The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (31 page)

He relaxed a little since it seemed like they had lost something that was hiding under all that rope. Three more females pushed through the doors. One was obviously a Queen and the other two wore Hunters uniforms. They did not bother to help, just stayed back where they would stay nice and clean.

Well, well, well. Thirteen makes a Battle Group. Was it a Battle Group with female Hunters?

That gave him one more piece of information to pass on to Old Crone’s friends.

Pretty soon, he watched them all beat feet out of there fast as they could.

Not too much later, there is a thump and a worker’s body lands, squirting parts all over the rope. Only way he could tell it was female was it had no shirt on.

“Damn waste, if you ask me, could have put that girl right to work servicing all our boys. Double price of course she would not last long.” Old Crone’s cackle gnawed again at his think center.

Before Princely she could start on him again, he had sprinted through the double doors skidding to a stop against a jumble of smoking torches. Reaching down, his fingers closed over one torch for later, just in case the fickle blue lights he used to light the dark stopped working.

Had to get off the ground floor, so best to use a sprint to where memory pointed to the stairwell. The door got knocked off here too; a slight change of direction and up the stairs in the dark. Way to go blue lights—no need for the torch.

His heart was thumping in his ears as he reached the second floor and roared into a blizzard of pain and whirling stars. As Princely’ thoughts blew away in the cold, he remembered a few words of Old Crone’s favorite songs;
“fools rush in...”

* * *

“Got yourself in a pickle now, boy-o,” jabbed at him as he came round from the blow to his head.

He had to be in deep puckey if she was still gnawing on his brain stem instead of chewing on him right in front of the guy up there that she was always pointing to when Princely made some statement she did not like.

“Stop running off at the brain, Boy. Some folks is here, time to talk.”

His eyes shot open. She never called him Boy; she hated that word.

“Easy youngster, you are safe until we find out exactly who you are.”

Princely saw only small dark shapes behind a candle that had not grown up yet. With the flame held over her face, a soft female voice asked him what his business was. Seemed reasonable she was female, more of them around these days.

“Old Crone told me to come to you when I had anything.”

“Really, best tell us your name then.”

“Princely Bosch,” he stammered. They should know who he was if she sent him. “Old Crone said to give you this in case you had doubts.” He handed them her carefully folded bright blue scarf.

“Had to hear you say it, son. There are a lot of traitors around here who would exploit a situation like this.” The voice and the shadow behind it turned and passed the bright blue scarf along to a second shadow. “More light in here. Let us get our guest up so he is a little more comfortable.”

Old Crone had not said anything about the size of the people she dealt with. They were two very little people surrounding him as more candles flared to life. He kinda’ took sweet pleasure in being taller than someone else.

“We will not use names. It is better you not know exactly who we are, just in case the Wicca get hold of you alive,” a smiling male said as he helped Princely to his feet and then to a small chair.

As the chair hugged his back, he was surprised; males in this room almost numbered the same as the females. With a jolt, he remembered the group from the walkup—where he had killed the first time to get his mate Nora. If he counted the kids younger than her, the males were almost equal there also. He did not know if it was important or not, so he would lump it in with the rest of his report.

“Tell us where you hid the children, and we will send a party out to get them.”

“No kids this time. Came to let you know Old Crone bit the big one. Took her body down the cellar for the bubbles: walked right down after they left and stomped on the eggs because Boss not going to get her BJ.”

That was the tidbit of the day. So, he had to explain about buzz-juice; and the good stuff and how the eggs was like an exchange for the dead. You know, they ate the bodies and gave BJ back, like a trade. That was the only info their eyes had trouble understanding. Kept taking him back to it until they was sure he had told them everything he knew.

He told them about Boss bugging out to some kind of meeting. Princely also told them that his watchers had lost Boss near the small buildings
Across the Street
where the good people lived. He called them that because they kept all their kids regardless. Did not matter what someone figured them little guys might look like later.

He did not forget to mention that angry old woman in dark blue robes either. She argued with Boss, did it two times before they finally nodded their heads and went their own way. They was planning to do something bad, he knew it. She would not shake hands with Boss either, just turned her back and walked away sweet as you please.

“Went straight on back to what you folks call Number 1 Building.”

Seemed like there was not much he was telling them they did not already know. Each seemed a little concerned about something, or someone, though. He guessed he should just tell them why he had walked all this way here, and get back home.

“Main thing is I wanted you to know it is business as usual far as me and the other whores...”

“Never told them what our business is boy-o,” Old Crone hissed in his ear. “No need to know.”

“Oh, sorry,” he continued, like he had stumbled over that word. “Anyway, what I meant to say was, me and the whole bunch of Old Crone’s people will do whatever we can to rescue the young kids like you who get thrown out in the basements. I will be very happy to work with all of you.”

“How old are you youngster?”

It was the soft voice again and Princely finally realized she was not just female but a very impressive full-grown woman.

“His bunch does not count years.”

“It is my turn to talk.” Shifting her attention from the man back to the boy, she continued. “Do you know how long you have lived?”

“Yes Ma’am, this is my thirteenth summer and I even got hair all over.”

The dimmest things come out your mouth,
Old Crone bit into his brain stem.

Like anyone could hear her if she talked to him like normal. Besides, he was just being polite as she taught him when he was little.

“Well since that is the case, we will be happy to continue working with you. Your information confirmed a plot we are not sure is to everyone’s benefit. Now that you have identified the players involved, we will be better prepared if things do not go our way.”

When she paused for a moment, Princely tried to put everything into tight little bits so he could put it all together when he had time to think on it. Best thing was their partnership was intact. Meaning their help might make his group a force strong enough to dump Boss out, and then Princely would take over. Finally, no one else would have to do what he had to do to stay alive.

“What she means is this.”

The male was talking now, holding his hand out to stop the women from saying another word. Princely had trouble yanking back to the moment.

“Our Director has accompanied Hunter Kimraig and his group on their second trip back to the Building called One Nine. Kimraig’s mission remains the same; find all of us a new home away from this madness.” Pausing for a moment to take a deep breath, the old man sighed and continued. “All his friends were supposed to go help him build that new place. Instead, we are stuck here, held hostage by our own troops.”

“What can I do?” Princely was right in there offering to help.

“You have already done all you can for now.”

“Hold on just a minute.”

Her name was Winnie; he remembered that from the Old Crone’s description.

Then she leaned toward him and continued. “Can you get a message to our Director or Kimraig in the building up the way, you know, the one with the big spire?”

“Wait just one minute; we will not trust a mere boy with our business.”

Remember him, boy-o. Angry old man is all.

Yeah, his name is Tucker. I got that part first thing,
Princely thought.

“This ‘mere boy’ just slipped though that blockade all by himself and we do not have a chance of doing the same.”

Winnie turned away, consciously biting her cheek to stay the irritation with her man. She rested her hand lightly on Princely. “Do you think you could get a message to that man if we wrote it out for you?”

Princely thought for a moment and then gave them that “crazy boy who talks to ghosts” grin that Boss disliked so much.

“Go you one better, Miss Winnie. I can take you and Mr. Tucker with me and you can deliver it to Kimraig yourself.”

Whoa, them big balls is back.

He was really glad his mentor was her old self again, cackling at him just like normal.

Shocked them he did, knowing all the names of the players. They asked Princely to wait one and went off around this little dark corner near the window, started yelling at each other in whispers. Sounded just like Boss with his people when no one could make up their mind. By the time they got back Princely had ants in his pants, ‘cause a second voice inside him was saying “time’s a wasting.” Nora had hid out waiting for him, so if anything bad happens she could go back and tell the rest of their bunch to scatter.

“Why are you doing this, youngster?” Winnie asked when they both returned.

Do not tell them what you thinkin’, Princely Bosch.

He hated it when Old Crone could not make up her mind. She kept changing from talking, to jabbing him like her pincushion. He sensed they had come to some type of crossroads these last few days; had to go ahead no matter her caution.

For the first time all those little compartments inside of him spilled their information all at once and he had one big whole, calling for action.

“We is all dying out there. Boss will not admit it, but I see the signs every day. More buildings are falling down. The weed keeps on grinding them to dust along with all the good stuff for us to find. Not much to eat and Boss using up the kids faster than a guy kills off a jug of BJ.” He paused to take a breath. “Now he is going to attack again, making the same mistakes.”

“Thing is, we need help or there is not going to be one of us left. So, this Director and Kimraig can maybe help me and my people find a place to live alongside you guys.”

Princely figured he had never said that many words at one time in his life. He did not even know he had been figuring on all that stuff, but it sure did not feel new.

It would not take him long to show Winnie and Tucker how to reach Kimraig.

Chapter 13. Killing Machine

It was not Tucker and Winnie who carried the message to Kimraig and their Director. The two Little People had hidden themselves away in Number 5 Building, the floor in Lower Level that did not officially exist. The Wicca clean up squads quickly locked down all floors, leaving them unable to move again.

They needed youth for this mission since the flight from Number 4 Building had sapped their strength. They chose their first-born son and his wife to deliver what they could not. The message they carried was twofold—first, warn those in the new Number 6 Building, that Bradley would attack again. Second, meet with the Ergots to find out if the bubbles were their babies and if so, why they were supplying alcohol to the Outsiders.

The curriers were Adam and Lilith, whose names both appear in forbidden bibles. Unlike the two biblical characters, one did not try to control the other or inhibit the love that had grown between them.

Adam was slightly older then Lilith, born with the ability to think and interpret situations with the bravado of his father Tucker. Dabbed liberally throughout his personality was mother, Winnie—quiet and pragmatic—much like the biblical hero, David.

Lilith, a refugee from the baby factory, used her ability to see the outline of danger in the dark. If there was a threat, she froze it with a screech. Many of her friends often compared that screech to what the old timers called a hunting owl.

One Hunter, Adam...one female trained as a Hunter, Lilith...the only Hunters who were Little People. They wore contraband Builders clothing of mottled gray, brown and green to hide their battle armor.

Winnie and Tucker’s first-born and his wife, waited in the dark of the rancid basement where Old Crone retired with the bubbles. Princely insisted they start from here, the only safe way to enter the ruins of the city unseen.

They were completely damp from the sweating walls and smelled of ocean flotsam rotting in the sun. Both wore fiber helmets woven from Choker vines instead of the traditional plate on plate design preferred by Builders. Their battle armor was fashioned the same way.

Lilith used a helmet with an extra cut to clear the back of each ear, so the thumb-sized tuffs of fur, not hair, back of each ear lobe had light and air. If an uncut helmet covered the tuft for any length of time, headaches persisted. The tufts had arrived with her monthly blood. A random result of Mating Ritual experiments giving her eyesight and voice added dimension.