"This hero thing doesn't half suck," he said.
"Roll me a smoke, John Wayne."
When Shrike finished, the Ubari dignitary began chattering and gesturing again. His guests nodded solemnly and looked at Spyder.
"We off the hook?" he asked.
"I think so," said Shrike. "He's saying that we're true champions appointed by god, god or some kind of giant bird. That we care so much for humanity that we can't even stop to celebrate a victory when the war against darkness goes on."
The Ubarian grew quiet. He turned and embraced Spyder and the others in turn. The dignitaries all rushed forward to shake their hands and kiss their cheeks, as the group made their way back to Cornelius.
When Bel came forward to shake, Spyder held on to his hand. "Ask this guy if he'll give us a lift out of here," he said to Shrike.
She spoke quietly to the Prince as the other dignitaries clustered around them, praising them in a dozen languages. They're worse than demons, Spyder thought. Demons can't help being creepy.
A moment later Shrike returned. "It's set. We're heading out now."
"Not soon enough for me."
When they'd all climbed on to Cornelius' back, Spyder ordered him to rise as quickly as possible. The dignitaries gave a collective "Ooo," as the man-machine set out around the city walls to where the airships were berthed.
They waited with the Prince beneath his new scorpion airship as he barked orders to a small group of deck hands waiting on the ground. The hands called up to the ship, then used an elaborate series of whistles and arms gestures to send orders back and forth. A few minutes later, a large cargo net was lowered to the ground. Cornelius stepped into the net and curled his legs under his body. With a jerk, the spider and his passengers were hoisted up and onto the Prince's airship.
They banked gently and headed out to sea, sailing to Madame Cinders' tower fortress in Alexandria, with a dozen airships tagging along. The morning sun turned the edges of the airships to fire, so that Bel's was trailed by a burning swan, a school of fiery fish, a glowing snake skeleton and a perfect silver sphere that reflected the sky, sea and all the other ships nearby.
Prince Bel gave them his best rooms. They happily cleaned up and settled in. When they weren't busy sleeping, crew members bought in a constant stream of food and wine. Shrike didn't let on that she could speak the language, and enjoyed reporting what she heard while eavesdropping.
"It's like a game of Telephone," she said. "The rumors circulate, getting bigger and bigger with each telling. Spyder is an archangel or maybe the new Lucifer. I get the feeling that a lot of asylums emptied in all three Spheres when Hell came down."
Spyder relaxed on a silk-covered fainting couch, with Shrike curled up next to him.
"That's pretty silly," he said. "But it's nice to be well thought of for a change."
"Can't argue with that," Lulu said, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.
The trip was calm and slow, which was just what they needed, Spyder thought. He and Shrike sneaked into the unoccupied rooms in their part of the ship and made love as often as they could. At other times, Shrike went up on deck and practiced with her sword, getting used to having her sight back.
By the time Bel deliver them to Alexandria, they were growing restless. Shrike had spotted angels flying near the ship one night. They couldn't decided if that was a good sign or bad, but decided it was time to get off.
The Prince, who'd kept his distance during the flight, appeared in full royal drag on deck when it was time for them to disembark. He said a few words that Shrike nodded at, but didn't even bother to translate. With a wave of his hand the cargo net lowered Cornelius to the ground, in an open area near Alexandria's main port. Spyder, Shrike and Lulu were already on the spider's back.
"It looks like Brighton," Cornelius said. "I think…"
What first struck Spyder about being back in an Earthly city with cars and humans, pollution and fast food joints, was how completely unremarkable it felt to be riding on the back of a giant mechanical spider borrowed from a friend in Hell, moving unseen through streets alongside spirits, angels and mythical creatures that inhabited the other Spheres. Shrike directed Cornelius to the tangled streets of the Medina, and they retraced the route Primo had taken them just days before. Seems like a century, Spyder thought, as Madame Cinder's compound came into view.
Fifty Nine
At the End of the Day, Luck always Fails
"You lose my Gytrash and bring me back this useless deviant?" rasped Madame Cinders.
"One, we didn't lose him. He was our friend and he was killed trying to get that damned book for you," Spyder said. "Two, we didn't bring Lulu back for you, lady. You don't deserve her used panty shields, much less her. And three, if you think deviants are useless, we must know real different deviants."
"Give me my book."
"You're very fucking welcome."
They'd entered Madame Cinders' fortress without bothering to wait for her servants to open up. Spyder had Cornelius kick his way through the front gates. The splintering wood and old iron hinges twisted and smashed with a very satisfying amount of noise. Ten of Cinders' guards ran into the courtyard, but backed off immediately when they saw Spyder and the others climbing down from Cornelius' back. They strolled straight through Cinders' palace and up her tower with Cornelius guarding their rear. No one gave them any trouble.
It was a tight squeeze, getting Cornelius up to the top of Cinders' tower. He had to turn his great mechanical body sideways and crab slowly up the stairs, his head scraping the top of the passage the whole way.
"Give me my book," repeated Madame Cinders.
Spyder gestured for Cornelius to come forward and drop the book. As it hit the floor, the tower shook as if it had been hit by an earthquake. Cinders' guards looked around anxiously as bones, dried herbs and potions tumbled from the shelves, but Madame Cinders showed no outward reaction. This wasn't surprising, Spyder thought. She looked even worse, less human than when they'd left her.
"I've heard about your doings in the underworld. You think you have power now that you've defeated a few miscreant angels," she said. "But you have no real power."
Madame Cinders was no longer upright. Her gilded wheelchair had been replaced by a kind of mechanical gurney, on which she lay fully prone. Only her head was upright, propped on a pile of stained pillows. Spyder was sure she'd shrunk in size, too. Were her legs missing? The pump system that injected and drained whatever horrible fluids kept her feeble flesh moving, had doubled in size, and was now larger than Cinders and the gurney together. Still, trapped in that ruined body, she managed to project both intelligence and menace. Spyder didn't like looking at her. She stank like an old abattoir. Spyder patted his pockets, found the last of the tobacco he'd acquired at Berenice and began rolling a cigarette.
"There's no smoking in the presence of Madame," said one of her guards. Spyder ignored him. He licked the paper lengthwise and rolled the cigarette closer.
Madame Cinders continued, "Any fool can stumble into luck once, twice, a hundred times, but at the end of the day, luck always fails. Then, skill and knowledge are required. You have neither. The Butcher Bird has some, but not enough to save you both."
"I have plenty of skill. I'm a pretty good tattoo artist. And I know how to make a sour apple martini," said -Spyder.
"The last time you were here, the Butcher Bird was the one who spoke. Now, puffed up with yourself, you do all the talking. Or are you jabbering because she is planning some action against me?"
"I'm not speaking because I have nothing to say to you, witch," said Shrike.
Cinders laughed her awful, gurgling laugh. "But you have you sight, child. And soon you will have your father. I should think you'd be grateful for these things."