Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (7 page)

“Tramp stamp?”

“Sure was. Now it’s gone though. Hell swallowed it up, so I’m not a tramp anymore.” Her stomach rumbled audibly. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. I know it’s been hard.”

She pulled her shirt back down and turned back around.

“I don’t have any more food,” he said, “but I have some hungerleaves you can chew on if you want.”

She accepted one. “Thanks, buddy. It’ll help keep me awake too. I love hungerleaf, it’s an optimistic plant.”

“How do you figure?”

“It has three points, so it has to be. Sinfruit leaves, they have four points, so they’re pessimistic. Watch, I’ll show you.”

She leaned up to the edge of the Kingsriver chamber. From their height, perhaps forty feet or so, the mist seemed to cover everything like a blanket. She ripped off one of the points of a dark green hunger leaf and tossed it. Arturus watched it fall into the mists below.

“Aaron loves me,” she said, and ripped off another point. “Aaron loves me not.” And another. “Aaron loves me. See, all out of leaves. With hungerleaf, all the men love you.”

Does she really love Aaron?

Arturus felt his throat tighten. “All the men?”

“All the men.”

“Even Mancini?”

“Eww!” Her eyes went wide. “I’d make sure to use a sinfruit leaf for him. So what’s it like, Turi, growing up without a woman in your life.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure really what to compare it to. What would I be missing?”

“Well, women can teach you things.”

Now that could be interesting.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I don’t know. A different perspective. Intuitive things.”

“Galen says that female intuition is an oxymoron.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Does he now?”

“Yes.”

“We shall have to have a talk with him about that.” She laughed and threw the remains of the hungerleaf at him.

He balled it up and put it in his mouth, letting the leaf’s sourness wash away the ugly aftertaste
of the bloodwater.

“It must be hard for you,” she said. “There’s no girls in the village your age. How are you going to find love?”

“You’re my age,” he said, looking down to the Kingsriver mists.

“Turi, I’m at least three years older than you.”

He nodded. “Maybe, but I’ll catch up.”

Her laugh was delightful.

Those three years won’t mean as much as time goes by, and then maybe you’ll love me.

Davel Mancini marched up the Fore’s stairs.

Finally, I
have the Fore to myself.

Once a week Klein would hold a special service just for Citizens. The rest of the Citizens had agreed to stay late for a meeting about the lack of devils. Mancini didn’t know what they could possibly have left to discuss. It wasn’t like there was anything they could actually
do
about the problem. All that was left was to listen to Father Klein’s drivel. The Father had been in Hell longer than him, sure, but Mancini was wise enough to know that when it came to things Klein didn’t understand, he was full of bullshit.

And he sure as hell doesn’t understand this.

Besides, Mancini knew they were discussing the wrong thing. Hell had its own rules, and no human knew what they were. Humans weren’t made for this place. They were made for the old world. It was the devils that knew what was going on. If only a dyitzu was smart enough to speak, maybe they could ask one. It certainly couldn’t come up with anything more cockamamie than the crap Father Klein was spewing.

He came to the third story landing.

Someone had left the parlor room pitch black, too dark even for his liking. Mancini, his arms held up before him, took ginger steps into the room. The door blankets that led to the balcony had been drawn so that they were perfectly flush with their stone frames.

Someone must have been sleeping in here.

He had to feel around with his feet to make sure he didn’t run into the stone furniture.

He drew off
a single blanket from around the first orb. The dyitzu skin felt soft to his touch. He let the blanket drop to his feet and stepped over it as the parlor was lit with the dimmest of illuminations. There was just barely enough light now for him to try and see. He moved towards the second orb, intending to take off another blanket.

He heard a click.

I’m not alone.

He saw a pale white face, disembodied in the darkness. Mancini froze, staring at it. He could not tell if it was human, or devil. It had no nose or lips to speak of, and its flesh seemed too swollen to be a person’s. Tufts of black hair sprang up from its mostly bald head, disappearing into the blackness about it. In a few places the hair was as white as the skin on the face itself.

Mancini took a step back.

It wasn’t too close to him, maybe thirty or so paces away.

That can’t be right, there’s a wall there. Is it in the wall?

He did his best to make sense of the room, trying not to lose sight of the face itself.

Don’t move, maybe it won’t kill you.

As Mancini’s eyes began to adjust, he noticed that there was a shadow between the two of them.

Wait, it’s not in the wall, that’s the mirror.

He wasn’t looking at the face at all. He was looking at the face’s reflection. It could be anywhere in the room. If that was the mirror, then the shadow was himself. And that would mean that the face was right—

“Don’t move, Davel,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Mancini felt a gun being pressed into his back.

It knows my name.

His shoulders tensed so hard that they hurt.

“Don’t shout for help,” the voice ordered.

Mancini tried to nod, but his neck was so tight that he couldn’t move it.

That voice.

Mancini saw his own eyes, their whites seemingly pale grey in the darkness, widening in the mirror.

“Pyle,” Mancini said.

The Betrayer.

The gun pulled away from his back.

“Good, you recognize me.”

How did he get in here? What happened to his face?

“Yes.” Mancini whispered.

“Don’t worry, Davel, I won’t kill you. I’m a good man, and I remember all the fine wine you brewed me. I’m just here to ask you some questions.”

Mancini’s legs began shaking.

Control yourself.

“Why have you come back?” he asked Pyle.

“Questions, that’s all. I just came in to ask you about the angel’s get. That boy that Carlisle and the Infidel were looking for.”

He needs something from me.

Mancini took his first quivering steps. His legs were shaky and had no strength to speak of. Running wasn’t going to be an option. The gun pressed again into his back.

“Where are you going, Mancini?”

He froze.

“The boy,” Pyle demanded. “Tell me.”

“That was before my time.” Mancini’s voice shook.

“It was, but I know you know the answer.”

“What if I don’t know anything?”

“Then you die.”

He won’t kill me. He needs to know what I know, doesn’t he?

Mancini tried to read Pyle’s face in the mirror. The room was too dark, and the scars hid any semblance of the man’s expression. Mancini’s neck cramped, and he jerked his head to one side in pain.

“Easy, Citizen Mancini. No quick moves.”

Mancini felt Pyle’s breath on the back of his cramped neck and tears began forming in his eyes. “I’ll answer the best I can.”

Pyle moved slowly around Mancini, coming face to face with him. The man was a mess of burns and boils. One of his eyes was milky white. When Pyle blinked, there was only half of an eyelid to cover that eye. “I don’t really give a damn why Carlisle was looking for the boy. I knew Carlisle. All he wanted was to protect something holy. What I can’t figure out is why the Infidel was looking for him too. But you’re smart, Mancini. I know you must have it all worked out. Either that, or maybe Anna told you. You still have her locked up in your little brewery?”

The pain in Mancini’s neck lessened a little, and he managed to swallow. “I’ll tell you anything. Anything I can remember, but I didn’t get it from her. Father Klein is the one who told me.”

“Like I give a damn. Speak, Davel.”

“The Infidel wanted him because there is some demon, like the Icanitzu, except it’s immune to more than just bullets. Nothing in Hell can hurt it.”

“And the Infidel thought the boy could?” Pyle asked.

“Yes.”

“Because he’s made from the stuff of an angel, not Hell or Earth?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

Mancini shook his head helplessly.

“You must know something more,” Pyle insisted. “The hermit, Turi I think his name is, could he be the one.”

Mancini shook his head. “The Infidel killed Carlisle, remember. It’s been well over a decade. That boy’s in the hands of the Infidel by now.”

“Damn.”

That was desperation in his voice. He’s not going to kill you.
I’ve got to use this.

Mancini gathered himself.

This is the same man you used to work with. This is the same man who was your friend.

“I could pass a new law in the Fore.” Mancini’s voice was quivering with his fear, but he pressed on. “Make sure that no one with a scarred face is allowed in. Make sure that someone who could recognize you identifies each hermit as they enter.”

Pyle moved across the carpet and sat down in Michael’s favorite chair.

Had things gone a little differently, Pyle might be the one living here, and Michael would be skulking in the wilds.

“Was that a threat?” Pyle asked. “I might kill you now.”

Mancini nodded, his neck stiff.

Pyle raised his shotgun.

Oh, God.

Mancini’s legs almost gave out beneath him. “Kill me. Kill a Citizen. But hopefully no law will have to be passed, and you won’t have to shoot me.”

Surely Pyle wouldn’t kill him. But this wasn’t the same person that he’d known, Mancini realized. The wilds had changed the man somehow.

Is it possible he mutilated himself just to be able to get into Harpsborough?

Pyle shook his head and holstered his gun. “I’m listening.”

Mancini brought his hand up to his neck and began massaging it. “I’m the only one in Harpsborough who will talk to you, Pyle. Father Klein would die before he gives you more information. But I’m sure he does know more. I’ll grill him. I’ll find out everything he knows about the boy, bu
t
. .
.
”

“But what?”

“First you have to do something for me.”

“I saw you making eyes at that hermit boy,” Aaron teased her.

“Turi? What was that, last week?” Alice laughed. “Please. He’s too young.”

“You shouldn’t lead the poor guy on.”

“I’m not! He’s cooped up in that little room on the Thames with Rick and Galen. Doesn’t even have a mother. He could use an older sister.”

Aaron frowned.

“And an older brother, too,” she said. “He might make a good hunter for you someday.”

“Someday,” he agreed.

“Besides, I saw you making eyes at Chelsea.”

Aaron smirked and shook his head. “That’s different.”

Alice stood up from their dining table and took the two steps required to bring her to the edge of the third floor balcony. The whole village could see her from here.

So what if Chelsea sees me?

This was, perhaps, the finest place to dine in all of Harpsborough, not counting the First Citizen’s private balcony.

Let her be jealous.

To her right was the church, and she was just below the level of one of its crucifix topped steeples. If she walked along the balcony’s edge and peered around the corner of the Fore, she would be able to see Kylie’s Kiln. She wondered what it would be like to be a Citizen, to be able to stand on this balcony every day, not as a guest, but as a person who belonged here.

This dream might all come true, she knew, if she accepted Aaron’s advances.

And dropped in disgrace, if he decides he loves Chelsea more. Better listen to Molly and make sure he makes me a Citizen first.

There were other reasons for putting him off, of course. Ex-lovers seldom made for good friends, and enemies of Citizens did not have an easy time of it.

“I like it when we eat here,” she said.

“And I like to treat you. What do you look at when you stand there?”

My house.

“Harpsborough looks different from up here,” she answered.

“And so do you.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re lookin’ at my caboose.” she teased.

“No! I mean that up here you look like a princess.”

“What do I look like down there then?”

He smiled. “An ugly-ass pauper.”

“Aaron! I’m going to beat—”

She noticed the food arriving before she could finish. The bearer of the meal was John, who, at ten years old, was the youngest boy in the village. He wore loose sandals which clapped against the stone floor of the balcony as he walked.

“John,” Aaron said as he helped the boy spread out the plates, “never compliment a woman. It’s too dangerous.”

John nodded solemnly.

“That’s terrible!” Alice touched John’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, John. He’s just not very good at it, is all. I’m sure you’d give wonderful compliments, wouldn’t you?”

John nodded again.

The plates were made of polished granite and their silverware had been carved from woodstone. Each utensil had flowery designs whittled into their handle. When John removed the food’s cover, Alice heard her stomach rumble. Her last good meal had been with Turi, and that had been at least five days ago. She used to be able to sew or patch clothes in exchange for food. These days people had so little that they were more likely to just wander around in ripped garments. Even the Citizens didn’t seek her out anymore.

“You should practice,” Aaron was saying to the boy. “Give Miss Alice a compliment. Tell her how pretty a pauper she makes.”

“You have the most beautiful hair,” John said, his face earnest.

Alice could not help but smile. Her cheeks felt a little warm too.

“You’re adorable, John,” she told the boy. “I’m sure you’ll grow up to be quite the lady’s man.”

John scrunched up his face in disgust.

Alice returned to the table, laughing, and sat down across from Aaron.

The dyitzu meat looked especially succulent today, and it was accompanied by an oatmeal-like porridge made from devilwheat. It reminded her of grits. The porridge was covered in a red powder that was either dried houndsblood or dyitzu. She could never tell the difference until she tasted it.

Aaron began carving up the dyitzu. She watched the juices and a bit of steam well up from the cut Aaron was making in the freshly cooked meat.

Alice’s mouth watered, and her stomach growled again, this time audibly. Citizens tended to eat slowly, savoring each bite they took. Alice usually let her appetite get the better of her, but there were two other Citizens at the table on the far side of the balcony, and she didn’t want to embarrass Aaron by eating like a villager.

She dug into her food as politely as possible. The porridge was closest at hand. She felt the warm devilwheat-meal slide down her throat. If anything, it made her more hungry.

“Can I get you something else, Citizen? Miss Alice?” John asked them.

She shook her head while swallowing her next bite. Alice could see why they kept him around. The boy was as polite as the butlers she remembered from old world television sitcoms. She made herself pause before dipping her spoon back into the porridge.

“Bloodwater, John. Some of Davel’s new stuff, the darker kind.” Aaron turned to Alice as John departed and spoke to her around the bit of dyitzu he was chewing. “You’ll love this bloodwater. Davel’s done something special to it this time. We can’t get him to tell us what.”

Alice frowned around her spoon at the thought of Mancini.

“Say what you like about his character,” Aaron said as he placed a cut of dyitzu on her plate, “the man brews some mighty fine wine.”

She glanced back at the two other Citizens on the balcony.

Don’t do it girl, don’t eat like a villager. Think about something else.

Aaron ate slower than she did, certainly, but faster than anyone else in the Fore. He was the only Citizen that still ranged the wilds—the only Citizen that still had to work to earn his keep. Maybe that was why she liked him more than the others.

He could stand to dress a little bit more like them, though.

Aaron was wearing a dark hoodie with some stains around the front pocket which she hoped weren’t blood. While most people in the Fore wore more tight fitting—or perhaps even tailored—clothes, Aaron had on some baggy camouflaged pants. Except for the good repair of his garb, he could have been a simple hunter.

But he’s not a hunter. He’s a member of the Fore.

She watched him eat for a moment. She felt the porridge hitting her stomach. It almost hurt. The hunger inside her was building steadily.

Aaron can solve this. He can make it so you’re never hungry again.

She fought to pause before she took another spoonful.

But he can die. He can keep you like a Citizen, hole you up in the Fore and fuck you silly for months. Then some demon can rip his throat out
, and you’ll end up right back in the village where you started.

The two other Citizens on the balcony, Herod the gunsmith and Copperfield the torch maker
, got up to leave. Alice watched them go.

“Oh thank God!” She lifted up the dyitzu meat with her hands and tore into it with her teeth, not caring that the juices were burning her fingers.

“Whoa!” Aaron said, smiling. “Easy there.”

Alice swallowed the meat having barely chewed it and bit off another chunk.

“You try starving in the village,” she said, speaking with her mouth full, “and not eating all day.”

John returned with the wine jar, which was a squat clay thing fired in Kylie’s Kiln. Alice didn’t bother slowing down for him.

Kid’s ten. Who cares what he thinks?

“Thanks, bud.” Aaron said. “We’re good.”

John nodded, almost like a little bow, and hurried away, his sandals clapping against the stone before going silent when they hit the dyitzu skin carpets of the parlor room.

Alice continued her feast, pleased that Aaron was polite enough to wait for her to sate her hunger before he said anything more. After she
had wolfed down her half of the meat and another helping of porridge, she was able to lean back and relax. She used one of the Fore’s cloth napkins to wipe the dyitzu grease off of her lips.

“Sorry,” she said.

Aaron laughed. “No problem.”

“I was impressed with John, though. He’s getting very well-mannered.”

Aaron opened the bloodwater’s corking with his fingers. “Love that little man.”

Jesus, he’s strong.

Sometimes it was hard for her to remember that she was sitting across from the most famed warrior of Harpsborough. He was the Lead Hunter, able to run all day and all night. The best tracker and the best killer—but he wasn’t very detail oriente
d
. . .

“You forgot the cups,” Alice chided him.

Aaron smiled, and stood up from his chair. “I’ll get some for us.”

She used the moment he was gone to belch.

God, I feel better.

Aaron returned with two cups made of glass.

“Glass? Jesus, Aaron, what if I break one?”

“I’ll say I did it. You won’t have to pay.”

She shook her head as he poured out the ruddy bloodwater.

She accepted the glass
and took an experimental sip. It warmed her tongue and then her throat on the way down. There was some kind of aftertaste that she couldn’t quite recognize.

“It is good,” she admitted.

“Mancini’s finest.”

The conversation stalled for a moment. She watched him as he ate.

I’ve got to keep him interested. Maybe I should get him talking about his work or something.

“So, Molly says that Michael Baker is going to lead his own hunting party,” Alice told him.

Aaron dropped his fork and looked up from his food.

Smooth, Alice. Smooth.

“What does Molly know?” he demanded.

Just enough to get me in trouble, apparently.

He took another bite and washed it down with a splash of the wine.

“Should you be drinking that before you go out?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “And you’re right, Mike is thinking about going hunting. Not too bad an idea either, if you ask me.”

“Molly says it’s because he’s threatened by you.”

Aaron frowned before he responded, his eyebrows narrowing over his brown eyes. The expression didn’t last long. Sadness rarely kept up with him, but he did seem more serious as he continued. “That’s not true. And it’s not because I’m doing a bad job either. There are barely any dyitzu out there. That’s why my hunters are so hungry. We’re fed by lot, and we get only one lot for each kill. I’m telling you, my hunters need special rations. The Citizens will be voting on it next week.”

Alice was surprised to find herself slightly intoxicated. This new stuff Mancini had brewed hit hard and fast.

“Well, why do you think Michael’s going out then?”

“The people are hungry, Alice. He’s a good man. A good leader. I don’t think he can sit idly by while his people are hungry.”

Alice shrugged. “He could just feed people out of the Citizens’ food.”

I shouldn’t have said that, either.

“He’s actually mentioned that a couple of times.” Aaron went on as if she had every right to speak out against the Fore. “He can’t, of course. There has to be some dream people can work toward, and the Citizens would probably kill him if he did it. But we’ve got to do something. He’s a really good hunter. He taught me. He may be able to come up with a plan.”

They ate in silence for a few moments after that.

Alice smiled. “I hope your vote goes well.”

“It has to,” he said between mouthfuls. “My hunters are starving to death. It’s hard to hunt while you’re hungry. They don’t realize that we’re ranging twice as far as we used to
and
we’ve still got to get back by third shift. Something’s got to give. Either our restrictions have to be lifted so we can range farther than a day’s travel, or we need more food.”