The Nekropolis Archives (8 page)

  "But you know it's powerful," I said.

  "Of course. Why else would Father be so secretive about it? And the wardspells which protect it are among the most potent in the Cathedral."

  "Yet someone got past those spells."

  "Yes."

  "How do you know Lord Galm didn't just take the Dawnstone himself and forgot to tell you?"

  "Father is a stickler for procedure. In twenty-eight years he has never failed to inform me when he removed an item from the Collection."

  "Still, there's always a first time," I pointed out.

  "I suppose. But I can hardly go up and ask him, can I? If he hasn't removed the Dawnstone, my asking after it would alert him to its disappearance."

  "And buy you a world of trouble."

  "Yes."

  She definitely needed help – and I needed the aid of a Darklord if I was to survive. I stood. "I have more questions, but I can ask them on the way."

  "The way to where?"

  "The Cathedral, of course. One of the first steps in any investigation is to examine the scene of the crime."

  I looked over at the spot on the wall where the bug had been, but it was gone now. Gregor's tiny minion had probably heard enough and moved on to find something more interesting to observe.

  Devona stood. She smiled, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Mr. Richter."

  I could only feel the pressure of her hand, but I could imagine how smooth and soft her skin was. "Call me Matthew."

  Detective or not, I was on the job once more – and this time, I was working not only to help my "client," but to save my own life.

  Talk about incentive.

THREE

Before leaving, I strapped on my shoulder holster and then made a few selections from the foot locker on the floor of my closet. My 9mm handgun – a souvenir from my days on the force back in Cleveland – along with a few other goodies that I'd picked up since. I slid the 9mm into the holster and hid the rest in various places about my person, mostly in the extra pockets sewn into in the inner lining of my suit jacket, and then I was ready. Or at least as ready as I was going to get.

  As we walked down the front steps of my building, Devona eyed the street full of drunken revelers. "It's going to take some time to get through this mess."

  "You could go on ahead, and I could meet you."

  "Go on? Oh, you mean shapeshift. I don't possess the capability of assuming a travel form. Not many half-human Bloodborn do. Although I do have other… talents."

  Before I could think of a witty reply, a shriek went up from the festivalgoers at the far end of the street, and the crowd began to part like water before a large yellow object careening toward us.

  "Oh, no," I moaned. "It's Lazlo."

  Sure enough, with a rattling and knocking of the engine and a roar of purplish exhaust, Lazlo's cab carved a path through the suddenly terrified partiers, only running down one or two in the process. Lazlo pulled up to the curb in front of my building with a pitiful squeal of brakes begging to be replaced and sent on to car-part heaven.

  "Heya, Matt! How's it hanging?"

  "I'm dead, Lazlo, remember? Hanging is all it does anymore."

  Lazlo guffawed violently, his laughter a combination of genuine amusement and someone in desperate need of the Heimlich maneuver. Lazlo's a demon whose face looks something like a cross between a mandrill and a ferret, with a little carp thrown in for good measure. And although I can't testify to this personally, I've heard he smells like a toxic waste dump.

  Evidently the rumors were true, for Devona recoiled as if she'd just taken a sledge hammer blow to the side of the head.

  Before Lazlo could say anything else, one of the festival-goers came lumbering toward us. I'd seen it around the Sprawl before, but I didn't know its name and I'd taken to mentally referring to it as Tri-bod. The creature had one extremely large head which looked something like a half-rotted flesh-colored pumpkin with humanoid eyes, noise, and mouth. Supporting that immense dome were three bodies – the outer two male, the one in the middle female. The two male bodies wore tuxedos, while the female was garbed in a sequin-covered evening gown. The female body could've graced the cover of any high-profile beauty magazine back on Earth… as long as the photographer made sure to shoot her from the neck down.

  Tri-bod's mushy facial features were contorted into an angry scowl, and when it spoke, its voice was a combination of male tenor, female alto, and male bass.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, dumbass? You can't drive on the streets today! They're closed!"

  Tri-bod came up onto the sidewalk and one of its male components shoved me aside so it could lean down and look at Lazlo while it yelled at him. To help keep its balance, all six of Tri-bod's hands grabbed hold of the cab at various points.

  "You really don't want to do that," I warned.

  Devona shot me a questioning look, but before I could answer, the hood of Lazlo's cab sprung open, revealing a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth. A serpentine tongue whipped through the air toward Tri-bod's middle neck and wrapped tight around the soft feminine flesh.

  "I only got one rule," Lazlo said calmly. "Hands off the cab."

   Though Tri-bod had two other sets of lungs to breathe with, its face nevertheless began to turn purple. I guess a head that big needed all the oxygen it could get.

  I leaned close to one of Tri-bod's misshapen ears. "Ever see a kid pop the head off a dandelion? If I you were you, I'd apologize."

  Tri-bod's eyes bulged from a combination of terror and air loss. Its flabby lips moved silently several times before it finally managed to gasp out, "Sorry" in its two male voices. The female voice was silent.

  Nothing happened right away, and for a moment I thought the cab wasn't going to accept Tri-bod's apology. But then the tongue released the woman-neck, receded into the toothsome mouth, and the hood slammed shut.

  Lazlo smiled at Tri-bod, the expression truly grotesque on the cabbie's inhuman face.

  "Now, what were you saying about my not being allowed to drive here?"

  "N-nevermind," Tri-bod wheezed. The creature leaned back, took its hands off Lazlo's cab, and beat three pairs of feet out of there. It quickly merged with the crowd and did its best to disappear into the throng. If there was anyone else around who was displeased with Lazlo's driving, they decided to keep their feelings to themselves.

  Lazlo looked up at me, his hideous smile widening into a truly appalling grin. "Need a ride, pal?"

  "You know I do. When else do you show up?"

  He guffawed again, sounding this time like he was about to cough up a kidney. "You slay me, Matt." He put the engine in park, hopped out, opened the rear door, and gestured for us to climb in, bowing as he did so.

  "Your chariot awaits."

  Lazlo, despite my attempts to convince him that it would be in the best interests of the entire citizenry of Nekropolis, refuses to wear clothing. His body resembles a spider that's been turned inside out and then stomped on. I've gotten somewhat accustomed to his rather unique anatomy over the years, but Devona's eyes goggled.

  "No offense," she said, "but I'd prefer to walk."

  I'm sure Tri-bod's reception by Lazlo's cab was as much behind her reticence to get into the vehicle as was the sight – and smell – of the demon's unclothed body.

  "Don't worry," I told her. "The cab won't do anything as long as Lazlo vouches for us. Besides, every moment we waste is another moment for your father to find out what's happened." I added this last bit softly, so Lazlo wouldn't overhear.

  She hesitated, but finally agreed. "I may have to hold my nose the whole trip, though."

  "Go right ahead." I didn't tell her it wouldn't help. She'd find out soon enough.

  We got into the cab; Lazlo closed the door, hopped behind the driver's seat, and put the car in gear.

  "Surprise me, Lazlo," I said, "and try not to drive like a maniac for a ch–" That's as far as I got before Lazlo slammed on the gas and I was thrown back against the seat.

  He hung half out of his open window, shouting, "Out of the way, morons!"

  Most of the celebrants scattered, but despite what had happened to Tri-bod a few moments ago, a massive bull-headed man wearing an I'M HORNY T-shirt wasn't – pardon the expression – cowed so easily. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and braced himself for impact.

  "Look at the size of him!" Devona cried. "Swerve!"

  But there was no point shouting at Lazlo. He never listened to passengers' suggestions. "After all," he once told me, "
I'm
the professional."

  "Hold on!" I warned Devona, and then there was a loud crash and the cab shuddered and jerked; but it kept moving. Behind us, falling quickly away in the distance, came the wounded bellow of one very unhappy – but lucky to be alive – minotaur.

  "Hah!" Lazlo barked in triumph. "That'll teach that uddersucker to play chicken with me!" He turned around to look at us, and grinned. "So where we headed, folks?"

  "Put your eyes back on the road, and I'll tell you," I said nervously. The last time Lazlo turned around to talk to me, we almost ended up taking a flame bath in Phlegethon.

  Lazlo laughed, but did as I asked, so I said, "The Cathedral. And we'd like to get there in as close to one piece as possible."

  "Gotcha. You two just sit back and enjoy the ride." He pointed his cab in the general direction of the Bridge of Nine Sorrows – the crossing point between the Sprawl and Gothtown – and pressed down on the accelerator.

  "Enjoy the ride?" Devona said, her nails digging into the greasy fabric of the seat. "Not until it's over!"

  I had to agree.

  A few blocks from my townhouse, Lazlo was forced to stop when a fight erupted between a group of lykes and several vampires. Even Lazlo wouldn't try to drive through that mess. Things got pretty bloody for a bit, until a Sentinel came charging through the crowd, knocking aside those who didn't get out of its way fast enough, and broke the conflict up, basically by breaking the combatants up. The Sentinels are Father Dis's police force: eight feet tall, massive, gray-fleshed, featureless golems that are strong as hell and, as far as I know, completely invulnerable. The lykes and vamps tried to fight back, but they never had a chance. When it was over, the Sentinel tossed their bloody, broken bodies into an alley and stomped off. The fighters would heal, eventually, but in the meantime, they wouldn't be bothering anyone.

  As Lazlo pulled away from the scene, I said, "Every time I see a Sentinel in action, I can't help thinking we could've used a few during my days on the force in Cleveland. Sure would've made life a lot easier."

  "For the cops, maybe," Lazlo said. "But the morticians would've been a hell of a lot busier."

  "I've never seen a Sentinel before," Devona said quietly.

  I looked at her, surprised. "You're kidding."

  She gave a small shrug. "I don't get out of Gothtown, much."

  From her tone, I knew she wanted that to be the end of it, so I leaned forward and said to Lazlo, "Hear anything interesting on the street lately?"

  We'd reached the Obsidian Way, the only road that passes through all five of the Darklords' Dominions. There was a Hemlocks next to the on-ramp, and a skeletal being in a sombrero who looked like a picture on a Mexican Day of the Dead postcard came out of the coffee shop, carrying a grande-sized drink of one sort or another. The bone-man made the mistake of stepping into the street just as Lazlo came barrel-assing along, and the demon barely yanked the steering wheel to the right in time to avoid turning El Hombre Muerte into a pile of bleached-white pick-up sticks.

  Lazlo flipped off the bone-man as the cab roared onto the Obsidian Way. The road's glossy black surface is hard as diamond, though it's not slick, and there's never a crack or chip in it. Despite how crowded the streets of the Sprawl were, the Way was empty of anything save other vehicles. The road was constructed by Father Dis two hundred years ago, at the end of the Blood Wars, when the Darklords fought each other for control over Nekropolis. One of the Accords that resulted from the war states that travel throughout the city on the Obsidian Way, including across the Five Bridges, is not to be impeded for any reason, not even by the Darklords themselves. Once travelers leave the Way, however, all bets are off and they go at their own not inconsiderable risk.

  Of course, just because that was the law didn't mean that everyone always followed it – Darklords included. So it paid to keep an eye out for trouble when traveling on the Obsidian Way. Traffic was lighter than usual because of Descension Day, but there were still a fair number of vehicles sharing the road with us. Some were ordinary-seeming vehicles imported from Earth – sensible fuel-efficient cars, sports cars built for speed and status, family-sized vans and gas-guzzling SUV's. But this was Nekropolis, which meant most of the vehicles rolling along the Obsidian Way were of a rather more exotic nature.

  I saw an Agony DeLite, a car made out of a dozen masochistic humans – their hands and feet providing the motive force instead of wheels. Such vehicles are powered by their components' suffering. They moan at idle, yell when moving, and scream when the vehicle is traveling at high speed. The humans that form the car love the pain, and they're enchanted so that all of their wounds heal instantly. But from what I understand, the drivers have to work damned hard to hurt the vehicles in just the right ways to coax maximum performance out of them, and in addition the upkeep is a real bitch. You can spend a small fortune buying new and ever more deviant S&M equipment.

  There were several Carapacers on the road as well, hollowedout giant insect husks animated to serve as vehicles, scuttling along at high speeds, and something I'd never seen before: a gigantic chrome-covered flatworm which undulated past us so swiftly I barely got a good look at it. Lazlo's cab growled as the thing flew by, but the demon shushed it softly and patted the dashboard to keep the vehicle calm.