City of Corpses: The Dark Avenger's Sidekick Book Two (Moth & Cobweb 5)

by John C. Wright

  He put his feet together and, with a cheer, made as if to slide down into her cleavage, like a child sledding down a hillock.

  She snatched him into her hand before he traveled an inch.

  Yumiko opened her palm and looked down. “Why me?”

  He stood up on her palm, brushing back his wild caveman hair with both hands. “Why you what?”

  “If you can arrange for Wilcolac to be called out of his office, and arrange for staff or guards or girls to be called in, then you arranged for your bottle to be opened by me. So why me?”

  “Who else? Should I trust a Cobweb? Boggy would keep me if she knew what I was and become the mistress of this place herself. The Cheyenne is a man-wolf. And the chorus girls? Nightingale would make me have her be the star of the show. Hala would be the winner at the gambling tables. Joan would have me free her husband. But none of them would dream of freeing me. They would wish for frivolities. Not you. You want no power over this house. No power over me. You keep your word like an elf.”

  She was not sure if that were a compliment. “So what is it exactly you are suggesting I wish for from you?”

  He said, “Open the window, and I will tell you.”

  “You’ll fly away.”

  “Not from one who knows my name. You see, in magic, if you owe someone, that someone will find you again. Not until I discharge my debt to you, and I am sure of getting free from you to a place you will not find me.”

  She opened the narrow glass door. The smell of the city, the mutter of traffic, came into the room.

  He said, “I can make the sleepless eyes watching you sleep. I can make the unwinking eyes wink. I can make it so that you can escape unobserved from this house and return to it, for as many hours as you need to do your errands beyond, or report to your master, or whatever else you’d like. And when you return here—if you return—no one will suspect a thing. Wilcolac, instead of any punishment, will send you out himself, with his blessing and an expense account. If that is your wish, then wish it.”

  “How can you do this?”

  “Magic! I am Night even though I am small. Wilcolac is Twilight. He has human blood in him! Do you think he is immune to the Black Spell? To all of the twists and turns and clinging tendrils of that mighty mesmeric spell? Speak! Is this your wish?”

  She hesitated, suspicious.

  “Or I could have you get a raise in wages instead or have whoever you like trip down the stairs and break a leg. Speak! And return my name to me.”

  “How can I return your name?”

  “How can a bride agree to be wed, or a judge condemn a prisoner to death, or a gambler accept a wager? Saying so makes it so.”

  “Very well. I wish the wish and return your name. Sly Jack Crookshank. It is yours again. Is there anything else, or is that enough?”

  He tossed back his head and laughed. “More than enough! And now I must away! A thousand evil pleasures before me lay! And every wicked deed I do, blame me as you will, the blame goes back to you!” He took the bone in his hand and touched it to his lips. And at once he was gone.

  Yumiko showed none of her disquiet on her face. Was this good fortune or bad? Had she been foolish to free him?

  No matter. She turned back to the desk. For a moment, she wondered if her eyes deceived her, for the tiny stains of spilled alcohol were gone, and all the tumblers put away. All was as before. More magic? Was this part of the spell Crookshank had promised?

  The unread letter was still on the desk. But as she was reaching for it, the fear touched her that, if Crookshank was no longer arranging business to keep Wilcolac away, the Magician might return at any moment. First things first.

  The little man inside the rye bottle was asleep. But what if something else were watching her?

  She stepped over to the mirror. Looking closely, she saw how the panels in the wall mirror were separated by the same strip of decorative wood as the back wall. It took only a moment to find a Mock Orange bloom fifty-eight inches above a decorative Acacia bloom on the floor. She touched both. One pane of the mirror moved back and silently slid aside.

  Inside was a dark corridor, carpeted with rubber mats, extending to the right. Large square panes of glass showed Wilcolac’s office beyond. The dark corridor ended in a stairwell landing. No one was there.

  She turned. The telephone was a multiple line office phone with a rotary and large, square push buttons. Perhaps it was fifty or sixty years old. She had no time to take it apart and do a thorough job. Instead, she unscrewed the earpiece from the handset and unscrewed the mouthpiece. Beyond one was a speaker; beyond the other, a mike. Both were connected to the thick cord by copper wires. Into the one cavity she put the bugging device she had been carrying all this time, disguised as her right earring. Her left earring she put in the other.

  She replaced the phone and was straightening up just as she heard the doorknob of the office rattle. To her horror, Yumiko realized she had not closed the panel in the wall mirror. She flipped one handed across the desk, somersaulted in midair, and landed before the open panel. Her toe and finger touched the spots on the wall and floor simultaneously. The glass began to slide shut.

  There was no time to return to the stool. The office door was already swinging open. So Yumiko merely raised her hands to her hair as if she were adjusting a stray strand or toying with her hat.

  In the mirror, she saw behind her that Wilcolac was locking the door. He was fumbling with his key. His image slid before her nose as the panel returned to its place. Behind her, she saw Wilcolac turning. His face lit up when catching the sight of a pretty girl primping in the mirror, without a care in the world.

  He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Well!” he called in a hearty voice. “Where were we?”

  She turned as if only now seeing him and smiled gracefully. “You had discovered something about me.”

  He bounded over to his chair, threw out his coat tails theatrically, and seated himself.

  Chapter Nine: The Red Lady

  1. Empowerment

  Wilcolac said, “What I found out is that Hala brought drinks up to Kudlac Obors and Licho Lampasma last night while they were standing watch outside the Royal Suite. A lager and a kvass. And you paid for them out of your own money. I know you don’t have much money because I know how much you have.”

  Yumiko, not sure what to say, and wondering if Sly Jack had actually cast a spell at all, crossed over to the stool, and seated herself again. She noticed Wilcolac’s gaze traveled up and down her silk stockings when she crossed her legs, and she realized she was getting very weary of being Mata Hari. Why couldn’t she just have a silent flying cape, hide in the shadows at night, and shoot evildoers from a safe distance, like an honest dark avenger?

  So she said, “Thank you, sir. I am happy to help.”

  He leaned back. “You do not see my point. That is very interesting. Very.”

  Yumiko smiled, waited, and tried to look pretty.

  “Here is my point.” Wilcolac templed his fingers. “It is an old trick, a hazing thing, they sometimes play on the new girl. She brings drinks that were not ordered, and then she gets stuck with the bill. Comes out of her pay. Teaches her to get the orders right. Everyone laughs at her. But you were not tricking Hala. You paid. Now, as best I can piece things together, that happened right before the second show. But Sir Garlot did not announce he was buying drinks for the house until after that show was over.”

  Yumiko wondered if the next thing out of his mouth was going to be the order for her to be dragged to the lower vaults, where Empousa waited. Or perhaps Crookshank’s spell had blinded him to the obvious, and she would suffer nothing worse than being sacked, which would cut off her hopes of finding Tom or Elfine.

  Not for the first time, she wished she had been born a man so that instead of this smiling and looking pretty, she could have grabbed Wilcolac by the collar, slammed the back of his head against the wall, and demanded answers. Maybe while threatening his face w
ith his own broken whiskey bottle or giving him a mean poke with his quill pen.

  She could think of nothing to say. So she put her palms on the sides of the stool on which she sat, which gave her shoulders a bit of a shrug, and she tilted her head, smiled some more, shifted her weight, and recrossed her legs. Satin whispered, silk rustled, and leather creaked when she moved. She did her very best to look innocent, sweet, alluring, and harmless.

  It must have worked because now a genial smile broke out on his features. “What I discovered is that you anticipate customer demand, you care about the morale of the staff, and, rarely enough, you are honest. You could have rooked Hala out of the drink money, and no one would be the wiser. And so, as a reward, you are to be empowered—yes, empowered, that is just the word—with an additional expansion to your duties. You are hereby appointed Special Executive Liaison of Visiting Dignitaries, Women’s Auxiliary Division.”

  This certainly sounded better than being dragged down to the lower vault. “A splendid title. I am surely unworthy of it. Ah… What does it mean?”

  “It means you are the new kid, and any annoying jobs that no one wants and anyone can do, you will do. You’ll take it and like it. Lay back and think of the Cobbler Club. You are volunteering!”

  “I am happy to volunteer. For what, please?”

  “Her ladyship Dame Malen Ruddgochren is a high-born and pure-bred elf of ancient lineage. She has rarely come into this hemisphere or seen the daylit mortal men at their toil, certainly not this century. She has taken it into her head to go to the market fair to shop.”

  “The market fair?”

  “So she calls our stores and shops. While she is here in New York, she wishes to shop. And she has straightly forbidden me to send any men along to escort her. The problem is that she does not know the way to Macy’s, Saks, or Bloomingdale’s. She has never been in a horseless carriage before, much less a limousine, and I am not sure she knows how to use a telephone to call our limo service. Or use an elevator. Or knows whether to walk out of a shop without paying. So you are to be her official assistant.”

  “Assistant?”

  “Carry her packages, say ‘yes, ma’am’ when she talks, that sort of thing. Make sure she does not walk into the men’s restroom. Make sure she does not sing a song to make police horses rear up on hind legs and dance. Make sure she does not kill any Daylight men. At least, not while any cameras are around. And everyone has cameras these days. Questions?”

  “I am not allowed to wear my Cobbler Costume outside…”

  “Go change!” said Wilcolac brusquely. “See Boggy, and she will give you a company credit card for your expense account. It will all go on Garlot’s tab anyway. If you make it back in time for the first evening show, fine. If not, no problem. Before curfew or after is equally fine. You will escort her back to her dwelling place and return here. You will get time and a half for this duty.”

  “Time and a half?”

  “Consider it hazardous duty pay. Now shake your pretty little fanny! One does not keep a high-born elfin lady waiting.” Wilcolac pushed a button on his desk which unlocked the door.

  Yumiko rose and curtseyed and took her leave.

  She realized what this meant. Crookshank had performed his promise to the letter. Once Lady Malen released her and sent her home, there would be no one around, no one to check on her or note her movements until she returned at whatever hour she chose.

  In her heart, she blessed Crookshank.

  2. Instructions

  Yumiko donned her kimono. This was for three reasons. First, that it was the nicest thing she owned. (The expensive American-style businesswoman suit Elfine had gotten for her was nicer, but it was stolen.) Second, any onlooker seeing the strange sight of a lady in medieval costume would surely think it less strange if the girl following her were also in costume. An onlooker might conclude they might be actresses on the way to a dress rehearsal or something. Third, it allowed her to visit the lockers, fold the red sash into an obi, and wear it so as to carry her suit, mask, gear, and weapons with her.

  After that, she dashed to Boggy’s and received the credit card she was to use on the elfin lady’s behalf.

  Boggy quickly recited a set of rules to follow: “Do not speak until spoken to. Answer direct questions directly, and do not be familiar. Say My Lady Malen when introduced and Ma’am thereafter. Walk two paces behind and to the left unless she indicates otherwise. Cover your mouth when you laugh. Do not raise your eyes to meet her eyes unless she asks a question. Speak no curse words…”

  These made sense to Yumiko and seemed to be common politeness. But then the rapidly listed instructions started to sound odd.

  “Say no blessing, not even if she sneezes. Never say the name of the Savior. If you must refer to a certain holiday in December, call it Yule or the Winter Holiday. If you go into a restaurant, do not touch the salt or refer to it. Do not touch her with anything made of cold, hammered iron or let her come in contact with such material. Do not allow any crows or birds of ill omen to land on her. If they try, shoo them away. Do not let her come in contact with broom, lupine, or gorse, peony seeds, or freshly baked bread…”

  There was more. Yumiko fretted she might not remember it all.

  “…don’t let her kill any mortal men. And don’t keep her waiting!”

  Yumiko took the elevator up to the top floor, where the Royal Suite was. The carpeting in the atrium was green and gold. The electric lights had been switched off, and candles in white and citrine glass holders twinkled instead. Only two doors opened from the atrium, one into the service stairs and the other into the suite. There was no corridor on this floor as the entire floor was taken up with the suite.

  There was no number on the door, but a small brass plaque bearing an R under a crown. One of the hurried instructions given her was that she was not supposed to knock but should wait for the lady’s servant at the door, a footman, to knock for her and to introduce her to the lady. Once the lady accepted her, and not before, she was to enter and leave unobtrusively, without knocking.

  However, there was no footman here. Yumiko narrowed her eyes at the stubbornly footmanless door. She was not to keep the lady waiting but was not allowed to knock until she was introduced and accepted, but neither was she allowed to enter without knocking.

  She put her ear to the door, but no noise penetrated. There were no mirrors in the atrium, and so she had no one to talk to about her decision. Finally, she decided that the lady might be offended at the intrusion, but would at least know Yumiko was present, if she entered uninvited. One the other hand, if the lady were offended by being kept waiting, the lady would have no way of knowing Yumiko was standing silently outside.

  She twisted the knob. It was unlocked. In she slipped.

  3. Royal Suite

  Before her was a sitting room, luxuriously appointed. Gold furnishings on squat massive legs stood on a plush carpet of black. A table whose top was a single immense geode of polished quartz was midmost. Tapestries embroidered with hunting scenes hung from the walls, hiding whatever the original décor had been. There was a large archway to the left, framed by two marble pillars leading into other rooms in the suite. Facing her were French doors leading to a tiny, well-kept rooftop garden looking down on the avenue. A second archway, framed by two wooden pillars, to the left opened up onto a large hall with a stone floor, lit by a walk-in fireplace.

  Before the huge fireplace was a chair of ivory, sitting in a bright circle shed by a spotlight directly above. Here sat a red-haired woman in scarlet finery trimmed with ermine and adorned with emeralds, staring into the fire. Her skirts reached to her feet. Her ornate bodice left her shoulders bare. She wore a snood into which her braided hair was gathered. Atop this was a tiny red cap, smaller than a French beret. At her feet were a knife and also a silver platter on which many bones were piled. This was the same woman, unusually beautiful with skin unusually pale, whom Yumiko had seen last night with Garlot: Dame Malen Ruddgochren.
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  Yumiko took a soft footstep toward the figure, wondering whether she should clear her throat. The elfin lady seemed to be asleep even though her eyes were open.

  Yumiko took another step, and a strange, dreamlike sensation crawled over her. A pressure was in her nose and ears and behind her eyes. Nothing in the room changed shape, but Yumiko suddenly saw the scene anew.

  First, the light shining through the French Doors was the dim pink of early dawn, not the bright light Yumiko had just seen through the windows in Wilcolac’s office on this same side of the building.

  Second, the pillars to either side of the second archway were not wood. There were two mossy oak trees growing here with thick roots, rugged bark, and twisted branches. Their roots penetrated the floorboards, and their crowns reached higher than normal perspective could explain, as if a thirty-foot tree was beneath a twelve-foot-high roof. The arch was formed by two limbs growing together.

  The stone-floored hall beyond the arch, Yumiko now realized, was larger than it seemed. It was vast. It was too large to be in this hotel. There were an encircling balcony and buttresses reaching to a vaulted ceiling that would have extended beyond the hotel roof. It would have stretched out over the avenue had it been real. She realized she was looking into something like a dream. But it was a dream she was seeing with her eyes open.

  She took a third step. The sensation of being trapped in a dream grew more powerful.

  Yumiko saw more details: The flames in the fireplace were not flickering and moving as fire on earth would burn. The tongues of yellow and red waved languidly, hypnotically, like the swaying of seaweed in a current, and the sparks hung in the air, almost motionless, and neither flew nor winked out.

  The circle of light in which the lady sat was shed by a white candle that hung unsupported in midair above her head, in blithe contempt for the laws of gravity.