Dead Reign

by T. A. Pratt

“I don’t like it this far above sea level.” The Bay Witch entered tentatively, looking past them to the window and the glimmer of the bay’s waters beyond. She was, Ayres thought, the oddest of Felport’s sorcerers—she looked like a blond surfer-girl in a blue wetsuit, dripped seawater wherever she went, and was happy only when she was in the waters of the bay. Ayres wasn’t sure what she did down there—talked to fish, cleaned up pollution, just swam around? As far as he knew, she had no business interests, no apprentices, no enemies. Technically she also oversaw some of the small islands in the bay, but by all accounts she preferred to stay under the waves. She was barely part of the ruling party of Felport at all, but she’d been friendly with Marla, who always included her in their councils, so here she was.

  “Oh, my,” Death said. “Aren’t you briny?”

  The Bay Witch looked at him quizzically. “You’re the new boss? Different from the old boss?”

  “I am the Walking Death. This is my city now. Will you be loyal to me?”

  “Are you the death of everything, or only people things?”

  Death blinked. Not even he was sure how to deal with her, it seemed. “All living things.”

  The Bay Witch nodded. “I need you to kill all the quagga.”

  “Quagga?” Death said. “Is that some kind of…slang term? An ethnicity? Are you asking for a genocide?”

  “They’re clams,” Nicolette said. “The whole way over, she’s been bitching about clams.”

  “Quagga. And zebra mussels.” The Bay Witch crossed her arms. “Invasive species, taking over the bay. They’re thick on the sea floor, I can’t kill them all. You can kill them all?”

  “I…yes, I could,” Death. “But why should I?”

  The Bay Witch shrugged. “Marla would have, if she could have, which she couldn’t, I guess.”

  “Is this…a condition of your loyalty?” Death said.

  “What? The quagga, I said. They’re killing the bay.” She spoke slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “Kill them, or all the native species will be crowded out. Will you do it?”

  “Ah. I suppose. I can’t see why not.” He went to the balcony and looked toward the water. “All right,” he said after a moment. “They’re dead.”

  “Good,” the Bay Witch said. “I owe you a favor, then, okay? Let me know when you want it.” And then she left, almost running from the apartment, but not as if she were running from something; instead, like she was running toward her favorite thing.

  “Crazy witch,” Nicolette said. “But that’s as close to a loyalty oath as you’re going to get out of her, probably. She takes owing favors seriously. I think because barter is the most sophisticated economic model she can comprehend. I’m going to look for Viscarro.”

  “You people certainly do ask for a lot of things,” Death said.

  “Such is the plight of the leader,” Ayres said. “Your subjects in the underworld never ask you for things?”

  “Oh, yes, a cessation of pain, freedom, etc. But that’s like asking for the sun to stop shining. They rail against the fundamentals of their conditions. They don’t ask me for favors.”

  “Here, you may rule with honey or the whip or both,” Ayres said.

  “I just want Marla to give me what’s mine. I thought she’d roll over quicker than this, I must admit, but it seems she wants to be stubborn. She’ll learn the extent of her limitations soon enough, I’m sure, and surrender. In the meantime, I want to be entertained, and prove I can do her job standing on my head.”

  “Being a leader does have advantages,” Ayres said. “What would you like?”

  “I’m new to the flesh,” Death said. “I like cigars. And I like scotch. What else do you recommend?”

  “Ah. I can think of…a few things. But I haven’t spent time in the city in a few years. I’ll have to make some inquiries.”

  “Do.” Death poured himself another drink.

  “Perhaps I should prepare a room for you,” Dr. Husch said over lunch. “I think you could use some therapy.”

  Marla yawned. After announcing her plan, she’d crashed in the spare bedroom, sleeping peacefully because, at last, she knew what to do. She wasn’t completely awake now, though the plate of spicy sausage and peppers was doing wonders for restoring her energy. “I’m not crazy, Leda. I’m just bold.”

  “Mmm,” Dr. Husch turned to regard Pelham, who ate with great delicacy and precision, chewing every bite thoroughly. “Mr. Pelham, do you think Marla is insane?”

  Pelham dabbed at his mouth before answering. “It would be inappropriate for me to…”

  “Oh, be honest,” Marla said.

  Pelham cleared his throat. “Your plan, in its bare outlines, does seem a trifle incautious, Ms. Mason.”

  Marla shrugged. “I don’t see why. If Death is in my city, that means his city—or realm, or whatever—is lacking leadership. I’ll go down there, kick the living shit, if you’ll excuse the expression, out of whoever stands in my way, and take control. Then we’ll see if he’s amenable to a little exchange of hostages. I’ll be back in Felport in no time, and he’ll know I’m not somebody to fuck with.”

  “How do you know he won’t just kill you?” Leda said.

  Marla grinned. “After he sees what I can do, the last place in the world he’ll want me is in his underworld.”

  Leda sighed. “Your self-regard is formidable as always. Fine, then, a more practical question—how do you plan to get to the underworld? It’s not a place living people are supposed to go. There’s debate on whether or not it even exists.”

  “Oh, it exists,” Marla said. “I believe the guy in my city is the incarnation of Death—how else could he be that badass?—and if he’s real, that tells me his realm is real, too. As for how I’ll get there, don’t worry about it. I know a guy. What time is it on the West Coast?”

  Leda checked her watch. “Around noon.”

  “Even movie stars should be out of bed by now,” Marla said, and went to the phone, which still sat on the dining table. She dialed rapidly, and after a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

  “Bradley Bowman, as I live and breathe,” Marla said. “How the hell are you?”

  “Marla?” B sounded surprised to hear from her, reasonably enough; Marla wasn’t much for chatting, and as far as she was concerned, phones were an intermittently necessary evil. “I’m…well, it’s complicated, but not too bad. How are you? How’s Rondeau?”

  “I’m bad. And Rondeau’s probably in deep shit, too.”

  “What can I do to help?” he said, and there was a little warm blossom of happiness in Marla’s heart. B was one of the few people in the world she would help out with no questions asked—well, not many questions anyway—and it was gratifying to know he felt the same way about her.

  “When I was in San Francisco, you told me about a train you saw once. Do you remember?”

  He paused. “Shit. Marla, do you have a butler now?”

  She frowned. “Um…he’s a valet, but yeah, I can see how you’d make that mistake. Why?”

  “I had one of those dreams last night.” B was a seer—he was more than that, too, but prophetic dreams were one of his more obvious gifts. “There was a man in a black suit; he looked like a butler, I thought, carrying a great big suitcase monogrammed with the initials ‘MM,’ the letters intertwined. He was running like hell along a platform, chasing a train. I knew the dream meant something, but I didn’t recognize the guy, and I haven’t had time to find an oracle to interpret it for me. I didn’t think about it, but the initials, ‘MM,’ that could be you.” He sighed. “So, yes, I remember telling you about that train. But Marla, whatever you’re trying to do…Hell. Who do I think I’m talking to? If you’ve decided, you’ve decided.”

  “I’m always willing to hear your counsel,” Marla said. She’d met B during her trip to San Francisco the winter before. He was a former movie actor who’d lost his promising career when he began having visions and prophecies, his behavior becoming increasingly e
rratic and his psyche ever more fragile. Marla had helped him come to terms with his gifts, and had even found him a powerful teacher to help train him as a sorcerer.

  “This train, if you take it to bring someone back…it doesn’t work out the way you’d hope. Trust me. I know.”

  “I’m not going in after anyone, B,” Marla said. “I’ve got other reasons for wanting to get down there. Can you help me?”

  “I can take you to the place where I saw the train,” B said. “Based on that dream I had, if it’s really about you and your…valet?…then there’s a good chance the train will come.”

  “Good man,” Marla said. “I’ll call you once I get a flight figured out. Tell your boss man I’m coming, would you?”

  “Sure,” B said, and he sounded suddenly weary. “I’ll let him know as soon as he wakes up.”

  “Cole is still sleeping?” Marla said. “It’s late there. He always struck me as the up-with-the-dawn type.”

  “He’s…sleeping a lot lately,” B said. “I’ll tell you about it when you get here.”

  Marla hung up. “That’s that,” she said. “We’ve got a ride. Pelham, I don’t guess I can convince you to hang out here with Dr. Husch?”

  “I should go where you go, Ms. Mason,” Pelham said. “I’m sure I can be of assistance.”

  “Pelham, I’m going to Hell,” Marla said. “Literally. Some kind of underworld anyway, though I don’t know if there’ll be fire and pitchforks. You’re used to fancy mansions. Really, I’ll understand.”

  He frowned. “I would prefer to accompany you, ma’am.”

  Marla held up her hands. “Okay. Just making it clear this is your own free will here; I’m not forcing you.” She turned to Dr. Husch and smiled her biggest, sunniest smile, which used muscles she almost never utilized. “So, Leda, my friend…can you loan Pelham and me some cash so we can buy plane tickets? And arrange a ride to an airport for us? Um, an airport that isn’t Felport International, since I’m guessing I can’t get to that one without puking my guts up?”

  Dr. Husch narrowed her eyes. “You want me to loan you money?”

  “Come on,” Marla said. “I got you all that fancy surveillance equipment.”

  “Only after someone escaped from the hospital and nearly destroyed your city,” Dr. Husch said, frowning. “Do you know how much it costs to heat this place? You do realize I’m feeding you peppers from my garden, and the cheapest sausages known to mankind? Things here are run on a shoestring, as you know.”

  “Leda, this is important,” Marla said. “When I’m back in Felport, you know I’ll pay you back with interest—”

  “If your ridiculous plan doesn’t end in tragedy, you mean, killing you and your innocent manservant,” Dr. Husch interrupted. “Which is by no means a certainty. I don’t know how I can in good conscience—”

  “We both know you’re going to give me the cash,” Marla said, annoyed. “Can we quit wasting time here?”

  “Your tone is not—”

  “If I may,” Pelham said politely. “I believe we can pay for plane tickets, Ms. Mason. I know several of your company credit card numbers by heart, which should be sufficient to purchase tickets via the phone or the Internet.”

  They both looked at Pelham, and he blinked, apparently embarrassed by the scrutiny. “Company cards?” Marla said. “I have those?”

  “Rondeau showed them to me.”

  “What company?” Marla said.

  “Cloak and Dagger Property Management,” Pelham said.

  Marla chewed her thumbnail. “That sounds kind of familiar,” she said at last. “Rondeau thought the name was funny. We own a lot of property in the city, do a lot of rentals. I guess it makes sense to have company cards, but Hamil handles all that stuff, I mean the money details. I just go down and scare the drug dealers away from the buildings if they get out of hand, you know?”

  “At any rate,” Dr. Husch said, “it seems I won’t have to violate my personal policy against loaning money to friends. I find it only puts a strain on the relationship.”

  “I’ll strain our relationship,” Marla said. “We still need some walking-around money for cabs and shit.”

  “As for incidental expenses, I have several hundred dollars drawn from petty cash, which Rondeau encouraged me to carry,” Pelham said. “He told me you seldom carry funds, so I took the liberty of preparing for contingencies. I left a receipt, of course.”

  Marla grunted. “Well, okay, then.”

  “If you have a computer, Dr. Husch?” Pelham said, and Leda directed him toward her office.

  Marla and Dr. Husch sat together at the table in silence for a moment, then Dr. Husch said, “He seems quite competent.”

  “He’s doing pretty good for his first time out of the house. But I think a descent into the depths of Hades might be a little too much for him. I’m hoping I can convince him to stay with my friends in San Francisco.”

  Dr. Husch reached over and covered Marla’s hand with her own. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? You’re the greatest friend this hospital has ever had.”

  Marla raised her eyebrow. “As much as you bitch and moan about not getting enough funding?”

  “Sauvage and Somerset were even worse. But just because you’re better doesn’t mean it’s enough.” She paused. “I’m…sorry about Ayres. For the trouble he’s caused. I know he’s mixed up in this somehow.”

  Marla nodded. “I don’t know if he’s the reason Death came to town, or if Ayres was just happy to serve him when he did show up. I mean, he’s a necromancer—I’m not surprised he picked Death over me. I didn’t give him much reason to be loyal to me, honestly.”

  “Still, if I’d kept him confined here…”

  “No, no. You did right. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t believe he’s a stinking corpse anymore, which means you did your job, cured him. He wasn’t confined here for being an opportunistic backstabbing power-hungry asshole. Ayres had a hand in fucking me over, I’m sure, but he was sane when he did it. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Pelham came back into the room. “I had to pay dearly, but I found a flight from Magnus County Regional Airport to Chicago, and from there to San Francisco, leaving tonight.”

  “Cow country airport,” Marla said. “It’s only a few hours away, but we should get there early to be safe. Thank gods I’ve got a couple of legit-looking IDs on me. Do you have papers, Pelham? They’re draconian at airports nowadays, and you won’t get by on your good looks.”

  “I have my passport, ma’am.”

  “You’ve got a passport? But you never even left your yard before yesterday!”

  “Still, one must always be prepared,” Pelham said reasonably. “I also have a valid driver’s license, classed to allow me to drive ordinary vehicles, motorcycles, hazardous-waste tanker trucks, and school buses. The Chamberlain had an instructor come up to the estate to give me the test.”

  “You didn’t even know how to fasten your seat belt yesterday!”

  “I never rode in the backseat before that,” he said reasonably.

  “Well, good. I’m glad you can drive. I hate driving. We can skip the school bus for now, though.” She rose. “Speaking of which, Leda, can you spare an orderly to give us a lift?”

  “Of course. I wish I could drive you myself. But Norma Nilson has been banging against the walls of her cell all morning, and I need to keep her under observation.”

  “Fair enough,” Marla said, and after a moment’s hesitation, she embraced Dr. Husch, a bit awkwardly, and the doctor hugged her almost as stiffly in return.

  “Have safe travels,” Dr. Husch said. “Come back alive and well. I doubt Death will be a very generous supporter of the mentally ill.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.” Marla went to put her boots on.

  8

  P elham did surprisingly well on the airplane, after Marla finally got him to settle down and stop asking for things—apparently all the Chamberlain’s lessons in air travel had started from the a
ssumption that Pelham and his boss would be traveling in first class, possibly sometime in the 1950s, when people still wore formal wear to fly. He had a little trouble coping with the tiny seats in cattle class, though the flight wasn’t crowded, and Marla was pleased they’d gotten a whole three-seat row to themselves. Pelham finally subsided into pensive silence once he realized the “stewardesses” wouldn’t be bringing champagne and lobster thermidor, and that, yes, those thin little blankets and sad little pillows were the best they could offer, and no, there really wasn’t any way to move the seats in front of them up a bit to provide more legroom. He sat in the aisle seat, so he didn’t look out the window, which might have freaked him out, Marla thought—he’d never flown before, of course, and knowing about flight in theory was different from looking down and seeing tiny cities below.

  “This isn’t very glamorous, is it?” Pelham said about half an hour into the flight, and Marla grunted. She was reading one of those SkyMall catalogs and marveling, as always, at the fundamental idiocy of the human condition; people bought stuff to try to make themselves happy, when everyone with any sense knew you became happy by doing things, not having things.

  “There’s not so much glamour in our business, Pelham. Well, there is in the sense of illusion, but not so much fanciness.”

  “The Founders’ Ball would have been glamorous, I think.”

  Marla closed her magazine and swore. “I forgot all about the ball. There were more pressing issues. Crap. It’s this weekend? Damn it. Last time the ghosts didn’t get their party, the Great Fire of Felport was the result. I’m hoping to wrap this business up soon, but hell, I don’t really know what we’re getting into. Maybe the Chamberlain will make some kind of other arrangements to keep the ghosts satisfied, if she’s not busy fighting with the incarnation of Death, but assuming we get back in a few days and the party hasn’t been worked on at all, how long will it take you to arrange something?”

  “That varies a bit, Ms. Mason. The three-sided triangle of commerce applies—of fast, good, and cheap, you may choose any two. I could create a sad specimen of a party quickly and for relatively little money, though to create something more impressive for a modest outlay would take more time than we will have, I imagine—”