by Jack Conner
“Different,” Stevrin said, shoving his way in. It felt good to be out of the cold. “It’s the Guild. You’re under attack.” He shoved the door closed behind him.
Maynard blinked. “What?”
“You’re under attack, are you deaf? Now don’t take all day about it. I’m sacrificing a fucking finger to tell you this. Now let’s go see the fuckin’ doc.”
Maynard looked as though he’d been slapped. Without another word, he turned and led Stevrin past the homunculi guards and through the winding tunnels of the Warren. They weren’t going to the laboratory, Stevrin realized with relief.
“You’re sure it’s the Guild?” Maynard said over his shoulder.
“Sure as fuckin’ they took my finger.”
Maynard led him up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. Stevrin began to hear music – loud, ballroom music flooding the upper levels of the Warren. Soon enough Maynard led him through a high, grandiose archway, like something out of a mansion in the Lowers, and into a dream, or maybe nightmare. It was, quite simply, a ballroom party, taking place in what looked to Stevrin like a fairly nice ballroom, complete with chandeliers lit with burning candles. The candlelight sparkled off the crystal and glimmered on the long marble floor.
But of course these were merely background. What struck Stevrin first and foremost were the dancers. There must have been two hundred, and all in their very best finery. Every one, as far as Stevrin could tell, was one of Dr. Reynalt’s successful experiments, excepting the doctor himself, if indeed he was somewhere amidst the gathering. In long, tailed tuxedos undead men danced with their cadaverous partners. Some dancers had one arm, some had three or four, some were hunched and misshapen, others were tall and straight, some with two heads, or one head with two faces, or heads made mostly of metal, others with antennae sprouting from their skulls so that they could catch radio signals, and more, much more ...
Some were infected by the Atomic Sea, and these were even stranger: undead, stiched-together fish-men and jellyfish women, a man with lampent tentacles for fingers, a woman with two heads, both of them piscine, dancing with another woman with the skin of a shark on the half of her body that had belonged to one original owner, sea horse hide the other.
Off to the side upon a raised dais, a band played gaily, and each musician was a Returner. Trumpets blared, trombones flashed, drums beat, and the dance went on. One drummer had four arms. The saxophone player had what looked like nine fingers on each hand, and he seemed to employ them all.
Stevrin stared as the undead revelers shimmied and shook, creaked and lurched, swayed and jived, all to the jazzy melody provided by the musicians. Microphones stood arrayed around the dais, piping the music out to the edges of the room. The speakers stood here and there, mostly on the periphery. Occasionally a couple of dancers would have to step over the wires or trip.
“Merry, aren’t they?” Maynard said.
“Yeah.”
“Guess they won’t be for long.”
“Yeah.”
Maynard shoved his way through the cavorting undead, and Stevrin followed in his wake. Nightmarish faces swam all around him, locked in lunatic smiles and laughs. The stench of death was all about, and yet it wasn’t as thick as he would’ve thought. The doc obviously treated them with something to prevent decay. Or perhaps Stevrin was simply getting used to the smell.
Dr. Reynalt himself danced in the epicenter of the revelry. Dressed elegantly, complete with top hat, he sashayed with a beautiful cadaveress who bore a neat line of stitches around her pretty throat. The skin from above the stitch line and the skin below didn’t quite match. Still, she was lovely, and dark hair flowed over her shoulders, bouncing as they danced. She was just laughing at something he’d said when Maynard tapped him on the shoulder.
Turning casually, the doctor said, “Ah! There you are. I was just wondering if you’d skipped the festivities altogether. Someone else can man the door for a bit—” Abruptly he broke off, seeing the look on Maynard’s face. “What is it?” Slowly he stopped dancing, and his partner looked from him to Maynard worriedly.
With his web-fingered hand, the manservant gestured to Stevrin.
“Stevrin!” Reynalt said. “Don’t tell me there’s been another one. I hate to interrupt the party for another hopeless cause.” He seemed to realize he’d said too much, for he hastily shut his mouth.
Stevrin waved the thought away. “Don’t worry, I know the truth. But never mind that now, there’s something else.” He shoved his bloody, mangled hand at the doctor.
Reynalt’s eyes widened. “Dear gods!”
“What the fuck did you do, anyway?” Stevrin demanded. “What the fuck did you do to piss the Guild off so badly?”
“Why, what do you mean?” The doctor had stopped his dance, but still held an arm around his partner’s waist. Now he dropped it. Stevrin had his complete attention.
“They’re attacking. Any minute now. They think I’m going to lead you out to them. Pretty soon they’ll realize I bullshitted them, and they’ll attack.”
Dr. Reynalt raised his eyebrows. “And why, pray tell, do they think you’re leading me out to them like a sheep to be slaughtered?”
“Because of fuckin’ this!” Stevrin shook his mangled hand in front of Reynalt’s face again. “They think I want my finger back.”
“And you don’t?”
“Well, let’s just say you owe me a bloody finger, and I mean to collect on it, but it can wait till we get the fuck out. I say we have maybe five minutes, maybe less.”
Dr. Reynalt stood there staring at him, blinking, much as Maynard had done. Then he gathered himself, nodded to his date, and turned to Maynard. “Sound the bell,” he said. “Have everyone not attending gather in the lab. I’ll meet you there.”
Maynard nodded and lurched off. Without wasting another moment, Dr. Reynalt strode over to the dais where the band played. He tapped the conductor on the shoulder, whispering in her ear. Though obviously startled, she slashed her stick, and the band fell silent, though not all at once.
Dr. Reynalt crossed to one of the microphones and gripped it in a tight, pale hand. “May I have your attention,” he said. “Please, my friends. This is an emergency. We have no time to waste.”
The revelers glanced at each other worriedly. Stevrin knew they looked on Dr. Reynalt almost as a father, and this place a home. But it was a home they long knew to be insecure. Reynalt must have drilled them on what to do in case of an emergency many times. They looked stricken, as if their worst nightmares had come true. In moments, Dr. Reynalt confirmed it.
“The Guild is launching an attack,” he said. They muttered fearfully at this, and he let them, but only for a moment. “You all know what to do. Gather your things quickly and join me in the lab. We will all go together into the Refuge. We’ll leave the homunculi and the others behind to slow our attackers. Now everyone, go, get your things. And for the gods’ sakes, hurry.”
Their complexions even more ashy and unhealthy than before, they filed out of the ballroom, their joviality forgotten.
Dr. Reynalt returned to Stevrin. “You’re coming with me.”
“Damned right I am. I still have a debt to collect.” Stevrin paused. “But why do I have a feeling we’re going into the Below?”
“Because we are.”
Stevrin sighed. “Look, before we go down, doc, there’s somethin’ you should know.”
“You’ve decided to accept my offer?” The doc looked hopeful, if preoccupied.
“What? No. It’s Madam. She’s ... she’s been shot.” He gritted his teeth. “Killed.”
“Magnar reamed,” Dr. Reynalt breathed, running a hand through his sweaty hair.
“Her brain’s intact.”
Reynalt stared at him. “This is bad timing, my boy. I need to lead my people to safety. True, I do have an alternate laboratory—the Refuge, crude though it is, but the timing—”
A muffled boom reached the ballroom. The floor shook. Anothe
r explosion rocked the Warren, and another. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Screaming came from below.
“Shit, it’s started,” said Stevrin.
Dr. Reynalt grabbed his arm and ran toward the doorway. A bell began to sound through the halls, a pre-recorded alarm.
“Maynard’s summoning those that could not make it to the party,” Reynalt said. “They know where to go.”
“What was the occasion, anyway?”
Reynalt smiled ironically. “It’s my birthday.”
“Well, happy fuckin’ birthday.”
More explosions shook the building. A piece of the ceiling fell down in a shower of plaster. Reynalt and Stevrin ran on, coughing plaster dust. The doc made for his quarters, where he already had bags packed in case of emergency, though they were dusty. Stevrin saw rooms of opulent splendor, fine carpets on the floors, brilliant oil paintings on the walls, beautifully wrought candelabras, gold-framed mirrors, and said, “Fuck. And you wanna live in caves?”
Reynalt frowned. “Want has little to do with it.” He shoved two bags into Stevrin’s hands. “Now come.”
More explosions shook the Warren as they made their way down. Stevrin tried to figure out what exactly was bombing them. Then he remembered the cars driven by homunculi, and he realized why they had been trained to drive. He wondered just how much explosive material had been stuffed into each car, and if the combined result was enough to bring down the Warren. He didn’t want to find out.
The sounds of gunfire rattled up through the halls.
“That’s coming from inside!” Stevrin said. The attackers must be using the holes the explosions made to storm the building.
With genuine sadness in his voice, Reynalt said, “I hope the assassins do not kill too many. They are my children, you know.”
They made it to the lab, where most of the Awakened had already assembled. Calling for their attention, Dr. Reynalt gathered them all and ordered them into the Below. Afterward, Stevrin saw him and Maynard confer. Several of the doc’s minions were leading hooded monstrosities out from dark cells beneath the main levels of the Warren and tying them down to iron rings in the floor. Stevrin saw that the ropes they were being tied down with were very thin. They would not last long—just long enough for the doc and his people to escape. Dr. Reynalt was also placing his killer homunculi out. He went around to each one individually, giving them instructions. “Kill anyone who comes through that door,” he said, over and over again, pointing to the door at the head of the stairs that led down into the lab.
Finally Reynalt turned to Stevrin. He hefted up a black satchel. Behind him several minions toted similar bags. They were filled with alchemical ice, Stevrin knew, and one must be filled with saws and other assorted equipment.
“I have spoken with Maynard,” Dr. Reynalt said. “He will lead the exodus to the Refuge. As soon as we are able, you and I and our helpers will slip away through the Below to aid your mistress before her brain is too far gone.”
Stevrin cocked his head to the sound of gunfire. It was very close now. Another explosion sounded, and a piece of the ceiling fell onto one of the machines. A high burst of flame mushroomed outward. Stevrin and the others dove to the floor. Heat broiled his skin. When it had passed, he picked himself up, dusted the soot off of him and said, “Then let’s fuckin’ be about it then.”
Chapter 10
Smoking furiously, Stevrin paced back and forth before the door of the kitchen. Within he could vaguely hear grunts and the sounds of sawing. He felt like an expectant father awaiting the birth of a child.
He was in what had at one time been the main dining hall for the priests of Hyalith but was now a ballroom, much like the doctor’s own but with high ceilings and more elaborate scroll-work. There was even a mural on the wall of an ancient setting during the days of the Qaran Empire, a veranda overlooking a pre-Atomic sea, with a garden and many vines, and beautiful people in robes lounging around eating dates and drinking wine. It was night, and two of the three moons hung high over the Atomic Sea, with lightning flickering up from it. Stevrin wished he was there with them.
Also in the ballroom was most of the Sisterhood. Some paced like him, or sat tensely on the divans, or talked in whispers. Cats twined about their feet. The johns and various guests of the Divinity had been sent away, and they had been only too glad to go. They had been asked not to speak of tonight’s events, but Stevrin knew they would not be likely to honor that request for long. Hopefully they would hold off for at least a few nights, though. That would give Boss Sorris’s gang time to begin breaking up into factions, for the whole organization to begin to dissolve.
He saw Danny sitting by himself on a couch and went over to him. “Fucked, isn’t it?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah.” His eyes were trained on his knees. He wasn’t naked anymore, or at least not totally. He’d had the sense to remove his wings and throw a coat over himself. The coat was one of the Sisters’, though, and it was white and fluffy and made of rabbit fur. It certainly didn’t make him look any more manly. And what with his teary eyes and beautiful face, he could have been just another girl.
He patted the seat beside him. “Sit.”
“No thanks,” Stevrin said. “I need to be on my feet. Can’t sit down.” He paced back and forth before the couch, smoking. The last thing he wanted to do was sit beside Danny when he looked like that.
Danny looked up at him. “You were with her, when she came out. Right before she faced Boss Sorris.”
Stevrin shrugged. “Told you I would be.”
“What did you talk about? I want to know everything. You told me you’d tell me.”
Stevrin glanced around the room. It was huge, mostly silent, and packed with Sisters. “Later,” he said. “I promise.”
Danny nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Stevrin was tired of him being so morose and gloomy all the time. “Cheer up,” he said.
Danny sighed. “If I hadn’t said yes to Madam, I could’ve gone with you. I could’ve been part of your crew on this spy-job of yours.”
“Sure you could. Would’ve loved to have you.” Stevrin stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray beside the couch.
“Maybe I still could?” He looked excited at the thought.
Stevrin winced. He hated to dash Danny’s hopes. “I wish. I really do. But ... well, the focus of the job’s changed. It’s not the Guild anymore.”
“Who is it?”
Stevrin eyed him steadily. In a whisper, he said, “It’s the Order of Yreg-ngad.”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Really? Magnar impaled!” He lowered his voice too. Leaned forward. “What are you gonna do?”
Stevrin chewed his lip. “Haven’t decided. But it ain’t a place for a big crew. The Whoreson’s’ll have to take a break.”
“The who?”
Stevrin was only half listening. “Maybe a few. Maybe a very few ...” He wished Agatha was still around so she could tell him what to do. Now she and her chief lieutenant were both dead. He wondered what other members of the Sisterhood besides Melias were priestesses of Sygra. Surely some of the Aunts ...
“You can’t be serious,” someone said off to this right. He turned to see Vallie approaching. She looked very beautiful tonight, all dolled up for her shift, with her long black hair curled into countless ringlets. Her big dark eyes looked even bigger than usual, and her eyelashes looked longer than butterfly antennae. Her small full lips were painted blood red and looked very kissable. She wore a tight, heart-red dress with frilly edges. It was very tight around her chest, shoving her small breasts into a position that showed more cleavage than Stevrin had thought she possessed. In any event, he was grateful to see her, for it took away some of the edginess he felt with Danny.
“You’re going to spy on the Order of Yreg-ngad?” She said the name softly, so that no one else could hear, as if the very name would give them nightmares.
Stevrin nodded grimly. “That’s what it looks like.”<
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“But that’s insane!”
“I agree,” said Danny. He shivered suddenly. Perhaps Vallie saw it, for she sat down by him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was larger than she was, but he leaned into her anyway. “Before my mom died,” he said, “she used to tell me that if I was a bad boy the priests of Yreg-ngad would come in the night and drag me away.”
“Yeah,” said Vallie. “Mine too. I think every parent says that.”
“Whatever,” Stevrin said. He’d never known his parents. “I don’t exactly wanna spy on the bastards, but if I have to I have to.”
“You don’t have to,” Vallie said. There was a pleading note to her voice. She seemed genuinely concerned for him, even worried. “Why does it have to be you?”
He shrugged. “Because it’s no one else.”
In a smaller voice, as if her next words didn’t convince even her, she said, “There’s cops.”
He snorted. “Yeah, and they’ll do what they always do—what the Bosses tell ‘em to. And the Bosses are in the Guild’s pocket. And the Guild is in bed with the Order.”
She stared at him, her lower lip jutting out. He stared back. For a long moment, neither blinked. At last she sighed and looked away.
Somewhere a cat screamed, probably Manx. He’d been all but mad since Agatha had been shot, and his screams had begun to jangle Stevrin’s nerves.
Just then, the door to the kitchen burst open. All heads turned to see Dr. Reynalt stride through the doors, dried blood on his apron and gloves. Behind him came several of his creatures, all bearing black bags. They would be filled with Agatha, Stevrin knew, or at least her various parts. At the thought, he shuddered. “She has been dismantled for transport,” Dr. Reynalt called. “All went well. I took a peek at her brain and it looks quite suitable for reanimation. A little faded, but not too far for my alchemical agents to be unable to restore it. So have heart! With some luck, in a few days I will have your Madam back to you.”
The gathering breathed a collective sigh of relief at that, and there was some grateful muttering. Several of the Aunts—high members of the Sisterhood—rose and loudly thanked him, and he responded cordially.