robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain (36 page)

The next door down opened and Beryle emerged. There must have been a connecting door. Charley had been standing l lat-footed; it was too late for him to pretend that he was just walking down the corridor, so he decided to take the offensive.

"Well, well. If it isn't 'News from the Edge' Beryle. Found any good alien ax murderers lately?"

"Hello, Gordon. Didn't expect to see you here. Where's your shadow?"

"Manny's around."

"Didn't know there was a donut shop on this floor."

"Old joke. Been guesting on the
Nostalgia Comedy Channel™
again?"

"Not since you hosted it. What are you doing here, Gordon?"

"Was going to ask you the same thing."

"Beat you to it."

"You asking professionally?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"No comment."

Beryle looked like he was sucking rocks, which suited Charley.

"David, who are you talking to?" The woman emerged from the room to collect her answer personally. She had a stern stare that evaluated Charley; he was startled to note that she had mismatched eyes, one green and one blue.

"This is—still just a detective?" Beryle asked. Charley nodded. "This is Detective Gordon, one of the more distinguished members of the Cooperative's Spook Squad."

Charley hated that nickname. "Special Investigations Unit, ma'am." Beryle seemed satisfied with a one-way introduction; Charley wasn't. "And you are?"

"Elizabeth Spae."

"Doctor
Elizabeth Spae," Beryle clarified. "She's an authority in certain obscure matters."

Dr. Spae furrowed her brow at his description of her area of expertise, making Charley wonder what she considered herself to be an authority on.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor. I must say you're a step up from the usual 'authorities' Beryle drags around with him."

The doctor looked even more puzzled. "Thank you, I think."

Beryle edged his shoulder between them. "So what
are
you doing here, Gordon?"

"Just poking around."

"The poltergeist thing?"

"You know about that?"

"My business, remember? That shouldn't get you up here. There have only been incidents on the first twenty floors."

He was well informed. "You know me, 1 like to be thorough. Can I look around your suite?"

"Got an investigation warrant?"

"Do I need one?"

"Yeah. This time I think so."

Charley's turn to suck rocks. He gave Beryle a tight smile. "I'll remember."

Beryle ushered Dr. Spae back into the suite. This time he shut the door. Charley headed back toward the elevators, wondering where the connections were.

Anton Van Dieman of the inner circle provided the vehicle, He called it a LeRoyale™, describing it as the finest limousine in the world. The car was not as large or elaborate as the Mitsutomo limousines, but it was sufficient for Quetzal's needs. The ambience of the vehicle was far less important than its ability to carry him from place to place. There was only one amenity that he found indispensable: the darkened windows that shielded him from the burning sun.

Soon it would be night again and he would not need the shield.

Van Dieman sat beside him, answering his questions as to the followers' activities and resources. Oblique questioning revealed that Nakaguchi had yet to take action to disrupt Quetzal's plans. The Asian had it in his power to arrest certain operations. Quetzal hoped the man understood what any such delays would ultimately cost him.

When the Glittering Path opened, great would be the suffering of any who hindered those who would walk the Path.

Until that time there were steps which could be taken to minimize the difficulties.

"Nakaguchi is unreliable," he told Van Dieman. "He is no longer to be considered an intimate of the inner circle."

"But Master Jeffries trusted him implicitly."

"Jeffries did not understand the division in Nakaguchi's loyalties. I do. You must as well. As long as his actions are in our favor, he may live; but we must be vigilant. He
will
betray us. His heart is not truly on the Glittering Path."

"He shall be watched carefully, Venerated One."

Quetzal liked Van Dieman's attitude much better than Nakaguchi's. This man would have a place in the new order.

Outside the limousine darkness was gathering.

His departure from Mitsutomo's imprisoning palace had lired him more than he expected. The energy he'd taken from diose at the foot of the tower had dissipated more quickly than he had expected. He had a hunger that the limousine's stock of delicacies could not assuage.

"Is the driver discreet?"

Proudly, Van Dieman said, "She is an initiate of the eighth circle."

"Good. Have her take us to the place where bodies are sold for money on the street."

Van Dieman was clearly surprised by the order. He spoke hesitantly. "Venerated One, if you wish a woman, there are many of the followers who would—"

"No, there are
not
many. The followers are too few, and that is why I must seek alternatives."

The followers would give, but he could not yet afford to take from them; they were too important. Believers were too few, and too necessary for other uses.

Van Dieman gave the orders.

The surroundings and language and dress of the participants might change, but the interaction remained remarkably constant. He selected a spot and had Van Dieman direct the driver to stop there.

They waited.

Van Dieman was nervous, continually glancing out the windows. Twice he told the driver to keep a careful watch of something called the proximity sensor. Quetzal simply sat back and watched, confident that opportunity would present itself.

In time, it did.

Half a block away a car pulled over to the sidewalk and stopped. A woman crowned with blond tresses got out. After the car pulled away, a man walked up to her, and she handed him something. He smiled, slapped her on the buttocks, and vanished back into the darkness of the alley from which he'd come. She straightened her short skirt, tugging it down over a tear in her stocking, before taking her place by the graffiti-covered, shattered shell of a bus stop. Despite the cold of the evening, she tossed her coat back on her shoulders, the better to display her body wantonly.

She would do.

"Move the car forward. Stop by the blond woman." Van Dieman relayed his orders to the driver.

He watched the whore follow the slow approach of the limousine. When it stopped beside the ramshackle shelter, she stood in what Quetzal supposed was intended to be an alluring fashion; her actions were awkward, too harsh and stilted to actually be sexy. When he opened the door, she smiled invitingly.

She put one hand on the car roof and leaned down to look in the opening. Her eyes widened at what she apparently thought was abundant luxury.

"Watcha looking for, mein freunds?"

Quetzal answered. "What else other than what you offer?"

She cocked her head, suddenly skittish. Where had the hostility and suspicion come from? Van Dieman whispered in his ear that she feared entrapment by the police, that he must be more direct to eliminate her fears.

"We are not police," Van Dieman said. "My friend wishes to buy your services."

"Who said I'm selling?"

"The Franklin brothers," said Van Dieman, displaying three hundred-dollar bills. "What's your name?"

"Kandi. With a K and an I." Eyeing the money avidly, she added, "That's a short trip."

"Will that be satisfactory?" Van Dieman asked him.

"Yes, I believe so." To the whore, he said, "Come, join me."

But she still did not enter the car, saying, "I count two of you. And I don't do no two-fer-one specials, but I can be more'n enough woman fer both of ya, if ya catch me. For the right incentive, I mean."

Van Dieman doubled the visible incentive.

She came of her own free will. She had her expectations of his desires; it mattered little that they were incorrect. She would say, in the phrasing of the age, that he "wanted" her. I'or truth, he did, but not in the way she thought. He would "take" her; again, not in the way she thought. Her consent gave him the opening he needed.

He pursued the charade, saying the pointless words she expected. For her part, she cooed and flattered him. They both played roles, actors in two different plays that only appeared to be the same.

He turned her, bending her back over his lap and masking his intentions with kisses. Drawing back, he unfastened the flimsiness of her shirt and likewise the shiny wisp of a bra that shimmered beneath the translucent fabric. There was a moment of awkwardness while she shrugged out of the garment, then she lay back again, arching her back and offering her bared breasts.

He smiled down at her, touching her hardened nipples with a feather-light caress. She quivered.

She played the part well. But beneath the surface was an honest truth; she had consented to him. For payment, of course; she would rcceive a payment of sorts, a payment that others had believed the greatest reward possible.

"Are you ready to give yourself to me?"

"I'm hot, baby. I'm ready."

He stroked her cheek, willing relaxation into her limbs, cooling her heat. It was a mercy, he supposed, but an unintentional one, a mere side effect. It would not do to have her squirm away and withdraw the consent.

The soft mounds of her breasts sagged to either side of her chest. He struck between them, cracking the sternum.

"Hey, not so rough," she protested.

Her tone was not serious, though, for she could not feel what he had done to her; he had taken that sensation from her. Her hands fumbled at the catches of her skirt. The consent remained.

Time to consummate the act.

He willed his fingers to granite hardness, his fingernails to obsidian sharpness. He slashed once, slicing through skin, muscle, and bone. He plunged his hand in. He pried up the ribs. His fingers probed into her flesh. Deeper. Deeper, until they slid around her pulsing heart.

He ripped it free.

The blood sprayed, as it always did, spattering everywhere in the close confines of the limousine. The blood was very red against the ashen hue of Van Dieman's face. Quetzal believed that the man had not been expecting this.

Laughing, he raised the pulsing heart to his lips.

He ate the whore's life as he consumed the muscle that had powered it. With each bite, he stripped away that which made her a person, consigning it to oblivion. He swallowed her life energy as a snake swallows a lizard. Her essence was his, all his.

It had been too long since he had tasted the heart's blood.

As an afterthought he offered the last bit of the whore's heart to Van Dieman. The faithful should be rewarded. Van Dieman took the morsel, more from fear than from desire. He swallowed without chewing. Then his eyes changed, when he understood what he was receiving.

Quetzal laughed again.

The limousine had not been an altar, ritually configured to locus the release of the life energy. The wanton had not been a completely willing victim, knowingly giving of her essence. Hut the sacrifice had still been good. He felt renewed, stronger than he had since the end of his long sleep.

He was empowered!

In this impoverished age, there were none to oppose him. His will would be the Law.

CHAPTER

19

"I'm not leaving without Bear."

John expected that the declaration would get a reaction from Bennett, but the elf's expression didn't change.

"Artos is here, then," he said. "I'd been wondering where he'd hidden himself. Yet I suppose I should not be surprised to find him here. Where is he, by the way?"

"He's in the, uh, infirmary."

"Injured?"

Was that real concern in Bennett's voice? Unlikely, considering. John didn't think it wise to reveal Bear's real condition; he probably shouldn't have said anything in the first place. But now he had to give some sort of explanation.

"He's been sick."

"I would offer my sympathy; but you probably wouldn't believe there was any sincerity in it." He didn't sound very sympathetic. "I must say that 1 am surprised the two of you are still talking."

"No thanks to you."

Bennett sighed. "I only have your best interests at heart, Jack."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"An interesting question, Jack.
Why
don't you believe

me?"

Because you're a liar. Because you killed Trashcan Harry. Because you almost killed Faye. Because you tried to kill me. Because. Because. Because.

But this wasn't the time to get into any of those things.

"You said you were here to help."