by Tim Waggoner
"I hadn't thought of it like that. I'll make sure to highlight it on my resume."
Baron was right about one thing. When the operation was finished my first order of business was to find out who'd done this to me and why. And once I did I intended to lay a serious hurt on them.
I gritted my teeth as the arms continued their work.
"Now stand on your right foot and touch your nose with your left index finger," Baron said.
"Is this really necessary?" I complained. "We've been at this for twenty minutes now. I've walked back and forth across the lab numerous times. I've clapped my hands and tapped my feet in various rhythms. I've written my name on a piece of paper a dozen times. If anything had gone wrong during the operation I think we'd know it by now."
Baron, Henry and Devona had been standing by the operating table watching me go through my paces ever since I'd climbed off the operating table and gotten dressed. And while I was happy to be in one undead piece again I was getting tired of being treated like a performing zombie monkey.
"Indulge me, please," Baron said. Despite my complaining the man didn't sound the least bit irritated. He had the calmest disposition of any monster I'd ever met.
I sighed, did as Baron asked, and promptly poked myself in the eye.
"I was afraid of that," Baron said. "The coordination is a bit off on your left side. If you'll just hop back onto the table, I'll take care of that."
The thought of lying on the operating table while those disembodied hands worked on me some more wasn't exactly appealing.
"I'm not sure that's necessary," I said. "In general, I'm more coordinated than I have been since I died. So I can't hop on one foot and touch my nose. It's not exactly a skill I use every day."
"Even so, Mr. Richter, it'll only take a few minor adjustments. I really-"
Henry interrupted. "The man seems satisfied enough, Victor. Remember, not everyone shares your drive for perfection."
"I suppose so," Baron agreed, but he didn't seem very happy about it.
"I think you should reconsider, Matt," Devona said. "Given the kind of work we – I mean you – do, you often end up in physical confrontations. The more coordinated your body is, the better."
"You're exaggerating," I said. "Yeah, I get in a fight every now and then, but I hardly think-"
The entire time we'd been in the lab the woman's head attached to the computer had been silent, but now she shouted, "Mr. Baron! An intruder has just forced his way through the main entrance! And he's heading this way – fast!"
"Alert security, Elsa," Baron said as he headed toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Henry said. "This is why you built a security force – to take care of problems like this."
Baron spun back around to face Henry and for the first time since we arrived I saw him lose his composure. "This is my home and I will not allow others to defend it for me!"
Baron whirled around and shoved his way through the lab doors.
Henry shook his head. "He's as stubborn as the night is long." He turned to us. "Stay here. You should be safe enough."
Moving with his spastic, lurching gait, Henry went after his master. When he was gone Devona looked at me.
"What were you saying about how rarely you get into fights?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Let's go."
I took her hand, grateful that I could at least once again feel the pressure of her grip, and we hurried after Baron and Henry.
• • •
We found them standing in the hallway near the entrance, the one where the paintings of Frankenstein's homeland were displayed. A trio of hulking monsters – one male, one female and one which could've been either or both – stood battling a shadowy figure in a top hat and cape. The bodies of several other monsters lay behind them in the hall, heads and limbs severed from torsos, blood splattered on the floor and walls. The dark man held black knives in each hand, the blades of which seemed formed from solid shadow. The surviving security monsters attempted to grab hold of him but he avoided their hands with almost casual ease, deftly slicing out with his blades, their edges passing through flesh and bone as if they were no more substantial than air. The monsters roared in fury as they lost hands and arms and the dark man's attacks increased in speed, until he became a shadowy blur impossible to track, and when he once more grew still, the last three monsters had joined the others as bloody piles of severed body parts scattered across the floor.
I remembered something Baron had said: "There's always a spare body or two lying around here". If I'd been a living man, I'd have tossed the contents of my stomach right then. I consoled myself by remembering where we were. If anyone could put all those poor Humpty Dumptys together again, it was Victor Baron.
Despite the slaughter he'd just witnessed Baron stepped forward, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and the anger on his face was terrible to behold.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Baron demanded in a voice tight with fury.
The features of the cloaked man were shrouded in darkness, so his expression was impossible to read. It wasn't clear if he even had a face. But he seemed to be looking at me when he raised a black gloved hand and pointed one of his dripping knives.
I stepped forward to stand next to Baron and Devona came with me. Henry remained where he was, demonstrating more good sense than the rest of us, I thought.
"His name is Silent Jack," I said. "He's one of Lord Edrigu's servants. As for what he wants… well, I guess it's me."
Ever since Jack had marked my hand with Edrigu's sigil, I'd been waiting for the Lord of the Dead to summon me and It looked like the time had finally come.
"But why break into the Foundry?" Devona asked. "Why not just stay outside and wait for us to leave?"
"Maybe for some reason Jack couldn't wait," I said. "Or maybe it's just more fun for him this way."
Jack's some manner of spirit, but one who can be solid enough when he chooses, as Baron's unfortunate security monsters had discovered. But considering who he was reputed to have been during his mortal life on Earth, the bloodshed – while sickening – was hardly surprising. And Baron's monsters hadn't been about to let Jack enter the Foundry without challenge. So all appearances to the contrary, there might have been nothing especially sinister motivating Jack's appearance that night. But there was something in his stance, a cold anger radiating from him like an almost physical force that told me something was wrong here. And a moment later I had an idea what it was when a larger gray fleshed figure stomped around the corner and headed down the corridor toward us.
The creature stood eight feet tall and its naked body was roughly humanoid in shape, though its face was smooth and featureless, and it possessed no sexual organs. It was a Sentinel, one of the golems that served as Nekropolis's version of a police force, or as close to it as the city came. Sentinels were more like enforcers than cops, making sure that citizens obeyed the law – or else.
The Sentinel walked through the carnage Jack had wrought, not bothering to step over body parts, instead crushing them into bloody paste as it went. The golem stopped next to Silent Jack who, true to his name, spoke not a word as he continued pointing his black knife at me. The Sentinel stepped forward, grabbed hold of me with inhumanly powerful hands, and tucked me under its arm. It then turned and began carrying me back the way it had come.
After spending the better part of the night as a severed head, I was plenty sick of being hauled around like an infant. I squirmed, trying to break free from the Sentinel's grip, though I knew it was useless. I didn't know any creature that was stronger than a Sentinel. So I stopped struggling and allowed myself to go limp. As we passed, Silent Jack tucked his knives away somewhere in the dark folds of his midnight-black cloak, and turned to follow us.
Whatever was going on it looked like my long night was about to get even longer.
SEVEN
After capturing me, the Sentinel carried me outside to where Silent Jack's b
lack rig waited. The Sentinel shoved me inside and Jack – who materialized in the driver's seat – cracked the reins and his two horses, Malice and Misery, reared up and let out ear-splitting cries that sounded uncomfortably close to human screams. As if the sound warped the fabric of reality, the world around us blurred, distorted and reformed, and instead of being parked outside the Foundry, we were now outside the black needle-like structure that was the Nightspire – center of the city and home to Father Dis. Another Sentinel stood waiting for us, or perhaps it was the same one, pulled along by the magic of Jack's supernatural rig. Since all Sentinels look alike it was impossible to tell and it really didn't matter for this one yanked me out of the rig with as much violent efficiency as another would've and marched me inside the obsidian tower. I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to see Jack tip his top hat to me before he and his rig faded away.
"Thanks for the ride," I muttered.
The Sentinel escorted me through the Nightspire's halls until we reached an area I'd heard about but had never visited. Most of the Nightspire is made out of black stone so highly polished it gleamed in the light cast by torches set into the walls. But here the stone, while still just as highly polished and reflective, was a deep crimson. This was the Sanctum, headquarters of the Cabal, Father Dis's personal servants. We passed a number of red robed men and women, all seemingly human, all completely hairless, including a lack of eyebrows and lashes. Whether they shaved and plucked their hair or it just didn't grow, I had no idea. None of the Cabal acknowledged us as we walked by. Either they were engrossed in conversation with one another or they stared straight ahead, lost in thought as they went about errands for their dark master.
Eventually the Sentinel brought me to an ivory door formed entirely of skulls stacked on top of one another. The skulls' eye sockets glowed briefly with crimson light as if they were examining us. The light faded and the skulls slid sideways into the walls – one row to the left, the next to the right and so on – until the doorway was open. The Sentinel forcibly removed my suit jacket, divesting me not only of my outer garment but also the various weapons and tricks I keep in its pockets. The Sentinel then removed my shoulder holster holding my 9mm. I'm not sure a gun would've been much use against any of Dis's servants, but it seemed the Sentinel didn't intend to take any chances. The golem didn't bother to check my pants pockets, though. I carry a few small items there, nothing very powerful, but at least I had a few weapons remaining to me. At that point I was happy to take whatever I could get.
The Sentinel then placed one of its large hands between my shoulder blades and shoved. I stumbled inside, only barely managing to keep from falling forward onto my face, and then the skulls slid back into place, closing me inside. The chamber was small – the bathroom in my apartment was smaller, but not by much – and it was empty. No furniture, nothing on the crimson walls or ceiling. There was no obvious source of light and yet the room was fully illuminated.
"Welcome to the Inquisitory."
The voice came from behind me, and though I was startled, I forced myself to turn around slowly. No need to let whoever it was know they'd gotten to me.
I found myself staring into the face of a Cabal member, a man who appeared to be in his seventies, with a long narrow face and patrician features. His eyes were an icy blue and his upper lip seemed curled in a permanent sneer.
"Let me guess," I said. "You're Brother Quillion, the First Adjudicator."
The skin over the man's right eye moved, as if he'd have raised an eyebrow if he'd had one.
"I see my reputation precedes me."
The cold sarcasm in his tone reminded me of Mr. Hedricks, my high school principal. The sadistic son of a bitch loved nothing better than to deal out discipline to troublemakers and the harsher that discipline was, the better he liked it.
"I've heard of you," I admitted. "I'm impressed. Whatever you people think I've done, it must be pretty damned bad for me to merit your personal attention."
Quillion's lips stretched into a bloodless smile. "And what makes you think you're accused of a crime, Matthew?"
I didn't like the overly familiar way he used my first name, but I decided to let it slide. After all I was technically the man's prisoner. Still, that didn't mean I was going to be all sunshine and daisies to him.
"You can cut the crap. I used to be a cop back on Earth. I've interrogated plenty of suspects in my time and I know how the game is played. I wouldn't be here unless you thought I'd done something to warrant it. So what was it?"
The Sentinels might serve as the city's police force but the Adjudicators were its judges – and executioners when necessary. I was in deep trouble and I knew it. But even so, I had no intention of going along with Quillion's program like a good little zombie. He might be one of the most powerful beings in the city, but I wasn't about to let him walk all over me. The only weapon I had to fight with right then was attitude and I intended to make full use of it.
Quillion was a pro, however, and he wasn't about to be thrown off his stride by a mouthy ex-cop.
"See for yourself." He made a languid gesture and the crimson walled room disappeared. We now stood in a much larger chamber formed entirely out of solid earth, the soil dark and rich. Jutting bits of bone stuck out from the walls and ceiling – arm and leg joints, half hidden skulls, both human and animal. Worms and black beetles crawled between the bones, small lives moving in the midst of so much death. Illumination was provided by flaming corpses that stood propped up against the walls at regular intervals around the room, and though their fires burned furiously, they did not consume the dead flesh they touched. The chamber itself was featureless, save for a raised mound of earth in the middle of the room, its soil dark as that comprising the rest of the chamber.
"We're not really here, are we?" I said. "This is some kind of illusion."
"It's a re-creation," Quillion said, sounding as if he took great satisfaction in correcting me. "Based on the evidence I've been able to gather so far."
So this wasn't the literal truth I was watching. Good to know.
Quillion went on. "This chamber is housed deep within Lord Edrigu's stronghold, and as you might surmise, it is well protected by many physical and magical defenses."
I was beginning to get an idea of what was going to happen next in Quillion's 're-creation,' but even so, I was surprised to see myself come walking into the chamber. As soon as I stepped into the room the flaming corpses stirred to life. They started running toward me, arms outstretched, obviously intending to grab hold of the intruder and immolate him. But before the first of the corpsetorches could reach me I held up the hand that contained Edrigu's mark. The sigil glowed and the burning corpses stopped, regarded it for a moment, and then turned and slowly headed back to their posts. When they were all once more safely back in position I lowered my hand and continued on into the chamber.
"When was this supposed to have happened?" I asked.
"Early this evening," Quillion said. "Now be quiet and watch."
I did as Quillion ordered and watched myself walk toward the mound in the center of the room. I stopped next to it, seemed to regard it for a moment, and then knelt down and began digging with both hands. It took several moments of work but eventually I uncovered the face of someone lying buried within the mound. I recognized Edrigu, Lord of the Dead. Watching the recreation of the scene with Quillion, I expected the Darklord's eyes to snap open now that his face had been uncovered, for I knew he wasn't dead but merely sleeping. But his eyes remained closed as I went about my work.
I reached for Edrigu's throat, and for a moment I thought I intended to strangle the sleeping Darklord, but instead of wrapping fingers around Edrigu's neck, my hand moved farther down his chest, pushing deeper into the mound. A few moments later I pulled my hand free and gripped in it was a slender cylindrical object about ten inches in length. Black soil clung to its surface, but enough ivory color showed to tell me the object was carved from bone and the holes drilled
into it told me that it was some kind of simplistic musical instrument: a pipe or flute. A tiny chain was attached at one end and it was clear Edrigu had been wearing the bone flute around his neck. My body gripped the chain in both hands, yanked and it parted easily. Again, I expected Edrigu to awaken, but he kept on sleeping.
I brushed the dirt from the flute before tucking it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and leaving the way I had come. The guardian corpses paid me no mind as I left, carrying away one of their master's prized possessions.
When the scene was finished Quillion waved his hand again and Edrigu's bed chamber vanished to be replaced once more by featureless crimson walls.
"What do you have to say in your defense, Matthew?"
"From the tone of your voice, it sounds like it doesn't matter what I say. You've already made up your mind." I'd have asked for a lawyer, but it wouldn't have done any good. There aren't any in Nekropolis. As far as the Darkfolk are concerned, lawyers just slow down the swift course of justice. Besides, they're too scary, even for Nekropolis.
"My recreation is based on evidence delivered to me by Edrigu's servants. The theft triggered an alarm and when they investigated they were able to draw forth an image of your committing the robbery from the minds of the chamber guardians. The servants then sent Silent Jack out to fetch you and informed me of the robbery. I promptly dispatched a Sentinel to accompany Jack. It took a while for them to find you. I must admit it was rather clever of you to hide inside the Foundry. Baron's defenses against industrial espionage prevented us from tracking you by magical means. Luckily Jack encountered the cabbie who dropped you off at the Foundry and was able to convince him to share what he knew about your whereabouts."
