Dead Streets

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 possessions.

When the scene was finished Quillion waved his hand again and Edrigu's bed chamber vanished to be replaced once more by featureless crimson walls.

"What do you have to say in your defense, Matthew?"

"From the tone of your voice, it sounds like it doesn't matter what I say. You've already made up your mind." I'd have asked for a lawyer, but it wouldn't have done any good. There aren't any in Nekropolis. As far as the Darkfolk are concerned, lawyers just slow down the swift course of justice. Besides, they're too scary, even for Nekropolis.

"My recreation is based on evidence delivered to me by Edrigu's servants. The theft triggered an alarm and when they investigated they were able to draw forth an image of your committing the robbery from the minds of the chamber guardians. The servants then sent Silent Jack out to fetch you and informed me of the robbery. I promptly dispatched a Sentinel to accompany Jack. It took a while for them to find you. I must admit it was rather clever of you to hide inside the Foundry. Baron's defenses against industrial espionage prevented us from tracking you by magical means. Luckily Jack encountered the cabbie who dropped you off at the Foundry and was able to convince him to share what he knew about your whereabouts."

A wave of anger rushed through me. "If you hurt Lazlo…"

Quillion raised a hand to forestall me. "Relax. The demon is little the worse for wear. Besides, his kind heals swiftly. The main thing is that thanks to his grudging cooperation we were able to find you. And while Silent Jack was unable to materialize inside the Foundry, he is quite capable of relying on physical force when the need arises, and he was able to gain entrance that way. He's a very versatile creature, that Jack."

"Why didn't Edrigu himself come after me once he woke up? I thought Darklords prefer to handle affronts against them personally."

Quillion looked at me and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer. But finally he said, "Edrigu – like the other Darklords – expends a great deal of energy during the Renewal Ceremony. This year, because the ceremony was disrupted, the Lords were required to devote an extra measure of power to ensure Umbriel was recharged for another year. Because of this the Darklords have been recuperating and are currently… indisposed."

This was news to me. But now that I thought about it I hadn't heard of any Darklords making appearances in public since the last Renewal Ceremony.

"So they're… what? All sleeping, like Edrigu?"

"Basically. They must restore the energy they lost, and while they sleep this deeply, they cannot be awakened. Usually they wake within a few weeks, but the process is taking longer this year. And when none of the Darklords are available to dispense justice in their Dominions, that task falls to the First Adjudicator: me. I have answered your questions, Matthew, because it's not every day that we receive a… guest of your stature. After all, you did help the Darklords and Father Dis complete the Renewal Ceremony this year and your service to the city was much appreciated. That's the only reason we're having this conversation. If you were anyone else your case would already have been decided. Now, I will ask you for the final time: what do you have to say in your defense?"

I thought of Devona then. She'd surely guessed where the Sentinel had intended to take me, if not why, and she was probably on her way to the Nightspire. Even now she might be standing at the entrance, trying to convince the guards to let her in to see me. I tried to reach out and connect to her through our psychic link, but I didn't sense her presence. Either she was too far away, or the Inquisitory was enchanted to prevent magical and psychic energies from functioning inside it. Either way, I wasn't able to reassure her that I was all right, which – given my situation – would've been a lie anyway.

At that point I decided to ditch my tough guy act and cooperate with Quillion. I told him everything that had happened to me that night in detail, up to the moment when the Sentinel took me into custody. I finished by showing him the seam on my neck as evidence that Victor Baron had recently reattached my head to my body.

When my story was done Quillion looked thoughtful. The walls became less solid looking as he considered, wavering as if formed from crimson liquid, and I realized the chamber was linked to his mind. It certainly made for a good interrogation room. Confronting suspects with scenes of them committing a crime was a great way to get them to confess. But I reminded myself that what I'd witnessed wasn't exactly the magical equivalent of video from a security camera. It was a recreation based on interpreted evidence and not proof by a long shot. Unfortunately an Adjudicator doesn't need proof. He or she just has to believe a suspect is guilty in order to pronounce a sentence. I just had to hope that my story, strange as it was, had sowed a seed of doubt in Quillion's mind about my guilt.

"You must admit that on the surface your story is quite outlandish," Quillion said after a time. "You expect me to believe that someone knew you carried Edrigu's mark, and what's more, that they knew it could be used to gain access to his collection. And that this someone stole your body, somehow animated it, and used it to steal the object?"

"I told you that Acantha asked me about Edrigu's mark and showed a close up of my hand on her program. Hundreds saw it, maybe thousands. One of them must've realized what the mark could be used for."

"Then why not just steal your hand?" Quillion asked.

I shrugged. "I'm no expert in Darklord magic. Maybe most of my body was needed for the mark to work properly. Maybe someone wanted to frame me and they wanted to make sure there was enough of 'me' present to be recorded by whatever security methods Edrigu had in place. Are you sure the chamber guardians saw me as complete? In other words, did I have a head?"

"Yes," Quillion said, but then he frowned. "I'll admit that the guardians' mental description lacked a certain amount of visual clarity, however. It's difficult to see through an aura of flame, you know. Their impressions of you were more mystically derived than visually. They know it was a zombie that entered the chamber, and they recognized the power inherent in Edrigu's mark. You are the only individual in the city who matches those criteria."

"So my headless body might've been used to commit the theft. Someone might have been controlling it from a distance, like a marionette with a very long set of strings."

"I suppose," Quillion said, but he sounded unconvinced.

I decided to try a different tack. "What was stolen?"

"An object of some importance to Edrigu, obviously, since he wore it on his person. Unfortunately none of his servants seem to know its purpose and since the Darklord himself is asleep and cannot be wakened to tell us more…" Quillion trailed off.

"Contact Victor Baron," I suggested. "He can back me up."

"Speaking with Baron would prove nothing. You could've committed the theft, perhaps at the behest of a client, and later cut off your own head and gone to the Foundry to have it reattached in an attempt to establish an alibi."

"I'm not a mercenary," I snapped. "I'm a private detective. There's a big difference."

"You do favors for people and they pay you in return," Quillion said with a shrug. "Perhaps this time the payment was enough to get you to suspend your moral code."

I wanted to tell Quillion he could shove my moral code up his hairless ass, but I knew it wouldn't help my case, so instead I said, "You could ask Devona. She-" I stopped myself. Quillion would just assume she'd lie to protect me. "We could ask Dis to verify my story. With his power…"

"Father Dis is a god," Quillion said stiffly. "He has far more important matters to attend to than deciding the fate of one zombie."

Quillion's dismissal of my idea had come a bit too quickly and was made too forcefully for me to take it at face value. A second later I realized what was really going on.

"You won't ask Dis to help me because you can't. He's resting just like the Darklords, isn't he?"

Quillion reluctantly nodded. "Dis normally uses far more energy than any of the Darklords during the Renewal Ceremony, but this year was especially taxing for him. He sleeps deeply, and like the Darklords, he cannot be awakened until he is restored to full strength."

This was bad for the city. With Dis and the Darklords temporarily out of commission Nekropolis was virtually unprotected. If a major crisis developed there would be no one available to deal with it. Hopefully, things would keep running smoothly enough until the Darklords awakened. If not… well, I didn't want to think about that.

"So what are we left with?" I asked. "We agree on the fact that my body was used to commit a crime, but there's no way I can prove to you that my consciousness wasn't in the driver's seat at the time the theft took place."

"That's not precisely true," Quillion said. "Because of your previous service to the city, I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain yourself. But since you are not able to do so adequately, I'm forced to rely on my usual methods of extracting information from those I question."

I didn't like the sound of that.

"I hate to break this to you, but I'm a zombie. Torture won't work on me. Whatever you do, I won't be able to feel it."

Quillion gave me a cold smile. "This is another thing that's not precisely true." As he spoke the crimson walls began to edge toward green and their hard smooth surface began to shimmer and flicker. "You know the flames which burn upon the surface of the river Phlegethon?"

This was sounding worse all the time.

"Yes. They're magical flames that burn the spirit instead of the flesh."

Quillion's smile widened.

"The Adjudicators created those flames."

He gestured and the walls of green fire, no illusion this time, came rushing inward toward us. For the first time since I'd died I felt pain – pain beyond anything I'd ever imagined was possible.

I screamed and I continued screaming for a very long time.

In the end I confessed. At least, I think I did. I don't have any memory of actually doing so, but Quillion made the green fire go away, and I lay on the floor of the Inquisitory, grateful that my dead body once more felt no sensation, though the echoes of agony still lingered in my soul, and I wondered if they always would.

He asked me more questions: who hired me, where was the bone flute now? But I just lay there, barely able to think, let alone answer. Besides, I knew it didn't matter what I said. Quillion believed me guilty, and that was the end of it.

"Very well," he said after a while, sounding irritated. "I suppose we'll sort out the rest of the details in due time. If nothing else, hopefully Edrigu will be able to track down the artifact once he awakens, and then we'll discover who hired you. For now, I pronounce you officially guilty of a crime against a Darklord and sentence you to be incarcerated in Tenebrus until the end of your days."

"You can't be serious!" I shouted. "This isn't about justice! It's about you having power and using it however it suits you! There's been no due process here, no real standards of evidence… I've spent my entire career in law enforcement one way or another, Quillion, and I can tell you that you wouldn't know justice if it walked up and bit you on your bald ass!"

Quillion's gaze became arctic cold. "Goodbye, Matthew, and may Father Dis have mercy on your soul."

Before I could summon up the energy to protest Quillion made a gesture and the floor beneath me disappeared and I found myself tumbling down into darkness.