“You must leave here now,” Litafulchee said, pulling him forward.
“I don’t think so,” Harris protested. “I’m not stepping over the remains in the Banetuckle. We’ve chucked our disguises. We’d be in Tarhippus’ grip the second we emerged.”
“You misunderstand me,” Littafulchee explained. “You will leave by a secret way — an ancient method the regulati do not know.”
“How can they not know?”
“I told you,” she replied. “They are courageous, but stupid.”
Cosawta grasped Harris’ elbow, walking him toward the gangway. He pointed to a spot one third up the sustiya.
“The sustiya has stood before the time of yuyuli. It served our leaders in council. They made provisions for the quick getaway.” He winked. “In those days, they fled a different enemy, but one enemy is much like another.”
“So there’s a secret way out of the Kalugu.”
And in, he thought.
“Few know it,” Littafulchee said. She looked to Yustichisqua. “Few should know.”
He bowed.
“There is a kaybar wall to the outside through that passageway,” Cosawta said. “There you shall go and pass through.”
“How does that help me?” Harris protested. “I can’t walk through kaybar like some people I know.”
“Do not be thick. Surely you can manage it.”
Harris thought. How? Then he recalled Yustichisqua’s request not to catch him if he fell into the pit. He looked to Little Bird.
“Yes,” Yustichisqua said. “I can pull you through, oginali.”
“Can you? I mean, all of me will come? I won’t leave my spleen stuck in some wall, will I?”
“Hardly,” Cosawta said. He touched the Columbincus. “The only question is whether your sigil and sword will follow you. Some things are naturally resistant to the transference. But do not worry. If you leave one of these beauties behind, I shall find a fucking use for it, you can bet.”
“I bet,” Harris said. “So, let’s go, before I decide to take rooms in the palace and weigh other options.”
“No other options,” Littafulchee said. “I must return to the yehu when the time beckons me.”
She bowed. Harris realized she was departing and not leading him to the escape hatch.
“Come with me,” he stammered. “At least to the kaybar wall.”
“I cannot,” she said. “There is much to do after reaptide. I will need to supervise it. My brother will take you there.”
Harris sighed. He wanted to be in her company. He wanted a quiet picnic on the stacks of aniniya bars — another song from her sweet lips. She would tell him the story of her life and he’d brag about his filmography and drop the names of his A-list co-stars. It would be wonderful. But no. She had to supervise the mopping up of fields of blood and torn limbs and severed heads, and he — he had to hold Yustichisqua’s hand and travel through a stone wall. Pity.
Harris gazed into Littafulchee’s eyes. They spoke to him. Then, he leaned forward, daring to kiss her, but she was there first. His passions drove him mad, but he knew pressing further would ruin his chances, if he had chances.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, smacking his lips.
“Do not be,” she said, quietly. “Remember, I do not capture you with a charmed ring. My gifts are given.When given, they are a treasure rarer even than your Columbincus.”
Harris’ sword flickered. He glanced to Yustichisqua who smiled — approval even, not that Harris needed his approval. Perhaps he did. So he bowed to Littafulchee as she drifted past him and onto the gangway.
“You are a lucky sonofabitch, Lord Belmundus,” Cosawta said. “My sister is an uncommon Cetrone and has never kissed anyone other than our mother, as far as I know. I am surprised you are still standing.”
He roared, and then led his tour up the gangway to the mysterious corridor, ferryman that he was.
Chapter Seven
From the Jaws of Death
1
The wall differed from its surroundings, although in the dark could have been missed. However, by waddly wazzoo light, the difference could be discerned by anyone directed to it.
“We call it the Yudolayda Asdodi — the Secret Door.”
“The Secret Door — that’s what I’ll call it,” Harris said. “Since it’s a secret, it’d be foolish to learn another mouthful of Cetrone.”
“As you will, Lord Belmundus.” Cosawta touched the door, his hand seeping through. “On the opposite side it is marked with a Z — in crimson, like the blood of our fallen.”
“Ah, like the mark of Zorro.”
“Whatever the fuck you need to recall it, you have my permission. Just remember, once outside you must move fast. The door opens near the Porias, and the regulati frequent the passageways.”
Harris nodded, sucked in his breath and prepared for the experience. He wasn’t keen on being transported through solid matter. He didn’t rush it, because his body wasn’t designed to do it. This wasn’t a Hollywood device — a transporter backed up with Spockian logic, the infallible kind found in the Science Fiction world.
Yustichisqua reached out and grasped Harris’ hand.
“Are you prepared, oginali?”
“No, but do it before I change my mind.”
Harris felt a tug, and then a frosty tearing at his flesh, like sandblasting through ice. No pain, but discomfiture — like pulling a tooth with Novocaine. After a moment of suspension, the world stopped — his mind entertaining weird thoughts of being encased in a stone shroud and interred in a crypt. Not pleasant. He wouldn’t recommend this to the general public. Although less painful than waiting in a security line at an airport, it was more stressful. Then, he emerged into the light — his rocky tomb shucked, his shoulders jiggling like baby bird wings.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s one helluva downer, old man.”
“You have survived and come through it,” Yustichisqua said. “And the rain has stopped.”
Harris turned, checking his legs and arms, and then regarded the sky, the clouds parting on a clear morning.
“I hope all my internal organs made it through.”
“If not, you will know soon enough.”
“You’re not a joker, Little Bird, so this ain’t a good time to become one.”
“Sorry, oginali.”
Harris looked at Yustichisqua’s belt. The dagger — the one he named gasohisgi — was missing.
“It’s gone,” Harris gasped. “Your dagger.”
He looked for his sword — Tony, but it made it through.
“No, oginali, I moved gasohisgi to my back belt loop.” He slipped it out, displaying the brashun blade. “I feared such blades might be the exception to transference.”
“Obviously not,” Harris said, sighing with relief. He turned, observing the wall. It had the Z — that crimson mark of Zorro emblazoned across it, like graffiti, marking gang territory.
“Z marks the spot,” he mused.
“We must go, oginali,”
Yustichisqua pointed to the building across the way — a ziggurat of phitron, as black as the Kalugu and as inspirational as Golgotha.
“The Porias,” Little Bird said. “The shame of shames. I would be away from it.”
“I agree. Which way?”
Yustichisqua didn’t stop to decide, but took off on a course away from the old prison. Harris followed as fast as phitron-soled boots could take him. They darted down alleys and across byways until they stood before the new prison — the Katorias.
“Is this any better?” Harris asked. “Do you know where we are?”
Little Bird was silent, but soon darted into another alley, one alive with morning activity — Trones sweeping gutters and taking out waste. The sight of one of their kind running without zulus and masquerading as an Ayelli drew many stares.
Soon minorins were out and about their business, doors opening with Yunockers drifting over the pavement on their way to busin
ess. Harris heard the niceties of the day, which to a Yunocker was well met neighbor. May your feet speed you well to good gain and profit. Two racing Ayelli would pique their interest, especially when sensitive Yunocker noses detected a Cetrone in their midst and not one who toiled or labored. Yustichisqua would be obvious, because the charpgris stink potion had worn off and he had failed to reanoint himself. He also toted a waddly wazzoo.
“Stop at the next intersection, old man,” Harris shouted. “There are too many minorins to go unnoticed.”
“I agree, oginali. I am your liability. Perhaps I should seek a kaleezo to shelter me.”
“There’s no guarantee they’d let you in, and if they did, you’d probably be detected quicker than not. No. Just hold up here and let me think.”
“If we get to the Yuyutlu, we can get lost among the crowd.”
“Yes, but I’m disoriented. Which way is it to the boundary?”
Yustichisqua shrugged, and then pointed to the Columbincus.
“It glows,” he said.
Harris grasped it, the sapphire light seeping through his fingers.
“Now that’s a dead giveaway.”
“But you are the Didaniyisgi and can be here.”
“Yes, in my Cabriolin and escorted. Not on foot with . . . with you.”
“I shall find a kaleezo.”
“No, old man.” Harris touched Little Bird’s shoulder. “You’re never a liability. If we’re meant to be caught today, we’ll be caught together. We can slash our way out of it with . . . Tony and . . . your dagger.”
“Gasohisgi.”
“Gasolino,” Harris laughed. “It’d make a great Saturday matinee — a buttered popcorn delight.”
Yustichisqua grinned, but then grimaced.
“Be prepared to slash, oginali.”
Harris gazed down the street.
“Shit.”
A regulati brigade approach, aiming at them. The morning greeters more likely reported the oddity of two trespassers off zulus and wearing cloaks, rushing between the early street sweepers.
“Do we run, oginali?”
“Too late.”
The leader was in a Cabriolin, with two other Cabriolins in drogue. The chief Yunocker sped to the intersection, his craft hovering. He turned to Harris, waving a Stick — non-threatening — like a symphony conductor.
“Lord Belmundus,” he said, sternly. “You had best be on your way.”
“Captain Buhippus?”
And behind him were Elypticus and Melonius.
“We were searching for you, my lord,” Elypticus said.
“When you touched your Columbincus,” Melonius added. “Ours homed in on the signal.”
Buhippus took off, his Yunocker escort behind him. Elypticus opened the Cabriolin gate.
“Come aboard, sir,” he said. “I promise not to take you into the jaws of a misancorpus.”
“You can do what you please, Elypticus, so long as you take me the fuck out of here.”
He rushed to the Cabriolin, hopping to the platform. He then gazed back at Yustichisqua, who hesitated. Melonius quietly opened his gate.
“Taleenay,” he said.
Yustichisqua bowed and ran to the Cabriolin. Melonius kept silent, closed the gate and proceeded.
“Now,” Harris said. “There’s hope in this universe after all.”
2
Harris continued his weekly visits to the Kalugu through the Yudolayda Asdodi, his Augustii spinctus disguise renewed, two sacks of zulus delivered to the sustiya with each visit. Yustichisqua always attended, welcomed by Cosawta as Gasohisgi awudoli — He who has the back of hope. It probably gave Little Bird a big head, but Harris didn’t mind. He enjoyed watching his former Trone’s confidence inflated to heroic proportions. Little Bird was accepted more as the Taleenay and, in the Myrkpykyn, neither Gurts nor Zecronisians questioned business transactions with a Cetrone. Even Buhippus seemed more at ease — a matter of compliance more than acceptance, but it was one less goal for Harris to achieve. Yustichisqua could achieve it on his own.
Garan outfitted them — cloaks, extra legs, zulus and the lovely eau de charpgris, which Little Bird rarely applied now that they entered through the wall marked Z (for Zorro). Ricktus Morphinus continued entering by the main gate, so Cosawta’s sustiya stockpile grew incrementally, the greed of the regulati mordanka assuaged without interruption. When Harris exited through the secret door, he would slap his Columbincus and two Danuwa would arrive to taxi him and Yustichisqua back to the Myrkpykyn. This activity became routine. What interrupted this clandestine barter was predictable. When Charminus returned, Harris would be up. He wended his way back to the Ayelli and became co-consort again, Little Bird in tow to act as potboy.
Charminus hadn’t changed. She was as fascinating as always, ring on finger, Corzanthe to lip, full breasted and legs spread. However, Harris found a difference. This came about after a disturbing conversation with Lord Tappiolus, who chastised Harris for relying too heavily on the Danuwa for Myrkpykyn business.
“Is this a complaint from your son?” Harris asked.
“No. I have not seen my son since he has taken up his post with you.”
“Then, is it your roving eye telling you these young men have become responsible members of the legislative community in the Yuyutlu?”
“There are those who watch.”
Harris thought perhaps Captain Buhippus had detected and reported on the Didaniyisgi’s activities, but if that had occurred, this conversation with Tappiolus wouldn’t be a mild chastisement about shirking responsibility, but a treasonable accusation or an indictment laid at Kuriakis’ feet. However, Harris trusted Buhippus, oddly enough. The Yunocker Palace chief had many opportunities to turn Lord Belmundus in and hadn’t. As for Melonius, although still too serious for the average four-year old Thirdling, he was angrier at his father than his father’s co-consort. Melonius had been denied a shot at the endowments of the diplomatic marriage pool generally extended to Thirdlings as honors.
“I’ve given my Danuwa a strong sense of leadership,” Harris explained, annoyed to do so, “which will serve the Ayelli in the future.”
“This is not Boston or Chicago, Lord Belmundus,” Tappiolus quipped. “They do not need lessons in civics as civics does not apply in this world. Our lord has much on his mind concerning the other realms — shadows which stir and cannot be disciplined by noble-minded rule-abiders among the Thirdlings. If you give them notions of hope, their sense of importance will be their downfall when they confront the real world — a courtship with a fire maid from Volcanium or a splash with a daughter of Aquilium.”
“Well, I’m not teaching them to firefight or to swim the backstroke,” Harris said. “But their duties will help them stand when others are forced to sit. It’s my belief you wished to sideline Melonius and being my Danuwa was a good way to punish him. As it turns out, he’s invaluable to me. I rely on his accounting sense and even his social conscience has been stirred.”
Tappiolus raised an eyebrow.
“As his father, I must draw the line there.”
“As his father, you already have drawn the line, and that line nearly had him in a noose. Fortunately, his eyes are fully opened and his mind forming judgments. Now, I can’t say I agree with his conclusions, because his original assumptions were contaminated, but at least he’s slipping away from the carefully taught prejudices. He’s developing his own wicked brand. I can’t ask more from a free-thinking man.”
Tappiolus boiled over, but Harris left him choking on his own paternal shortcomings. He had managed to transfer paternity to a surrogate and it backfired.
“As for your fucking Eye,” Harris said, a parting shot delivered over his shoulder, “take care I don’t find the plug and ask Charminus to pull it.”
Of course, Charminus would never deny Tappiolus his use of The Eye, because she didn’t care about such things. She knew little of the world beyond her bedstead and the dream world of the outlands. That
she cared for her consorts was true. Harris knew it and took care not to stir jealousy. If Tappiolus discovered the secret door and the weekly trips into the Kalugu, it would be Kuriakis who’d have Harris’ hide, not Charminus. But if she knew his heart smoldered for her Trone, she would liquidate him in the bowels of Greary Gree. The problem surfaced when Littafulchee attended her mistress while Harris was up.
Charminus’ ring captivated him, as always, but when Littafulchee brought her trays from the Scullery Dorgan, Harris found himself resisting Charminus’ power and — Charminus noticed this. Fortunately, she didn’t realize it was her Trone causing the drift.
Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1) Page 44
