Poison Sleep

by T. A. Pratt

  And only stopped when a great crushing weight fell from the ceiling upon her. Reave had triggered a collapse, dumping heavy ceiling stones on her. She fought and scrambled and dug her way out, feeling bones snapping in her limbs but not slowing until she saw light from the smoky torches that lit the room. She willed herself forward, to kill, to fight, but her body was overwhelmed, and without her conscious will the cloak reversed itself, from violent purple to healing white.

  Marla moaned. God, she’d almost lost it. If she hadn’t been so catastrophically injured, the purple would have overtaken her mind completely, and she might have been lost forever to the strange parasitic intellect that lived in the cloak. The purple hadn’t always been so powerful, but every time she wore the cloak, the urge to kill and kill forever became harder to resist. Now the white was repairing her broken body, and what had she achieved? She’d murdered a few disposable nightmare monsters. Hardly worth the effort.

  “Ah, Marla,” Reave said. “I didn’t expect to use my collapsing ceiling quite so soon, but you seemed worth it.”

  Marla couldn’t see him. She was buried in rubble, her neck twisted at an odd angle, with nothing but torches and a bit of the collapsed ceiling in her view. A booby-trapped ceiling. This guy was a real piece of work.

  “I brought Genevieve to see you,” he said, and Marla’s neck healed itself with a pop. She turned her head and began dragging herself from the rubble. Reave stood with his arm around a cringing, glassy-eyed Genevieve, her head shaved, probably to make a wig for the decoy that had killed Zealand. “See, Genevieve? Zealand is dead, and Marla can’t help you now. Your champions are broken.”

  “Genevieve, don’t listen,” Marla said. She could move again. Adrenaline and shock kept the pain from her broken-and-reset limbs from overwhelming her. But she couldn’t reverse her cloak now, not with Genevieve in the room. She could kill Reave, yes, but she’d surely kill Genevieve, too, and then die herself for breaking her oath. The death of Reave and Genevieve would save Felport, she supposed, in the short term, but the other sorcerers would bicker and infight after Marla’s death, and a war of succession would result. None of them were devoted enough or as qualified to run things as she was. She couldn’t sacrifice her own life to save the city, then—her city needed her. Which meant she had to pull back and regroup. But how?

  The pollution-golem saved her. It had never stopped fighting, apparently, and it burst into the throne room and went for Reave. Marla finished digging herself out of the rubble and prepared to grab Genevieve and spirit her away. But a horde of faceless men boiled from the shadows and seized Genevieve, dragging her to the back of the throne room and through some hidden passage. Marla cursed, but she couldn’t go after the woman. There was no way Marla could face the combined might of Reave’s army without reversing her cloak, not even with a few magic rings, magic boots, and her dagger of office. Without the element of surprise, she was outmatched. But for now, Reave was busy fighting off the pollution-golem, whipping his knives through its oily smoke, and that meant she could get away.

  She made her way back up to Reave’s rooms, kicking through a few of the shadow-men on the way. She reached the balcony and jumped onto the chimera, which her enemies had either ignored or never noticed. The harness of vines had disintegrated into fine dust, which gave her a pang—Zealand had been a good fighter, and dedicated to this particular cause. She had to squeeze tight with her thighs; thank the gods she’d kept up with her squats. She took the reins and the extra strength of the chimera flowed into her. Reave shouted behind her, and the smell of burning rubber wafted onto the balcony. The pollution-golem was being pushed back. Marla sent the chimera flying off the balcony and into the night, racing toward her home base. Rondeau’s club was well defended tonight, turned from a public place into a fortress. If she could just make it back there, she’d be safe, and there would be time to regroup and…

  What? Lead another attack? Reave would be even more prepared next time. How had he known she was coming? He’d mentioned a “little bird,” but it was possible Gregor had just gotten lucky with his divination. Marla had tried to shield their plans from future-telling, but on such short notice her efforts had been limited. Or, much as she hated to consider it, she might have a spy. Hamil and Rondeau were both above suspicion. As for Ted or Joshua…Ted had saved her life when Zealand attacked her, and—quite apart from their love affair—Joshua had stepped in during her battle with Reave to let her escape. If either one of them was working for the enemy, why would they have helped her that way? To keep up appearances? She couldn’t believe it. Trust came to her only with difficulty, but she’d been through a lot with both of them in the past couple of days, and unless she found real evidence to the contrary, she’d keep trusting them.

  The giant blackbirds pursuing her cawed. She was over Fludd Park, where tree spirits still battled nightmare monsters, when the birds caught up with her. Something struck her shoulder, almost knocking her off her chimera, but she bent low and clung to its neck. Her white cloak began healing the wound in her shoulder—was it from a bullet or something else? Whatever it was, it had gone clean through. She mumbled a painkiller spell, which made her hands go a little numb, but that was better than being laid low by shock if she took a more severe injury.

  Her pursuers changed tactics, though, and some projectile struck the chimera in the side. The chimera screamed, the cry emerging from Marla’s throat, and she instinctively swooped down closer to the park, trying to lose the pursuit by weaving through the treetops. Her cloak didn’t heal the wound in the chimera, of course, but while she held the reins Marla felt the injury, as she felt the next ones—the painkiller didn’t help with the transmitted pain, either. Something heavy struck one of the flailing bull’s legs, and then a hot pain ripped through the left wing, severing the wing tip and sending her into a spin. The edges of her vision darkened with agony. The chimera fell fast toward the park, and Marla gripped the reins, pulling up at the last moment, hooves dragging in the snow. The chimera lost its footing and slid to a stop on the edge of the duck pond, and a tremendous pain ripped through Marla’s—no, the chimera’s—body. Marla fell numb from the chimera’s back. The creature’s rear legs were broken, bent at horrible angles, and Marla moaned and crawled a little bit away in the snow. The blackbirds were circling, and they landed in a ring around her, shadow-men dismounting and approaching warily. Marla twisted the rings on her fingers and struggled to her feet. Now she could reverse the cloak. They might kill her, but she…she would die pointlessly, killing disposable and easily replaceable enemies. The idea depressed her utterly.

  Then the pond rose up, a thing the shape of a bear but made of water, and came lurching from the banks. Marla danced back, out of the way, as the thing silently waded onto the land and struck at the blackbirds and the shadow-faced men. This was one of Granger’s many elementals, an avatar of nature trapped here in a city park, and sworn to defend it. The elemental recognized Marla as a fellow champion of Felport, apparently, because it paid her no mind, but struck viciously at Reave’s men. The tree-spirits arrived a moment later, completing the rout, and soon most of the birds lay broken and dead in the park along with their riders, both already melting into viscous puddles. The water elemental slouched back into the pond when the last of Reave’s men were killed, and the tree-spirits went about their business as well.

  Marla sat down, and reached out to pet the chimera’s head. After she’d stroked it half a dozen times, she saw that the bridle had fallen from its beak, straps broken during the fall. The creature turned its head to her, and its black eyes looked not dead now but soulful, and its tiny tongue flickered out pitifully. Marla went to the pond—which was just liquid again—and scooped water into her hands. She returned and held her hands out to the chimera, and it flickered its tongue into the water. The poor thing. It had been ridden hard and broken, and it had never sipped water, nor eaten food.

  The chimera drank two more handfuls of water before it died.
>
  Marla sat by its corpse, under the dark sky, huddled in her cloak. She needed to rise, and move on, and try to salvage things, but she’d never felt more defeated. Hamil said she always won because she was too stubborn to lose, but the idea of just curling up in a ball and sleeping had never seemed more appealing. Sleep was a wonderful drug. She understood for maybe the first time why Genevieve spent so much of her time in retreat from consciousness.

  Marla wasn’t sure if she was crying, or if it was just snow melting on her face. After a while she got up, and found a few fallen branches, and laid them across the chimera. “You were good,” she said, petting its head again. “Better than we deserved.” The branches were wet, but she conjured a hot and all-consuming fire, though she had to sacrifice some of her own body heat to do it. Soon there was only a blazing pyre where the chimera had been, and even under the protection of the spirits of the park, Marla was hesitant to stay for long by such a beacon. Watching the chimera turn to ash was too depressing anyway. She pulled her cloak around her and began the trudge back to Rondeau’s club, sticking to side streets and avoiding confrontations. When she was two blocks away, she called home. Ted answered. “Tell the other sorcerers the attack failed,” she said. “I’m almost home. They should pull back their forces, try to hold their own positions, and wait for further instructions.”

  “Oh, Marla. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Listen, when I get there, I’m going up to my office. I want to be alone for a few minutes. I need to think. I can’t explain everything yet. Just…give me a little time, okay? Nobody bother me unless there are barbarians at the gate. You can do that for me?”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  16

  N icolette came in quietly. Gregor sat with the Giggler, watching him draw pictures on a whiteboard with a hunk of runny blue cheese. The Seer drew something that looked like a tower, and a few M shapes that might have been birds.

  Gregor looked at her, and she didn’t say anything, and he shook his head. “Tell me,” Gregor said to the Giggler, “is it safe for me to go outside?”

  “While Marla Mason lives, there’s nothing outside this building but your death,” the Giggler said, as he always said, more or less. He threw the cheese at the wall, where it stuck with a plop, then he rolled over to his pallet and crawled beneath a dirty baby-blue blanket.

  “I’m sorry, boss,” Nicolette said. “I just heard from one of Reave’s runners. He managed to kill Zealand, but Marla and Ernesto escaped.”

  “All right, then. Time to tip our hand. Have our spy kill Marla.”

  Nicolette shook her head. “I don’t think he can. They’re hunkered down, and in close quarters…the time isn’t right. He’s with us to a point, but he’s not dedicated to you the way I am—he won’t kill Marla unless he can do it without getting killed himself. With Hamil there, and Rondeau…it would be a death sentence. Assuming he could even succeed. I mean, Marla just got out of Reave’s tower in one piece. She didn’t die when I set her on fire. She’s a tough broad, you gotta give her that.”

  “If I have to stay in this tower for much longer, Nicolette, I may walk out and take my chances with death.” She’d never seen Gregor like this, so pale and demoralized, and she felt something like contempt. She was bursting with power now, and he seemed weaker than he’d ever been. “I never went out much. I was always content to stay here with my studies, but now that I can’t leave, I want nothing more. You know, I never wanted the crown—heavy lies the head, and all that. Nor do I much look forward to being Reave’s administrator. He will not be a popular ruler. But I was pushed into this situation by circumstance—I always took the path that wouldn’t end in my death. Now look at me—right-hand man to a maniac with power based on subjugation and torture. I don’t pretend to be a nice man, Nicolette, but I’ve never seen the point in being evil. Now I am in an evil man’s employ. Reave’s reign will be monstrous, and he has imperial ambitions. We may have nuclear bombs dropped on us before everything is said and done.”

  Nicolette shrugged. “Nuclear detonations cause a lot of disorder. I can deal with all that.”

  He waved his hand. “I know. But is that how we want to spend our time? For decades I’ve studied all the ways to see the future, and I’ve come to believe there’s no such thing as fate. I always hated that old saying ‘Fate leads him who will, and him who won’t it drags.’ But just because there’s no fate doesn’t mean there are no inevitabilities, and for all practical purposes, the result is the same. I may not be fated to serve Reave, but I have no other choice. When the Giggler said an alliance with Reave was my best chance of killing Marla, I took it. I did what I had to in order to survive. I am being dragged.”

  “I’m not too fond of Reave myself,” Nicolette said. “Maybe once he disposes of Marla, we can get rid of him. The more successful he is at sowing discord, the more powerful I become, and we can model various coup and assassination scenarios until we find one that works.”

  “It’s a thought,” Gregor said. “But I fear he will be too powerful for us to stop by then. In a way, Marla is our best hope for defeating him. She might manage it, too. But if she does, if she defeats him and lives…” Gregor shook his head. “If I wasn’t doomed before, I would be then. A collaborator with the enemy. Marla would execute me, and the other sorcerers of Felport would applaud. No, her death and Reave’s success are the least bad outcomes for me. We’ll have to keep supporting him.” Nicolette frowned, and Gregor sighed. “For the time being, at least. We’ll discuss the future when the future comes. All right?”

  “You’re the boss,” Nicolette said. For now.

  Marla opened the door to Rondeau’s club, and the bar area was deserted, as she’d asked. They’d all be hiding out upstairs in Rondeau’s apartment, probably, waiting for her to calm down. She didn’t think she was a particularly bad boss, but she wasn’t a good loser, and they were probably glad to be out of her way. The deference wouldn’t last forever, though. They’d be looking to her for the next plan, and she’d run out of ideas. She’d tried a few times now to stop Reave, and slammed headlong into a wall each time. Now lives had been lost. How long before her people stopped following her, before the other sorcerers declared her unfit to save Felport and forcibly removed her from office, letting the Chamberlain or Viscarro take over?

  A pizza was waiting in her office. She didn’t believe for a minute any deliverymen were taking orders at the moment—it was after midnight, during a state of emergency, and there were monsters in the street—which meant Ted had reheated some of the food from this morning for her. He was a good assistant. She hoped there was enough left of her to be worth assisting when this was all over. As she ate, she slumped on the couch, and tried to think. She looked at the chessboard, paused in the middle of the last game she’d played with Ted.

  What had Ted said? That tactics always lost to strategy in the long run? She’d disagreed at the time, but maybe he was right. Her tactics had been fine—she was in good fighting form, and so were her allies. But Reave, with the help of Gregor, had managed to outthink her at every turn. They were perpetually two moves ahead. She’d been thinking of making another frontal assault—because what else could she do? She dealt with problems by attacking them! But maybe it was time for a different approach. She rose and stood by the chessboard, moving a couple of pieces, then moving them back. The game wasn’t a perfect metaphor for life, but she could learn something from it, maybe. She opened the door and said, “Guys, come out here!”

  The door to Rondeau’s bedroom opened, and he emerged, followed by Hamil, Joshua, and Ted. They all looked exhausted as they gathered around the battered table.

  “Reave was ahead of me,” she said. “He knew I was coming—I can only assume Gregor made a good prediction, or else I’m just naturally that predictable.” Or else one of you is a traitor, she thought miserably, but all she could do about that was watch for suspicious behavior. “Zealand gave his l
ife trying to save Genevieve. Ernesto got away, and I assume he’s gone to ground in his junkyard. And I’m here.” She spread her hands. “Tactics have failed me. We need some strategy.” She went into the office and returned, dropping the pizza on the table. “Let’s all eat, and talk. I need some lateral thinking here. My brain has some good moves in its repertoire, but I need people who can think in different circles, and that’s you guys. Think about our situation. What the hell can we do?”

  “We could give up the city,” Hamil said, and at Marla’s startled stare, he shrugged. “I’m just talking. We do have last-resort contingencies in place. We can teleport the entire populace a few miles away and seal off the city entirely. The border guards can jerk the whole place several dimensions out of phase. Cutting out a cancer is sometimes the only way to save the body, even if it means sacrificing some surrounding healthy tissue.”

  “No,” Marla said. “I’d kill Genevieve and take my own death as punishment for oath-breaking before I’d give up this city. It’s my place. Other ideas?”

  “I can go to Reave and offer to be his, ah, boy bride,” Joshua said. “It would at the very least distract him.”

  Marla considered. “I don’t want to send you into that kind of danger. He’d never let you go, and then he’d have two hostages whose lives I value, so that’s not really a win. Besides, we don’t know where Gregor and Nicolette are in all this, but I believe they’re still a factor. Distracting Reave only helps up to a point.” She looked at Ted, who was silent, and the horrible worry that he might be a spy returned. Why wasn’t he contributing? Didn’t he want them to succeed? “Ted,” she said finally. “I’ve seen you making a lot of phone calls lately, and you’ve been distracted. What have you been working on?” Surreptitiously, she touched a few wads of chewing gum stuck in a specific pattern on the underside of the table, activating a short-lived tattletale spell. If Ted told a lie, the table would knock and rock and tilt like a prop at a séance.