for the truly great days, those were in the past, but he did all he could to hold up that past, including the lies we told ourselves about it. Especially the lies we tell ourselves about it. We don’t tell them, then those days might not even be great . . . then where would we be in a world without greatness, present or past?