The Nekropolis Archives

by Tim Waggoner

  "If you wouldn't mind," I said to Devona, "I'd appreciate it if you could try to put this Humpty together again."

  NINE

  We were only a couple of blocks from Varvara's stronghold when Scorch announced that she had to use the little demons' room. When I just looked at her, she said, "What? My natural form may be big, but when I'm in this shape, my bladder isn't much larger than a pea."

  I wanted to ask her why demons needed to urinate at all, but I decided there are some things which, despite my naturally inquisitive nature, I'm better off not knowing. We stopped at at a Sawney B's, and Scorch entered the faux cave exterior in order to use the restaurant's restroom. Considering that the place is named after the infamous Scottish cannibal and serves fast-food items like lady fingers, marrow shakes, and homunculus nuggets, I hate to think what the restroom conditions are like. Darkfolk or human, one thing that unites both species is that females for some unknown reason seem compelled to visit restrooms in packs. Once we'd stopped, Devona decided she needed to go too, and she asked Shamika if she wanted to come along. The girl looked confused for a moment, as if she was unsure how to respond, but then she nodded and followed Devona inside the restaurant, leaving Varney and me to wait outside.

  I leaned back against Sawney B's plastic cave wall and crossed my arms over my chest. Thanks to Papa Chatha's spell, I was managing to keep my various body parts holding together, but it took constant concentration. If I allowed my mind to wander too far, I would feel myself start to lose cohesion, and I had to be careful if I didn't want to go all to pieces again. The warlock's spell had severed my head, arms, hands, legs, and feet from my body. I felt more like a scarecrow than I did a zombie, with joints that could bend in any direction, and movements so loosey-goosey I felt like a comical marionette whose strings were being pulled by a half-drunken puppeteer. Papa had told me that the enchantment that allowed me to keep a severed piece of myself attached to my body would remain effective for about twenty-four hours. But he hadn't said anything about trying to keep multiple severed body parts attached. I wondered how long I would be able to keep up my scarecrow act before I fell apart and stayed that way. I didn't think I was in any danger of being a permanent collection of undead puzzle pieces, not as long as I could find a magic-user to fix me up – or I could always pay a visit to Victor Baron. He once reattached my head, and he could easily do the same for the rest of me. But I didn't want to take time out for repairs. I wanted to find Papa and the rest of the magic-users and stop the conflict between Talaith and Varvara before it erupted into all-out war.

  I was grateful for the women's need to take a pit stop, though, for it gave me a chance to be alone with Varney. I had a few questions I wanted to ask my vampiric shadow.

  Varney stood next to me, his head swiveling slowly back and forth as his gaze scanned the street.

  "Filming?" I asked.

  "Just some background footage," he said. "Never know when it'll come in handy. Not much going on here, though. The streets are practically deserted."

  "We're close to Demon's Roost. If Varvara really is preparing for war, she's probably had her people cordon off the blocks around her stronghold."

  "If that's so, then how will we get through?"

  I smiled. "The same way I get through anything else. Boyish charm and rugged good looks."

  Varney gave me a skeptical glance but didn't say anything.

  "You were filming when we broke up the riot between the Arcane and the Demonkin, right? I mean, you're always filming, but I assume you were paying special attention then."

  "Sure thing. I got some great stuff!"

  "I bet you did. Did you happen to get any footage of Shamika being blasted by the warlock's spell?"

  He frowned. "I think so. I can't review the footage mentally. I need a Mind's Eye set to transmit it to, but yeah, I think I shot that. Why?"

  "Just curious. Curiosity is one of the prime qualities of a good private detective, you know. For example, I'm curious about you, Varney."

  "Me?"

  "You saved Devona from falling when the rest of the Bridge of Nine Sorrows collapsed. And you pulled her out of the way when the warlock tried to blast her. Don't get me wrong: I'm very thankful that you did, but I find it awfully convenient that you should just happen to be in the right place at the right time… twice."

  He shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

  "Maybe. Except I don't really believe in luck, Varney. You know what I do believe in? People with hidden agendas who pretend to be something they aren't."

  Varney looked at me for a long moment. "Dude, you are way cynical. You need to cultivate a more positive outlook. I know a guy who teaches meditation to Bloodborn to help them control their thirst-rage. Maybe you should give him a call sometime."

  "Or maybe you should just come clean and tell me what your game is."

  Varney looked at me, and his organic eye narrowed in cold appraisal. For a moment I thought he might break down and tell me what I wanted to know, but then the women came out of the restaurant and rejoined us.

  Devona held two cups with straws in them, and she handed one to Varney. "It's just aqua sanguis, but it should take the edge off your thirst."

  Aqua sanguis is a synthetic blood substitute produced in the Sprawl. It tastes like blood but doesn't provide any nourishment. For the Darkfolk, it's like the equivalent of diet soda. From what I've been told, it tastes rather weak, hence the slang term for it: redwater. Devona's not against drinking real blood per se. Officially, humans aren't considered prey by law in Nekropolis, and any real blood served in bars and restaurants either comes from willing donors or from specially cloned donator bodies produced by Victor Baron. But that doesn't stop some of the more unscrupulous blood suppliers from snatching a human or two off the street now and again, and – like humans on Earth who boycott tuna because of fishing practices that ensnare dolphins – some of the more socially conscious Darkfolk choose to drink aqua sanguis instead of blood whenever possible.

  Varney thanked Devona, took the drink, and sipped. He didn't look at me, and it was like our conversation hadn't happened. But it had, and I intended to continue it later. I was certain now that Varney was more than he appeared to be. The question was what, and whether he was any kind of a danger. So far he'd saved Devona twice, and that meant I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being, but that wasn't the same as trusting him. Not by a long shot.

  I desperately wanted a chance to talk with Devona alone for a few minutes. I had yet to tell her about my visit from Dis at Papa Chatha's, and I wanted to share my suspicions about Varney with her, as well as my uneasy feelings about Shamika. I could've done so telepathically, I suppose, but I've found that our link works best for sharing emotions. It's harder to communicate complex concepts, and short back-and-forth communication works better than longer, more detailed exchanges. I decided it would be better to wait until we had a few moments of privacy so we could speak aloud to one another. But if the opportunity didn't arise soon, I'd settle for a telepathic exchange rather than wait too much longer.

  Instead of a drink, Scorch had bought a ten-pack of testicles marinated in gastric juices, and she popped one of the horrid slimy things in her mouth.

  "Things are likely to get more military from here on out," she said as she chewed, "so you'd better let me do the talking."

  "Maybe you should finish eating first," I said, and despite the fact that I no longer possessed a functioning sense of smell or working taste buds, I couldn't help sounding queasy.

  "Good idea."

  Scorch assumed her fire demon form, opened her now large maw, and tossed the rest of the testicles into her mouth, package and all, and swallowed. Then she grinned at me.

  "I'm ready."

  Scorch took the lead, Devona, Shamika and I walked in the middle, and Varney brought up the rear, the better to film us, no doubt. I noticed he kept closer to Devona than the rest of us, and given his track record at protecting her, I wa
sn't about to protest.

  By this point we could see Demon's Roost off in the distance. Varvara's stronghold resembled a sleek, gleaming, metal-andglass high-rise that would be right at home in one of Earth's more modern cities. It rose a dozen stories into the sky, its bright lights standing out sharply against the starless black expanse that stretches above the city like a vast blanket of Nothing. Cold and stark, utterly lacking charm or grace, Demon's Roost is a monstrous monument to power and excess – and thus a perfect home for the Demon Queen.

  When we reached the next block, I saw that my supposition had been correct: the streets were blocked off by wicked-looking barriers made from large steel spikes with razor wire stretched between. Demons larger, more muscular, and way uglier than Scorch patrolled the barriers, armed to the teeth with weapons both modern and ancient. Some carried automatic pistols, rifles, and flamethrowers, while others gripped broadswords and heavy battleaxes. A few carried futuristic high-tech weapons that wouldn't have been out of place on the set of a sci-fi movie. Varvara believes in being on the cutting edge of everything, and that includes technology. She has the means and the money to import any Earth weaponry she wishes, and there are any number of mad scientists living in the city who are only too happy to pro vide some seriously deadly upgrades to the toys she acquires – for a price. And if they don't already work for the Demon Queen, she has them on retainer. And since Darkfolk are tougher than humans, safety features like radiation shielding aren't necessary, and if a weapon should blow up in a demon's hands, what of it? They'll more than likely shrug it off, and if the explosion does manage to kill them, there are a hundred more waiting in line to serve, and more are being bred in Varvara's hatcheries every day. Back on Earth, some people say life is cheap, but they've never been to Nekropolis.

  The guard demons fixed wary gazes on us as we approached, but they didn't raise their weapons. I guess we looked like a harmless enough bunch – and we did have our very own demon escort.

  Scorch walked up to the barrier and addressed one of the demons, a mammoth creature ten feet tall that looked like a giant ape covered in snakeskin.

  "Hey, Magilla. What's up?"

  The ape-thing carried a weapon that resembled a giant blow dryer combined with a food processor. It looked ridiculous, which most likely meant it was exceptionally lethal.

  Magilla tightened his grip on the weapon and raised it a few inches, but he still didn't level it at us, something for which I was profoundly grateful.

  "Guard duty," the demon said in a low rumbling voice that sounded like a small avalanche. "The general's ordered all access points to Demon's Roost blocked off and guarded."

  "General who?" I asked.

  Magilla looked at me as if he was considering gutting me and using my eviscerated corpse for a field latrine. But he said, "General Klamm. Varvara put him in charge."

  "She's already gathering an army?" Devona asked.

  Magilla shrugged. "You know Varvara. Once she decides to do something, it's fast forward all the way."

  "The bridges weren't destroyed by ground troops," I pointed out.

  In response, Magilla hooked a thumb skyward. I looked up and saw a dozen winged demons flying above us. Some had bat wings, some had insect wings, and some just levitated, but, like their ground-based counterparts, they were all armed and ready for trouble.

  "Looks like Klamm's thought of everything," I said.

  "He's a pretty smart guy," Magilla agreed affably enough, though from our conversation so far, I figured he wasn't the greatest judge of intelligence levels. He went on. "What are you doing here, Scorch? You come to enlist?"

  Scorch said, "Naw. You know me. I'm a lover, not a fighter."

  Scorch's assertion was a bit hard to take considering that she now looked like something Hieronymus Bosch would've hesitated to paint, but it made Magilla laugh, and whenever a soldier is laughing instead of blasting you with his futuristic superweapon, that's a good thing.

  Scorch went on. "I've got some people here that need to talk to Varvara. This is Matthew Richter, the zombie PI. He has some information that might prove useful to the queen."

  I was coming to ask questions of Varvara, not deliver information, but I didn't see the need to correct Scorch, not if her ruse would get us past the guard.

  "I heard you've been hanging around him lately." Magilla gave me an appraising look with his simian eyes. "You can't mistake the smell, can you? Nothing reeks quite like a deader."

  I frowned, but I held my tongue. I was tempted to draw my 9mm and put a couple bullets in the big scaly ape just to show him that I don't take shit from anyone, but I told myself that, satisfying as it might be, it wouldn't help matters – especially when Magilla decided to retaliate with a deadly blast from his Buck Rogers gun.

  Magilla thought for a moment, and from the way his brow crinkled and the little grunts of effort he made, I knew it wasn't an easy task for him.

  "I guess it's OK if you take the deader on to Demon's Roost," he said at last. "Everyone knows Varvara finds him amusing, and she could probably use a good laugh right now."

  "Looks like my reputation has preceded me," I muttered.

  Magilla's scaly lips drew back in a grin, exposing a mouthful of large yellowed fangs. "And if she's not in the mood to see you, she'll probably just blast you to atoms."

  "Always a risk when you seek an audience with the Demon Queen," I agreed.

  Magilla's grin fell away, and I had the impression he was disappointed that I hadn't found him intimidating. Monsters are like that. They're so used to being terrifying that when you don't automatically pee your pants at the sight of them, they're at a loss for what to do next. Usually they just try to kill you. And failing that, they try to scare anyone else in the vicinity. Magilla was no different. He turned away from me and focused his attention on Devona, Shamika, and Varney. He grinned again, wider this time.

  "What about these three, Scorch?" he asked. "Who are they and why should I let them through?"

  "They're friends," Scorch said, "and they also have information that might be of interest to Varvara."

  Magilla looked them up and down for a moment. "I don't see that it takes five of you to talk to the queen, but I'll tell you what. You give me the girl to play with, and I'll let the rest of you pass." Magilla's grin widened into a full-fledged leer.

  Shamika's eyes widened in shock, and Devona stepped closer to her and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

  "We will do no such thing! I can't believe you'd even make such a suggestion!" Devona's eyes flashed dangerously.

  Magilla laughed. "What part of 'I'm a demon' don't you understand?"

  "No deal," I said.

  Magilla shrugged. "Then none of you pass. It's as simple as that. Now go on and get out of here before I decide to use you all for target practice."

  I fixed Magilla with the sort of unblinking stare that only dead people like me are capable of.

  "I pick up a lot of nifty toys in my line of work," I said in what I hoped was a low, dangerous tone. "One of the nastier ones I've got is called a Judas bomb. Ever heard of it?"

  Magilla shook his head. He didn't look especially scared, but he was paying attention.

  "It's a magical device that when activated causes half the cells in your body to become cannibalistic. They immediately turn on the unaffected cells and begin devouring them. In a sense, your body betrays itself, hence the device's name. It's an extremely messy and unbelievably painful way to die."

  Magilla smiled, but it was forced. "And what? If I say anything more about wanting to play with the little girlie you'll use the bomb on me? Just kill me in cold blood? I thought you hero types were better than that."

  I kicked myself mentally for trying to bluff Magilla. It's almost impossible to out-nasty a demon. Of course, it would've helped if I'd actually had a Judas bomb on me. I'd heard of the devices but never actually saw one. If I'd had one, I'd have probably used it then, just to wipe the smug smile off Magilla's
face and to hell with my heroic reputation.

  Shamika stepped up next to me. "Thank you for trying to defend my honor, Matt, but I can take care of myself."

  Magilla leered at her and a thick ropey strand of saliva dripped out of the corner of his mouth. "The question is, can you take care of me?"

  The other guard demons had kept their distance so far, but they'd been watching our conversation with interest, and they burst out with laughter upon hearing the simian demon's lessthan-subtle innuendo.

  Shamika wasn't amused, however.