by S. G. Night
When the dancing ended. Monger clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone!” he called. “I hope you are all enjoying your evening tonight. It has been a wonderful time with all of you…but soon, the real fun will start! Thanks to our good friend Brahn Martell, we have some rather interesting delights awaiting everyone downstairs. Rodgers, please show our guests…”
Nelle wasn’t paying attention as Monger proceeded to extend his invitation to the drug dens. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d caught a glimpse of Brahn conversing with an Imp-Demon in a corner of the ballroom. From the Demon’s shape and features, Nelle guessed it was Hikshaa, Monger’s servant. Brahn was whispering to him surreptitiously. Hikshaa gave him a dark look, then nodded, and moved off into the crowd, vanishing from sight.
The parade of nobles began to file toward the stairs. While Monger was preoccupied, Nelle reached out and grabbed Brahn’s elbow as he passed. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “You were supposed to have left after dinner!”
Brahn grinned evilly at her. “Oops,” he said. “Guess I forgot.”
Nelle’s eyes narrowed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Downstairs,” Brahn answered perplexedly, as though it should have been obvious. “To enjoy some of my product with my friends.”
“You are supposed to be back on the ship!”
Brahn’s face burned with triumph. The fear he’d worn over the last few days was gone now. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Here? Good luck with that.”
He jerked his arm away from her and descended the stairs. It occurred to Nelle then just how much of their plan hinged on Brahn’s cooperation. She was powerless to stop him…and he had all the leverage in the world over them.
She might not have had a markara, but the magic of her mind still worked perfectly. She reached out into the ether with her thoughts, searching around until she found a familiar presence.
Racath? She thought.
I’m here, came his telepathic reply.
I think Brahn’s gone rogue. I just saw him talking to Hikshaa, and now he’s heading downstairs for the drug party.
God damn it! It was Rachel’s voice this time. She’d been listening in. I knew it was a bad idea to let him live!
Where is Hikshaa now? Racath asked calmly.
I lost track of him, Nelle admitted.
Do you think Brahn told him about us?
He could have. What do we do?
There was silence for a moment, and then Racath said: We stick to the plan. Continue as before. If it becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it as necessary. We can worry about Brahn later.
“Are you alright, my dear?”
Monger’s voice shook Nelle out of her concentration. She turned her head and found the Demon looking at her curiously. But there was no true concern in his eyes.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she recovered quickly, brushing at a strand of errant hair. “Um…I was just thinking though…”
Monger’s eyebrow lifted. “Yes?”
“I was thinking…” she hedged, her voice curling upward. “I’m not particularly fond of crowds, you see. Perhaps…find somewhere quieter to celebrate? Somewhere more…private?”
She said the last word with emphasis. With suggestion. With honeysweet seduction that could have brought an angel to its knees — or make a Demon forget all about the delights of recreational head-wash and king dust.
The god of war showed his teeth in a wide, licentious smile. He grasped her by the hand and directed her toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
FIFTY
Godkiller
Rachel was stuck.
After waiting the full hour in the shed, she’d taken the same route Racath had used to the south-east wall of the mansion. The climb up the first four floors had been a cinch…but the fifth floor was a different story altogether.
There just weren’t enough handholds. At the moment, she was hanging by her fingertips by a three-centimeter lip in the stone. The only available handhold for her to move to next — a pair of protruding bricks — lay several feet above her head. Hanging by her fingertips, she couldn’t just reach up and grab the stones, and without a place to plant her feet, she didn’t have anything to push off.
And, to make matters worse, an Arkûl guard had meandered around the side of the house about thirty seconds earlier, apparently deciding to take a break from patrolling. He had leaned his back against the wall of the house — forty feet directly below the dangling she-Majiski. He didn’t show any sign of moving any time soon.
Her only option was telekinesis. If she timed it right, she could propel herself upward with just enough force to reach the handholds. But she wouldn’t be able to muffle the sound, and the Arkûl on the ground would undoubtedly feel the gust of air.
Some idle part of her mind wondered how long she could hang there before her fingertips gave out. Ten minutes, maybe. But the Arkûl didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Lazy bastard.
What time was it, now? Seven-thirty? Eight? No way it was eight-o’-clock already…
Rachel swore aloud. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time. She’d have to take her chances. Focusing, she flexed. Her Majiski muscles hard as bands of flexible steel, she yanked herself upward by her fingertips, flinging herself into the air. As her hands pointed downward, she let out a burst of force — just enough to lift her the last few feet. She grabbed the stones.
The sound of the flux of force was similar to the noise an air-filled object makes when it pops. The outward edges of its gust rustled the grass on the lawn below.
The Arkûl grunted and stepped away from the wall, befuddled. Rachel held her breath, flattening herself against the house. She didn’t move an inch, blending perfectly into the darkened wall.
The Arkûl looked around — squinted up at the wall…
Rachel held perfectly still, her heart storming in her ears….Come on…come on….
Eventually, the Arkûl grunted shirkishly. Rachel heard the faint clinking of armor as the guard shrugged to himself, picked up his pike, and, grumbling, shambled away.
Rachel’s sigh of relief sputtered out of her lips. Breathing rapidly in and out through her mouth, she shook herself turned her eyes upward again. The window was just a few feet higher, about three yards to her right. She spotted the next handhold — a pair of ornamental columns wrought into the side of the wall. There was an alcove between them just large enough for her to fit between.
She swung by her hands like a pendulum, back and forth, and then let go. Grabbing one of the pillars midflight, Rachel swung her legs around, and held herself suspended between the columns by pressing her feet and hands against the stone.
Slowly, Rachel shimmied herself up — left hand, right foot, right hand, left foot. Once she’d reached the top, the window sill was within easy reach. Well, easy reach for her. She jumped, and caught the sill. A chuckle murmured out from under her breath. Sweet success.
She lifted her face to peak through the glass into the well-lit hallway within. The Arkûl guards stood on the landing, their back to her. At the other end of the hall was the door to Monger’s chambers. Brilliant. She’d made it.
Reaching out with her thoughts, she found a familiar entity and called to it. Racath?
I’m here, he answered.
I’m in position.
Good. Racath said. Nelle’s on her way up.
——
The Baron Monger led Nelle by the hand, tugging her eagerly toward the stairs, past the broom cupboard near the staircase where Racath was hiding. They climbed the stairs together and passed between the duo of Arkûl guards on the landing. The watchmen stood at attention; the Baron ignored them — Nelle followed his example.
“Right this way,” Monger told her, gesturing at the door at the end of the hall.
Nelle spotted the square window in the wall. She couldn’t see through it, what with the glare of lamplight on her side of the glass, but she knew Rachel was on the other side, wa
iting for her. While Monger fished a key out of his pocket, Nelle made a casual move to adjust her hair. As she did so, she flicked the simple latch that held the window shut.
“Here we are,” Monger announced, unlocking the door and gesturing for her to enter.
Nelle stepped passed him, hips swaying, giving the Demon an impious look as she did so. Monger chuckled to himself, shutting the door and locking it.
I’m in, Nelle thought to Racath. Window’s unlocked.
Excellent, Racath answered as Nelle’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the broad, satin-sheeted bed, the vanity, dressing room, and the double glass doors that let out onto the balcony. Keep him stalled. We’ll be there before you know it.
“May I offer you a drink?” said Monger as he stepped over to the liquor cabinet by the door. “Perhaps…something a little stronger than wine?”
Nelle hesitated. She needed to keep as clear a head as she could, at least for the next hour or so. She usually didn’t drink, as a rule; when she was young, before the invasion, she’d discovered that she fell into the inebriated category of “stupid drunk”. She had steered clear of the stuff ever since, and her tolerance for alcohol was nearly non-existent. The few small sips of wine she’d obligatorily taken at dinner had been enough on their own to leave her buzzing.
But she had to keep him occupied somehow....
“I don’t know…” Nelle hummed, drawing the words out. “I’d love to, but…I’m afraid it’ll just go right to my head.”
What man wouldn’t love to hear that?
Monger grinned wolfishly and brought out two glasses and a crystal bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. “All the more reason to have one, then.”
Nelle returned his redolent smile. Whatever keeps him happy, she thought to herself. Whatever keeps him off me for the next five minutes….
——
Nelle’s voice echoed in Racath’s head. I’m in. Window’s unlocked.
Racath breathed out in relief. Excellent. Keep him stalled. We’ll be there before you know it.
He waited, watching the top of the stairs through the crack in the closet door. The two Arkûl guards were still there, standing watch, clearly bored.
Come on, he thought. Wait for it….
There was a soft snick. One Arkûl stumbled, his eyes going wide. His hands went to his throat, and he dropped his pike. He toppled, a steely throwing knife lodged in his neck. But before his body could the ground — and before his weapon could clatter on the stairs — he froze mid-fall, like an invisible rope was holding both him and his pike suspended.
The second Arkûl jumped backwards in alarm, rounding on his heel to face the hallway behind him. There was a whisper of moving air, and the Arkûl stiffened as his head suddenly twisted all the way around, like a pair of unseen hands had grabbed his cheeks and twisted. The Arkûl’s neck snapped. His body, too, bobbed in the air before it could land.
Racath moved, slipping out of the closet and slinking up the stairs. On the landing, he found Rachel, her hands held up. Ripples of telekinetic energy emanated from her palms, holding the Arkûl off the ground.
“Nice.”
“Thanks,” Rachel grunted, her face contorted with concentration. “Give me a hand? I’m losing my grip on the fat one.”
Racath helped her drag the Arkûl and their weapons back from the stairs, stuffing them into one of the hallway’s small, secluded alcoves.
“Two clean kills, and not a sound to speak of,” Racath whispered. “Damn impressive, Vaveran.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “Now let’s get you up there. The window is right over here.”
Racath climbed out the open window. It was a little small, but he eventually managed to squeeze through. Gripping the sill, he held himself out into the cold autumn air.
“Ready?” Rachel asked from inside the window.
Racath nodded.
Rachel half-closed her eyes and lifted her hands. A peculiar sensation enveloped Racath’s entire body. He felt his fingers come free of the windowsill. His stomach lurched, flipping in his gut, and etheria spiked into his veins. But instead of falling, he just floated in the air, bobbing slightly, like a buoy in the water.
“You okay?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah!” Racath gasped, breathless laughter bursting out of him. “This feels really weird, though! It’s like being in a big soap bubble or something.”
“Good,” Rachel said, her face expressionless as she focused. “I’m going to lift you now, so don’t panic. Once you’re out of my line of sight, you’ll have to guide me.”
Racath nodded again. “Go for it.”
Rachel levitated him skyward. Strangely, it didn’t feel like being lifted. It was like the world was moving downward, and he was remaining still. He rose up into the night, out of sight of the window, towards the roof.
How am I doing? Rachel asked through her thoughts.
Just fine, Racath answered. Almost there. About five feet higher, please.
The peculiar bubble of telekinesis lifted him higher above the walls of the house, and he could see the rooftop. The shape of the roof itself resembled a lengthy, three-dimensional trapezoid. The flat part of it was perhaps ten feet wide and forty feet long. The sheer sides were sloped downward at steep angles, so that rainwater could drain off the edge. The roofing was copper, making it appear like a giant ingot of metal.
That’s high enough, Racath told her. But I’m too far out. Bring me about ten feet forward.
He moved again, but not toward the building. Instead, his heart dropped into his stomach as he shot away from the roof.
No, no, no! Racath thought frantically, trying to suppress his audible yelp of surprise. Bloody piss, Rachel, I said forward!
That was forward! Rachel protested.
Racath made the mistake of looking down, and vertigo shook him as he saw the dark earth fifty feet below his boots. Maybe for you! he shot back, his limbs flailing awkwardly. But now I’m hovering five stories out over the lawn! God, that scared the piss out of —
Quit whining and just tell me what you want me to do!
Bring me twenty feet in the other direction, Racath answered, wiping sweat away from his face. Before someone sees me.
This time, he floated back toward the house. His feet dangled above the sloped edges of the roof for a moment.
A little further…he guided her.
His body edged forward.
Keep going…great! Now to the left a little — no, Rachel, my left! There we go. A little more …there! Drop me.
The bubble of force vanished, and Racath fell a few short inches onto the roof.
Made it, he told Rachel. He started toward the westward end of the roof — beneath which was Monger’s balcony.
Racath? came Nelle’s voice. Where are you?
I just landed, Racath told her. Just keep him busy for another thirty seconds and I’ll —
Racath was interrupted by a squeal of scraping metal and a heavy slamming sound from behind him. He whirled around, hands raised…
…and saw a tall, lanky, fiendishly misshapen figure silhouetted against the night. At the figure’s feet was a hatch, a trapdoor in the roof that it had clearly just emerged from. (In the back of his mind, Racath kicked himself — of course, there had to be some way to get onto the roof, a secret servant’s entrance of some kind. Notak must not have found it during his investigation.)
“Well, well, well…” the figure hissed rasping, masculine voice. “I honestly didn’t believe Brahn when told me that checking the roof would be to my immediate benefit.” He stepped forward, and Racath could see the bald, narrow head, and ugly, noseless face.
Racath realized his feet had begun backing him away from the Demon, like he was being magnetically repelled by dread.
Racath? Nelle answered. What’s wrong?
“I’d heard rumors of Majiski assassins on the loose.” As he spoke, the Demon’s black, forked tongue darted out over his mouthful of needle-sha
rp teeth, snakelike. “But I never really gave them any credence until now. Silly me.”
The claws on his six-fingered hands extended, sliding sickeningly out from his flesh until they were more than a foot long. The black talons on his swiveling, triangular feet scraped and screeched against the copper roofing.
Racath?
You’re going to have to keep him busy a little longer than we planned, Racath replied. It took an effort of will to stop himself backpedaling, and plant his feet.
Why? It was Rachel asking this time. What’s going on?
Racath looked straight into the approaching Demon’s eyes.
Trouble.
It was Hikshaa.
——
“I do believe…” the Baron intoned as he poured three fingers of brandy into each of the crystal glasses. “That a toast is in order.” He handed one of the drinks to Nelle.
She accepted it delicately on the tips of her fingers. “What are we drinking to?”
“To a marvelous evening,” Monger answered grandly, “Full of feast, merriment…and women in red satin dresses.” He touched his glass to hers briefly, his eyes lecherous. The ring of clinking crystal hung in the air.
“Hear hear,” Nelle purred, playing the part.
Monger raised his glass to her then drained it in a single gulp. Nelle took as miniscule a sip as she possibly could and fought to keep from grimacing: the brandy was strong enough to burn her tongue. How in God’s name did people drink this stuff?
Monger set his glass down on the bar. “Now…” he said, taking a leisurely step toward her. “Where were we…?”
Nelle’s stomach lurched. Racath? she called in her mind. Where are you?
I just landed, Racath replied. Keep him busy for another thirty seconds and I’ll —
Suddenly, Racath’s voice was cut short in her head. Where had he gone?
Monger came another step closer, extending his massive hand to touch her. She fought the urge to run. Racath? What’s going on?
There was a pause. No response came.
Racath?
You’re going to have to keep him busy a little longer than we planned…Racath finally answered.