by Darren Shan
My hands dart to cover my nakedness, then I hop back into the bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans before trailing her into the kitchen.
“I got milk, fresh cookies, bread, sliced meat, and these.” She tosses a packet of aspirin to me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, popping a couple and letting them dissolve.
“Head any better?”
“Still hurts. Throat too, though not as much as it did.”
“The bruises are beauts. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
“It wasn’t luck. He knew what he was doing.” I cough. “We didn’t have a chance to swap histories. I’m not sure how much you know about me or—”
“You’re Al Jeery. Paucar Wami is your father. You pretend to be him.”
“The villacs told you?”
“No. It’s something I know. There are lots of things I know but can’t explain. I think the priests program me before they revive me.” She finishes unpacking and turns. “Sorry if I startled you by not being here. I was going to wake you but you looked dead to the world.”
“Leave a note next time.”
“Yes, boss.” She walks to the bathroom and flicks on the light. “I was going to take a shower earlier but there wasn’t any hot water.”
I check the time. “The hot-water tank is shared by all the tenants,” I explain. “Most people use it before work, so it’s normally empty by half past eight. It should be OK now but you won’t get long out of it, five or six minutes.”
“That’ll do. Want to use it too?”
I sniff my armpits. “Yeah.”
“Want to share?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I grimace.
I step into the shower as soon as she’s out, turn the heat up high and scrub myself clean of the stench of the tunnels. The water runs cold after a minute. I shiver but don’t get out. After a long soak I turn it off, towel myself dry and fetch a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Once clad, I catch up with Ama, who’s back in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
“Can I ask you something?” I inquire, standing in the doorway.
“Shoot.”
“How did you know you could trust me?”
Ama butters a slice of bread. “You only kill guilty people. You’re not evil like your father. That’s one of the things I know. I also know you won’t take a lover, afraid that the villacs would use that person to hurt you, so I knew you wouldn’t make a pass at me in bed.”
“And you didn’t feel like making a pass at me?” I scowl.
She laughs. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t have a choice. I was created to love someone else.”
“Capac Raimi?” I guess.
“Yes.” She grabs another slice of bread. “We’ve a lot to talk about. It’s going to take a while. Let’s have some breakfast first.”
We eat on the couch. A simple meal — cereal, sandwiches, milk. Ama discusses her relationship with The Cardinal as we eat.
“My memories of Capac are vague. A conversation we had on the docks, raiding Party Central, meeting in a restaurant where I worked.”
“Cafran’s,” I interject.
She frowns. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t recall the owner, Cafran Reed?”
She thinks a moment. “No.”
I file the information away. I can tell her about him later. Right now I want to find out about her life underground with the Incas.
“I know Capac’s an Ayuamarcan and what that means. I also know he was different, that he didn’t die when the rest of us did.”
“Do you recall him sacrificing you for his career?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her face goes bleak. “When I came back originally — two or three years ago — I hated him. Now I know better. He was only doing what he was made to. He had no choice. The Cardinal created him to be cold and focused.”
“You still love him?” I keep my voice neutral.
“I can’t not love him. I see that love for what it is — manufactured, unreal — but I can’t deny it.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Party Central, I imagine. But,” she adds softly, “I have a recurring dream of meeting him in a cold, dead place and leading him down stairs into darkness.”
“The Fridge?” She stares at me blankly and I let it drop. “Tell me about coming back to life. Any idea how they do it?”
“No. When I first returned, I was terrified. I recalled my previous life and that I’d died, but I had no recollection of the years between. That hasn’t changed. Death is nothingness, no sense of time or space.”
“Where do you come back?”
“A small room, dark and red. There are many women, one in particular…” Her face creases as she tries squeezing out more memories. “Sorry. That’s as much as I remember. I’m always woozy when I return. Someone leads me to my room — close to the cave of the inti watana—and I rest there.”
The room and the women interest me. All the villacs I’ve met are men. But they must have partners to procreate. I never thought about it before, but now that I do, it makes sense that they’d mate with Incan women. They wouldn’t want to taint their precious bloodlines by breeding with ordinary females.
“Do the women come to the cave of the inti watana?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen them there. Why?”
It’s time to tell her about her missing lover. I talk swiftly, describing his disappearance and my search for him. She’s troubled by the news, but not overly.
“The villacs have him,” I finish. “If I could kidnap a few of their women, I might be able to force them to release him.”
“Why go to so much trouble?” she says. “He’s immortal. They can’t kill him, not really.”
“But they can hold him captive. Force-feed him. Keep him as a prisoner until the end of time.”
She frowns. “He could kill himself. Cut his wrists or bash his head off a wall.”
“Not if he was bound and drugged.”
Ama hisses. “Those sons of bitches. I bet they used me to lure him down. I’ve often wondered why they went to the trouble of reviving me. Now I know — to get their hands on Capac.”
“If that was their only use for you, they wouldn’t keep you on now that they have him.”
“Unless they want to use me against somebody else,” she murmurs, and her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t worry,” I grin. “I’m not going to ruin myself on your account.”
“Charming.” She finishes her milk and studies me over the rim of her cup. “You still haven’t said where you fit into this. Why do you care about Capac?”
“Influence. If I save The Cardinal, I’ll have a friend in the highest of places.”
She smiles smugly. “You’re lying. But that’s OK. We all have secrets.”
She’s sharp. I’ll have to be careful around her.
“What do we do now?” Ama asks. “Seems to me your investigation’s come to a close. You know that Capac’s underground but I don’t think anyone except the villacs can pinpoint his exact location.”
I nod. “I can try grabbing one of their women and using her in a deal, or maybe capture a priest who speaks English and torture him. But the villacs own the tunnels. I doubt I can take the fight to them down there and triumph.”
I fall silent, mulling it over, but no ideas present themselves. “I guess there’s only one thing for it,” I sigh. “I’ll go to Ford Tasso, tell him what I know and let him take it from there.”
“You think he will?” Ama asks skeptically.
“No,” I grunt. “I’d never be so lucky.”
Ama comes with me to Party Central but stays with the bikes in an alley at the rear of the building. I enter as Al Jeery and head for the fifteenth floor. The corridors are teeming with Troops and anxious execs. I push past them unnoticed, elbowing several out of my way at the door to Tasso’s office — they’re packed tight around it, clamoring for an audience with the fill-in Cardinal.
“Hi Mags,” I
greet the tired-looking secretary. “Any chance of fitting me in?”
“You kidding?” she snaps. “I spent all of yesterday trying to reach you. You’re the one person Ford does want to see.” Hitting the intercom, she says, “Al’s here.”
Tasso roars at the other end, “About fucking time! Send him in!”
On my way, I swivel to avoid three terrified men — they race out of Tasso’s inner sanctum as if the devil himself were after them — then close the door on the chaos. Tasso’s sitting in front of the desk, neck stiff, good eye glaring. His left hand is busy massaging his right arm. “Tell me what you know about these fucking Snakes,” he growls by way of a greeting.
“When did you learn about them?” I ask, drawing up a chair.
“Night before last. A bunch took out a squadron of Troops on patrol in the east. Left a warning with the bodies. ‘Stay out of the east — the Snakes.’ Within hours the streets were wild with rumors, about how there are hundreds of the fuckers, all trained killing machines, led by the legendary vigilante, Paucar fucking Wami. Who are they, Algiers? And why the fuck are you heading up a fucking army?”
“If you really thought I was their leader, we wouldn’t be talking — you’d be washing my blood from your hands.”
“Too fucking true,” he snorts, then grins horribly. “What’s going on and where have you been?”
I give him an abbreviated account of my run-in with the real Paucar Wami, the villacs and Snakes. I say nothing about Wami’s being able to die and come back to life, nor of Ama’s similar abilities. He can make that leap himself, or else assume they’ve been in hiding for ten years. He quizzes me closely about the Snakes. How many? Are they armed? What are their intentions? I answer honestly, telling all I know, finishing with the observation that they could do a lot of damage.
“Tell me about it,” he groans. “I was just figuring out how to deal with Davern, then this shit hits. Where the fuck did they come from? You can’t assemble a force that size without attracting attention.”
“The villacs are masters when it comes to secrecy. They’ve been building the Snakes for years, recruiting slowly, targeting young men and women who want to be part of something big, who know how to keep their mouths shut, who are able to slip away without creating a fuss.”
“I could send Troops down the tunnels to flush them out,” he muses.
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“You don’t think we could take them?”
“Not down there. At best you’d suffer a hammering. At worst you’d piss them off so much, they’d do something nasty to your Cardinal.”
“You’re sure they have Capac?”
“Yes.”
He scowls. “What are they after?”
“They want to protect their homes and families.”
“Not the Snakes,” he growls. “The fucking priests. Why have they raised an army? What are their plans?”
“To set them against you and weaken your stranglehold on the city.”
“But why? No matter how strong these Snakes are, they’re not gonna drive us out. Hurting us only makes it easier for Davern and his Kluxers to strike. Chaos serves nobody, so why generate it?”
“Are you asking me or thinking aloud?”
He chuckles tonelessly. “A bit of both. Any ideas?”
“No. And I’m not bothered. I was hired to find a man. I found him. Will you keep your side of the bargain?”
“Where is he?” Tasso inquires coolly.
“In the tunnels. I won’t get closer to him than that. Nobody will.”
“That’s not enough. The deal was for you to bring Capac back, not point me in his general direction. Deliver him and I’ll give you Bill Casey. You get nothing for coming close.”
“That’s not fair,” I mutter.
“Fuck fair. You were hired to do a job, Algiers — do it. And Al?” he says as I rise angrily. “Do it quick. If this shit continues, I mightn’t be around to honor our deal much longer.”
I take Ama to a restaurant, Sultry Sally’s, situated by the river. We study the menu leisurely — this is Ama’s first date in ten years and she’s savoring the moment — before ordering. When the waiter departs, Ama asks me to tell her what Ford Tasso said.
“Who’s Bill Casey?” she asks when I get to the part about Tasso not giving up Bill’s location unless I hand him Raimi.
“An enemy. The reason I got drawn into this mess.” I start to tell her about the past, finding my girlfriend murdered in Party Central, The Cardinal hiring me to investigate her death, the way my life fell apart, discovering the identity of the man responsible, becoming Paucar Wami in the hope that Bill was still alive and could be lured out of hiding. The tale sees us through starters and the main course, and I only wrap it up as dessert arrives.
“Jesus,” Ama whispers when I finish. “What do you think Wami did to drive him to such lengths?”
“I’m pretty sure he killed Bill’s sister. He had some sick game going with Bill. He forced him to commit crimes, and spared victims in return. I think it was meant to culminate in murder. He kidnapped a girl and told Bill to kill her. When Bill didn’t, Wami slaughtered his sister.”
Ama’s face whitens and she puts down her spoon. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t excuse what he did to me, but I feel sorry for him, or at least for the boy he was.”
“Do you think…?” Ama stops. “No. It’s not my place to ask.”
“Go on. I can take it.”
“Is revenge the answer? Perhaps you should drop it and flee. Build a new life for yourself and try to forget about him.”
“If I was sane, that’s what I’d do. But I’m not.”
“You seem fairly sane to me.”
“Only on the outside. Inside I’m afire with madness. That’s why I can cut a deal with the villacs or a monster like my father. A sane man would have limits, lines he wouldn’t cross. I have none.”
Ama picks up her spoon and tucks into a bowl of ice cream. “If he’s really alive, and you find him, what will you do after you kill him?” I stare at my slice of cheesecake and don’t answer. “Al? Did you hear what I—”
“To all intents and purposes, I died ten years ago,” I murmur. “I’ve sub-existed since then as my father’s ghost. Once I finish with Bill, I’ll be done with this world. I don’t deserve a place in it.”
“You’ll kill yourself?” she asks hollowly.
I force a bleak smile. “Eat your ice cream.”
We’re silent for the rest of the meal, and during the lull I fall to thinking about what to do with Ama. I need to focus on the search for Capac Raimi. I must be alone to think, plan, act. But I can’t just dump her. There must be some diplomatic way…
I hit on the solution as I’m paying the bill. Outside, as we mount our bikes, I tell her to follow me. Cutting through the traffic, we make good time to Cafran’s. Ama frowns at the sign and stands by her scooter. “Recognize it?” I ask.
“It seems familiar but I don’t know why.”
“Let’s go in. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Cafran Reed is sitting at a table near the kitchen, engaged in conversation with a waitress. He doesn’t look so old when he’s laughing, though his fragile frame shakes with each chuckle. I cough to introduce myself and he looks up. “Al Jeery. Nice to see you again. I hope you’ll dine with us this time.”
“Afraid not. I’ve just eaten. Mr. Reed, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Ama Situwa.”
Ama steps forward, smiling. Her smile falters when she faces Reed. His smile slips too. “Have we met before?” he croaks.
“No,” Ama says stumblingly. “At least… I don’t think so.”
The pair stare at each other, unaware of the link they once shared, but somehow sensing a previous connection. I break the silence. “Ama’s a waitress. Are there any openings here?”
The old man blinks. “We’re not short of staff, but… yes. There’s a place for h
er if she wants it.” The waitress sharing his table looks at him oddly.
“Excuse me a moment, Mr. Reed,” Ama says and draws me aside. “What the hell are you—”
“Cafran Reed didn’t sire you,” I interrupt quietly, “but ten years ago you and he believed he was your father.”
The color drains from Ama’s face. “God,” she moans. “That’s why I recognize him! He…” Her throat seizes.
“I want you to stay with him, Ama. You wouldn’t be in the way in my place, but you’d be a distraction.”
“But he doesn’t remember me, and I remember nothing about him.”
“Use this time to catch up. I wouldn’t mention the fact that you were once his daughter — you’d confuse him — but you can get to know him again and forge a new relationship. He’s a lonely old man, missing someone he doesn’t know existed. He needs you. And you need him — you told me you were lonely.”
“But the priests… Capac…”
“I’ll tell you if I find him,” I promise. “I’ll keep you informed, and call on you for help if I need it — and I think, before the end, I will. But for now you’ll be better off here.”
Ama nods slowly. “Very well. I’ll stay. For a while.”
I bid Cafran farewell, give Ama my number and depart, pausing at the door to look back at the old man and his long lost “daughter.” They’re staring at each other, silent, slightly fearful, but touched with hope. I think they’re going to get on fine.
Pushing through the door, I wipe a dopey smile from my face, cast thoughts of Ama Situwa and Cafran Reed from my mind, and hurry to my bike. I slip off my wig and wipe my face clean of paint as I walk, insert my contacts, hang Bill’s severed finger around my neck, and become Paucar Wami by the time I hit the saddle and kick the engine into life.
5: riots
I spend hours in my apartment writing up a report of all that’s happened, detailing my sighting of Ama at the crematorium, following her to the Manco Capac statue, my father, the voyage underground. It helps to have it on paper. Sometimes I see things written down that I overlook when they’re only inside my head.
