by Tim Waggoner
"Forgive me for snooping," Shamika said, "but I was in your bedroom a minute ago, and I saw you haven't packed up your computer yet."
Our laptop computer was a prime example of Victor Baron's flesh-tech: constructed from skin, bone, muscle, and specially designed organs, it lived, breathed, and moaned in complaint whenever asked to do even moderately complex tasks. Devona spoiled the damn thing rotten, which was why it wasn't packed up with our other belongings yet. She'd said she didn't want to hurt its feelings by sealing it away in a box and letting it sit there overnight. Me? I'd have been happy to leave it out on the curb with a sign that said FREE TO A GOOD HOME (OR EVEN A BAD ONE, JUST AS LONG AS YOU TAKE THE STUPID THING!).
Shamika continued. "Would you come into the bedroom with me? There's something I want to show you on the computer. I've been experimenting with uploading my consciousness to the Aethernet, and I think I've succeeded." She paused, and I could hear the girlish smile in her voice when she added, almost shyly, "I'm my own website!"
Devona looked at me and raised an eyebrow. In return, I shrugged. Shamika was an alien creature, and we didn't understand exactly how her hivemind consciousness worked. Maybe she didn't have to confine herself to a strictly physical existence. But it did make me wonder. Nekropolis' Aethernet is connected to Earth's Internet via some kind of interdimensional connection, and if Shamika – or at least part of her – now existed on the virtual plane… well, the folks back home on Earth might be in for a surprise the next time they logged onto their computers.
"That sounds awesome!" Devona said. "Show me!" She held out her hand toward Shamika. The insect hesitated, then hopped onto the back of Devona's hand, skittered up her arm, and perched on her shoulder.
"Coming?" Devona asked me.
"I better not," I said. "Yesterday I tried to get the computer to open a new spreadsheet program I set up for client billing, and we, ah, had a disagreement." I held up my hand to show the scorch marks from where the computer had shocked me.
Devona laughed, and the insect on her shoulder giggled. Devona then stood and carried Shamika with her to the bedroom.
I settled back on the couch and mentally commanded our Mind's Eye set to tune into a razorball game between the Black Talons and the Intercity Manglers, but the set's eyelid remained stubbornly shut. I tried again, but the Mind's Eye still refused to cooperate. I was starting to wonder if the set was broken, when I heard a voice next to me.
"Don't bother. Not only will the Manglers continue their losing streak, it's going to be a dull game. Only three fatalities, none of them permanent."
I turned to see Father Dis sitting on the couch next to me.
"I know you're an ancient Roman god, so you might not know this, but there's a new concept these days called a 'spoiler.' It's generally considered good manners to avoid them."
Dis' lips stretched into a small, thin smile. "I'll try to remember that. I did see a very amusing program recently. It was a documentary about a tortured dead man trying to bring a tiny bit of justice to a city of unrelenting evil and darkness."
I groaned.
"Would you like me to tell you how many people watched it?" Dis asked.
"I don't want to know. I just hope everyone forgets about it – and me – eventually."
"There's little chance of that. You stopped a war between two Darklords and helped us make peace with the Watchers. If you thought you were well known before…"
I sighed. "At least Devona will be happy. The publicity will be good for business. And speaking of Devona…" I turned to look in the direction of the bedroom.
"Neither she nor Shamika can hear us talking," Dis said. "I've seen to that." He smiled. "Even if I hadn't, they're having too much fun playing with Shamika's website to pay any attention to us."
"So what's the situation with the Darklords?" I asked. "Talaith didn't show up at our wedding, even though Varvara invited her. Despite my objections, I might add."
"Most of the Darklords try not to hold grudges. Given how long we live and how often we come into conflict, we'd never get anything done if we stayed mad at one another. But not Talaith." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think she lives to hold grudges. But to answer your question, she's keeping to herself these days, overseeing the restoration of the Greensward and layering it with even stronger protective spells than it possessed before. She did lodge a formal complaint with me against Varvara and Galm, and while I'm sure she'll seek revenge on both of them at some point, I expect her to behave herself for the time being. So the balance of power in the city remains intact, and I have you to thank for that, Matt."
I said, "Gratitude is good, but unfortunately you can't spend it."
"My staff made a deposit into your bank account this morning, and I think you'll find the sum more than acceptable. Thank you once again for your service to the city, Matt."
Shadows began to coalesce around Dis, and I knew he was about to dematerialize.
"One moment," I said.
The shadows paused, then slowly flowed back to the corners of the room.
"Yes?" Dis said.
"You didn't tell me the full truth when you spoke with me at Papa Chatha's, did you? I saw the way you looked at Shamika. You knew who and what she was, but you didn't say anything to me about it."
"I was confident you'd figure it out on your own eventually."
I said, "That's not it. You wanted my help to avert a war, but it wasn't a war between Talaith and Varvara you were worried about, was it? It was a war between Gregor and Shamika – or maybe between the Darkfolk and the Watchers."
Dis looked at me with cold, impassive eyes, but he didn't contradict me.
"You didn't want Shamika to know you'd talked to me. That's the real reason you froze everyone at Papa Chatha's, and why you're concealing our conversation from Devona and Shamika now. You don't want her to feel manipulated – even though she was."
Dis looked at me a moment longer before letting out a soft sigh. It was a sigh full of weariness, long centuries of it, and hearing it made me feel for a moment as old as Time itself.
"The Darklords and I made a mistake when we chose this dimension as the location to build Nekropolis," Dis began. "It's ironic, but we were fleeing from the persecution by humanity, and by building our city here, we ended up doing the same thing humans have done so often throughout their long, sad history: colonizing a land already inhabited by others… a land where we were not welcome. As powerful as we Darkfolk are, I knew we could never win against the Watchers. There were simply too many of them. And abandoning the city and starting over in another dimension just wasn't practical. So when I became aware that not only was Gregor still alive, but he'd fragmented into two separate personalities, I decided that you were the city's best hope for dealing with the Watchers."
"Me? What did you think I could do?"
Dis smiled. "In case you hadn't noticed, you have a knack for finding unorthodox solutions to problems. More to the point, you've kept your humanity, despite having become one more monster in a city filled with them. I knew if anyone could help the Watchers discover the better part of their nature, it would be you."
"If I had a functioning circulatory system, I might blush," I said. After a moment's thought, I added, "And despite your insistence that you couldn't interfere, it strikes me as awfully convenient that my severed hand was able to operate so effectively on its own, and that Gregor should be completely oblivious to it. You didn't perhaps secretly use a little of your power to make that happen, did you?"
Dis' silence answered for him.
"You know, you might be the Lord of all the Darkfolk, the biggest, baddest horror in a city full of foul creatures and evil fiends, but deep down you're not so bad."
Dis' eyes clouded over with shadow until they were completely black, like a shark's, and when he spoke next, his voice was as cold as the grave.
"Don't be mistaken, Matt. I care only about my people's welfare, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect them. If I had
to slaughter a million innocents to preserve the Darkfolk, I'd do it, and without a moment's hesitation. In this case, it just so happened that peace was the most logical and efficient solution."
I looked into the deep black eyes of a being so ancient and powerful that he could destroy me with a single thought.
"Bullshit," I said.
In reply Dis just smiled, gathered the shadows around him, and was gone.
I sat there a bit longer, trying to decide if it was worth watching the razorball game even though I knew how it was going to turn out, but in the end I decided to get up and go into the bedroom and check out Shamika's website.
But before I could stand, the Mind's Eye opened its lid of its own accord, and an image appeared in my mind. It was Lord Edrigu. He looked to the right and then the left, as if making sure we were alone. There was a nervous, almost desperate energy in his movements, and his eyes looked, appropriately enough, haunted.
"Is Dis gone? Good. Listen closely, Matt. I have to leave Nekropolis. Immediately. Until I return, I need you to fill in for me. As of this moment, you're Lord of the Dead."
Edrigu vanished, and the Mind's Eye closed its lid as the transmission ended.
I sat there for several moments, staring at the deactivated set, and then finally, I cleared my throat and called out in a strained voice.
"Devona? Honey? There's something I need to tell you."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tim Waggoner is an American novelist and college professor. His original novels include Cross County, Darkness Wakes, Pandora Drive, and Like Death. His tie-in novels include The Lady Ruin series and the Blade of the Flame trilogy, both for Wizards of the Coast. He's also written fiction based on Stargate: SG-1, Doctor Who, A Nightmare on Elm Street, the videogame Defender, Xena the Warrior Princess, and others. He's published over one hundred short stories, some of which are collected in Broken Shadows and All Too Surreal. His articles on writing have appeared in Writer's Digest, Writers' Journal and other publications.
He teaches composition and creative writing at Sinclair Community College in Dayton, Ohio, and is a faculty mentor in Seton Hill Univerity's Master of Arts in Writing Popular Fiction program in Greensburg, Pennsylvania.
www.timwaggoner.com
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An Angry Robot paperback original 2011
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Copyright © Tim Waggoner 2011
Tim Waggoner asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 0 85766 111 1 EBook ISBN: 978-0-87566-113-5
Set in Meridien by THL Design.
Printed in the UK by CPI Mackays, Chatham, ME5 8TD.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
