Butcher Bird_ A Novel of the Dominion

Twenty-Eight


Suspicious Minds

"We'll reach the city by midday tomorrow, if we get moving by dawn," said Count Non.
"Good news," said Primo. "We need to reach the Kasla Mountains by the full moon. A shadow cast through a certain rocky promontory is the only way to find the entrance to Hell. If we miss the moon, we'll have to wait a month until the next one." He made a face and rubbed the shoulder where his arm was missing. Spyder felt for the guy. His side was hurting after the all-day hike.
"F*ck that," said Lulu. "F*ck that with Michael Jackson's pet monkey."
"Full moon's just a few days off. Think we can make it?" Spyder asked Shrike.
Shrike was smoking Spyder's last cigarette, puffing, then passing the butt to him. Spyder took a drag, then passed the precious smoke to Lulu, who opened her mouth to accept it like a communion Host. She smoked and passed the butt to Shrike, who leaned on her cane, lost in thought.
"We have to make it," Shrike said. "We can't hide out here like bugs in the sand for a month. We're lucky to have made it this far."
They sat in the entrance of a shallow cave, which served as cover for the small fire they had going to ward off the cold desert night. Earlier in the evening, they'd stacked brush at the cave entrance to diminish the glow of the fire, hoping not to be spotted by any scouts from the Seraphic Brotherhood, the Erragal prince or any of the other far too interested parties who might be looking for them. Spyder wasn't sure if "lucky" was the word he'd have used to describe their situation, but they were alive, and he had to admit that that counted big time in the luck department. But his gratitude lessened with every stab of hunger and throb of his injured ribs.
"I wonder what Rubi's doing right now," said Lulu.
"Missing you," Spyder said. "Cursing me."
"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own . . . " Lulu sang softly. "Elvis should have stopped right there, you know? He never did f*ck all after he left Sun Records."
"If he'd stopped there, he wouldn't ever have done 'Suspicious Minds.'"
"Was it worth dying on the shitter for?"
"For 'Suspicious Minds'? Most definitely."
"I'm going to have to give you the benefit of the doubt on that one."
Spyder was sorry that Lulu had brought up Rubi. It made him think of Jenny, whom he no longer really missed, but who remained a kind of sick ache in his stomach. He couldn't even describe the sensation, but it was compounded of regret and the sense that he'd failed as a human in some fundamental way and that her desertion was the starkest proof of that. On the simplest level, though, it just made him gloomy to think that someone he'd been so connected to was walking around hating him. He gave Shrike the last of the cigarette, went to the cave entrance and sat down, letting the night breeze blow over him. The cold made him stop thinking.
He heard someone coming up behind him and saw Shrike settling down.
"You're quiet tonight," she said.
"It's a quiet night."
"You're thinking about home."
"I'm not thinking about anything right now."
"I liked your France story."
"Did you?"
"Would you like to hear one of mine?"
"Not right now. I mean, I want to, but I'm hurting and tired and won't be able to listen right."
"All right," she said. She held up her face to the wind as it blew into the cave. Spyder thought she looked like a young wolf when she stretched her head up like that. She was beautiful.
"Tell me about being blind," Spyder said. "About how there's 'blind and then there's blind.'"
Shrike poked at the sand with her cane. "You probably sensed that I have moments where I appear to see things."
"From the first night we met."
"It's not really sight. It's simple magic, the only kind I know. I never had any formal magic training and just picked up things along on the road. Traded for spells. Bought them. Stole them. There has always been a little magic in my family, but my mother had that knowledge and she was dead. I studied weapons because it made my father happy.
"When our kingdom was scattered and I was on the road, I only had the possessions I could grab from my bedside. A few family heirlooms. One of these was a kind of bracelet with a casting of a bird on top. A shrike. That's my family's totem animal.
"We also had family gods which we prayed and made offerings to. All the royal families have household gods. You need a deity or two on your side to keep other Houses from taking what's yours. Those who knew how could petition the gods for favors. I didn't have that knowledge. But I got it.
"I'd run off some bandits from the property of an odd little man, Cosimo Heisenberg, a kind of mechanical wizard. He made machines that were like people. 'Karakuri,' he called them. Little windup men and women who could sing an aria or write a sonnet or sew a wedding gown.
"He wanted to pay me with a new set of eyes, but I didn't like the notion of depending on mechanical, windup sight. So, he helped me use the gifts I already had better. He made this cane for me, which, as you've seen, is more than a cane. He also examined my heirlooms to see if there was anything of value. He was the first person I'd trusted since leaving home.
"He checked out the bracelet with the bird and figured out what it was for. You see, it made no sense as jewelry. The maker had cast the bird's claws from razor-sharp steel and fitted them to the underside of the piece, so that they were in contact with the skin of the person wearing the bracelet. There was also a spring mechanism to rake the claws down the wearer's arm. What use could there be for something like that?"
"Cutting. Blood," said Spyder, who'd seen his share of bloodletting and scarring rituals among the überhipster modern primitive crowd in San Francisco.
"Exactly. The bracelet was an instrument of sacrifice, a device for making a blood offering to my family gods. Say the right incantation and release the spring on the silver shrike. The blades would take your blood and help you get what you want. On a small scale. It's not much of a sacrifice. Only good for small favors. Like a second or two of sight."
"What do you see? Is it like normal vision?"
"Nothing at all. It's like I'm floating above the scene, looking down on everything happening. I can see myself and my opponent, plus the nearby landscape. The visions never last for long. Just long enough for me to get my bearings and a sense of an opponent. I can't do it too often. The gods get tired of these dime-store sacrifices. I have to be careful not to ask for their help too often."
Spyder frowned. "I wondered why you kept that coat on, even in the heat. You're hiding the bracelet."
"And my arm," said Shrike. "It's not something to see."
"How many times have you used the bracelet?"
"I don't know. Sometimes you make a blood offering without asking for anything in return. Sometimes, when you're boxed in, say, you use it more than once. More blood sometimes means more sight. Sometimes not. I've been using it for ten years."
Spyder reached over and pushed up the sleeve of Shrike's coat. The bracelet was on her right forearm. It was a beautiful object. Like something that belonged in a museum, he thought. He turned Shrike's arm over and worked the bracelet's clasp, sliding the thing off her arm. Shrike's skin was streaked with years of ragged scar tissue. The back of her arm was red with new scars, still in the healing process. She'd used it on the airship, Spyder thought.
He set the bracelet over his own arm. It was too small to go all the way around, so he held it in place and pushed the metal shrike back until he felt it catch. Feeling around the bird's wings, he found the release button and pushed it. The bird raked down his arm, sending an electric pain all the way up to his shoulder. When Shrike heard the bracelet snap, she started a little and reached for him.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"I wanted to know what it was like," Spyder said. He leaned down and kissed her scars before putting the bracelet back on Shrike's arm. She leaned into him and he put his bloody arm around her.
"Where I come from, this isn't your standard dating scenario," Spyder said. Shrike laughed at little. "But I guess it's one way to get to know each other."
"Excuse me."
Spyder looked up. Primo was standing over them.
"I hate to intrude, but I need to speak to madame Butcher Bird."
"Meaning you want me to take off?" asked Spyder.
Primo was silent.
"It's all right, Primo. Spyder is part of this and can hear anything you have to say."
"Yes, ma'am," Primo said. He groaned as he sat down. "There's something Madame Cinders didn't tell you, afraid that you might not agree to perform the service she requires."
"She wanted you to tell me when we were on the road and in too deep to turn back."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. I would have preferred not to do things this way."
"It's all right. I understand that it wasn't your choice. What is it that was too awful for me to know?"
"The mutinous spirits in Hell, the confusion that is to be our cover?"
"Tell me."
"Some say that it is led by the Golden Bull, Xero Abrasax."
Shrike was silent. She stabbed the ground with her cane.
"Shrike?" said Spyder. "You know this guy?"
"Yes."
"He's the . . . "
"Yes, he's the bastard traitor who f*cked me, took my father, my sight and my kingdom."
"There's more, I'm afraid," said Primo.
"F*ck that sick bitch," Spyder said.
"Be quiet," said Shrike. "Tell me the rest, Primo."
"The key that Madame put into your body. You know that it was forged in Hell. It is not an object that is compatible with life. If you fail to reach the cage in which the book rests, the key will move through your body, as it is doing even now, and pierce your heart. You will die."
"We should turn around right now," said Spyder. "We've got the Count with us. She'd never expect an ambush. We'll kick her chair over, pull out her tubes and stand on her f*cking throat until she takes that thing out of you."
"I can't do that. Loyalty is all people in my profession have."
"Excuse me, ma'am, but Mr. Spyder has a point. Whatever you decide, this I'm telling you as a friend and a Gytrash: Madame Cinders does not always honor her bargains gracefully. When this is over, you must be wary."
"Swell," said Spyder. "If we fail we're screwed and if we succeed we're f*cked."
"Thank you for telling me. You're a true friend," said Shrike. She reached out and squeezed the little man's hand.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"We have to go forward. Without the book, we have nothing to bargain with. With it, we have a chance."
"We can cut and run," said Spyder. "Disappear into that city ahead. Or trade for a ship and go somewhere."
"There are too many people looking for us," said Shrike. "There's no ship that can sail us away from this mess. And I need to get this key out of my body. The only way to do that is to get to Hell and succeed."
"I'm going with you," said Spyder.
"You can't. One glimpse of the underworld and you'll be trapped there forever."
"I'm not going to sit by the door reading the funnies, wondering what time you're getting home from work."
"This is just stupid and dangerous. Why are you doing this?"
Spyder kissed Shrike's cheek. "Didn't you get the memo? Heroes are coming smaller this year."
They went and sat back down at the fire with Count Non and Lulu. The Count had his long legs propped against the far wall of the cave. Spyder watched as a tarantula worked its way down from the ceiling, stepped onto Count's boot and crept up his leg. When it reached his hip, Non grabbed the tarantula and tossed it into the fire, where it writhed and sizzled. Spyder looked at the man.
"When you cut out the poison sac, tarantula tastes a lot like crab," the Count said.
"There must be some seriously f*cked up Boy Scouts where you come from," said Spyder.
Lulu was making shadow animals on the wall. She wiggled her fingers to create a giant spider.
"The Count and me were having a chat, and we agree on the whole Elvis thing. 'Suspicious Minds' is a fine song, but Tom-f*cking-Jones could've sung it as well. Probably did, too. I don't have any Tom Jones CDs."
"I have a bootleg of Elvis doing 'Suspicious Minds' live that I'll play for you when we get back," said Spyder. "You'll see it's worth suffering any number of white-leather Vegas jumpsuits. For a song like that, you've got to take the good with the bad."