Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets (31 page)

“We’re going to get The Spire to sign our poster.”

“You managed to track him down?!”

“Yep.” I’m so cool, says my smile.

We leave the self-service restaurant with an heroic spring in our step, galvanised by the prospect of a pyrotechnic death. I think that Cohl is harbouring the naive belief that we will come out on top. After all, this is his ship. It wasn’t difficult.

“I’ll drive,” I suggest when we approach the Fiamma.

“Very funny.”

“Wait! He told me to go alone. You’ll have to hide.”

“No one drives
my
car except
me
.”

“Oh
sorry
, are you worried she’ll fall in love with someone with a driving licence?”

He cackles.

“Come on, give me the keys and lie down in the back.”

She behaves very well, does this 1600. Smooth gears, holds the road well. The hybrid engine uses fuel to stimulate the elementals of fire. The harnessed spirits produce enough energy for constant driving at a moderate speed. The result is a great sports car, 300 on a straight stretch. She was the perfect candidate to replace my old banger, on the black market I could have got one for fifty or sixty thousand. But it won’t do now.

Cohl’s got one.

What kind of a man would I be if I copied a baby?

“If we get a fine from the speed cameras, you’re paying, clear!” He nags at me from the back seat when I perform a harmless U-turn in the middle of the road and drive over the traffic island.

I check we’re not being followed.

“How does a crappy cop get his hands on one of these beauties?” I ask, gunning the car through a red light, shouting towards Cohl. The fire spirits make such a racket when they gallop. Flaming hooves on the tarmac,
vroom
! This is brilliant.

I’m easily amused, I am.

“It’s rather embarrassing actually.”

“Did you nick it off your girlfriend?” I snigger.

“Tell you what, I’ll tell you, if you tell me your name!”

“All right then, tell me.”

“My parishioners had a whip-round when they found out I was leaving for Nectropis,” he bellows, red in the face from trying to make himself heard over the engine, “a present to remember them by!”

“Bitching mother!” I slam on the brakes.

Cohl tumbles off the back seat and onto the floor.

“Bitching mother…”

“Right, now that we are
not
dead, you’ve got to tell me your name.” He sticks his face into the space between the two front seats, questioningly.

“All right then,” I say once I’ve recovered from the shock. “I’ll tell you when we’re absolutely sure we’re not dead.”

“Sounds like a good reason to stay alive to me.”

Now that I’m “sure we’re not being tailed”, I adopt a softer driving style, underlined by the placid music which in turn is enhanced by the impeccable sound system. Rounded sounds of resignation of a new Monday seen many times before, and the programming for the agonising afternoon ahead. We keep moving nearly the whole time before the appointment. Neither of us feels much like making conversation. We let ourselves slide towards the void without any memorable remarks.

“Fucking parish…” I grumble from time to time.

Great car, though.

The rain has intermittently survived last night, in the shape of sudden, violent showers. A wall of flying filth swathes the Edge. The headlights reflect off the wet film of, allowing for visibility of only a few metres. I’m forced to drive slowly and park too close to the house.

“You stay here and keep an eye on the road, Cohl. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“Try to be quick in there.” I pull out my gun.

“If I get into trouble, I’ll fire a shot.”

“Superb coded sign. How long should I wait before I start worrying, if you don’t come back?”

“Let’s say fifteen minutes. If everything goes smoothly, we should be best friends by then.”

I pull the collar of the biker jacket up round my ears as protection, and leap onto the step. The police tape is still intact, but I manage to wriggle between two lengths of tape without breaking them. I try the handle, the door is open. One last glance towards the car, the kid appears to be peeking out of the back window.

I draw a long, deep breath and bend down when I go in. The light in the hall is switched off, but one of the wall lights in the living room creates distorted shadows. In the name of diplomacy I resist the temptation to take out my weapon and instead I make my way through the gloomy landscapes by the assassinated painter. Many of the canvases are crooked, left like that after Cohl’s domestic rape, he certainly didn’t waste any time tidying up after himself. A dead wife, the house vandalised… pieces of pizza on the floor… I mean, if it happened to me, I wouldn’t be in much of a good mood, that’s for sure. I’d better not go running in, waving a gun.

Gilder is waiting for me, on his feet between two piles of books. Underneath his cape he’s wearing light, dark clothes. His belt immediately catches my eye. What at first glance looked like a flashy buckle is in actual fact the hilt of a silk blade. Too chunky for the purpose of simply holding his trousers up, the belt is in fact the sheath for the blade, which is wrapped round his waist, ready to strike. Unless the rabbit has developed a hump over the last few days, he is carrying a small rucksack under his cape.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Lieutenant Arkham. I do apologise for the mess.”

“Don’t worry, Goldilocks, I feel right at home.

“Let’s try and get off to a good start. Please do not call me that.”

“All right, Spire.”

The fact that he still hasn’t stabbed me means that he doesn’t want to, so I can get some of my disapproval of him off my chest.

“Enough of this annoying small talk. Let’s talk about us.”

“Excellent idea. How about you tell me about this pool of shit we are
both
drowning in because of
you
?”

“Nobody forced you to accept.”

“Ah, in fact I’m not complaining. Did you hear me complain about this fucking nightmare by chance? That one where everyone is trying to murder me, eh, what do you think?”

“This business has dragged on longer than I thought it would. I repeated the dream message every night, but for some reason you didn’t receive the premonition dream until today.”

“What a coincidence, I haven’t slept for days because I’ve been looking for the bastard who gave me this little present!” I wave the envelope under his beautiful nose.

“It’s very puerile to stand here arguing about a decision which is alterable, when I have a lot to say to you and not much time, therefore, please listen to me.”

“It isn’t exactly ‘inalterable’ like you say.”

“Do you think you’re up to it?”

Now we’re up close I notice some white hair peeking through his elvish mane. Fine wrinkles. Imperfections in his skin. I must have such a look of dismay on my face that he also takes on a serious look.

“You also… look only a little younger than Valan… maybe, even older than Nylmeris.” I am fascinated by this discovery.

“Do I have your attention?”

I take a seat on the sofa, pick up two pizza crusts from Cohl’s pizza box and get chewing.

“Start with Inla.”

“Inla.” A sad smile plays around his mouth. “We met at one of the meetings between our dynasties. Teldemays and Valan are still fighting over ancient feuds, but they both already realised the need to meet in order to face future challenges, the most imminent being Ecatomb. She was a truly radiant beauty, who…”

“Hey. Hey! Let’s skip the romantic twists and turns of the plot, shall we? Do me a favour.”

“Fine.” He’s irritated now. Tough shit. “However, I thought she was utterly mad. She ranted and raved about the elders plotting to dominate the world, a world made up of lies that they had been telling since the Apocalypse. In any case, I was focused on completely different matters, so we didn’t get on at all at first.”

“Had you already a sniff of pussy?”

“I was happy with my military career. I felt important, because I would have been one of the first to heal that ancient wound between the Lovl’s and the Feltu’s. And then the glory, the honour, and so on.” He pronounces these words with revulsion. “Unlike his daughter, I held my superior in the highest regard, and he in turn was extremely satisfied with my progress. Ironically it was actually Nylmeris who encouraged me to see more of Inla. He thought I could have a positive influence on her, pull her out of her wild world and put her back in line with her rank.”

His eyes get lost in his memories, they are bright and wet with tears and roam around the half-lit living room.

“Things went in precisely the opposite direction.” His gaze rests on the missing portrait on the wall of lookalikes. “It was her who woke me up. She was tireless in her pursuit of the truth, she spent many sleepless nights studying the ancient texts about magic, not the prohibited ones. Her aim was not to practise all the schools of magic, that’s impossible, but to check a theory about the immortality of cousins. Her suspicions intensified when she started studying necromancy, and in particular a copy of the Eburn Code.”

“Suspicions about what exactly? You’re not getting to the point.”

“You’re right. It is a…”—he sighs sadly—“a terrible disgrace, yes, for our entire family.”

“Considering that you’re not ashamed about your incestuous orgies, it must be a real bombshell.”

“You don’t…” He clenches his fists, stretching his leather gloves. “Our culture interprets sex in a different way to yours, that’s all.“

“Whatever. We were talking about necromancy and the immortality of elves.”

Going back to the story smoothes his ruffled feathers.

“Inla believed that the existence of an immortal race was illogical. There are only
quantitative
differences between all living beings, in other words, what characterises each life is that it comes into bud, it flowers, it fades and it inevitably dies. We don’t seem…
natural
, do you follow me?”

“More or less. However, we still haven’t got to the point.”

“I’m getting there. I don’t know how, but she managed to secure the collaboration of… erm…” He hesitates a moment. “A prominent figure from amongst the cousins.”

“Who?”

“It isn’t important. Anyway, she was able to consult an ancient
grimoire
. The owner kept it despite that the fact in doing so he was going against tradition. It was hidden in a secret corner of his labyrinth of his immense library. A tome of fiendish witchcraft.”

“Impossible. All written material was destroyed following the Apocalypse due to the fear of demons nesting amongst the words. Your grandfather and the other elders even had frescoes eliminated, and they imposed a century of illiteracy on the world.”

“So they unanimously claim,” nods Gilder, “but it is untrue.”

Gilder extracts a cigarette from a pocket in his cape, and offers me one too. I decline his sub-standard brand and light up one of my own.

“Do you know what Lef Galandoras is?” he asks me after his first drag.

“Your equivalent of baptism.”

“Well. Inla found certain similarities with the Pact.”

“Are you telling me elves are living undead beings?

“No, not exactly. As I said before, necromancy was not the key to the problem. The fiendish tome was the answer they were seeking. It describes in minute detail a spell for eternal life. Naturally such power comes at a price. A suffocating yoke around the necks of all the other sentients, a tyrannical pillory.”

“Those fucking bastards…” l let my jaw drop.

“I was unwilling to accept such a revelation. My dynasty, my whole race, everything I had always accepted as the truth collapsed around me. We had gone from being the defenders of freedom to ruthless oppressors.”

“What is this… price?” I try to stem his psycho-meanderings and keep him on the subject.

“I was in Qari, when I chanced upon the final piece of the puzzle.

The parched dunes seemed to be about to catch fire.

The clear sky offered no respite from the relentlessly scorching sun.

The tension between myself and my superior was tangible, even during peaceful meditation. My soul was tormented by doubts and suspicion, and Nylmeris was aware of this almost as much as I was. Silence reigned in the desert, boundless in every direction. I opened my eyes at the unusual rustling sound near me. A sand crab was struggling to climb the red-hot ridge, occasionally stubbornly fighting against tiny yellow landslides, six tiny black eyes greedy for food.

The Dew of Qari. At dawn, the first rays of daylight spread tiny drops of pure magic on the ground. Like us, the Bedouins use them as a way of surviving the extreme temperatures, a remedy they learned from the little arthropods. The dew evaporates around midday, therefore they are forced to commit a daily race against time to avoid roasting inside their shells.

The creature approached cautiously, studying me to decide if I was a predator waiting to strike or a harmless oddity. The crab, on the other hand was in a spot, the hourglass almost empty, impatient. Despite its fears, in the end it gave in to urgency, scuttling cautiously into my line of vision. A few more centimetres and it would have lived another day.

Suddenly the drop disappeared and I was overcome by the certainty that I was responsible. I had
devoured
it, its sublime taste was distinct in my mouth. The crab looked around in desperation, confused. Having realised that, whatever had happened, its meal had vanished, it embarked on another pointless race into the desert, clinging onto hope.

I broke my concentration, Nylmeris followed suit. I jumped to my feet, unable to keep silent a moment longer in this titanic void in the desert, which is practically forced to fill it.

“Master, tell me the truth.”

He didn’t get up from his knees in the sand, but he turned to me.

“It’s just as you and my daughter suspected,” he solemnly answered the question that I hadn’t pronounced yet.

“How… how much do we
take
from the world?” I searched for the words with rising horror.