Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) Page 6

  The light streaming down from the ceiling illuminated a loose strand of Alice’s blonde hair. “Pretty neat, huh?”

  “Yeah, but why did you come here to begin with?” Arturus asked.

  Alice walked over to the most damaged portion of the wall, found a handhold, and started to climb. “Well, I was thinking of the words of that famous American poet, Cynthia Lauper.”

  Arturus loved poetry. “What did she say?”

  “Girls just want to have fun.”

  He looked at her, bemused, as she clung to the wall and laughed. Her laughter echoed in the small chamber.

  He cinched his pack tightly to his shoulders while he mentally worked out a route. The climb looked like it would be pretty easy. He waited for her to get a little higher before beginning to make his way up. He caught up with her after just a moment and passed her quickly.

  “Damn, Turi, where’d you learn to climb like that?”

  “Galen, he teaches me everything. We headed to the light?”

  “Yes, sir! I’m starving, so don’t take your time or anything.”

  He made it to the top opening after another minute. The room’s collapse had created a crack which led back into the Kingsriver chamber they had left. There was a small cubbyhole which looked down onto the river. This is where Alice must have meant for them to eat their lunch.

  He had to admit that the view from the landing there was beautiful. He looked back down at her. “You want me to lower a rope?”

  “Funny.”

  He helped her off of the wall and into the opening, again reveling in the closeness of her body. She walked into the cubbyhole and sat down. He watched her chest rise and fall. She wiped the sweat off of her brow and looked up.

  “You’re not tired?” she asked.

  “No. Galen makes me climb like this all the time.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like something he’d do. What’s for lunch?”

  He took off his pack and opened it. He had some of the leftovers from Galen’s return meal. He passed her a hungerleaf wrap and a cup of meat pie. She attacked the food. He’d never seen anyone so ravenous. All things considered, he was rather impressed that she had been able to wait so long to get here before starting to eat. He ate sparingly of his own portion, knowing that she would still be hungry when she had finished hers. It didn’t take her long. She didn’t offer any objection when he offered her his leftovers.

  She drank his canteen dry after she had finished.

  I should have brought more than just a snack. It was probably just enough to make her truly hungry.

  “Been tough in the village,” she apologized.

  “I know.”

  She held up her satchel and opened the flap that had the white cat on it. “But look what I got.”

  Inside was a small clay jar, fired in Kylie’s Kiln. She pulled out a knife and worked off the corking. Arturus leaned forward to see what was inside.

  “Take a whiff,” she said.

  The smell burned his nose. “Bloodwater?”

  She smiled.

  “I’ve never had that before. Isn’t it illegal for young people to drink that in the old world?”

  She shook her head. “Turi, we’re not in the old world anymore. Hell, you weren’t ever in it. But Rick and Galen won’t be mad. Hell heals all wounds, you know? No way you can get drain bramage.”

  “Drain bramage?”

  She winked at him and took a sip. The clay jar was almost empty, but the stuff was probably worth as much as the food Arturus had shared.

  She made sure to bring something that would be a fair trade. It couldn’t have been easy for her. She’s a good person.

  She offered him the jar. Still somewhat dubious, he placed the jar to his lips and tilted it back. He had to tilt it farther than he expected, so that when he did get the bloodwater he got a mouthful instead of a sip. The liquid was bitter, sweet in an unpleasing way, and it burned in his mouth. He swallowed it quickly. The burning sensation went down his throat and disappeared into his stomach.

  “Wow.” He coughed a couple of times, his eyes watering.

  She punched him in the shoulder. “Good boy, did you like it?”

  “That was probably the most disgusting thing I’ve had in my life.”

  She smiled and licked her front teeth. “So you want some more then?”

  “Sure.”

  The second swallow didn’t taste any better, but he found the burn of the liquid pleasant for some reason.

  Alice leaned back against the wall and looked out into the Kingsriver chamber. Arturus did likewise.

  “Do you ever think you’re better than us?” she asked. “Because you weren’t damned? You think you would have made it into heaven if you were on Earth?”

  He thought for a moment. “You cannot judge what you do not know. I have no idea what people do to get sent here.”

  She nodded, and took a long swig of bloodwater. “Me neither. I’m betting I was sent here for my tattoo.”

  “You had a tattoo? Like Hidalgo?”

  “Not like him!” she said, sitting up into a kneeling position. “It was right here.”

  She turned around and pulled up the bottom of her shirt. Arturus’ heart picked up speed. She pointed to her lower back. “It was a tribal, except it had vines and flowers going all around it. It was my tramp stamp.”

  “Tramp stamp?”

  “Sure was. Now it’s gone though. Hell swallowed it up, so I’m not a tramp anymore.” Her stomach rumbled audibly. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. I know it’s been hard.”

  She pulled her shirt back down and turned back around.

  “I don’t have any more food,” he said, “but I have some hungerleaves you can chew on if you want.”

  She accepted one. “Thanks, buddy. It’ll help keep me awake too. I love hungerleaf, it’s an optimistic plant.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “It has three points, so it has to be. Sinfruit leaves, they have four points, so they’re pessimistic. Watch, I’ll show you.”

  She leaned up to the edge of the Kingsriver chamber. From their height, perhaps forty feet or so, the mist seemed to cover everything like a blanket. She ripped off one of the points of a dark green hunger leaf and tossed it. Arturus watched it fall into the mists below.

  “Aaron loves me,” she said, and ripped off another point. “Aaron loves me not.” And another. “Aaron loves me. See, all out of leaves. With hungerleaf, all the men love you.”

  Does she really love Aaron?

  Arturus felt his throat tighten. “All the men?”

  “All the men.”

  “Even Mancini?”

  “Eww!” Her eyes went wide. “I’d make sure to use a sinfruit leaf for him. So what’s it like, Turi, growing up without a woman in your life.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure really what to compare it to. What would I be missing?”

  “Well, women can teach you things.”

  Now that could be interesting.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. A different perspective. Intuitive things.”

  “Galen says that female intuition is an oxymoron.”

  Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Does he now?”

  “Yes.”

  “We shall have to have a talk with him about that.” She laughed and threw the remains of the hungerleaf at him.

  He balled it up and put it in his mouth, letting the leaf’s sourness wash away the ugly aftertaste of the bloodwater.

  “It must be hard for you,” she said. “There’s no girls in the village your age. How are you going to find love?”

  “You’re my age,” he said, looking down to the Kingsriver mists.

  “Turi, I’m at least three years older than you.”

  He nodded. “Maybe, but I’ll catch up.”

  Her laugh was delightful.

  Those three years won’t mean as much as time goes by, and then maybe you’ll love m
e.

  Davel Mancini marched up the Fore’s stairs.

  Finally, I have the Fore to myself.

  Once a week Klein would hold a special service just for Citizens. The rest of the Citizens had agreed to stay late for a meeting about the lack of devils. Mancini didn’t know what they could possibly have left to discuss. It wasn’t like there was anything they could actually do about the problem. All that was left was to listen to Father Klein’s drivel. The Father had been in Hell longer than him, sure, but Mancini was wise enough to know that when it came to things Klein didn’t understand, he was full of bullshit.

  And he sure as hell doesn’t understand this.

  Besides, Mancini knew they were discussing the wrong thing. Hell had its own rules, and no human knew what they were. Humans weren’t made for this place. They were made for the old world. It was the devils that knew what was going on. If only a dyitzu was smart enough to speak, maybe they could ask one. It certainly couldn’t come up with anything more cockamamie than the crap Father Klein was spewing.

  He came to the third story landing.

  Someone had left the parlor room pitch black, too dark even for his liking. Mancini, his arms held up before him, took ginger steps into the room. The door blankets that led to the balcony had been drawn so that they were perfectly flush with their stone frames.

  Someone must have been sleeping in here.

  He had to feel around with his feet to make sure he didn’t run into the stone furniture.

  He drew off a single blanket from around the first orb. The dyitzu skin felt soft to his touch. He let the blanket drop to his feet and stepped over it as the parlor was lit with the dimmest of illuminations. There was just barely enough light now for him to try and see. He moved towards the second orb, intending to take off another blanket.

  He heard a click.

  I’m not alone.

  He saw a pale white face, disembodied in the darkness. Mancini froze, staring at it. He could not tell if it was human, or devil. It had no nose or lips to speak of, and its flesh seemed too swollen to be a person’s. Tufts of black hair sprang up from its mostly bald head, disappearing into the blackness about it. In a few places the hair was as white as the skin on the face itself.

  Mancini took a step back.

  It wasn’t too close to him, maybe thirty or so paces away.

  That can’t be right, there’s a wall there. Is it in the wall?

  He did his best to make sense of the room, trying not to lose sight of the face itself.

  Don’t move, maybe it won’t kill you.

  As Mancini’s eyes began to adjust, he noticed that there was a shadow between the two of them.

  Wait, it’s not in the wall, that’s the mirror.

  He wasn’t looking at the face at all. He was looking at the face’s reflection. It could be anywhere in the room. If that was the mirror, then the shadow was himself. And that would mean that the face was right—

  “Don’t move, Davel,” a voice whispered in his ear.

  Mancini felt a gun being pressed into his back.

  It knows my name.

  His shoulders tensed so hard that they hurt.

  “Don’t shout for help,” the voice ordered.

  Mancini tried to nod, but his neck was so tight that he couldn’t move it.

  That voice.

  Mancini saw his own eyes, their whites seemingly pale grey in the darkness, widening in the mirror.

  “Pyle,” Mancini said.

  The Betrayer.

  The gun pulled away from his back.

  “Good, you recognize me.”

  How did he get in here? What happened to his face?

  “Yes.” Mancini whispered.

  “Don’t worry, Davel, I won’t kill you. I’m a good man, and I remember all the fine wine you brewed me. I’m just here to ask you some questions.”

  Mancini’s legs began shaking.

  Control yourself.

  “Why have you come back?” he asked Pyle.

  “Questions, that’s all. I just came in to ask you about the angel’s get. That boy that Carlisle and the Infidel were looking for.”

  He needs something from me.

  Mancini took his first quivering steps. His legs were shaky and had no strength to speak of. Running wasn’t going to be an option. The gun pressed again into his back.

  “Where are you going, Mancini?”

  He froze.

  “The boy,” Pyle demanded. “Tell me.”

  “That was before my time.” Mancini’s voice shook.

  “It was, but I know you know the answer.”

  “What if I don’t know anything?”

  “Then you die.”

  He won’t kill me. He needs to know what I know, doesn’t he?

  Mancini tried to read Pyle’s face in the mirror. The room was too dark, and the scars hid any semblance of the man’s expression. Mancini’s neck cramped, and he jerked his head to one side in pain.

  “Easy, Citizen Mancini. No quick moves.”

  Mancini felt Pyle’s breath on the back of his cramped neck and tears began forming in his eyes. “I’ll answer the best I can.”

  Pyle moved slowly around Mancini, coming face to face with him. The man was a mess of burns and boils. One of his eyes was milky white. When Pyle blinked, there was only half of an eyelid to cover that eye. “I don’t really give a damn why Carlisle was looking for the boy. I knew Carlisle. All he wanted was to protect something holy. What I can’t figure out is why the Infidel was looking for him too. But you’re smart, Mancini. I know you must have it all worked out. Either that, or maybe Anna told you. You still have her locked up in your little brewery?”

  The pain in Mancini’s neck lessened a little, and he managed to swallow. “I’ll tell you anything. Anything I can remember, but I didn’t get it from her. Father Klein is the one who told me.”

  “Like I give a damn. Speak, Davel.”

  “The Infidel wanted him because there is some demon, like the Icanitzu, except it’s immune to more than just bullets. Nothing in Hell can hurt it.”

  “And the Infidel thought the boy could?” Pyle asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Because he’s made from the stuff of an angel, not Hell or Earth?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s ridiculous.”

  Mancini shook his head helplessly.

  “You must know something more,” Pyle insisted. “The hermit, Turi I think his name is, could he be the one.”

  Mancini shook his head. “The Infidel killed Carlisle, remember. It’s been well over a decade. That boy’s in the hands of the Infidel by now.”

  “Damn.”

  That was desperation in his voice. He’s not going to kill you. I’ve got to use this.

  Mancini gathered himself.

  This is the same man you used to work with. This is the same man who was your friend.

  “I could pass a new law in the Fore.” Mancini’s voice was quivering with his fear, but he pressed on. “Make sure that no one with a scarred face is allowed in. Make sure that someone who could recognize you identifies each hermit as they enter.”

  Pyle moved across the carpet and sat down in Michael’s favorite chair.

  Had things gone a little differently, Pyle might be the one living here, and Michael would be skulking in the wilds.

  “Was that a threat?” Pyle asked. “I might kill you now.”

  Mancini nodded, his neck stiff.

  Pyle raised his shotgun.

  Oh, God.

  Mancini’s legs almost gave out beneath him. “Kill me. Kill a Citizen. But hopefully no law will have to be passed, and you won’t have to shoot me.”

  Surely Pyle wouldn’t kill him. But this wasn’t the same person that he’d known, Mancini realized. The wilds had changed the man somehow.

  Is it possible he mutilated himself just to be able to get into Harpsborough?

  Pyle shook his head and holstered his gun. “I’m listening.”
>
  Mancini brought his hand up to his neck and began massaging it. “I’m the only one in Harpsborough who will talk to you, Pyle. Father Klein would die before he gives you more information. But I’m sure he does know more. I’ll grill him. I’ll find out everything he knows about the boy, but. . .”

  “But what?”

  “First you have to do something for me.”

  “I saw you making eyes at that hermit boy,” Aaron teased her.

  “Turi? What was that, last week?” Alice laughed. “Please. He’s too young.”

  “You shouldn’t lead the poor guy on.”

  “I’m not! He’s cooped up in that little room on the Thames with Rick and Galen. Doesn’t even have a mother. He could use an older sister.”

  Aaron frowned.

  “And an older brother, too,” she said. “He might make a good hunter for you someday.”

  “Someday,” he agreed.

  “Besides, I saw you making eyes at Chelsea.”

  Aaron smirked and shook his head. “That’s different.”

  Alice stood up from their dining table and took the two steps required to bring her to the edge of the third floor balcony. The whole village could see her from here.

  So what if Chelsea sees me?

  This was, perhaps, the finest place to dine in all of Harpsborough, not counting the First Citizen’s private balcony.

  Let her be jealous.

  To her right was the church, and she was just below the level of one of its crucifix topped steeples. If she walked along the balcony’s edge and peered around the corner of the Fore, she would be able to see Kylie’s Kiln. She wondered what it would be like to be a Citizen, to be able to stand on this balcony every day, not as a guest, but as a person who belonged here.

  This dream might all come true, she knew, if she accepted Aaron’s advances.

  And dropped in disgrace, if he decides he loves Chelsea more. Better listen to Molly and make sure he makes me a Citizen first.

  There were other reasons for putting him off, of course. Ex-lovers seldom made for good friends, and enemies of Citizens did not have an easy time of it.

  “I like it when we eat here,” she said.