"Is the driver discreet?"
Proudly, Van Dieman said, "She is an initiate of the eighth circle."
"Good. Have her take us to the place where bodies are sold for money on the street."
Van Dieman was clearly surprised by the order. He spoke hesitantly. "Venerated One, if you wish a woman, there are many of the followers who would—"
"No, there are not many. The followers are too few, and that is why I must seek alternatives."
The followers would give, but he could not yet afford to take from them; they were too important. Believers were too few, and too necessary for other uses.
Van Dieman gave the orders.
The surroundings and language and dress of the participants might change, but the interaction remained remarkably constant. He selected a spot and had Van Dieman direct the driver to stop there.
They waited.
Van Dieman was nervous, continually glancing out the windows. Twice he told the driver to keep a careful watch of something called the proximity sensor. Quetzal simply sat back and watched, confident that opportunity would present itself.
In time, it did.
Half a block away a car pulled over to the sidewalk and stopped. A woman crowned with blond tresses got out. After the car pulled away, a man walked up to her, and she handed him something. He smiled, slapped her on the buttocks, and vanished back into the darkness of the alley from which he'd come. She straightened her short skirt, tugging it down over a tear in her stocking, before taking her place by the graffiti-covered, shattered shell of a bus stop. Despite the cold of the evening, she tossed her coat back on her shoulders, the better to display her body wantonly.
She would do.
"Move the car forward. Stop by the blond woman." Van Dieman relayed his orders to the driver.
He watched the whore follow the slow approach of the limousine. When it stopped beside the ramshackle shelter, she stood in what Quetzal supposed was intended to be an alluring fashion; her actions were awkward, too harsh and stilted to actually be sexy. When he opened the door, she smiled invitingly.
She put one hand on the car roof and leaned down to look in the opening. Her eyes widened at what she apparently thought was abundant luxury.
"Watcha looking for, mein freunds?"
Quetzal answered. "What else other than what you offer?"
She cocked her head, suddenly skittish. Where had the hostility and suspicion come from? Van Dieman whispered in his ear that she feared entrapment by the police, that he must be more direct to eliminate her fears.
"We are not police," Van Dieman said. "My friend wishes to buy your services."
"Who said I'm selling?"
"The Franklin brothers," said Van Dieman, displaying three hundred-dollar bills. "What's your name?"
"Kandi. With a K and an I." Eyeing the money avidly, she added, "That's a short trip."
"Will that be satisfactory?" Van Dieman asked him.
"Yes, I believe so." To the whore, he said, "Come, join me."
But she still did not enter the car, saying, "I count two of you. And I don't do no two-fer-one specials, but I can be more'n enough woman fer both of ya, if ya catch me. For the right incentive, I mean."
Van Dieman doubled the visible incentive.
She came of her own free will. She had her expectations of his desires; it mattered little that they were incorrect. She would say, in the phrasing of the age, that he "wanted" her. I'or truth, he did, but not in the way she thought. He would "take" her; again, not in the way she thought. Her consent gave him the opening he needed.
He pursued the charade, saying the pointless words she expected. For her part, she cooed and flattered him. They both played roles, actors in two different plays that only appeared to be the same.
He turned her, bending her back over his lap and masking his intentions with kisses. Drawing back, he unfastened the flimsiness of her shirt and likewise the shiny wisp of a bra that shimmered beneath the translucent fabric. There was a moment of awkwardness while she shrugged out of the garment, then she lay back again, arching her back and offering her bared breasts.
He smiled down at her, touching her hardened nipples with a feather-light caress. She quivered.
She played the part well. But beneath the surface was an honest truth; she had consented to him. For payment, of course; she would rcceive a payment of sorts, a payment that others had believed the greatest reward possible.
"Are you ready to give yourself to me?"
"I'm hot, baby. I'm ready."
He stroked her cheek, willing relaxation into her limbs, cooling her heat. It was a mercy, he supposed, but an unintentional one, a mere side effect. It would not do to have her squirm away and withdraw the consent.
The soft mounds of her breasts sagged to either side of her chest. He struck between them, cracking the sternum.
"Hey, not so rough," she protested.
Her tone was not serious, though, for she could not feel what he had done to her; he had taken that sensation from her. Her hands fumbled at the catches of her skirt. The consent remained.
Time to consummate the act.
He willed his fingers to granite hardness, his fingernails to obsidian sharpness. He slashed once, slicing through skin, muscle, and bone. He plunged his hand in. He pried up the ribs. His fingers probed into her flesh. Deeper. Deeper, until they slid around her pulsing heart.
He ripped it free.
The blood sprayed, as it always did, spattering everywhere in the close confines of the limousine. The blood was very red against the ashen hue of Van Dieman's face. Quetzal believed that the man had not been expecting this.
Laughing, he raised the pulsing heart to his lips.
He ate the whore's life as he consumed the muscle that had powered it. With each bite, he stripped away that which made her a person, consigning it to oblivion. He swallowed her life energy as a snake swallows a lizard. Her essence was his, all his.
It had been too long since he had tasted the heart's blood.
As an afterthought he offered the last bit of the whore's heart to Van Dieman. The faithful should be rewarded. Van Dieman took the morsel, more from fear than from desire. He swallowed without chewing. Then his eyes changed, when he understood what he was receiving.
Quetzal laughed again.
The limousine had not been an altar, ritually configured to locus the release of the life energy. The wanton had not been a completely willing victim, knowingly giving of her essence. Hut the sacrifice had still been good. He felt renewed, stronger than he had since the end of his long sleep.
He was empowered!
In this impoverished age, there were none to oppose him. His will would be the Law.
CHAPTER
19
"I'm not leaving without Bear."
John expected that the declaration would get a reaction from Bennett, but the elf's expression didn't change.
"Artos is here, then," he said. "I'd been wondering where he'd hidden himself. Yet I suppose I should not be surprised to find him here. Where is he, by the way?"
"He's in the, uh, infirmary."
"Injured?"
Was that real concern in Bennett's voice? Unlikely, considering. John didn't think it wise to reveal Bear's real condition; he probably shouldn't have said anything in the first place. But now he had to give some sort of explanation.
"He's been sick."
"I would offer my sympathy; but you probably wouldn't believe there was any sincerity in it." He didn't sound very sympathetic. "I must say that 1 am surprised the two of you are still talking."
"No thanks to you."
Bennett sighed. "I only have your best interests at heart, Jack."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"An interesting question, Jack. Why don't you believe
me?"
Because you're a liar. Because you killed Trashcan Harry. Because you almost killed Faye. Because you tried to kill me. Because. Because. Because.
; But this wasn't the time to get into any of those things.
"You said you were here to help."
Bennett nodded. "To help you escape this place, yes."
"Why?" John wanted to know.
"Who cares why, Jack?" Sue asked. "He's our ticket outta here. Let's go with him."
"/ care why."
Innocently, Bennett asked, "Isn't being your father reason enough to want to help you?"
"For you? I don't think so."
"You wound me," Bennett said, actually managing to sound hurt.
John wasn't impressed. "I doubt it."
"So callous. You have been brought up badly," Bennett said.
John snapped back, "What do you know about how I was brought up?"
"Shit, John! Keep yer voice down," Sue cautioned.
John knew that she was right; the dwarves were out there searching for them. Shouting could draw their attention; it wouldn't improve the situation.
"We have limited time here, Jack," Bennett said. "The dwarves are drawing closer. If we are to go, we must be about it."
"I said that I'm not going without Bear. I'm also not going anywhere with you until I know the real reason you came. What is it you want?"
"Well, there is a matter on the horizon in which I thought you would have some interest."
"So you do have another reason. You want my help in one of your plots."
"You phrase it so coldly."
"But correctly, apparently. Well, if you want my help, you'll have to give me the kind of help I want."
Bennett raised an eyebrow. "You wish to strike a bargain?"
"I want to get Bear out of here."
"And me," Sue prompted. "Don't forget about me."
"And Sue. All of us. Out of here."
"And if Artos doesn't want my help?" Bennett asked.
All too likely. "You get him out anyway."
"He won't like that."
"He'll survive."
Bennett smiled. "An excellent attitude."
John didn't care for the elf's approval. "Is it a deal?"
"Are you willing to pay my price?"
"I haven't got any money."
"Not all prices are paid in money."
"I'll pay your damned price," John said—adding quickly, "as long as it doesn't involve killing someone."
"You have my promise that I will not set your hand to killing anyone in this matter. Now, there are witnesses here, Jack. Do you say, in front of them, that you will pay my asking price for this aid?"
"You can get all of us out of here?"
"Of course," Bennett said. "A foregone conclusion."
"Safely?"
"Do you doubt me?"
"You didn't say you'd get us all out safely."
"Yes, safely," Bennett said in a clipped fashion. "Answer. Will you pay the price?"
"Get us out and I will."
Bennett's snippy attitude vanished. He smiled warmly. "Then the deal is done."
Turning, he whispered something to his creature. The lizard-ape's alien features scrunched up into an expression that John couldn't read, then it nodded. Bennett was all business when he turned back to John.
"Gorshin will remain here to continue distracting the dwarves. Ms. Sue will stay with him while you and I go to fetch Artos."
"Jack?" Sue clutched his arm in a vise grip. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the creature Bennett had called Gorshin.
"Sue stays with me," John said.
"Thanks, Jack," she whispered.
"She will be safer in Gorshin's care," Bennett suggested. "She is an added complication if she goes with us."
"I said she stays with me."
Bennett bowed concession. "Lead us to Artos, then, and let us gather him into our stealthy band."
Finding his way back to the edge of the woods was harder than John expected; he'd taken some turns without noticing while he had been running from the dwarves. From time to lime, they stopped and hid to the side of the trail while a party of dwarves clomped by. Sometimes they'd hear dwarves, and hide, but then not see anyone.
During one of those halts, Sue whispered to him, "Is Bennett really your father, Jack?"
"I don't want to talk about it," John whispered back.
"Ya don't look much alike."
"I said I don't want to talk about it."
Sue wouldn't let go. "Hey, Jack, ya ain't the only one here, ya know. I wanna know, can he be trusted?"
"No. But I don't see much other choice."
That was clearly not the answer she wanted. She fretted for a bit. Her next question showed that she was catching on to ihc fact that Bennett's word couldn't be trusted in anything. "I low do we know he can get us outta here?"
"He got in, didn't he?"
"That's all we got ta go with?" She sounded upset by the concept.
"That's all."
"All clear," Bennett said in a voice only slightly louder than the whispers John and Sue had been exchanging.
They moved on.
There was a guard at the door connecting the forest chamber to the rest of the dwarven complex. Bennett said, "I'll take care of that," and made a gesture. Almost immediately there was a ruckus among the bushes off to their right. The dwarf ran to investigate. John, Sue, and Bennett ran across the perimeter path and entered the spare halls of the dwarves' domain.
The corridors were deserted. Where were all the dwarves? could they all be searching the woods? John had heard a lot
of them crashing through the brush and tramping down the paths, and John had never seen many of the little people.
He decided to hope that they were all out looking.
They reached the medlab without running into anyone. John opened the door and led the others in. Bear was alone in the room, lying in the bed. Nothing had changed except the level in the intravenous drip bottle.
"That's the guy in Wilson's vid?" Sue sounded surprised. "He looks like shit. What's with the diver suit?"
"It's not a diver's suit," John told her. "It's a progressive resistance sheath. It keeps him from hurting himself when they run the sims."
"He is not conscious, Jack," Bennett observed. "Are you planning on carrying him?"
"If necessary," John replied, but he didn't think that it would be bright just to unhook Bear from the machines and drag him away.
John hadn't thought this out. What to do? Run the reawakening sim again and hope it worked this time?
The dwarves' program hadn't succeeded in bringing Bear's mind back to the present. While they had gotten the main parts of Bear's awakening right, including the magical battle between Nym and Bennett, Bear had reacted as predicted. Instead of going with the sim in its attempt to reinforce his memories, he'd freaked. He hadn't done much better with the MaxMix Manor sequence.
What could John do that would improve on what the dwar-ven docs and psychs had done?
There had to be something, something different.
John's goal was different from that of the dwarves; maybe their chance lay in the differences. Getting Bear up and moving was more important than bringing him up to speed with the twenty-first century. Bear had done all right by himself before. John had faith that Bear could do it again; if the guy was anything at all, he was a survivor. But how to give him a jump-start? What could John try that was different?
Bear had freaked when the bad stuff had started happening in the sims. Maybe feeding Bear's brain a reawakening that didn't have all the trauma of the real one would help him to handle it.
"Well, Jack?" Bennett asked. "We can't stay here all night."
What to do? John couldn't think of anything else to try. "(live me a couple of minutes."
John sat at the control console and called up the main sim in editing mode. He jiggered the program a little, most significantly by editing out Bennett, a curiously enjoyable action. He concocted a new plot, making the awakening go as he thought it might have gone if Bennett hadn't shown up. He made up some loopy parting lines for Nym and added
some real clothes for Bear instead of the ragged costume robe that he'd actually worn while escaping the museum. Would the changes be enough? He hoped so. He switched the program from editing to interaction mode.
John slipped on the helmet and started the sim, cutting in just as he discovered Nym. The false history played, and Bear, upon awakening, played into it. Nym gave her speech. John led Bear through the museum. The break-in by the fake teds started and John had a few tense minutes as Bear's personality fluttered, but Bear finally went with the flow. The night was still cold when he and Bear ran out into the streets. Bear made it through the sim to the safe getaway John had preset. The interface went into its preset fade down to sleep for Bear.
The sim melted into the medlab for John.
Had it worked?
"Jack?"
Bear's voice was weak, creaky, but he'd called John's name. Tearing off the helmet, John went to the bed. Bear's eyes were open, and he seemed to be at home behind them for the first time since John had been here.
"I'm here, Bear."
"Jack, what's going on? I can't move my arms."
"Take it easy. You've been sick."
Bear nodded, accepting. "I'm glad to see you, Jack."
Glad, eh? John would think about that later. "We'll talk later. Right now, we've got to get you out of here."
"But I can't move."
"Don't struggle. You're okay. It's just the suit. We're going to help you get out of it." God, he hoped it was just the resistance suit. Bear had been laid up for a long time. How weak would he be? Peeling Bear out of the thing wasn't a one-man job.
"Give me a hand here," he said to the others.
Sue pitched in at once, and with her help John got Bear out of the PRS. Bennett never lifted a finger, standing aloof in the corner and watching.
Bear's eyes narrowed when he saw the elf; clearly he hadn't realized Bennett was there. How much did Bear remember about Bennett from after the reawakening? John felt him tense. He also felt the tremor in Bear's muscles—Bear was in no shape to take on the elf. Clearly, Bear knew it too; he relaxed. A little.
"What are you doing here?" he growled at Bennett.
"I'm here to help, too." He held up a hand from which dangled clothes that he must have conjured; there hadn't been any in the room before. "Can't wander about naked. Not in front of the lady."
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain Page 26