The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  The Ice Queen had some information of her own to exchange. “They’re only rumors,” she admitted, “but there is some truth to them.”

  “What?”

  “The Libertarians are here. Apparently, they attacked Roche Sarnova’s raiding party with a tactical nuclear missile.”

  “Christ!”

  As Sophe fleshed out the story, Danielle found herself torn between gratitude and sorrow. Surely most of the denizens of the Castle were an evil lot, but a wholesale slaughter of them seemed to be overkill, as it were. Then she remembered the waiter at the Blood and Stone and knew that over ninety percent of the residents of the Castle shared a similar morality. The Castle was evil. Even Sarnova, who promised such great deeds, would kill a mortal as thoughtlessly as he would floss his teeth. And the Libertarians, though certainly no saints, were at least trying to accomplish a righteous cause—if vengeance could ever be called righteous.

  “Good for Malie,” she heard herself say.

  Sophia nodded. “Well, I’m glad Ruegger’s back. How do you plan to get him out?”

  “I’m going to have a little talk with Blackie.”

  Looking skeptical, Sophe gave the vampiress a brief hug. “If I can be of assistance, just drop on by.”

  Danielle found Harry in the bar that had become his second home. When he saw her, he raised his martini (his first of the day) in greeting. “I was just coming to get you.”

  “I’m sure you were,” she said, but did not sit down to join him. She still wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of Ruegger’s arrival. Also, she wasn’t sure how to approach Harry now, in light of the fact that he was Cloire’s lover.

  Sensing her unease, Harry took her by the arm and steered her to the bright shadows of a nearby booth. When they were both seated, he ordered a second drink and asked if she wanted any. Still feeling the effects of last night’s binge, she declined.

  “What is it?” Harry said. “Cloire told me you came by last night.”

  “I did.” Unable to look him in the eyes, she glanced down to her fidgeting hands.

  “You don’t like me with her, do you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He sighed. “Sometimes I don’t, either. The other night, I was watching her sleep, and a horrible thought occurred to me.”

  She met his gaze. “You thought about killing her.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes she still refers to me as the Slayer. She’s well aware of the deeds I did when I was younger. Also, she’s aware that she could just as easily have been a target of mine as any of the others were. I think that appeals to her for some reason.”

  “She’s twisted, Harry. Stay with her any longer and she’ll twist you, too.”

  He took another sip of his drink. “Anyway, that’s not what you came to talk to me about.”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “Ruegger’s back.” For a moment, he looked stunned, speechless. Then one of the biggest smiles Danielle had ever seen spread across his face.

  “Let’s go to him,” Harry said.

  “He’s in prison.”

  He ordered another drink and listened to every word she had to say.

  * * *

  Many times throughout the previous day, Jean-Pierre had lost consciousness. But this time, when he opened his eyes to find the air above the layer of ice dark with the onset of night, he knew his time had come. Still weak, he knocked himself a hole in the frigid ceiling and crawled to the snow-covered bank of the little river.

  “Damn,” he muttered, his teeth chattering. It was cold.

  The water began to freeze on his skin. He’d better get moving unless he wanted to wind up a popsicle. He took note of the mountains around him. To his surprise, he realized he wasn’t that far from the one holding the Castle. In fact, its blazing lights were the only sign of civilization in sight. They called to him, spurring him on. Somewhere inside its stone halls waited Kharker, his dearest friend, and Sophia.

  Shaking off the ice, he thrust one foot in front of the other and forced himself toward the lights.

  * * *

  When she entered the Throne Room, Danielle found it busy and tense. Leaning forward in their seats, the remaining half of the Dark Council sat their thrones, as did Roche Sarnova. Before them lay four small tables, and on every table loomed a stone chessboard. Two shades crouched opposite each other at each of these tables, intent on the game before them, as well they should be. One of these shades was Kiernevar, wearing a jacket probably issued to him by Sarnova in order to mask the sight and stench of his feces. To Danielle, he seemed the least perturbed individual there. She wondered if he was winning. A glance at the board told her it was too early to tell.

  A throng of people surrounded the contestants, leaving an opening just wide enough so that the Dark Council could also see what was going on. Pausing only long enough to size up the situation, Danielle began her approach on Roche Sarnova. Seeing her, his guards withdrew their sabers.

  “The Lord is not hearing petitions at this time,” one said, careful to keep his voice low.

  “I couldn’t give a fuck.” She turned her gaze on the Dark Lord in his throne. “Hey, you! Blackie!”

  The guards took two big steps toward her before Sarnova called out, “Leave her be.” His large dark eyes studied Danielle. He glanced at the chess war in front of him and, seeing nothing there to keep him riveted, gave his attention to Danielle. “You’re the one they call the Gutter Angel, aren’t you?”

  “My name is Danielle.”

  “Oh, I know. I was going to throw you in jail. I would have, if it hadn’t been for Lord Kharker. He convinced me that you weren’t part of the plot to kill me.”

  “If that’s an attempt to get me to take it easy on him, it’s a waste of your time.”

  He nodded. “So what’ve you come to see me about?”

  “Take a wild guess.”

  With a thumb and pointer finger, he rubbed his thick eyebrows, which hid his eyes for a moment. Then, perhaps a little sadly, he said, “Danielle, I can’t release Ruegger, not now.”

  “Why not? He was only doing what he thought was right.”

  “So was Hitler. The Darkling is still a threat to me, although ...”

  “What? Although what?”

  He frowned at the games behind her. “Nothing. Now is not the time.” She could feel the weariness coming off of him like smoke from burning wreckage. “Danielle ... please ... leave now.”

  “But Ruegger—”

  “I know you love him, but let it go. You’ll only do yourself harm if you do something rash. Trust me. I will have a talk with Ruegger, see if he can be persuaded ...”

  “Damn you, you’d better release him.”

  “It’s up to Ruegger now.”

  * * *

  That night, needing to feed and unwilling to return to the Blood and Stone—and equally unwilling to buy a human off the trading blocks—Danielle moved down several floors to a less prosperous portion of the Castle, to a “blood brothel” where patrons could simultaneously satisfy their sexual and immortal urges. They could sleep with the girls and boys of the brothel, as well as feed from them, but not kill them. It was Vegetarian only. Though Rosie’s Din did not prosper as other brothels in the fortress did, Danielle found it one of the only bright spots in the Castle.

  She paid a fee, selected her “mate”, and moved on to a private room.

  The young human girl she had selected was polite and friendly, but she seemed disappointed that Danielle did not want to make love.

  “Don’t you find me sexy?”

  Danielle almost blushed. The girl was actually quite attractive, and she knew that Ruegger would not object to such a union, but to Danielle at that moment, sex simply did not appeal to her. The shadows of Junger and Jagoda loomed long, and she wondered when she would ever be able to view sex in a more healthy light. Soon, she hoped, promising herself that she would be ready the moment Ruegger was released. F
or the moment, intimacy was the last thing on her mind.

  She took blood from the girl and smiled as the familiar waves of strength rolled over her. Then, to Danielle’s surprise, the girl started stroking her hair and singing her a lullaby. Danielle, unaccustomed to such gentleness in this place, suspected an ambush and braced herself.

  Instead, the girl sang on. Eventually, Danielle relaxed and drifted off into some semblance of sleep, and when she opened her eyes the girl slept beside her, snoring softly. Danielle left a tip on the pillow and made her way out.

  To her further surprise, she saw the werewolf Cloire approach the blood brothel even as she left it. The former enemies stared at each other for a moment.

  Cloire laughed. “You should see the look on your face.”

  Danielle shook herself. “What’re you doing here? You can’t kill anybody here, you know.”

  Cloire shrugged. “A promise I made to Harry.”

  Without another word, she brushed past Danielle and entered the Din. Danielle blinked, surprised that Cloire would go to such lengths to appease a human, but the shock wore away as she began to understand that there was something very real between the she-wolf and the Slayer. Perhaps, just perhaps, Cloire wasn’t so twisted after all.

  Danielle moved down the torch-lit corridors of the Castle, making her way into the dark tunnels of the catacombs and into the dungeon. Soon she stood before Ruegger’s cell.

  Behind those bars, he smiled at her.

  In that moment, all thoughts of Junger and Jagoda washed away from her to be replaced by sincere longing for this creature, this man whom she loved above all others. For a long moment, she stood there as if turned to stone by the very sight of him, but then she broke free of the spell and rushed to him.

  They kissed through the bars. She stayed for perhaps an hour, talking to him about her concerns and about events happening in and around the Castle, and when she left him at last, her step was a little lighter, more spirited. Somehow, someway, things would work themselves out. He would be freed, or she would help him escape. They might die trying, but she was more than willing to give her life in the attempt, and she knew that if the situation were reversed, he would do the same for her.

  The image of his face fixed in her mind, she moved into the upper chambers of the Castle, where the Funhouse was just beginning its show.

  * * *

  Breath steaming, Jean-Pierre approached the Dark Lord’s mountain, his every step faster than the one before. The lights of the Castle nearly blinded him, but he welcomed them.

  As he neared the base of the sharp mount, he swore. He’d hoped to scale the cliffs and make his way into the Castle within an hour or so, but he quickly realized that he was still too weak for such an attempt. If he was lucky, he might climb halfway up only to find the strength sapped from his limbs from exertion. From there, he’d fall back into the ravine, more wounded than before.

  Without warning, he stumbled upon a scene of sheer beauty and horror. The sight took his breath away.

  Before him, layers and layers of human bones and body parts lay in great piles, all but the most recent trapped in prisms of ice. It was a gruesome display, and by its random nature he assumed that it had not been man-made. Rather, it was an accident. Perhaps, though, it was a fortunate one.

  Looking upward at the Castle, he smiled.

  “The Blood and Stone,” he murmured.

  He’d dined there many times, of course, and often had he thrown an errant finger or such off the balcony. He remembered wondering where those pieces ended up, and now he had his answer. Even as he watched, a dismembered and partially eaten arm fell from one of the many balconies and buried itself in the snow not ten feet from where he now stood. Sophia had taught him to respect life, and so he would. But this he could not pass up.

  He scrambled over to the arm and sank his teeth into what flesh remained. Though just a table-scrap, it strengthened him. When he was done, he craned his head up at the balconies and wondered if a second meal would be forthcoming.

  He didn’t like being reduced to a scavenger, but if he was to see Kharker and Sophia again, he needed all the strength he could get. Though he doubted that such scraps would make him strong enough to scale the sheer face of the mountain, he knew he could always circle around and climb it from its more gentle side. It would take more time, but time was the one thing he did not fear.

  * * *

  When Ruegger woke up, he found Roche Sarnova perched a few feet away on an upturned box. Instantly, he bolted up, alert, but there was no one present except for the Dark Lord.

  “Did I scare you?”

  “How long have you been sitting there?” Ruegger said.

  “A few minutes. To tell you the truth, I was dozing a little. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

  “I can imagine.”

  They stared at each other, sizing each other up. To Ruegger, it was strange that this silence was such a comfortable one. And it was true what the Dark Lord said; he did look weary. The man was clean-shaven and flushed from a recent kill, but his eyes were sad and opaque. Still, Ruegger was impressed at the energy Sarnova radiated, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why his subjects valued him as much as they did.

  “You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” said the Dark Lord.

  “I wouldn’t refuse a cigarette, either.”

  Sarnova smiled, withdrew a pack from a pocket and offered the Darkling a smoke and a light, both of which were accepted.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Now, if you’d like that coffee, I suggest we relocate to my den. Would that present a problem?”

  Ten minutes later and Ruegger was sitting opposite Roche Sarnova in an enormously comfortable armchair, working on his second cup of coffee. Along the nearest wall ran a window that peered out across neighboring mountains. A barrage of snow pelted the glass, seeking out its weak points. Not far away, in a fireplace taller than a man, an inferno raged so hotly that neither Ruegger nor Sarnova would sit close to it for fear of igniting their clothes.

  “Feel better now?”

  “Much.” What Ruegger really needed was to feed, but he knew better than to ask Sarnova if he would permit this; no matter how friendly the Dark Lord might appear at the moment, he would still want Ruegger to be in a weakened state. Just in case.

  “You’re probably curious what this is all about,” Roche Sarnova said.

  “Probably.”

  Sarnova scanned the room until he saw what he was looking for, then used his powers to summon a bottle of liqueur into his hand, from which he added a little spice to his coffee. He swished it around his mouth, then added another dose.

  “Want some?”

  “Not right now.” Ruegger needed to stay alert. Whatever Blackie wanted of him, he was about to find out.

  “Ruegger,” Sarnova said, careful to keep his voice even. “Do you really think I killed Ludwig, or had him killed? Please, take your time. This is very important.”

  “I don’t need any time. The truth is I don’t know. You certainly had motive. With him dead, your Undead Jerusalem would be a lot easier to bring to life.”

  “But his wife—’

  “You couldn’t anticipate her reaction.”

  “Someone did.”

  “You think Ludwig’s murder was just a means by which to get Maleasoel to attack you?”

  “Perhaps,” Sarnova said.

  “By that theory, the plot against Ludwig was really a plot against you.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ruegger took a sip of his coffee, which was very good, and stared out the window. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll bite. Who do you think’s behind all this?”

  “I wish I knew. Obviously, someone who wanted my forces crippled. It could’ve been Subaire.”

  “It wasn’t her.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I can’t, but I trust my source.”

  “I see.” Sarnova sat his cup down and did not touc
h it again. “To be honest, I don’t know who killed Ludwig, only that I did not. You must believe that.”

  “I’m tired of the preamble, Sarnova. What’s your game?”

  “Okay, Ruegger. Here it is. I need your help.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Sangro Sankts—yes, Kharker told me that you know of them now—assigned me to choose a successor in the event that I’m murdered, which doesn’t give me much confidence in them, needless to say. Their purpose, other than to protect the acting Dark Lord, is to keep immortals from human knowledge, and their frame of mind is that humans are inferior to us; what I’m trying to do, the changes I’m trying to bring about, go against what they stand for. They don’t want humans aware of us, and they certainly don’t want us to have our own country, which would bring us down to the level of mortals. Or, at least, such is their opinion. I disagree.”

  “You think they might try to kill you.”

  “More likely, they’ll just allow someone else to do the wet work for them.”

  “Why not go into hiding?”

  Sarnova almost laughed. “If I were the man I used to be, I’d kill you just for suggesting it.”

  “Really, though. Why not? You’ve obviously failed here. From what I’ve heard, Subaire is winning and your own troops are turning against you. Not only that, but Maleasoel has decimated your defense and might have enough nuclear devices to level the whole castle. What’ve you got to stick around for?”

  Sarnova sobered. “I can’t run, Ruegger. It’s not in my nature. Besides, I think I have an even chance of coming out of this thing alive.”

  Ruegger refrained from commenting.

  “You’re probably wondering where you come in,” Sarnova said.

  “I don’t want to be your successor. That what you’re getting at?”

  “Not directly. Tradition has it that a ruler can directly choose a successor if he or she is in imminent danger, but for me to do this would be to admit to my people that I’m going to fail them, which I’m determined not to do. Instead, I’m holding these contests to determine my heir—which is the way a ruler does it in times of peace.”