City of the Snakes tct-3

by Darren Shan

  Ama pulls her shirt off, then slips off her underwear and stands before me naked, unsmiling. “I don’t know if I can enjoy this,” she warns.

  “If you can’t, we’ll stop,” I promise, then peel back the sheets and invite her into bed. After a moment’s hesitation she joins me, and I toss the sheets over us, covering us, hiding us, bringing us together in the gloom.

  Our lovemaking is slow and gentle. We’re clumsy to begin with, but that makes us laugh, taking the tension out of the act, and soon we’re moving as one, lips and bodies locked. It lasts a long time, filled with many stops and starts, and by the end we’re sweating and panting, despite the leisurely pace of the joining.

  Lying on my back, holding her, I kiss her gently. “Was it OK?”

  “Best lay I’ve had in ten years,” she smirks.

  “You know what I mean. Did you enjoy it?”

  She nods thoughtfully. “I feel guilty, but glad at the same time.”

  “Has it freed you? Can you forget Raimi and make a new life for yourself?”

  She nips my nose and grins. “You weren’t that good! I realize I’m not tied as tightly to Capac as I thought, but I’m his by destiny, and even though it’s a manufactured destiny, it’s not a bond I can break. He’ll always be here”—she taps her heart—“whether I want him to be or not.”

  “It isn’t fair,” I mutter sourly.

  “Life wasn’t designed to be fair, Al. You know that better than most.”

  Ama rises and stretches. She’s beautiful naked. I wish I could win her over. I think of reaching for her, loving her again, loving her continuously until I grind away her feelings for Raimi. But I don’t have the right to make demands of her, so I let my hand stay where it is, resting on my chest.

  “How are the ribs?” Ama asks, slipping on her shirt.

  “Tender. Head’s worse. Think you could get some painkillers for me?”

  “Sure. Any particular brand?”

  “I’m easy.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know!”

  I shower while she’s gone, water as hot as it gets. My knees and elbows have scabbed over. There’ll be scars when the scabs clear, on my forehead as well. More to add to the collection.

  I swallow a handful of pills when Ama returns, washing them down with water. Then she makes me lie on the bed and massages my back. She’s not very skilled at it, but she’s dogged. After an hour I’m feeling much more limber than I was.

  “What’s next on the agenda?” Ama asks, rolling off.

  “Sleep,” I groan, eyes shut, relaxed.

  “I mean tomorrow. Next week. Next year. You’ve been given your life back. What do you plan to do with it?”

  My smile turns to a frown and my eyes flutter open. I tilt my head so her face comes into view. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Get out,” she says immediately. “Catch the first bus, train or plane and take off. It doesn’t matter where. Just get away, where nobody knows you, where none of the shit of this city can touch you. Worry about the future later. First you need to escape, from the villacs, your father, the riots, everything.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is,” she hisses, digging her nails into the flesh of my bicep. “You’re human, Al. I’m not. I don’t have a choice. I was made to love Capac and stay by him. I can’t leave. But the priests have no hold over you. Get out and don’t look back.”

  I’m tempted. My mind runs with the idea. Pack a bag, use the credit card Tasso supplied me with to buy tickets and withdraw piles of cash, run until I can’t be found, leave this city, its gangsters and Incan priests to go screw themselves.

  I limp to the window and gaze at the shaded stretch of street beneath. A few kids are circling posts set in the concrete on newly acquired bikes, shouting, laughing, unaffected by the riots and the threat hanging over them all. I mean nothing to Ford Tasso or Eugene Davern — useful at the moment, but thoroughly dispensable. And although the villacs have a vested interest in me, my disappearance wouldn’t throw them too much either. They’d wash their hands of me and turn to another of their fall guys. But the kids, their parents, my half brothers and sisters in the Snakes…

  Who’ll look out for them if I quit? I don’t owe them anything — I didn’t start the riots, or recruit the Snakes — but I feel responsible. I don’t control their destinies, but I can maybe influence them for the better. If I stay.

  “I can’t leave,” I tell Ama, sensing the outline of a new destiny forming around me. “I’ve unfinished business to attend to.”

  “Such as?” she snaps.

  Answers click into place swiftly as I reel them out. “The villacs. The Snakes. The riots. The Kluxers. My father.”

  Definitely my father, if only for what he did to Bill. I always knew he was a monster, but terrorizing a kid into raping and killing his sister goes beyond the bounds even of monstrosity. He could do it all again if the priests free him.

  “That’s a lot of business,” Ama says skeptically. “Think you can handle it all?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I can confront my father — though I don’t care for my chances — and I think I can put an end to the riots by playing ball with the priests. After that… we’ll see.”

  “It’s not your place to cure this city of all its ills,” Ama says.

  “Of course it isn’t. But if I can stop the riots, free my relatives and the local kids from the Snakes, settle matters with my father, spit in the blind eyes of the villacs… That wouldn’t be a bad legacy. And I need to leave a legacy other than one of terror and bloodshed. I couldn’t live with myself the way things stand. I’d always be looking back.”

  Ama gazes at me silently for long, probing seconds, then sighs. “You’re crazy, but I see you’re set on this.” She licks her lips. “What about Capac? Your bargain with Tasso’s off, now that you found Bill. Will you leave Capac to the priests?”

  I could. Tasso no longer has a hold over me. I’m free to tell him what he can do with his deal. But Raimi’s important to the villacs, and they’re the key to the Snakes and the riots. If I quit, I’d risk isolating myself. I’m focal as long as the priests need me. Outside the loop of their creation, I’m as powerless as any other pawn in the city.

  “I’d happily leave him to rot,” I grunt, “but I need to restore Raimi to his throne to put an end to the unrest. I also want the villacs to think I’m still playing by their rules. The search for The Cardinal continues.”

  “Then I’m sticking with you,” Ama says, and she doesn’t leave room for me to argue. “Where do you start and what can I do to help?”

  “First,” I yawn, “I catch more sleep. When I feel ready, I want you to lead me to the villacs. I have a proposal to put to them.”

  “What is it?” Ama asks.

  “I don’t know,” I grin. “But hopefully I’ll have thought of one by the time I wake.”

  Wednesday, late, the tunnels. My back’s killing me but I couldn’t put this off until tomorrow. Stuart Jordan launched his counterattack earlier, taking everyone by surprise for once. He hit the headquarters of the Lobes, one of the larger gangs in the east. Eliminated them swiftly and efficiently. Spreading wide his mixed force of cops and soldiers, he moved on the next four gang strongholds and looked likely to make a clean sweep, when his men were attacked by ghostlike, deadly warriors in dark T-shirts and jeans, with shaven heads and serpents tattooed on their cheeks. The Snakes made short work of Jordan’s men — reports put the death toll between fifty and seventy — and forced him to sound a full retreat.

  Relief at seeing Jordan’s forces repelled was short-lived. The Snakes, having routed the enemy, attacked the gangs that Jordan had targeted, scattering those they didn’t kill. The Snakes disappeared back underground, but the gang members are still active, scouring the streets, clashing with each other, hungry for a fight.

  Once I became aware of what was happening, I had to intervene, regardless of my condition. Ama
helped bandage my ribs. She also disguised the scar on my forehead (I don’t want to appear vulnerable). Then she came with me to the underworld entrance, and led me down into the darkness.

  I try keeping track of our direction, for fear something should happen to Ama, but it’s impossible in the twisting tunnels. If we were going slowly, and I were carefully marking my path, it would be different, but we need to move swiftly. The longer we take, the more lives will be lost.

  We encounter nobody until we enter a short tunnel, lit by a torch at the far end, and come face-to-face with a blind priest. He stretches his arms wide and chants.

  “Is this who we’re looking for?” I ask as we approach.

  “No,” Ama says. “I don’t think he speaks English. He’s only here to greet us.”

  “In that case…” I stick out my right arm and poleax him. I could break his neck, but settle for dumping him on his ass and leaving him to splutter in the dust.

  Four turns later we enter a large, bare room, where the villac I spoke with before is waiting, seated on a high stool. “Welcome, Flesh of Dreams,” he intones.

  “Cut the shit,” I snap. “I want to discuss terms. Can I do that with you, or is there some other prick I have to go to?”

  “I am prick enough,” he says, gesturing to a couple of chairs set by the wall to his left. Once we’re seated, he smooths the folds of his robes. “You are ready to pledge yourself to us?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I reply shortly.

  “You will do as we bid? Lead the Snakes? Assist Blood of Dreams?”

  “Yes. But I have conditions.” He smiles and nods for me to continue. “I want to end the riots. There’s been enough bloodshed.”

  “We can grant that wish. We will have to strike hard to secure peace and exert control. More must perish. But within a couple of days the fighting will cease.”

  “What about the Troops and Kluxers? You think they’ll sit back and let the Snakes annex the east?”

  “You need not worry about them. Shortly after peace has been restored, we will return Blood of Dreams to his rightful position — assuming he cooperates — and he will see that your authority is not undermined.”

  I glance at Ama and catch her relieved smile at the news that her lover is due to return. “And my father?” I ask.

  The villac shrugs. “He is of no interest to us now. He will be released, since we gave our word that we would set him free, but he must go elsewhere to kill. He would be an irritant if he stayed.”

  I could make it part of our bargain that they terminate Paucar Wami — I doubt the priest would object too strenuously — but I want him for myself. His fate should be mine to decide, not theirs.

  I’m getting most of what I wish for, an end to the riots, the city at peace, the freedom to move against my father. I’d like to see the priests come to grief as well, but I can’t have everything. There is, however, one final point. “When it’s over, I want the Snakes disbanded. Send them back to their homes with orders to get on with their lives.”

  The priest shakes his head. “The Snakes are essential. Without them you would stand alone in the corridors of power. They are your bargaining chip when dealing with Blood of Dreams and the others. You need them.”

  “I don’t want them,” I snap. “Set them free or it’s no deal.”

  “Then it’s no deal. You are important, Flesh of Dreams, but so are the Snakes. For centuries we worked without an army. We see now that we were mistaken. We need a force of our own, for when political machinations are not enough.”

  “But—”

  “This is not open to debate,” he interrupts curtly.

  I curse beneath my breath, but I know when I’m beaten.

  I have nothing to offer the villacs except myself. If that’s not enough to sway them, I have no other card to play.

  “OK,” I sigh, glaring at the white-eyed priest. “I’ll lead them for you. I’ll work with you. But if you try and screw me over…”

  “Flesh of Dreams,” the villac chuckles, “would we do that? Come. We have much to do if we are to realize our plans. Let us begin.” He offers a hand. I stare at the pale fingers a moment — I hate these bastards, but what choice do I have? — then take them and let him lead me through the tunnels, ever deeper beneath the earth, to embrace the destiny of their making that I was for so long so determined to avoid.

  2: the snakes unleashed

  We stream from the tunnels at dawn, 378 Snakes, seven Cobras and me, their Sapa Inca, Paucar Wami. In a wave we break across the east, the members of each phalanx slotting into his or her designated position, their orders clear, the Cobras of all seven triumvirates in constant communication with their underlings and me. The villacs spent the past several hours preparing me for the role of field commander, talking me through maps, schedules, statistics, lines of assault and defense. This is their battle — they’ve primed the Snakes, set the targets, issued instructions — but once we’re out of the tunnels, I’m in command. I have to accept responsibility in the field, react to turns in the fighting as I see fit, lead by example. The Cobras will be on hand to advise me but the priests will remain underground.

  Ama’s by my side, as are the sixteen men and two women of the first phalanx of the first triumvirate — my personal bodyguard. They’ve been trained to serve the Sapa Inca and they take their job very seriously. Apparently it’s a great honor and only the cream of the crop are elected to the first of the first.

  The primary targets are the gangs who’ve been roaming freely, falling on anyone who gets in their way. The phalanxes move on the weary members and put them out of action, wounding or frightening off when they can, killing only when necessary.

  We set up in a van outside an abandoned police station and await word from our troops on the streets. Early reports are positive — most gangs break under attack. A few strike back but are swiftly crushed. Within an hour the streets have been cleared of predators. Time for phase two.

  Nine of the phalanxes group into their triumvirates and link up, forming a core force of 158 Snakes (four died in the fighting) and three Cobras. They congregate in Cockerel Square, the heart of the east. Several gangs have used the Square prior to our takeover, so it’s stocked with supplies and weapons. The Snakes set about barricading the entrances and booby-trapping the surrounding buildings. The Square will provide pissed-off enemies with a fortress to target and storm. We’ll let them exhaust themselves on it. Those inside will repel as many as they can, for as long as they can, while a fourth triumvirate lies low outside, waiting for word to move in and break up assailants from the rear.

  The eight remaining phalanxes go wherever the action takes them, patrolling, breaking up fights, quelling riots, guarding shops and banks, cracking down on looters. They have orders to be kind to women and children, keep the peace, stop the destruction of property, use force sparingly. Most are local kids, eager to protect their friends and loved ones. They’ll become the public face of the Snakes — four of my aides are busy contacting news crews to arrange interviews. We’ll make it clear we’re not to be taken lightly, but we’ll also insist that the innocent have nothing to fear. We’re here to help, not conquer. We’re the solution, not the problem. At least that’s the media line.

  As word reaches me that Cockerel Square has been successfully taken, and that the first reporters are being shepherded through the blockades, I pass control of the van to one of my bodyguards and step outside to clear my head and prepare for the long day ahead. Ama follows. “Think you’ll cope?” she asks.

  “It’ll be a miracle if I do,” I laugh. “I’m not cut out to be a general.”

  “You’re doing fine.” She leads me aside, out of earshot of three young Snakes standing guard. “Have you thought this through? You’re getting in deep.”

  “This is the only way I can stop the riots.”

  “Maybe you should let them run their course. Do you think things will be better with these guys in charge? They’re imposing
martial law. What happens when order is restored? The Snakes plan to control everything, who comes and goes, who owns what and whom. You’re handing them the east.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. I prefer to think I’m saving lives.”

  “Perhaps you are,” she mutters. “I just wish there was some other way. I don’t want to see this city under the thumb of the villacs.”

  “That won’t happen,” I promise.

  “You can stop it?” she challenges me.

  “Somehow, some way… yes. I haven’t figured it out, but I’m working on it. In the meantime I’ll do their bidding and let them think they’ve whipped me. It’ll all come out OK in the end.” Trying to sound like I mean it, not just to convince Ama, but myself as well.

  By Friday evening the east is ours. The expected siege on Cockerel Square never materialized, and although a few ragged bands made hit-and-run attacks, they were easily repelled, without the loss of a single life. Two of the triumvirates pulled out last night and joined the others on patrol, leaving three phalanxes to hold the Square and propagate the myth that it’s our official base.

  To my surprise, people have accepted us, freely offering support and assistance. I suppose any relief from the riots is welcome, and after all, many of the Snakes are known to them — friends, neighbors, relatives. They believe we’re their own. They don’t know about the scheming villacs. Maybe they wouldn’t care if they did. A drowning man rarely stops to query one who extends a saving hand.

  Even more surprising is the eagerness of the gangs to flock to our cause. For decades the east has been a mishmash of divided loyalties, gangs resisting the temptation to merge. Even Ferdinand Dorak was unable to bond them. The gangs here feared and respected him, and paid their dues, but they never united behind him. He could crush any gang he liked, but another would always spring up in its place, and he was never able to bring the disparate bands together.