by Conner, Jack
Avery watched him with new respect. The old man had learned how to manipulate the monsters’ flight-or-fight reflex—in his favor.
“Don’t worry,” Jeffers said, when he could. “Soon as we get gone, the things’ll be back. Horny buggers. Whoever’s chasin’ us won’t know how to send ‘em off. They’ll come roarin’ down the channel with their boats, the ‘mines’ll get riled up and start spewin’. Wish I were here to see it.”
Avery took a breath. “Please, just take us to the holy city.”
Chapter 7
The darkness had begun to oppress Avery. It had a tendency to seep into a person, he found, a way of getting into one’s mind. How did the denizens of the sewers survive down here? Then again, they grouped in villages and lit them with light. Only the ones half-mad already, like Jeffers, traveled the lonely ways between the hubs of proto-civilization with any frequency.
The lap of water echoed softly on the tight stone walls, and Avery’s arms ached. It had been his turn to row, and he had been at it for too long. At the bow, the boatman shone a lantern, while to the stern, Janx carried the shotgun across his lap and tried not to yawn. They’d been journeying through the dark for hours since the incident with the slugmines. They’d used the motor sparingly, less and less the closer they drew to their destination, stopping several times to partake of the food they’d brought with them, and to rest.
“There!” the boatman said, and quickly doused the lantern. “Light ahead.”
At first, Avery didn’t see it, but then he made out illumination flickering off the walls, growing stronger with each stroke. More than that—noise. People were ahead, a good number of them. The little boat reached the end of the tunnel, and Avery could tell, even before he saw it, that a large cistern chamber waited beyond, and he was not surprised to see, when they rounded the final bend, that a town bobbed on the surface of the chamber just where Evers’s map said it should be. But he was surprised at its construction.
The holy city or township of the Collossum didn’t look like a town at all, really, but a huge ungainly block of sheet metal, rotten wood and various debris all lashed together in two stained, listing stories. It was all of a piece, with no individual buildings or even any streets visible. The town was one great structure, albeit irregular and lumpy, with sections thrusting out at places, others rearing in towers, the whole of it composed of many different colors and materials. Glistening flail nests dotted it and bats swept about its squat spires. Slowly Avery understood. This place must have started off as a city like Muscud, but over time the locals, to maximize their limited space, had incorporated it all under one roof. Why waste room on streets and squares and individual dwellings when they could make it all one great big shared affair? It was, Avery had to admit, logically the best use of the space.
When he’d adjusted to the oddness of the town, he began rowing forward again.
“So what’s the plan?” Janx said, keeping his voice low, not that there was anyone in earshot. If there were sentries about, they were toward the other side of town, the side Evers and his people had approached. Avery had hoped that would be the case and was relieved to find it so; the Collossum expected them to come again, in greater numbers, from the same direction they had before. It could not know they were aware of the existence of a rear entrance. It probably wasn’t aware. It would know there were some tunnels back here, but it likely wouldn’t know where they went. It seemed few did.
“We’ll sneak inside,” Avery said, speaking low. “Pretend to have come for the event if we’re questioned, then break away and go about our business. Locate the relic Davic gave Sheridan, steal or destroy it, find out what the nature of the event is—put a stop to it if we can—and, also if we can, kill the Collossum.”
“Lotta ‘ifs’ in there,” Janx said, then tensed as they neared the docks, setting the shotgun down and bringing out a large knife. Jeffers picked up the shotgun, then hunkered low as if giving Janx room to spring should he need it.
They crossed the small watery clearing around the city in silence, at least for their part. The city itself was a raucous din of noise and songs, plates clattering and people talking. A narrow walkway, interrupted in spots by juts of the town’s outer wall overhanging the water, encompassed the perimeter, and Jeffers tied the boat up at one of the jetties, having to squeeze between two others. Boats laid siege to the town, empty and, just slightly, rocking. The town was full. Whatever event was going on was big.
Quietly, Jeffers nodded to Avery and Janx. The two stepped onto the walkway. Boards creaked under them, hardly noticeable over the din. Jeffers remained on the boat, as agreed, shotgun ready.
In single file, Avery and Janx made their way along the rickety walkway, at times having to navigate around a rotten board or an unwholesome gap, until they came to a metal door overgrown with verdigris. Its knob didn’t budge when Janx turned it, but when he put his shoulder to it it gave easily enough. He and Avery slipped through, into darkness.
Avery switched on his flashlight, which was one of his very few supplies. It was this, a pistol and the god-killing knife. Nothing else. Playing the light around the room, he saw stained, sagging walls covered in peeling wallpaper fifty years out of date. Flies buzzed around something in the corner—not a body as Avery had first feared, but human waste. Couldn’t the offending party have gone a few feet more?
Janx shoved through another doorway, and Avery followed, finding himself in a narrow, tilting hallway lined with alchemical lamps to drive the stench away. Not wanting to seem as if he’d just come from the channels, he removed his nosegay.
“Which direction?” Janx said softly.
Avery frowned, staring one way, then another. Down the first direction came the sound of noise and activity. Down the other, quiet.
He chose the quiet, but almost immediately bumped into a man going the other way. Avery recoiled, and the man laughed. He was short and fat, with a genial round face.
“Aren’t you going the wrong way?” he said.
“Well, we—”
“Stuff and nonsense.” The little fellow took Avery’s arm and wheeled him about, then marched off arm in arm, navigating around Janx, though not without comment. “Well, you’re a big fellow! No dawdling, though. The Great One doesn’t abide dawdling.”
“I’m sorry,” Avery started, “but I think—we had something to do in the other –”
“No no, it’s all this way. You’ve clearly never been here before. Well, I have, I assure you, and I won’t let you get turned around. You just stick with ol’ Rigurd now, won’t you.” He tapped his ruddy nose. “He’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”
“Well,” Avery said, “I do appreciate that. It’s just that—”
Ahead the noise grew louder. Avery was tempted to have Janx waylay Rigurd, knock him out and store him somewhere, but just then a door opened and two more figures emerged, both women, apparently having just groomed themselves; they wore fresh make-up and their hair was newly primped.
“Ha ha!” Rigurd said. “More little pigeons, eh?” They nodded, giggling, even though neither was below fifty. “Oh good! I say, it will be a merry throng, of that we can be assured. So many pigeons come home to roost.”
Avery glanced over his shoulder to Janx, who shrugged. This would be an excellent opportunity for them to discover what was going on, and they could break away later when they needed to.
They poured into a crowded room. Here men and women who were clearly priests, wearing dark ceremonial robes, passed around lighter, grayish robes to the gathering—people who must be pilgrims, Avery supposed, come to visit their god, to attend whatever ceremony was about to happen. Some were clearly infected, sporting gills or needle teeth, but others were not, likely boasting more subtle mutations; they would have to hope Janx came off as one of these. The priests distributed the robes to everyone, talking and laughing with the parishioners as they did, trying to make sure each one received the proper size and knew the proper codes of condu
ct. The women who had come in ahead of Avery complained that the cowl would mess up their hair, but a priest informed them that they need not pull it up if they didn’t want to. “The Great One will want to see your lovely faces, I’m sure,” the priest added, and they giggled again.
“Oh, isn’t this thrilling?” the man who called himself Rigurd said, slipping his robe on gracefully and reminding Avery of a snake slipping out of its skin in reverse. “I just love these sorts of things.”
Janx grunted, holding his robe at arm’s length as though it were something foul—easy enough to find around here. To provide a proper example, Avery stuffed himself into his own garment, pulling it over the clothes he’d come in with as he’d seen some of the others doing; still more stripped, going naked before everyone, blushing but clearly basking in the thrill of it all, before donning their new vestments. Janx, though he wore a sour expression, pulled the robe over his head. It tugged at his arms and chest, but he was able to put it on without breaking it.
“Oh, there there!” said Rigurd. “Don’t we all look splendid!”
“Splendid,” Avery agreed. Rigurd looked at him expectantly, and Avery added, “We’ve really been looking forward to this.”
“Oh? Oh. But I didn’t think anyone knew—I certainly didn’t. Wasn’t it only just announced?”
“Ah,” Avery said, “what I meant was we looked forward to coming here—to this place—not necessarily looking forward to the event itself.”
“Oh, yes. Yes of course. I’m sure everyone feels the same way. It is such an honor. Tell me, tell me, which chapel do you come from?”
“The one ... you know ...” He started to say Givunct, since it was the only Under-town he was familiar with other than Muscud, but that had been a populous place; what if Rigurd hailed from there? And he certainly couldn’t name Muscud; what if Rigurd asked him if he knew a particular priest there? He needed some place that was remote …
“Yes?” Rigurd said.
Janx stepped in. “Soriscu,” he said. “By the Old Channel.”
“Ah!” said Rigurd. “I have heard of that place. Such a wicked town! Wicked! They did not take kindly to our order.” His gaze turned hard, appraising Avery and Janx anew. “It must be difficult, living there. Enduring the prejudice. The intolerance.”
“Small minds,” Avery said.
“Oh, but they shall reap the reward that comes to all such narrow-mindedness,” Rigurd said. “They shall reap nothing, and they shall reap it soon.”
Avery felt a bead of sweat trickle down behind his ear. “Good. It’s no more than they deserve.”
Rigurd blinked at him queerly. “But are they not your friends? Your neighbors? Your family, even? You should preach conversion, not destruction! What mad birds have come to this roost? We will not have such cold breeds here!”
Avery swallowed. His mind was suddenly blank. He wished Janx had strangled the man in the hall.
Once again, Janx saved him. “They ain’t our folk anymore,” the whaler said. “Not after we found the Faith and they turned their backs on us.” He spat. “They can go hang.”
Rigurd stared at him, wrinkles folded around his small, bright blue eyes, then laughed, sounding rather like a crow. “Justly said, my gargantuan friend! My titan! Justly said indeed! They will all burn.”
A priest at the front of the room shook a bell, and they turned to regard him. “All people supposed to help with the dirigible party should leave now,” he said. “As for the rest of you, it is time to assemble. Come with me.”
They left the changing area and followed the priest through a tight hallway, tilting to one side, the floor sometimes sagging. The hallway met another, and another, hitting it at strange angles, and floods of pilgrims in gray robes joined their progress, talking and gesturing to each other gaily. Avery slipped away from Rigurd and fell back next to Janx.
“We gotta get outta here, Doc,” Janx said.
Avery nodded, eyes darting about for a likely avenue of escape. There were many doorways, but the press of people was thick and ducking into one would momentarily jam the traffic, drawing attention.
A man next to Avery, clearly drunk, weaved as he walked, sometimes stumbling over Avery’s feet, and Avery was obliged to gently shove him back on his own course.
“’orry,” the man said, “it’s just these halls. They’re so curvy.”
“They are,” Avery agreed.
“Wanna drink?” The man tapped his chest where a flask must be. “Jus’ the thing to settle y’r nerves.”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s just, well—seein’ him, y’know. I’ve never see ‘im before. But—I’ve heard stories.” He shuddered. “I mean, I know he’s a god, but, what I hear’, he’s a fuckin’ scary god.” He shook again, then laughed.
“I’m sure,” Avery said.
“Well ain’t you calm? You’ve already had some, haven’t you? Haven’t you?” He rubbed at his eyes. “Well, ‘least it ain’t a ‘acrifice. Not yet. M’ stomach’s too wea’ fer uh sa ...sacl ... sacmrimice ...” He leaned against a wall momentarily, then pushed himself on.
“Just what have you heard—about the ceremony?” Avery said, now paying attention.
“Ah, jus’ ... y’know ... ‘acrement ...” Again the man leaned against a wall, and this time Avery left him.
To Janx, Avery said, “Did you hear?”
“Someone’s getting the Sacrament,” Janx said. “But I don’t get it. Why all this hoop-la for that? Thousands of people get it every day, I thought, at least in Octung.”
“That’s a very a good question.”
Organ music swelled around them. The hallway terminated in a large, high-ceilinged room, its far wall a maze of pipe organs, a great trident overhanging a rostrum, where a priest stood, and before that an altar crackling with energy, showing signs of recent construction. They had reached the chapel. Already hundreds had gathered, and Avery was surprised at the size of the room. Half the town must have been demolished to accommodate this one place.
On the stage, in a corner, stood Sheridan.
“Dear gods,” Avery said, swinging around and lifting his cowl to cover his head. Looking back, he saw her—crisp and sharp in her admiral’s uniform, sweeping the assembly with her gray gaze. Avery felt his temperature drop.
“She is everywhere,” Janx said.
“Come with me.”
They marched in the opposite direction, having to push through the tide still pouring into the room. When a priest stopped them, Avery said, “Just have to check on my friend. He had a little too much to drink.”
The priest, perhaps having seen the man of whom Avery spoke, let them go, and Avery was never more glad to slip down a hallway and away from a crowd.
“Think she saw us?” Janx said.
“I don’t think so. Even she can’t see everything.”
“You sure?”
“We have to find that relic.”
They passed the drunken man who had collapsed against the wall, stepped around him and kept going.
Footsteps ahead. Shadows against the walls—priests, by their hats.
Avery and Janx hastened into a room and closed the door softly behind them. The footsteps reached the door and paused.
Very slowly, Avery turned the lock.
The knob rotated, and weight pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. The footsteps moved on. Avery breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s avoid that hall,” Janx said.
The room was lit with a single electric bulb hanging from the ceiling—the town had a generator—but it illuminated only a few ratty pallets ... and a far door. They crossed to it and entered another chamber, a long and oddly shaped room, passed through this to another, a tiny little closet with a warped ceiling, and a door. Several rooms later they realized they were going at an angle, as they could hear the singing of the congregation change pitch and grow muted in the distance, the sound traveling easily through the thin walls.
“I
diots,” Janx said. “’least they could sing better …”
He had flicked on his own flashlight, and as they entered the next room it had fallen on a figure slumped against the far wall next to a dirty pile of rags. Avery knelt down beside it. It proved to be a young woman, naked and sick with Atomic infection, one wrist cuffed to a manacle sprouting from the wall. Her eyes rolled under her sockets, her flesh burned, and redness showed around patches of scales on her chest and neck. She didn’t even seem aware of Avery as he looked in her eyes, felt her forehead and counted her heartbeat.
“She’s not going to make it,” he said. “A day, maybe two.”
Janx drew one of the sheets up to hide her nudity. Tugging at the chain, he said, “We should free her.”
“We don’t have a key.”
Janx grabbed the chain and tugged with both arms. Pulling as hard as he could, he ripped the base of the manacle loose from the half-rotted wall and stumbled backward.
Not held up by the chain any longer, the girl lolled backward and collapsed on the filthy floor. Avery sighed and arranged her so that she was more comfortable.
“She didn’t get sick from the Sacrament,” Avery said.
“No?”
“See the bruises on her wrists? She’s been here for weeks, I bet. She only became infected days ago, judging from the redness.”
“I guess we know how she got infected,” Janx said darkly, and Avery nodded. Exchange of bodily fluids was a common means of transmission.
“This is how it gets them,” Avery said. “The Collossum. It gives the priests what they want, and in return they help it gather power.”
“Pieces of shit.”
“Yes.”
They pushed through several more rooms, finding beds, a kitchen, and more habitable areas. In the near distance came the sound of humming, and as Avery neared a doorway with light coming from around its edges he felt heat and humidity. He opened the door to see none other than—his mind spun—the mobster Gaescruhd, reclining on the bench of a sauna with a naked boy of shockingly young age kneeling between his knees.