Edwar watched as the three groups pounded away at one another, black gunsmoke hovering over them, blood and bodies falling. He was reminded of one of the nauseatingly brutal dogfights he had seen, the beasts gnawing at one another’s faces, throats, the blood splattering onto the arena floor. One Smith passed a device to the front of their line; another Smith bit the thing and tossed it at the Ugly. There was a terrible explosion, pieces of men flew up in a cloud of dust, then fell among the civilians.
Some Lawmen maneuvered around and behind the Smiths, but were caught unawares by a group of skulking reinforcements. They fired one into another, then ran about blindly, bumping into one another before withdrawing back to their original positions. The exchange went on for so long that Edwar began to think that they had forgotten him. Then he noticed that one Ugly, a man who seemed to have some authority, spoke into a radio without shouting. A gray-bearded Smith did the same. Finally the Smiths and Ugly regrouped and turned on the Lawmen. Some Ugly and Smiths broke away, moved down alleyways, and came up alongside the Lawmen. The Lawmen were drilled from three sides. One Lawman in a blood-spattered denim suit, with blood gushing from the side of his head, produced a loudspeaker and shouted, “Shit! God dammit!” and the Lawmen immediately abandoned their cover and fled the area.
The Ugly and the Smiths left their dead and ran to the center of the Square.
“Edwar Bruner!” shouted the Ugly who had been on the radio. “Edwar Bruner! I have been authorized by my master, Utrecht Sera, leader of the Right Leg of the Ugly, to negotiate a contract with you! Please take advantage of this cease-fire to come down and speak with us.”
* * *
If Edwar thought that all of life’s disappoints would make him strong enough for his later trials, he was grossly in error. His air ship, and the principles that made it work, the proper functioning of which had given him such joy, were now caressed by horrid, scarred hands. He met the great Utrecht Sera, a man whose face was scarred by fire beyond human recognition. He stayed in this monster’s grand villa with an entourage of Smith journeymen, and together they negotiated the gift of the air ship, and the principles by which it worked, so that it could be properly used by these earthbound devils.
The quarters he stayed in were very nice, and if he ever tried to leave, he would be killed.
He began to drink heavily during that time. He smashed many things in his room, including a vase that was several hundred years old, without any memory of doing so. The Ugly sent him a beautiful slave woman. She listened to him speak for half an hour. Convinced that his words were a new torture devised by her masters, she ran from the room screaming and begged to go through anything, anything but that.
He had told some lies to the Smiths who were sent to study his principles. When the new airship did not work properly, three giant Ugly came into his room, stripped him of his clothes, beat him with sticks and whips, then made him drink, and drink some more, since he liked to drink so damn much, and then left him when he was finally puking. Every man has his breaking point, he learned, and he had passed his up long, long ago.
Days passed. He caught a glimpse of several airships being built in the yard. They were all of different sizes. The Smiths were trying variations on his original theme.
Once he woke in the night and saw a man dressed entirely in black from head to foot. The man did not move. Edwar slowly pulled his blanket over his face. He knew the man was his executioner. Like a vulture, waiting.
Edwar became pathetic. The Ugly eventually left him unattended. They reasoned that he could find his own booze in the kitchen, so why should they keep getting it for him?
One day he walked into the yard, sipping a drink, and saw several large airships there. Many Ugly patrolled the grounds. He looked down at one of the deflated balloons. There, the purple skull-and-bones looked back at him.
He woke up one morning. The black man was back. “Tomorrow,” said the man. His voice was mechanical, distorted. “Tomorrow, I’m going to take you up in one of your wonderful machines. I’m going to give you a drink. And you will drink it. And it will be your last. But you will see the sky, one last time.”
“It was never about being in the air, you monster,” Edwar said miserably. “It was about rising.”
Later that day, an Ugly guard brought him a piece of paper, unfolded. The illiterate lout left him alone. The note read:
I love you. Tonight I’m in the high tower.
Please come see me Ed.
- Fortunata
Something desperate and hungry grew in Edwar’s mind, and he could not shake its power. The rush of the gamble, the kind where you have nothing but everything to lose. The sun set and he sat in darkness and he wondered how long he should wait. He went down to the kitchen and nodded to a cook with a collar about his neck. He stuffed a bag with meat, with bread, with coffee, with a skin of water and a skin of wine. He went outside. There were even more airships than before, and some of them were very large. He saw a Smith staring up at the stars. Edwar stood beside him, looked up, and saw a balloon descending. It set down and a Smith stepped out, glowing and happy.
“Set it down perfect, did you?” said the other. “My turn.”
“Mind if I join?” said Edwar.
The Smith said nothing, so Edwar tossed in the bag and climbed in after it. The Smith, old and wrinkled and with scraggly beard, worked at the air compressor and they rose swiftly.
Edwar put his hands around the man’s neck, squeezed hard, and the Smith fought back, but not hard enough, and the dead man fell and Edwar tugged the air-catch chutes, caught wind, and flew to the highest tower he could see. He saw no open windows, then saw a figure waving from the top. He felt his face stretch with a smile. He closed the air-catches and bounced the basket right off the tower. Moved around it, above it, then dropped a sand-bag on a rope down to the tower and climbed down easily.
Fortunata wore a glittering dress as bright as the sun, and her hair was down, and her face shone in the moonlight with a mask of tears.
“Baby,” he said, “I got your note!”
They heard cries from far below, then terrible, furious screaming. Fortunata wrapped her arms around him, kissed the back of his neck, again and again, and with his strong hands he pulled them both into the air, climbing the rope that seemed to hang loose in the sky itself. They fell laughing into the basket, and kissed and laughed over the sound of gunshots far below.
They took off. Edwar threw fire into the balloon, rose higher still, and maneuvered south.
“Where will we go, my love?” she whispered from across the basket.
“South, south, farther south,” he said, manic with joy. “Across the desert, through the demon lands. We’ll go to the Kingdom of Hargis, where there are no Ugly.”
They disappeared into the black of night. They sailed amidst islands of cloud shining by moonlight. The stars swam alongside them, the only creatures great enough to accompany them on their journey. Together they picked up the body of the dead Smith, tipped it over the lip of the basket, and dropped it down through the darkness toward the earth far below.
Chapter Seven
Information Wars
Today I’m going to see the Prime Minister. I can’t wait!
-from Rachek’s Red Diary
Wodan woke on the last day of his twentieth year. His room was pale and blue, comforting. He had a long to-do list and was determined to use the entire day to squeeze out any information he could. He was determined to find the key piece of data that would put everything into place.
Before he rose, he could feel the remnants of a dream. In the dream, he saw a map, the same map that had been left with him when he was exiled. The wasteland, the valley, the river that led to Pontius, Haven so far away – he saw the details glowing in neon-rich detail. He remembered the childishness of the thing, how distances were shrunk or exaggerated, and how the thing was imbued with the enigma of why it existed in the first place.
Just as the dream slipped aw
ay, he saw the cave in the valley. He had suppressed the memory for a long time, but it bubbled up from below when he slept. He remembered terror, and riddles, and images of Didi hobbling about and investigating the cave many years before. And there was another man, too, a cruel looking white-haired man in scientific attire similar to Didi’s. Just as Wodan wondered why both of them would have been trapped in the same vault, the memory slipped away once again.
Wodan forced himself out of his comfortable bed. He was determined to make the day matter.
* * *
Prime Minister Aegis Vachs and Secundus of the Guard Shem Udo sat in Vachs’s study. His bookshelves were lined with hardcovers, histories of Haven, encyclopedias, political treatises, many of them hundreds of years old. The lights were dim, and a recording of stringed instruments played in the background. Both men were drinking fine brandy; while Vachs took small sips and cast his eyes about as if considering the drink’s every nuance, Udo mechanically raised his glass and drank without expression, as regular as an automaton.
“Fine, fine make on this stuff, right?” said Vachs, flicking his glass with a forefinger. “Comes from one of those old fashioned spirit makers, an operation in the east end.”
“Hm!” said Udo.
“Fine stuff. Helped them out of a bit of a fix, seems some upstarts were really putting them in a pinch. They’ve sent me a case of this stuff every Yuletide since.”
“Well,” said Udo.
“Just a good reminder,” said Vachs, “of how things get done.”
“Yeah,” said Udo, nodding and casting his gaze around the room.
“So my wife,” Vachs said suddenly. Udo’s ears burned deep red.
“Chipper?” he said, as if he were completely unfamiliar with the woman.
“So my wife,” said Vachs. “She’s been very, very busy with the Ladies’ Decency Union. Shem, do you know about this crazed music the youth are listening to these days?”
“Nnn...” said Udo, shaking his head a little.
“It’s called heavy metal, if I’ve heard right. Just horrible stuff! Lyrics like you wouldn’t believe, and you can’t even hear them half the time. And people just pounding away on “instruments,” if you can call them that, like brazen junkies. And you should see the album cover someone showed me. There was a... gods, I can’t even describe it. So Chipper, she’s concerned about certain excesses that have been allowed to develop. And, you know, it’s a major concern...” He took a thoughtful sip, said, “With stuff like that going around, it’s no wonder people are so violent, so thoughtless!”
Udo had zoned out for a bit, but came back once he realized Vachs was finished. He nodded as he pulled a humongous cigar from his case. He did not chew on the thing, but rather suckled on the end of it.
“You’re a little worried about things, old friend,” said Vachs.
“Hnnnn-n-n,” Udo wheezed.
“Just a little longer, friend,” said Vachs. “Before you know it, Didi’s trial will be here and gone, and he’ll be living in comfortable retirement. And his little pea-pod pea, that lout who’s always given you so much trouble, he’s going to retire with him. Comfortable and forgotten, the both of them. And we’ll have our own boys in their place.”
“Mm, worried about his pup,” said Udo.
“Now why would you waste a word on him?” said Vachs. “We’ve use for that one yet!”
* * *
Wodan kept his long black cloak on in the hospital. He saw the doctors lurching ahead in their grim work, heard echoes of coughing and, in doorways cracked open, saw old people, feeble and limp, knees bent upwards and mouths hanging open.
Wodan entered a room. It was dim, and the figure in the bed had many machines, many wires, all about him. Wodan saw dark hair, stitches, a mound of bandages. There was a regular sound, an electronic bip... bip... bip...
Wodan stood over him. “Brad...” he said, and felt a black gloom spread over him. The youth he had led from the wasteland, the youth who had reminded him so much of his friend Marlon, was now laid up here, his body shattered. Wodan leaned on the bed railing, his throat constricting.
Suddenly the electronic heartbeat stopped, turned into a fatal beeeeeee and Wodan jerked backwards. Brad’s mouth fell open, slowly, his body tensed.
“Brad!” shouted Wodan. “Bra-a-ad!”
Brad convulsed once, then relaxed. Wodan could not think over the terrible digital death-note, his heart pounding in his ears.
“Help!” Wodan screamed. “Somebody!”
Brad’s head fell over, his tongue flopping out of his mouth. “I’m… dying...” he croaked.
“No! Don’t die!” said Wodan. “Brad, you - he-e-e-ey, wait a second...”
Brad leaped up, laughing maniacally, then grabbed Wodan’s arm and shook him. He pulled a bundle of wires from under the sheets, flicked a switch, and the lights came on.
“I had you good!” shouted Brad. “You putz, man!”
“You son of a gun!” Wodan laughed. “I wish you were dead, you punk!”
Brad leaned forward and the two hugged.
A nurse came in, said, “He’s been doing that to everyone that comes to see him. I’m surprised he still gets visitors.” She busied herself with fixing the connections Brad had unplugged.
“Yeah,” said Brad, “they was gonna take the heart machine away from me after I came out of it, but I begged ’em to let me keep it. Turn it off, though, willya?”
The nurse turned off the machine, winked at the two, then left.
“See her?” said Brad. “Me an’ her, you better believe we were gettin’ hot an’ heavy the other day.”
“You did not!” said Wodan.
“Alright, well, not yet, but it’s inevitable, man.”
Wodan studied Brad’s face patch.
“Man, they had to take an eye out,” said Brad. “Some buckshot got right in there. Can you believe that? But I’m gonna have some sweet scars once they get this thing off.”
The two joked and laughed for a while. Brad mentioned seeing Rachek on television, and the two talked about how incredibly hot she looked in Haven attire.
“You know it’s my birthday tomorrow?” said Wodan. “Gonna be twenty-one.”
“Gonna call you Ol’ Wrinkly Nuts, man! Time for a party, I say.”
“I look pretty grizzled, right?”
“A party, yea-a-ah. Maxil was in here an’ told me the city set us all up in one house. Ain’t seen it myself, but I’m outta here like tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I been ready to go, though, it’s boring as hell up in here. But anyway, I got this thing on my bed where I can talk to anyone, anywhere...”
“Telephone?”
“Yeah! So I’ll use that thing and talk to the others. To get things set up, man. We’re gonna have a party!”
* * *
Several Nights Ago.
Aegis Vachs sat with Rachek in Hello, I Think I Love You, one of Haven’s most exclusive restaurants. She wore an exquisite gown of maroon velvet that he had bought for her. Every man glanced in her direction whenever they could; all agreed that her shining, uneven teeth outshone the finest dinnerware that money could buy. Vachs blinked his giant black orbs tenderly towards her.
“Of all the regal affairs of state, my lady,” he said, “I think this evening with you has been the most wonderful duty ever required of my station. You are quite so lovely, my dear, that it makes me wonder what else the outside world has to offer our humble people!”
Rachek laughed brightly, said, “I’m glad to be here, too, Aegis. I’ve had such a time since I’ve been here.”
“The pleasure is Haven’s,” he said. “And mine.”
“Life here is... like a dream! I owe so much to... to him, for bringing me here.”
“To who?”
“To Wodi, of course!” she said, smiling, leaning forward.
Aegis caught a split-second glimpse of her cleavage, looked upwards, said, “Oh, yes...�
�
“You’ve gotten the chance to meet him, right?”
“Of course I’ve met him! We’re on very good terms. He’s going places, that one is.” It was then that Aegis remembered who she was talking about.
She leaned back and sighed. “He really is a hero. I never thought I... would ever...”
“But let us not forget to add,” said Vachs, “that to be a hero is a conditional thing, m’lady. Why, one man could seem quite unassuming his whole life. Then, on a day when others require him to rise to the challenge... the little man, timid else-when, could overcome anything!”
“You think?” she said. “Cause I never really saw anythin’ like that where I was from.”
“Times are different in our land, m’lady. Conditions, you see, are quite different. The state requires of its citizens that they, hmm, relax some of the more virile functions that individual members are known to express. From time to time. To give breathing room, as it were, to the rest of us. Do you like the ring?”
She held out her fingers. “I adore it! How it shines!”
“It’s just a little thing,” said Vachs. “A small gift from the people of Haven.”
* * *
The phone bleated, over and over. Agmar cursed, rose. He picked up the receiver and held it to his head upside down. He scrunched up his eyes and pushed his ear into the thing. “What?” he yelled. “What? Can’t hear... can’t... what? Who is this? Who? Grad? No, I don’t know a Grad. Sad? Not really, no. Iliad? Haven’t gotten around to reading that one yet. I’m sorry, I can’t hear you... I’m sorry, I can’t hear you! Goodbye! Good! Bye!”
Agmar hung up the thing and sighed from the nuisance of it all. He went back to his room, which was lit by a single yellow smudge of candlelight despite the electric light nearby. He saw the book in the corner. The thing that ate up his time, his energy, his mind. He picked it up. Heavy, with yellow pages full of handwriting, full of footnotes. And the pictures, small, disturbing, shapes of people, shapes of creatures. Alien. He felt the cover with his fingers as he read. Leathery, hard, brittle. No doubt it was made from the skin of a man who had died long ago.
Demonworld Book 2: The Pig Devils Page 11