The Knight of Disks (Villainess Book 4)

by Alana Melos

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to fly very far. By myself, flying was no problem. It didn’t seem to use as much energy as a person would think to move themselves around. Two wasn’t uncomfortable, but it took some effort, especially hauling them long distance. Any more than that and it strained the limit of my powers. I hadn’t ever tried four. I thought I could manage it, but it wouldn’t be a good thing to try and have my teke cut out in mid flight.

  A few blocks over found the community busy at work, clearing out more and more of the invading vegetation. The streets stood on the verge of being clear. As we landed in the middle of the road dominated by several tall buildings, most of the inhabitants glanced up, then ignored us. Corner stores advertised all sorts of normal and bizarre goods amidst huge piles of burning wood and vines gathered in the streets and sidewalks. Just like in clearing the snow, the various regular humans and warped ghouls in the area were burning, cutting, or freezing the vines off of their homes and businesses. The inhabitants didn’t blink an eye at us, especially since Rory stood there in his green magnificence. He blended in with the denizens now. I know I’ve mentioned them several times, but never really stopped to describe them. What did they look like? Chaos and order, side by side. Insanity dancing with sanity, mingling to make a picture you almost understood, like that word on the tip of your tongue which you couldn’t quite remember, but knew by heart all the same.

  One big fellow was carting away twitching vine branches over his massive shoulder. He stood over seven feet tall, with the face of a cave man, low and heavy brow over a frizzy beard, looking more animal than man. Another lady used her energy blasting to cut away at the root of the vines, working with a delicate crystalline hand to damage the plant and not the building. She looked up at us, and I saw half her face was made from the same crystal. Across the street, a madcap teenager with huge goggles and a brown leather trench coat stood on top of what looked to be a steampunk robot which towered even over the caveman, complete with a top hat and bow tie. Fire generated in the palm of her hands roasted the vegetation, weakening it so the robot could pull it off with a cry of, “Good show, mum! There’s another one down!” in a striking British accent. Yet another metahuman clawed and tugged at the vines from a window, his massive bulk barely fitting through it as he used the claws on his fingertips to wear down the tough skin of the branch next to him. The fact that he was also a cat person didn’t escape me, and I briefly wondered if he was so fat because he was fixed, then decided it was probably because he’d picked up the cat habit of sleeping sixteen hours a day. His large grey-furred ears on his head twitched this way and that like two radar dishes, as if keeping on the lookout for anyone making fun of him or the Mr. Mistoffelees shirt he wore.

  That’s what I meant by order and chaos. Alongside the more fantastic expressions of metahuman powers, regular people worked, chopping with a fire ax, or hauling away timber for yet another fire meta to ignite in a massive bonfire in the middle of the street. They’d blocked off traffic with cones and saw horses, keeping their community shut off from the rest of Imperial City. They took care of themselves, and I admired that. It was, to put it in Rory’s terms, a large pack.

  This wasn’t to say there wasn’t a criminal element here. There was, and a large one. Regular cops ignored the Wastelands. Meta cops and vigilantes were only now sticking their toes into it, poking at the unnamed beast slumbering in their city. There simply weren’t enough metahuman cops to deal with the ghouls here if they decided to go on a rampage. As a result, human criminals found a haven here, so long as they played nice and didn’t fuck with any locals. It was a pleasant side effect for the regular joes who lived here. It was probably the cheapest place to rent an apartment in the city, but also one of the safest.

  I’d ignored the Wastelands for the most part, except for renting my own low grade apartment. I looked at Rory and Alistair. Rory seemed interested in the surroundings, frowning slightly at the plant clean up, but taking note of the various citizens of the Wastelands, perhaps sizing them up to see if he could take them on. Alistair met my look and shrugged slightly.

  “They take care of their own,” he said. “They always have.”

  I chewed my lip absently while I thought. “I thought Pangea would have attacked by now,” I said. “I mean… it’s right next door.” I guess I could have been wrong, but I didn’t think so.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps it did, and they fended it off. There are a lot of metahumans here, with a wide variety of powers.”

  “I guess…” I said, letting the word trail off. I itched to reach out with my telepathy and search for the next answer I wanted. Instead, I’d have to do it the hard way. “You know who runs this joint?”

  Alistair shook his head. “No, I don’t, nor do I care to. I don’t want to get involved with local politics, or appear to be taking sides.”

  “Maybe you should find a porter to port you back to Rebekah’s then,” I snapped, then modified my tone to be less accusatory. “If you don’t want to get involved, I mean.”

  Whatever I’d said made his eyes flare with repressed anger. “I said I didn’t want to, not that I wouldn’t.”

  I eyed him, then nodded. “Then let’s have a look around,” I said.

  “Hey, I’ll catch up to you,” Rory said, his attention riveted by the surroundings. “I want to have a look around.”

  “Just hol--” I said, then bit off the words. “We’ll meet you back here in an hour, that cool?” It was instinctive to have people just mentally shout at me if they were close by to grab my attention. Yet another advantage gone and lost. I shoved the thought aside, trying to keep my focus narrowed on one problem at a time. When I turned my mind to the problem of Pangea, my loss wasn’t felt so keenly.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” Rory replied with an absent-minded wave. He wandered away from us, looking at a store which sold specialty clothing with some interest.

  “Is it really wise for him to be alone? Connected to the forest how he is?” Alistair asked, raising a brow skeptically.

  “I’m calling it Pangea,” I said with a sigh. “Probably not, but… I don’t know. I beat him down hard, and ever since then he seems comfortable following me, in either form.” Just because I didn’t get his outdated sense of loyalty didn’t mean I wasn’t going to use it.

  “He could be relaying everything he sees to her, you know,” the mage observed.

  “If he is, then so much the better he wanders off,” I replied. “Now come on, it can’t take long to find the leader of this fine community.”

  “If it has one.”

  I chortled. “Oh, it does, trust me on that. All ghettos do. It may not be anything ‘official’,” I said, giving him air quotes when I said the word official, “but someone’s calling the shots here.” I pointed to the closest people to us, which happened to be the giant robot and the teen on its shoulder. “Let’s go get us some information.”

  He didn’t argue with me. As we approached, I examined the duo with more detail. The robot was definitely made out to be a hulking male form, exaggerated like he stepped out of a cartoon. The steel work looked fine, but open where he wasn’t clothed with a tattered suit. The metal on his hands and face had no skin to it, so you could see the inner workings of hydraulic pistons and brass gears. A couple of bright orange eyes burned like coal in his face, one of them circled by a bit of brass and a chain, like a monocle. His massive jaw was one steel slab, making it look like the robot had a huge underbite. It worked back and forth as he hummed some song I didn’t know to himself. On top of his head stood a massive top hat, obviously made for him. If he hadn’t been a robot, he would have looked like a really big fancy butler.

  “‘ey, wot’s this?” a high pitched voice asked. The robot turned at the exclamation, spying us.

  “Oh, I dare say, miss, we have visitors!” He sounded terribly excited at the prospect, and fully turned to us to bow carefully and politely. The teen on his shoulder shifted her weight as he moved
, keeping her balance with graceful ease.

  “I daan’t know ‘em,” said the girl, her accent much thicker than the robot’s.

  Alistair made a sound and I glanced to him before focusing on the robot. “Uh… I’m Caprice. This is Alistair. We just want to ask a couple questions.”

  “How jolly!” the robot chortled. “But all questions should rightly be directed to Miss Molly.”

  I looked up at the small girl. She waved at me, grinning toothily. Now that I got a better look at her, her dirty face still had the plumpness of a child, which meant she couldn’t have been more than thirteen, fourteen at the most. When she flipped up her red-lensed goggles, pushing them up on her brow much as the Siren did hers, her hair went with it and bunched up behind them stiffly. The rest of her brown hair hung lank and dull, no further than her jawline. The clothing she wore resembled armor, but only armor if it were built out of junk. The dark brown leather trench covered most of it, and she had pads on her knees and legs, protecting them from harm. Cut off gloves graced her thin and supple hands, hands which twitched, looking ready to spout flame at any time.

  “You two look like refugees from a steampunk festival or something,” I muttered.

  The robot laughed politely and the girl shrugged. “Wot do ya want?” she asked, still smiling in a way I didn’t like.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I said. “Or directions. Maybe both.”

  “Be careful,” Alistair said under his breath. “I don’t think she can be trusted.”

  “You need to get out more,” I whispered back to him as the girl spoke.

  “Let’s clock the bread an’ ‘oney,” she said, rubbing her index finger and thumb together on one hand.

  I blinked at that, which made her laugh and resume her toothy grinning. “She means show the money,” Alistair said. “She’s Cockney.” He made another sound, almost rude. “Working class.”

  “Ooooh,” she said, her gaze switching from me to my companion. “In’cha a proper gent? ‘ow would ya loike it if I beatcher Myleene?”

  Alistair narrowed his eyes and I looked back and forth between the two. The robot tsked loudly and shook his massive head. “Now, now, Miss Molly, what have I told you about language? These are our guests!”

  “I can pay for the information,” I said, wanting to forestall any fight. At least I thought she threatened him. I reached into my trench pocket and pulled out a small roll of cash. It wasn’t much, though. I’d been throwing out too much cash without pulling enough in lately. “A couple hundred should suffice for what I want to know.” I peeled off a few twenties and offered them up.

  Molly hopped down with nimble grace and snatched the bills from my hand while the big robot inclined his head, somehow looking grateful for the distraction. “Me name’s Molly Gaslight,” she said, introducing herself finally. “Wot do ya wanter know?”

  “I want to know who runs this place,” I said.

  She whistled through her teeth, “Pitch an’ toss? Goin’ ta cost a bag o’ sand.”

  “A thousand,” Alistair supplied before I even started to turn towards him. “I wouldn’t pay it. There’s bound to be someone else here who knows and is willing to share the information.”

  I shook my head, and peeled off some more bills. “Five hundred,” I said, offering the money out to the small metahuman.

  “Ya ‘ave yerself an Ian Beale,” she said, snatching the money and tucking it away. “‘ey, Willie! Show ‘em the bloomin’ way.”

  The robot--Willie--inclined his head. “Right away, miss!” The big thing looked at us, “If you would follow me, please, and do try not to, as they say, ‘pull anything’. I would be dreadfully sorry to crush your skulls.”

  Molly sauntered away, lowering her goggles again to go back to work on the vines she’d been blasting before. Willie gestured and we fell into step beside him. As he walked, he clanked and shook, the gears and hydraulics working in bursts of noise.

  “Where are you from, Willie?” Alistair asked as he led us down the street.

  “Oh, from England, sir,” the robot replied. “But please do call me William. Miss Molly, she’s rather incorrigible. I cannot get her to call me by my proper name.”

  “No, I meant what dimension,” Alistair corrected. “And I am Alistair, sir. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Oh, no sir, the pleasure is all mine,” William said. He inclined his massive head once more to Alistair, “And to answer your question, we don’t rightly know. One day as I was shopping for my master’s household, this rift opened. A few of us were swept into it, quite unwillingly, and found ourselves in a laboratory.” He shook his head, “They thought I was a machine and wanted to take me apart to see how I worked, but--”

  “You’re not a machine?” I interrupted, blinking at him.

  “Oh, my apologies, Miss Caprice,” he said. “I am, but I have a living soul in me. I am what you would consider a golem I suppose, though in my home, I’m human just like the rest of you.” He tapped a finger on his steel plate of a jaw, then hmphed, “Oh, yes, that’s where I was. They wanted to take me apart, and Miss Molly, ever the little scamp, told them to… well, it’s not fit for polite company to say. They didn’t expect that, nor the fire she threw, and in the confusion we escaped. It was terribly exciting. Ever since then, we’ve been chased by the authorities until we found refuge here, a year ago. Now, we seek a way back home.”

  Alistair nodded. “I hope you find it, my friend,” he said, patting the ‘bot on his forearm. “What can you tell us about the person in charge here?”

  “Jeneva? She’s, well, she’s rather erratic and I’m afraid I can’t hardly decipher a word she says,” William said. “But I find a kinship with her all the same.”

  “Kinship?” I asked, cocking my head to look up at him.

  “You’ll see what I mean, Miss Caprice,” he replied. “Follow me, and do watch your step.”

  While the big metal golem led us into a building which reminded me of a library--big wide granite steps and huge double doors--I examined him. If he had been swept into an interdimensional portal by Interdimensional, Inc., they would indeed be interested to see how he worked. That was how they made their living: scavenging tech on other dimensions and adapting it for use here. I didn’t want to ask William how he’d been made--it seemed rude to me--so I contented myself thinking of the chaos they must have caused in their escape.

  The building which he led us into was wide, and there weren’t many people in it, nor much furniture. William had to squat to get inside, even with an eight foot tall ceiling. A row of office doors with glass in the windows denoting different public offices lay along one side. The other was a wall made of granite lined with large old-timey paintings. It took me a moment to realize this was a public office, and the people who worked here were probably city officials. Or used to be. Right now, it appeared abandoned. William moved to the back, to a small door.

  “Right down here,” he said. “I would go with you, but I can’t fit.”

  “How will we know her?” I asked.

  “She’s the only person down there,” he replied. “You absolutely can not miss her.”

  “Thank you, William,” Alistair said, patting the big ‘bot on the forearm again while I opened the door and went down. He followed a moment after.

  The stairs led into what you’d typically expect from a downstairs public office building: small offices and storage. The hallway cut through the middle of the building, with doors on either side. The one at the far end was open, and a light shone through so that’s where we headed. I heard Willie’s footsteps recede in receding thuds on the ceiling and by the time we reached the door, it was just us two and whoever was in the room in the building.

  I looked in, expecting to find a computer monitor on. Instead, I saw a feminine outline highlighted by a head’s up three dimensional light display only the really rich could afford. The tech was there, but it required rare components so it wasn’t that com
mon, yet. The next breakthrough was always around the corner, after all.

  I didn’t flip the light switch as she must have preferred it being off. When we entered, the figure didn’t move. Alistair and I circled around and stood to the side, waiting for this Jeneva to acknowledge us. It took a moment to realize not all of the light came from the three dimensional monitor, but also from her. Her eyes glowed with soft blue light, and what looked to be tattoos on her bare forearms and upper chest weren’t tats at all. They were made of light, undulating between soft blue, bright pink, and dark purple, pulsing with power.

  I cleared my throat. “Jeneva?”

  At that, she stirred, cocking her head towards me. “Sec meatbag, processing,” she said, her voice melodic in that synthetic way which reverbed with every word.

  “What?” Alistair asked.

  “In a second, she’s finishing a project,” I said, amused that it was my turn to translate. Alistair nodded and we both waited. I took the opportunity to examine her more closely. Jeneva was slight in frame, but the metal folding chair she sat in had legs which had buckled under her weight. What I thought was just pale skin like mine at first, was not actually flesh toned, but light grey. She wore a sleek black top with no shoulder straps which clung to her small breasts. The design of it reminded me of thorns, cupping her breasts and circling her back with jagged edges as it curved down to meld into tight black leather pants. Her hair was bright pink, very full and thick, but cut short so that her long, smooth neck was exposed. The makeup on her smooth oval of a face was done up in loud colors like that neon pink, accenting her cheeks and large glowing eyes, exaggerated so she looked like a doll, a mannequin come to life in loud colors. When I looked closer, I saw it wasn’t painted on… her skin was just that color. Fine cracks lined her exposed skin, and when she moved, pieces of it flaked off before it was repaired quickly by some unseen energy or device.