One of the angels rustled his wings. “Maybe if we went to Semple’s domain? She could have weapons there. And there are those strange guards that she invented. Perhaps they might protect us.”
Aimee was about to explain why retreating to Semple’s horrible environment was out of the question, but then it occurred to her that the angel might actually have had an inspired idea.
***
As Jim, Doc, and Semple emerged from the elevator, the woman in the elaborate buckled boots was coming out of the coffee shop. Semple nodded to her but received only a blank stare in response. The two men were still debating the best way to get out of Hell, and neither of them noticed the woman at all as they headed for the revolving doors of the Mephisto Hotel’s main entrance. The entrance led out into a broad tunnel that in turn would take them to the concourse at the foot of the elevators. Directly outside the doors, a small knot of Virgils were plying for hire. Jim glanced at Doc. “Do you think we should get one?”
Doc thought about this. “I don’t know Hell well enough to get around without some sort of guide, but it’s taking a chance. Word could go straight back to Lucifer.”
Semple looked around cautiously. “You think Lucifer will be coming after us?”
“Indeed I do. Kali, too, for that matter. Young Morrison here may not have actually taken their money, but he did rob the game, and that’s something neither of them can allow to be seen to happen.”
“So it’s really just my ass that’s on the line ?”
Doc shook his head. “I fear Lucifer and Kali don’t go in for such precise apportionment of blame. We were all there, we all left together-we’re all tarred with the same brush.”
“So it wouldn’t help if we separated?”
Doc half-smiled. “A noble thought, my boy, but it wouldn’t do any good.” He glanced slyly at Semple. “Besides, I thought you two were in the throes of lewd acquaintance.”
Jim glanced at Semple and then turned back to Doc. “What’s the point in getting acquainted if I’ll only end up dragging her down with me ?”
Semple stiffened. “Listen, darling, before you start trying to do any far, far better thing, let me decide when and where I want to be dragged down.”
Before the subject of Jim taking the rap could continue, a Virgil came up to them and bowed with studied if importunate courtesy. “Lady and gentlemen, you seem a little lost. Can I be of any service?”
Before either Jim or Doc could respond, Semple took the bull by the horns. “We have to find the fastest way out of here without anyone knowing about it.”
“We Virgils act only in the strictest confidence.”
“Yeah, right. Of course.” Jim didn’t exactly seem convinced.
The Virgil looked almost offended. “No, no, young sir. I assure you. We could hardly function if our discretion was held in any doubt. This is Hell, after all. Many who need a guide do not want their purpose or destination made public.”
Jim looked inquiringly at Doc. “Do we trust him?”
“I think we have to. I don’t have a clue where we should go.”
He faced the Virgil. “So, altissimo poeta, do you think you can get us out of the city without being seen or intercepted?”
“That may well be up to you, young sir.”
Jim stared at the Virgil with deep suspicion. “And what is that supposed to mean, altissimo poeta?”
The Virgil’s face was a mask of formality, impossible to read. “The ancient ways, the ones that are seldom used any longer, these are the paths to take if you need to leave here undetected.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we ride the Dragon, altissimo poeta?”
***
Bernadette and her renegades had stopped chanting, and Aimee knew she had to assume they were on their way to the Sacristy. She looked around at the assembled nuns and angels. “I think it’s time we joined hands. I hate to abandon the Heaven we’ve all worked so hard to create, but the angel here does have the only practical suggestion. We must seek refuge in Semple’s domain.”
What Aimee wasn’t admitting to her small band of followers was that she wasn’t at all sure Semple’s domain was still actually there. It might have imploded when she’d blown Semple into Limbo. If the little group wind-walked to a place that wasn’t there, they would find themselves randomly consigned to absolutely anywhere. They could easily end up, either individually or as a group, in a place that was completely uninhabitable, airless, burning hot or freezing cold, or filled with ravening predators. Despite this, Aimee had already conceded that it would probably be better than crucifixion and whatever Bernadette, in her new role as the Hammer of God, might decide to inflict on them before they were actually nailed to their respective crosses. Aimee suspected that Bernadette was entertaining dreams of inquisition and auto-da-fe. To return to the pods was one thing; prolonged torture was entirely another.
The group linked hands and the energy began to flow. Although they were only eight in number and were badly depleted by recent events, Aimee knew they should be able to raise the power to lift out of there. She focused all her concentration on what she remembered from her single visit to Semple’s territory, and hoped against hope that a destination would still exist when they arrived. As they waited to dematerialize, any question of turning back or revising the plan was eliminated. Bemadette’s rebels began battering on the Sacristy’s carved oak door. The door was formidable, but it would only be a matter of time before they broke it down.
***
The attack came out of nowhere. One moment Semple, Doc, Jim, and the Virgil had been walking quietly through one of the larger passages in the maze of dank subterranean avenues that made up the greater part of Hell’s Third Circle. This fairly deserted thoroughfare of cobbles, paths, and dripping stones-a habitat for grotesque creeping things and misshapen growths of fungi-was an ideal place for an ambush, but they were being reasonably vigilant, and certainly not loitering. The next moment Semple let out a low gurgle and was suddenly dragged backward. The section of passage through which they were traveling wasn’t particularly well lighted, with only ancient, hissing Jack-the-Ripper gaslights every thirty feet, and it took Jim and Doc a couple of seconds to grasp exactly what had happened. A dark figure had slipped out of a doorway, tossed a knotted white scarf around Semple’s neck, and dragged her backward, strangling her. Jim, who was nearest to Semple, had already returned the Gun That Belonged to Elvis to Doc, but even if he’d still had the piece, it wouldn’t have done him very much good. The black-clad attacker was not only throttling Semple, but using her as a shield while he did so. Doc pulled the gun, but from where he was standing, Jim and the Virgil stood in the way of a clear shot.
Jim saw that he was Semple’s only chance. Without thinking, he lunged forward, fists swinging. More by luck than judgment, he connected with the dark shape and heard a muttered curse. He punched twice more and connected again. The attacker let go of one end of the scarf and pushed Semple hard into Jim. As Semple dropped to her knees, coughing and choking, Jim stepped around her and lashed out with his foot, attempting to trip the assassin as he turned to flee. Jim had never exactly been a brawler, but some kind of street-fighting good fortune seemed to be with him there in the Third Circle. His kick swept the attacker’s feet out from under him and he fell heavily on the cobblestones. Jim dropped on top of him, pinning his arms. The attacker still had his legs free, however, and attempted to break loose from Jim by bucking and kicking. In two paces, though, Doc was by Jim’s side, pistol in hand, pointing it at the attacker’s head.
“Keep still, you son of a bitch, or I’ll put a gold .45 slug clear through your damned brain.”