SEVEN
After capturing me, the Sentinel carried me outside to where Silent Jack's black rig waited. The Sentinel shoved me inside and Jack – who materialized in the driver's seat – cracked the reins and his two horses, Malice and Misery, reared up and let out ear-splitting cries that sounded uncomfortably close to human screams. As if the sound warped the fabric of reality, the world around us blurred, distorted and reformed, and instead of being parked outside the Foundry, we were now outside the black needle-like structure that was the Nightspire – center of the city and home to Father Dis. Another Sentinel stood waiting for us, or perhaps it was the same one, pulled along by the magic of Jack's supernatural rig. Since all Sentinels look alike it was impossible to tell and it really didn't matter for this one yanked me out of the rig with as much violent efficiency as another would've and marched me inside the obsidian tower. I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to see Jack tip his top hat to me before he and his rig faded away.
'Thanks for the ride,' I muttered.
The Sentinel escorted me through the Nightspire's halls until we reached an area I'd heard about but had never visited. Most of the Nightspire is made out of black stone so highly polished it gleamed in the light cast by torches set into the walls. But here the stone, while still just as highly polished and reflective, was a deep crimson. This was the Sanctum, headquarters of the Cabal, Father Dis's personal servants. We passed a number of red robed men and women, all seemingly human, all completely hairless, including a lack of eyebrows and lashes. Whether they shaved and plucked their hair or it just didn't grow, I had no idea. None of the Cabal acknowledged us as we walked by. Either they were engrossed in conversation with one another or they stared straight ahead, lost in thought as they went about errands for their dark master.
Eventually the Sentinel brought me to an ivory door formed entirely of skulls stacked on top of one another. The skulls' eye sockets glowed briefly with crimson light as if they were examining us. The light faded and the skulls slid sideways into the walls – one row to the left, the next to the right and so on – until the doorway was open. The Sentinel forcibly removed my suit jacket, divesting me not only of my outer garment but also the various weapons and tricks I keep in its pockets. The Sentinel then removed my shoulder holster holding my 9mm. I'm not sure a gun would've been much use against any of Dis's servants, but it seemed the Sentinel didn't intend to take any chances. The golem didn't bother to check my pants pockets, though. I carry a few small items there, nothing very powerful, but at least I had a few weapons remaining to me. At that point I was happy to take whatever I could get.
The Sentinel then placed one of its large hands between my shoulder blades and shoved. I stumbled inside, only barely managing to keep from falling forward onto my face, and then the skulls slid back into place, closing me inside. The chamber was small – the bathroom in my apartment was smaller, but not by much – and it was empty. No furniture, nothing on the crimson walls or ceiling. There was no obvious source of light and yet the room was fully illuminated.
'Welcome to the Inquisitory.'
The voice came from behind me, and though I was startled, I forced myself to turn around slowly. No need to let whoever it was know they'd gotten to me.
I found myself staring into the face of a Cabal member, a man who appeared to be in his seventies, with a long narrow face and patrician features. His eyes were an icy blue and his upper lip seemed curled in a permanent sneer.
'Let me guess,' I said. 'You're Brother Quillion, the First Adjudicator.'
The skin over the man's right eye moved, as if he'd have raised an eyebrow if he'd had one.
'I see my reputation precedes me.'
The cold sarcasm in his tone reminded me of Mr. Hedricks, my high school principal. The sadistic son of a bitch loved nothing better than to deal out discipline to troublemakers and the harsher that discipline was, the better he liked it.
'I've heard of you,' I admitted. 'I'm impressed. Whatever you people think I've done, it must be pretty damned bad for me to merit your personal attention.'
Quillion's lips stretched into a bloodless smile. 'And what makes you think you're accused of a crime, Matthew?'
I didn't like the overly familiar way he used my first name, but I decided to let it slide. After all I was technically the man's prisoner. Still, that didn't mean I was going to be all sunshine and daisies to him.
'You can cut the crap. I used to be a cop back on Earth. I've interrogated plenty of suspects in my time and I know how the game is played. I wouldn't be here unless you thought I'd done something to warrant it. So what was it?'
The Sentinels might serve as the city's police force but the Adjudicators were its judges – and executioners when necessary. I was in deep trouble and I knew it. But even so, I had no intention of going along with Quillion's program like a good little zombie. He might be one of the most powerful beings in the city, but I wasn't about to let him walk all over me. The only weapon I had to fight with right then was attitude and I intended to make full use of it.
Quillion was a pro, however, and he wasn't about to be thrown off his stride by a mouthy ex-cop.
'See for yourself.' He made a languid gesture and the crimson walled room disappeared. We now stood in a much larger chamber formed entirely out of solid earth, the soil dark and rich. Jutting bits of bone stuck out from the walls and ceiling – arm and leg joints, half hidden skulls, both human and animal. Worms and black beetles crawled between the bones, small lives moving in the midst of so much death. Illumination was provided by flaming corpses that stood propped up against the walls at regular intervals around the room, and though their fires burned furiously, they did not consume the dead flesh they touched. The chamber itself was featureless, save for a raised mound of earth in the middle of the room, its soil dark as that comprising the rest of the chamber.
'We're not really here, are we?' I said. 'This is some kind of illusion.'
'It's a re-creation,' Quillion said, sounding as if he took great satisfaction in correcting me. 'Based on the evidence I've been able to gather so far.'
So this wasn't the literal truth I was watching. Good to know.
Quillion went on. 'This chamber is housed deep within Lord Edrigu's stronghold, and as you might surmise, it is well protected by many physical and magical defenses.'
I was beginning to get an idea of what was going to happen next in Quillion's 're-creation,' but even so, I was surprised to see myself come walking into the chamber. As soon as I stepped into the room the flaming corpses stirred to life. They started running toward me, arms outstretched, obviously intending to grab hold of the intruder and immolate him. But before the first of the corpsetorches could reach me I held up the hand that contained Edrigu's mark. The sigil glowed and the burning corpses stopped, regarded it for a moment, and then turned and slowly headed back to their posts. When they were all once more safely back in position I lowered my hand and continued on into the chamber.
'When was this supposed to have happened?' I asked.
'Early this evening,' Quillion said. 'Now be quiet and watch.'
I did as Quillion ordered and watched myself walk toward the mound in the center of the room. I stopped next to it, seemed to regard it for a moment, and then knelt down and began digging with both hands. It took several moments of work but eventually I uncovered the face of someone lying buried within the mound. I recognized Edrigu, Lord of the Dead. Watching the recreation of the scene with Quillion, I expected the Darklord's eyes to snap open now that his face had been uncovered, for I knew he wasn't dead but merely sleeping. But his eyes remained closed as I went about my work.
I reached for Edrigu's throat, and for a moment I thought I intended to strangle the sleeping Darklord, but instead of wrapping fingers around Edrigu's neck, my hand moved farther down his chest, pushing deeper into the mound. A few moments later I pulled my hand free and gripped in it was a slender cylindrical object about ten inches in length. Black soil clung to its surface, but enough ivory color showed to tell me the object was carved from bone and the holes drilled into it told me that it was some kind of simplistic musical instrument: a pipe or flute. A tiny chain was attached at one end and it was clear Edrigu had been wearing the bone flute around his neck. My body gripped the chain in both hands, yanked and it parted easily. Again, I expected Edrigu to awaken, but he kept on sleeping.
I brushed the dirt from the flute before tucking it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and leaving the way I had come. The guardian corpses paid me no mind as I left, carrying away one of their master's prized
