[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants Read online

  “Not the devil, no,” said another. The three jerked their heads up and saw that the wealthy woman, Miss Oliver, had been passing by them. She stopped and looked at the boys. Her guard glanced at them, then looked away. Perseval realized that despite her gray hair and stooped shoulders, she was probably much younger than he’d assumed. Perseval was surprised at the strength in her eyes, and felt his soul freeze under her gaze. He doubted that any “rich husband” had made her what she was. “You’re talking about the Valley, yes?” she finally said.

  Perseval nodded slowly, unable to speak.

  “The devil has nothing to do with it.” She smiled slowly, then said, “King Wodan rules there.”

  ***

  The Captain normally stayed below decks and left much of the ship’s operations to his first mate, but as they drew near the Valley he became more and more animated, even coming up to greet even the poorest passengers who had no room below. One day when Perseval woke and found them drifting through fog so thick he could only dimly make out the sun, Perseval heard a man complain to the Captain that they had collided with a cloud. Perseval approached to hear the Captain explain that they had flown beyond the wasteland, where light bounces off the baked earth and blinds the eyes. They were drawing near a green land, a living land, which was an anchor for moisture. Perseval was comforted by his explanation, but he couldn’t help but notice the Captain nervously playing with one of the enormous buttons on his thick jacket.

  “Sun’s pure light gets blunted, see?” said the Captain. “Less extremes of temperature. It’s wet down there. Ground’s wet, wet all the time.”

  Perseval leaned over the side of the ship. He saw only milky smoke and vague shadows. Alarmed, he said, “How do they see down there?”

  “It’s not foggy all the time,” said the Captain, laughing. “See them lights?”

  Perseval craned about and saw lights flickering in the distance, some nearly level with them.

  “We’re up in the mountains now,” said the Captain. “Son, don’t tell anyone else, but we could crash into a mountain at any time.”

  Perseval jerked his head back.

  “I’m joking, kid. Those lights guide the way. The Valliers keep ’em lit for traders, ships, you know.”

  Perseval woke his new friends Erb and Jack. They had ever seen a mountain, so they stalked about from side to side hoping that the fog would break. Miss Oliver returned to her seat on deck, but she seemed less severe than before, often dozing with her head lolling. The boys became bored drifting in the mist, but Erb refused to break out his comics again, saying that the moisture could cause them to disintegrate on contact with the air.

  Then, all at once, the clouds lifted and Perseval gasped aloud. Great rock walls towered on either side, sharp and black and crowned with blue sky and streamers of white cloud. In a fit of vertigo he gripped the side of the ship, unable to look away from the lush green wilderness climbing up the limbs of the mountains.

  “Look!” Jack shouted.

  Perseval was already overwhelmed, but he looked and saw a tall wooden watchtower jutting up from a rocky outcropping. All along the tower and the ridge there were armed men in motley gear: Brown leather, green cloth, masks and helms and vests made of thick fur. Perseval could see that their eyes were trained on the zeppelin, and though they did not posture aggressively he knew they would not hesitate to fire on them if they suspected trouble.

  “There they are!” said the Captain. “Black Valliers! The Rangers of the Valley. If the devils come knockin’, those are the bastards that’ll knock back!”

  As they passed the mountain Perseval realized that there were several towers strung out in a row. He saw flags on each of them. The insignia splashed on them was a great V on an uneven circle. The heavy cloth snapped in the sharp mountain breeze, and Perseval was struck by the minor differences between each flag. Most of them were black with a green V and circle, but it was obvious that they had been made individually, not churned out on an assembly line. Perseval knew what it was like to feel fear and intimidation when he saw a gangster or a Lawman, but now he realized that he had never before seen such a dignified display of power.

  “What does that symbol mean?” said Perseval.

  “That’s V for Vallier,” said the Captain, leaning over the side beside him. “V for Victory.”

  Chapter Two

  Freedom, Destruction

  The airship entered the Valley and Perseval saw clusters of tall buildings constructed entirely of wood and a few hellish smokestacks blooming from the endless green canopy that seemed to change colors as it swayed. He was reminded of the ripples on a pond. He was overwhelmed when he realized that trails had been cut through the dense canopy, connecting towns, villages, plantations. He even saw other airships rising and falling. He realized that he had somehow entered another world, something like a living dream. Overcome by the sight, he had to grip the side of the ship.

  “Lucy’s Forge!” cried the Captain. “This is our drop point. Been nice having you all.”

  They set down in a field of hard-packed dirt filled with people walking, biking, or selling goods from carts. Without another word to his passengers the Captain left and began screaming for tanks of compressed air. Perseval and his new friends had said nothing about sticking together, but in light of their apprehension they unconsciously glued themselves to one another. Passengers clustered near the ship's loading ramp, gaping at the buildings of wood, the cacophony of the merchants, the intense aroma of moist dirt and food cooking. No one moved for a long time and Perseval realized that they were waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

  “Guess we better get moving,” he said to his friends. “Right?”

  Just then a young man in a suit approached them. “Identification papers!” he said.

  “Uh,” said Jack. “We don’t have any, they told us...”

  “Names!” he shouted. At the same time he removed his hat, gestured into it, and passed it into the crowd. As he snapped his fingers at them, a few people dropped coins into it, shrugging to one another. Perseval, Erb, and Jack gave the man their names.

  “Big Purse Persey,” said the man, nodding to Perseval. “Gonna make a lotta money here.”

  As he gestured for Perseval to move along, Perseval nodded, muttered, “Well, thanks.”

  The young man gestured quickly for the hat to be passed back to him.

  “I’m Erb,” said Erb, still going through his pockets for something to give to the official.

  “Smokes-a-Lotta-Herb Erb. That’s your business. Try to keep it to a minimum.”

  “Uh... okay...”

  “What’s this all about?” said Jack, stepping forward. “And my name’s Jack, I’m a new immigrant and I-”

  “Jerk-Off Jack! That attitude won’t help you here. Try to work hard.”

  “Wha-a-at?”

  With that, the man took back his hat, glanced at the loot inside, and disappeared into the crowd. The new arrivals stared after him for a while, then Jack swung on them and said, “Why the hell did you all give him any money?”

  Someone muttered, “I thought...”

  “You thought! Shit! We just got conned.”

  “At least we didn’t give him any money,” said Perseval.

  “Yeah,” said Jack, “but he still gave us some dumbass nicknames. He was making fun of us! We gotta find a Lawman. If I see that guy, I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Jerk-Off Jack,” said Erb, laughing.

  “And I thought Pontius sucked. I’m gonna kill that guy. Do they even have Lawmen here?”

  The three friends walked down the main street of Lucy’s Forge with their hands on their wallets. The tree-lined avenue was packed with vendors, people laughing and arguing loudly, and bikers trying to push their way through the middle of the street. Not only were the trees taller and thicker and more lush than any they had ever seen, even in the wealthiest sections of Pontius, but also the buildings were made entirely of wood. The buildings were
painted in all manner of color and were hemmed in right alongside tall trees with branches hanging over balconies. Lights and advertisements were strung up between the buildings and over the streets, and in the light of day the effect was not so much cozy as claustrophobic. They saw none of the prostitutes that the rumors had said would be there, and Jack and Erb were secretly very disappointed about it. There was a wild energy in the air, even the promise of violence. They saw guns everywhere – people carrying heavy sidearms, small revolvers tucked into boots, even rifles casually slung over shoulders. The three clung to one another for fear of arousing some gangster’s rage. One man looked at them directly in the eyes as they passed by, and said loudly, “What’s up?”

  Perseval immediately threw his eyes to the ground. “N-nothing!” he said.

  As soon as the man passed, Jack gave a deep sigh of relief.

  “Relaxing medicine!” shouted a merchant. “Herbal good times! Green on the cheap! Green for your problems!”

  Before they could stop him, Erb approached the merchant’s stall and, while casting a furtive glance on either side, he mumbled and nodded.

  “What’s that, son?” said the merchant.

  “Said... how much...”

  “Two nickel decas for an ounce!” shouted the merchant. Erb tried to simultaneously shush the man and motion that he was interested in hearing more. “If you want, son, I can show you this new strain called Master Blaster. Guaranteed to lay your ass out.”

  “Ch-ch-chill!” said Erb, slyly slipping the merchant a few paper notes.

  “The fuck is this?” the merchant barked. “Rolling paper? I got no use for this Pontius toilet paper.”

  “Erb!” said Jack. “Come on - before we get in trouble!”

  As they walked away, Erb was desperate to cover his embarrassment over the awkward exchange. He turned back to the merchant and shouted, “You messed with the wrong man, dumbass! I’m a member of-” but the merchant leaned back and pulled his jacket open, revealing a heavy sidearm. The boys continued on in silence.

  Just as they drew clear of the stifling foot-traffic, they saw people running to gather around a commotion ahead. They entered a wide square lined with wooden buildings, then heard the people crying out and shoving to see something. The three boys pushed ahead and saw two young men rolling in the dirt, one red-faced and trapped in a headlock as he elbowed the other. Perseval was reminded of two pigs he had once seen grunting as a man kicked them through a doorway.

  “Awesome!” said Jack. “These guys are killing each other!”

  Just as the underdog pulled out of the headlock, smacked his attacker, and then trapped him in a headlock of his own, several beefy men and dogmen with circle-V badges pushed their way through the crowd, shouting, “Out of the way! Out of the fucking way!”

  Those must be their Lawmen, thought Perseval. They’ll put a stop to this.

  One dogman officer rushed into the circle and hunched over the struggling men. “I’m an Enforcer," he said. "Is this fight consensual?”

  One man, who had his opponent held down tight, nodded fiercely.

  “Is it?!” shouted the dogman.

  The man trapped in a headlock wheezed, blinked as he tried to remain conscious, then nodded as well.

  The Enforcers immediately relaxed. “I got ten on the little guy,” said one.

  “You’re on!” said another.

  “Oh my gods,” said Perseval. He felt his stomach lurch as the men continued to roll around and elbow one another, grunting like hogs for the enjoyment of idiots. “Madness! This is madness!”

  ***

  The fight ended without any real spectacle of bloodletting, so the boys moved on. Erb and Jack were already out of a job, as Miss Oliver had disappeared with baggage-handling employees from the Valley that she found more trustworthy than the ones she’d brought, but the boys weren’t convinced that looking for a job in the middle of the day would really be the best way of going about things. They scoped out a decent looking hostel, then spent the remainder of the day wandering Lucy’s Forge. Eventually they found where all of the prostitutes were hiding. They did not walk the streets, but rather stayed in a “whorehouse”. The boys did not have enough money to enjoy any services, so they merely stood outside and turned their noses up at the degenerates that went in and out. That night they found a bar called Hornucopia and, since Jack and Erb had much more money than Perseval, they agreed to pay for his drinks in exchange for his company.

  And there they found the young man who had given them foolish nicknames and scammed their fellow passengers.

  The three stared at his back as he sat at the bar, laughing and drinking with his ill-gotten loot. He did not seem to have any real friends of his own, but rather talked to anyone who drew near. He was not a large man, and so Erb and Jack began to wonder if there might be a way to take back their stolen pride.

  “How are we gonna do this?” said Jack.

  “What do you mean?” said Perseval.

  “We’re gonna teach that guy a lesson,” said Erb. “If he thinks he can get away with being a crook in a lawless land, he’s got another thing comin’.”

  “He might have a gun,” said Jack. “Plenty of those in here.”

  “How’s he gonna pull out a gun if I’ve got his arms pinned back?” said Erb. “You just worry about pounding his face while I hold him, alright?”

  “Let’s think this through,” said Perseval. He could already feel a wave of panic rising in his stomach. “He didn’t really steal from us, you know? Just those other guys.”

  “He gave us those nicknames,” said Erb. His face grew more and more red as his eyes burned into the man’s back. Finally he stepped forward before Perseval could stop him and said, “But I’ve got a nickname for him. Hey! Dead Man!”

  Perseval thought the entire bar would immediately erupt into a wild hail of gunfire blasting from all sides, but fortunately only a few hardened, bearded thugs at the bar glanced at them before turning away. The con man continued drinking. Erb grabbed him and spun him around. The young man’s eyes flashed with recognition, then darted from side to side.

  “Look who it is!” shouted Erb. Jack stood beside Erb and crossed his arms.

  “I’d be careful if I were you,” the con hissed. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

  “Well you found it all the same,” said Erb. Jack nodded in agreement.

  “Enforcers wouldn’t take kindly to you hurting a non-consensual.”

  They stared one another down. Perseval approached, gave some thought to looking hard, then only stood beside the others and pulled at his earlobe. He knew that his face must be burning with embarrassment. He could think of nothing to do.

  “Look,” said the con, “you guys want to have a drink with me?”

  “No,” Erb growled, slowly wrapping his fists around the man’s collar.

  Suddenly the man leaned into his face, then said, “Look, idiot, you’re going to get yourself killed. I’m trying to save your life. I’m warning you, right now, chill out.”

  Perseval realized that several of the men at the bar were glaring at them outright. All at once, the con seemed the least dangerous person there.

  “Sure thing,” Perseval said quickly. “We’ll have a drink. Let’s talk.”

  As soon as he spoke he felt like a coward, but Erb relented and Perseval wondered if his friend had also been looking for a way out. The four commenced to drinking a dark brown ale brewed in the Valley, and after an awkward second greeting the con artist happily explained his technique.

  “What I do is, I take advantage of the cultural schism between Pontius and the Valley. Now, in Pontius, they trained you guys. They did the same to me. They trained you to bend over backwards for the Officials and the Law. I remember all the paperwork and bribes. If you don’t do anything and everything they want, and then some, they can say, ‘Uh oh, your paperwork didn’t go through, you get to stay in this hellhole for a little longer.’ You’re totally at their mercy,
you know? But when you finally get over here... bam, they toss you out the ship. You don’t know what to do. So I put on my nicest clothes and start asking names. That immediately sounds official. I sound important, like someone you better please.”

  “Haven’t the real officials stopped you?” said Jack.

  “The Enforcers? Oh, they hate me, but they can’t do a damn thing about it. See, when I pass my hat around, all I do is point into it. You remember? If I’d said, ‘Give me money for processing fees,’ then the Enforcers could get me for stealing. That’s a false contract. All I did was point into my hat; it’s the fault of the idiot who puts his money in, if he’s sore about it. And idiocy is one sin you don’t want to commit here.”

  “But why in the hell,” said Jack, “did you do the nickname thing?”

  “That’s what burned me,” said Erb.

  The con laughed, then said, “Just to confuse people. If someone’s confused, they’ll look for something familiar. Giving away money to a government official is familiar to a citizen of Pontius. As long as I’m talking to people about their names, there’s no opening for someone to ask why I need money and what the money goes toward.” While Perseval laughed, the con took a long swig of his beer, thought for a moment, then said, “Look. This is the land where you make your own name, a name for yourself. Pontius trained you to do what you’re told. If you keep acting like a slave, then people are going to call you, ‘Hey you!’ and point to whatever they want you to do. I asked you for your names and, like good boys from Pontius, you did what I wanted without asking why. But at least you didn’t hand over your money without question - those other people really got screwed. But I provide a service, too. When I burn people, I make them think about what they’re doing. Cause, effect. See?”