by B. V. Larson
It wasn’t just bullshit. Rostok’s question had made me think about my motivations directly, and I’d realized it was personal now.
“Ah! Of course! The protective instincts of the male. I had almost forgotten about such motivations. All is clear now, thank you.”
He went to a wall on the far side of the room. There, he rummaged. I heard a click, then another one. I thought that he was opening unseen cabinets and withdrawing objects. At length, he returned to me and handed me something. It was round, soft, and cold to the touch.
“What’s this?” I said, faintly disgusted by the feel of it. Whatever it was, it felt slimy. It filled my palm with a dead, fleshy weight.
“That is the liver,” he said, as if this explained everything.
“What?” I demanded, almost dropping the mess in my palm onto his carpet.
“Have you not heard of it? I had believed Gilling or McKesson would have whispered about its properties by now. The liver is a weapon. It can poison anything it touches.”
“Um,” I said with my lips curling, “then why am I holding it?”
“When I gave it to you, I did not wish your death, so the artifact remained harmless.”
“Okay, this is what you have for me? I’d rather work with the little yellow alarm clock. I’d rather summon a new lava monster to do battle on my behalf.”
“The creature you face is too great for that, too powerful. It can’t be bested by a something as small as a lava-slug. To burn one part of the body at a time—the task would be futile.”
I sat there holding a piece of liver in the dark. There were so many things about this situation that made me unhappy, I almost didn’t know what to say.
“How do I use it?” I asked finally.
“You must press it against the victim. Venom will be injected through any flesh. That is the only way, I think.”
“Why not a flamethrower?”
“You could not kill a creature so massive with such a device. With normal weaponry—I don’t know. It would require something like those atomic bombs the locals were enamored with.”
“Poison is better than flame?”
“Is poison so strange a choice? You are a tiny being in relation to the Beast. Think about the smallest of deadly creatures. What do they always use as their weapon? Venom, of course. Poisons are great equalizers. A spider can bring down an enemy a thousand times its weight.”
I remained unconvinced, and the object itself was disgusting. It wasn’t warming up in my hand, either. It stayed cool. I suspected it maintained the temperature it had been when it was transformed into an object. If I held it long enough, it might numb my hand by leeching away all the warmth of my blood.
“Will it go through a thick hide? Or clothing?”
“Yes, but not metal or wood.”
“What kind of creature is this organ from?”
“None know for certain. It is like your alien finger. It remains immutable all these long years later. We can’t take a sample and test the DNA, because a needle would not penetrate the flesh. I would never allow a scientist to touch it in any case.”
I was startled to hear he knew of the alien finger that formed a talisman around my neck. I thought for a few seconds about asking exactly how Rostok knew about my talisman. I opened my mouth but reconsidered. I decided not to say anything about the finger. After all, he might not know what my talisman did. I had a hint from him that suggested this: he’d indicated the poison hadn’t affected me because he hadn’t willed it to do so. If he knew my object protected me against attacks by other objects, then he would not have suggested I could be poisoned by it. I surmised that he knew of my talisman—but not necessarily what its function was. I decided to keep it that way.
“So…it could be a human liver?” I said, disgusted.
“Unlikely. There is too little mass. I expect it came from a hare, or a perhaps a coyote. Really, it does not matter.”
How in the hell had a hare’s liver become an object? I thought, but I decided not to ask about that.
“Just one more thing,” I said. “Could you give me something to carry this in?”
I asked for a room at Rostok’s hotel, and he grudgingly made a call to the front desk. I went downstairs and the staff provided me with a key. They didn’t even ask for my ID, much less a credit card. They looked at me curiously but politely.
Ten minutes later I came out of the shower and raided the minibar. It was a familiar experience, but it was even sweeter knowing that the bill was taken care of. I ordered orange juice for a mixer, and two additional little vodka bottles. Except for the five-dollar tip, it was all on the house. I thought it was the least Rostok could do, after all the abuse I’d suffered in recent days on his behalf.
A minute or two after the bellhop had left, there came another tap at my door. I frowned.
“What is it?” I asked loudly through the door.
“Room service.”
A chill ran through me, as my room service order was already in my hands. I didn’t look through the peephole—that might have been suicide. Instead, I threw myself to one side, into the bathroom. It was possible I was overreacting, but after several attempts on my life over recent days, I wasn’t in the mood to take any new chances.
I berated myself for not having replaced my pistol yet. It wouldn’t have done any good against the Beast, but it worked fine when battling Meng’s mindless dupes.
“Room service!” Tap, tap, tap.
Moving as fast and quietly as I could, I left the bathroom. I was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans. I didn’t have time to get fully dressed. I grabbed my objects instead, hanging the finger around my neck, putting the sunglasses on my head, and shoving the photo into my back pocket. I’d showered with the ring on.
I thought about the fight that might be in my immediate future, and didn’t like my odds. Still, standing around waiting until some assassin forced the door wasn’t going to do me any good.
I looked around wildly and spied the blowing curtains. There wasn’t any choice, really. These rooms had balconies, and I was unusually experienced with them. I didn’t relish jumping to another balcony, but I was unarmed and willing to try it. I put a hand on the sliding glass door and found it was locked somehow. I didn’t have time to feel around for the lock. I put on my sunglasses and forced it open. The lock made a funny sound, and I knew that when the metal turned back to normal, it would never quite work right again.
Tap, tap, tap. “Come on, Draith.”
That voice…I paused.
“McKesson?” I called out. One bare foot rested on the balcony.
“Just open the damned door.”
“Fuck you!” I shouted back. I retracted my foot and slammed the slider. I found my abandoned drink in front of the TV. I poured in more vodka and took a swallow. It burned going down.
“Look, I know you might have some hard feelings,” McKesson said through the door. “I’ve come to explain.”
I laughed bitterly. “Let me guess, you need me again. No chance, man. You left us to fry us on that rock. I’m not buying anything you say.”
“I could force this door. I’ve got the passkey.”
I finished my drink in two more gulps, and picked up a cloth sack that was lying on the top of the dresser. I reached inside, my lip curling. I pulled out the cold lump of liver and held it in my fist. It was small enough to fit inside my hand with only reddish-brown bits squishing out between my fingers.
I walked to the door and threw it open. McKesson stood there, surprised. He had a cardkey in his hand. He put it away and reached into his jacket for his gun, but halted when he realized I was shirtless and apparently unarmed.
I glared at him, and he relaxed. The left side of his mouth twitched upward a fraction.
“Hey, you look pretty good. I’m glad—”
“You coming in or what?” I asked.
His eyes checked me for weapons again. I had each hand down to my side, the lump of
liver cooling the fingers of my right hand. I tried not to fidget with it, but it was difficult.
“Sure,” he said uncertainly. He took his hand back out of his jacket and walked past me.
I checked the hallway, then slammed the door and whirled around. He had his gun out, and his expression was anything but friendly now.
“What are you up to, Draith?”
I snorted. “You tried to kill Jacqueline and me, and now you’re the suspicious one?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s on your mind.”
Murder was on my mind, but I managed a flickering smile. “The Beast is still out there. You know what they call its hunting grounds now? The Bone Triangle. And it’s spreading. Soon, it will hit the Strip and you won’t be able to stop the news. Tourists will be sucked down manholes and spit back out with all the meat missing.”
McKesson nodded. “Yeah, that’s how things are going.”
It was my turn to frown. He didn’t seem overly concerned by my statements—as if he wanted the Beast to win. That’s when I began to understand the situation better.
“Ah,” I said. “I get it now. You don’t want me to stop the Beast. You want it to succeed.”
McKesson frowned. “No, I’m not working for the Beast. I want it to stop terrorizing the town. But I want this handled in a particular way.”
“Let me guess; you aren’t working for Rostok anymore? You’ve got gall, you know, coming into his domain and admitting that.”
McKesson shook his head. “You don’t know as much as you think you do. We’re rogues, man. We’re not supposed to be loyal to one master. We work for whoever offers the best deal.”
I considered his words. “Who are you working for now?”
“That has to stay a secret. What I want to know is: Are you willing to listen?”
“You want to recruit me. To get me to switch to another lord?”
He chuckled. “You aren’t listening. You don’t belong to any of them. You’re not a lapdog. You are an independent contractor. You do a job, and you get paid, then you look for more work. That’s how it works. They understand that, even if you don’t. Do you think Rostok would stick out his neck one inch for your benefit? No way. He wouldn’t even step out of his dark little hole of an office to save your life.”
I thought about that, and I had to admit, he was probably right.
“Now,” McKesson said. “You want to hand over whatever it is you have clenched in your right hand?”
“No,” I said.
McKesson lifted the gun a little higher. “Do it anyway.”
Slowly, I raised my hand to meet his. Instead of handing over the liver, I smashed it between our two palms and didn’t let go. He tried to recoil, but I clamped the liver to his skin. Between my palm and his, the slippery mass of meat rolled and oozed.
“What the hell is this?”
“Careful,” I said. “It’s the liver.”
His eyes shot wide. I knew then that he was aware of its powers.
“You’ve gotten a little dose already,” I lied. “But not enough to kill.”
I would have liked to lightly poison McKesson, but I had no idea how to control this object. If I tried to give him a light dose he might have begun throwing up or something and then shot me.
In response, he aimed his gun at my chest. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, staring at that round black muzzle. None of my objects made me immune to bullets.
“Put it away,” I said as calmly as I could. “Shooting me won’t save you. The poison will inject anyway. Can’t you feel it yet? Aren’t you just a little dizzy?”
“You sick mother,” he said, looking white. He tried to pull away again, but I clung to his hand.
“Don’t squeeze it!” I shouted urgently, freaking him out. “That was enough pressure right there to trigger a dose!”
“Let go of my hand, Draith, or I’m going to blow you away.”
I shook my head slowly. “You’d kill us both, but I’ve got news for you. About six hours from now, I’ll get back up and walk again, while you stay dead.”
He stared at me, looking a little green. His breathing was fast, and a droplet of sweat ran down one cheek. His eyes kept flicking down to our clasped hands, then back to my face.
“Have you ever wondered how many times I’ve died, Jay?” I asked quietly. I knew I was bluffing as hard as I’ve ever done in my life, but it was kind of fun. I think it was the rage I’d had in my heart ever since he pulled the coin away and left me on the far side of that rip. Just seeing his face like this made my day.
Slowly, he lowered his weapon. “Let go of my hand. We’ll talk.”
“Toss the gun and you’ve got a deal.”
He blinked twice, thinking it over. I was tempted to give him a real jolt of poison to speed things up. Really tempted. I figured I’d probably accidentally kill him, however, and I needed information.
Finally, he tossed the gun onto the bed. I let go of his hand and the liver rested in my palm again. It was as cool and slippery as ever. I doubted I would ever come to like the thing, but I had to admit it impressed people.
McKesson looked mildly green but relieved to be free of my touch. I looked at him in concern. I cocked my head.
“What?” he said.
“Your neck is throbbing, kind of,” I said. “Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?”
McKesson shook his head and reached up to loosen his tie. A minute later, he was sitting in a chair. He pulled his tie away from his throat and breathed in big puffs. I poured him a drink and pressed it into his fingers. He was so convincing, I wondered if I had actually given him a real dose of venom. It was the first time I’d controlled this new object, so I imagined it was possible.
I pulled up another chair, sat with my own drink, and sipped it. I was enjoying his discomfort immensely. Real or not, it was good to see him suffer for a while.
“So, let’s talk,” I said. “You might not have much time left, but—”
“You’ve got to knock that shit off,” he shouted. “You didn’t give me a dose. I’d be dead by now.”
I shrugged. “Whatever you say. Clearly, you’ve used the liver before. I’m new to the artifact, and I may have made a mistake.”
He glared at me. I smiled in return. We both knew that McKesson had never used the liver, and neither of us knew exactly how it worked.
“You were about to explain,” I said, “why you came to my place and attempted to murder Jacqueline and me.”
“I did nothing of the kind. You insisted I send you to a hot world to look for Ezzie. I did as you asked, that’s all.”
I nodded. “Sure. You put us on a yacht and then drilled a hole in it and set us off on a merry boat ride.”
“You wanted to go.”
I decided this line of reasoning was getting us nowhere. “Who is your new master, McKesson?”
He began to protest, so I raised my hand, showing him the liver in my palm. The sight of it made him look ill all over again, and I had to admit that handling it was making me feel a bit queasy, too. His gun wasn’t in reach and all I had to do was touch him with this disgusting weapon.
“Who sent you to kill me?” I asked.
“Nobody. You weren’t going to die. I would have opened up the path again before the sun came up.”
“I wasn’t just waiting on the far side. We ran into a tribe of cat-people in that world, and as it turned out, they didn’t like us very much. When we finally got back, one of them came with me. I found myself out on the highway, being torn up by a fanatical cat-witch. She died, and the rest of us nearly joined her.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning slightly. “Sorry about that, I figured you’d huddle out there until I came back for you. That’s really the best thing to do when you’re lost in the wilderness, you know.”
I nodded. “That’s true, under happier circumstances. Unfortunately, I didn’t trust you to come back for us. I found a way out before the sun came up to fry us.”
McKesson shook his head and gulped his drink down. He burped and wiped his mouth with his hand. He recoiled, realizing he’d just touched his lips to the spot where I’d pressed the vile liver. When he looked back at me, his lips were twisted in disgust.
“That’s the trouble with this world,” he said. “There’s not enough trust to go around.”
I would have laughed, but it wasn’t very funny. I couldn’t believe I was being lectured about trust by this man.
“Look, uh,” he said awkwardly. “I’m not very good at this, but I’m sorry. I meant to put you on ice for a while, then pull you back.”
I stared at him, uncertain what to think. It would have been nice to believe he’d planned to come back for us, but I couldn’t take his statements at face value.
“If you want to convince me, you have to tell me who’s pulling your strings now,” I said.
McKesson held his empty glass in both hands and stared into it. The alcohol had done him good; he had a little color back in his cheeks now. Maybe it had helped him stop hyperventilating.
“Look, I owe you one. I admit it. So, I’m going to give you some critical information. I have it on good authority that Meng is the one behind the killers who’ve been coming after you. That’s a ninety percent certainty.”
I snorted. “That’s it? Are you going to pretend that’s news? I figured that out a week ago.”
“No, there’s more. The question I’ve been struggling with is why she’s doing it. She’s not just after revenge. She’s paranoid.”
“You don’t say?”
“She thinks you are out to get her. She thinks she is defending herself by eliminating you. She’s obsessed with it. By almost killing her, you’ve driven her crazy. She was prideful a year ago and felt invulnerable in her domain. But now you showed her she can be touched. She doesn’t like that. She spends all night, every night, in her tower on top of the sanatorium or in the basement below. Her living quarters are in the tower, and she does some strange work down in the basement. You’ve freaked her out so much she rarely circulates among her patients and staff anymore.”