The Living Night (Book 2) (25 page)

To either side of the lunatic loomed his Castle
Guards, their faces tense.

"What's the meaning of this?" Junger
demanded.

Kiernevar scowled, scraped his hand across his
belly, and threw a fist-full of shit at the Balaklava.

"Kiernevar will be king, you say. Kiernevar
will be
god
! Well, he never
say
to kill
Danielle, Danielle who not treat him bad.
You
treat him bad by not
telling him of this—not asking his permission!"

"Ask his
permission
?" said Jagoda. "You
fool,
we don't have to ask your
permission
! We said we'd help you, protect you
... be your allies ... but you’re not our master. Don't fucking forget your
place again, fly-catcher. Now leave us."

"
No
."
Kiernevar held his ground. "When Kiernevar king, he will have you killed.
Killed
!
Unless you let go Danielle and do what he says."

Throughout this interplay, Danielle wisely kept
her mouth shut. Recording events, but not participating. Something big was
going on here, if only she knew what.

Junger growled. "We're not your toadies.
That wasn't the deal.
Equals, Kiernevar.
Equals! You
understand that?"

Danielle seriously doubted that the Balaklava considered him an equal, but she wasn’t about
to point this out.

The lunatic snapped his fingers at her. Without
a word, she leapt to her feet and made a broad loop around the Balaklava to Kiernevar's side. Without her having to ask,
he broke the ropes that bound her hands.

"If equals," Kiernevar said,
"then next time you
ask
." He shook a finger at them.
"Very important.
Understand?"

Junger and Jagoda exchanged glances. After a
moment's silence, they seemed to reach some sort of consensus.

"Fine," said Junger. "Keep her.
To us she was only a few hours' entertainment. The world could've benefited
from the Art her body would've inspired in us, but we'll let that go. Just
never forget, Kiernevar, that though we
three’re
allies, neither Jagoda nor
myself
will submit to you
personally.
For the cause, of course, but not to you.
And that's an end to it."

Kiernevar nodded. He pounded on his chest as a
kind of salute.
"Kiernevar!"
He spun on his
heel and left, bodyguards in tow.

Danielle shot the finger at the Balaklava and started to say something really unpleasant,
but the expressions on their faces stopped her. Suddenly cold, she hurried to
catch up with Kiernevar. Only then did she start to shiver. She had to stop and
lean up against an old stone wall before she could go on.

Kiernevar ordered one of the guards to give her
his jacket. After cinching it tight, she cleared her throat and straightened.

"Thanks," she said.

Kiernevar nodded.

"But why?" she asked.

“Danielle cold.”

“No. Why’d you save me?”

"Danielle ... Kiernevar doesn’t have
friends, not like others do.
Maybe Danielle a friend, maybe
not.
But she isn’t an enemy, and that means much to one who has nothing
but." He turned to continue the trek back up to the main part of the
castle, but she
lay
a hand on his shoulder.

“That why?
Not ‘
cause
you wanted to prove a point to … them?”

“Maybe both.
Does that upset you?”

It didn’t and she told him so, but what she
didn’t tell him was that she was beginning to think that his odd patterns of
speech were more of an affectation than anything, that he was a lot
more sane
than he let on.

“What's this cause?” she said. “What do you and
the Balaklava have to do with each
other?"

He scowled, clearly unwilling to talk about it,
and she didn't want to press him after he’d already done so much for her—especially
since she had one more favor to ask of him.

"Not yet," she
said,
when he started to press on. "I've got something I have to do. It won’t
take long.”

She walked off through the catacombs, her three
escorts
just behind, and returned to the dungeon and the
door to Malcolm's cell.

"Stay here," she told Kiernevar, and
entered the chamber.

She saw nothing at first, but she could smell
the blood. Off to the right, her dagger-scythe gleamed dully.

Directly in front of her, she could hear
movement.

"Malcolm? It's Danielle. I've come to get
you out of here. You're forgiven and all that. Now come on."

Then she saw him, although at first she didn't
know quite what she was looking at. Both arm sockets were empty. It was his
head and upper torso—that was all that was left, nothing below the fifth
rib—and it was dragging itself toward her with one arm, an arm which was
attached somewhere on its bottom side.
Plugged into its guts.
A trail of blood marked his movements around the room. The second arm seemed to
have disappeared, and she assumed that Jagoda had eaten it.

"Jesus," she said.

Once it was about five feet from her, it
stopped, but it was close enough so she could see its face and eyes. It was
hard to be sure, but she didn't think that this creature was still her foster
brother

"Malcolm," she said. "Are you ...
are you still you?”

No response but an amphibian glare.

From deep within herself, she could feel a growl
trying to work its way out.
Fucking Jagoda
.
What, he was gonna spring this on me after they'd all raped me, that the plan?
That was his special surprise?
She
instinctively knew that it was.

Someday, she would see that very bad things
happened to those two.

Hesitantly, she stepped closer to her old foster
brother, examining him. More than anything, this creature resembled a toad as
much as it had ever resembled a human being.

"Say something, Malcolm. You were a fucking
braggart when I knew you, only time I ever saw you stop talking was when you
were kicking the shit out of somebody, so you better say something now or I’m
gonna think you’re not really Malcolm at all and pound my foot through your
skull."

It remained silent.

“Say something,” she warned.

It stared at her, toad-like, and blinked its
eyes slowly.

Now a little scared, she took another step
closer.

Without warning, the creature opened its mouth.
An arm shot out of it. Not just any arm, but a
skinned
arm: the
creature's tongue.
Or penis.
In a flash, she realized
that Jagoda had intended for Malcolm to rape her
again
.

With a scream, Danielle flung herself backwards,
out of the creature's range, landing on her side.

Rapidly, using its two arms, the Malcolm-thing
propelled itself towards her, and there was no mistaking its intentions.

She jumped to her feet and scanned the room for
the blade she’d left here. There! She snatched it up and wheeled about, seeing
the creature within an arm’s distance. It drove toward her. She plunged the
sword through its skull, pinning it to the floor. It lashed around with its arm
and phallic tongue for half a minute before finally succumbing to whatever
peace it was allowed.

Slowly, almost delicately, she removed the
blade, and for a long time she stood there staring down at Malcolm's remains.

"You bastards,” she whispered, and plunged
the sword down again.

*
    
*
    
*

Later,
when she was alone in her room (Loirot was out feeding), she luxuriated in a
long hot shower, then dressed in heavy black clothes and threw herself onto the
bed.

What the
hell
was going on?

Mainly she just wanted Ruegger to get here. Then,
as a team, they would kill Junger and Jagoda and consider Ludwig avenged. But
something bigger was at stake here, wasn’t it? The War of the Dark Council, the
Scouring, and add to that Ludwig’s murder. Where did the latter fit in?
Obviously to incite Maleasoel’s wrath so that she would attack Roche Sarnova
with the weight of her army behind her.

Right?

Danielle couldn’t think of another reason. The Balaklava worked for Vistrot, had performed a few
Scourings, so they tied in to that part of it. They said they had nothing to do
with Amelia, and Danielle believed them. After what they’d done, the kavasari
would surely kill them. However, the Balaklava
also figured heavily into Ludwig’s demise: the second employer. Or was it?

Would Vistrot (the first employer) have gained
anything from Ludwig’s death? Not unless he wanted Maleasoel to attack the
Castle and so wipe out the Dark Lord.
Maybe clearing away the
competition in Europe?
Expand his
Empire here? No, because the Titan had yet to clear out all the competition in
the States. So the Titan hadn’t ordered Ludwig’s death … and now the Titan was
presumed dead.

The sole Scourer left was Amelia, but Danielle
didn’t see why the kavasari would want Roche Sarnova killed. Besides, Amelia
wouldn’t be associating with Junger and Jagoda.

What now? The assassins themselves said things
were drawing to a close, right here at the Castle. What close? How would a new
world order come of it? And how did the Scouring and the War figure into it?

And, not least of all, how did Kiernevar fit in?

Chapter 12

Several
days passed, during which Junger and Jagoda were often seen in the company of
Kiernevar. Sometimes they took a position just behind him and sometimes they
flanked him like equals. No one knew whether the Balaklava
were
serving the lunatic, or if he were serving them.
The rumors ran unchecked.

For her part, Danielle wondered whether or not
to approach the Castle authorities and attempt to press charges against Junger
and Jagoda. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to see them punished for
what they’d done, but on the other the two were friends of the Castle. Going
against them officially might be damning
herself
.
Better to deal with them on
her own,
she thought.
Harry counseled her against this course of action, but she ignored him. The Ice
Queen wasn’t consulted at all, though Danielle was pretty sure what her advice
would be.

Meanwhile, Kiernevar continued to compete in the
Pit and be successful at it. On the day before the Funhouse of the Forsaken
opened, the competition ended, leaving eight surviving warriors to do battle on
the chessboard. Of these eight, he was the only unknown quantity.

At first, public opinion swung against him, but
then he began a campaign of winning favor. One at a time, he took several
Council members out to dinner and buried them with gifts. Some observers
speculated that the money to do this came from the Balaklava,
but the truth was that no one knew. Was it possible that the lunatic had a
fortune buried away? What really won the favor of Council members (and others
that Kiernevar approached) was his pledge of loyalty; if he won the contest and
became Roche Sarnova’s successor, he vowed allegiance to each individual
officer. By the end of this short campaign, public opinion had shifted more in
his favor. This wouldn’t be enough to get him elected, but it would be more
than enough to prevent him from being assassinated immediately after being
crowned, which is surely all he had been looking for.

The state of the death-squad was rapidly going
downhill. Cloire had effectively brushed off both Byron and Kilian, isolating
them from her and from themselves, which meant that the three were barely on
speaking terms. Kiernevar was gone. Thus only Loirot could serve as any sort of
go-between, and his popularity was at an all-time low.

Still, the crew continued to (barely) function,
though the weight of Vistrot’s unknown fate pressed heavily on them. The Kavasari
Amelia had taken the Titan’s place, but she had not made any effort to contact
the death-squad as yet, and it didn’t look as if she would. They were on their
own. Aware of this, Castle authorities had requested that the death-squad
vacate the luxury suites and move into the common rooms. Danielle wasn’t
surprised to hear Cloire grumbling about it, and shortly Cloire began laying
the groundwork for the crew to leave the Castle entirely. But even in this the
werewolf seemed reluctant.

“What the hell are we doing?” Kilian yelled at
her one day.

“We’re thinking,” she told him.

“Well, think faster.”

*
    
*
    
*

The
day after she’d put the blade through Malcolm’s skull, Danielle packed her
suitcase and at Sophia’s invitation moved into the large warren of rooms that
the Funhouse had been allotted. Living there proved chaotic, but it beat
staying with the death-squad.

The rooms in this section of the castle had no
order, just yawned and spilled into each other at random, which suited the
performers
just fine. And the groupies! The number of damned
groupies the Funhouse attracted shocked Danielle. Often, she was mistaken for
one, but that stopped happening after the first few black eyes. Like their
drugs, the freaks distributed their groupies equally. Well, almost. Maximillian
and Claude seemed to get a slighter larger share—but then Max was the boss and
Claude the closest thing the Funhouse had to a star. Not only that, but Claude
wrote many of the pieces they performed.

“He says he wants me to write something for
him,” Sophia said after she’d helped Danielle move in. “What should I write?”

Danielle shrugged. “Don’t know much about that.
Written a few poems, that’s it. Ruegger’s the writer in the family.”

When Danielle fell silent, Sophia squeezed her
arm.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’ll turn up.”

A few days later, down in the Gift Shoppe, Danielle
found a picture of Junger and Jagoda posing in front of their Tree: a publicity
shot, signed and everything. Danielle bought it, tacked it to the wall over her
bed and threw darts at it. It became a nightly ritual. In fact, this is what
she found herself doing the night the Funhouse opened.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see
Harry wearing a blazer (that Cloire had bought him) and looking worried. Not
worried because they were going miss the beginning of the show, evidently, but because
of the darts.

“Danielle,” he said.

“I know, I know.” She tossed the darts down and
slipped on her jacket. “I’m all right, Harry. Come on, let’s go.”

“You sure?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not getting any
better just standing here.”

They left.

Not surprisingly, the theater was packed—probably
the largest gathering of immortals she’d ever seen outside Lereba. There were
definitely more shades here than at Liberty.

Of course, the bulk of the audience was
comprised of human servants that swarmed around their masters in force, and it
occurred to Danielle (not for the first time) that to many shades here, power
could be conveyed to their peers through number of slaves. She’d seen it all
before both here and elsewhere, but even so it didn’t fail to turn her stomach.
A few more days of this and she’d go mad.

Sophia had saved two seats for her and Harry
near
the front, and as she moved down the wide aisle,
Danielle glanced up at the balcony. Kiernevar and his Guards perched on the
first row, almost ostentatious in their assumption of power. Well, let them.
Before Kiernevar could catch her eye, she continued down the aisle and slid in
next to the Ice Queen.

“Thought you were going to be late,” Sophia
said.

“Just got a little
distracted.”

From
Sophe’s
other
side, Harry grunted.

“This whole thing’s gotten so fucking
commercialized,” Sophia said. “Shit, I went down to the gift shop and found a
pillow-doll of Max, for gods’ sakes.
T-shirts, sure, but a
pillow-doll?”

“What cut does the Funhouse get off the
merchandise?”

“Fifty.”

Danielle raised her eyebrows. “Hell, they could
make a doll of me, I wouldn’t mind. Make me an action figure.” She yawned and
did a quick scan of the audience behind her.

“Looking for Sarnova?”

“Actually, I was looking for a beer vendor, but
now you mention it, where is he?
Blackie.”

“Look above the balcony. See it?”

“Damn, there’s a
second
balcony.” It was very small.

“Armor plated, too,” Sophia said.

“Where’d it come from?”

“Lowered it from the
ceiling.
They tell me Sarnova only uses it for special occasions. Usually he sits down here,
just a regular guy.”

“Guess he’s trying to appear more leader-like,”
Danielle said.

“I guess. But he really fucked up, didn’t he?”

“You mean, because of the war.”

“Before too long, Subaire and her band of merry
men are gonna come in here and take the place. Him bringing the Funhouse is
just a way of pretending he’s still got it together, but you know what? I think
everyone knows that’s just what he’s doing—and they’re
letting
him. Why? Because he’s been their leader for three thousand
years and they can’t think for themselves.”

Harry leaned in. “Sophe,
for God’s sakes.
Keep your voice down.”

Danielle flagged a vendor and bought a beer, as
did Harry. They
clinked
glasses.

“Here’s to life on the edge,” he said.

“Harry, we passed the edge a long time ago,” Sophia
said.

Maximillian stepped onto the stage to great
clapping and whistling.

“Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen.
You’re too kind, really. You’ve made this our biggest opening ever, and I only
hope that our performance tonight will be half as magnificent as the welcome
you’ve given us. Before we get started, everyone please give a big hand to the
man who made all this possible, our beloved lord, His Highness Roche Sarnova!”

An explosion of clapping and whooping overcame
the audience and did not die down for several minutes. From his high balcony,
the Dark Lord stood and smiled down at his subjects. Although he seemed at
ease, the guards to either side of him stiffened. Eventually, the commotion
died and attention returned to Maximillian, who had been clapping along with
the crowd.

“And now,” he said, “give a big hand for yourselves!”
As they obliged, he said, “You’re great! Come on now, louder!” Again, he led
the audience in the cheer. When the noise faded, he started off with a few
jokes about the war, but he was careful not to cross the line, and the audience
received the humor well.

“He’s smooth, isn’t he?” whispered
Sophia,
and Danielle had to agree. He was kind of like the
Bob Hope of immortals, funny and topical but never genuinely offensive.

After warming up the audience, Max introduced
the first act and the show really got started.

To Sophia, Danielle whispered, “So, did you ever
end up writing anything for Claude?”

“I wrote a little skit that they might do
tomorrow, but tonight ... well, I got to change a few words around, but that’s
about it. Still, you know, it was just fun to be involved.”

As the show began, Danielle found herself drawn
to in. Some acts were better than others, but the ones that were good were
really fucking good. Some were poignant and some were funny and some were both,
and she understood why the Funhouse was getting so popular.

Every now and then she’d glance over at Harry to
see how he was taking it in, and though he seemed to cringe at some of the
darker pieces, he seemed to be enjoying the show in general. Sometimes she’d
catch a little glimmer in his eyes betraying that he felt uncomfortable about
sitting in the middle of all this decadence and evil, and she understood
perfectly. She felt the exact same way.

But the show was good. In fact, the only problem
she had with it was that it was maybe a little too long. Either that or her
attention-span just wasn’t up to it. After a long time seemed to have elapsed,
she checked one of her three watches and was surprised to see that two and half
hours had gone by, which was longer than she’d thought.

Sensing that the beer had caught up with her,
she wormed her way to an aisle and sought out a restroom. Once there, she did
what she had come to do and moved to the mirror, where she stared at herself.

“What the hell are you doing here, girl?” she
asked, but her reflection just mimed the words back to her.

She ran the faucet and splashed some water on
her face, then watched the droplets slide down her smooth skin, some running
down her neck and some so heavy that they fell right off her nose and jaw.
Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, she lit a clove and closed her
eyes. What
was
she doing here?
Waiting for Ruegger,
mainly.
Thinking of ways to kill Junger and Jagoda.
Drinking.
Drugging.
Not much
else.

She popped the clove out of her mouth and
studied it. For some reason, it tasted too sweet today, and she realized that
she’d felt that way for some time now. Maybe it was time for a change. And all
those
watches ...

Without a second thought, she tore off two of
her three and threw them in the wastebasket. She stubbed out the clove in the
sink. Not satisfied with that, she ripped out her pack and junked it as well.

She smiled and leaned against the wall. She
hadn’t really been aware of it, but she’d been feeling anxious. She either had
too much time to herself or not enough. She was going stir-crazy. Now, though.
Now she felt better.

“Goddamnit, Ruegger, where are you?”

Though she could feel tears building behind her
eyes, she refused to let them come. After a few minutes, they dried up.

She left the restroom and made her way back to
the aisle, but something was wrong. At the bottom of the aisle, about where
she’d been sitting, stood two Castle Guards.

Waiting for her.

As soon as she saw them, they saw her.
Immediately, they started moving up the aisle fast, coming toward her,
oblivious to the stares that members of the audience were shooting their way. At
a fast walk, Danielle fled. She made her way out of the theater, down one
corridor, then another. Just as she was rounding a corner, two Guards grabbed
her.