One of the clumps of devilwheat had landed nearby me. I run my finger over it, and it sticks to my skin. It’s hot enough to be slightly unpleasant. The burning sensation disappears as I put the devilwheat in my mouth. It tastes good enough, but I have no wish to eat more unless I know it is pure.
I swallow it, and my stomach rumbles, begging for more. “Is this polluted?”
He shakes his head. “No corpsedust. Not in this batch, at any rate. I boiled off the water and recaptured the steam. They let me light fires still, though it’s illegal in the rest of the city, because I’m the one who gathers up the bodies, you see. I only kill the ones that have rotted all the way through. Sometimes, if I didn’t like the person, I get ‘em a little early. Sometimes. It’s the only pure water you’ll find outside of the palace, mind you. The Prince still lights fires too, though the Devil may stop allowing it. Soon enough, only the Devil’s people will have fresh water to drink.”
He turns away from me. Tick tick tat. Tick tick tat.
“And the palace, is the Devil in the palace?” I ask.
He cackles, still stirring. “No, son. The Prince is in the palace. Such a fool. When the Devil came he promised the Prince a place of eternal solitude. A place safer than even the Heart of Maylay Beighlay. They were going to dig out the Core and then seal themselves in so that no other demon could find them. But the longer the Devil stayed, the darker things got for the rest of us. Even the Prince, he’s got the rot. Oh, it’s from wightdust, not corpsedust, but it’s not any better if you ask me. Even now, the Prince’s eyes have almost gone black. I don’t think the Devil ever had any intention of building that place of solitude, if you ask me.”
Tick tick tat. Tick tick tat.
The pot comes to a boil. He lets it froth for a moment before picking it up off of the stove. He finds a stone bowl and spoons some of the devilwheat into it.
“Can you pay for this?” he asks as he sets it down beside me.
I put a 9mm bullet on the counter and spin it. He slams his hand down on the bullet, stopping its spin. “Hmm. Not many people have bullets around here anymore. I’ll owe you a couple of meals. I’m an honest man. I won’t be overcharging you.”
He slips the bullet into his pocket.
He’s given me no utensils, so I spoon up the devilwheat with my fingers like an infidel. It’s warm, and he had sweetened it with something—perhaps sinfruit. It almost reminds me of oatmeal. I eat it slowly, but without interruption. The warmth of the substance spreads to my belly. I wipe the bowl clean with my fingers and place them in my mouth, sucking the last of the sugary devilwheat away.
He leans over the bar and stares at me intently with his beady, brown eyes. “Now go,” his voice is raspy and earnest. “Leave this place, before it does to you what it’s done to me. Not even a rat deserves this.”
I meet his gaze, and he flinches, looking down.
“The Devil,” I ask, “where is he?”
His eyes are still downcast. “The Core. He has miners, untouched by the rot, working in the Core. I think what they’re doing is making the lights go out. That’s where he promised he’d make a safe haven for the Prince. He promised us all this, but all we got was darkness.”
I lean across the bar too, so that I’m only inches away from him. He backs off a little, intimidated. “Now listen to me very carefully,” I say. “When the Devil first came, did he have a child with him?”
The beady eyes look back up at me. There’s something in them. Maybe hope. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It was two years ago when he first arrived. He worked from the shadows. I don’t know what allies he gained before he arrived and which ones he gained after. But I do know that he came with a woman. A red haired woman.”
Myla. I feel the back of my neck flush with heat. I’m going to find her. I’m going to kill her for what she did to us. To me and my son. I still can’t quite believe she’d done it. I knew we were going wrong, but I never thought we were going that wrong.
The old man’s eyes are wide. He must be able to sense the intensity of my emotions. I’ve got a pretty damn good poker face most of the time, but Myla has gotten under my skin.
“So the Prince is in league with the Devil still?” I ask.
He nods. “Still, though I know he’s grown to regret it. He’s started to push back, to try and ignore some of the Devil’s orders. It’s too late though, and he won’t get away with it for long. The Devil will do away with him soon. He doesn’t need the Prince anymore, and it’s not like there are a whole lot of guards left at the palace.”
I make sure to keep my face emotionless. If anyone comes to ask this man about me, he needs to think of me as a rat. As a man who’s looking to work with the Devil.
I put my backpack on the bar. “You have a place I can stay the night?”
He nods. “Your bullet will cover it.”
“Put my pack in the room. If I suspect you’ve gone through it, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m an honorable man.”
I nod and leave, feeling lighter. The Old Lady is holstered in the pack, but I don’t think I’ll need her yet. The hinges squeak as I open the door. I hear the man moving, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to see him lugging my pack across the room to the stairs. I close the door behind me and head for the palace.
The palace towers above me. Its walls are covered in some sort of white stucco-like substance. Now that I’m this close, I can tell that the minarets at the top of the towers have been painted to achieve their current white color. The central minaret, larger than the four surrounding ones, has cracks running through its painted exterior, revealing the bronze color of the building beneath. The light of the Heart chamber flickers a bit as I approach.
The main set of doors is no wider than six feet, but it is very tall, running nearly fifty feet up the front of the palace. The doors are plated in gold, and there isn’t an inch up their entire lengths that hasn’t been inlaid with some Coptic design.
Two men, armed with assault rifles, stand before the doors. They’ve got the rot, but nowhere near as bad as the people I’d seen by the well.
One, his right eye so swollen and pus-filled that it appears to be sealed shut, speaks loudly to his skinny friend as I approach. “They letting rats walk the streets these days?”
His friend lets out a high pitched giggle. “Rats,” the man repeats.
Fuckers.
It is all I can do to stay silent. There are a lot of things I hate in this world, but I don’t hate anything as much as I hate stupid. Still, this interaction has to go smoothly. I can’t afford a conflict right now. I have to say something that will make them think, that will take them out of the mind frame of being bullies.
I try to keep my face calm as I walk closer. The skinny one has a sidearm he keeps in a policeman’s holster, complete with a safety latch to make sure no one can draw his gun but him.
“What?” I ask, stopping right before them. “Don’t remember me?”
The big one narrows his good eye as he regards me. It’s been years since I’ve been to Maylay Beighlay, and even then I wasn’t very close to the Heart, so I’d be real surprised if he remembers me at all—but I don’t give a damn if he recognizes me. I just want him to start thinking.
“Damn,” says the skinny one, “you are one fresh motherfucker. How long since your last dusting? Probably fiending for some like nobody’s business.”
The single narrowed eye opens back up. “You ain’t getting none from us. Don’t care who you are.”
“No dust for me, please,” I answer. “I’m here for the cheese.”
They look at me dully for a moment.
The skinny one gives out his high pitched laugh. “Get it, cheese!” He nudges the big one in the gut. “‘Cause we called him a rat.”
The big one rubs his bad eye with his fist. His knuckles come away with some yellow gunk on them. He shakes it off of his hand. The hint of a bloodshot eye peeks out from behind the swollen flesh.
/> Bile rises in the back of my throat. I swallow it down. I’m getting damn sick of this city. Worst thing is, if I can’t get my boy quickly, it’ll only be a couple of days before I’m rotting right next to these people.
“This place is closing down,” the big one says. “We ain’t accepting new people. You’d better move on.” His swollen eye twitches. “Ain’t no cheese for you here. Get me?”
I look all along the front of the palace. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. I consider putting these people out of their misery.
“I’m here to see the Prince,” I tell them.
“Only way to see the Prince is through me,” the big one says.
The skinny one slings his assault rifle behind his back. His right hand drops to his pistol in its cop holster. Maybe he doesn’t have bullets for the rifle.
Well, I did try to be nice.
“You got something in your eye,” I tell the big one, pointing to the swollen monstrosity on his face.
He puts his hand up to it reflexively. I hit him full on with a straight right, knocking his head back into the door. Pus and blood spurt from the eye. I turn to the skinny one as his friend crumples. He tries to draw his gun, but I put my hand on his safety latch.
I pull my 9mm and shove it in his rotten face, pushing him back into the building. His breath is nearly strong enough to turn me into a corpse.
“Are weapons allowed in the palace?” I ask him.
His eyes widen. He’s shaking with fear. “What?”
“In the palace. Can I take my gun into the palace?”
“No. Prince don’t allow it.” His voice waivers as he speaks.
I pull out my magazine and clear the chamber before handing over my pistol. “I expect that back.” I slide the chamber’s bullet back into my magazine and shove the mag into my back pocket—just a little below the .22 I’ve got strapped in the small of my back.
Surprised that I would give up my weapon, he nods dumbly and awkwardly shoves the pistol into his belt. I’d never actually give him my last gun, but he’s either too dumb or too apathetic to give me a pat down. With shaky hands he fumbles with his keys. He gets them in the lock, but the palace doors are unlocked anyway. It takes him some effort to open the giant door, and even then he doesn’t open it any farther than is necessary for us to fit through.
From this angle I can tell that the back of his sweaty, olive green shirt is riddled with holes.
He slides through the open door. “This way.”
The floors are made of a yellow stone that has been polished so perfectly you could mistake it for gold. Tapestries and paintings, each showing wear from corpsedust, line the white stucco-like walls. In between them at regularly spaced intervals are small pedestals with bits of statuary placed upon them. A woman is kneeling on the ground next to a wash bucket, scrubbing the floors. She’s all the way gone, a full on corpse. That happens sometimes. Usually they attack you, but every once and a while they just get caught up doing something more important.
The skinny man leads me past her, pointing to some of the tapestries on the wall and explaining their details in his high pitched voice. I’m a little bemused by his behavior. Maybe this sort of tour guide spiel is what he’d always given before Maylay Beighlay went dark, and he is just giving it again as some sort of sick tradition.
The halls of the palace are large, spacious, and full of small little seating areas adorned with dead flora.
He stops for a moment, looking at me. There’s sadness in the skinny man’s eyes.
“It used to be prettier,” he apologizes.
There is a heavy silence filled with all the things he must want to say to me. This was a shining palace, once. People filled the halls with laughter and chatter. This was a place that resisted Hell, that could provide respite for a wayward soul. Maybe he wanted to say that he didn’t know where it went wrong. That it wasn’t his fault, he just followed orders. He must have been a good man once, to have gotten a job as a guard. There was probably a woman who was proud of him. There might have even been a child who could brag to his friends that his father worked in the Heart.
For all I know, I killed that child on my way in.
“I know,” I tell him.
He waits just a moment longer and then continues. A potted tree, long dead, catches his olive green shirt with one of its branches. It snaps, sending crumpled leaves falling to the ground in a flurry. They crunch under my feet as I follow him.
“Mary will be mad,” he’s saying, “but don’t worry, she’ll clean it up.”
His lonely voice prattles on, telling me senseless details about what noble provided what art piece. About how proud his Prince was to receive each gift. About the parties they used to have. “But they’re gone now, least a year,” is a constant refrain, ending most of the stories.
There is a still fountain with murky water. A statue stands amidst the muck, half covered in grime, her face stoic. She’s got a water jug on her shoulder, and doubtlessly in a brighter time, water issued from that jug. Her unpainted stone eyes follow my progress.
The sound of a tremendous door closing echoes through the halls.
“Don’t worry,” the skinny man squeaks. “He won’t come to get ya. He don’t hold grudges like that.”
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s talking about the big man. I shrug. Q had told me some Infidel Friend wisdom about that once. I can’t remember the quote verbatim, but it was something like “punch a bully and you’ll be friends for life.” It might not apply in this case, though. I’m pretty sure the idea didn’t cover sucker punches.
The squeaking of his voice continues. There is an open room ahead, covered in plush furniture and decayed pillows. It’s filled with women. They all have the rot, some so badly I wonder if they are all the way gone, but the prodigious application of powder and other make-up hides the worst of their blemishes. None of them are fully clad. Many have gauzy outfits, others are wearing bikini-like gold inlayed cloth, and a few are just nude. A thin, black haired woman is bent over, adjusting the strap on one of her high heels. As she stands up I notice that one of her areolas is peeling away.
For some reason the sight of the decaying harem hits me hard. It takes me a moment to figure out why. At first I believe it’s because what would have been once so tempting has been horribly corrupted, but then I realize what bothers me is my empathy for these women. Because the Devil has managed to ruin them just like he ruined Myla.
His high pitched voice is still talking. “If ever the Prince owes you a favor, he might let you spend an hour in there. It’s right close to heaven, you know? You can have as many as you can handle, except for Twiggy, of course. Only the Prince can sleep with Twiggy. So see that you’re polite. You can only have them by his will.”
One of the women is applying a grey colored putty to her face, filling in one of the necrotic sores in her cheek.
“My friend,” I say, “I’m not sure if there are words to express to you just how not tempted I am.”
He looks at me quizzically, as if he is choosing to believe he didn’t hear me correctly. “The Prince is right through here.”
His finger points at a pair of decorated golden doors. He fumbles with his keys again before remembering that this door is not locked either. With a sheepish smile, he shrugs, and cracks open the door.
He leans in and speaks. “Someone to see you, my Prince.”
I cannot hear the voice that responds, but the skinny man smiles and motions for me to enter the dim room beyond.
I do so.
The skinny man closes the door behind me.
I am greeted by the thin cut figure of a woman. There is something about her manner which immediately intrigues me. Her head is held high on an elegant neck, her eyes are large, blue, but they narrow while they study me. She has her hair cut short, not like a boy’s cut, but like a pixie’s. Her bony shoulders are square, and her arms and legs are so thin that she almost appears skeletal. Two small nipple
s poke forward through a sheer silk serape. I find the sight of them slightly arousing even though she is very flat chested.
That attraction begins to fade as I study her more closely. Like the harem girls, her face is powdered. Some of the powder clumps up over where it semi-successfully hides lesions, one over her right eye and another just below the point of her right sideburn. She looks smart, probably more street smart than anything else, but the look is tempered with a sort of blankness. She reminds me of one of those savant potheads from the old world. Her thinness would not have revolted me on its own, but I can see large grey veins rising up out of her limbs. Her fingers are long, delicate, and end in half rotten nails. The rot has her, but like the guards, not as badly as the people I saw on my way into Maylay Beighlay.
She smiles at me, and her pearly white teeth catch me a bit off guard. “The Prince will see you now.” Her voice is surprisingly deep.
In another time, in another place, and maybe if she wasn’t so riddled with corpsedust, I might have considered her as a possible replacement for Myla.
She turns and leads me forward. I can tell from her body type that she’s probably one of those girls whose legs run all the way up to her tailbone, but I wouldn’t know it from watching her. Her hips switch back and forth, making that silk serape look for all the world like it hid great treasures.
I take my eyes off her and walk in.
Sewn together dyitzu hides make up the carpet. The seams are so well hidden that I can hardly tell where the skin of one dyitzu ends and another begins. The color is a lot redder than the dyitzu I’ve seen, too. Perhaps they’d dyed it, or maybe they’d just found a ridiculously bright set of dyitzu devils to skin.
The stone beneath the carpet peeks out around the edges. It is just as well burnished as the floors in the rest of the palace, except here it is a platinum color rather than gold. A series of arches line the back wall in a half dome formation allowing light to filter in from the Heart chamber. The arches are filled with some kind of colored glass which mute the light and change it into a softer, whiter hue. Because all the illumination in this room comes from that direction, I can only see the Prince and his raised throne as a silhouette.
Affliction (Hellsong: Infidels: Cris Book 1) Page 3