by Jane Kindred
He did, however, see Phaleg himself, not a few feet away. The angel didn’t recognize him, which he supposed was a good thing. It meant Belphagor’s glamour still held, and of course he’d promised not to let on that he knew Phaleg in any case if they were ever to meet, but he felt a mild pang of disappointment nonetheless as the angel’s eyes passed over him without reaction. There was nothing like that little glint of recognition when a “boy” he’d disciplined or trained found himself face-to-face with Belphagor once more. They always had the instinct to immediately lower their eyes in deference to him, which he found immensely gratifying, like a tutor seeing a former pupil and taking pride in the knowledge that his lessons had gone deep. Not to mention his cock.
Little by little, however, he noticed the officers of the Supernal Army starting to move out of the crowd and gather on either side of the square as if falling into formation. He moved closer to the perimeter, not wanting to appear too conspicuous, but not wanting to get too far from where the principality was likely to be if he arrived to address the uprising either, or to lose sight of Paimon.
The Winter Palace began to blaze with candlelight that glittered on the snow-covered skeletal trees between the two squares as the darkness settled in, as picturesque and enchanting as its earthly counterpart, even if the lights there were now electric. Its illuminated presence seemed to rile the demons. Council Square was lit more ruggedly with their torches, which they began to raise in the direction of the palace with their shouts, as though they might advance on it and set it on fire.
In response, a full regiment of the Ophanim Palace Guard filed out along the boulevard that lined the embankment, their ominous glow in eerie contrast to the hot, angry sputter of the torches. Their action seemed to signal Duke Elyon’s appearance at last, and he emerged from the Conciliary to make his way to the raised platform amid an entourage of fellow supernal officers who ousted the demons from the podium.
Instead of Elyon, however, one of the angels in his entourage stepped up to the podium and spoke. “We stand today with these citizens of the Firmament,” the angel shouted over the crowd. “Three thousand officers of the Supernal Army who reject the legitimacy of Principality Helison Alimielovich as supernal ruler.” A hush came over the square as the duke’s words shocked the Fallen protestors. “But we do not stand with anarchy. We call upon the principality to meet with us in this place and hear the people’s demands. But we will not condone lawlessness. We call upon our brothers in the Supernal Army to take this stand with us, to stand against tyranny, to stand for freedom, and to stand for a new Heaven belonging to all its citizens.”
The demons had recovered from their surprise, and a great shout of support went up from the crowd, along with renewed chants. Elyon’s man waited patiently for the noise to die down and then resumed his grand words in the same series of pledges of support juxtaposed with warnings that did not seem to penetrate the excited mood of the crowd. It was clear, however, to anyone who was paying attention, that the duke and the Union of Liberation had no intention of engaging in an actual revolt, and every intention of putting one down should it erupt among the demons.
None of this mattered to Belphagor. He waited for any sign that the principality was actually going to be goaded out of his palace to address the uprising, and he kept his eyes on the Conciliary, certain Vasily would be emerging from the same place Elyon had if the principality indeed were to arrive. He had no idea how Elyon meant for his plan to come off, since there was no way Vasily could have been induced to do his bidding, but the duke was supremely confident as he worked the crowd. Whatever he had in mind, he had no fear that it could fail.
As the speechmaking and hollow promises went on, Belphagor began to think Elyon would be disappointed. The principality was obviously ignoring the protest as a non-event to rob him and the assembled demons of their intended impact. But for a man who would surely lose his post and his rank when the Union members were dealt with on the following day—and quite possibly his life—the duke was still expressing no anxiety. Perhaps he believed the principality would choose to ignore the incident altogether. Just as it had been with the last earthly tsar, it was certainly Helison’s style to avoid dealing with controversy.
Someone, however, had obviously advised him at last to deal with this. Amid a protective cordon of Ophanim, and between a pair of the principality’s personal Seraphim Guard, the unassuming, bearded angel who was a dead ringer for Tsar Nikolai II himself began to advance in a procession along the embankment where the regiment of Ophanim blocked any access by the mob of demons.
The noise of the crowd exploded for a moment and then died down into hushed tones as they waited to see what their principality would do. Perhaps as a sign of goodwill, he hadn’t come with any loyal officers of the Supernal Army. The officers to the left of the stage moved away at the sight of the glittering Seraphim, and Helison passed through the gap in their ranks and mounted the platform. All eyes were on him and the almost blinding brilliance of the firespirits beside him, and thus the battalion of supernal infantry who followed from Palace Square some ninety seconds later, blocked from view by the white glare of Ophanim, went unnoticed for the moment, except by Belphagor, who had made a career of noticing things without appearing to.
He also noticed the door of the Conciliary quietly opening at the principality’s back.
Belphagor nodded to Paimon, who passed the signal along to the next demon, and then made his move toward the platform as Vasily was ushered out between a pair of Union officers.
“The actions of anyone now assembled in this square this evening shall be considered treasonous,” Helison proclaimed. “For those who are not officers of the Supernal Army, your sedition will be forgiven if you clear out immediately.” This was far more decisive than Belphagor had given the angel credit for.
The Ophanim along Celestial Boulevard parted to reveal the approaching soldiers, the angels on foot coming forward with their swords drawn, with rows of mounted angels arriving behind them. Demons began to scatter into the dark, though many others began chanting their slogans once more, holding their ground. The ranks of Union officers drew their swords as well and congregated to the right of the platform, where Belphagor was positioned, as a phalanx of loyal officers lined up along the left. The Union officers looked to Elyon, but he had fallen back with Helison’s arrival and might easily be mistaken for one of the loyal troops. He’d been wise not to do the speaking.
Trapped between the Union officers amassing on this side of the square and the loyal forces advancing, the demons who hadn’t snuck away from the square at the first opportunity were beginning to panic. The chaos of jostling demons and white-faced young officers trying to battle their own fear and remain in position was making it difficult for Belphagor to get close to Vasily. He even lost sight of him for a moment among the press of bodies, which was difficult to do where Vasily was concerned.
“Any member of the Supernal Army here present,” Helison was continuing, “who will not swear allegiance to me now, publicly, as their principality and the justly crowned heir to the throne of the Firmament of Shehaqim and All the Heavens shall be treated as enemies of the state, to be apprehended and taken into custody by the loyal soldiers of my army and tried for the crime of treason against the Firmament.”
Some of the Union officers were now clearly ready to abandon their cause, scrambling for the periphery of the ranks to slip through into the bordering garden park. Belphagor was moving against this flow of angels and demons when several events occurred at once. Just out of his reach, Vasily emerged from the chaos behind the platform and sprang forward onto it as if pushed, and at the same moment, the attention of the two Seraphim was drawn to a group of demons too drunk to recognize their folly as they tried to storm the platform from the front. Converging with these two opposing motions, a tangle of supernal officers broke ranks, scrambling toward Vasily as if to stop him, but Belphagor caught the flash of steel from one of their coats as a kni
fe darted out, and the principality fell forward against the podium with a soft gasp of surprise as if he wasn’t quite sure what had happened.
“Assassin!” This, at last, was Duke Elyon, leaping onto the platform. “Stop that demon before he gets away! He’s stabbed the principality!”
Belphagor watched in horror as the angel’s blade cut an arc through the air with a clear trajectory toward Vasily’s neck, bared as the officers who’d grabbed him thrust him forward onto his knees.
But Elyon’s swing fell short when a Seraph dropped him smoothly to the ground. “The demon!” Elyon grunted as he hit the platform with a thud. The brilliance of the Seraphim did not extend to their intellect. As the Seraph pinned the duke with a bright, blazing foot to the back of his neck, Belphagor caught the eye of one of the officers holding Vasily. It was Phaleg, and the recognition in his eyes was clear. Belphagor’s glamour must have worn off.
“You there!” barked Phaleg, and Belphagor jumped. “Get his other arm. Move out of the way,” he snapped to the angel at Vasily’s other side. “If you can’t do your job, make room so someone else can.”
Belphagor took hold of Vasily’s arm at his back, and the two of them hauled Vasily from the platform. Vasily’s eyes lit up at the sight of Belphagor, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Phaleg yanked him backward, addressing Elyon, who was struggling uselessly beneath the Seraph’s foot. “We’ll get him into the holding cell inside the Conciliary where he can’t do any more harm.”
Too distracted to register Belphagor’s presence, Elyon gave Phaleg a sharp nod.
Paimon was hovering nearby as Belphagor and Phaleg dragged Vasily toward the stone edifice. Belphagor wasn’t sure whether he’d managed a successful rescue yet or not, but it seemed best to let the demons clear out.
“Palaver,” he said to Paimon as he passed him. It took the demon a moment to register what this meant, but then he nodded and scurried away to find his assigned contact and repeat the word.
Phaleg led Belphagor into the Conciliary, where a Cherub stood guard at one of the interior doors.
“You’d better give me the key and make yourself scarce,” said Phaleg. “Things have gone a bit south. Elyon wants us to keep the demon here until the square settles.”
The Cherub’s head swiveled about on his shoulders disturbingly, showed the face of an ox, and then released and flapped its wings. With a deafening crack of sound, he was gone.
Phaleg let go of Vasily and nodded to Belphagor. “There’s another door to the outside on the far end of the corridor. I’ll tell the duke you overpowered me.” There was a bit of a flush to his cheeks as he said it.
“I’m so sorry, Beli.” Vasily was oblivious to the angel. “This is all my fault.”
Belphagor let his grip slide down Vasily’s arm to his hand. “Hush, malchik. We’ll worry about which of us to blame later.” He made a subtle motion with his brow that lent more significance to the words. “Right now we need to get you out of here.”
Vasily resisted the tug on his hand as Belphagor moved to head for the rear door. “Sefira. She’s inside.”
Phaleg turned the key in the lock and opened the door, and Belphagor followed Vasily in, relieved that he could keep his promise to Tabris and return her sister to her, but he stopped as soon as he saw the girl lying on the floor. Her neck was twisted at an odd angle and it was clear the body was lifeless.
“No,” breathed Vasily, and knelt before her. “Sefi…” He lifted her head onto his lap, dangling from a broken neck. “That son of a bitch.” His voice was gravelly and harsh with emotion. “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t follow his orders. But he had the damned Cherub snap her neck the minute I did.”
Belphagor laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
“I’m not fucking leaving her here!” Vasily snarled. The vehemence took Belphagor aback. He stepped out of the way as Vasily stood, hoisting Sefira’s limp body in his arms, and swept past him through the door, not waiting for Belphagor as he headed down the corridor.
Belphagor pressed Phaleg’s arm as he stepped past him. “Thank you.”
Phaleg shrugged and gave him a wistful smile. “Least I could do. Sir.”
Shestaya
They hurried through the dark streets of Elysium without speaking, spurred forward by an icy wind. Vasily was afraid to open his mouth. He was sure something stupid would come out, if not outright sobbing like an angelic schoolboy who’d been punched in the junk. He couldn’t tell Belphagor what Sefira had meant to him. He wasn’t sure what she’d meant to him exactly, but he knew he couldn’t very well tell Belphagor how they’d met. But far worse than his complicated feelings was the knowledge that she’d died because of him. And specifically because he’d been a fucking idiot, letting the angelic duke pick him up in the first place just because he was mad at Belphagor—and then going back to the villa alone.
He slipped on the ice as they crossed the frozen Acheron, nearly losing his balance and almost dropping Sefira. Sefira’s corpse.
Belphagor reached out a hand to steady him. “Why don’t you let me take her the rest of the way?”
Vasily shook his head stubbornly. “She weighs almost as much as you do,” he said, though that was a bit of an exaggeration. “Besides, we’re almost there.” What he would do with her when they reached Raqia, he hadn’t considered. He supposed they’d have to take her back to The Cat and let Tabris make what arrangements she needed. The thought of facing Tabris made him bite down on his tongue hard to keep from blubbering. Then a sobering thought struck him. He was only assuming Tabris hadn’t been taken. What if they had her somewhere? What if they’d killed her too? How the hell was he going to explain all of this to Belphagor without exposing himself as a terrible rakehell?
The bright lights of the Demon Market cheered him somewhat as they reached the District. He hated the cold, dark sterility of Elysium at night.
“We’ll go in the back way with her,” said Belphagor, steering him toward the alley behind The Brimstone. “You wait by the door, and I’ll go around front and let you in.
Vasily couldn’t think of a way to broach the idea of taking her “home” to The Cat without revealing too much, so he nodded and went along with it, standing in the icy slush of the alley. Belphagor appeared at the back door shortly with a heavy woolen blanket, and they wrapped her in it and slipped inside, Vasily keeping his head down in hopes that no one at the bar would take notice of him if he wasn’t looking at them.
Inside their room, Belphagor helped him lay Sefira gently on the cot and position her in a natural pose out of respect. It warmed his heart a bit that Belphagor seemed to know this was important to him.
“I’ll fetch Tabris,” said Belphagor when she was situated, and Vasily didn’t think to ask him how he knew about Tabris until after he’d gone. He sat beside Sefira’s body on the bed, her expression now seeming almost peaceful with her head straightened out as well as they’d been able, and he let the tears fall in silence.
Belphagor could barely put one foot in front of the other as he crossed the Demon District toward The Cat. He’d never felt so tired in his life. It dawned on him that in fact he hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, but exhaustion alone couldn’t account for how his feet dragged as he neared the brothel. He’d promised Tabris he would find her sister and that everything would be okay. He’d only made good on one of those promises.
Tabris knew as soon she saw him. She hadn’t been working, of course, still nursing bruises on her face that might put clients off, so an apprentice had been sent to fetch her for him while he waited in the parlor. When she arrived, he stood and took his cap from his head, and Tabris let out a horrible wail and sank to the ground, clinging to the frame of the doorway.
The procuress bustled forth like a generously proportioned streak of lightning and took Tabris in hand to ensure the other patrons weren’t alarmed. Belphagor followed them into the private quarters. The
girl was a heartbreaking mess, sobbing and howling, with intermittent bursts of anguish that seemed to reinforce the name of the house with catlike shrieks.
“Who are you?” the procuress demanded of Belphagor while she sat with Tabris collapsed in her arms like a sack of howling grain that wouldn’t hold its shape. “You’ve come with news of Ouestucati?”
“Belphagor,” he said awkwardly. “I found…the body.” A horrible sound of grief from Tabris followed this admission.
The demon matron gave him a look of dark appraisal. “The Prince of Tricks himself comes to deliver news of a murdered whore at a cathouse?”
“I believe I may be somewhat to blame.” He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I hired Ouestucati and Tabris to accompany me to a party on the Left Bank, and it was upon returning from that engagement by themselves, after I’d been…forcibly ejected earlier in the evening, that they were attacked.”
“Angels,” wailed Tabris. “They took her, Masha. They took her away from me.”
“Tabris, I’m so sorry—”
“Where is she now?” Masha interrupted him.
“In my room at The Brimstone.”
The procuress’s eyes fixed on him with menace. “You found a dead whore in your own room. That seems a most unlikely circumstance.”
“I didn’t find her there, I took her there—Vasily and I—after we discovered she’d been murdered. I didn’t think it appropriate to bring a corpse to the door of The Cat.” Belphagor bit his tongue at the renewed sounds of misery from Tabris.
Masha’s eyes widened with recognition. “Vasily? You don’t mean that precious firespirit boy Ouestucati initiated the other night?”