Dark Kingdoms

by Richard Lee Byers

  "But it will," Gayoso said. "It will take time and resources which we ought to expend on the crusade. A campaign we're fighting at the behest of the Council of Seven themselves."

  Mrs. Duquesne smiled scornfully, like a cruel teacher catching a pupil in a wrong answer. "A moment ago, my dear colleague, you were crowing that your, excuse me, our little jihad was on the brink of total victory. Now you seem to be implying it's so hard-pressed that it can't spare even a few Legionnaires to attend to another matter. Which is it?"

  Gayoso opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally said, "All right. If you both want to assign some men to scour the countryside for Spectres and werewolves, then we will. Since I currently command more Legionnaires than either of you, I'll give some of my own Black Hawks the task. Will that satisfy you?"

  "It's a start," said Mrs. Duquesne.

  "Then it's decided," said Gayoso briskly. He turned back toward the four abambo gathered before the dais. "Thank you for your warning. We'll take precautions. I trust that nothing we said offended you. It's simply that our two lands have a long history of strife, and it was necessary to speak candidly."

  "To the contrary," Titus said blandly. "We appreciate your honesty."

  "I hope you'll spend some additional time here," said the Spaniard, "to refresh yourselves for the voyage home. You can sail tomorrow at dusk."

  "What?" Antoine exclaimed. "What the hell—"

  "My lords and lady," said Titus, raising his voice to cut the gator off, "apparently we didn't make ourselves clear. We didn't come just to warn you. We would like to stay and help put an end to the threat. And we can help. Mr. Bellamy is a skilled detective. Antoine has his own special knack for tracking people down. Miss Sebastian and I possess sorceries different than your own."

  Gayoso scowled. "Now we see the true purpose of this farce. To plant spies, saboteurs, and perhaps even assassins in our midst."

  "I give you my word," Titus said, "you're mistaken."

  "Am I? Don't you have a detachment of armed soldiers on that black steamboat of yours?"

  "Considering all the shadow storms we ran into en route," Bellamy said, "we couldn't have made it here without them."

  "Titus and Antoine have perpetrated countless crimes against the Hierarchy," Gayoso said. "And according to your own story, this newly awakened mage of yours is also a Chancellor of the Arcanum. Do we Restless have a more ruthless enemy than that particular fraternity? How many ghosts have you imprisoned in your machines and pentacles, Miss Sebastian? How many have you dissected like laboratory mice to probe our secrets?"

  "None," said Marilyn. She grimaced and shifted her shoulders as if trying to ease a pain. "I can't swear that no Arcanist ever did, but I haven't. And even if I had, it wouldn't be relevant to the issue at hand. Which, in case we've all forgotten, is defeating the Spectres."

  "If there are any," the Spaniard replied, "I daresay we can handle them without you. Please set sail for your own country before midnight tomorrow."

  "My lord Anacreon," said Mrs. Duquesne, "you forget yourself. The Smiling Lord placed you in primary command of the Inquisition, but in other matters, you, Lord Shellabarger, and I still govern this province as a triumvirate of equals, do we not?"

  Gayoso glared at her. "Of course we do. I assumed I was expressing our common will. Surely you don't want to see a band of our ancient enemies ensconced within the capital."

  Mrs. Duquesne gave him a wintry smile. "Never assume, dear. Or you'll inevitably embarrass yourself sooner or later."

  "Excellent advice," Gayoso snarled. "Allow me to offer some to you. Don't cut off your nose to spite your face. Don't compromise the security of the entire province just to aggravate me."

  "You're making assumptions again, this time about my motives. I truly do think Lord Titus and his companions may prove useful, just as I doubt both the desire and the capacity of such a small band to do us any irreparable harm."

  Gayoso twisted around toward Shellabarger. "It seems that Mrs. Duquesne and I are deadlocked, milord Governor. You'll have to break the tie."

  The man in the green hood hesitated. Bellamy suspected that Gayoso and Mrs. Duquesne were the more dynamic personalities, and that over the years Shellabarger had retained his office by playing one of his rivals off against the other, making sure that the balance of power never shifted too far in favor of either. "Let them stay," said the Emerald Lord's lieutenant at last. "Until they give us a real reason to think they mean us harm, or until we're sure that the threat they warned us of is never going to appear."

  "I'll find our honored guests quarters in my part of the Citadel," said Mrs. Duquesne. "That way, if anyone is to be the victim of sabotage and assassination, it will most likely be me, and you, Lord Gayoso, may rest easy."

  Titus inclined his head. "We thank you, noble lady, for your hospitality."

  This time, Cankerheart's potion had given Dunn a throbbing headache, and the noise emanating from the ongoing construction work in the center of the cavernous warehouse was making it worse. He wished he had a drink to kill the pain, but for the time being, the best he could manage was a smoke to mask the foul aftertaste in his mouth. He poured a line of pungent brown tobacco on the paper, rolled it up, licked it, and sealed it.

  Cankerheart himself, who didn't need the repulsive drug to see dead guys, looked comfortable enough. The Black Spiral Dancer shaman sat hunched on a stool with the mangled remains of a calico cat in his lap. Repeatedly, he plunged his black- nailed fingers into the carcass, tore out a hunk of flesh, and gobbled it down. His hands, mouth, and yellow, pointed teeth were smeared with the stray animal's coppery- smelling blood.

  Abruptly Gayoso strode through the substance of the front door and on toward his werewolf allies. One look at his scowl told Dunn that the wraith was the bearer of bad news. Mother Prudence, a fat woman with a round, pleasant face, waddled along beside him, seemingly struggling to keep up. If not for her tent-like purple robe sewn with religious symbols and the murky stains on her fingers, the phony Pardoner would have looked like some kid's doting aunt, the kind that was always baking cookies and cakes.

  "What's up?" asked Dunn, lighting his cigarette.

  "The enemies you failed to destroy in New Orleans have arrived in Natchez," said Gayoso bitterly. For a moment, his image faded, and then Dunn could see him clearly once more.

  Dunn repressed a surge of anger at the ghost's bitchy attitude. "I assume you mean Bellamy and his pals."

  "Of course I do." Gayoso glared at Prudence. "You said they'd never get here."

  "I said they might not get here," the Pardoner replied, "considering that we weren't sure they even realized that Natchez is ground zero. And that they'd have to travel through several Maelstroms to do it. You know very well that I didn't make you any guarantees." She lowered herself onto a metal folding chair too narrow for her butt, then took Gayoso's hand and drew him onto another. "Now calm down and we'll decide how best to deal with the problem."

  "Exactly which of our enemies are here, and what have they done so. far?" asked Cankerheart through a mouthful of gory intestines.

  "Bellamy, Titus, Antoine, Sebastian, and perhaps twenty-five retainers. They steamed into the harbor on a riverboat flying a flag of truce, then did exactly what you'd expect. They came to the Citadel, blabbed everything they knew about the conspiracy to the other Governors and me, and said they wanted to help us deal with the threat. I tried to discredit them and expel them from the province, but Shellabarger and Mrs. Duquesne insisted on allowing them to stay."

  Across the room, one of the possessed workers dropped a metal tool onto the concrete floor. The sharp, echoing clang jabbed pain through Dunn's skull. GayoSO jumped as if someone had stuck a pin in him.

  "As I see it," said Prudence, "we're not in horrendous trouble. I was surprised by how much Agent Bellamy and his friends have discovered." She gave Cankerheart the sort of mildly reproachful look a mother might bestow upon a wayward child. "Thanks to your misplaced diary, they
know my people are Aztecs. But they don't know what's due to happen next."

  "At first they didn't know what was happening in New Orleans, either," Gayoso replied. He sprang up from his-chair and started prowling around the seats of his companions. "But they found out."

  "Because it was pretty damn obvious Geffard was behind Queen Marie's problems," said Dunn. He inhaled smoke, savored the pleasant heat in his throat and lungs, and let the blue vapor out again. "Bellamy knew where to start looking for answers. Here in Natchez, he's got squat. He doesn't know that one of the Governors has joined the conspiracy, that Pru and her confessors are all Spectres, or that Cank and I are in town."

  "And therefore," said Prudence, "long before he figures any of that out, we will have won. Any night now, the river will burn black. I can feel it."

  "In other words, everything's under control," said Dunn to Gayoso. "So why are you panicking?"

  "Because I'm risking everything," the rogue Stygian snapped, "and it disturbs me when it looks as if somebody might be on the verge of figuring out what we're up to. A few nights ago I had that miserable dwarf and his hippie whore whining at me, then they dropped out of sight, and now we've got this FBI agent and his cronies sticking their noses into our affairs."

  Prudence reached out, caught his hand, and caressed it with her plump, black- stained fingertips. Gayoso's face softened. Evidently he found the gesture soothing, although to Dunn's eye, there was something subtly proprietary or even predatory about it. "But you heard about Valentine's quarrel with Captain Fink," the Pardoner said. "And you know that the dwarf is fundamentally a coward. He and his new lady friend must have run away for fear that Mike would kill them. They can't possibly threaten you now."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" asked Dunn. "What have a dwarf and a hippie got to do with anything, and how come Cank and I are only hearing about it now?"

  Gayoso and Prudence exchanged glances. "Nothing," the man in the cuirass and morion said. "That is to say, Valentine, my pet dwarf, was prying into a personal matter. Nothing directly related to our business, but it would have been awkward had it become common knowledge."

  "No kidding," said Dunn. Gayoso reminded him of a pervert or a junkie trying to talk around the subject of his habit. Since the Governor was supposedly a baby Spectre now, and theoretically immune to guilt, Dunn guessed he must be covering up because he'd been doing something stupid, something that could have jeopardized their plans in one way or another. Whatever his secret vice was, maybe G.ivo-o craved a fresh fix even now. That would explain why he was so jumpy. "You want to tell us a little more about it?"

  "No," replied Gayoso flatly. "As I said, it isn't relevant."

  Dunn decided to let it go. The Wyrm knew, many Black Spiral Dancers had their secret appetites, compulsions, and madnesses also. If he started trying to sort out all of his associates' private depravities, he'd never finish. "Okay, we'll take your word for that. Let's get back to the main issue. What are we going to do about Bellamy and the others?"

  "Manuel very deftly made sure it would be his own soldiers hunting for werewolves and doomshades," Prudence said. "Which is to say, men we've already turned. Given that the search is already crippled, and the culmination of all our work is at hand, perhaps we don't have to do anything."

  "No," said Dunn, "I think we should get rid of them. I agree with you, I don't think that even a hotshot G-man like Bellamy would stumble onto anything in what little time is left, either. But you never know."

  "Besides," said Cankerheart, leering, "you have a score to settle with him. He's slipped from beneath your claws too often, and he destroyed your dear friend Chester."

  Dunn grimaced. "Of course I'm looking forward to having some fun with him. That doesn't change the fact that it'll be safer to dispose of these people now."

  "Easier said than done," said Gayoso. "Mrs. Duquesne is sheltering them in her part of the Citadel."

  "If they want to hunt for the conspiracy," said Dunn, "they've got to come out some time. Then we nail them."

  Prudence frowned. "Aren't you worried that if they start disappearing, Mrs. Duquesne and Mr. Shellabarger will decide there really must be something to their story after all?"

  "Not soon enough, not if Gayoso here keeps pushing other explanations. If Bellamy's gone, maybe he went undercover or out of town to follow up on a lead. Or maybe he's an enemy of the Hierarchy after all, and is off conspiring with the rebels."

  The Governor nodded. "I suppose I can do that. Now, how will we get them?"

  "One sniper armed with a good rifle can accomplish wonderful things," said Dunn, grinning, "just ask the Warren Commission. But considering that these guys have proved they're tough and reasonably smart to boot, maybe we should try something a little more elaborate."

  "Like what?" asked Cankerheart.

  "Get the girl."

  Gayoso cocked his head. "You mean Sebastian?"

  Dunn snorted. "If that's your idea of a girl, you've got low standards. No, I mean Bellamy's little honey."

  "But she's not here."

  How did this moron ever get to be a Hierarch nobleman? wondered Dunn, "just because they didn't schlep her up to the Citadel for the big palaver-—which she wouldn't have been able to see or hear anyway—that doesn't mean she isn't in town. She followed Bellamy all over New Orleans, into our Dancer haven and the big showdown with Geffard, too. Why wouldn't she follow him upriver?"

  "Well," said Gayoso, "my people did say that Sebastian arrived in her own boat. When you think about it, she'd have to, wouldn't she? Perhaps Bellamy's woman was aboard, also."

  "Or maybe she came to Natchez some other way," said Dunn. "It's not important. What does matter is that she's just an ordinary live human. The weak link in the chain."

  Cankerheart tossed the cat carcass to the floor, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and brushed at the flesh, fur, and gore clinging to his pants. "I'm getting a sense of deja vu," he said. "As I recall, you hunted for this monkey all over New Orleans, and it took you forever to find her."

  "But this time," said Dunn, "we know where Bellamy and Sebastian are. They'll lead us to the girl, and we'll proceed from there." He blew a smoke ring. "Trust me, it will work."

  Astarte crept down the dark, twisting alley, groping her way along the high stone wall on her right. The cold drizzle had soaked her to the skin. At her back, her mother called, whining for her to come home.

  Astarte was tempted to obey. Go back to the ratty little apartment and her boring little job. It would drive her crazy, but it might be better than this endless seeking, chilled, alone, and miserable, through the shadows.

  But whenever she was on the brink of turning back, an iridescent glow shone around the next corner, and a strange, skirling piping sounded, teasing her onward. Unfortunately, the light and music always died just as she was about to round the bend, as if the source had retreated farther into the maze-like tangle of enclosed lanes.

  The alley terminated in a T intersection. She pivoted to the left, and saw one dead end just a few feet down. She turned in the opposite direction and saw another.

  This was it, then. She couldn't follow the glow and the piping any farther. She'd have to go back to her empty, pathetic life after all. Bitterly disappointed, she struggled not to sob, and then someone touched her on the shoulder.

  She jerked around. Behind her stood a lean, serious-looking guy maybe a few years older than herself, with a conservative haircut and a suit and tie to match. She knew him and didn't know him at the same time. But she was drawn to him, and when he smiled and opened his arms, she flung herself into his embrace.

  When they kissed, her memory awoke. He was her own beloved Frank, and now that he'd shown up, she sensed that things were going to work out after all.

  Sure enough, he turned and rapped on the blank gray wall, and a door rippled into existence. A little sliding panel opened at eye level, as if they were asking to enter an old-time speakeasy, Frank leaned close to it and whisp
ered something she Couldn't hear.

  The door opened. On the other side was a plump, pink-faced, smiling little man in a powder-blue sports coat and a narrow-brimmed straw hat. Once again, for a moment Astarte knew she knew him, but couldn't call his identity to mind. Then she realized he was Vulture—R. J. He'd been dead—she thought—but now he was alive again.

  She was about to hug him and tell him how glad she was to see him when the glow shone and the piping sounded behind him, beckoning her irresistibly onward. Grinning, R. ]. bowed and waved her and Frank on down a short hallway.

  Emerging from the passage, they found themselves in a large, high-ceilinged chamber with galleries running up the walls. A luminous, faceted orb, rather like a disco ball, floated unsupported near the ceiling.

  Seen straight on, the light was even more wonderful than Astarte had imagined. Gazing into it, she glimpsed the answers to every question that had ever bothered her, and other secrets so far removed from mundane experience that no philosopher had ever even puzzled over them. Even better, the glow woke her senses and emotions to full, vibrant life. It was as if she'd been crippled and numb from birth, and had only now become whole and fully aware.

  She stared at the orb for a long time. Indeed, she might never have taken her eyes off it if she hadn't sensed that, now that she'd found it, it would always be there for her. But since it would, curiosity finally prompted her to look at the other occupants of the room.

  As before, she recognized each of them immediately, but needed another second to call their names to mind. The vampire Mr. Daimler, his single eye, pig-like snout, and twisted form as beautiful as she'd once thought they might be if she could cleanse the deficiencies of ordinary human vision from her eyes. Antoine, strong and majestic as a dragon. Titus, his wizened, painted face full of patience and wisdom. Stern Queen Marie, smiling at last. All of them had a shimmer about them, as if the light overhead had kindled a similar glow inside them.