Nekropolis Page 17

  Devona looked at Lazlo-who was walking around the wreckage of his cab, shaking his head and muttering-one last time, and then together we continued down the street toward Gregor’s.

  The streets in the Boneyard had no names, and there were no particular landmarks, just block after block of decay and dissolution, so finding Gregor’s place wasn’t easy. Eventually we passed a large factory that looked something like a medieval castle with three towering smoke stacks pumping black clouds into the already ebon sky. An intricate lattice of metal beams and wires stretched upward from the roof of the building, and electricity sizzled as it swept through the lattice, bolts cracking like thunder as they leaped from one connection point to another. A high wrought-iron fence surrounded the facility, tipped with sharp spear points to prevent any curiosity-seekers from being tempted to climb over.

  Devona gazed upon the factory with wonder. “Is that-”

  I nodded. “The Foundry. Home, laboratory, and production facility of Victor Baron, otherwise known as Frankenstein’s Monster.”

  “It’s bigger than I imagined,” she said.

  “Baron lives to create things, and that includes his facility. He’s been expanding it for over two hundred years, and he shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.”

  “Do you know him?” she asked.

  “Only by reputation. From what I understand, he doesn’t leave the Foundry much.”

  For the last two centuries, Victor Baron had been Nekropolis’s prime supplier of what he terms reanimation technology but which most people call meatwork. Baron is responsible for the city’s Mind’s Eye technology, handvoxes, flesh computers, and anything other tech based on resurrecting the dead. Just look for the label, often tattooed into the flesh of your device: Another Victor Baron Creation. From time to time I’d toyed with the idea of making an appointment with Baron to see if he could anything to stabilize my zombie state or, better yet, return me to the living, but Papa Chatha counseled caution.

  Magic and science don’t always get along as well as they could, Papa once warned me. Baron’s technology would be as likely to destroy you as help you.

  I sometimes wonder if Papa feels more than a little professional jealousy toward Baron, but since my houngan has kept me going for years, I’ve decided to trust his advice.

  Devona and I kept walking. Gregor’s place wasn’t far from the Foundry, and I soon recognized a broken beam here and a shattered wall there, and before much longer we stood before the ruins of a stone building: roof collapsed, walls fallen, columns broken and timeworn.

  “This is it,” I pronounced. “Good thing Gregor has the columns, or I’d never be able to find this place.”

  “Who is Gregor, precisely?”

  “Gregor is probably Nekropolis’s best kept secret. He’s an information broker on a par with Waldemar. But where Waldemar specializes in the past, Gregor deals in the present.” I smiled. “If he doesn’t know something, it’s because it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Then why didn’t we come here in the first place?”

  “Because to do so we had to go through either Glamere or the Wyldwood. It’s suicide for anyone but a lyke to travel the Wyldwood-and you experienced Talaith’s hospitality. Gregor may be the best source of information in the city, but he’s not exactly the most accessible.”

  “I understand.” She surveyed the ruins. “How do we get in?”

  I led the way up the cracked and broken steps and we walked carefully through the rubble of Gregor’s building until we came to a shiny black rectangle set into the ground.

  “It’s me, Gregor. And I brought a friend.”

  Nothing happened for a moment, and then the rectangle parted as the tiny black shapes which comprised it scurried off.

  Devona took in a hiss of air. “Insects!”

  “Gregor’s little friends-and his informants.”

  As the roach-like bugs retreated, they revealed stone stairs leading down into the earth.

  “Try not to make any sudden moves,” I told Devona. “Gregor and his friends tend to be on the skittish side.”

  I took out a pocket flashlight, thumbed the switch to low, and shined its beam down the steps, sending more insects fleeing, thousands of hair-thin segmented legs whispering across stone. Gregor didn’t keep his underground lair lit, so the flashlight was a necessity for me-one which he tolerated. And even though I had no reason to fear Gregor, none that I could name, anyway, I always felt better visiting him with flashlight in hand.

  We started down into the darkness, roaches scuttling away from the steps and walls as we descended. I’d been here only a handful of times since coming to Nekropolis, but I’d never gotten used to seeing so many of Gregor’s friends in one place. My dead nerve endings didn’t work anymore, but I still felt itchy when I visited.

  When we reached the bottom of the steps, Devona turned around.

  “The insects have closed up behind us.” Her voice was steady, but I detected a hint of nervousness beneath her words.

  “They always do that; don’t worry about it.”

  We were in a large, empty basement which seemed cloaked in tangible darkness, except for the small circle of gray stone around us illuminated by my flashlight.

  “Is this place…filled with them too?” Devona asked me in a whisper.

  “Try not to think about it,” I whispered back, and then in a normal voice I said, “Thank you for seeing us, Gregor.”

  A faint clicking sound emerged from the darkness where the opposite wall should be.

  “Always a pleasure, Matthew.” The voice was soft and the words rustled like insect carapaces sliding against one another. “Ms. Kanti, it’s quite an honor to meet you.”

  “The honor is, uh, all mine.” As a half-vampire, Devona’s eyesight was far better than mine, and I was sure she could see through the basement’s gloom to Gregor.

  “Please, both of you, come closer. But keep your flashlight pointed downward, if you don’t mind, Matthew.”

  “Not at all,” I replied, and we walked forward, the carpet of insects which blanketed the floor flowing out of our path like living oil. We stopped about nine feet from the gigantic insect huddled against the basement wall. He leaned back like a humanoid, though his body wasn’t really built for it: he looked as if he might topple over any second. I wondered, as I had before, whether this was a natural position for him, or if he assumed it to seem more humanlike. If the latter, the attempt was a dismal failure.

  Gregor was a gigantic version of the far smaller insects which served as his spies throughout the city. Somewhat like a roach, but his head was too large, his legs too many, and his eyes…they didn’t resemble a human’s, but then they didn’t look all that much like an insect’s, either. They looked more like obsidian gems set into the hard shell of his carapace.

  A constant stream of the smaller Gregors ran up his body, over his head, and touched their antennae to the tips of his far larger feelers. They then scuttled back down as another took their place, and then another, and another. The flow of information from his spies never stopped, even when he was involved in a conversation.

  “You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a bit distracted today,” Gregor said. “But the Descension celebration is the busiest time of the year for us-so much happens around the city-and the sheer tidal wave of information my children bring me can be a bit overwhelming at times. Please bear with me.”

  “No problem,” I said. “So I don’t waste your time or ours, Gregor, why don’t you tell us how much you know about why we’ve come? I assume you at least know a little. After all, I did see one of your children in my apartment when I first spoke with Ms. Kanti, and I saw another in the alley where we found Varma’s body.”

  Gregor made a high-pitched chittering sound which I took for laughter. “Very observant, Matthew. Suffice it say I have a fair grasp of your basic situation.”

  I knew that was all we would get out of him on the subject. Gregor never gave away more information
than he had to.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Of course you do. Why else would you be here?” More chittering. Then he folded his legs across his abdomen-a sign he was preparing to listen closely.

  “First off, do you know who stole the Dawnstone?”

  “Regrettably, no. My children have a very difficult time penetrating the Darklords’ strongholds. Their protections are too strong, too intricate.”

  “Are you aware of anyone trying to fence the Dawnstone?”

  “Again, no.”

  I was certain Gregor’s children had every fence in town “bugged.” If he didn’t know of anyone trying to sell the Dawnstone, then no one had.

  “Do you know who killed Varma?”

  “My child happened late upon the scene, but arrived in time to see three members of the Red Tide departing.”

  The Red Tide. And three of them. When it came to believing in coincidences, I was an atheist. “Are you aware we had a run-in with some Red Tiders?”

  “I am.”

  “Were the three who left the alley the same three who attacked us?”

  “As I said, my child only saw them leave the alley, but I believe it was them, yes.”

  It was beginning to look like our encounter with the gang members in Gothtown hadn’t been just random bad luck after all.

  “Do you know where they went?”

  “Alas, no. My children lost them in the confusion of the festival.”

  “What do you know about veinburn?”

  “It’s a relatively new drug, very powerful, created by a fusion of magic and science. It’s effective on all of Nekropolis’s species, with the exception of the completely dead, such as zombies and ghosts.” He paused. “Since you’re the city’s only self-willed zombie, I have no idea whether it would affect you or not. It would be interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”

  “After what happened to Varma, I think I’ll just say no, if you don’t mind. Who’s making the stuff?”

  “The Dominari is distributing veinburn. But the drug itself is made by the Arcane.”

  Arcane? That meant: “Talaith.”

  Gregor’s head bobbled, his version of a nod, I suspect. “And the plants which are used to make veinburn are cultivated in Glamere.”

  “That’s surprising,” Devona said. “I wouldn’t expect Talaith to use technology, not after what Matt told me about how she demands her people practice pure, natural magic-and especially with what happened with the Overmind.”

  “Times change,” I said. “And the Darklords will do anything to gain an advantage over each other-including abandoning their principles. Assuming they ever had any in the first place.” I suddenly recalled who Devona’s father was. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, you’re right; even Father might be persuaded to set aside his hatred of technology if he thought it was to his advantage.” She thought a moment. “Could the Hidden Light be mixed up in this somehow? After all, they manage to smuggle holy items into Nekropolis. Perhaps they also bring in technology.”

  I answered before Gregor could. “Doubtful. The members of the Hidden Light are capable of a lot of things, but working closely with Darkfolk isn’t one of them. They have a deep aversion to associating with those of a supernatural persuasion.”

  “Then why do they deal with you?” she asked.

  “Because I was killed while foiling one of Talaith’s plots. They view me not as a monster so much as a victim of a Darklord’s evil.” I turned to Gregor. “What do you think? Could the Hidden Light be in on this?”

  “I must concur with your assessment, Matthew,” he said. “The Hidden Light has always worked alone in the past.”

  That settled, I returned to my original line of questioning. “Do you know where The Dominari have their lab set up?”

  “Somewhere in the Sprawl, I believe, but the exact location is unknown to me.” Gregor’s mandibles clicked together once, twice, an action I think was intended to substitute for a smile. “The Dominari may not be Darklords, but their protective spells are still quite formidable.”

  “I don’t suppose you know who Varma’s veinburn connection was.”

  “Actually, I do, or at least, I have a suspicion. The only veinburn dealer I’m aware of is a demon named Morfran who works out of the Sprawl.”

  I frowned. “Only one dealer? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like the Dominari to work on so small a scale.”

  “I have the impression they’ve been field-testing veinburn,” Gregor said, “trying to get the formula just right.”

  “I suppose.” Still, it didn’t sound like the Dominari’s style. Like the criminal organizations back on Earth, they always went for the money, and they weren’t exactly known for their patience. “Can you think of anyone in particular who would gain from stealing the Dawnstone?”

  “You’re asking me to theorize. You know how much I dislike doing so in the absence of facts. But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say someone who wished to harm Lord Galm-or perhaps even Father Dis. And in all likelihood, that would be another Darklord.”

  “Talaith,” Devona said. “Relations between my father and Talaith might be cordial at the moment, but they haven’t always been so. And if Talaith is behind the creation of veinburn-”

  “She could have gotten Varma hooked on the stuff, and used his addiction as leverage to get him to steal the Dawnstone for her,” I finished. “It certainly seems to fit. No wonder she was ready for us when we tried to cross her domain. Augury, my dead ass. One of her people probably saw us asking around about Varma in the Sprawl and alerted her that we were investigating the Dawnstone’s theft and figured there was a good chance we’d consult Gregor.”

  “And the Red Tide?” Devona asked. “They came after us after we’d visited Waldemar-long before anyone could’ve been aware of what we were doing.”

  “Maybe Talaith’s got an informant in the Cathedral, someone who saw us there.”

  “Why the Red Tide, then? They hardly seem like the type to work for Talaith.”

  “Darkgems are darkgems, no matter who pays them to you. And the Red Tide’s tech can’t come cheap, not when it has to be imported from Earth.”

  Around us, Gregor’s children began getting restless. A sign, I knew, that Gregor himself was becoming bored and was eager to move on to another topic.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Not that I can think of,” I answered.

  “Then on to the matter of payment.” If there’s such a thing as an insect version of a purr, Gregor’s words were it.

  Before I could respond, Devona stepped in front of me and said, “I’ll pay.”

  “No you won’t,” I said.

  She turned to me, her face set in a determined expression. “You paid Waldemar’s price, Lord Edrigu’s, and Silent Jack’s. It’s my turn.”

  “I could afford to pay them, Devona. I…Papa Chatha gave me some bad news. My body can no longer be preserved by magic. I’ll be gone in a couple days, maybe less.”

  Gregor didn’t react; he’d probably already known. But Devona came forward and took my hand.

  “I thought your skin looked a little grayer than when we first met, but I told myself it was just my imagination. It wasn’t, though, was it?”

  I shook my head.

  “And you’re spending the time you have left helping me.” She sounded bemused, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it.

  I felt a need to tell her the truth. “My motives aren’t unselfish. I was hoping that if we recovered the Dawnstone, you would intercede with Lord Galm on my behalf and ask him to help me make Papa a liar.”

  “So you haven’t given up.”

  I smiled. “It’s not in my nature.”

  “Then the prices you paid-a page from your life, bearing Edrigu’s mark, losing your finger-you paid them even though you still intend to continue living. Uh, existing.”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, as
if in understanding, but of what I had no idea. She released my hand and turned back to face Gregor. “I shall pay this time.”

  “Actually,” Gregor said, his antennae quivering as if he could barely contain himself, “since the information I’ve provided may benefit both of you-Devona, by helping recover the Dawnstone, and Matthew, by providing a chance to avoid discorporation-you must both pay.”

  “What?” Devona nearly shouted, setting Gregor’s children to rustling nervously. “That isn’t fair!”

  Gregor leaned forward, and although nothing else in his attitude changed, I sensed a hint of menace in the motion. “This is my home. Here, I decide what is and isn’t fair.”

  From behind us came a soft whispering, like a distant wave breaking on the beach. I turned to see Gregor’s children had left the ceiling and the walls and were massing behind us.

  I put a hand on Devona’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Information is the only coin he deals in.”

  “Quite so,” Gregor affirmed.

  Devona sighed. “Very well, then.”

  I looked behind us; the mound of Gregor’s children was growing smaller as they returned to their places.

  “Ms. Kanti, you shall pay first.” Gregor settled back once more. “As Matthew told you, all that interests me is information. But as I mentioned earlier, there are some places in Nekropolis-only a few, mind you-where my children have a difficult time venturing. Among these places, as I indicated, is the Cathedral. I want you to escort one of my children into Lord Galm’s stronghold and then, after a period of precisely one month, escort it out again. You need do nothing else to pay your debt to me.”

  Devona considered briefly, and then said, “Agreed.”

  “Excellent.” Gregor did or said nothing more, but one of his insects detached itself from the others and scurried up Devona’s leg, over her waist and chest, along her neck, across her jawline, and then darted into her ear.