The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6)

by Richard Raley

  “Still not agreeing,” I told him what he wanted to hear, “but I’m listening with a hand cupped to my ear.”

  Massey nodded, pleased with himself. “As I thought,” he mumbled under his breath, probably finishing said thought with: only thinks with his cock. “Just to prove my charitable outlook on our future together and yours together, I could give Assistant Director Ward an exemption to our hourly constrains on our visitor passes. She can even stay the night if she wants. Whatever happens in your rooms, it is your business, after all. I would hope this kindness would drive you to not prolonging this hearing and lead you to accept your new reality, of course.”

  “Tonight?” I asked, thinking how much more info we could search for if I didn’t have to spend some of it traveling to Val’s apartment and back.

  Massey shook his head, at least smart enough not to give up goods without any service rendered. “No. No, tonight you will suffer the full weight of your transgressions, Artificer Price. But, should you show me a sign of compliance today, then perhaps tomorrow we will let your paramour soothe what is left of you into a more agreeable state. ”

  I’ll give it to him . . . cocksucker he might be, but at least he’s good at it.

  Massey knows how to make a deal. Get ninety percent of what he wants, give you ten percent of what you want, and make you think it was all nice and shiny.

  Good thing I’ve never known how to accept a deal without a hell of a fight beforehand.

  So . . . that’s how this is gonna be.

  Let’s see which of us is more bloody by the time my trial’s over, Massey.

  Let’s see which of us can take more punches.

  Swing all you got, motherfucker, I’ll still be standing.

  As for you, Change?

  I’m tired as fuck, but I’m waiting on you, choo choo bitch.

  Let’s see which of us blinks first.

  Maybe we stop this fall.

  Maybe we jump all over again.

  Maybe I give you a superplex from the top fucking rope.

  [CLICK]

  Epiphany.

  No, that ain’t it.

  The other one.

  Erection?

  Nope.

  Expectations!

  Never gonna go good for King Henry Price when he starts one of these things ruminating on expectations.

  It’s always expectations.

  Even when you put ‘show’ before trial you don’t expect anyone to actually show up. Especially not when Massey ain’t even got a trial in it, just a hearing. Thought I’d maybe have to sit around in some dank dungeon looking room, maybe thirty people in it tops. Massey and his allies, MacNess at one table, me at another, a rigged jury, then some bored ass Artificers in the seats at the back, only support for me coming in the form of Val sitting in my corner.

  Maybe Ceinwyn sitting with her?

  Expectations.

  Not because I didn’t think it was in Massey’s best interest to make the ‘show’ half of the hearing be worth the price of admission, but because I didn’t think anyone would give enough of a shit to show up. That’s like actually showing up to a school board meeting. There’s better shit to do. Like getting drunk in that clubroom Massey talked about when I arrived.

  Or sit in a room with a finger up your ass for the better part of five hours.

  Use a latex glove.

  All I’m saying.

  No, I don’t actually talk from experience on that one.

  Just common sense, ain’t it?

  Expec-fucking-tations.

  No tables.

  One singular chair at the very center of the room, beside it a small stool with a glass of water.

  The floor of the room itself was circular and at seven places stairs went up into equally circular benches. Only the first row was mostly empty. The rest were filled. With Guild members or Guild employees or dignitaries who had just showed up to witness the proceedings against me. Salt and Pepper led me in, right on over to a bench on the bottom floor, where they both took up positions flanking me.

  MacNess already sat on the opposite side, stacks of files and papers on the bench beside him. He concentrated on a particular folder despite the low murmur of voices wafting down from above us. Hard for that many people to stay silent even when they’re trying. Just a current to it, a flow, especially in a round room with a domed ceiling.

  Rotunda, a building so special it even got its own five dollar word.

  My gaze found the waiting Guild members. Hard to look anywhere else with there being so many of the cocksuckers. Think the number might have grown from the Guild Hall at the start of this all.

  Picked out Val easily, the only dash of color among so much brown. She wore one of her Assistant Director ‘young lawyer’ dresses, red of all things, with bright ruby earrings and a golden necklace. At her finger was the SDR I had created for her, also with rubies as well as topaz, but the only piece of silver to be seen. She held herself like royalty, if not a goddess come alive. Her bearing and ensemble all spoke to what she was in this place: a foreign mancer, the wrong discipline, but even so they also said she would never retreat. Never give up on me.

  Eyes-without-irises caught my gaze, dirty brown orbs and my rumpled geomancer’s coat very poor in comparison. She gave me an encouraging nod. Sure would be nice to have her around during the day, not just the night. Massey’s giving me stardust and calling it carrot juice . . . idiot doesn’t even know the pieces he’s playing with.

  There were others like Val, if not like Val. Interlopers. Not Guild. Not of the Earth. I couldn’t think of a single room on the planet where being the right discipline mattered more than it did here. Still, I picked out men in suits that screamed law enforcement, perhaps ESLED’s European counterpart—sorry, never memorized their acronym, maybe someone will mention it later. Even a few women in varying shades of blue, all with Rejuvenation Society pins clearly situated about their persons, all clustered together in a single group like a herd of animals protecting against foreign predators. Rainbow scarf wearing Circle of Light members were also in attendance, their genders and clothes very mixed and equally colorful.

  But the rest . . .

  The rest were all Guild members.

  The whole room rumbled from their building anima.

  Even your own discipline has a hard time seeing through another’s natural protections. What made Anima Detection Lenses so useful in a battle between mancers. Why Paine kicked my ass so hard the first time I fought him. Well, the glasses and about ten other advantages he had. Still, there was so much of it . . . five minutes times six or seven hundred geomancers. Math, so I ain’t doing it, have fun all you want to. Sure it’s a big number. Felt like a big number. My feet shook, the earth begging to be used like a five-dolla’ whore.

  Speaking of whores . . . I picked out a small huddle of women geomancers.

  . . . What?

  Okay, okay.

  I mean, they sat aside as I was unfairly thrown in jail and are still sitting aside as my freedom as a mancer is being taken away from me, but I called them a name. How dare I!?!?

  Speaking of ladies, I picked out a small huddle of women geomancers. Same brown robes as the rest, but all of them had their hair pulled up under skullcaps, which looked comically absurd. Tradition over sense. Geomancy ain’t like Mentimancy or Aeromancy, not restricted just to one sex or the other, but the female version is rarer. Maybe one in four when it came to Intras, closer to one in ten when it came to Ultras.

  Odds of a Maximus female Geomancer too high for even C-3PO to bother checking?

  No idea.

  Didn’t have time to check most of those extra hidden books last night. Might have been one in there. Might have been more clues to what we could do as a Maximus among those books of lineage. Know what I can do, I thought, sparing a glance for that single glass of water next to that single chair, perfectly placed in the middle of the room. I held off on pooling anima. Guild members seemed to all be stopping at around fiv
e minute pools, meant there was some sort of ceremony and I don’t think I was allowed to take part.

  “You guys okay for standing around beside me the next five hours? Sure you don’t want to take a seat instead?” I asked Salt and Pepper, still treating them like people instead of anima slaves.

  Still no answer, but I thought I caught them beeping or booping at each other. Need to drink some monk mojo juice, then we’d have us a nice conversation, wouldn’t we? Another good part about being in the Pit: crazy ass snake cultists from the Eternal Order couldn’t try to kill me in there. Not that they’ve tried a second time since the Ouroboros, but I’m sure it’s coming down the tracks with all the rest.

  Lady geomancers. Given how bulky and hulking some male geomancers could get, you expected the Russian weightlifting champion type, but nah . . . had all sorts. Persephone Godfrey was the only one you’d call beautiful. Guild sponsored sculptor. Made them so real you thought they might start breathing. Vicky mentioned her to me once upon a time. Worked with marble and her skin was pale enough to make even Annie B jealous. Oldest among them was Avani Sharma, in her seventies now, first woman to gain the title of Master Craftsman some thirty years ago. Only a dozen or so had followed her, most still getting pushed into auxiliary roles like Persephone. Avani Sharma stared down on me with a scowl of contempt, giving me a shaking finger.

  No leniency from the supposedly fairer sex, got it.

  Picked out other geomancers as well. Knew most only by reputation. The few I’d met had been when they visited the Asylum during my schooling. Plutarch never was happy those days, the eternal hermit in him always annoyed he had to keep a guest entertained. More often than not he told me to scram and I did so, even then not wanting anything to do with the Guild. Then there were those Massey brought along with him to attend the Winter War and the Jobs Fair. No idea what they’re like, being I tried so hard to stay away.

  Can’t claim the entire Guild is filled with cocksuckers and clitlickers. Don’t know most of them. Organization and the leadership is what I have a problem with. I’m an individualist at heart. Even give necromancers a fair shake until they inevitably end up proving they’re douchebags. I’m sure there were rebels in that crowd, even a few rooting me on to break free from Massey’s grasp. If there weren’t any like that then Massey never would’ve called in his marker to put on this Artificial Court, wouldn’t be trying so hard to get me on his side with his wheeling and dealing.

  But not a one of them had signs stapled to their foreheads that said “Ally Here.”

  Nothing but hard faces topped by skullcaps, bodies wrapped away in brown robes. No Jedi vibe, no monk vibe. All cardinal today. These robes were lush and crisp, smooth as silk, since they often were silk. Color scheme was decided by our discipline, but within that you found patterns and hues. Artificers who were true to the name preferred open fronts with pockets hidden in the recesses. Golem Crafters had wide hems and looser fits, artists tighter, with no fabric below their upper forearm. Technically there were no orders or fraternities here, but earth was a landscape of variety.

  Imad Joumari from Morocco, said to be the foremost sand specialist on the planet. They call him the Wizard of the Dunes and I think he’d get a real kick out of geo-surfing.

  Addington Muller from South Africa, fingers covered in gold rings said to each have a unique power. No idea if he stole that one from the Mandarin or Tolkien, but he’s said to be the deadliest Ultra the Guild has and if they ever bother to send someone after the Curator, it will be Muller.

  Konstantin Volkov from Russia, head of the Anima Detection Lenses line and the oldest surviving member of the Guild at one-hundred and six. Didn’t join the Guild until the Soviet state-sponsored attempt broke up in the nineties. Got the Lenses line to make the transition palatable for all involved and hasn’t given it up yet.

  Gregorios Pachis of Greece, who worked mud and ceramic, including knives and a variety of medieval weapons said to be more legendary than even Damascus steel. Said to be one of the richest men in the supernatural world, long as you don’t count Vamps, since who knows what kind of treasures they do or don’t got stashed away.

  Minato Yamamoto of Japan, known as the Vulcanite Artificer, specializing in obsidian and other volcanic rocks. Robes so dark they’re almost black, styled after a feudal lord. Fucker knows how hard a reputation is to keep, got to admit that.

  Now I didn’t mention all these people, be it the last five or the two women before just for my health. Didn’t mention them even to set a scene. Didn’t mention them to add in some of that sweet world-building shit I know storytellers like to spice the soup with on occasion. Did it, because those seven Artificers were about to be named to the jury that would lead the discussion on whether my ass was grass.

  Or the Artificer censured version of ass is grass . . . like a firm spanking with some sacred paddle or the like. And having to research whatever it is Massey wants me to for the next five years, can’t forget about that one.

  Plutarch was up there. Easy to pick out, what with the eyepatch. Weird seeing him in anything other than jeans and a flannel shirt. Wonder if he’s got his steel-toed boots on under that robe? Where do they even buy those things? Or the skullcap . . . Hebrew stores next to the kippahs maybe? Or the Guild got their own room somewhere with stacks of them?

  Yeah, on trial for my future freedom and all I can think about is where they get the skullcaps.

  Not much else I could do.

  Nothing but sit here and wait for the blows to fall, just like when dad got too drunk on Sundays.

  Not much else to do but think on them blows.

  Even anticipate them.

  Even come to want them some nights.

  Belligerent silent defiance as I got punched or whipped with a belt. Hit me, make you feel better? Hit me, make mom better? Hit me, keep you away from JoJo and Susan. Hit me, I can take it, but one day I’m gonna hit you back.

  Never did. Just started leaving home on them Sundays once Susan was gone. JoJo sure enough knew better not to be around, so why shouldn’t I too? Dad stopped whipping me, I got sent to the Asylum, Mom died, Dad finally sobered up. He begged my forgiveness last time I saw him, same family dinner JoJo ran out of.

  Didn’t give it, not yet. What if I forgave him and all that rage inside me went away? Rage that keeps me alive so often when others would die? Couldn’t yet, maybe one day. I don’t blame you for not understanding, I told him instead, for not being strong enough. Seemed to take a weight off his soul, but left my rage intact. Happy medium for both of us.

  Not much else I can do but think about this fucked up shit.

  Salt and Pepper weren’t good conversationalists, Plutarch was busy talking to the crowd of old geezers surrounding him, and Val was on the other side of the room. Could stare at her if I wanted. Trade a brave smile. A knowing smile even, that this is how we must spend our days so our nights could be unexpectedly productive. Be nice if Massey actually gives her that special visitor’s pass, but even if I did play the good boy, part of me thinks he’s just fucking with me. Part of me thinks everyone is just fucking with me. Whole thing is gonna vanish in an instant.

  Be me alone in a padded cell, Isabel screaming next door.

  No Ceinwyn to be seen.

  Good? Bad?

  I’m not sure.

  She might be the only person who could help me through all that Change coming my way. Or she might chain me down to the tracks and give a Ceinwyn Dale smile as I shit myself in terror.

  Massey entered then, through the same door I had. Door was worked right into the circle, like a football tunnel. All the other exits came from the top of those stairs, no idea where they filed out into. The Guild Master was in good spirits, even gave me a wink. He didn’t take the chair at the center, but did stand beside it, waving at members he picked out in the crowd.

  A hush overtook the rotunda.

  “Greetings,” Massey began, gesturing with flourishing hands, “my fellow Brothers and Sist
ers of the Earth. If you are only a Guild employee, but not a Guild member, please be aware that you have no vote in these proceedings. However, if you are a member, even a newly minted Journeyman, then please stay, watch, and pass judgment on Artificer Price’s actions.”

  Massey motioned at himself. “If you are somehow unaware, I’m your Guild Master, a pleasure to meet you!”

  Got chuckles from some in the crowd, but mostly polite silence.

  “Today begins a disciplinary hearing for Artificer—but non-member—King Henry Price, seated here before me on the first bench and guarded by our wonderful and effective golem security. When King Henry graduated from the Institution of Elements he was allowed by Maudette Lynch and others of the Learning Council to go it alone under the sponsorship of Head of Recruiters and Learning Council member Ceinwyn Dale.” A few hisses echoed. Massey smiled over them, his hourglass eyes ready to tip on over and spill out what time I had left. “I, of course, argued against this and even though I had no standing power before an American mancer, placed limits upon Artificer Price. Furthermore, I demanded the ability to call him to account for his actions as not an American, but an Artificer. To that we are the only governing body that matters!”

  Cheers, not small.

  I sat silent, watching Massey’s show, waiting.

  “Before we get into the details of Artificer Price’s dangerous and even heinous actions,” Massey continued leading, “let us assign our roll call.”

  Roll call, what am I, in fucking kindergarten?

  No teacher with a pencil and a clipboard though. Instead Massey let loose the anima he held, hand dragging back and up through the air. I sensed the anima as it dripped down into the floor behind him, unlocking some mechanism. We all did. That was weird. Not used to other mancers knowing every little thing I did with the Mancy or with them being able to do the same.