by Tim Waggoner
Gizane grabbed the collar of Zorian's robe and turned him to face her. "He's right! Talaith will find out! She may even already know!"
"And if she doesn't," I said, "I'll make sure to tell her the moment she arrives."
People in the crowd began wailing and crying. They had a good idea what sort of reaction they could expect from their mistress once she discovered their village's tech-fetish.
"Don't panic!" Ortzi said. He gave me a sly look. "If we destroy the zombie along with his friends, there will be no one left alive to tell Talaith anything."
Gizane and Zorian looked at him hopefully.
"But Talaith gave you specific orders not to destroy me," I pointed out. "If you burn me up along with my friends, how will you explain it to Talaith? And even if you could come up with an excuse that she'd buy, she'd punish you all for stealing her chance to get revenge on me."
Gizane and Zorian no longer looked so hopeful. In fact, they both looked as if they might vomit at any moment.
"Then we're lost!" someone in the crowed wailed. "There's nothing we can do!"
"There is one thing," I said. "You could let us go."
"Are you mad?" Ortzi shouted at me. "Talaith would be sure to punish us in ways beyond imagining if we did that!"
"That's true," I admitted. "But not if the citizens of Merrowvale release us, then tell Talaith we got away because the three of you screwed up and allowed us to escape."
"Is your brain as dead as the rest of you?" Ortzi snapped. "Zorian, Gizane, and I would never permit the villagers to do that – and even if somehow they succeeded, we'd simply tell the Dark Lady what really happened."
"True again. But the villagers could tell Talaith that after you let us escape, they killed you in her name for your incompetence. Then there would be no one left to tell Talaith about what really happened, the villagers could keep all their toys, and the Dark Lady would be none the wiser."
Zorian tried to look calm, but the lines of sweat trickling down his face told a different story. He kept shooting sidelong glances at the crowd in the square. "I think you've underestimated the good folk of Merrowvale, Mr. Richter. They would never do anything so heinous simply to keep their…" He broke off as he noticed the villagers staring quietly at him and his two fellow Elders. The lux crystals of the villagers who carried staffs began to glow a baleful red, while others started making intricate hand gestures and chanting mystic phrases.
I turned my head so I could see Devona and Lazlo.
"You might want to close your eyes. I have a feeling this is going to get real ugly, real fast."
The villagers let out a roar as they surged en masse toward the dais.
Devona, Lazlo and I were hoofing it on the Obsidian Way. I'd been tempted to ask the villagers if we could borrow some horses, though the beasts tend to shy away from me, probably because of my smell. And if they turned up their noses at me, I couldn't imagine how they'd react to Lazlo's stink. But after seeing what the villagers had done to their Elder – and the zeal with which they'd gone at it – I decided not to push our luck. A mile and a half isn't that far to walk, even on stiff, partially damaged zombie legs. But time, as they say, was of the essence. Talaith had already been on her way to Merrowvale when the villagers released us, and it wouldn't take her long to arrive. Once she saw that we'd escaped, she'd come looking for us, and as long as we were in her Dominion, we weren't safe. We needed to get to the Boneyard, and we needed to get there fast, and I doubted we were going to make it on foot. If worse came to worst, I would give myself to Talaith and urge her to let Devona and Lazlo go, but I knew the Witch Queen wouldn't go for it. She'd kill the both of them just to hurt me further. So either we all made it or none of us did. Once more, I attempted to cudgel my zombified brain into providing a way out.
I knew the Darklords constantly strove against one another – within the boundaries set by Dis, that is. They spied on and schemed against one another, tried to outdo the others' accomplishments and win favor in the eyes of Dis. They ruled their individual Dominions and the inhabitants thereof absolutely, though some of the Lords were more involved in their subjects' lives than others. Still, it was considered an act of great transgression for a Darklord to interfere with another's Dominion and its subjects.
I also knew the four remaining Darklords had to be aware of what Talaith had been up to tonight. Even if it was borrowed, the sheer power she was expending would stand out to them like an atomic bomb detonating at a July Fourth celebration. In fact, the other Lords were likely keeping close watch on the situation right now, if for no other reason than to make certain Talaith wasn't somehow gearing up for an attack on them.
And then I had an idea.
I lived in the Sprawl. That made me a subject of Varvara, didn't it? If I called upon the Demon Queen, might she intervene to save one of her subjects? No, I decided. Varvara liked me well enough, but we weren't friends. What she liked about me was the amusement value I offered as a zombie ex-cop trying to survive in Nekropolis. But I doubted she'd find a confrontation with Talaith amusing, especially when the Witch Queen was filled with the combined mystic power of her subjects. Varvara might miss me when I was gone, or she might get a laugh out of my demise, but she wouldn't help me.
I looked up, trying to see if Talaith was on her way. I saw no sign of the Witch Queen.
As if reading my mind, Devona said, "I feel psychic pressure at the base of my skull, Matt. She's coming."
I quickly explained my idea about the Darklords watching.
"If they are, then that means Father is watching too," she said thoughtfully. "And he knows I'm here and in danger. But if that's the case, why hasn't he done anything?" She looked up into the sky. "Father!" she cried. "Father, help us!" But nothing happened.
Maybe I'd been wrong about the Darklords watching. Or maybe they were, but Galm was constrained by one of the Accords, or maybe he just couldn't afford to expend any of his power so close to the Renewal Ceremony, even to save the life of his own daughter. Or maybe his reasons were political. From what I understood, Galm and Talaith, while not the best of friends by any means, had about as cordial a relationship as any two Darklords can.
But I knew a Lord who Talaith wasn't on such good terms with – a Lord she'd planned to attack with the Overmind before Dale and I destroyed it.
A voice whispered in my mind then, thick with barely restrained fury. Another valiant attempt to escape me, Matthew, but you're too late. Look up.
I did and saw a figure swiftly approaching from the western sky. Talaith sat upon an airborne throne of black marble held aloft by a pair of giant flapping raven's wings growing from the throne's back. Despite myself, I was impressed. Much classier than a broom or carpet. I knew we had only moments before she reached us. Once again, it was time to do something desperate.
I raised my hands to the heavens. "Lord Edrigu! Hear me! You are Master of the Dead; I am a zombie! Will you allow Talaith to insult you by attacking one of your own subjects? I ask you to help us, if for no other reason than to spite her!"
I waited, but nothing happened.
Nice try, zombie. Talaith's thought-voice was smug. But Edrigu would never da–
And then, as if Talaith's comment was a cue, the air near us shimmered and a shadowy coach appeared.
It was Silent Jack's Black Rig.
• • • •
We didn't have time to think about it.
"C'mon!" I shouted, grabbing both Devona's and Lazlo's arms and pulling them toward Jack's coach.
"I'm not going to ride in a ghost hack!" Lazlo protested. "I'm a real cabby! Besides, I'm not going to leave my cab. We have to go back and–"
Talaith was close enough now for us to hear her voice, and she shrieked, furious at Jack's sudden appearance. She gestured and a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground less than three yards from where we stood.
"I'm going to shut my mouth and get inside," Lazlo finished.
The door of the coach sprung open of it
s own accord, and we climbed in: Devona first, Lazlo second, me last. I pulled the door closed after us, and it shut with a muffled click. The interior of the coach was dark and the wood looked… insubstantial, somehow, as if you could put your finger through it if you pressed hard enough. But what else could you expect from a ghost coach? At least it was solid enough to keep the rain out.
I thumped on the roof to get the driver's attention. "Let's go, Jack!"
Silent Jack, true to his name, didn't reply. His whip cracked soundlessly, Malice and Misery let out a pair of inaudible whinnies, and we began to move. But the horses didn't pull us, at least not in the usual way. The entire coach, horses, slid forward as if on a conveyer belt, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. There was no bouncing or juddering; the ride was eerily smooth.
I pushed aside the curtain over the rear window and saw Talaith pursuing us, eyes flashing with mystic energy and blazing bright with anger and frustration. The Witch Queen poured on the speed, but inch by inch, we began to outdistance her.
Damn you, Richter! a furious voice thundered in my head. This isn't over!
It is for now, I responded, and settled back in my seat. I'd survived another encounter with the mistress of Glamere.
I looked up at the ceiling and thought of Jack sitting atop the coach, driving the horses onward in silence. We'd gotten away, but, I wondered, at what price?
FOURTEEN
The coach neared the border between Glamere and the Boneyard, but instead of heading for the Bridge of Lost Souls, it aimed straight for Phlegethon. Before we could protest, the coach had passed through the wrought iron fence at the side of the road – somehow allowing us to pass through as well – and continued through the air as if the road had never ended, bearing us easily across the river of green fire. I wonder if any Lesk, the giant serpents that plied the flaming waters of the river, were looking up, disappointed we hadn't fallen in. But I didn't look out the window to check. Some things are better left a mystery.
Now that we had crossed over into Edrigu's Dominion, Talaith no longer pursued us. But that didn't necessarily mean we were safe. Nekropolis doesn't do safe.
As soon as we reached the other side, the Black Rig glided to a stop on the Obsidian Way.
"It wasn't as much fun as a car," Lazlo said, "but I have to admit it was a pretty decent ride." He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Hey, it's locked!" Lazlo gripped the handle tighter and shook it for all he was worth, but despite his demonic strength, the door remained closed. "What gives?"
"I believe it's time to settle the matter of our fare," Devona said.
I remembered the rumors about Silent Jack, about how much he liked the ladies. And from the look on Devona's face, she was thinking the same thing.
"I'll get this one, Jack," I said loudly.
The door sprung open.
"Matt, no!" Devona protested. "You shouldn't pay for all three of us!"
"She's right," Lazlo agreed. "We all three rode; we all should pay."
I shook my head. "I'm the one who requested Lord Edrigu's assistance, so I'll be the one to settle the tab. Now go ahead and get out, both of you."
Devona refused, so I looked to Lazlo. The demon sighed. "All right, Matt; if that's the way you want it. Let's go, Devona." He took her hand and pulled her struggling from the coach. As strong as Devona was, Lazlo was stronger. As soon as they were both out, the door snicked shut once more, and Silent Jack appeared on the seat opposite me. This was the closest I'd ever been to him, but I couldn't make out any facial features. It was as if he were formed entirely out of shadow, just like his cab and the horses that drew it.
The ghostly coachman held out a gloved hand, but I was fairly certain he wasn't asking for darkgems.
"Name your price, Jack."
He put his hand in his lap, held it out again, and then pointed to me. The message was clear – he wanted me to hold out my hand. I extended my left hand palm up. Jack reached out and with the sharp ebon nail of his index finger traced four lines on my palm. When he removed his finger, my flesh puckered and scar tissue formed in the shape of a letter E. E for Edrigu. What did it mean?
I started to pull back my hand, but Jack gripped my wrist, and with his other hand got hold of my pinkie and yanked. There was a snapping, tearing sound, and my finger came loose in his hand. He inserted the finger in his vest pocket, tipped his hat to me, and then vanished.
The door opened.
I climbed out and stood next to Devona and Lazlo. We watched as Silent Jack – who sat once more atop the coach – and his Black Rig faded from sight.
"What was his price?" Devona asked.
I showed them the mark on my palm.
"What do you think it means?" I asked.
"I'm not certain," Devona said. "Perhaps merely that you are in Lord Edrigu's debt. Or perhaps that you now have a new master."
A master. I couldn't deal with all the implications of what that might mean. I'd always been my own man, even when I was on the force in Cleveland. And now I had a master?
Edrigu was Lord of the Dead – had he perhaps repaired the damage to my body? I took a quick inventory. No, my face was still scratched, my ear still missing, my right arm and left leg still damaged. Edrigu hadn't bothered to fix me, which meant that I was still in the process of decomposing for the final time. It didn't make any sense. Why would Edrigu have Jack put his mark on me if he wasn't going to bother preserving me?
And then I felt an echo of a chill run along my dead spine. What if Edrigu wasn't interested in my undead body? What if he wanted my soul?
Well, if that was the price I had to pay to save my friends, it was worth it. But I wasn't about to give up on Devona's case or on trying to find a way to keep my body intact. Lord Edrigu might have a lien on my soul, but that didn't mean I had to make it easy for him to collect.
Devona noticed my pinkie was missing. I told her what had happened to it.
"I don't understand," she said, puzzled. "Why would Jack take your finger if you'd already paid Lord Edrigu's price?"
"For his tip," Lazlo said, "what else?"
Bereft of transportation, we had no choice but to hoof it. We left the Obsidian Way and began walking along the Boneyard's cramped, narrow streets. But foot travel wasn't a problem in this Dominion, even during the Descension celebration. With the exception of the occasional shade drifting across our path, the streets were deserted. Everything was in a state of arrested decay: the roadways buckled and bulged, bricks cracked and crumbling; the buildings covered with dead, dry ivy, shutters hanging by one hinge, roofs full of holes or collapsed entirely; the trees and bushes lining the streets twisted, gray, and barren. And, according to Devona and Lazlo, the air was still, stagnant, and stale.
We caught glimpses of movement out of the corner of our eyes, flashes of darting wraith-like shapes that disappeared when you tried to look at them directly. I seemed to be more aware of them than either Devona or Lazlo, maybe because I was dead myself. Not for the first time I wondered just how many spirits inhabited the Boneyard. If we could see them clearly, would we find the streets full of people, perhaps celebrating the Descension along with the rest of the city? Were we even now walking among – walking through – throngs of laughing, shouting merrymakers, oblivious to their presence?
The Boneyard isn't strictly the Dominion of the dead, though. Many living beings – warm ones, as the dead refer to them – also live there. Those who for whatever reasons feel more comfortable living in the presence of death. Some simply like the quiet and solitude, while others go there only for the sake of morbid fashion. And then there are those disturbed individuals who are drawn to death like moths to a cold dark flame, such as the Suicide King and Overkill, who can only truly feel alive when they come as close to death as possible.
Me, I feel more alive around the living. Weird, huh?
Ghosts aren't the only supernatural inhabitants of the Boneyard. Anything dead falls under the rule of Lord Edrigu: polterge
ists, skeletons, liches, mummies, wights, wraiths, and others dwelled within his Dominion. Most of these creatures preferred keeping to the shadows or haunting their lairs, waiting for those curious or foolish enough to seek them out or stumble blindly across them. As the three of us walked, we caught the occasional glimpse of a shambling thing lurking in an alley or dark eyes peering through broken shutters in an abandoned building, but we made sure not to disturb them and they in turn didn't seek to devour our souls. A good arrangement all the way around, as far as I was concerned.
