Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (12 page)

Ellen followed the vein of blue hellstone as best she could. Turi had taught her last night that the colors of stones flowed like a river. It was darker here in the center of the vein, and if she traveled to either her left or right she knew the color would shift until she came to the strange neon blue rooms where the light streamed up from the floor.

I’ll get lost if I go much farther.

The first chamber she remembered, the one where Rick had found her, had to be around here somewhere. She remembered the room having dark blue stones, darker than even the stone where she was now. It had seemed to her at the time that there were golden flecks in the stone as well. Surely Turi would be happy if she could lead him to the stone of that room. He might even pick it for that stupid chess set he was making.

She navigated through a few more chambers before she heard the sounds of a river.

Damn.

She had heard Rick mention other rivers—the Kingsriver, and Lethe. This one must be one of those. Turi had showed her how rivers had their own architecture and how their flow interrupted the patterns of Hell around them. She might not be able to find blue stone on the far side.

Besides, I don’t think Rick and I crossed another river. We just came to the Thames and he sent me up it.

She entered the river room cautiously. Red bricks soared up along the walls, forming high arches. She knelt by the river and put her hand in the water.

Is it the Thames? I must have gotten turned around.

It took her a few moments, but she thought she recognized the room. It was between her home and Turi’s.

If I travel downstream from here, I’ll get home.

“Are you alone?” a voice asked.

Ellen stood up from the bank and faced the stranger. The man was kneeling in the back corner of the room. His short hair was half covered by a blue bandana. His face was swollen, blotched and strangely discolored in places. One of his eyes was milky white, covered over as if with a cataract. The stranger’s jeans were ripped off at the knee and slit up the sides, perhaps to allow for greater mobility. He was armed with a shotgun which he had holstered at his right hip. The man’s button up shirt hung open, revealing the bone-handled stock of a pistol.

“You’re very young to be alone,” the man remarked. “Perhaps you would like some protection?”

He began scratching at his jeans, which brought his hand suspiciously close to the shotgun he had at his side. Arturus had also threatened her with a weapon, but there was something about this stranger she did not trust.

Lie to him.

“I’m fine,” Ellen answered. “But I am not alone. Take care, please. I don’t want my friends to shoot you when they come through.”

“Friends your age?” the man asked.

“No.”

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Ellen, and you?”

“Pyle.”

He was leaning forward, aggressively. She felt like he could cross the twenty or so feet between them easily.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.” Ellen heard the quiver in her own voice.

Did he know I was lying about having friends?

The man scratched at his jeans even harder. Ellen didn’t pay attention to his hand, but kept her eyes on the man’s shotgun.

“I’m sorry,” Pyle shook his head as he spoke, “it’s just that you remind me so much of my sister. Seeing you makes me miss her very much.”

Ellen felt a sudden tug on her feelings. Had she misjudged him? She had thought Rick was going to hurt her, too, after all.

“You had a sister?” she asked.

“A little sister. She’s still alive, in the old world, I mean. She was the last person I saw up there, before I died. I think of her sometimes.”

“Then I’m sure she thinks of you, too.”

A smile appeared on his face, lasting for only a moment. “I’m sure she does. I was wondering if you could help me, girl.”

Ellen chewed at her lip. Turi would have helped the man, she knew that, but she didn’t want to.

“What is it?”

Maybe I’ll have a good reason to leave him alone.

“I can’t swim,” Pyle told her. “I was hoping that you would get me across the river.”

Ellen thought about the man clutching at her from behind while they were in the water.

“I’m very sorry, I want to help, but I can’
t
. .
.
”

Ellen quit speaking. She felt like a terrible person for hating this man, for lying to him.

“It wouldn’t take much.” Pyle stepped closer as he spoke. “You could swim across to the far side. I would jump in a bit upstream, and you could just help me out of the water.”

“Pyle, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Maybe your friends can help me when they get here?”

“Huh?”

Pyle’s scratching was getting faster and faster. “You told me you had friends coming. You’re alone, aren’t you?”

“No.”

A smile crept across his face. “You’re too pretty to be a liar.”

This time, when he stepped forward
, she took a step back.

Ellen clutched at the gun Rick had given her. “Stay away from me.”

He continued to move forward. Ellen drew her gun, keeping it pointed at the floor. She didn’t dare provoke him. The gun in her hand shook furiously.

“Don’t come closer.”

Oh God. Where’s the safety on this thing?

Pyle finally stopped moving forward. He raised both hands into the air, but not to surrender. He worked loose the blue cloth from around his head and began to re-tie it. A lock of long white hair escaped from where it was hidden by the bandana.

He might have a gun hidden there.

Now that Pyle was closer she could see
the swelling on his face. It looked as if he had been badly burned. The skin had just begun to grow back in places.

“Tell me, the boy, the young one
you were talking to yesterday. Was he born here?”

Ellen felt her hand grow steady. She knew this was the dangerous question, though she didn’t know why. She certainly couldn’t understand how the answer could even matter, but it was clear that to Pyle, for all his apparent nonchalance, this was important.

He’s not here for me.

“No,” she lied. “He was born in San Francisco. He died there when he was very young.”

Pyle nodded, grimacing. “Run along, girl.”

Ellen walked backwards to the room’s entrance, never taking her eyes of the man. She found the stone wall behind her with her hand, and left the chamber. As soon as she put a couple of turns between herself and Pyle, she broke into a sprint.

Oh, Turi.

Arturus looked over the assorted stone squares he’d laid out on the table.

Michael better pick the right ones.

“They look fine,” Rick assured him.

Galen frowned as he oiled his disassembled pistol. “I thought you were going to include blue hellstone as an option?”

“I was,” Arturus said, nodding. “Ellen said she was going to find some that had golden flecks in them,” he said. “We were going to go get a sample this morning, but she never came in. I didn’t really like blue for a color anyway.”

Galen ran his brush up through the trigger mechanism, shaking his head.

“I’m sure she’s having trouble because she’s new,” Rick said.

“Turi?” that was Ellen’s voice, coming in from outside.

“There she is now.” Rick turned towards the room’s exit.

“Turi,” Galen joked, “you’re outside.”

“You’re supposed to call your own name, dear,” Rick called back to her.

Arturus listened to her footsteps as she came across the gravel. She entered into the battery room, stones skipping before her across the floor.

“You look tired.” Rick told her.

“I didn’t sleep hardly at all. I ran into a man last night, and I kept thinking he was following me.”

“One of the Harpsborough guards?”

“No.” Ellen sat down, a little out of breath. “Another hermit. He said his name was Pyle.”

“Wow, that’s a loaded name,” Rick said, standing up and walking away from the table. “You want some water, Ellen?”

Ellen nodded.

“You think it could be Pyle the Betrayer?” Arturus asked.

“Doubt it.” Rick pulled down a clay cup from the storage closet. “He was exiled from the city years ago, before you’d ever even been to Harpsborough. Long before, Ellen, you were even here. That man is surely dead. What did he look like?”

“At first I thought he had short hair,” she said, “but most of it was white and stringy.”

“Can’t be him, then.” Rick filled the glass. “Pyle had dark hair. Don’t worry, must be someone else with the same name.”

Ellen nodded thoughtfully and accepted the cup. She drank from it noisily. “He asked me about you, Turi. He asked me if you were born here.”

Galen’s pistol thudded as he pushed it down on the table, still half disassembled. Arturus was surprised by his sudden movement.

Rick had gone quiet as well.

Ellen’s hand shook as she placed her cup down.

“How did you answer?” Galen did not attempt in any way to hide the seriousness of his question.

Ellen swallowed. “I lied.”

“What did you say?” Galen’s stare was unblinking. “Tell me as accurately as you can.”

“He seemed to think the question was really important, and I didn’t like him, so I lied. I told him Turi was born in San Francisco.”

Rick took two steps forward, but stopped when Galen raised his hand.

Arturus looked back and forth between his parents.

What’s going on?

“Your instincts served you well,” Galen said. “It is not often right to lie, so don’t make a habit of it. Ellen, wait outside. Turi will be with you in a second.”

“Sure.” Her high pitched voice squeaked.

Arturus could hear her footsteps as she walked down the hallway. Rick sat back down at the table and looked towards Galen. The pistol lay forgotten on the table. The last of Ellen’s footsteps faded away.

“Turi,” Galen said.

“Yes, sir?”

“How long has it been since you saw Pyle?”

“About five years. I saw him once by the Hungerleaf Grove, maybe a year or so before he betrayed everyone. Maybe a year and a half before you took me to Harpsborough for the first time.”

Galen ran one finger along the side of his closely trimmed beard. “You’d recognize him?”

“Yes, sir. I think I would, sir.”

“Good. If you see him, kill him.”

There was a table in the Fore’s waiting room made out of old world mahogany. Under the old First Citizen’s rule it had become marred by scratches and watermarks. After Michael Baker had assumed the position, he’d ordered Copperfield to sand the thing down in order to remove the imperfections. Then he commissioned the hermit Galen to cover it with glass to help preserve it.

Arrayed before Michael on the table now were his body armor, rifle and pistol belt. Avery was watching him as he readied his equipment.

“How long since you’ve cleaned those weapons?” Avery asked.

“About two hours. But before that, maybe a year.”

Michael picked up his bulletproof vest and began to strap it on. “Did you know that Kevlar shrinks when you don’t wear it?”

Avery snorted.

Just outside of the door tapestry, Michael knew, the village was gathered about the Fore. They were waiting for him to lead the expedition.

“You sure this is a good idea, sir?” Avery asked. “I’ve been out there, and we aren’t likely to even see devilsign, let alone get a shot at something.”

“At the very least it will help me convince the Fore that there needs to be change. They’ve convinced themselves that Aaron’s no good. If I fail, then we’ll have proved that I’m not any better.”

“Maybe he is no good,” Avery said. “Maybe there’s hordes of those devils hiding out there in the wilds. Not that it’ll do us much good. Can’t imagine running one down with your fat ass in tow.”

He’s testing me. He wants to know if he’s going out with Michael the Hunter, or Michael the First Citizen.

Michael smiled to let Avery know the comment wasn’t out of line. He buckled his pistol belt around his waist and picked up his rifle. It was a push fed Winchester Model 70, fitted for firing a high caliber round. He ran his hand along to the top of its barrel.

“Jesus, that’s going to have a hell of a kick,” Avery pointed out. “What’s that fire, .416?”

“.458.”

“You expecting to find a Minotaur out there?”

“Just want to be prepared. Hell, for all I know the dyitzu have been getting as fat as I have.”

“If only.”

Michael walked past Avery and stopped for a moment before the door tapestry.

“They’re all out there, waiting for you,” Avery said.

“They always are.”

Michael recognized the faces of several of the Citizens as he pushed his way through the crowd. Chelsea was there, along with Copperfield, Kylie and Mancini. Many of the others were looking down on him from the Fore’s third story balconies and fourth floor. The hunters seemed strangely distant until Aaron came over and shook his hand.

“Good hunting,” the Lead Hunter said.

Michael nodded. Only then did the rest of the hunters smile and wish him luck.

He spotted Fitch and Duncan on the far side of the mass. He recognized the faces of many of the common people as well. There was young Julian, his black face easy to spot against the Caucasian ones, his eyes wide with hero worship. He also saw Molly, that bitch, and Alice.

He could smell Massan as he neared the trader. The man smelled like sweat and rose petals. Undoubtedly he’d found some stash of old world perfume or cologne.

“We’re hungry, Mike,” Massan said.

“I know,” he replied, “and I’m going to get you some food, one way or another.”

Massan nodded solemnly.

“It means a lot to us,” he heard Molly’s voice, “that you’re willing to risk your own skin for us.”

I bet you’re damn happy my skin is in danger.

“Get us some food, Mike!” someone shouted.

He nodded. He could feel the adulation from the crowd, the hope that he inspired. He could tell that they needed him. This was how it used to be, before he became the First Citizen. It was about time that these people remembered who he was.

You might die, though.

He spotted a man sitting against the Fore, disinterested. He thought to mark the man and remember him as a dissident, but then he recognized him. It was Benson, the fellow who had the stilling.

I should pass a law where we kick people like that out of the city.

“I wish I could go with you, Mike,” he heard a voice behind him say.

He turned around to see Martin. He almost went to shake the man’s hand before he remembered that it had been removed.

He reached out and clasped the hunter’s shoulder instead. “Believe me, I was sore when I heard about your punishment. Not that it’s not deserved, but you would have been one of my first choices.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Michael Baker pressed on and made it to the far side of the villagers. He shook Fitch and Duncan’s hands, making strong eye contact with the two of them. Fitch looked him straight in the eye, but Duncan looked down quickly.

“Like old times,” Avery said as he emerged from the crowd.

If only this moment could last forever.

“I hope you brought some big packs, gentleman,” Michael said. “It’s been a
while since I’ve been hunting, and I’m going to want to make up for it.”

He could see the doubt on their faces, but it was quieted by Avery.

“You’re about to see a legend in action, boys,” Avery said. “You could stand to pick up a thing or two.”

Michael looked back towards the crowd, and saw the hermit boy, Turi, coming through. He had a girl next to him whom Michael didn’t recognize.

“Don’t bother him, Turi,” someone was saying.

Here it is, my reason to linger.

“Let him through,” Michael said. “I have business with him.”

For some reason Turi looked out into the crowd at those words, as if
searching for someone. “I’ve brought some samples so you could pick which squares you like.”

“Let me see them.” Michael set his Winchester down against his side and held out his hands.

Turi fumbled with his pack, bringing out a few squares. “We could use woodstone and granite. Or hellstone. I’m going to make the pieces match whichever type of stone you want, though we’ll make those out of glass.”

Michael took the stones into his hands. “You made these, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Galen didn’t?”

“No, sir, but he showed me how. This is my favorite here, the black marble. I thought if we mixed that with the white marble and glass that it would look the best.”

Michael frowned. The black marble one looked a little crooked. Everyone was looking at him. He glanced about to measure their mood. Even the hunters seemed begrudgingly hopeful.

My legend still has some teeth.

“These are just the sample pieces,” Turi was saying.

“I agree with you, Turi. I think the marble black and white would be the best. But the quality has to be high with what we’re paying you.”

“It will be, I promise.”

Such an honest boy.

His own hunters were getting agitated.

“Don’t worry folks,” Michael said loudly to the crowd, “we’re going to take a long range, and since we might not be home by nightfall, we’ve decided to leave Aaron behind to protect you. These are hard times. I’ve got to go out into the wilds to see some things for myself. If we have to change the way hunting is done, we’ll do it. If we have to change the way food distribution is done, we’ll do it. I won’t let you starve.”

They were nodding solemnly, but there was no applause. Michael felt somewhat upset about that.

I should have ordered Mancini to start clapping as I left.

“Good hunting,” Turi said.

Michael saw that he, like Julian, also had the look of hero worship in his eyes.

The First Citizen led his men past the entryway guards into the wilds.

“You’d think they’d never seen you go hunting before,” Avery said.

“They’re starving,” Duncan replied. “They think we’re going to bring something back.”

“We are,” Avery said.

“Maybe, but even if we kill a dyitzu, one devil won’t solve anything. You’ll just make it look like Aaron’s an idiot. But he’s not. There’s nothing out here, Avery. If we succeed we’ll just make things worse.”