Because I knew that all I would have to do to go there was to step through the glass. I was tempted. If I were going to die for good in the next day or so, at least I could die in the world where I’d been born and lived most of my life.
But I didn’t step forward. There was still a chance that I could save myself. And besides, I don’t like to leave a job unfinished.
“Pretty isn’t it? Especially for Cleveland.” Varvara had come out of the bathroom-excuse me, her private chamber-and was standing behind us. “Still, we don’t have time for sightseeing.” She snapped her long rednailed fingers and the park evaporated and the mirror was just a mirror again. Devona looked disappointed.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“No, the fools wouldn’t even acknowledge my attempts. Can’t say as I blame, them, though. I’d have done the same thing; centuries of distrust are hard to overcome. I’ll just have to try to talk to them once I get to the Nightspire, I suppose.”
“You mean, once we get to the Nightspire,” I said. “Devona and I have been through too much not to see this to the end.”
“I don’t think so, Matt. While you’re fun to have around, Dis doesn’t appreciate tag-alongs.”
“The Darklords always bring a retinue with them,” Devona said. “My father does, though I’ve never had the distinction of being part of it.”
“So why couldn’t we tag along with your tag-alongs?” I asked.
“Our retinues are primarily made up of Demilords, relatives, high-level city functionaries, and important Earth contacts,” Varvara said. “Still…I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything.”
“And think how much it’ll annoy Talaith to see me there,” I pointed out.
The Demon Queen brightened. “There is that. All right, you may accompany me. But we should go now. There isn’t much time left before the ceremony starts.” She looked at us and then wrinkled her nose. “But perhaps you two should freshen up a bit first.”
After Devona and I spent a couple of minutes in Var-vara’s “private chamber,” the three of us headed for the elevator.
As we walked by the bed, I nodded to the still comatose Magnus. “What about him?”
“Let him sleep,” Varvara said with a wicked grin. “He’ll need all the rest he can get for when I return.”
The elevator arrived. We got on and began our descent.
Varvara turned to Devona. “Before, you asked-in quite a snippy tone, I might add-what I found so amusing about Matt.”
“I was just-” Devona began.
“What I find so amusing about our friend here is that he is a champion of order in one of the most chaotic places in the Omniverse-an undead Don Quixote, tilting at Nekropolis’s windmills on what may very well be an ultimately futile quest to make this a better place.” She smiled. “Besides, he makes me laugh.”
“I’m just a guy who does favors for people, Varvara, you know that.” I hate it when she talks about me that way. Probably because I’m afraid she’s right.
The elevator stopped, the door opened, and we were off to the biggest windmill Nekropolis has to offer-the Nightspire.
TWENTY-TWO
Of all the ways I might have imagined traveling to the Nightspire in pursuit of a thief and murderer, riding in the back of a hot pink limousine (with matching interior) wasn’t one of them. Behind us was a line of far less striking vehicles bearing Varvara’s retinue, primarily demons, but a few humans-mostly music industry and Hollywood types-who served her as well.
Varvara sipped a frozen daiquiri whipped up from the tiny wet bar by her personal bartender, a creature which resembled a levitating sea urchin, and waved through the open widow at the cheering crowds lining the street. Psychographers captured mental impressions for live Mind’s Eye coverage of the Renewal Ceremony as we passed, while reporters from both the Tome and the Daily Atrocity shouted out questions to Varvara, all of which she cheerfully ignored.
“It’s so nice to receive the adulation of the masses, don’t you think?” Varvara said. She downed the rest of her daiquiri and told the urchin to mix her another.
Varvara is probably the most popular Darklord, considering she lets her subjects-and anyone who visits the Sprawl, for that matter-pretty much do as they please. I can’t say near-anarchy is my idea of effective social policy, but then Varvara’s never asked for my opinion. And I must admit, the Sprawl is the most interesting place in Nekropolis, which is why I suppose I make my home there.
The driver, who I would’ve taken for just another pretty muscle-boy if it hadn’t been for the ram’s horns jutting out of his head, spoke over the intercom.
“I have to slow down, Milady. Several Sentinels are coming up behind us.”
Varvara pushed a button on her armrest. “No problem, love, but when they’re past, speed up a tad. We’re running a wee bit late.”
I turned around, and through the rear window I saw three Sentinels walking in a row down the middle of the street. They weren’t running-I wasn’t sure if they could-but they were walking faster than I’d ever seen any of the golems move before.
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “They’re going to arrest us for assault with an exceptionally tacky paint job.”
“Remember what I said about you making me laugh?” Varvara asked. “I take it back.”
The Sentinels tromped around us and continued down the street, accompanied by boos and hisses from the drunk and drugged-up crowd. Father Dis’s police force wasn’t exactly beloved by the denizens of the Sprawl.
“Where are they going in such a hurry?” I asked.
“They’ve been recalled to the Nightspire for the Renewal Ceremony,” Devona explained.
Varvara frowned at me. “How long have you been in Nekropolis now, two years?”
“Just about.”
“And you didn’t know the Sentinels are part of the ceremony?”
I shrugged. “This is only my second Descension celebration, and I spent the first helping a pregnant witch escape her abusive warlock husband. At one point, he actually switched my personality with that of the fetus, and I-well, suffice it to say the situation took some straightening out, and I missed a good part of the celebration, including the Renewal Ceremony.”
“You have to tell about that one some time, Matt,” Varvara said. “So many mortals wish to return to the womb, but you’re the only one I know who’s managed to do it!” And she laughed the rest the way to the Nightspire.
As we approached the slender black needle that was the
Nightspire, I noticed something strange.
“Umbriel seems larger than usual.”
“That’s because it’s descending for the Ceremony,” Varvara said impatiently. “Really, Matt, are you going to be this tiresome the whole time?”
“More, if I can manage it.”
The crowd was thickest as we neared the bridge that led from the Sprawl to the Nightspire. Varvara continued playing the gracious queen parading before her adoring subjects, when a grizzled old man in a yellowed seersucker suit and carrying a sheaf of paper broke out of the crowd and came running toward the limo, and Varvara’s open window.
“Oh, no,” I moaned. “Not now, Carl.”
Carl thrust one of his homemade papers through the window and into Varvara’s face.
“Beware the Watchers, Lady!” he shouted wildly, “Beware-” But that’s as far as he got before Varvara hit a button and the window slid up. Carl barely retracted his arm in time. He released his “paper,” however, and it fell onto Varvara’s lap. With a grimace of distaste, she brushed it onto the floor.
“Usually I find Carl’s rants diverting, but I’m not in the mood tonight.”
