“It’s very nice when you’re on good terms. It’s also a way of letting us know that her wealth and power can hurt us if things go badly.”
“You’re getting a lot more from that fig than I’m getting from this orange.”
“Keep quiet. There are people listening.”
“Where?”
Shrike inclined her head to a grating set into the wall. Spyder looked and saw numerous pairs of eyes staring at him through the wooden latticework. As soon as he focussed on them, the eyes were gone. He crawled over the cushions and looked through. Beyond the wall was a large, formal room. Serving girls and white clad boys were cleaning the place and taking great pains not to look in Spyder’s direction.
“She’ll see you now.” It was Primo, down at the far end of the chamber. Spyder gave Shrike his arm and they followed the little man down a long, cool passageway past dozens of rooms, out the back and into a sprawling Victorian greenhouse. The glass walls and roof were white with steam. Inside, it was like a sauna. Spyder was immediately drenched in sweat. Primo led them deep into a thick internal jungle filled with tropical plants whose thorns and poison sap tugged at their clothes.
They entered a wet crystal-walled room filled with orchids of every imaginable size and color. Servants were gently tending the flowers with potions and fertilizers. Using a silver scoop, a young boy tossed ground meat into the soil. The orchids bent gracefully and used their fleshy blossoms to gather up the bloody scraps. Those that couldn’t reach the meat ripped the petals from nearby flowers. The place smelled like a cross between a department store perfume counter and a slaughterhouse.
Spyder felt Shrike stiffen and when he looked, Madame Cinders was being rolled into the greenhouse in a wheelchair carved as gilded and elaborately decorated as any Louis XIV throne. Attached to the wheelchair was a kind of elaborate pump system tied to an intravenous tube that slid under the rich folds of Madame Cinders’ sky blue hajib. The woman’s face was entirely hidden by the headdress. There was only an oval-shaped grid across her eyes and through it, Spyder could see nothing but darkness.
Primo walked into the center of the room and stood straight, striking an awkwardly formal pose. “This is the mistress of this house, the Last Daughter of the Moon, the protector and destroyer of Ail-Brasil, Madame Cinders. She will ask you a series of questions. You will answer these to the best of your ability. You are not permitted to question Madame Cinders at this time. If Madame decides to avail herself of your services, then questions may be asked in a less formal setting. Do you understand all these points?”
Shrike stepped toward Primo’s voice. Spyder let her and stood where he was, nervous, but careful not to show any emotion. He simply frowned.
“We understand,” said Shrike.
Primo rubbed his hands nervously and looked at Shrike and Spyder. “There is, um, one more stipulation,” he said, and reached behind an enormous elephant ear plant to pull a hidden lever set into the floor. Gears ground beneath their feet. Pistons hissed and pulleys clanked into action. From the ceiling, a gigantic metal flower lowered itself and opened slowly, like a blossom in the morning sun, to reveal dozens of serrated blades, each longer than Spyder was tall.
“Because of the delicate nature of this commission, if your services are not needed you will not, um, be permitted to leave. Madame Cinders regrets any inconvenience this may cause you.”
Spyder shifted his gaze to Shrike. She hadn’t moved, so he mimicked her indifference.
“We’re ready,” Shrike said.
Primo went and stood beside Madame Cinders’ wheelchair. The old woman hadn’t budged since her entrance. When her voice came, it filled the room, surprisingly strong, deep and clear.
“What is your name, child?” She was addressing Shrike. Spyder looked at her.
“I am Alizarin Katya Ryu.” She gave the old woman the slightest of bows.
“Is that your only name?”
“I’m sometimes called Blind Shrike,” she said. “Sometimes Butcher Bird.”
“Why do you carry the name of a harmless little hatchling?”
“The shrike is a hunter, Madame, though a diminutive one. So am I. The shrike skewers its prey on thorns and continues to hunt. Like the shrike, I hunt until the hunt is over. The name was given to me by those who’ve seen my skill.”
“You’re an assassin, child?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“But you are also a thief.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did you not eat my figs without asking? That’s thievery.”
“We were led to food and drink by your servant. We assumed the fruit was for your guests,” said Shrike flatly.
“Is it your habit to conduct your life and work based on assumptions?”
“I use common sense. When food and drink are offered by someone asking for my service, I feel free to eat and drink. If I was wrong in this case, if I have offended you, I apologize. But do not forget, Madame Cinders, that it was you who sought out my help. If it is not wanted, then we’ll be on our way.”
“You have a temper, child.”
“Not temper. I simply dislike wasting time, yours or mine.”
The old woman paused. Her head moved, ever so slightly. Spyder stared deeply into the blackness where he knew her eyes to be. “Your companion, does he speak?”
“Only when he has something to say.”
“Tell me, are you a traveler?”
“If you are asking if I am I willing to go where a patron needs me, the answer is Yes.”
“What if the destination is beyond this Sphere? Beyond every Sphere you know?”
“I go where I’m paid to go.”
“Will you go to Hell for me, Blind Shrike?”
“I’m confused, Madame. I’m an assassin. What use would I be to you in a place of the dead?”
“What indeed?” The little pump attached to Madame Cinders’ wheelchair chuffed into life. An inverted bottle of some thick purplish fluid bubbled on her IV stand. She sighed a little as the fluid drained into her. “As a traveler, what can you tell me of Hell?” Madame Cinders asked.
“It’s very far. It is a city underground, or so surrounded by mountains that it appears to be underground. There are many entrances and exits, if one knows the way. Mostly, I know that you want to avoid the place, if possible.”
“Is that all?”
“As I said, Madame, my concern has largely been with living, breathing adversaries.”
“You are not doing well, child. Not well at all. Do you wish to be fed to my little flowers?”
“The question is insulting,” said Shrike.
The old woman was silent for a moment. Then asked, “If you were to go to Hell on my behalf and you met the great beast called Asmodai, what would you say to him?”
“Who, Madame?”
“No questions, please,” said Primo.
“What would you say upon meeting the beast Asmodai?” asked Madame Cinders.
“Good day to you, sir beast?”
Madame Cinders shook her head wearily and turned to Primo. The little man looked at the lever that controlled the metal flower hanging over their heads.
“I would say his name,” said Spyder. He took a step forward so that he was standing next Shrike. Her head snapped in his direction. “If I were wearing something on my head, I would remove it and I’d say Asmodai’s name three times, once to each of his heads. Once I’ve done this, he’ll kneel down and answer all my questions truthfully.”
“And if you met Paimon?”
“I would only speak to him facing the northwest and never, ever look into his eyes.”
“Better,” said Madame Cinders. “Between the two of you, I see one good hunter and one good hunter is all I need.”
The woman made a slight, almost invisible gesture. Primo jerked the lever that controlled the metal flower. Gears ground again and the blades began to retract. Spyder, his stomach knotted with tension, relaxed. Until he heard a click. The flower stopped retracting and the blades sprang open. The metal blossom shot down at them as if fired by a cannon. Spyder couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go and he was mesmerized by the gorgeous meat grinder fall toward their heads.