Adventures Of Myhr Part 4

"But not to slither into her bed!"

"I don't see what difference it makes to you. You're dead after all-"

"I'm not dead! I'm only bodily displaced!" "Yes, and I'm terribly sorry about that. How are things today?"

Botello almost replied with a blistering flare of anger, but remembered to count to five instead. He didn't have the energy to waste on the likes of Cadmus. "Never mind that, something's happened on your side, and I want you to look into it for me."

"Certainly. Anything to help lighten your load," Cadmus said with the cheery confidence of one who knew he'd never be up to the task and therefore would not be blamed for his failure.

A lot you know, you idiot."The h.e.l.l-river sensed something last night, something big."

"What might that be?"

"You're to find out."

Cadmus made a face. "I'll need more information."

"Go to an inn by the town bell tower, a two-story place with red lettering on the sign. There's a huge magical energy force in that area. Even you should be able to sense what's there."

"But there hasn't been anything like that around here since you-"

"Exactly."

"Just what sort of force is it? Person, place or thing?"

"Person," Botello said with certainty. He had no hard verification for what was only a feeling, but knew to trust his instincts when it came to magic. Cadmus remained skeptical. "You mean a Talent? There? I didn't think any were left in the town, not after you-"

"Never mind that. You find whoever it is and see to it he or she is on our side."

"We have a side?"

Botello snarled, forgot himself, and released a searing flash of rage. In reaction, Cadmus cried out a pitiful wail of sudden agony and fell forward onto his mirror. His white, pain-distorted face pressed hard against it, presenting a flattened view to Botello.

"I'm deadly serious, you fool," Botello whispered through set teeth. "You want more, or have I made my point?"

Cadmus mumbled out something affirmative and apologetic.

The groveling pleased Botello. "Right, now pull yourself together and get moving. Before the day is out I want that person under your roof. Do whatever it takes. This is important."

"W-why?" Cadmus shakily pushed himself upright. "If I may ask?"

"You'll know when the time is right. Just do it. And stay off your d.a.m.ned mirror so I can get through to you." With a wave of his arm, Botello severed contact, his own gla.s.s going foggy. It melted into the wall, which also melted, leaving him alone in a stark, dim landscape. He stood on one sh.o.r.e of the great black h.e.l.l-river, close to the great black Gates of h.e.l.l. So far as he was concerned, he was altogether on the wrong side of them. He shouldn't evenbe here, having not died in the normal sense of the word.

When he'd first arrived, Botello Darmo had been surprised at hownormal the nether regions turned out to be, until it was explained to him that his perceptions were being purposely warped so as to preserve his usefulness. One of the demonic overlords gave him a peek at a small segment of h.e.l.l's reality for a second or two, to prove the truth of his a.s.sertion, which was more than enough for Botello. In that scant glimpse he understood that a tree was not really a tree, nor was a bird a bird. The actuality beneath was entirely awful, so he did his best to forget it when he was up and about on business, which was all the time. There is no sleep in h.e.l.l. It put everyone in a very foul state of mind.

"You'll have to hurry," a demon called over to him, the creature being Botello's own personal companion. Disturbingly like his Great Aunt Matilda, right down to the spiky moustache and ba.s.s voice, it was an unwelcome reminder of family. Sooner or later he was certain he'd run into a few deceased members of his clan in this place. The only thing worse than being in h.e.l.l was being stuck in h.e.l.l with a pack of relatives. "They want you to hurry. Or else."

It was doubtful that this particular demon had any clue as to what the overlords here wanted; the thing was just reverting to type. Its job was to torment souls, but for now it had orders to hold off and keep other creatures away. The most it was allowed to do was nag him, a distraction that could defeat the overlords' purpose.

Why couldn't they have given me a smarter guardian?

Probably didn't dare. What Botello had planned with the overlords would upset some very carefully laid out balances. They wouldn't want word of it to get around to the realm's general populace and thence to Outer Guardians. Botello had little worry for any of them, so long as the overlords down here remained ignorant of his very special private plans.

Botello strolled over and tapped the Gates of h.e.l.l. They seemed solid, as always. A formidable barrier they were, too, even if what he saw was just as warped to his scrutiny as everything else. This reality was all about symbolism. These gates looked the wayhe would expect gates to look; the overlords here saw something else again, and both versions were correct. The common symbol being that they were barrier and opening in one. Right now they were fulfilling the barrier role, and at any moment . . .

There. A heavy clank and clink as the lock tumblers fell into place, then that awesome yawning creak as the two halves parted, opening inward. Botello watched avidly, taking in every detail as another soul was about to enter h.e.l.l.

A naked man, borne up by some powerful invisible force, came hurtling through. He was screaming, but that was commonplace; they all made an appropriately unholy row once they realized where they were bound. The man was seized in midair by some flying demons who carried him away into the depths of h.e.l.l, indication that he'd been very bad, indeed, and soon his screams and their cackles of delight were lost in the distance.

Botello paid them no mind, his attention on the opening mechanisms involved. Most were not visible to ordinary sight, but he had enough magical training to see on other levels. He got a glimpse of Light beyond, but it vanished almost immediately. The Outer Guardians who delivered souls from one place or another were always too busy to linger. He'd several times tried to get one to pause and talk, but hadbeen ignored.

The gates, vast metal-studded constructions a good (or bad) two yards thick, slammed decisively shut.

The reverberating clang was truly impressive. The whole place shook from it, worse than being under Rumpock's bell tower. No wonder the overlords here wanted out; anything to escape that mind-numbing boom.

If that was whatthey heard. The gates were a perception. That fascinated Botello. All those demonic hordes kept confined to one spot by anidea .

Unaffected by any sound or action was the h.e.l.l-river. It flowed smoothly in under the gates, a thick black mist of negativity that circled the boundaries of the realm. If not exactly a tourist attraction, it was one of the more important landmarks here. But at night, much to the displeasure of the overlords, the river vanished altogether. It wasn't supposed to do that.

That was theother task given to him: to find out why the river was behaving so strangely. They knew Botello had something to do with it, for the vanis.h.i.+ng business began the same night as his arrival. He managed to convince the overlords of his own ignorance of the phenomenon, bartering himself out of torture with his willingness to solve the mystery, though in retrospect they gave in to his offer rather fast.

He suspected they were afraid of the river. It was saturated with magical energy, and so far as he'd observed they never touched the stuff. He did not ask why, lest his revealed ignorance alter his situation for the worse.

He stood on the edge of the riverbank and looked down into the apparently bottomless depths of darkness.

"You better hurry," said the demon. It sounded bored.

Botello barely heard. He wore-or seemed to wear-the clothes he'd last been wearing while his soul still occupied his body. Under a heavy wizard's robe he was clad in an ordinary outfit, dark colored, a small rusty stain on the tunic, souvenir of his last solid meal. He was hungry now, but there was no food in h.e.l.l. Not the usual sort of nourishment, anyway.

He willed off his boots and socks, and part of his trouser legs vanished. Sitting, he dangled his bare feet in the black fog. He'd have splashed in it, had that been possible.

Through his soles he sensed a profound vibration, like the ground when a phalanx of horses charged past. He shut his eyes and opened up a few crucial internal s.h.i.+elds. His feet ceased to be solid, merging with the river. He drew its dark energy into himself, quickly, before the demon noticed anything. Hunger fled from him.

Yes, there was a new force in this flow, strong and very intense. The river had sought it out for him, draining the source into itself, delivering it to one who knew how to feed on that magical power. Here was a feast indeed. He felt himself swelling like a leech, the stuff flickering through him like lightning, enough strength to challenge the demonic overlords themselves.

If this source lasted long enough he could push his plan forward in mere days instead of weeks.

There was a way out of h.e.l.l. Via the power in the river. Botello, who did not believe in coincidence, was certain an escape had been timely delivered to him. So long as that idiot Cadmus didn't botch things.

Chapter Three.

Back in Rumpock, Near the Bell Tower I found the neighborhood apothecary shop, "Ye Olde Frog's Eye," if that was the correct translation on the sign out front. The door was wide open, the same as all the other businesses up and down the street.

It seemed to be the custom, reminding me of older sections of Toronto when the weather was nice. Well, the Toronto on about our fifth world. They had some decent tech there. I'd stocked up on the essentials of life: beef jerky, semi-sweet dark chocolate, and really warm socks.

The shop. A very intense olfactory experience. Even with the door open. The place was stuffed with all kinds of strange smelly things in bins, drawers, crockery pots, and blown gla.s.s vessels. Vinegar and garlic dominated, like some kind of twisted Italian eatery.

"May I render help . . . uh . . . sir?" A plump lady with a pleasant, full-cheeked face stared at me from her chair behind the counter.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine-short, red hair, foreign clothes?" It was my usual description for Terrin. I didn't know what he had on today, but it was likely to be a T-s.h.i.+rt with a picture on it overlaid by a Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt, the louder the better. To compensate for my looks I usually tried to blend in with local costume, but Terrin never compromised. "He'll be wearing purple sneakers and sungla.s.ses."

The lady took her time recovering. It helps them when I act like nothing's amiss. Eventually she snapped out of it. "Ye-esss. A young man like that came in. He was a little rude."

"That's the guy. Don't take it personal, he just gets preoccupied. Did he buy anything?"

"No, but he asked if I had any gems in stock. As if I could afford such things like Overduke Anton."

My ears perked at the sound of useful information. "So, this Anton dude is pretty well off?"

"More so than me, though I'm glad enough for what I have. Is there a circus in town?"

I disappointed her with my reply, but invited her to come enjoy the lunchtime show at Clem's later.

"Think the overduke might be interested in auditioning a singing cat-guy? I'm great for birthdays, weddings, bar mitzvahs . . ."

"Oh, I wouldn't know. Mid-Summer Festival is coming up, lots of singers are in it. You could ask at his gate. He has the big palace on the east side of the city. Anyone will point you there."

"Then he's a party-hearty kind of dude?"

"Dear me, but he's not one for too much frivolity. Usually has someone else plan the festival. A very sober man is the overduke," she p.r.o.nounced. I hated him already. "Are there any less-sober types hanging around town?"

"The overduke has several clans under him. . . ."

That must tickle. I kept up with the questions, the ones I couldn't ask at Clem's last night. I didn't want to give him the idea that I'd just pull out and take the act elsewhere for a better deal. Of course I'd give notice first.

I got a lot of names that might or might not be helpful, and a basic idea of local politics. The lady was careful not to give any personal opinions of the various clans in the city, merely repeating general knowledge. I didn't think it was from any fear of reprisal. As a businesswoman, she'd be aware of the importance of presenting a non-partisan face to the public.

And unless they're breathing down my neck with some inconvenient agenda, politics bore me. "Did you happen to notice which way my friend went?"

"Up the high street," she said, pointing.

"There any candle makers nearby?"

"Same way. On the left."

I thanked her and hurried on. Part of me was already getting used to the rhythms of the place. Since leaving the inn, I'd twice noticed the sounding of a huge bell in its high tower, marking the pa.s.sage of the hours. Not much time left before I had to stand outside Clem's and persuade people to come in for the show.

Oh, yeah, no magic at the apothecary shop. Pract.i.tioners and herbalists probably went there for supplies, but I didn't pick up one whiff of the supernatural. I may not be interested in the stuff, but I am aware of it. Like being able to see that black fog last night.

I'd not discussedthat with anyone. Until I checked with Terrin, it seemed wise to wait. People had enough fun dealing with my cat face; no need to give them cause to think I was certifiable, too.

The candle shop I found by smell. They sold all sorts of candles, lamps, and the oils to go in them. Many of the oils were stinky when burned, but they sold scents to mix in to offset that. Terrin was there, just winding up the purchase of a thick black candle half as long as his arm. I knew he didn't have any money, so he hit me up for some just as I walked in.

"My friend will pay," he said, hooking his thumb in my direction. His back was to me. He couldn't have seen my entrance.

It was pointless to ask how he knew I'd arrive at just the right moment to take care of the bill. Stuff like that always happened around him, especially if he was working on some magical project. I handed over a hard-won penny and shrugged it off.

"What's going on?" I asked once we were outside. "You only use black candles when you want to whip up some protection."

"I told you something was wrong with this world." "What is it?"

"Don't know yet."

"You must have some idea."

He grimaced against the daylight and slipped his sungla.s.ses on. His eyes were green today. Strangely, the color went well with his purple fis.h.i.+ng cap. Our travel crystals were still in its netting, charging up in the suns.h.i.+ne. "I just know it has to do with the black mist."

Like I couldn't figure that out myself. "Find anything on your astral plane cruising?"

"Nope."

"Whatdid you find?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Zip. Andthat is weird."

"Finding nothing is weird?"

"Nothingis weird, as in there wasn't anything out there! Astral planes always have some kind of traffic.

The one in this world is empty. No dreams, presences, elementals, projections, psychic tourists-nothing. Zip. O. La."

Even I knew that was extremely unusual. "Where'd everything go?"

He shrugged. "Sooner we leave here, the better. I gotta see about turning up a gem job. I want out a-s-a-p."

Toward that end I told him what I'd learned from the apothecary lady about the overduke. "He sounds like a stick in the mud, though. You better do more asking around before you offer magical services."

Terrin groaned and stretched. "I don't feel like offering today. Too d.a.m.n tired. I need sleep, I've been tired since we got here."

He totally looked it, but I kept shut. No one likes to hear negative commentary on their appearance, especially Terrin. He wanted to visit an herb shop he'd heard about, so we strolled through the noisy swirl of a street that was half-shopping mall, half-flea market, half-conga line. People gaped at me, I waved back in a friendly way and collected another parade of kids. Terrin loved children too-on toast with a little Dijon mustard-so he moved on while I did more PR work. What can I say? I thrive on the attention and ear-scratching.

I invited people to come to Clem's for the show and some lunch, told a few jokes to whet their entertainment appet.i.tes and generally enjoyed myself. It lasted until I heard a good, loud scream.

Aw, come on-it was toosoon for us to leave this place. * * *

Elsewhere in Rumpock Shankey, the head of the guards for House Darmo, paused before the red-lettered sign of an inn near the bell tower. Lady Filima had been specific about who and what to look for; she just hadn't mentioned that there wereseveral inns and taverns in the area with red-lettered signs. This was his third stop, and he was hungry. That added to his annoyance. What inspired the annoyance in the first place was being followed by Debreban, his Burkus House counterpart.

The man was so incredibly bad at it.