The Nekropolis Archives (18 page)

  "I will," I said. It was an easy promise to make, since I knew there was a chance I might not be around to keep it. "Now if you could
quid quo pro
us right back?"

  "I'll be happy to answer your questions; once I've finished attending to nature's call, that is."

  I was about to ask if he needed any help getting up, but then I noticed the large metal washtub beneath his chair. Arvel clicked his teeth and Carbuncle scuttled over and pulled a lever on the side of the ghoul's chair, releasing a trap door in the seat.

  As the next few moments passed – along with a number of other things – I was more grateful than ever that I had no sense of smell.

TEN

As we left the Krimson Kiss, Devona looked like she was suffering from shell shock.

  "My father is anything but a saint, and during my time at the Cathedral I've seen some terrible things. But I have never experienced anything as sickening as that ghoul!"

  "He's disgusting, no doubt about it. But he did give us some useful information."

  Devona snorted, but whether because she didn't agree with me or because she was trying to get the stink out of her nostrils, I don't know.

  "All he told us was that while Varma used to frequent the Krimson Kiss, he hasn't been around in the last few weeks."

  "You're forgetting what he said about Varma being a heavy drug user."

  "That's no surprise; I told you he was a hedonist. Besides, drugs don't affect Bloodborn physiology the same way they do the human body. Varma would need to take large doses to get even mild effects."

  Nekropolis has all the drugs you'd find on the streets of any city on Earth – marijuana, coke, crack, heroin, crystal meth – as well as quite a few locally produced specialties, such as tangleglow and mind dust.

  "But that gives Varma a motive for stealing the Dawnstone beyond mere lust for power" I said. "He wouldn't be the first junkie to steal to support his habit. And don't forget the traces of powder we found in the Collection room. They could very well be drug residue of some sort."

  Devona shook her head. "I told you, Bloodborn handle drugs differently than humans. We don't get addicted. I suppose it's because the need for blood supersedes all other needs."

  "Maybe," I allowed. "We'll just have to ask Varma when we find him, won't we?"

  We continued walking down Sybarite Street and checked a couple more places, including the Freakatorium and, as Father Dis is my witness, a country vampire bar named Westerna's. I'll never forget the sight of vampires in cowboy hats, jeans, and boots line dancing – though I intend to spend the rest of my existence trying like hell.

  Finally, we'd penetrated to the heart of the Sprawl, and one of the hottest of its hot spots: the Broken Cross. From the outside, it looks like any trendy Earth night club: all chrome, glass, and glitter. The only difference is the day-glo neon sign above the entrance; it looks like the sixties' peace symbol, only without the circle. An upside down and broken cross.

  The street outside the club was completely jammed with people who wanted in. Half a block away was the closest we could get. I steered us toward a fluorescent street light, and we took up a position alongside it.

  "Now what?" Devona asked. "Are you planning to introduce the Broken Cross's doorman to the wonders of instant hair loss or do you have yet another surprise in those pockets of yours?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do." I reached into one of my jacket pockets and brought forth two of the most dangerous weapons in my entire arsenal – a string of firecrackers and my trusty lighter.

  "Would you like to do the honors?" I offered.

  She frowned, unsure of what I was up to, but she took the lighter and lit the firecrackers.

  "Throw them as close to the entrance as you can," I instructed.

  She heaved the firecrackers over the heads of the crowd and, thanks to her half-vampire strength, they fell within five feet of the entrance.

  I cupped my hands to my mouth and shouted, "The Hidden Light! They're attacking!"

  And the
pop-pop-pop
of firecrackers exploding began. The sound wasn't very impressive, but then it didn't have to be, given what I'd just yelled. People screamed, shrieked, bellowed, and howled in fear, probably believing incendiary grenades were going off in their midst, or perhaps a hail of silver bullets rained down upon them. Whatever they thought, they had a single common desire: escape.

  "Grab hold of the pole and don't let go!" I told Devona. We held tight as a panicking mass of Darkfolk and humans rushed past, nearly sweeping us away. We got battered pretty good, but we managed to hold on, if only barely.

  Several minutes later, the street was clear.

  Devona looked at me. "That wasn't very nice."

  "Tell you what, you find me a blackboard, and I'll write, 'I'll never fake a terrorist attack again' a thousand times – after we find the Dawnstone." I started across the empty street and Devona followed, looking like she was trying hard not to laugh.

Inside, the party was going strong. Either word of the faux Hidden Light assault hadn't filtered into the club, or everyone was too high or drunk to care. I suspected the latter.

  Techno-rave music throbbed and pulsed, the jams cranked out by Nekropolis's most sought-after DJ, the Phantom of the Paradise, and laser lights flashed in time with the beat. Beings of all sorts gyrated wildly on the dance floor, looking more like they were engaging in foreplay or ritualistic warfare – perhaps both – rather than dancing. Above their heads played out a holoshow depicting various scenes of torture. It looked as if MTV had produced a special on the Inquisition.

  Though all of Nekropolis's many and varied types of Darkfolk were represented in the Broken Cross, the club was a favorite with Bloodborn, and they predominated tonight. One of the things about vampires, especially the younger ones, is that because of their supernatural healing abilities, they go in for the most extreme forms of entertainment. Not so much because they enjoy pain more than anyone else, but because of how much physical punishment they can take. For example, in one corner of the Broken Cross, a vampire who called himself Anklebiter – appropriately enough, since he appeared to be no more than three years old – was taking on all comers in a one-on-one, no-holds-barred mixed martial arts battle. Whoever was dumb enough to accept Anklebiter's challenge got to make the first move. Anklebiter then got the second, which was also usually the last. In another corner, a vampire wearing only a pair of black shorts stood with his back against the wall, while a group of enthusiastic knife throwers used him for target practice (no silver blades allowed, though).

  Perhaps most disturbing of all was Mimi the Conflagration Artist. She danced naked in an iron cage that hung down from the ceiling above the middle of the dance floor, just below the holographic torture scenes. She thrashed and writhed along to the music while flames licked at her pale undead flesh. Before performing, she slathered her body with a chemical that kept the fire from burning too fast or too hot, so it wouldn't devour the flesh before her Bloodborn physiology could repair the damage. I'd had occasion to speak with her a time or two, and I'd once asked her if she enjoyed her work. She'd shrugged and replied, "At the risk of making a terrible pun, it's a living."

  Devona leaned close to my ear and shouted in order to be heard over the racket. "How are we supposed to find Varma in this chaos?"

  "The same way we've been doing: we start asking around."

  I caught sight of Patchwork the Living Voodoo Doll on the dance floor, and I took Devona by the hand and led her over to him. Patchwork was gyrating bonelessly to the throbbing dance-club beat, arms and legs flopping about wildly. As his name implies, Patchwork is made up of cast-off scraps of cloth, all different sizes, patterns, and colors, and he has two large black buttons for eyes. I have no idea how he sees with those things, but then I also can't figure out how he can stand upright with no skeletal system.

  Patchwork is a hair under six feet tall, and while he normally had dozens of hat pins sticking out of his body, he'd thoughtfully removed them before starting to dance. That, or he'd lost them all doing his whirling dervish act and they were scattered across the floor, or had become embedded in his fellow dancers.

  The music was so loud that I had to lean close to Patchwork's ear – or at least where an ear would've been if he'd had one sewn on – and shout.

  "Hey, Patch! I'm looking for a vampire named Varma!"

  Patchwork shook his head. "Never heard of him, but you want me to put a hurt on him for you?" Patch's voice sounded like rustling cloth and came from a small flap of a mouth sewn into the bottom of his face. "Free of charge for you, Matt!"

  Despite his somewhat whimsical appearance, Patchwork was one of the deadliest beings in Nekropolis. All he needed was a personal token of a target – a photo, a piece of clothing, or better yet a lock of hair or a nail clipping – and wherever he stabbed himself with his pins, his target felt the pain. Depending on his clients' wishes, Patchwork could simply annoy a target, make life miserable for him or her, temporarily or permanently disable them or – if he jabbed a long enough, sharp enough needle into the right place on his artificial body – kill them.

  "I appreciate the offer, but I'm trying to locate Varma, not perforate him!" I shouted.

  "Suit yourself! Let me know if you change your mind! You might ask Fade, though. I saw her over at the bar not too long ago!"

  Then Patchwork spun away like a cloth top and lost himself in the pounding beat once more.

  I turned to Devona. She was watching Patch's performance and bobbing her head from side to side in time with the music. Earlier, she told me she didn't get out of the Gothtown much. I wondered if what she'd really been saying was she didn't get out of the Cathedral often. It was quite possible she'd never been to a nightclub before. I felt the urge to start dancing with her, but I checked it. I knew we didn't have time to waste on such foolishness… plus I'd never been the greatest dancer when I was alive, and my damaged and swiftly rotting zombie body wasn't going to help that situation any.

  I led Devona off the dance floor and we wended our way through the crowd and headed toward the bar. We found Fade deep in half-drunken conversation with a vampire named Ichorus. Outwardly Fade looked like a normal club-crawler – early twenties, petite, purple lipstick, dark green eyeshadow, long brunette hair past her waist, black combat boots, little black dress that fit her in all the right places, and a pair of barbed-wire hoop earrings that were almost as large as her head. Fade has a problem, however. She's reality-challenged. For reasons she keeps to herself, her existence is so tenuous that if she isn't careful to constantly reinforce her own reality, she's in danger of vanishing into nothingness, hence her nickname. So in order to ensure her survival she had to make sure to see and be seen, which was why she spent almost all her time club-hopping. The more time she spent alone, without anyone around to validate her existence, the more she risked fading away completely. That's also the reason she took a job as gossip columnist for the
Daily Atrocity
. Knowing everyone, whether they liked it or not, made her perfect for the job, and the more people that read her byline, the more anchored she was in reality.

  She looked pretty solid right then. Descension Day was always a good time of year for her. Tons of people for her to interact with – and right now she was interacting with Ichorus.

  One of the Accords that came out of the Blood Wars set limits on air travel in Nekropolis in order to make it more difficult for the Dark Lords to attempt sneak attacks across Dominion borders. No one is permitted to travel by air over Phlegethon, for example, and everyone – whether possessing the power of flight or not – has to use one of the Five Bridges to travel from one Dominion to another. Ichorus doesn't just hate the restriction imposed on air travel; he utterly loathes it and does everything he can to fight it.

  He's a stereotypical vampire type: tall, lean, dark-haired, handsome. But what makes him stand out is the pair of huge ebon wings growing out of his back. The feathers are made of lightweight super-strong metal, and their edges are razor-sharp. Whether they're magical or some kind of technological augmentation, I don't know. Ichorus goes shirtless because he refuses to constrain his wings, so he wears only a pair of black pants. No shoes either, but I don't know if that's because it helps him fly or he just doesn't like shoes. His chest is covered with dozens of criss-crossing scars, the result of numerous less-than-welcome receptions he gets from flying throughout the Dominions in defiance of the Accords. Since he's a vampire and can heal any injury, his scars are a testament to how seriously the Darklords take anyone transgressing on their airspace – and how strongly they and their servants will fight to stop him. But Ichorus still flies on, undeterred in his endless quest to defy authority.

  We approached the pair and asked them about Varma. Ichorus didn't know him, but of course Fade did; she knew everyone, as a matter of self-preservation, if nothing else. But she hadn't seen him tonight.

  "Go check with Shrike," she said. "I was talking to him earlier over by the VR booths." She gestured vaguely toward the other side of the club. I thanked her and reached out and briefly patted her arm. She smiled gratefully. Talking with people helps her maintain reality, but I knew that being touched helped her more.

  Before Devona and I could walk away, Ichorus said, "I've got a big flight planned next week, Matt! I've heard rumors of an invisible moon that orbits around Umbriel, and I'm going off in search of it! Should be quite an adventure!"

  Fade grinned at him. "Should make quite an article for the
Atrocity."

  Devona looked at me and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  "Don't look at me. I've never heard anything about a moon in Nekropolis, invisible or otherwise." I turned back to Ichorus, shook his hand, wished him luck, and then Devona and I went off in search of Shrike. True to Fade's word, we found him by the Mind's Eye virtual reality booths.