Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) Read online

  Massan smiled. “Very well, boy. Dyitzu meat is rather hard to come by at the moment. And I’d play fetch with a hellhound before I’d eat another bundle of Julian’s devilwheat.” Massan’s laugh was infectious. “Perhaps you will keep coming back, but I doubt I’ll be able to cheat you much. Give me three pounds and I’ll give you both boxes of shells. When you get home, tell Galen and Rick that you gave me an extra pound because food was so scarce. But for the barrel, you are going to have to do better than dyitzu meat.”

  Arturus pulled out what looked to be three or so pounds of smoked dyitzu and passed them over to Massan. Massan didn’t bother to weigh them, which was a sign of great trust.

  “Rick gave you a full pack, didn’t he?” Massan asked.

  “Yeah, I think he wanted you to be able to cheat me,” Arturus said, and then he looked at Massan sternly. “He did not give me ten pounds of meat, though.”

  Massan laughed

  After a few more moments rifling through his pack, Arturus pulled out a nine millimeter pistol.

  He offered it to the trader who partially disassembled the weapon to take stock of it.

  “A fine gun. Normally I wouldn’t trade it for a rifle barrel, but I don’t suppose that anyone around here is going to have a need for an infidel’s weapon.”

  “Is the rifling in it okay?” Arturus asked as he examined the item.

  “I have no idea, Turi.” Massan told him. “Never fired anything from it.”

  Arturus slid through the door blanket and held the barrel up to the light outside of Massan’s tent-house. There didn’t appear to be any carbon deposits on the inside of it. On the whole, the barrel looked pretty good.

  He looked over to Alice’s hovel then, hoping that she would be awake and moving about. She was not.

  Galen and Rick always asked for information before they left. Galen only seemed to be curious about Harpsborough’s leaders, particularly the First Citizen, Michael Baker. Rick asked for the gossip.

  “Any rumors about where the dyitzu have gone?” Arturus asked Massan.

  “A little quieter boy,” Massan told him softly as he cast a glance at the sleeping Kara, “The others are still asleep, remember?”

  “Sorry,” Arturus apologized, smiling impishly.

  Massan joined him outside of the tent.

  “None that I believe. I’m almost worried about how few devils are about, though. Aaron says it’s the calm before the storm. Like he’d know. He’s been Lead Hunter for a few years, and all of a sudden he thinks that he’s a prophet. Your friend Alice buys it, of course. You know how close those two have been lately.”

  Arturus shook his head and glanced over to Alice’s hovel. He supposed it was empty. His chest felt a lot like that hovel.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much, lad. She’s always been too old for you anyway.”

  “Why would you think I like her?” Arturus asked.

  “Because you wear your emotions on your sleeve, like Rick. If you don’t want people to know what you are thinking, then you should wear them on the inside, like Galen.”

  Arturus nodded.

  “Sometimes I can tell you were born here,” Massan said.

  I wish everyone didn’t think I was different.

  “I better get going,” Arturus said, “if I’m not back soon Rick will have two of us to worry about.”

  Massan nodded. “Goodbye, Turi. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  The trader went back inside.

  I really should go. I promised Rick I’d make the trades and that’s it.

  Besides, he had to ask Rick about the AR-15 barrel. If Galen had killed an Infidel Friend, Arturus would want to know. Maybe that’s why the man hadn’t returned. But just as he was moving to leave the city, he saw Alice coming out of her home. She yawned and stretched.

  He imagined Alice to be a princess, like in one of Galen’s stories. She was merely a common girl now, but she would be so much more when she met the man she was destined for. He watched her, a bit hypnotized, as she arranged her blue thigh length skirt. He could not understand how any man could look at her and not want to be with her. Massan must lie awake in his tent at night, dreaming of that fair maiden, cursing the fates that his age did not align with hers.

  Arturus remembered to breathe.

  I told Rick I’d go straight home.

  When she looked his way he quickly averted his gaze and pretended that he was examining his pack. After a moment, he dared a few more clandestine glances. She was tying her blonde hair back into a ponytail with a blue hair tie. With her arms held high and back, her small breasts were pushed forward. The purple color of her bra showed through her white tank top. Arturus felt flushed, and looked away, embarrassed.

  I should talk to her.

  He couldn’t imagine what to say, though. Anything he could think of was all about himself, and he had no idea why she would find his life interesting.

  He considered leaving then, but the fact that he had come to the city all by himself made him bold. He approached her.

  “How are you doing today?” he asked, his voice cracking only a little.

  “Good,” she replied, giving him a half-smile, “and yourself?”

  “I guess I’m okay. I came in to trade for some things and got them. I’m sure Rick will be proud of me. I’m really worried about Galen, though. He’s late.”

  Alice nodded politely. After a few heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, she started to move on.

  “What’s that?” Arturus asked her, pointing to the ornament that hung in front of her door blanket.

  “It’s a dreamcatcher.” She turned back and reached out to touch one of the pebbles caught up in the yarn web. “It stops my nightmares from coming in, but lets the good dreams through.”

  “Does it work?” He looked at the dreamcatcher suspiciously.

  Alice laughed. “It’s just a symbol, silly.”

  Her words stung him slightly, but Galen had said that symbols were very real. Sometimes too real. Arturus knew that some men would die for a symbol.

  Arturus took a closer look at the dreamcatcher. “Yeah, but does it?”

  Her left cheek dimpled with her smile. “Almost. Keeps them all out but one. One always gets through.”

  “Must be broken. Bet you I could fix it.”

  The dreamcatcher’s beads rattled as Arturus touched one of its strings.

  Alice’s ponytail swung back and forth as she shook her head. “I’d need to see your certifications.”

  “You can trust me,” Arturus said, laughing. “I’m an expert.”

  “Oh are you?”

  “Sure am. Hey, I was wondering if you—I brought some food with me to trade and I have a lot left. I’m sure Rick wouldn’t mind it if you’d eat with me.”

  Actually, he’d probably be pretty angry.

  Alice glanced up to one of the Fore’s balconies. “Well, I can’t. I’m meeting Molly at the church, but maybe we could eat together tomorrow?”

  “Really?”

  She nodded, smiling.

  What if Rick doesn’t let me come back?

  “Wait, I don’t know if I can make it to town,” he said, thinking quickly, “but maybe we could meet at the Hungerleaf Grove?”

  “Tomorrow, about this time?” she asked.

  Their morning is just a little behind ours.

  “Perfect,” he said, and fought to keep himself from smiling too hard.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she told him, and continued on towards the church.

  “Wait,” he said on impulse.

  Alice stopped and turned back towards him.

  “What’s the nightmare, the one that always gets through?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “It’s the same nightmare each time?”

  “Yes, Turi. The same one each night.”

  “What is it? Maybe I can help?”

  Alice smoothed some wrinkles out of her skirt with her hands. “You can’t stop this one, T
uri.”

  “Why not? What nightmare is it?”

  “The one where I’m damned.”

  Arturus watched her as she continued walking. Before Alice had made it all the way to the church, though, she turned and looked at him. She looked sad, but she regained her half-smile briefly as their eyes met. She backed her way through the church’s open double doors and disappeared into the building.

  Galen had told him what he was supposed to do with a woman after he got her. Some of it sounded really unattractive. He almost felt like it would degrade her. But to kiss her? And hold her? That would be the most beautiful thing. He wondered how he could explain to her the feelings he had. How he could make her understand how well he would treat her since he cared so much for her. Galen would tell him what to say.

  Maybe he’s back already.

  He walked out of Harpsborough and passed the two guards.

  “Hey, Turi!” the sympathetic guard called after him.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s good to see you out on your own, you know.”

  Arturus grinned slyly. “It’s nice not to have Galen and Rick around, slowing me down and all.”

  The guard gave out a surprised laugh. “Right!”

  “See ya,” Arturus said as he headed back into the wilds.

  As Hell closed in around him, the rush of visiting Harpsborough rescinded and worry came up in its place.

  Please let him be home.

  If they recognize me, they’ll kill me.

  Pyle lay in the shadows, waiting, watching as the hermit boy made his way through the cavern. The young man was being careful, Pyle would give him that, but he was distracted and in a hurry. There was a pack slung over one of the boy’s shoulders and a box of shells in what was probably his shooting hand.

  He could be left handed. Still, he’d be an easy mark, and he’s about the right age.

  But even if this was the boy that Carlisle and the Infidel had been looking for, simply kidnapping him would not be enough. Would Maab remove the rustrock lined scars she had branded into the most intimate parts of his person in exchange for the lad’s capture? Not likely.

  The Infidel Friend had a saying: “Hell heals all wounds.” Well, they had never met Maab. That woman knew how to make the wounds stick.

  No, he was going to have to find out more than just who Carlisle was looking for. He needed to know why the Infidel himself had gone to such lengths to try and capture the youth in the first place. Then he might have enough information to make a deal with Maab.

  Mancini can help me.

  But to speak to Mancini he would have to get past the guards and into Harpsborough. And then what was he going to do? Just go traipsing around in there like they hadn’t had him exiled? Some of the people he’d known had to have died off. It had been a couple of years, certainly. Still, some of the villagers would be left, and almost all of the Citizens.

  If they recognize me, they’ll kill me.

  The young man exited the chamber. Pyle waited for one hundred breaths to make sure the boy did not return.

  Then he stood up from the shadows.

  They deserved it. Every drop of blood those devils took from Harpsborough was justified three times over.

  Pyle drew out a long strip of cloth from his pack and began wrapping it about his face. He hadn’t found any dyitzu near Harpsborough, but pretending that he had been burned by one was the best disguise he could think of.

  With his head fully covered, he wrapped up his left hand as well.

  I should go to the Kingsriver and check my wrappings in my reflection.

  Pyle shook his head, rejecting the idea as one spawned by fear.

  I need to be brave.

  He moved towards Harpsborough instead, passing through the next few chambers in a daze. There was a time in Pyle’s life when he had walked this very same path each day. He remembered Molly, sweet Molly, who he had kissed for the first time in the room ahead of this one.

  Bitch left me.

  He walked for another minute before stopping abruptly. Unless things had changed, two of Harpsborough’s hunters would be in the next room, guarding the entrance.

  If only I had an ally who could talk to Mancini for me.

  But he had no one. Maab’s men hated him almost as much as the people of Harpsborough did.

  Poor little Pyle. He has no friends.

  He could hear the sound of the village’s guards echoing down the chamber. He closed his eyes and listened.

  “. . . never what I would have thought. I still don’t believe it myself. Besides, these days we get so few lots it wouldn’t even be worth it.”

  “They need to double us, at least.”

  “Triple, if they want to make it fair.”

  “Like that’d ever happen. Then Copperfield would have to lose a few pounds, and the Devil knows that’d be the end of Hell.”

  The men shared some laughter.

  Pyle reached up and checked his bandages. He adjusted them carefully, trying to make the slit for his eyes as thin as possible. If they saw his un-burnt skin through the slit, they might begin to suspect him. He adjusted his belt, his right hand falling to his short barreled Remington coach gun. The walnut stock felt smooth to his touch. He flicked off its safety.

  No. If they recognize me, I’ll kill them.

  Pyle squared his shoulders and entered the room. He was relieved to see that he didn’t know either of them.

  “Hand off the gun,” one of the hunters ordered.

  Pyle took his hand away from his Remington and placed it across his chest—that way it would be closer to the revolver he kept hidden over his heart. “I’m just here to trade.” His voice sounded muffled through the cloth. He spread the wraps open around his lips with his free hand, being careful not to expose too much skin.

  “Yeah?” the other hunter asked. “What do you have?”

  “Some meat and a few torches.” His voice sounded clearer now.

  One of the hunters crossed his arms and sneered. “We’ve got torches.”

  “Meat would be nice, though.” The other hunter licked his lips. “What kind? Dyitzu or hound?”

  “Dyitzu,” Pyle said. “The same one that took my face.”

  “Yeah?” said the cross-armed one. “Let me see the burns.”

  Damn.

  Pyle shook his head. “My skin’s healed into the cloth. It would hurt too much for me to take it off.”

  “Too damn bad.” The hunter uncrossed his arms and let one of his hands rest on his sidearm. “No face, no entry. We’re not kind to all hermits.”

  “You let the boy in,” Pyle insisted.

  “He had a face,” the hunter said. “For all we know you’re not burnt at all. You might be a corpse-eater. Could have the rot.”

  “But the rest of my body is fine,” Pyle protested.

  “No face, no entry.”

  This isn’t working.

  “Fine,” Pyle said. “I’ll let the burns heal a little more. I’ll be back when I can get the wraps off.”

  “Good,” said the other hunter, “don’t eat all the meat.”

  Pyle wanted to gun them both down, but then he’d never get into Harpsborough. He left the chamber, took a turn and a dozen steps, then paused. The echoed voices of the guards came to him again.

  “How’d he know about Turi?”

  “Who cares? He had meat, Avery. We could have let him bribe his way in.”

  “Aaron would throw you through the Golden Door as soon as he found out.”

  “That’s the point. He wouldn’t find out.”

  “I think he would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my ass would tell him.”

  Pyle clenched his teeth and moved on, heading back into the wilds.

  This isn’t over.

  The rooms passed by him in a blur.

  That idiot hunter. Avery. I’m going to kill him.

  There had to be a way in. He could come back during their next shift
, and the new guards might let him by. Or he could take the disguise off altogether and try to time it so that he entered Harpsborough while everyone was sleeping.

  No. Someone would see me and gun me down.

  He stopped when he heard the watery rush of the Kingsriver.

  He entered the chamber slowly. There were very few devils around here, but it never hurt to be sure. It was empty.

  I could shoot my way through the guards.

  Pyle admitted to himself that such a thought was just a fantasy. He knew what he had to do.

  He set his pack down by the river. The rush of the water helped sooth his nerves. He untied his bag’s draw string and let it spill open. Slowly, he removed one of his torches. He held it aloft, still unlit.

  I have to speak to Mancini. Hell heals all wounds.

  He knelt by the bank and placed the torch reverently to his right. He met his own gaze in the water. His sister had always bragged about his good looks. About how all her friends had wanted to date him.

  Ladykiller.

  He fumbled through his pack until he found his firerock brick. The dark, heavy, almost metallic stone felt rough to his fingers. He struck it, hard, against the hellstone by the riverbank. Sparks flew from the brick, showering into the Kingsriver. A few settled on his hand. He let them burn out there. The pain was intense, but he knew it would be nothing compared to what was to come. He reached over with his free hand and picked up the torch. It took him two more strikes with the firerock before he had the thing lit.

  The torchlight shone on the Kingsriver, adding its own ruddy glow to the room’s ambient light. His hands were shaking, and the glow shook with it.

  He held the torch up to the level of his eyes. The fire danced there before him. He looked away.

  Hell heals all wounds. This is the way.

  He couldn’t hold the torch steady. He could feel the flame’s heat on his cheek. The skin on the side of his face tingled with anticipation. The warmth was a good thing, he knew. The fire was his friend. The fire was going to get him into Harpsborough. The fire was going to let him know if that young man was indeed the one Carlisle had been looking for. The fire was going to help him control Maab. Help him get enough leverage to make that bitch restore to him those parts of his body she had taken. Clenching his jaw, he looked back towards the torch.