Yitz perked up an eyebrow. “Why would I take offense?”
“You, Adina, Minu, and Boudica have been kind. I was never expecting that from the capital of Hell. Do not think me rude to leave your hospitality.”
Yitz nodded in appreciation.
The train ride continued in comfortable silence, both men relaxing; Yitz napped with his feet on the dining table as Hephaestion gazed out the window into the dark, misty beyond that disguised the distant abyss. Fidgeting with the astrolabe, his worries built. Below roamed beasts and monstrosities undreamt of by sane minds, places of freezing ice and searing, licking flames. Some sinners were shackled to their punishments, while others were set free to punish their peers. Heartbreak, misery, and violence beyond Earthly measure waited below. Something as simple as slipping from a rock could lead to his heart being devoured or burnt to ash, and how many decades would it take to reform? How many centuries would this journey take? How mad must he be to do this?
Love, clearly. Soothing warmth crept into his face and curved his lips into a smile. They would live in purgatory, he and Alexander. They would have a hut in Ulfric’s stead and help other lost souls find peace. They would drink mead and wine and make love in the evenings.
And Hephaestion’s most secret wish of all burned in the back of his mind: they would eventually ascend.
Such dreams and wishes satisfied Hephaestion until the train slowed to a gradual stop. The fire-bellied mechanical bulls stowed their railcar in its tent, their smooth ritual not waking Yitz from his comfortable nap. Content to let the small man sleep, Hephaestion studied his odd map when he heard something.
It was a slight thump on the ceiling of the train. Then a tink from the side below the window. The valets hadn’t come to open the door, and none could be seen through the windows.
Suddenly all of the hanging Chinese lanterns above darkened, leaving the railcar in shadows.
Diving to his knees, Hephaestion slithered along the floor to the light controls, and raised them just enough so the electric stars above gave off some light.
“Yitz!” Hephaestion hissed. “Yitz, we’re surrounded. Get up!”
Yitz only stirred, picking at his nose.
Hephaestion drew his short sword and cursed himself for leaving his shield with Adina.
They flew through the windows. Three of them. Clad in studded leather armor with red masks, they aimed for Hephaestion with hooks and chains.
The commotion woke Yitz, who yelped and dove under the dinner table.
Hephaestion drove his blade into the groin of the nearest one, earning a high-pitched screech. With his free hand, Hephaestion gripped the assassin’s throat and forced him back into his comrades, a final twist castrating his assailant. Injured and gushing, the bastard wailed in agony as the other two stepped around him, weapons ready. One hurled a hooked chain at Hephaestion’s head, but his short sword deflected the blow. The other whipped out a cone-shaped pistol, his finger tight against the trigger.
A shot resounded in the small space as Yitz shoved a chair at the gun-wielding attacker, striking the man’s hip. Sparks rained from the stars, proving Yitz’s timing had been fortuitous.
Hephaestion caught the chain and spun with its weight, bringing his assailant closer. With three rapid swings, the attacker’s throat and chest gushed open as Hephaestion kicked him to the side.
The gunman remained. Dropping his spent pistol, he flexed, and blades, as long as bear claws, sprung from both his arms. Roaring forward, he swiped with deft precision. Hephaestion’s armor withstood the blows as the final foe pressed his advantage. Trapped against the wall, Hephaestion parried the vicious assault, missing a strike. The blades sank deep into his shoulder, just missing the bone. Hephaestion roared with agony, nearly dropping his weapon.
A second swipe threatened his opposite shoulder just as a sharp metal point burst from his assailant’s stomach, stopping a hair’s breadth short of Hephestion’s chest.
Yitz peeked out from behind the attacker, eyes wide.
Hephaestion sliced his sword upward into the man’s underarm, severing his auxiliary artery.
With all of his meager weight, Yitz pinned the man to the floor, javelin still gripped firm in his hands.
“That’s it,” Yitz snarled. “I’m getting our money back for this damned rail car!”
Shoulder bleeding as he panted, Hephaestion sunk to the floor. “Stay low, this isn’t over,” he whispered, adjusting his hand around his blood-covered sword.
Yitz tugged on the spear, unable to drag it out of the assassin’s body. “These are boys of The Peruvian,” he said as he spied the chained weapons. “That goy is going to renegotiate his interest over my payment for this.”
Hephaestion reached behind his neck, and then held the pistol grip-first to Yitz. “Aim for the heart.”
Yitz gripped the weapon in both hands, clutching it close, while drawing back the hammer. “This is meshugganah.” he hissed.
“I can only assume,” a booming voice called out, “that since my men haven’t dragged you out here to confess your crime, you managed to handle them?” The deep timbre came from outside of the railcar.
“Is that him? The Peruvian?” Hephaestion asked.
Yitz nodded, cleared his throat, and projected a voice much calmer and more confident that his demeanor implied. “Indeed we did. Do you have more?”
“Yitzhak, bravado is unlike you. And I have grenades. If I wanted you in pieces, I would have done so,” The Peruvian called back.
“My wife prefers just the one, thank you,” Yitz replied.
“She’s not here to protect you. And don’t think a man like me doesn’t have his ways of dealing with the powerful, Heavenbound or not. You cheated me.”
“How?”
“I admit, I couldn’t figure out how you did it, but that man in there was your surprise horse in the betting—you and Albrecht, thick as thieves.”
“Where are you getting such bizarre ideas? Is this your attempt to renege from what you owe? Paying me doesn’t hurt you any; you made a fortune off of that wager!”
“Do you think me a moron? My entire reputation is in danger. The Jesuits have proof of you two being in league, and when that gets out before I handle the situation personally, no one will ever use me as a bookmaker again!”
“You and I both know the Jesuits lie. Ha! Just wait until everyone finds out you act on claims of proof without actually seeing it. You’re just the next step in their takeover! Do you think they will permit any betting to continue once they’ve got everyone fighting amongst themselves? They are doing this because they want Hephaestion!” Yitz’s calm melted rapidly and gave way to anger. “But I’ll tell you what will ruin your reputation: betraying the people you owe money to so you can keep it for yourself. And using ‘the Jesuits said so’ as your pathetic excuse makes you a puppy.”
Silence gave way to the sound of Yitz’s ragged breath.
“Well? Are you going to see reason and talk with us, or do we sit here until trumpets sound?” Yitz demanded.
The Chinese lanterns glowed again. Sitting in a wooden folding chair, surrounded by a dozen men in red masks, was The Peruvian. His fingers paddled his trim beard as he stared into the railcar from a safe distance.
Hephaestion’s stomach clenched; he couldn’t possibly hold off such a large force.
“All right,” The Peruvian said. “But let me see this man, The Hephaestion.”
Standing slowly, Hephaestion came to the window.
“You’re the man that clawed his way out of a glutton at Minos’s feet, yes?” The Peruvian asked.
Hephaestion nodded.
“Why in the world would you do such a thing?”
“That isn’t a worry of yours,” Hephaestion snapped, his blood still high from the fight.
The Peruvian grinned wickedly. “Oh, b
ut it is. You could be a hunted fugitive or active insurgent looking to cause my tender city harm. I need an assurance that letting you go won’t come back to wound me.”
“I am going into the pit. Once I descend you’ll never see me again.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why descend into the pit?”
“Does it matter?”
“If you want Yitz to ever see his wife again, you’ll tell me.”
Hephaestion knew a valid threat when he heard one. The Peruvian had already been embarrassed and was most likely looking for an excuse to flay both of them.
“I’m going to rescue someone.”
“Who?”
“Alexander the Great.”
With that, The Peruvian nearly fell out of his chair. “Wait, Alexander? You are going into the pit to rescue Alexander? And does the Provost General know this?” he demanded.
“He does, as they already threatened us and said they would have you come after us as well.”
“Father Franco was in our railcar waiting to intimidate us,” Yitz interrupted, pistol quivering in his hands. “Would it be amiss to guess that name rings a bell, sir?”
With a sudden and angry motion, The Peruvian stood. Snapping his fingers, his men snatched up his chair. “Leave my broken men there, if you please. They are fired. I also suggest that you begin your journey into the depths sooner than later, sodomite.” Spinning on his heel, his entourage followed The Peruvian as he moved toward the exit flap of the tent. “And one more thing,” he called over his shoulder, “the Order of Mercy hasn’t seen your friend Albrecht since that fateful day of your fame and fortune. You might want to check on your friend. I have to pay him as well, after all.”
Chapter 18
Minu’s home swelled with lamenting refugees from the Japanese enclave. Those who had refused to kiss the General Provost’s cross had been exiled from the entire Japanese ward of New Dis, and many now wandered the wastes, searching for solace and shelter.
Some had found Minu’s home, no doubt having heard rumors of her infinite tenderness. When Hephaestion collapsed in Minu’s foyer, exhausted and bloodied with Yitz at his side, they witnessed the mass’s shame, their sobs echoing against the richly drawn decor. It was a tragically familiar sight for Hephaestion to see. Regardless of race or creed, people suddenly finding themselves cast out of their nation always have the same bewildered look in their eyes. Their devastation tore through Hephaestion’s, dragging him back to the burning streets of Thebes in his merciless memory.
“What in the Hell happened here?” Yitz ran to Adina, his hands molding to her face and ribs, ensuring she’d not been injured.
“People in need, dear husband. They are starting to flood parts of the ward, and Minu has taken in all those she can. We—” Adina caught sight of Hephaestion’s bleeding shoulder. “What happened?” A cold fury sent a chill over Hephaestion’s skin as she examined his wound, bound in a ripped tablecloth.
Her veneer of calm reached a tipping point, and the air ionized around her.
“We were attacked,” Hephaestion whispered. “A Jesuit pitted The Peruvian against us—‘Father Franco’? And apparently that’s not all. Albrecht is missing.”
“I’ve heard about Albrecht’s disappearance,” she said. “But these people refused to swear allegiance to the Jesuit Order, so they were driven out of their homes by their docile neighbors that did. The General Provost put several members of his order in charge of the Japanese. The Samurai are maintaining martial law there. I don’t know how something like this could possibly happen. Wouldn’t Sun Tzu have intervened?”
Yitz drew her head to his shoulder, frantic relief on his face as he met Hephaenstion’s gaze.
“Go in the back with Minu,” Adina insisted when she straightened, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Both of you. She’s meeting with someone here on account of Albrecht going missing. If you get a chance at all, try and see if anyone here needs some wine or maybe a sweet roll. They are proud people, but comfort wouldn’t go amiss.”
Both men obeyed.
The double-doors, where Minu had before stitched and sewn in secret, stood wide in welcome. Wooden looms leaned against the wall, and several tables had been pushed together for a makeshift dining area. People sprawled across every available surface, some offering kind words to those whimpering in confusion and terror, while a few cried and gripped their loved ones.
The bald abbot with cobalt-blue eyes sat across from Mino. Yitz vaguely recognized the young Christian monk cradling a cup of tea in his hands, whispering to Minu between sips.
Minu’s gaze flickered towards Hephaestion. When she spied his injury, she rose to her feet, guiding him into her empty chair. “You have been attacked, and you look like you could use some tea. Abbot?”
Yitz pulled up a seat as Abbot Gottbert tended Hephaestion’s wound. The Abbot appeared to be more boy than man, his physical age no more than late teens. Albrecht had gushed about him on occasion during his bouts of endless chatter. “Gottbert died too young to properly sin.” or “I bet he never even touched himself, the lamb!”
Yitz hoped that Abbot Gottbert lived up to Albrecht’s rhetoric. Despite being loath to admit such a thing out loud, Yitzhak was terrified for the well-being of his mouthy friend. Waiting in patient silence, Yitz watched the Abbot curve his hands over Hephaestion’s shoulder.
He mumbled a devout prayer under his breath as his eyes rolled back into his head, and his eyelids fluttered. Hephaestion sat still, seeming more curious than concerned.
When the Abbot released Hephaestion, the deep lacerations were completely gone.
“How did you do that?” Yitz asked. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“Christ’s blood—the transaction he provided in his death—allows for healing.” The Abott’s soft tenor belied the conviction in his gaze.
“I am not Christian,” Hephaestion confessed.
“Christ died for humanity, not merely a portion of it. Through me, I provide his intentions to you.” Abbot Gottbert smiled.
“Do you know where Albrecht is?” Yitz blurted, unable to contain himself.
“Actually, that is why I am here. I was hoping you could tell us. We at the order are worried, and when The Peruvian delivered a large sum of money to our coffers, it compounded the mystery. Hearing that he was last seen with you, we eventually ended up here.” Gottbert paused, and after a moment of thought, sighed with defeat. “You do not know where he is either?”
“The last I saw him he was distracting the ushers as they were chasing after Hephaestion and me.” Yitz pointed to his friend and himself. “If none of us have seen him, could he still be in the compound?”
“We thought it probable. Unsurprisingly, none of the ushers answer their knocker, and we can’t seem to contact them otherwise.” Abbot Gottbert, like any denizen of New Dis, knew that the ushers had been some of the first people in the afterlife. Each usher was ancient—a cave-dwelling being of heartless disposition that had found purpose in fulfilling the Minos’s condemnations. “We are still making efforts on other fronts, however.”
“Please tell me you aren’t just praying for him,” Yitz moaned.
“Nonsense!” The Abbott’s politeness melted into indignation. “God grants strength through prayer, not favors. We’ve sent an appeal to Sun Tzu.”
“Fine good he’s doing lately,” Yitz mumbled.
“Can we go in there and get him?” Hephaestion asked.
“That would certainly lead to violence, and we at the Order of Mercy cannot allow such a thing. Besides, to do so would bring the ire of Sun Tzu directly because it would be seen as a major violation of Hell’s operation.” Gottbert held both palms in the air, his firm tone. “Tragically, our hearts will continue to be broken until his release. Perhaps the money The Peruvian sends can serve as
ransom payment for Father Albrecht’s safe return.” The Abbott turned his focus to Hephaestion. “Despite being morbidly fascinated by Minos’s judgments as well as the vices of gambling, Father Albrecht clearly saw you in your state of need and fulfilled our order’s duty. He took mercy on you and seemingly sacrificed his liberty in doing so. Please honor him.”
With that, the Abbot stood, bowed to both men, and directed his attention to a pained refugee nearby. Hephaestion and Yitz’s gazes met: someone would have to breach the mysterious compound to search for Albrecht.
“Boudica,” Yitz whispered, eyes wide in epiphany. “She’s got what we need.” They set off to search Minu’s home for the warrior.
Her swirl-patterned tattoos caught their attention—though her height likely helped in equal measure— in the throng of people, and they hurried to her. Yitz tugged at her elbow, catching her attention as a child would a busy parent. “We need your help.”
Gazing at Yitz and Hephaestion with suspicion, she rested her knuckles on her hips. “What?”
“We need your ripper,” Yitz announced.
Boudica’s eyes went wide. Her voice dropping low, she hissed, “You two, outside. Now.”
With a gruff shove, Boudica stamped behind them as they wound through Minu’s foyer and beyond the crimson front gate.
“How stupid must you be to mention such a thing in Minu’s home?” She laid into them, her gruff voice enough to evoke cowering. “You know how she feels about violence. Besides, they are illegal. Blabbing that I have one in front of a bunch of desperate people could bring Sun Tzu’s men to my door. Why do you need one, anyhow?”
“What’s a ‘ripper’?” Hephaestion asked.
Despite looking annoyed, Boudica explained the device’s function. “We all regrow from our hearts, right? So if I chop off your arm or head a new one grows back within a couple of days or a week, and you are up and about again. Well, I have a heart-ripper. It looks like a bear-trap you grip with your fist. You punch it into someone’s bare chest, jam the back of your elbow with your knee, and it chews out the person’s heart. You grip the handle, give a yank, and can it like jam. A human’s heart, trapped inside a vessel where they cannot grow back unless you release them.”
Trampling in the Land of Woe: Book One of Three (Hellbound 1) Page 10
