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

by Richard Raley

  “Told the truth, big man.”

  Jason stared, searching my face for lies. “You sure? Find out you didn’t and—”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Listen . . . Falcon and Makayla already told Root about Leo pointing at Welf and—for whatever reason—Leo did think Welf was the one who pushed him. Me, I think that’s impossible, or damn near improbable. Shit, if he did do it, I’d be impressed as fuck. Houdini his way out of Hope’s hogties and electric prods, go outside like a ninja, not be seen by anyone, pushes Leo over the railing, goes into his room again and ties himself back up, puts the peg back in his own ass, and waits for Hope to wake up. Hears me outside talking to her a moment later and has the balls to go with me to check on what the screaming is? Then has even bigger balls to take charge of trying to save Leo. Ask yourself this: does Heinrich Welf have big enough balls to pull all that off? No, he doesn’t. He has little tiny, malformed peanut-shaped things that he lets Hope bat around with a paddle.”

  Shocked silence.

  My favorite kind.

  “That was some Johnnie Cochran Wookie Defense shit, dude,” Pocket eventually commented.

  “Whatever defense, you were drunk last night,” Isabel pointed out, still on Team Fuck Welf With Hope’s Biggest Peg.

  “Except that, yeah,” I admitted.

  “Wait, I saw you in the hall,” Estefan remembered.

  Oh shit. “Yeah, that’s right . . . you did, didn’t you? Damn . . .”

  We were all so focused on our discussion we hadn’t even noticed that Mordecai Root and a pair of Constructs had walked up behind our tables. “Interesting,” he said, making half of us almost jump out of our colors. “I will have to alter my algorithms just to be sure . . . still, it matters not. Only a percentage or two, not nearly enough deviation.”

  “Da fuck you come from?!?” I shouted, glancing around for a portal or a TARDIS or some other mystical shit.

  Root ignored me, staring at Welf. “Act like the Elementalist you are,” he warned him.

  Welf stiffened, seeing the blow that was about to fall. He’s always pale, but now grew especially so. “Yes, sir.”

  “My investigation is yet incomplete, Mr. Welf,” Root stated, standing straight as a rod, hands clasped before him, on either side a uniformed Construct. Forget Undead Mormon Missionaries, was the Undead Fucking Gestapo. “However . . . the evidence against you weighs heavily on the scales. Even accounting for Mr. Price’s drunken recollection, you still had time to commit the crime before either he or Miss Hunting awoke. The autopsy has showed that Mr. Sarducci chilled his body with cryo-anima to remain alive longer than would be possible for a mundane. Instead of merely a few minutes, he was left lying there for quite some time before he was found. Long enough for you to perhaps slip out of your room and to commit murder, whether premeditated or manslaughter.”

  “I tied him to the bed,” Hope tried again.

  “Your pleas and sexual depravities mean nothing to me, Miss Hunting. Without other witnesses to corroborate your evidence, anything you say is less than meaningless. This is not to say that Mr. Welf is guilty of assaulting Mr. Sarducci, merely that the evidence at the moment is large enough for me to place him in custody. In addition to this reason, I have also decided that it is no longer safe for you among the student body until matters are cleared up, Mr. Welf. If you will please follow me, you will find the Holding Room as accommodating as always.”

  Welf didn’t move, he only blinked unbelieving at Root. “I didn’t do it, sir”

  “As of yet undecided, Mr. Welf, also irrelevant. Come with me under your own free will or I will have Number Four and Number Eleven restrain you.”

  Catherine Hayes, Mary O’Connell, and Teresa Garcia started clapping as Welf was led away between the Constructs. Forget pale, his coloring was weaker than the dead men guiding him. Class ’08 already bristled, yelling and gasping at the sight. Meanwhile, my own ‘09ers looked crushed.

  “He didn’t do it,” Hope babbled to Quinn and Jessica as each hugged her from either side, “I promise he didn’t do it . . .”

  Only Isabel’s expression was bright. “Yes, he did,” she snapped, “and now it’s your turn to be called the crazy lying nutjob, Hope. Serves you right!”

  She strutted off, extremely satisfied with herself. A moment later, Athir ran after her.

  The rest of us just sat there, unsure what to do. We either glanced at Welf’s missing spot or at the tears streaming down Hope’s face.

  Just . . .

  Fuck me.

  Fuck me sideways.

  With Hope’s favorite strap-on.

  [CLICK]

  I went through the next hour in a kind of fog.

  A red fog.

  Just that pure frustration where you want to scream at the sky. Blazing sun or harvest moon, it makes no difference. Ain’t the sun or moon gods you’re screaming at. It’s that Bitch-Queen, it’s Fate winking down at you. Shouldn’t blame Fate really . . . I mean, what’s chance have to do with this shit? Just seemed better to blame chance than existence as a whole. Or the people I inhabited said existence with.

  Match is far from over, Bitch-Queen.

  Far.

  From.

  Over.

  Still . . . I was behind by three or four rounds. Catherine been racking up the points with soft jab after soft jab and I felt like I haven’t even gotten out of my corner yet. Same shit, over and over. Can’t get out. Smack, smack, smack. Trapped. Ain’t PTSD, but it’s some similar cousin. Everyone wants a piece of my time, everyone wants to know what I know. Friends, Root, classmates. Over and over. Same story. Same shit. Was already tired of it. Tired no one listened to me.

  They’re stuck in that corner with you, I told myself to calm down. Didn’t work. Didn’t make the anger go away. Reliving it just like you, maybe even more so. Got memories they’re playing through, feelings to understand and categorize. More feelings than you’ll ever have. Why the Lady likes putting Root in charge of stuff like this I think. Knows he don’t have emotions to process, just wants to jump on the puzzle as quick as can be. Work at it as long as it takes to solve, long as it takes to keep the foundations of our society standing.

  Problem with being puzzle-hungry is that someone might eventually give you one just to distract you. Build you a puzzle to focus on while they surround you in a maze you’ll never escape. For Root it was all about the evidence and how to prove Welf had done the deed. He was sidetracked into a course Catherine had created for him. Problem with people that smart is they never consider they can even get played, always think they’re above the game.

  Obviously I’d see through that! I’m brilliant! I’m gifted! No twenty-year-old girl could ever trick me to do her bidding! Didn’t even have to show you a bit of skin, not a smile, not a seductive moment of shyness. You fell right for it, Root, fell for the Rubik’s cube she threw at your feet and now she’s got you by the balls.

  Wasn’t just Catherine though.

  Why I could blame some of it on Fate.

  Leo just had to use cryo-anima to try to save his life.

  Without that, Welf was free and clear.

  Welf had to step out of his room to argue with me.

  Without that, there’s no finger point, no whispering accusation, just Catherine’s word against Welfs and he’s won that fight since before he was born.

  Then, finally, King Henry Price had to go see what was in the box, curiosity gonna get him killed one day.

  Without that . . .

  Without that at least I wouldn’t feel like I owe Welf something.

  I don’t doubt Momma Welf, maybe even Papa Welf too, was flying in from the East Coast today. Maybe the lesson I should take away from this is not to meddle. Be blissful and all that shit, sleep in, have some coffee for your hangover. Don’t give a shit, King Henry. Worked for over fourteen years, why ain’t it working anymore?

  Let the grown-ups handle it.

  At least let the lawyers and the judges handle it.


  Welf wasn’t charged yet, might not ever be charged. Even if he was charged and found guilty, Welf’s connections could save him from the Pit, from real punishment. For people like Welf the world ain’t just fair, it’s weighed down by a stack of silver coins. Affluenza and all that. Mancer murders another mancer? Punishment. Murder enough mundanes, especially with the Mancy? Punishment. Oh, you’re Old Mancy? Well . . . maybe we’ll give you a ticket.

  No matter how corrupt the world is, Welf will still get expelled. Still be exiled from mancer society. Heinrich von Welf, the outcast of his line. Heir to the Welf Financial empire no more. Moira Welf’s protégée no more. Bonegrinder . . . only hidden, only clandestine, only the barest minimum to keep his sanity. The shame of it might drive him to commit suicide; don’t need no Anima Madness to help him along.

  Catherine would enjoy that.

  Jason was wrong. Ain’t enough to save Welf. Gotta punch the bully and make her pay. Gonna prove it was her. Last time I hit her hard enough she bled the first time in her life. Not enough. Here she comes again. This time I got to hit her so hard she never even thinks of doing it again.

  Catherine Hayes had messed with me and mine. Couldn’t let it stand.

  Welf ain’t ever been yours, but he’s a nice excuse with a cherry on top, ain’t he?

  Damn fucking right he is. I didn’t see it coming. I’m supposed to be the one sees it coming!

  Yeah, she knocked you around pretty good. First step: get out of the corner.

  Easy.

  I started by finding a nice flat wall.

  Then I smashed my forehead into it as hard as I could.

  [CLICK]

  “Mancy save me, the last thing I need today is to have to deal with your dumb ass! How did you possibly manage to bleed that much on a school day?”

  Hot tip, kiddies: if you’re ever looking for sympathy, don’t head to the Infirmary for it. Ain’t that kind of doctor runs the place. And don’t call her Doctor Strange cuz that’ll just piss her off extra. No sympathy. ‘Moron’ is about as affectionate as Miss Strange ever gets.

  Infirmary always reminded me of an ER ward more than a doctor’s office. Or a more sterile version of our communal dorm bedrooms. Got privacy curtains, got hospital beds. Outer edge of the room is lined with mysterious instruments, including Slush tanks of various sizes, doctor’s charts that included the dreaded eye test, and locked cabinets filled with happy-happy pills and other hardcore pharmaceuticals. There’s a few other rooms off of it, including an office for Strange and a bigger lockup with even more medical equipment, plus a couple rooms for anyone who has to stay long term.

  Slush is the miracle of the mancer world and it will heal just about anything outside of . . . ya know, falling off a building. Or being lit on fire by an ex-girlfriend. Ass catching on fire, the flu, or even a broken arm, most stays in the Infirmary were measured in hours, not days, and never weeks. Even the Hillbilly Crabs Epidemic got conquered in about three days.

  Yes, yes, my fault. But to be fair, Naomi helped and we never said we were exclusive, did we? Also, I know Naomi is a floromancer and I should have expected some bush, but no way I could’ve expected the seventies pornstar bush that girl was rocking. Jesus has fucked barnyard animals that have less pubic hair than that girl does. Of course the crabs multiplied once they found that place, it was like their Garden of Eden.

  . . . What?

  Fine.

  All my fault for bumping uglies with the hillbilly in the first place. Ya happy?

  Right.

  Where was I?

  Oh yeah.

  The Infirmary of the present, not the one curing Hillbilly Crabs.

  Dead Leo.

  Victim Number Splat.

  Happy Catherine Hayes.

  Bloody King Henry searching for some answers.

  Strange grabbed my arm and yanked me towards a hospital bed. Her grip was so firm that it didn’t feel like a hand but a claw. Not much plumpness to Miss Strange. No niceness, no motherly concern, only a need to get you well and out of her Infirmary. She probably cared . . . very deep down. Maybe. Throwing an orange at you for vitamin C was about as doting as she got. Sometimes she doesn’t even hit you in the head when she throws it at you.

  There were other hydromancers inside, not just students, but the nurses who worked with Strange. Sixteen-hundred kids need a significant amount of medical care year round, even when we have Slush as a cure-all. Teachers and staff too . . . was in here getting a couple stitches once—can’t remember what for—and I watched Strange reattach the tip of a finger that a gardener had cut off. Lot less entertaining that I’d hoped it would be. Little bit of hydro-anima, little bit of Slush, and good as new.

  No idea if the ESLED agents and Recruiters stationed at the Asylum come to see her too, never seen them in the Infirmary. There was probably another medical area deep in the Admin basement where students ain’t allowed to go. Made sense, right? More than just the Learning Council or the Holding Room down there, so why not stuff in a few more hydromancers to heal the wounded?

  No idea if Strange runs that one too.

  Do know she almost lives at the Infirmary.

  Another big empty house out there, just like Ceinwyn’s.

  Do know she always treats my wounds personally.

  Not affection, just protection.

  I’ve stolen too many of her supplies over the years for her to ever leave me alone, not unless she had me tied to one of the beds and maybe not even then.

  She poked at the bloody cut on my forehead.

  “Guess what? That. Fucking. Hurts,” I grunted.

  “Good!” she decided with vigor, pulling out a gauze pad to dab away the steadily flowing blood. “I notice you haven’t answered me, so it must have been a spectacularly stupid reason. Fighting again, were we?”

  “Wasn’t fighting,” I told the truth.

  “With Heinrich Welf again?” Strange guessed. “Or was it the other way this time? Was that your excuse? Protecting him from a Hex? Fists, they’re all you men think about . . . when you’re not thinking about the other thing.”

  “Thinking was my problem, doing too much of it and I ran right into a wall,” I told a little less truth this time. Don’t like lying about secrets or about my opinion, but never had a problem with fibbing my way through a scam.

  Especially when I was trying to smack a bully down.

  Strange did Leo’s autopsy, so I figured she was the best person to start with. Of course, my ass doesn’t get to enter the Infirmary without being injured, especially not after the Waffle Laxative Incident from Bi Winter War. Hence me busting up my own forehead with a nice gash. Harder than you’d think to purposely injure yourself. Even knowing there would be some Slush to make it all better.

  Slush ain’t perfect . . . still got a scar on my cheek from the Eriksons and the one on my brow from Catherine. Not that I’d gone to Strange right after Catherine sliced me. Just sat there on that bench, looking over my work, that bubbling, gushing shine to how wonderful the Three Queens are. Enjoyed every moment, bleeding or not. Enjoying some victory and processing the fact she’s Welf older sister.

  Tried not to think about it too much.

  Freaked me out.

  Know it will freak him out.

  And Vicky . . .

  Should find some time to check in on her.

  Didn’t go right into my reason for the Infirmary visit, since I didn’t want Strange to get suspicious. More suspicious, she was always a little suspicious around me. “A wall,” she mumbled as she discarded the bloody gauze. “One would think after yesterday you would know better than to hit immovable objects at high speeds.”

  “You’re the one always saying I never learn.”

  “You don’t,” she complained, “none of you do.” Out came more medical supplies from a drawer, including a pen flashlight. “Did you pass out?”

  “Nah, just a little dizzy for a few seconds. Looks worse than it feels,” I got all manly on her.

>   “Uhuh.” Her fingers found my chin and my head got led about to check for a concussion. “Well, your eyes are responding and you seem as big of a moron as always, so I’d say you’ve escaped serious injury yet again. I’ll wash the wound, dab on some salve and you’ll be as good as I can make you in ten minutes.”

  “Good, wouldn’t want to have to put up with all your complaining for the rest of the day,” I returned to the truth. Any longer than ten minutes and she’d probably stick me with a Giant Fucking Needle to shut me up.

  Snorting over my bravado, she walked off to get the Slush, some sterile water, and maybe even a bandage. I used the free moment to give a glance about. Was a Tri boy in one of the hospital beds, holding his mouth. Cracked tooth? Ain’t a dentist at the Asylum. They use Slush on teeth too. You don’t even want to know . . . basically I was lucky that he wasn’t screaming. Even magic ain’t painless, kiddies. Think about that next time you chew on a piece of saltwater taffy your mommy sent ya.

  Others beside him, some not even in the beds. Quad Intra girl having an eye test done and looking very unhappy about the fact she might need glasses. A Blackjack picking up a new inhaler; asthma cares not about good or evil, only wheezing. Couple nurses already dishing out pills for the kids who would need to take them with dinner.

  Plenty busy, just not distracted enough for me to sneak into Strange’s office and do a peek through her files. Probably a good thing, might find nude photos from her student days and have to cut my eyeballs out. Then she’d just grow them right back with Slush . . .

  Don’t actually know if you can grow eyeballs back with Slush.

  Maybe with hydromancer healing conjurations. Never have been sure how those work. Like Makayla said, I guess they only teach them to the graduate-students and there’s only three of those on campus. None of them are my fans at the moment, not even Sabine I’m guessing. Could steal some of their books from the Ultra Library, might have a bit there.

  Did steal them later in the year.

  Didn’t have anything useful to me.

  Hydro-anima is pretty heavy, almost as heavy as geo-anima, but them books start talking about placidity and stillness or bubbling like a brook and fuck if I know what they mean. Maybe if they started talking Tsunami I’d have a connection.