The Business Of Death, Death Works Trilogy

by Trent Jamieson

  The Pomps nod, they barely spare me a glance. Am I that diminished? Lissa gives my hand a squeeze.

  “Almost there,” she says.

  The door opens for us. I grip the handle to steady myself then yank back my palm in agony. The door’s taken its price in blood. That’s not supposed to happen. I’m meant to be able to enter this space without cost: I already pay enough. I’m the Orcus.

  Except, I’m not anymore. Not in any way that counts. The mere sliver of power I can feel within me is just that and nothing more.

  And everything that I had taken for granted is telling me so.

  It’s the slowest lift ride in history. But Lissa tidies me up a little. She positively fusses. “You don’t want them seeing you like this in there. You’re going to be OK,” she says. “Deep breaths.”

  The lift stops. I do as she says. Breathe deep, and the door opens to anarchy.

  Phones are ringing off the hook.

  The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. Alarms sound, some echoing down from Neti’s rooms. People are walking around, handing out knives. Lissa seems to appreciate that.

  Tim strides towards the door, jacket off, sweat rings under his armpits, he has blades buckled to his waist. It just doesn’t look right. He looks about as comfortable as a cat dangling over a swimming pool.

  “Shit,” he says. “It’s happening then.”

  Lissa steps in front of me, I can’t see Tim’s reaction. “Yes it is,” she says.

  I look at a Pomp cradling his stitches. “You’re going to need to bleed today,” I say. “We all are.” The Pomp nods his head. I’m trying to remember his name, but I can’t. “It’s started.”

  I walk away from Lissa’s talk, straight to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, and I cry. Everything I needed to win this fight has been taken away. What the fuck kind of man am I?

  Then it strikes me. I’m just a man now. That’s all I am.

  I wipe my eyes, take a deep breath. I suppose that it’s going to have to do.

  I’ve washed my face a little, and am ready to face the world, when there’s a knock at the door.

  “You in there?” Brooker asks. “I’m here.”

  “Open the bloody door.”

  I’m shaking, teeth chattering uncontrollably. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, but I can’t stay here forever, I have to face up to what is going on. I get a good grip on the door, and push it open to Lissa and the doctor.

  Dr. Brooker grabs my shoulders. “You’re in shock, Steven. I’d have thought the Hungry Death would have shielded you from it. But obviously not.”

  “Maybe that explains it. Why I’m so weak.”

  “You’ve always been a bit weedy,” Lissa says. “I was just about to knock that door down you know.”

  I grin up at her. “Would have liked to see you try.”

  She bears my weight, slides an arm around my shoulder.

  “Get him to his throne,” Dr. Brooker says.

  Lissa carries me to the throne. I fall into it, and it’s uncomfortable, as though the throne, like the door, doesn’t recognize who I am. But there must be enough residual…something, because my dizziness fades away, a little, not a lot, and that could just be from the act of sitting, not the chair itself.

  “How you doing?” Lissa asks softly.

  “Not good,” I say.

  “You’re going to be OK. There are forty Pomps heading towards Queen Street Mall. Half of Sydney and Melbourne’s active staff are on their way and the Ankous are starting to arrive with their staff in real numbers now.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Nothing, this isn’t your fault.”

  “You saw Morrigan. You saw how easily he took the scythe from me. I’ve stumbled from one defeat to another today. And they’re costing lives. How do I do this, Lissa? How do I lead this battle if I’m not Death anymore?”

  “Well, for one, we don’t know if it’s permanent. Two, you did all right against Stirrers before you were Death. It’s what you know as much as what you are. We’re all here, we’ll all follow you, and don’t discount your advisors, I’d like to think we are pretty good in the field.”

  “HD’s gone. I just didn’t think I’d miss it so much. This is what I’ve yearned for. But I wanted to give it away, not have it taken from me.”

  “And, yes, the timing could be better,” Lissa says.

  “No one can know about this. I’ve lost my power, but the threat remains.”

  “If you don’t have HD’s power, just where is it? Where’s the Hungry Death running free?”

  Bugger! The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I close my eyes, and I can feel it. HD is out there. Not far away. I get flashes of its vision.

  For a heartbeat, it’s staring at the widening gash in reality on Queen Street Mall. Alarms are ringing, Pomps are already stalling the creatures.

  The Hungry Death shifts away and I lose sight of the battle.

  Sitting on the throne, I’m slowly waking. Slowly energizing to be honest, with Lissa here, I’m starting to feel much better.

  In fact, everything is becoming all that much clearer now. Ridiculously clear, the sort of clarity that washes over you in an instant and is gone just as quickly. I need to act, while I have it.

  There’s a knock on the door, Tim.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. Tim’s looking oddly energized now too. As though, finally, with the end of the world happening he can just move with it. He looks from me to Lissa and back again. “The office is filling up, we’re going to need some leadership, and maybe a certain scythe, and soon.”

  “That might be a problem,” I say. “How do I put this …”

  “He’s lost his powers,” Lissa says. “And the scythe.”

  “What!”

  “Sh!” Lissa and I say simultaneously.

  “This is something of a problem.” Tim’s face has paled; he grabs a chair and drops into it.

  “Yeah,” I say. “The Stirrer god is manifest, and something just as horrible has fled its bloody cage.” I grin at them both manically. “But on the upside, I feel really good.” And I do. I feel human again. Not Death at all, pretty much one hundred per cent de Selby. No heart beat, but my own. No World Pulse.

  When am I ever likely to feel this way again?

  I plant a loud kiss on Lissa’s cheek, pull away and she lifts a hand to the spot, and blushes.

  “So why the hell are we still Pomps, if you’re not Orcus?” Tim asks.

  “I guess it’s because HD still exists, his power remains, it’s just not in me.” I look over at Lissa; push myself up from my chair. “But I’ll get it back.” I hope. “Get Cerbo here, we’re going to need to organize some sort of war meeting.”

  “And the other Ankous?”

  “Right now I don’t care about them as much, and I think that if we have too many Ankous together in the room they might understand what it is that I am. Just Cerbo for now. Keep the rest with their crews.”

  He’s here a few minutes later, dressed all in black, knives belted up both his thighs. I want to ask if this is his apocalypse get-up, or whether it’s just his usual pomping gear, but I can’t quite bring myself to. Like Tim, like Lissa, like everybody in Number Four, he doesn’t look scared, just ready to roll.

  I’ve spread out a map of the city, marking the position of Morrigan’s portal on the edge of Queen Street Mall.

  “We’re going to need to mount some sort of defense,” Cerbo says. “Try and contain them to the mall between Albert Street and George.”

  “Already on it,” Lissa says, she’s been constantly on the phone with our Pomps on Queen Street. There have been deaths, but the Stirrers haven’t made any progress out of the mall.

  “The Stirrers can be beaten, their presence here is tenuous at best.”

  “But it won’t be when that comet hits. We have to make sure that never happens,” Cerbo says.

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Like we’ve discussed
, we have to kill the human form of the Stirrer god.”

  “That may be easier said than done. He has Mog.”

  Cerbo almost drops his coffee. Almost but not quite, he overcompensates for it by taking another sip before replying. His hands shake, though.

  “There are things a man wants to hear and there are those he dreads. At least we have you on our side, and the Hungry Death.”

  I grin as broadly as I can.

  “Of course. Absolutely.” Lissa squeezes my hand. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Wage war on Hell itself,” he says. “We arm up and lay siege to the city of Devour.”

  “You can’t just march into the Underworld like that,” Lissa says. “We’d need an army, siege craft, everything.”

  Cerbo nods his head in agreement. “We have all those things in you, Steve! Through the Hungry Death you rule Hell, all its resources are at your disposal, you can summon a hundred thousand crows, you can change the very nature of the air if you will it.”

  “Yes, of course I can. Let’s take this to them, it’s our best hope.” Yes, if I still contained HD. But it’s out there somewhere. “You, Lissa, and Tim mobilize the troops. Every Pomp we can bring here, and as swiftly as we can.”

  “And what of you?” Cerbo says.

  “I have an old friend to see,” I say. “Someone who we are going to need on our side if we’re to win this fight.”

  “Who?”

  “Trust me.” Cerbo looks at me peculiarly.

  Rule number one of Mortmax: never trust someone who says “Trust me.”

  I have to get out of there fast before he realizes.

  I walk out of my office and straight into Ari. Britain’s Ankou grins, and I match it, trying for as ballsy a smile as possible.

  She grabs my arm and squeezes. For the first time she seems almost happy to see me. Nothing Pomps like more than a crisis.

  “I know Tim said to wait, but fuck it, we’re here to fight, and I don’t really care what you think about that, young man.”

  “Well, I think it’s a great idea. We need you.”

  With her are thirty Pomps, all veterans of the trade. Finally, some experienced workers to backup my Pomps. They’re all armed. Brace paint marks their wrists. Bottles of the stuff are strapped to their belts. All bear the cicatrices of our trade on their palms. Stirrers may have been focusing their attentions on Australia, but all of these Pomps have stalled more than their fair share over the years.

  “Tim’s apprised me of the situation,” Ari says. She turns to the Pomps behind her. “These are my best.”

  They give a rather sarcastic cheer. “Fucking oath, mate,” one of them says.

  “I think you’re going to need someone that knows what they are doing down at Queen Street,” Ari says.

  No arguments there. Ari’s knife is belted to her waist, she’s more than capable of taking on Stirrers. “So, if you don’t mind, Mr. de Selby. Please let me at these monsters.”

  “Absolutely,” I say, though her Pomps are already heading for the stairwell, no point in waiting for the lift, or for the say-so of the Orcus, obviously.

  “Don’t mind them, they’re just enthusiastic. Oh and if you could send that fabulous girlfriend of yours along too, there’ll be no complaints.”

  Of course not. In the last few months Lissa’s racked up more stalls than any living Pomp, other than me.

  “Get to it, and try not to leave any for us. I’m rather tired of stalling Stirrers.”

  “Familiarity breeds contempt.” Ari grins. “Be seeing you.” She races after her Pomps. If anyone can keep Queen Street Mall contained it’s her.

  I head towards the fire escape, not sure where the hell it is I am going once I get out onto the street, and relieved that no one has decided to ask me why I am not shifting.

  Lissa catches me up before I reach the stairs.

  “You can’t go after it alone,” she says. “You’re weaker than any of us now. Sorry, but it’s true.”

  I smile. “It’s OK. I have to do this alone, and you’re better off being here. People need you, as much if not more than I do, right now. HD will face me, I’m sure of it. Without him inside me, I’m seeing everything so clearly now.”

  “Then don’t. Don’t go after it.”

  “I have to. You know I have to. I don’t do this, then the whole world goes somewhere worse than Hell. I wish I could have you watching my back, but I need you here. I need you helping Tim and Cerbo.” I kiss her hard. “We’ve overcome some terrible stuff together. I know we’ll succeed.”

  Lissa grabs my wrist. Pulls something from her pocket. Brace paint. She quickly traces my wrist with the triangular brace symbol. Despite staring at the Brits with their brace paint bottles it had completely gone out of my head.

  “What would I do without you?” I ask, sliding what’s left of the paint into my pocket.

  “I often wonder about that.” Lissa steps back to check out her work. “Should give you a little protection from Stirrers at least.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Steven,” she says as I push the fire-escape door open.

  “What?” I say, sounding more abrupt than I mean

  “I do love you, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I flash her a wicked smile. Lissa’s lips thin. I push through the door and let it slam behind me.

  I sprint down the stairs to the ground floor, enjoying the lack of HD in my skull.

  It’s magnificent and freeing all at once. I’ve never felt so clear headed. I push the front doors open and walk out onto the street. Sirens are sounding. Traffic is backed up along George Street. The air is chilled with the presence of the hole into Hell. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Or how I am going to do it.

  Then I feel HD, almost as intensely as I did on the throne.

  It’s time I faced my other half. Even if all it wants to do is kill me, it’s the only hope I have. The only hope any of us have.

  21

  Walking down George Street, HD is an absence and a calling, my magnetic North. It’s everywhere, shifting around the city.

  I’m given impressions of a confusion of suburbs. Toowong one moment, Eight Mile Plains the next, then New Farm, West End and Kangaroo Point. But never further than a few kilometers from the city, and always, briefly, between each shift, somewhere nearby. Its movements don’t make any sense to me. But I know I will find it, if I just keep walking. I know that it will come back to me, because it has to.

  I pass Queen Street Mall. Barriers are being quickly erected, and Pomps stall whatever comes through. So far I can see no casualties. The cops stationed there are in full riot gear, brace symbols painted over their vests.

  I’m not used to seeing this. They hold their weapons with a casual seriousness, I’ve no doubt they’re good at what they do. But it alarms me to see rifles in Queen Street Mall. It isn’t the eighties anymore. I feel like we’ve stepped back in time. Alex is talking to one of the men. They’re both staring at the crack between the worlds, and I’ve no time to chat so I leave them be.

  Ari’s got her crew fanning through my ranks. They nod at me, as I walk by. Ari gives me an odd look, but I don’t linger. I know I should be leading this, but I can’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty about it.

  I leave her with my Pomps, and run straight into another bunch of my recruits walking with a couple of cops. Danni and Max, two of my newest Pomps. They’re usually stuck behind the desk, helping interpret the schedule. I can see why they’ve been given George Street to patrol: they’re not ready to face Stirrers one-on-one.

  They’re happy, and a bit nervous to see me. I slow but I don’t stop. If I stay with them too long they’ll notice—though I’m not sure they’ll understand that they’re sensing my lack.

  Danni nods over at the cops. “We’ll keep these guys safe,” she says.

  “I know you will.” I pat her on the back as I pass. “Good to see you both in the field.”

  She frowns. God,
can she tell what I am, or what I’m not?

  I gesture down the street. “I’m chasing something. But I will be back.”

  “Good luck,” Danni calls.

  I wish I could get to know them all better, these people who are going to die for me and this world. Jesus, I don’t know even a tenth of their names. It fills me with a bitter fury and a sadness that could stop me from moving at all if I let it. But I don’t.

  I refuse to.

  These people are counting on me.

  I keep heading down George Street. Pushing my way through the barricades, and more cops and Pomps. Hoping that no one will ask why I’m not just shifting. The sky above is lit with the blue light of the comet; the portal in reality is similarly colored and slowly rising in the sky, and heading south and east. But none of that concerns me now. All I can focus on is the slight fluttering sensation directing me toward my quarry.

  The presence of the Stirrers beyond is a crushing one to me now I have none of HD’s power in me. I can feel the brace symbol that Lissa painted on my wrist growing warm. It’s being pushed to its limits.

  I pass a drunk sobbing in the gutter. His stench wafts over me: stale beer and fresh vomit. I can understand the inclination to drink, but the Death of the Water has drawn the desire from me like a poison, and I’m not that anxious to let it back into my life. Two cops, faces bored and concerned at once, hover—watching him, watching the traffic. The poor bastard’s producing the full-body sort of sobs that only a serious bender can coax out of most men.

  I feel like he’s crying for me: crying for this world where death is king, and it’s a mad king at that. I crouch down, wincing at the smell of him. Is this what I’m like? Is this me? I pull the brace paint from my pocket, carefully mark his wrist with the triangle and the line.

  “You’re right, mate,” I whisper. “You’re right.” He looks at the symbol, then up at me. “Leave that on your arm and you’ll be OK.”

  I drag him to a bench and sit him down. He settles there wearily, the sobs have passed. “It’s so alone,” he whispers and falls asleep.