Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (4 page)

Michael gave a short laugh. “The fool would never do such a thing. The Carrion would eat him alive and he knows it.”

“Perhaps that is in his mind, but that is not what’s in his mouth.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“You know that the hunters gamble right by my room’s walls. I can’t help but hear quite a bit.”

Michael took a large swallow of the bloodwater, trying to enjoy the taste and the burn he felt in his throat. “I wish he would go into the Carrion and get himself killed.”

“Strip him of his Citizenship. No other hunter has a place in here.”

Michael glanced over at the church. “That would be foolish. I hope this famine passes quickly.”

Davel Mancini smiled wryly. “Doesn’t matter to us.
We
don’t have to worry about going hungry.”

“Not yet. We may have to open up our stores, though. They’re starving.”

“At least consider sending our men up the Thames before we do something as drastic as that. Or better yet, let hunger take a few of them. That will balance everything out.”

“We can’t just let them die.”

“Sooner or later, Mike, you’re going to have to decide which side you’re on.”

For a moment, when he turned to Davel Mancini, he got a queer feeling about the Brewer. If Aaron were to perform a coup d’état, he wondered, how long would it be before Mancini managed to worm his way into the hunter’s good graces.

The feeling lasted for only a moment. It had been Mancini, whom many expected to be the most stolid against Michael, who had grudgingly admitted the new First Citizen’s merit. It had been Mancini who was the first to be brave enough to drop his bias and say that Michael would be a better leader than the man who’d lain dead at his feet.

“You’re a good friend, Davel,” Michael told him.

“And you’re a good leader.”

Arturus rubbed absently at his sore shoulder and thought about drifting off to sleep for a minute—but as soon as he considered closing his eyes, he heard the guards outside speaking. He perked up a bit when he recognized Massan’s voice.

A moment later the trader came into the chamber.

Massan was a dark man of Middle-Eastern heritage. His hair and eyes were black, and his eyebrows, thick as they were, were actually thicker where they formed a unibrow over the bridge of his nose. Massan hoisted his water skin over one shoulder as he entered the chamber. Arturus could hear it sloshing. The skin was still wet from being filled in the river, and Massan left a small trail of water dripping behind him as he walked. Arturus recognized the skin, as it had been made by Galen and traded to the man for ammunition a few years ago. Galen had taught Arturus how to make such a skin from a dyitzu’s hide and bladder.

“Jesus was a carpenter,” Galen had told him then, “but there is not much wood in Hell. Better to be a mason or a tanner, if you were to pick.”

Arturus didn’t know too much about Jesus. Galen had told him it would have been different if he had been born back in the old world. He would know all about Jesus, and perhaps have had the right to hate him or love him.

“You cannot judge what you do not know,” Galen had told him.

I hope he’s safe.

Massan looked up and noticed Arturus as he began to head towards his tent.

“Lad!” Massan greeted him, leaning to one side so he could look at Arturus’ pack. “Where are your parents? You stuff ‘em in there?”

“They’re not here,” Arturus said, standing up.

“Surely you’re no runaway?” Massan asked incredulously.

“No,” Arturus said with a laugh, “I didn’t run away. Galen’s still out and Rick wanted to spend the day hunting, so I thought I’d come by and do some trading for them.”

“Well, did you now?” Massan asked, flashing his crooked teeth with a smile. “What are you looking for?”

“Shells, 12 gauge. Some buck and ball if you’ve got any. And a barrel.”

“Barrel for what?”

Arturus leaned in close, close enough that he could smell the man’s sweat. They had been speaking softly already to be considerate to the sleeping villagers, but Arturus lowered his voice even further so that none could overhear.

“For an AR-15,” he said.

“An AR-15?” Massan replied in kind. “That’s a rare one. Don’t see much ammunition for those about.”

“Yeah,” Arturus agreed.

“Well, come on by my tent, boy,” the trader said in a normal voice. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Massan’s water
skin landed next to Kara, causing her to turn over and cover her head with a blanket. The trader began rummaging through the pile of packs where he kept his goods. Arturus glanced outside of Massan’s door blanket and noticed that the nearby neighbors were stirring, perhaps awakened by the noise.

“Now why in the name of Christ Almighty do you want to get an AR-15 barrel?” Massan asked, his voice quiet once again.

“I don’t know, maybe Galen found a stash of .223 while he was out on his last hunt.” Arturus kept his voice fairly quiet.

“Could b
e
. .
.
or he could have killed an Infidel Friend.”

Arturus nodded slowly. If Galen had killed one of their kind, the others would surely want retribution. He felt his heart quicken, and he wished even more fervently that Galen would come home soon.

Arturus had never seen an Infidel Friend. To think of it, he didn’t imagine that many in Harpsborough had either. Still, the Infidel’s men were reputed to be an evil force, both deadly and amoral. And they used 5.56 millimeter rounds, the legends said.

You cannot judge what you do not know.

Massan’s unibrow became even more pronounced as it furrowed. The man rummaged more ferociously through his packs. Arturus leaned over to look at what they contained.

There were a few shirts in there, and a wine bottle, the cork still wrapped. He also saw a collection of lighters, each plastic and painted with a unique design. There was a skull, too. Arturus breathed in when he saw it, and he moved a little closer.

“Hey!” Massan said suddenly, hiding the skull beneath the shirts. “Stay back.”

“Sorry, sir.”

The trader carefully held up the side of his pack, keeping Arturus from seeing his wares while he continued his search.

I wonder what that skull was from? Why wouldn’t he want me to see it? Maybe he could have sold it to me.

Not looking up, Massan passed Arturus a box of 12 gauge shotgun shells. After a few moments, he produced a second box.

“Twelve gauge and slugs. That going to be enough shells?” Massan asked, his accent for some reason becoming more pronounced as he continued to shift through his things.

“Should be fine, sir.”

Arturus opened the boxes. The boxes
themselves were a bit banged up but the shells looked fine.

“Ah, what have we here?” Massan marveled as he pulled out a gun barrel from near the bottom of the stash. “Galen will be proud of you, son.”

He has one!

“Where did you find it?”

“You may recall, a few years ago, that I got lost up near Macon’s Bend. I found the barrel with an M-16, actually. The gun was hopelessly damaged, but I took the barrel just in case. I thought I might have to trade it to get someone to take me back to Harpsborough.”

“You would have traded it to an Infidel Friend?”

“Son, I would have traded it to the Devil himself if he’d take me home.” He looked past Arturus to the sleeping Kara. “You’d never know how a place you hate can mean so much to you, till it’s gone.”

Arturus had never been far from home.

Would I miss it?

“So, what have you got to trade?” Massan asked, suddenly all business.

“For the shells I was thinking a few pounds of dyitzu meat and some devilwheat.”

“How about five pounds per box? It’s been a bit rough finding shells lately. You can keep your devilwheat, we’ve enough of it here. Your friend Julian trades tons of that stuff to us.”

“Five pounds! Galen never traded you more than one for shells.”

“I charge everyone the same. I’ve made Galen pay that much in my day, when shells were scarce.”

But shells aren’t scarce right now, dyitzu are. I’m going to be cheated.

Galen had given him advice about trading. He had said that the truth was always best, so long as you only spoke part of it.

“Amazing that you are low on shells since there’s hardly been any dyitzu to shoot at lately,” Arturus said. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know that you are going to end up cheating me, and I’m okay with that. But if you take advantage of me now, they won’t send me back here. You’ll stuck driving hard bargains with Galen and Rick. But if you give me a good deal, then they will send me back, and you can fleece more off of me in the future.”

Massan smiled. “Very well, boy. Dyitzu meat is rather hard to come by at the moment. And I’d play fetch with a hellhound before I’d eat another bundle of Julian’s devilwheat.” Massan’s laugh was infectious. “Perhaps you will keep coming back, but I doubt I’ll be able to cheat you much. Give me three pounds and I’ll give you both boxes of shells. When you get
home, tell Galen and Rick that you gave me an extra pound because food was so scarce. But for the barrel, you are going to have to do better than dyitzu meat.”

Arturus pulled out what looked to be three or so pounds of smoked dyitzu and passed them over to Massan. Massan didn’t bother to weigh them, which was a sign of great trust.

“Rick gave you a full pack, didn’t he?” Massan asked.

“Yeah, I think he wanted you to be able to cheat me,” Arturus said, and then he looked at Massan sternly. “He did not give me ten pounds of meat, though.”

Massan laughed

After a few more moments rifling through his pack, Arturus pulled out a nine millimeter pistol.

He offered it to the trader who partially disassembled the weapon to take stock of it.

“A fine gun. Normally I wouldn’t trade it for a rifle barrel, but I don’t suppose that anyone around here is going to have a need for an infidel’s weapon.”

“Is the rifling in it okay?” Arturus asked as he examined the item.

“I have no idea, Turi.” Massan told him. “Never fired anything from it.”

Arturus slid through the door blanket and held the barrel up to the light outside of Massan’s tent-house. There didn’t appear to be any carbon deposits on the inside of it. On the whole, the barrel looked pretty good.

He looked over to Alice’s hovel then, hoping that she would be awake and moving about. She was not.

Galen and Rick always asked for information before they left. Galen only seemed to be curious about Harpsborough’s leaders, particularly the First Citizen, Michael Baker. Rick asked for the gossip.

“Any rumors about where the dyitzu have gone?” Arturus asked Massan.

“A little quieter boy,” Massan told him softly as he cast a glance at the sleeping Kara, “The others are still asleep, remember?”

“Sorry,” Arturus apologized, smiling impishly.

Massan joined him outside of the tent.

“None that I believe. I’m almost worried about how few devils are about, though. Aaron says it’s the calm before the storm. Like he’d know. He’s been Lead Hunter for a few years
, and all of a sudden he thinks that he’s a prophet. Your friend Alice buys it, of course. You know how close those two have been lately.”

Arturus shook his head
and glanced over to Alice’s hovel. He supposed it was empty. His chest felt a lot like that hovel.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much, lad. She’s always been too old for you anyway.”

“Why would you think I like her?” Arturus asked.

“Because you wear your emotions on your sleeve, like Rick. If you don’t want people to know what you are thinking, then you should wear them
on the inside, like Galen.”

Arturus nodded.

“Sometimes I can tell you were born here,” Massan said.

I wish everyone didn’t think I was different.

“I better get going,” Arturus said, “if I’m not back soon Rick will have two of us to worry about.”

Massan nodded.
“Goodbye, Turi. Don’t keep him waiting.”

The trader went back inside.

I really should go. I promised Rick I’d make the trades and that’s it.

Besides, he had to ask Rick about the AR-15 barrel. If Galen had killed an Infidel Friend, Arturus would want to know. Maybe that’s why the man hadn’t returned. But just as he was moving to leave the city, he saw Alice
coming out of her home. She yawned and stretched.

He imagined Alice to be a princess, like in one of Galen’s stories. She was merely a common girl now, but she would be so much more when she met the man she was destined for. He watched her, a bit hypnotized, as she arranged her blue thigh length skirt. He could not understand how any man could look at her and not want to be with her. Massan must lie awake in his tent at night, dreaming of
that fair maiden, cursing the fates that his age did not align with hers.

Arturus remembered to breathe.

I told Rick I’d go straight home.

When she looked his way he quickly averted his gaze and pretended that he was examining his pack. After a moment, he dared a few more clandestine glances. She was tying her blonde hair back into a ponytail with a blue hair tie. With her arms held high and back, her small breasts were pushed forward. The purple color of her bra showed through her white tank top. Arturus felt flushed, and looked away, embarrassed.

I should talk to her.

He couldn’t imagine what to say, though. Anything he could think of was all about himself, and he had no idea why she would find his life interesting.

He considered leaving then, but the fact that he had come to the city all by himself made him bold. He approached her.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, his voice cracking only a little.

“Good,” she replied, giving him a half-smile, “and yourself?”

“I guess I’m okay. I came in to trade for some things and got them. I’m sure Rick will be proud of me. I’m really worried about Galen, though. He’s late.”

Alice nodded politely. After a few heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, she started to move on.

“What’s that?” Arturus asked her, pointing to the ornament that hung in front of her door blanket.

“It’s a dreamcatcher.” She turned back and reached out to touch one of the pebbles caught up in the yarn web. “It stops my nightmares from coming in, but lets the good dreams through.”

“Does it work?” He looked at the dreamcatcher suspiciously.

Alice laughed. “It’s just a symbol, silly.”

Her words stung him slightly, but Galen had said that symbols were very real. Sometimes too real. Arturus knew that some men would die for a symbol.

Arturus took a closer look at the dreamcatcher. “Yeah, but does it?”

Her left cheek dimpled with her smile. “Almost. Keeps them all out but one. One always gets through.”

“Must be broken. Bet you I could fix it.”

The dreamcatcher’s beads rattled as Arturus touched one of its strings.

Alice’s ponytail swung back and forth as she shook her head. “I’d need to see your certifications.”

“You can trust me,” Arturus said, laughing. “I’m an expert.”

“Oh are you?”

“Sure am.
Hey, I was wondering if you—I brought some food with me to trade and I have a lot left. I’m sure Rick wouldn’t mind it if you’d eat with me.”

Actually, he’d probably be pretty angry.

Alice glanced up to one of the Fore’s balconies. “Well, I can’t. I’m meeting Molly at the church, but maybe we could eat together tomorrow?”

“Really?”

She nodded, smiling.

What if Rick doesn’t let me come back?

“Wait, I don’t know if I can make it to town,” he said, thinking quickly, “but maybe we could meet at the Hungerleaf Grove?”

“Tomorrow, about this time?” she asked.

Their morning is just a little behind ours.

“Perfect,” he said, and fought to keep himself from smiling too hard.

“I’ll see you soon,” she told him, and continued on towards the church.

“Wait,” he said on impulse.

Alice stopped and turned back towards him.

“What’s the nightmare, the one that always gets through?”

“Why do you want to know?”