Felon was hit with a wave of hot air that reeked of cigarette smoke, body odor and brimstone. The music, haunting before, became discordant. It was lost, and commingled with mad laughter and screams, and a distant chorus of human voices moaning. The sounds pealed and swung between terror and glee.
The Games Room ran away from him some forty feet. The floor was covered in an enormous Persian carpet; its surface depicted Judgment Day. Against one wall, a fifteen-foot wide Jacuzzi steamed. In it, bodies writhed. Six people-men and women-thrashed and howled in water that rolled and steamed like it was boiling. Any of the bathers who could blindly thrash his way to the side was bullwhipped back under the surface by one of four deformed Eyesores that guarded the perimeter.
Opposite this were three steel crosses. A man in black leather cowl was crucified upon each, fastened in place with barbed wire. Felon watched as four naked women tore at their flesh with pincers, taunted them, and applied hot iron staves to blistered parts of their anatomy. The assassin felt Passport’s gaze upon him. He growled.
His guide led him across the room. Further along were six tables upon which an equal number of men and women were strapped. They screamed and wept as Eyesores performed sexual and violent tortures upon them. The trolls gleefully raped, and thumb-screwed their victims, flat eyes shining with liberating malice.
Felon followed Passport to a long bar that ran the width of the ship. A topless woman stood behind it. Both of her breasts were pierced with long shards of rusted iron and her midriff was run through with a pair of gardening shears. She was in obvious pain, and moving slowly about her tasks. When she reached Felon and Passport she asked matter-of-factly, “What will you have?”
“Club soda,” Felon said, tossing his dead cigarette into an ashtray. Passport gave her a dismissive nod. His face had burst into an excited smile upon entering the Games Room, and he now turned this smile upon Felon.
“Threats?” Felon asked over the moans, lighting a new cigarette.
Passport’s smile widened. “Threats? Mr. Felon, what could you mean?” He followed the assassin’s gaze to the scenes of torture. His eyes brightened, comprehending. “Our guests! Oh, I understand. Mr. Felon, you misinterpret the activities. Each and every one of these guests has paid to be here. They enjoy this kind of thing, and we provide a service. Those you see here are extremely important clients of Master Balg’s. They just desire the luxury of surviving their particular kind of entertainment.”
“Threats don’t work on me.” Felon puffed a cloud of smoke, snarling at the Games Room.
“Most certainly, it has never been the desire of Master Balg to give such an impression. You must remember that all points of view are not equal. To my Master this gaming room is nothing more. Pleasure. Pain. Pain. Pleasure. It is just the firing of nerve endings. Had I brought you to the Room of Concubines, I’m certain you would think we were attempting to bribe you with pleasure-if you’ll forgive me the jest.” Passport looked away from Felon’s scowl. “I assure you these people want to be here.”
The bartender returned with Felon’s drink. He sipped from the glass, but found the acrid background stench unpalatable. The assassin put the drink down.
“You would prefer something else?” Passport had produced a long thin cigarette of his own, and gestured toward Felon’s glass with it.
“Fucking cowards.” Felon felt the distant power of a killing rage growing in him.
“Cowards?” Passport echoed, genuinely amused.
The assassin grunted at the violations being visited upon the bound people in front of him.
Passport smiled, nodding his head rapidly. “I see. I see. And you would like to show them? You would like to educate them about-how shall I say- real pain.”
Felon sneered around the room, and then started toward the door. “I’ll wait on deck.”
Passport cleared his throat. Felon turned to him, but saw that the Demon’s servant no longer occupied the space by the bar. A voice behind him spun the assassin around.
“I’m sorry.” Passport stood there now. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But it would be best to stay below decks where it is more secure. We lost a pair of Eyesores to the Swimmers last night. I’m certain you’ll understand that Master Balg considers you too important a guest to risk topside.” He wrapped both arms about his thin midsection and grinned. A little mischief crossed his features and his eyes rolled. “If you’ll follow me to Master Balg’s office, please? He has just returned.”
Passport walked back toward the entrance. Felon ground his cigarette on the rug. A voice came from his right-begging. Terror was in the woman’s eyes. She was tied to a table. An Eyesore was working his deformed member in and out of her. Felon bared his teeth with disgust and followed Passport.
23 – Powers
“No fun today,” Mr. Jay had told Dawn as he gave her a list of duties he wanted her to complete while he was away.
“But I thought we came to the City to entertain,” the forever child stamped a foot. She’d been laying out her costume when he gave her the bad news.
“Yes,” the conjuror said, smiling weakly. “But that was before I understood how much the City has changed. It’s grown too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Dawn had thrown her things onto the floor. Mr. Jay could tell she was performing, going through the motions of being upset. He knew that she was secretly pleased at his decision. “How will we earn money?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jay said, putting his list down and motioning her to the table. “I mentioned having friends here, well it is my intention to contact one that owes me a considerable sum of money. That should provide us enough to head north.”
“To Nurserywood!” Dawn had exclaimed and leapt into his arms.
“Yes,” Mr. Jay returned the hug. “But I’ll have to go out in the day, and quietly-so I can’t have Mojo along.” Dawn pulled away looking sad. “So I’ll depend on you to follow the rules and wait for me here.”
Dawn nodded dejectedly. “I wish I could help.”
“You can,” he said, chucking her chin, “as soon as we get out of the City. And you will be helping me now by letting me to go about my errands without worrying.”
“All right,” Dawn had sighed, and then frowned at the list. A chubby index finger whipped out. “Clean the cooking pots!” Her eyebrows formed serious line. “Without water!”
“We have leftover drinking, and scouring pads,” Mr. Jay said, rising to his feet. “And cleanser and rags.” He had crossed to his pack, threw it over his shoulder. “And that’s just one of the chores, my dear.” The conjuror knelt in front of her. “So please try to have them completed when I return so we can get away quickly.” He gripped her shoulder then. “And DO NOT leave the hideout.”
“I promise, Mr. Jay. Never. Never. Never!” Dawn had said, little tears suddenly appearing in her eyes. And he had hugged her then.
Almost two hours had passed since he had left her. He took public transit up one Level. The City’s Skyways were roaring with traffic and the sidewalks crammed with people as he exited the bus. Moving cautiously, Mr. Jay had kept a wary eye for anyone following him, and for any sign of a trap ahead.
If the Prime were using Powers, he’d be certain now that the magician was in the city. Any delay just increased the danger for Dawn.
Mr. Jay hated leaving her in the hideout, but he couldn’t risk getting her out of the City during the day and they would need supplies. His intention was to visit a bank on Level Three and make a withdrawal. He didn’t have an account there, but he had a few tricks for just such a financial transaction. It was easier to create a bank account than cash-on demand. He chose Level Three because that was a couple Levels away from Dawn, if this trick didn’t work and he had to make a run for it again.
He chuckled to himself, entertained by the vagaries of fate. A bank robber now! What next? But his humor disappeared when a chill ran through him. It was like the air had changed, became suddenly harder, colder. Powers! There were conflicting energies emanating from different sources in the City. It had been a dull background radiation throughout his stay. The Change was going into its final act. He paused in the street and opened himself to the sensations. Old enemies were at work. Always old enemies. And the conflict was coming, sooner than
