“I barely recall my kingdom and my enemies will be damned in time. But to taunt me with my father’s death, I didn’t expect such low behavior from a lady of your standing, Madame.”
Madame Cinders laughed and it sounded like bubbling sludge. “But your father isn’t dead, Butcher Bird. He’s merely mad. Would you like to see him? He’s here, not two rooms away from us.”
NINETEEN
What Men Never Understand
Whirring ahead in her wheelchair, Madame Cinders led Spyder and Shrike to a padlocked room where the walls were padded with thick, stained silk.
Primo unlocked the door. In the darkest corner of the room, away from the light cast by the lone window, a man lay in a fetal position. His gray hair was greasy and wild. With dirty, bandaged fingers he mindlessly picked at the white padding that spilled out from a rip in the wall. The man’s eyes were unfocussed, wide and wild.
From the door, Shrike said, “Father?” She stepped into the padded room, but Madame Cinders put up an arm to bar her. Shrike grabbed Spyder’s shoulder. “What does he look like?”
“He’s a mess,” said Spyder. “Like those homeless guys you see eating out of dumpsters. I’m sorry.”
“He is not in his right mind, child. He is quiet now, but can be quite dangerous.”
Shrike pushed past Madame Cinders and felt along the wall until she found the huddled man. Spyder moved into the doorway, but hung back. He heard Madame Cinders muttering, “Brave girl. Stupid girl. She has to see everything for herself.”
Shrike knelt by the old man and put her hand on his bony chest. “Father? It’s Alizarin…”
The old man screamed and his hands flailed out, knocking Shrike back. Spyder darted across the room and pulled her back to the door. The old man kept on screaming, batting at invisible attackers, kicking at the empty air. Deep scars lined his cheeks where he’d clawed his skin away. He was reaching for something and if he hadn’t been chained to the wall, he looked like he would be clawing past Spyder and Shrike and anything else he could get hold of. What is he trying to grab? wondered Spyder. He described all this to Shrike.
“What’s wrong with him?” Shrike asked Madame Cinders.
“We found him in an asylum in Persia,” she said. “He’s been made mad by a curse, just as you were blinded by one. Only what your father is suffering is much, much worse.”
“What is he fighting? What does he see?”
“He is seeing Hell, child, dwelling in two Spheres at once. His body is here, but his mind is chained below in some abyssal dungeon. What he is fighting off are the demons that torment him.”
Shrike stood facing her father, though Spyder knew she couldn’t see him. Still, he could feel her body shaking almost imperceptibly. She was trying to see him, trying to will his face into her mind.
“There is only one way to restore your father. And that is to free him from the diabolical shackles that keep him bound below. Otherwise, this is his fate until his heart or his mind finally crack forever.”
“I understand,” said Shrike, cutting off the other woman. “But I have to ask you again—and I don’t ask this arrogantly, but out of fear that I can’t truly help my father—how do I assassinate spirits? I fight the living.”
“You kill the dead with the weapons of the dead,” said Madame Cinders. “Give it to her,” she told Primo. The little man came forward and pulled a long-bladed knife from an inner pocket of his jacket. He pressed the knife into Shrike’s hand and stepped courteously back. Spyder could see by the way Shrike held the weapon that it was heavier than it looked. The hilt was some kind of black horn inlaid with fine silverwork and a blood red ruby on each side. Shrike slowly pulled the blade from its scabbard, getting the feel of the thing.
“A hellspawn stole from me, so before I left that cursed place I returned the favor,” Madame Cinders wheezed before lapsing into a coughing fit. “That is the knife of Apollyon, also called Abbadon. Do you know of him?”
“His name means ‘The Destroyer’,” said Spyder.
“The Destroyer,” repeated Madame Cinders. “The blade will kill anything in this world or the next.”
“Why would a powerful demon need such a weapon?” asked Shrike. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Clever girl,” said Madame Cinders. “You see far beyond your blindness.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“Apollyon is a general in Lucifer’s army. He is part of a loyal faction that opposes Asmodai and the ambitious wizard. You see, Hell is in turmoil, Butcher Bird. The devil’s throne is no longer secure. The wizard and his followers are sewing discontent among the other fallen angels. This mutiny has thrown the entire Underworld into confusion. While it makes Hell a more dangerous place to dwell, it also makes it an easier place to enter and from which to escape. I’m asking you be my thief in the land of the dead, but there should still be killing enough to satisfy even a Butcher Bird.”
“Where is the book now?”
“Lucifer captured it and it now rests in his palace, Pandemonium.”
Shrike slid the demon knife back into its scabbard. “If that book can save my father, I’ll go,” she said. “I accept your commission.”
“Bring me back the book,” said Madame Cinders. “The killing, I leave to you discretion. Slaughter armies or creep in and out like a church mouse. It doesn’t matter to me. But remember this, Lucifer’s ambitions are simple: He rules in Hell and wants vengeance on Heaven. There are revolutionaries in Hell whose ambitions are more like a man’s, rooted in hunger and animal desire. Given the chance, they will use the book to overthrow Hell and then bring Hell to Earth. Fail to rescue the book, child, and we may all end up like your father.”
“I won’t fail,” said Shrike. “I’ll get your book and free my father. And keep Hell in its place.”
“You leave tomorrow at dawn,” said Madame Cinders, reversing in her wheelchair and leading them back to her quarters. “Primo will go with you. He has a map showing your route to the Kasla Mountains, through whose highest peak, Hell is accessible.”
“There are things I need from the city,” said Shrike.
“Go back, by all means. I’ve arranged a tuk-tuk for you. A more secure one, this time.”
“Do you know who arranged the attack our first ride?” asked Spyder.
“Wizards in league with the mad man in Hell. Rebel angels, perhaps, knowing that I am coming for the book. I have a key forged by Lascaux imps, the greatest thieves on the mortal plane. It will open any lock, even in Hell. Come closer, child, so that I may give it to you.”
Shrike went to the old woman, but instead of putting the key into her hand, Madam Cinders slid both her hand and the key into Shrike’s chest. Shrike gasped and pulled away. Spyder held Shrike as she fell back. Madame Cinders’ hand was empty.
“What have you done to me?” screamed Shrike, her sword up and at the old woman’s throat.
“It’s all right, girl. I’ve put the key somewhere no one can steal it. It will travel through you, with your blood. When you reach the cage where the book is housed, you will find the key again in your hand. Until then, it is safe.”
“And unrecoverable, right?” spat Shrike. “This way, I can’t betray you.”
“Unless you fancy evisceration. And you can’t live forever with that thing in your body. You must complete the task you have agreed to.”
“Or she’ll die,” said Spyder.
“It’s what we mortals do best,” said Madame Cinders. “Don’t fool yourself, boy. I haven’t betrayed the girl. I’m merely holding her to our bargain. She’s a woman and knows the difference between bargaining and treachery, something men never seem to understand.”