All That Lives Must Die

Should he betray Sealiah? Or side with her against Mephistopheles?

He chuckled. As if the Queen of Poppies would want him on her side, as if he would stick his neck out and actually stoop to physically fighting anyone in her war.

No, the best option was to play both sides against the middle, and then pick over what was left. To accomplish this, however, Louis would need leverage, some fact about the tactics and plans of one to ingratiate himself with the other-just long enough to get into the proper position to backstab and double-cross.

Sometimes the most cliched schemes were best. . because they worked.

He marveled at his willingness to embrace the simple truth of it.

The huge Ticket Master entered the car and bowed. He then adjusted the slightly out-of-place tassels of his uniform’s brocade and brushed a bit of ash from the black fabric.

“May I approach, O most noble of deceivers?”

“No,” Louis muttered. “I need nothing.”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, smoothed a hand over his bald head, and then added, “your stop is next, the Poppy Lands.”

Louis cocked one brow. “Oh? I don’t recall saying that was my destination.”

“No, my lord. It’s just your most illustrious offspring was here. . ”

“Yes, yes,” Louis said with careless wave.

Eliot had been to the Poppy Lands?

“Had been” being the operative verb tense, because Amberflaxus spotted the boy just last night entering that Pacific Heights hovel of his-no doubt to dutifully practice his violin or do his Paxington homework.

But he obviously was not the good little boy everyone believed. He had not consulted Louis as he had promised, and any visit to the Poppy Lands had to have broken dozens of Audrey’s rules. How delightful.

Louis smiled at this new development.

Sealiah’s plans involving Eliot had to be further along than he had dreamed.

But when had he crossed? And more curiously, how had he returned?

All this Louis considered in a heartbeat.

“My business today takes me past the Mirrored Realms,” he told the Ticket Master.

The Ticket Master looked disappointed, for he hadn’t tricked any salable information from him.

The Night Train’s last stop was the Mirrored Realms-and anything past that in the Hysterical Kingdom was only the business of the fool who attempted such a journey.

Louis had spoken the truth: He did have business past the Mirrored Realms with Mephistopheles. . just not at this time.

The Ticket Master bowed again, left, and the train slowed.

Louis glanced outside at impenetrable jungle. The only path was the train tracks that cut through. Every flower was in full bloom. Every fungus clouded the air with spore. How deadly. How lovely.

The Night Train pulled into the station house, paused only a moment as required by the Infernal Transportation Pact, and then the brakes released, and the engine chugged ahead.

No one either had departed or gotten on.

Louis looked into the car ahead. No sign of that gossip-mongering Ticket Master.

He turned to Amberflaxus and held one a finger. “Stay,” he ordered.

The animal continued to lick itself, pretending (as always its habit) not to notice him.

Louis borrowed a small bottle of whiskey from the wet bar, and then from the poker table scooped a handful of diamond-studded chips along with a set of dice-the minimal supplies one might need in the wilderness.

He slipped out the back and off the train. . and infiltrated the Poppy Lands.

The hothouse train station had been shelled, and most of the frosted panes were shattered. A billion bits of glass glistened on the ground.

Of course, the station would be an obvious target. It was only a matter of time before Mephistopheles cut the train tracks as well.

Louis had to act with haste, gather information, and then be on the next train out.

He wrapped his cloak about him and walked in the ditch alongside the road toward Sealiah’s Twelve Towers, her so-called Doze Torres. She would no doubt make her stand in her castles, where she felt safest.

The poppy fields were on fire: violet, lemon, pink, and crimson blossoms withered in the flames. Green smoke drifted over the lands and flashed with hypnotic phosphorescence.

Louis held his breath.

Droogan-dors fought on the distant hills and valleys, flitting wraiths among the gloaming.

A mere league to his left, hundreds of shadow creatures swarmed and circled a legion of Sealiah’s noble knights, the Order of the Thorn. The dark tore at the warriors. . then their fires burned out. . and the shades moved in. Frost crackled over the ground there, killing all traces of vegetation.

Mephistopheles was no fool. He carefully whittled away parcels of her land, gathering strength while Sealiah lost hers.

But Sealiah was no fool, either. . and Louis wondered what trick she had yet to play.

Motion ahead on the road caught his attention: a fat shadow writhed between a dozen poorly defined shapes-rat-crow-worm-camouflaged in the blackness.

Louis slowed, creeping artfully so that nothing should be able to detect him.

A black eye materialized in the mass of the Droogan-dor, however, tracking him, the body underneath coiling to pounce.

He smiled at the creature. “Nice doggie,” Louis whispered. “Just a neighborly visit from a neutral observer. Nothing to raise one’s hackles over.”

It sprang.

Louis sidestepped its charge and dug his nails deep into the shadow flesh, clenched his fists-ripped hide free from flesh and bone.

The thing screamed as it dissipated into an oily mist.

Louis grinned and his pulse pounded. Such wonderful violence. He had not felt the thrill of destroying a lesser opponent in a long time.

Such trivial pleasures would slow him. . still, Louis paused to admire the black velvet sheen of the Droogan- dor’s skin.

He started again-then halted as he saw how seriously he had miscalculated.

About him, growling and crouching, were a dozen Droogan-dors-each the size of a house, each growing rows and rows of dagger teeth.

“Now boys.” He held up both hands. “Can’t we all be friends?”

The monstrosities all took a step back, simultaneously shaking their heads to clear the confusion from the hell-blaspheme oath. Friends was not a word uttered without some effort in the depths.

Which is when Louis attacked them.

He didn’t transform. . not entirely. That would’ve garnered him too much attention. But just a partial shift, claw and fang and wing of bat-to rip and rend and slash.

How could he pass up such fun?

He paused, panting, and realized there was nothing left to fight. . only shreds and quivering pieces that lay about him.

And curiously, a single cut ran down along his forearm. A trickle of black blood congealed there.

Careless of him.

Or had Mephistopheles’ minions gathered power enough to actually hurt an Infernal Lord?

Indeed. He snugged his cloak tighter and trotted. Time was far shorter than he had realized.

Miles ahead, he spied the tallest tower of the Sealiah’s castles, burning bright with beacons and the swoop and swirl of armored bat defenders flying about.

Skirmishes raged upon the plains and hills and what was left of the jungles, but Louis noted a procession of knights had the right idea. . as they steadily limped down the road back to the castle, dragging those too injured to walk on their own.

A retreat? So early? It seemed unlikely, yet the evidence was before his eyes.