Nightlife

by Rob Thurman

  "Come on, Abbagor, old buddy, old pal," Robin wheedled, slipping smoothly into his sales persona without a hitch. "Help me out, for old times' sake, and we'll be out of your tendrils in no time. My word on it."

  "Older times. Moldered times. In all times, Goodfellow, you are the same. A boil refusing to be lanced." The words were amused, but it was the humor of a fat spider curled in its web with all the patience in the world. "If only you would hold still, I could remedy that."

  Despite the less-than-comradely words, it looked as if Robin's request was being carried out. Light was slowly creeping into the air around us. It was a leprous and sickly pale green glow that seemed to be cast by a particularly repulsive mold sliming the walls with an infinite number of greedy fingers. It was just enough illumination to sketch a vision of a ceiling that arched nearly three stories above our heads. We must have passed into an area under one of the masonry towers. Abbagor had hollowed himself out quite a roomy lair. Shifting on frozen feet to sink a few inches deeper in the muck, I searched the artificial cavern with wary eyes. The troll was talkative enough, sure, but where the hell was he?

  "Abbagor, Abbagor," Robin clucked his facile tongue with a practiced ease that would've been believable if not for the skin stretched tight around his eyes. "You'll make me think you haven't missed me these past, what, fifty years now?"

  "Missed." The word was shaped with contemplation. "So many interpretations to be lavished there. Yes, I did miss you. Perhaps this time I won't." There was movement in the deepest shadows high above us, coiling and sinuous. "You may have slowed in your old age, little goat. Be assured I have not."

  And that's when Abbagor came knock-knocking on our door.

  I was wrong when I'd guessed the troll would have the soulless gaze of Eden's resident serpent. For that he would've needed eyes. He had none. But even without them, I was convinced he could see every inch of us, from the glistening sheen of our own eyes to the pulse beating in our throats, in rich predatory detail. "Holy shit." I wasn't sure if I said it aloud or not, but I stood by the sentiment. Abbagor was holy shit and a whole lot more.

  He descended from on high like a skyborne plague. Thick dark gray filaments kept him suspended nearly ten feet above us. It wasn't far enough, not by a long shot. I'd never seen a troll before—didn't really have a clue what one looked like—but this was nothing I would've pictured. Abbagor was vaguely man-shaped, with hulking shoulders, and massive arms and legs. All right. No problem, that was doable. No different from a hundred other monsters out there. What was different was that he looked to be made of a convolution of fleshy cords knotted and wrapped around themselves, a mass of twisted tendrils given shape and form. Shape, form, and a hideously twitching life.

  "I don't remember that in your goddamn mythology book," I gritted in a low tone to Niko.

  "That would be assuming you'd actually read it, little brother. A rather optimistic assumption at best." His hands still stood empty, his shoulders were relaxed, and there was no tension audible in his voice. You'd think the son of a bitch was stargazing at the planetarium, the way he looked up with calm curiosity. Oh, the Big Dipper, you say? How interesting. And if it weren't for the fact that somehow, without even seeming to move, he'd managed to ease a protective shoulder in front of me, it might even have been believable.

  Robin sketched a salute upward with a broadly artificial smile. "Abbagor, you're looking good. You been working out? You seem…" He swallowed. "Bigger. Definitely bigger than I remember."

  "Big" was not the word. If he'd been on the ground, he would've stood at least nine feet tall and would've been nearly as broad. But you know what they say… Size isn't everything. Of course the people that say that are divided into two categories: dickless wonders and those not facing the troll that could've eaten New Jersey.

  Okay. He was big. So was Boggle, and we kicked his ass on a regular basis, I told myself sharply. Get a grip, change your shorts, and move on to the task at hand.

  "Yeah, he's huge." I elbowed Robin pointedly in the ribs. "Buff as hell. The Brothers Grimm on steroids. Can we get on with this?"

  The large head crowned with the upswept ears of a vampire bat turned in my direction. "An infant Auphe." The tiny slit of a mouth suddenly unhinged, dropping open like that of a python preparing to swallow a pig whole. "A bad choice of pets, Goodfellow. They always bite the hand that feeds them." Abbagor dropped closer, the tendrils reeling him down for a better "look." "It seems to have lost its collar. What a bad, bad boy."

  That was enough, more than enough. Next he'd be suggesting I be neutered for a better temperament. Robin seemed to realize how close to the edge we were and spoke up before I could say anything stupid or inflammatory. And it would have been both—there was not a friggin' doubt in my mind. The relationship between my brain and my mouth tended to be casual at best. "Caliban isn't Auphe," Goodfellow denied hastily. "Not so much anyway. But that is why we came. We were hoping you could tell us about the Auphe. You've been around much longer than I have. Almost as long as the Auphe. If anyone knows them, it would be you."

  "Slippery flattery from a slippery tongue." Abbagor's feet hit the ground and despite the thick cushion of mud I still felt the impact. The remaining filaments that had held him up wrapped around his body, wriggling and twisting, until they became part of the whole. It was enough to guarantee I never ate spaghetti again. "Why do you care about the Auphe? They are nearly gone from this world, entertaining though they were."

  True. There was nothing quite like rabid homicidal mania. Better than cable, even. "Yeah, them and the dodo. And won't they be missed?" I shifted until I was shoulder to shoulder with Niko. I ignored his narrow-eyed look of disapproval and went on. "That doesn't keep me from wondering why the hell they made me."

  Because basically that's what it was. I had been made. I wasn't created out of love and fidelity. I wasn't the result of horny teenagers caught up in the passion of the moment, or even just a busted condom. I was an experiment, the result of some cold calculation. That, I couldn't change, but if I could find out the reason behind it, it might just help to keep Niko and me alive.

  The massive head tilted in Robin's direction. "You taught it to speak. Impressive. Does it get a treat now?"

  Goodfellow spread his hands placatingly, although I wasn't sure the gesture was aimed at Abbagor or me. "Abbagor, please," he coaxed. "We're somewhat pressed for time. As much as we enjoy being toyed with for your amusement, and it's quite the party, I assure you, could we move on to the subject at hand?"

  Only with the puck could pleading come off as a sarcastic demand. Abbagor let it pass, though, surprisingly enough. Either tiring of Robin or of the game of bait-the-doggy, he filled the air with a sound like the last breath escaping a dead man. It took me a moment to realize that was a venomous version of a snake's wistful sigh. "Very well. The Auphe. Since the dawn of time, perhaps before it, they have abided here. As old as the sun in the sky, maybe even the sky itself. They ruled this world long before man infested the globe with his stink." Ebon-rimmed nostrils flared with distaste. Now, there was the pot calling the kettle black. "But as the ages passed, the Auphe's iron hand became a child's feeble grip. They grew complacent… smug… and by the time they woke up to bitter reality it was too late. They were too few. Man was too many. And even the most pure, the most glorious of maniacal violence can be quelled by dullards if their number is large enough."

  I aimed a whisper from the corner of my mouth toward Niko. "Score one for the dullards." A nearly inaudible snort was his only reply. Robin's comment was much more to the point. His hand circled my upper arm and squeezed warningly. I began to shake him off when I noticed the moisture on his upper lip and his tightly clenched jaw. He'd already told me Abbagor wasn't one to be messed with, and he didn't appear to have changed his mind. I decided, reluctantly, it might be for the best if I tried to behave… even as Abbagor centered his attention on me.

  "And now the last remnants of the world's first dynasty has m
ade you." It was enough to make me wish he had eyes. To be so thoroughly examined, so completely dissected, by a blind gaze was unnerving as hell. As Abbagor continued to ruminate, something stirred on his abdomen. It was just a slight twitching, a minute slithering, but it was almost enough to make me miss his next words. "It is a curiosity."

  Almost, but not quite. My best intentions to watch my mouth went flying out the window. " 'Curious' is a good word," I drawled. "If it wasn't so goddamn curious, we wouldn't be standing here smothering in your BO. So if you have anything actually worthwhile to contribute, Abby, now'd be the time."

  Behind me Robin gave a low moan of frustrated despair. Abbagor, however, didn't seem to take offense. If anything, his grin, if you could call it that, widened. "Sullen, resentful, full of rage. The apple never falls far from the tree. It makes one nostalgic."

  The nest of tendrils on his stomach continued to writhe, revealing flashes of a pale color between strands of gray. "The Auphe were big pals of yours, huh?" I said, eyes riveted to the patches of white. What the hell was that, anyway?

  "No, they were not my friends. They were something far more amusing than that." It was a hand. Holy shit, it was a hand. And it was moving, fingers bending and flexing. I felt my stomach do a slow roll.

  "More amusing?" Niko questioned. I knew he saw it; there was no way you could miss it. But from his mellow baritone you would never have guessed that he saw anything out of the ordinary. "Then I take it they were your enemy."

  "What could be more amusing than that?" The hand began to stroke the slate-colored flesh. Abbagor didn't seem to notice any more than Niko did. "They weren't particularly intelligent, no, but they more than made up for it in sheer ravening fury. I cannot deny I enjoyed our battles. But those days are no more. There are too few now. They avoid me, deprive me of the auld lang syne. Utter selfishness."

  I said something then, something smart-ass I'm sure, but whatever it was it didn't even register in my brain, much less my ears. Concentration was just a little beyond me in that particular moment in time, as I noticed the hand had a tattoo. It was just a small one, a miniature red rose on the webbing between the thumb and the forefinger. A red rose and the name "Lucy." It wasn't anything special. But it was enough to let me know it was a human hand, a living, moving human hand. What it was doing in Abbagor I didn't know. Truthfully, I didn't even want to know. If I did want anything, it was to have never seen it, to not have to wonder what kind of existence it was to be buried in the body of a troll. Enslaved in rancid flesh.

  As the hand continued its grooming, Abbagor's head bent lower toward me. Whatever I'd blurted out apparently wasn't worth a response because his words were back to the subject at hand. "Whatever the Auphe have in mind, you can rest assured that it can only be a mechanism to regain the domination they once had. That could be their only thought, their only dream. And since they made you, Aupheling, you must be part of that dream." More hands, then arms erupted from his body, muscles bulging, fists clenching. Abbagor's grin widened so far his jaw threatened to dislocate. "I wonder what they would do if I unmade you."

  Abby wanted to play with the Grendels again and it looked like I was about to become the engraved invitation to his tea party. RSVP on my entrails. Niko had already prepared his own response by drawing a sword from beneath his long coat. "I would rethink that scenario, troll. Rethink it quite thoroughly." There was the lazy swing of silver metal. "Or some pruning may be in order."

  God knew there were enough limbs there to keep a tree surgeon in business for a month. I backed up a step, using the momentum to propel Goodfellow several feet behind us. "Run," I ordered flatly.

  He didn't run. Instead he staggered from my push, nearly falling before catching himself to say with desperate determination, "Abbagor, wait. We came to you for help, with respect for your connection to history. This isn't a game."

  "All of life is a game, little goat. Ancient history will never change that." A snarl of small tentacles shot out with lightning speed to snare my right arm. "And the best games are those that end in a shower of blood." As the last word was still echoing in the air, I was yanked off my feet and dragged at a furious rate through the mud. But I was abruptly freed when Niko swiveled and swung his blade at the long streamers of flesh in one fluid motion, parting them like cheap party streamers. The dark purple blood that spattered my skin burned like acid and I swore as I backpedaled away from the troll.

  "All right, asshole," I snarled. "We're gonna finish what Billy Goat Gruff started." Surging to my feet, I pulled my own knife. It was shorter than Niko's sword but just as sharp. "Loman, this is your last chance to get your ass the hell out of here."

  A bright flash I saw from the corner of my eye turned out to be Robin with his own sword. Where in the world he'd hidden it was a trick only Siegfried and Roy could've solved. "I've had fights that have lasted longer than your entire short life," he countered grimly, hefting the weapon. "Take care of your own ass, Caliban, because I can certainly take care of mine." Good to know, because in this battle it looked like the devil would take the hindmost, and I wasn't at all sure that the devil had anything on Abbagor.

  "You could let us walk out of here, troll." Niko's poker face didn't shift an iota, but that didn't keep a carnivorous light from flashing in his eyes. "Not, mind you, that we wouldn't enjoy dicing you to a fine purple spray, but we are on a tight schedule. I'm sure you understand."

  "Now, what kind of host would I be if I let you leave without providing some entertainment?" Abbagor bounded from the ground to adhere high to one concrete wall without any regard to gravity. Hanging with his head down, he twisted it to aim his python smile at us. "And mutilation can be so very entertaining." Then he was on top of us like a falling mountain.

  And that's exactly what it felt like when he hit. I was the lucky one; he struck me with only a glancing blow—and that was more than enough to catapult me through the air and slam me into the far wall. I impacted on my left shoulder and hip and then landed hard on my stomach. Mud splattered up into my face and mouth as I gritted my teeth against a groan. My hip ached viciously and my shoulder felt on fire, maybe dislocated. Pushing up on one arm, I managed to slowly get the other one to follow suit. Not dislocated, then, just sprained or badly bruised. Either way, it didn't matter. What was going on in front of my eyes pretty much banished any pain to the back of my mind. "Shit."

  Robin was half buried in mire, an enormous foot planted on his back and shoulders. His head was completely under the muck and I could see his arms flailing as his body twitched frantically for oxygen. Niko… Niko hung from Abbagor's own huge fist. Other hands, tattooed and not, grabbed blindly at my brother's body, restraining his legs as he kicked with desperate but controlled strength. His face was turning blue as his hands tore at the steely gray flesh around his neck. Abbagor must've landed directly on him, half crushing him, before hoisting him high in the air. It was the only way Niko would've lost his sword. And the only way he would be in danger of losing his life.

  Knife still in my hand, I shot to my feet. My left leg nearly buckled under me, but it still managed to hold as I ran. It probably hurt like hell, and maybe later I'd have the luxury of noticing it. But not now. Not when my brother was having the life systematically choked out of him. After a few steps the leg stabilized and I sped up. Just before I reached Abbagor I dived toward the ground, rolled, and scooped up Niko's fallen sword. "Niko!" I tossed the blade up with the unshakable faith that he would catch it. Absolute, utter faith, but that didn't keep me from saying a silent prayer. The second I saw his hand close around the grip, I turned and slammed my knife in the troll's leg, the one that was currently entombing Goodfellow in a makeshift grave.

  "Naughty. Naughty." The leg didn't move, not even a millimeter, as dark blood coursed down it. The knife hadn't fazed Abbagor in the slightest. However, when Niko's sword embedded itself in the pulsing gray throat, that became a different story. Abbagor reeled backward one step, and then another. As he did, Rob
in came up out of the filth, spitting mud and spitting mad. He swung his own sword, slicing Abbagor across the muscled thigh. Blood sprayed several feet as Niko fell from the troll's grip to land beside Robin. I grabbed a handful of his coat to steady him as he caught his breath. He coughed, the blue fading from his face.

  "You okay?" I demanded sharply. A single strand of long blond hair hung free from his braid as he sucked in deep breaths. It was the most disheveled I'd seen him since Meredith had last trapped him in the storage room. "Niko?"

  "I'm all right." He squared his shoulders and went on calmly, if hoarsely. "Annoyed, quite annoyed. But basically in one piece. You?"

  I didn't have a chance to reply and play the stoic hero as Abbagor gave a gurgling roar and spit blood. "Red rover, red rover, who shall I dare over?" It wasn't a roar after all. It wasn't even a growl. It was a laugh. The son of a bitch was laughing. He was having fun. Hell, he was having the time of his life. Wiping at the blood pouring down his neck, he licked it from his fingers as if it were the finest wine.

  In unwitting imitation, Robin wiped a hand across his grimacing face, making a muddy mess even worse. His disgust, however, turned instantly to anguish as he looked down to see what was left of his cherished shirt.

  And although he'd been as cyanotic as Niko, the lack of air didn't keep him from snarling at Abbagor, "I've always hated you, you walking piece of rancid calamari. Did I ever tell you that? You make my flesh crawl, every homicidal, putrid inch of you. You make me want to vomit until my insides beg for mercy. The very sight of you fills me with a repugnance so strong that—"

  Niko flicked Robin's ear and suggested firmly, "You may want to save your breath for fighting, Goodfellow. I believe you're going to need it."

  "The wise words of a dead man." The troll executed a spectacular backward flip off the wall to land behind us. I wheeled about as fast as I could with the mud dragging me down. It was just in time for a monstrous hand to seize me by the shirt and shake me like a rag doll. My T-shirt tore almost immediately and I dropped back to my feet. Lunging to one side, I managed to avoid another swipe and plunged my knife to the hilt in Abbagor's arm. This time I lost it. Tendrils lashed around my wrist and it was all I could do to pull myself free. The knife was history.