Around this time, Danielle spotted a familiar
face finishing up his meal on one of the terraces below: Kilian. He’d ordered
the catch of the day.
Now there's a strange man
, Danielle thought. Not
strange because he'd ordered the catch of the day, necessarily, just strange.
As she watched, Kilian paid his bill, wiped his
mouth and made his way toward the railing overlooking the valley. He lit a
cigar against the wind and stayed there for several minutes, admiring the
scenery. He wasn't just taking it in, she suspected. He was mulling something
over, some plan that would probably turn out to be unpleasant if he ever put it
into motion, but you never knew with Kilian. He would cut out your heart or pay
your bar tab, depending on his mood. Usually, though, he would cut out your
heart—and then he'd stand around looking dour, which is what he did best. But,
again, you never knew.
As Loirot was finishing his meal, Kilian left
the balustrade and found the stairs. Soon he was approaching the highest
terrace. Danielle wouldn't have said anything, but Loirot waved him over, and after
a moment's deliberation Kilian approached.
"Pull up a chair," suggested Loirot.
"No thanks. I was just on my way out."
"Come on, pull up a chair. We were just
fixing to ask for the bill.
Although maybe some dessert
wouldn't be out of the question.
What do you think, Danielle?"
"I'm fine," she said, then turned to
Kilian. "So where you headed, Killer?"
He seemed to think before answering, as if
afraid to tell her. After a second's thought, though, she realized that she
wasn't the one Kilian was worried about; it was Loirot.
"I've just heard that a troupe of side-show
freaks called the Funhouse of the Forsaken has just arrived at Roche Sarnova's
invitation,” Kilian said.
Danielle smiled. "I've seen them before,”
Danielle said. “Me and Ruegger saw ‘
em
in, uh, well,
not too long ago. They’re good."
Kilian looked at her, suddenly alert, and she
knew she'd fucked up.
"Where did you say you saw them?" he
said. "They just came back from New York,
and I know you didn't see them there, so it must've been Lereba, where they
were before New York.
It was Lereba, wasn't it? Why were you in Lereba, Danielle?"
Ice touched her spine. Kilian and the rest of
Jean-Pierre's old crew had known for what, or whom, she and Ruegger had been
hunting in Las Vegas,
of course. They probably figured the odd flock, once away from Vegas, would
still continue the hunt for Hauswell wherever they went. If Kilian figured out
that she’d been in Lereba …
"Where are they?" she said, ignoring
Kilian's question. "Where's the Funhouse?"
"In the Throne Room,” he said, sounding
distracted.
“The King's Court.
That's where I was
headed. After they settle in, they're supposed to publicly shake Roche
Sarnova's hand and so on.
Signing autographs, doing a few
tricks, that sort of thing."
"Sounds interesting," said Loirot,
finally wiping at his chin. His napkin came away bloody. "Danielle, I
think we should check that out. What do you say?"
She tried to hide her revulsion.
“Fine.”
Kilian coughed. "Well, if you don't mind,
I'll take my leave now. Danielle," he added, bowing slightly, "it's been
a pleasure. I'll see you—both—down there directly."
"We'll see you," returned Loirot,
obviously glad to be causing Kilian some chagrin.
Kilian departed, as if this was something he'd
been looking forward to.
"Prick," whispered Loirot, but
Danielle noticed he didn't whisper it loud enough for Kilian to hear.
The waiter returned and asked if there was
anything else he could get them.
Some cappuccino, perhaps, maybe
some dessert.
"No," said Danielle. "But I'd
like to go ahead and order that guy that I didn't want while ago. You know, the
man that shot someone for mugging him."
The waiter smiled.
"Ah, a
hardy girl.
I'm glad to see you've changed your mind. May I recommend a
flavoring?"
"No, you jackass.
I don't want to drink
from him. I want to buy him and set him free. Please hand him over with the
clothes he came with, if any."
The waiter's smile froze. "I'm sorry, miss,
but that's impossible. I can't hand him over to you; it's against house
policy."
"House policy, my
ass!"
"Please, miss, keep your voice low. We
can't have righteous customers setting our meals loose. If you treat humans
with the same rights we have, then it would make other customers feel uncomfortable."
She lifted her upper lift, exposing her fangs.
"If you want to buy a human and set him
free,” he added, “go the slave auctions that are held every night at the Arena
before the fights start. The slaves there can be bought for less than a single
meal at our establishment."
"I can't right all the wrongs in the
world,” she said. “I don't have the money. But the man you've got on your
Murder List doesn't deserve to die. Someday someone like me will order him off
the Villain Eaters section, expecting to eat a villain, expecting to maintain
their values. Instead they'll eat that poor bastard and then both of
them—customer and meal—will be cheated. I'd rather just set the man free."
"Well, in order for you to buy the man that
you want, a slaver would have to buy him from us first,
then
sell him to you at the auction. It's the rules. But a slaver won't buy him from
us, of course. That's not how it works. It's the opposite, as we often buy from
slavers."
"That's perverse. A slave can be bought and
work his entire life for someone, but he's worth less than one of your
meals
."
"Dining here is a luxury. Slaves, however,
aren't. They're essential for running one's estate. Don't forget, their upkeep
is the major portion of their cost."
"Slaves aren't essential. Loirot here
doesn't have any slaves."
"Er, Danielle ..."
"What? You have slaves?"
"Just one."
"Jesus."
He shrugged.
"As the man
says."
"But I'll ease your mind," said the
waiter.
"How?” said Danielle.
"I'll remove the man you want from the
Murder List. Clearly he doesn't deserve to be labeled a murderer."
"You'll let him go free?"
"No. I'll move him to a different part of
the menu, to a section where his consumer will not have your delicate moral
fiber." He smiled.
Danielle snapped.
She flew out of her chair, grabbed the waiter by
the lapels of his tuxedo and spun him around so that his back faced the railing
that separated the terrace from the valley.
"You bastard!" she spat in his face as
she pushed him closer to the balustrade.
"You stupid
stupid
bastard!"
"Danielle!" Loirot cried.
She shoved the waiter against the railing so
that his torso hung out over the abyss, held up only by her grip on his lapels.
"I could let you go," she hissed.
"Would you like that?
Would you!"
"No," he said evenly.
"Stop it, Danielle," said Loirot, who
hovered
a foot away, ready to step in.
"No," she said. "I'm not going to
stop it."
She pushed against the waiter's chest so that
his upper half hung even further out over the railing. Still, he didn't even
flinch.
"I think that you'd better let me go
now," he said.
"Think again."
Suddenly, before she could react, the waiter
gained the upper hand. In a blur of twisting arms—two of them her own—she was
on her back in the middle of an aisle, looking up at his stern face.
"You've got some strong blood in you,"
he allowed. "I'm quite a bit older than you, though, Danielle, if that's
your name, and wiser. I suggest that next time you want to fight, you play with
someone your own size—like this one," he added, poking his thumb at
Loirot.
Brushing himself off, he gazed wryly around at
the customers nearby, all staring at him. "Vegetarians," he lamented,
shaking his head.
Several smiled and threw spiteful glances at
Danielle. Capitalizing on his victory, the waiter returned indoors.
Danielle shouted after him, "Don't expect a
tip!"
*
*
*
Loirot
and Danielle descended several floors toward the King's Court, where Roche
Sarnova kept his throne. The room was embedded in the bowels of the Castle so
that it would be virtually impervious from any outside attack. As Danielle
moved into the corridor which led to the doors of the Throne Room, she noticed
a steady influx of sightseers. Everyone loves a show.
The doors to the throne room stretched high to a
distant ceiling; though the King's Court was built just two floors above the
catacombs, the ceiling reached up another three floors.
And
why not?
Roche Sarnova had once been the ruler of all immortals. Times
may have changed, but he was still the Dark Lord.
The largest and most beautiful mural Danielle
had ever seen looked down from that ceiling. Though it must have been done back
in the Renaissance period, it sported neither Cupids nor Angels. In fact, there
wasn't one thing religious about it.
Many parts composed it, many pictures, all
beautifully rendered. There was Roche Sarnova, standing in the North African
desert, an army of mounted knights behind him. A portrait of Francois Mauchlery
showed him astride a battlement of this very castle. Most of the pictures’ subjects
weren't recognizable to Danielle, although here and there she saw a figure or battle
she thought she knew.
She and Loirot entered the Court to find a colorful
and festive scene. Groups of shades were gathered in knots, having cornered a
particular member of the Funhouse, sometimes more than one. Questions were
shouted at the performers, who did their best to live up to the publicity.
Several wheeled about on unicycles, doing tricks like juggling or
fire-breathing, while two more had a table laid out and were performing card-tricks,
while still others sang or danced. A small Funhouse band played jaunty music,
providing a strange score for the scene.
The Dark Lord's throne was the focal point in a
semi-circle of chairs branching out in a wide arc (so wide that the wings of
the semi-circle tapered against the walls of a very
cavernous
room) from the rear of the chamber. Though the Dark
Throne reared larger than any other, neither were the others lacking in detail
or rank. This was where the Dark Council sat, Danielle realized. She found
herself wondering which seats would be occupied and which empty when the
Council was in session these days. Which were the traitors and which were the
loyal ones ... although maybe not so loyal anymore, if what Harry had overheard
was true.
For the past few weeks, the Council would've
been in session after the fights in the Arena had ended, but the coming of the
Funhouse had apparently disrupted that.
In front of his throne stood Sarnova, guarded by
a wary contingent of guards and flanked by his right-hand man, Ambassador
Mauchlery. The leader of the Funhouse, Maximillian, was having his picture
taken with the Dark Lord, as were several of the so-called freaks; Danielle
cringed at the word, but apparently it was how they advertised themselves, and
they wore the title with a certain disdainful pride. Arranged around this event
clustered a myriad of on-lookers.
"Let's play some cards," said Loirot,
nudging her.
"I'm game."
As they made their way toward the card-table,
something caught her eye. She was just passing a crowd gathered around a
four-armed dwarf when she noticed a woman who was not part of the troupe, yet
was standing by the dwarf's side as if she was with his party, not the crowd's.
Just as Danielle's eyes found Sophia, Sophia's
eyes found Danielle. Ignoring Loirot’s squawk of surprise, Danielle moved
toward her. The Ice Queen tapped the dwarf on the shoulder, indicating that she
was going to step away, and met Danielle in the middle of the
"Jesus," whispered Danielle.
"Seconded,” said Sophia.
They embraced. As they stepped away, they began
examining each other.
"What ..? And how did you ...?" began Sophia.
"Don't ask,”
said
Danielle. “Not now. I mean,
shit
. We've
gotta find a place to talk."
From behind them, Loirot said, "Not so
fast."
"Not-so-fast, my
ass, Loirot.
Me
and Sophia have things we need to talk about."
Loirot stared at Sophia. Apparently he was as
shocked by her arrival as Danielle was. Also, it occurred to Danielle that
Loirot might actually know the Ice Queen better than she did.