Thieves' War

by Clayton Snyder

  “Fair.”

  We left the chamber, climbing back to the library. We paused on the landing. My arms ached from working the knives so much, and I leaned against a wall for a moment.

  “What’s the rest of this place like?” I asked.

  “Quiet,” Cord said. “We’ve seen the worst of it. They couldn’t defile her tomb, let alone get close.”

  I nodded and slipped the blades back into their sheathes. We climbed the stairs. Even Rek looked tired. The stairs spiraled up and up, funereal frescoes carved into the walls, skeletons cavorting with wispy spirits, hand in hand with hale men and women. Lurking in the background in each, a fine-boned woman bearing a scythe, a raven on her shoulder.

  “This is fine,” I said.

  “Sure, fine,” Rek grunted. “Doesn’t smack of fetishism at all.”

  We crested the stairs, coming out at the peak of the tower. The room we entered was tall, columns reaching to the ceiling, carved with more of the death and life motif. I looked up, the dome of the tower painted in an approximation of the night sky, the stars forming a constellation I’d not seen before, that of a snake devouring its own tail.

  “Ouroboros,” Cord said beside me. “Death from life from death.”

  In the center of the room, the same constellation had been painted in lifelike imagery, that of a pale white snake, thin tail caught between its own fangs. In the center of that, a box stood on a pedestal. I stepped hesitantly toward it. Even here, a power emanated that I could not place, and I was wary.

  “Go ahead,” Cord said gently from behind me.

  I stepped to the box and opened it. Fela was smaller than I’d expected. Fine-boned from the looks of her, of a height with Cord. The air thrummed with the magic of a god, and I wondered how safe it could be here. I reached a hand down, almost involuntarily, and touched the bones of her arm.

  “Fear not,” a voice said in my head.

  I jerked my hand away and spun. Lux was there, her face close. She brushed the hair from my eyes, and let her hand linger on my cheek. Something in my stomach clenched, but it was too late. Eight inches of steel entered my guts, and I gasped. It was cold, like ice spearing me. And then it was hot, a blazing agony of fire as she pulled the knife out. I blinked at Lux, not comprehending. A lot of things in my life had hurt up to that point, but the blade in my stomach paled compared to the betrayal. She lowered me gently to the ground, and I felt my life spilling out. Cord knelt beside me, and I reached for my knives.

  “Shh. Shh. It’s not a betrayal, Nenn. It’s necessary. Find Fela. Bring her back.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but I found I had no strength left to argue. Instead, I etched out a word on the floor with bloody fingers. Cord looked down, and smirked.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  And then the light went out of the world.

  Part II

  Fantucci’s Undead Wonderland

  The soft nuzzle of a warm nose pulled me from the death-induced blackout. I opened my eyes—something I didn’t think I’d do again—and blinked. A small gray chipmunk sat in front of me, too-large eyes staring into mine. It chittered and nudged my head with its own. I muttered something unintelligible and managed a sitting position. My hands went to my stomach, where the blade Lux had used to kill me had entered. My shirt was untorn, and I pulled it up. The skin of my stomach bore only a small red mark. The chipmunk chittered again, and I frowned at it.

  Lux had stabbed me. Cord had let her. The unbelievable cocksuckers. I had half a mind to find my way out of this place and fuck them both with the arm of a trebuchet. I cast about, looking for a portal, for some way back. Instead, I saw forest—pine and maple, oak and birch—and a well-worn path leading somewhere else. Sunlight streamed between the leaves, the forest floor clean and tidy, as though someone had swept it. I looked back at the chipmunk, who put his furry hands on his hips and chittered.

  “Fuckin’ weird…” I said to myself and stood.

  A bird lit on a nearby branch, bright blue with a white breast. Its beak was the yellow of an artist’s pigment. It chirped a pleasant song. Another landed, and joined in. And another. Rustling from nearby caught my attention, and I turned to the undergrowth, where another chipmunk, a squirrel, and a fat rabbit emerged. I stood there and reached for my blades. Some small part of me relaxed when my palms pressed against the comforting steel of their hilts. Whatever happened when you died, your belongings made the transition.

  “Now, if I were two unstable people with an agenda, why would I stab me?” I asked myself.

  “Because, Nenn,” I answered in the closest approximation to a Cord voice I could, “if you take the a’s from the word agenda, you’ve got an asshole at both ends. Wonka honka de doo!”

  I looked around the clearing, the animals staring at me.

  “What?” I said.

  They chirped and squeaked and chittered.

  “Yeah, fine. It doesn’t make sense. But then, only half of his ‘wit’ does. Besides, he is an asshole.

  I paced around a little more. “Hm. Why am I dead. Whyyyy am I dead?”

  The chipmunks had begun to move, circling behind me. I didn’t blame them. I was talking to myself in a clearing full of sentient chipmunks. The memory of Fela’s bones crept into my head, flashing itself into my brain like a man wearing only a long coat and socks. Right. I was supposed to find the dead goddess of death.

  “That’s redundant, right? Dead goddess of death? How does death die?”

  The birds fluttered from their perches on the tree branches and lit on my shoulders, flapping furiously, the rodents pushing at my heels. I shrugged them off, sending small furred and feathered bodies scattering across the clearing. I rounded on them.

  “Hey! No touching!”

  The chipmunks gained their feet first, scrabbling forward to throw themselves at my ankles, little shoulders pressed into my heels. I looked down and blinked.

  “You want me to go that way?”

  I pointed down the path. They ceased their attack and looked up at me, nodding. A bird landed on my shoulder, cheeping pleasantly, and I absently smacked it away. It spiraled into a bole with a shrill tweet.

  “No. Touching.”

  I gathered the remainder of my wits and started down the path, the animals trailing me warily. Aside from my diminutive companions, the forest was quiet. The path forward was clear, and though it was obvious the animals herded me somewhere, I felt no immediate danger. Cord always said that you’d know if it was coming—your gut knotted, or the small hairs on your neck and arm stand up. At the thought of the short bastard, anger flared up again. I stuffed it down and continued onward, thinking stabby thoughts.

  The path opened into another clearing, this one odder than the last. A single chair stood on the forest floor, before a makeshift wooden stage. Red curtain obscured the back, and the forest creatures hopped, climbed, and flew to it. I sat in the chair, as it seemed I had no other choice. I couldn’t imagine the damage six small creatures could do to someone already dead, but as this was the body I came with, I decided I’d rather not find out. As they reached the fabric, the animals grasped it in beak and talon, paw and tooth, and pulled, leaving a gap. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a man, soft in the middle, balding, wearing ragged clothes once colorful but now faded, limped out. He looked at me, squinting, then behind him.

  “Do I gotta? There’s just the one,” he said.

  A muffled voice came from backstage, sounding agitated.

  “I dunno. She looks kind of pissed.”

  That was true. Again, the voice, emphatic.

  “Fine. But if she loses her shit like the last one, I’m done,” and before the voice could reply, “No! I liked my penis! It still doesn’t work right. You can’t just sew something on after its been ripped off and expect the same results!”

  The voice one more time, soothing.

  “Fine. Fine.”

  The animals dropped the curtain, and the man cleared his throat. I waited. Sudd
enly, he broke into an awkward soft-shoe, leather soles of his boots scuffling against the boards. All I could imagine was the terrible jostling the traumatized member must be suffering, and sympathy made me wish his employer would allow him to end the dance soon.

  As if on cue, the shuffling ceased. He ended with a hop and a jump, arms outstretched, hands open. He opened his mouth, and sang:

  I see what's happening here

  You've recently kicked it and it's strange

  You don't even know how you feel, it's adorable

  Well, it's nice to see that humans never change

  Open your eyes, let's begin

  Yes, you're really dead, don't try to breathe

  I know it's a lot: your body lying in the ground full of rot

  When you used to be so fuckin' hot

  What can I say except "you're dead"?

  Like a skunk or a trunk full of eels

  Hey, it's okay, it's okay, you're dead

  Your brains are rotting in your head

  Now it's time to start the show

  Hey, it's your day to say I died

  'Cause you used to be someone who could do more than lie

  I'm ending the song and you're dead

  You're dead

  He ended with another hop and a jump. A second thump followed the first, and something pink and soft hit the stage and rolled off into the grass. A squirrel scampered after it, returning with the flaccid member in its paws. It offered it up to the man, who clutched it to his chest and limped offstage. I looked around. The clearing was still empty. I wondered what kind of fucked-up afterlife this was.

  The sound of heels on the stage drew my attention, and I looked back. A man, stocky and wide, short of stature with a pug nose and a beetled brow pushed his way past the curtain, and I wondered if this was the hapless bard’s boss. I shifted in impatience and ignored the voice in my head that told me it was rude to interrupt a stage show.

  “Hi. Uh, who the fuck are you?”

  He regarded me with a beady eye and folded his hands together as if in supplication.

  “I apologize for this intrusion, miss, but it behooves you to know the former management is no longer available. As such, welcome to Fanucci’s Afterlife. You’ll find all manner of vice and virtue here, provided you pay the appropriate fees and mind yourself.”

  “Fees?” I asked.

  “Ah yes. It is regrettable, but as a consequence of running such a large and diverse operation, we’ve found it necessary to charge a nominal fee to the departed. In part, to defray our costs here. In part to assure your safety.”

  “Ah fuck,” I breathed to myself.

  I knew a protection racket when I saw one. I just wondered how the gangs had infiltrated and then taken over the afterlife.

  “Now, assuming you weren’t buried with your fee,” the man continued, “it will be waived for a period of seven days.”

  “And what happens if I don’t pay?” I asked. I already knew, but I wanted him to say it.

  The gangster had the good grace to look sad. “In that case, you will be relocated, so to speak. We cannot tolerate non-contributing members of society here. Surely you understand.”

  I nodded. My first instinct was to gut the man like a fish. But I knew better. There were likely more hidden in the trees around us, or behind the stage. Who knew what happened when you died a second time? I took a breath to steady myself and eased my hands away from my blades.

  “I’ll need the week, then,” I said.

  He nodded. “All is well. In the meantime, welcome to the Celestial City.”

  He stepped aside, and the curtain opened, revealing a street packed with people on a cobblestone road. To each side, squat buildings topped with bright signs advertised games of chance, naked men, naked women, and short-stay hotels. I stood, and without a look back, stepped onto the street.

  The crowd jostled and shoved, some funneling into the pleasure houses, others heading into hostelries for other types of recreation. On every corner, a busker stood, dancing or juggling or performing simple magic for crowds that had gathered around. Various receptacles lay on the ground near them, filled with coins and paper. Giant signs for entertainment rose above the rooftops, renderings of men and women in lascivious poses grinned at the artist, buttocks exposed.

  A man, disheveled and looking harried, wandered into the square. A group of what I guessed to be guards entered from an adjoining street, cutting him off. He dropped to his knees, pleading.

  “Come on, you gotta give me a few more days! Fantucci knows I’m good for it!”

  “You haven’t been good for it for a while now, Lem. Time’s up.”

  The guard drew a silver rod from his cuirass and rapped the man on the head. He deliquesced in seconds, a lone howl escaping as he became a puddle. The guards moved on.

  A voice from a nearby alley caught my attention.

  “Psst. Nenn.”

  I looked, wondering who could know my name in this place that I hadn’t killed. It was a young man with curled hair, an aquiline nose, and green eyes. He waved me over.

  “Good,” he said. “You made it.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, a step back, hands on pommels.

  Their image shimmered, from man to woman, and back, and then something in-between.

  “Camor?” I asked, my voice rising.

  “Shh. For the love of Fela’s labia, shh.”

  I looked around. The crowd hadn’t noticed, and I snuck into the alley alongside them. They’d changed their appearance back to the young man.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?” I asked. “When did the gangs take over the Deadlands? What happened to that guy?

  “Few years back. This part of them, anyway. Just after Fela was killed. The Cult is the only thing keeping them from an iron grip at this point. They melted him.”

  “Killed? The Cult? Melted?” I felt lost already.

  They wrapped a gentle hand around my upper arm and steered me deeper into the alley, talking as we walked. Every now and then, Camor shot a glance over their shoulder.

  “Oros had Fela killed a few years back. An assassin named Yenn.”

  “You can kill a god?”

  Camor shrugged. “Of course. You just have to be very good. And Yenn is one of the best.”

  “And the Cult?” I prompted. I pushed the thought of a god-killing assassin out of my mind for now.

  “The Cult of Oros. They’re keeping her soul trapped. No idea how, or what they’re up to. But Oros is making his move. That’s why Cord sent you here.”

  “Why didn’t he just come himself? Or Lux?”

  Camor paused, head down. “As for the melting, it’s second death. Or one of them. You’re just kind of… gone after that. To your other question, this way is barred to both of your friends. Cord can no longer remain in the Deadlands, and Lux is trapped in a purgatory of sorts. It’s a long story.

  They made to move again, and I planted my feet. “Then give me the short version. I’m tired of being in the dark.”

  Camor shook their head. “I don’t think you want to know.”

  “Oh, but I do,” I said, and started toward the mouth of the alley.

  I’d made it halfway there before I heard Camor sigh, and the patter of running feet. They took my arm again.

  “Fine,” they hissed. “I see your time with Cord has fostered a spark of bullheadedness I only expected from him.”

  We rounded a corner, deeper into the necropolis. The alleys grew darker, danker. Black ropes of something sticky and corrupt stretched across the alley cobbles, climbed the brick walls.

  “Now listen, and do not freak out,” Camor said.

  I sniffed. “I don’t freak out.”

  “You might.”

  “I will not.”

  “Fine,” Camor sighed. “You know the story of how Lux failed in her trials, died, and somehow came back?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, while she was here, the first time, she struck u
p a relationship with Fela. And then a bargain. She could go back, if she watched over you.”

  “Oh, Lux and the goddess of death were an item? Isn’t Fela also Cord’s ex? Wait. Watched over me?”

  “Yes, and yes,” Camor said.

  “What about the last part? Why watch over me?”

  Camor winced. “This is the part you freak out at.”

  “Would you just,” I said.

  “You’re her daughter,” Camor said.

  I laughed. “Sure. I’m death’s daughter. Who’s my dad?”

  I stopped in my tracks. My brain refused to think of anything as the implication hit it.

  “Cord…” I managed to croak out.

  “Told you so,” Camor said.

  I walked over to a wall and slid down it. I banged the back of my head gently against the bricks.

  “No. No. No. No,” I said.

  Camor sighed. “Should I just leave you—”

  I held up a hand to forestall them. I stared toward what passed for a sky in the Deadlands. I banged my head until it ached gently at the back.

  “Fuck,” I said finally.

  I looked over at Camor, waiting patiently, and got to my feet.

  “You know I’m going to stab him when I get back.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  We walked a bit longer in silence, taking twists and turns through the labyrinthine alleys of the city, deeper and deeper into the den of iniquity. I glanced up, to where the billboards still loomed in the skyline.

  “What the hell are those?” I asked, pointing to a rendering of a young woman with olive skin and perfect eyebrows flashing her rear.

  “It’s the price of fame. If you want to get famous in Fanucci’s afterlife, you’ve gotta let someone fuck you in the ass. Then you wear it like a badge of honor.”

  “That’s…”

  “Nothing comes without a price.”

  “Yeah, but that’s an out door.”

  Camor shrugged. “For some people, it’s a sewage plant.. For others, an amusement park.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Where are we going?”

  “If you’re gonna break Fela out, you’ll need help. I know just the guy.”