Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets (35 page)

Without realising it I find myself at the wheel of the aviomobile. I’ve driven several kilometres. I’ve done something terrible but at this point in time I can’t remember what it is. There’s time for that later.

I bring the hovering vehicle to a stop at the bottom of the Lovl’Atheron spire, next to the car that I fortuitously parked here aeons ago.

Gilder is not being very helpful, however, I still manage to transfer his prints onto Cohl’s gun. Then I dismantle the gun and put it in an evidence bag I get out of the glove compartment of my trusty old banger. All I have to do now is position the detonators in the boot. I run my finger along the activation runes, which respond by glowing bright red for an instant. The remote controls, similar in terms of size and weight to dominos, attune themselves and produce the same phenomenon. One would be enough really, but just to be on the safe side. I’ve never heard of a faulty rune however. I put them in my pocket and close the door.

If I remember correctly, this is the whole story nearing its epilogue. There is a list of locations saved in the memory, I instruct the satnav to go “home”, Nylmeris’s, obviously. While the LMI rises and my car gets smaller and smaller, the past week—in actual fact it’s not even a whole week—whizzes before my eyes like a film on fast-forward.

I take a deep breath and force the air out through my nostrils hoping that it takes all my anxiety and that lump in my throat with it. But it doesn’t happen. My hands are trembling, locking them until my knuckles turn white, doesn’t help in the slightest. It doesn’t matter much, the plan doesn’t include any more shooting; in fact, once I’m inside, if I touch any weapon at all for any reason, it means that I am mathematically dead. No stroke of luck can save me from a tower packed with livid asses. I have to use my brain.

I fly over the dismal urban landscape. Deformed, grandiose, branded by a particular destiny which has been clear for over a thousand years. Nectropis is dazzled by itself. It is unaware of its own vulnerability, it forgets that it was wounded once before, a long time ago. Indeed it laughs at the idea that it could happen again. The elves’ city belongs to the vampires now, it thinks it is eternal, blind to the sunrises and the sunsets, removed from recurrences of history. Facing Valan, the very thought electrifies me, means facing the whole City. Nobody personifies its essence quite like the patriarchal elf, whom not even the Apocalypse was able to break.

The idea that I will be the first one to defeat him makes the world’s silent mockery more resonant. A monkey scampering across the palm of a god. All I have to do is close my fist and this madness will be over.

The vehicle continues to gain height, nearly the whole height of the tower, my ears block. I slow down just before I get to the terrace where I was greeted by the naked slut, then the autopilot automatically continues horizontally towards the wall, threatening to crash into it. A section of the wall opens up just in time, falling forwards like a drawbridge hanging in thin air. With only millimetres to spare on each side, the aviomobile enters the opening while progressively reducing its speed, until it comes to a complete stop inside a tidy garage, smelling of petrol. From the rear view mirror I watch the wall go back to normal, thus sealing the room. Elves think of everything, they seem to have included a system which compensates for the annoying noise.

I say goodbye to the gift-wrapped mortuary and get out. I take the only door out of the garage and into the private quarters of the deceased Nylmeris. The floor is soft under my feet, a multitude of coloured carpets cover the surface. Wall lights automatically come on when I walk past them. The rooms are extremely spacious. The interior decorator didn’t scrimp on the furniture, nevertheless the place has an austere feel to it, spartan even. One can see at a glance that it is—that it was—the apartment of an old-style military man, more accustomed to camps than walls.

I waste no more time poking around and focus on finding my way to a well-known area of the spire. I ignore a couple of dead ends and eventually get to the enormous training room, it’s deserted. Cautiously, I cross it in the direction of the stairs I noticed yesterday. While I’m approaching the spiral staircase I hear muffled sounds of revelry, confirmation of my suspicion that the stairs lead to the orgy room. It’s Sunday night, the perverts are probably having a whale of a time. I instinctively sink deeper inside the hood as I stealthily pad across the floor. Halfway up the stairs I can already identify separate voices, moans and carefree laughter. At the top there’s a bare ante room, a reception area for those intending to join the immense fornicatorium. I warily peep inside.

It’s difficult to work out if that mass of legs, arms and gasps is composed of seven or eight individuals, but in any case it appears to be too busy to concentrate on anything but itself. Although the room is heaving with knots of depraved immortals, only the wild heap near the entrance could potentially spot me, the others are too far away to see me if I slink through the shadows along the length of the wall. At least, too far away to notice anything unusual about a tightly-fastened elf cape.

A few seconds to wait for the right moment. Yeah, okay, I’m not averse to watching the action. An elf orgy is not the kind of thing you see on TV.

I shake my head to drive out a sudden feeling of sexual arousal, and pull my cape around me.

Right. I’m off.

Walk briskly, but don’t run.

Don’t look at anyone, go straight on.

Close to the wall.

Don’t break into a run.

Halfway there, you’re doing well.

There’s the hall that leads to Valan’s office.

Shit! One of those glowing globes is coming towards me, to light the way.

I speed up.

Don’t run.

A cheery voice greets me in Elvish.

I respond with a wave, the light is getting closer.

A few hurried steps…

I turn the corner, the globe appears to forget about me.

I quickly retrace the route, from here onwards it’s still very fresh in my mind, as far as his office, shunning any interest from individuals wearing only their birthday suits. It’s a good job that elves don’t believe in privacy within their own environment. I haven’t seen a single door in the living quarters at the top of the tower, but I imagine that for a family who spends their free time shagging the very idea of intimacy sounds vaguely ridiculous. The odd curtain here and there, just to keep the draughts out. Like this one that now separates me from the patriarch. I breathe in a deep lungful of oxygen. I part the curtain and go inside.

Valan is at his desk, bent over a large book, he’s writing in it with a flamboyant quill, it looks like a peacock feather but I bet it’s phoenix.

“You wallowed in your vendetta a good while, Nylm.” He greets me in Elvish, without looking up.

“Sorry Daddy, there was a hitch,” I answer in the Common language, just the right side of irreverent. I have to come across as unscrupulous, determined, confident of pulling it off.

The sound of my voice causes the nib to skid, smudging the elf’s elegant copper-plate handwriting. To begin with he locks his eyes onto me, while keeping his head down. Two spears of fire enter my body, almost causing me physical pain. Then he straightens up, his lips pressed together like an old scar, his eyes reduced to oblique cracks, his jaw clamped.

“What has become of my descendant?

“Terribly sorry, but he didn’t make it, your Excellency.”

He stands up in a burst of fury.

“You miserable, insignificant little
creep
, clouded by the dust of Leng! What sordid felony allowed you to cut down such a refined example of military prowess, a soul so noble as to outdo even
myself
in the art of the blade?! The same which has rendered you so very fearless that you even dare to imagine showing yourself in my presence, without even prostrating yourself, your forehead to the ground and begging for mercy, indeed you pollute my air with arrogance! Phrenasthenia, I call it!”

I let him vent his confused fury, also because I haven’t completely understood what the fuck he’s banging on about, and I rummage about in my bag while I walk towards the desk. I take out Inla’s manuscript and gently place it on the desk, on top of the one he was writing in and catch sight of the change in handwriting that marks my arrival.

“Oh come, come Excellency. We
both
know what you’re capable of doing so as to see another dawn-less day.”

Valan sits down again, his murderous instincts come down a notch. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still livid, but it’s more contained.

“I demand that the body be returned to our people.”

“He’s downstairs, in his house. With the blonde and Cohl.”

“You are aware that those two unsuspecting urbanities are allowing you to continue to soil my abode. Nevertheless, I wonder if you are so wicked as to delude yourself that they can sufficiently amend the infamy you blatantly champion.”

Right, at last he’s ready to talk reasonably. I was certain that the old fox wouldn’t have given in to emotion for very long. No, that’s not true. To be honest, I wasn’t certain of anything at that point.

“I am aware of that, Excellency.”

“So, are you here to taste the icy metal in the dry clutches of the Pale? Or, alternatively, your delirium is such that you have reached the heights of childish imaginings and you are persuaded to challenge me and emerge the victor?”

“No, Excellency, neither of those.” I’m smiling. Okay, it’s more of a half-smile.”

“Then
speak
, irritating upright worm!”

“Does your Excellency know what a scanner is?”

“Technological rubbish for reproducing images on electronic calculators.”

“And the
internet
?” I allude while stroking the jacket of the book.

His face turns puce.

“Even a mediocre user of magic practices such as yourself should know that an enchanted scroll contains far more than a photographic image can capture.

“Oh, of course. But a venerable archmagus like yourself knows equally well that sometimes, it’s just enough to provide a few ideas. Particularly when the spell is supported by extensive commentary… I’m sure that some Lich or another will get the picture. Or perhaps, I don’t know, a brilliant porcine shaman…”

“That’s enough!” The idea of being humiliated by an ogre enrages him. “I can imagine the rest. In the meanwhile, name your price, vile extortionist.”

“Two hundred thousand, in cash, now. Then I’ll disappear along with the files.”

“That’s all? You have extinguished the blood of my blood in order to beg for a few coins?”

“It might be a trifling amount to you, but not to me. And then, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“I have to be officially dead. Nobody must come and look for me.”

Here we go. Valan is giving his chin a massage, in search of the catch. Because it all looks too easy, doesn’t it? I’m putting my head on a platter. I’m practically beheading myself with my own hands. But the old man is as angry as hell, and he thinks I’m completely off the rails. After all, what harm could it do him, letting me get out of here alive? Like he couldn’t have me bumped off tomorrow if he felt like it. He’ll have to send someone to make sure that the information gets cancelled, but maybe I’m so stupid as to save him this job. Officially dead, in the end, it means that he could torture me whenever it takes his fancy, if icing me isn’t enough. Come on caryatid, you’re king of the world. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.

“And so be it.”

He’s actually fallen for it.

At the click of his fingers an ethereal silhouette with elusive features appears. In his native language he instructs it to bring what I have requested. While we wait I can’t bear the sight of his eyes, brimming with hate, despite my feeling of exuberance at having
almost
got away with it. He’s too…
ancestral
, too
malevolent
. Interminable minutes of cruel silence, squashed by his divine influence. I can’t breathe, a visceral feeling of unease is rising within me. An uncontrollable desire to throw myself at his feet and implore forgiveness, reveal my bluff, stab myself and beg to be pitied…

MAGIC!

I stick my hand under my cape and summon the Altra, which immediately vibrates and hums.

The claws of terror produced by his magic release my flesh and leave me panting.

“You’re feisty, for an inferior being. Not as feeble as I thought. Perhaps in some way this may redeem Nylmeris from his dishonourable fall from grace.”

The gun returns to its dimension, to safety. It seems I was wrong about weapons in the tower.

“Let’s be honest, Excellency. The colonel was out of his mind when he killed your daughter.” I don’t want to let him develop that suspicion by provoking him. Victory is in my grasp, I can’t let him screw me over on the finishing line.

“Do not
challenge my benevolence
, you’re nothing more than a parody of a sentient being.”

The mysterious servant reappears with a brown briefcase in his ghostly tentacles. He opens it in front of me, so I can check the contents. I flick through one of the eight wads of notes, mostly because it’s what the film script demands more than because of a lack of faith. Satisfied, I close the case and take hold of it.

“It’s been an honour doing business with you, Excellency.” I perform a little bow.

“I struggle to say the same, you blackmailing filth.”

Without further ado, he teletransports me to the entrance of the tower, right in the middle of the rubbish bins. I don’t know if he intentionally made my journey as unpleasant and disorienting as possible, but after I trip over I don’t know what, I upset a heap of rotting organic waste matter, and my usual queasiness develops into three rounds of projectile vomiting. Funny old gimp at the top of his gigantic dick. Now it’s my turn to play a prank on him.

I get rid of the revolting cape stained with the half-digested sandwich I had for lunch and stagger off to find my car. I leave the immediate area around the tower and make off top speed towards a nearby park I noticed on my way up. It doesn’t take me more than thirty seconds, but I need to keep a safe distance. In any case, I can’t leave it any longer as I they might discover the explosives. One last glance at the building, through the window that makes everything look yellow.