Butcher Bird

  Shrike smiled. “It’s funny to hear you say that. No one ever talks to me about my eyes. Even Ozymand didn’t. Everyone thinks I’m sensitive about it or something.”

  “Maybe they’re afraid to piss off a hard girl with a really big sword.”

  “You’re not. That’s why I like you, pony boy.”

  Spyder took a handful of sand and slowly dribbled it between Shrike’s breasts.

  “You shit,” she said, brushing herself off.

  “If you ever get bored and decide to off me, my preference is being fucked to death.”

  “Duly noted. And I won’t let Primo eat you. Not all of you.” Shrike’s hand slid down Spyder’s body and wrapped around his cock. “I wish I could see your face. I wish I could see you hard. You feel good inside me.” Spyder kissed her and started to become hard again.

  “What was that?” he asked, pulling away from her.

  “What?”

  “Listen.”

  They both lay quiet for a moment.

  “It’s the ruins,” said Shrike. “Underground machines. Some of them have been humming on their own timetable for a thousand of years.”

  “Shit. I was afraid it was one of those balloons.”

  “Relax. Non’s watching for them. Do you have any cigarettes left?”

  “No. I wanted to trade for some in Berenice, but I decided to get mugged instead. We going to live through this, you think?”

  “That’s the plan. At least if we die in Hell, we’ll be close to where we’re going to end up.”

  “You can always find a little rainbow for me,” said Spyder. “Does killing mean anything to you? I know its your job, but does it ever get to you?”

  “It’s not my dream job, but it’s better than the alternatives. I’m not ready to be a beggar or a prostitute. When I was thrown out into the world all I had was a little magic and my skill with a sword. One day, I’ll use it to win back my kingdom,” said Shrike. She turned on her side facing Spyder. “I’m glad I don’t see the faces of the people I’ve killed. But I’d rather die a fighter than a victim.”

  Spyder smoothed her dreads back from her face. “You are a fighter. A life-taker and a heartbreaker, and you don’t need anyone. Certainly not someone like me. I can barely get my pants on to go to work in the morning. But when I look at you, I have this ridiculous desire to watch out for you.”

  Shrike nuzzled into Spyder’s chest. “Sweet boy,” she said.

  From the other side of the dune someone cleared their throat.

  “Who’s that?” called Shrike, sitting up and grabbing her cane.

  “Quiet,” came Primo’s low voice. It was the first time Spyder had heard him give anything like an order. “Something is about. Count Non would like you both to come back to camp.”

  “Tell him we’ll be right there.”

  Spyder pulled on his pants and helped Shrike find her clothes. They left the carpet and ran back to camp.

  “What’s up?” Spyder asked. The others sat around a small fire, drinking the mint tea Lulu had bought in Berenice.

  “Sit down and have some tea,” said Count Non. “Don’t look around. There’s something out in the dunes.”

  “We heard machines earlier. From the ruins,” said Spyder.

  “This isn’t machines or horses or even wolves looking for a quick meal.”

  “Men,” said Shrike. “How many?”

  “Eight, at least.”

  “Shit,” said Spyder.

  “Can you reach the Hornet?” asked the Count.

  “It’s right by my saddle, on the other side of the fire.”

  “Don’t reach for it now. You’ll fight with that and not the knife. The Hornet will give you some distance from your opponent. Smile. You and the Butcher Bird are relaxed and happy and in love.”

  “How can you be sure they’re going to attack?” Spyder asked.

  Lulu handed them cups of hot tea. Shrike blew on hers to cool it. “You send one or two men to spy,” she said. “When you send eight or more, it’s a raiding party.”

  “Is it those desert rats we saw earlier today? They didn’t look like much,” said Spyder.

  “Anyone who can live in this open desert is going to be hard as stone and fierce as a demon,” said Non.

  “I’m boosting morale with cheap bravado,” said Spyder. “On my planet, we refrain from telling people how fucked they are.”

  “My mistake.”

  “How are you doing, Lulu?” asked Spyder.

  “I could use a fix. Or a drink.”

  “We need you bright-eyed and quick like a bunny right now.”

  “No problem,” Lulu said. She moved her leg to reveal the smooth butt of a sawed-off shotgun. “A four-ten. Small enough to love. Big enough to kill.”

  “You have any more guns in that bag?” Spyder asked Count Non.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Damn. I’d feel a lot better with a gun.”

  “You’ll do fine.”

  “Shh,” said Shrike. “They’re close.”

  “How can you be sure?” Spyder asked.

  Out in the dark, one of the horses whinnied and a small throwing knife thunked into the sand by Shrike’s leg. She was up instantly, her cane blurring to a sword as the first attacker came charging out of the night. Spyder didn’t even look. He knew she could handle what was coming, and dove for the Hornet.

  Spyder came up off-balance and couldn’t get the metal flails at the Hornet’s head to spin properly. He heard Lulu blasting away with the four-ten and turned in her direction, just in time to see the tribesman that was rushing him. The attacker had a length of sharpened pipe raised above his head and was too close and coming too fast for Spyder to get out of the way. Already off-balance, Spyder let himself fall backwards, pushing the stud on the side of the Hornet to release the spikes from the ends. The tribesman impaled himself on the shaft of the weapon and landed on top of Spyder.

  He struggled from under the man’s body and finally got the Hornet spinning properly. It hummed like an angry swarm of insects. As throwing knives shot toward him from the dark, they were shredded in midair. Out of the corner of his eye, Spyder saw Shrike hold off three attackers simultaneously, spinning to slice the legs off one, before gutting and decapitating the others. Lulu picked off attackers and whooped out rebel yells while Primo crushed tribesmen with his fist, the Hulk in a cheap suit. Count Non fought almost as impressively as Shrike. He charged with his broad Kan Dao sword in one hand and a Morningstar in the other, alternately slashing and crushing the skulls of his opponents.

  Another attacker was on Spyder, one who understood what the Hornet was. He didn’t rush into the saw-tooth flails, but feinted and moved around, trying to find a way past the spinning shield. Spyder’s injured hand was a white-hot ball of pain. He could feel blood running down his arm. That was the side on which the tribesman made his attack. He drove his sword to the opposite side and when Spyder turned to parry him, the attacker spun smoothly, slipping around the flails. In his haste to avoid being sliced to giblets, the man came around a touch wide and barely managed to drag the tip of his sword through the top Spyder’s right arm. Before the man could come back with a killing blow, his mid-section exploded. He fell and Spyder saw Lulu standing there with her shotgun smoking. Spyder returned the favor by slicing off the arm of another attacker who lunged at Lulu’s back.

  And then it was over. No more men came over the dunes. Spyder and Lulu turned in slow circles, waiting for someone else to rush them from the dark, but no one came.

  “Spyder, stop spinning that thing,” said Shrike. He dropped the flails into the sand to stop them. Shrike turned once, her head up, listening. “If there are any left, they’ve run off to lick their wounds.”

  Spyder put his arms around Shrike and she held on to him. “A fighter, not a victim. Understand now?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. But he thought, I killed a man tonight. More than one. Spyder pushed Shrike away and puked into the sand. r />
  “Pussy,” said Lulu.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  DEAD EYES TALK

  “The horses are gone,” said Lulu.

  “All of them?” asked Shrike.

  “The ones that aren’t dead.”

  “Goddam,” said Spyder as Count Non wrapped his injured shoulder in gauze he pulled from the saddlebags. He pressed a poultice to Spyder’s wound and wrapped that, too.

  “What’s that?”

  “Herbs with Saint Cosmas’ dust,” said the Count. “The shoulder and your hand should be healed by morning.”

  “You didn’t even get scratched.”

  “Unlike some people, I try to avoid being stabbed.”

  “You got something against bleeding?”

  “Blood belongs on the inside, little brother.”

  “Duck and cover. Got it.”

  “This one’s eyes are gone,” said Primo. “And this one.”

  “This one, too,” said Lulu. “Shit they’re all cut up. Oh god…”

  Spyder looked at Lulu. She was kneeling by the body of a dead tribesman, her hands over her mouth. The dead man’s robe lay open, revealing his chest and belly. They were scarred and stitched in the same haphazard manner that was becoming very familiar.

  “Are they cut, Spyder?” asked Shrike.

  “Sliced and diced, just the way the Black Clerks do it.”

  Lulu touched the face of the dead man in the sand. “Is that how I look?” She spoke in a child’s voice, like she was in shock. She pulled her jacket closed and crossed her arms, tucking her hands underneath. “They all that way?”

  “Yes,” said Primo. He was walking from body to body, moving their clothing with his foot, checking them for scars. Spyder could tell that he didn’t want to touch them. Going to where Lulu knelt, Spyder got her to her feet.

  “Come away from there,” Spyder said, and sat her by the fire.

  “Why would they come after us like that?” Lulu asked.

  “In our clans, there’s a saying about the Black Clerks,” said Primo. “‘They watch the world through silent eyes.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that taking a part of someone’s body gives the Clerks some power over the remaining body,” said Shrike.

  “It’s still just static to me.”

  “I believe it means that the Black Clerks might not take eyes simply because they are foul and need to replenish their organs,” said Count Non. “Perhaps they are able to see where those eyes should be, watching through the empty sockets they once inhabited.”

  “The Clerks are in my head? They’re looking through my fucking eyes?” Lulu shouted. There was hysteria in her voice.

  “Is that right, Shrike?” asked Spyder.

  “It’s possible,” she said.

  “I saw the Clerks in Berenice. I thought it was just a coincidence,” Spyder said. “They must want the book, too. Or to spook us from it.”

  “I led those slugs right to us,” Lulu said. “The Black Clerks have seen everything we’re doing and know right where we are.” She stood and snatched up the shotgun. “Fuck that.”

  “What are you doing, Lulu?” Spyder said. He started over, but Lulu pointed the four-ten at him.

  “Stay put, Spyder. I’m ending this right now.” Lulu was walking backwards into the dark, keeping the gun pointed at the group. “Those bloodless motherfuckers think they can watch TV out of my head? I’m going off the air, like I should have done a long time ago.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” said Spyder.

  “Look at me!” Lulu yelled. “Look at what’s left of me! I’ve pretty much used up all my stupid for this lifetime. I’m done.” She ran into the dark.

  Spyder ran after her, pausing at the dune line in case she was waiting. He didn’t think that Lulu would want to shoot him, but she still might out of fear or surprise. He moved slowly down the base of the dunes, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Finally, he saw a woman running. Spyder lit out after her.

  “Lulu!” Spyder yelled. “Lulu!”

  When he reached her, Lulu was on her knees in the sand, the four-ten wedged under her chin.

  “Stay the hell back, Spyder.”

  “Give me the gun.”

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t mean for you to get involved in my shit. The Clerks are coming for you now, too. For all of us.”

  “They’re not coming for anyone. We’re going to get that magic book and get clean.”

  “Look at us, Spyder. Those people back there have a clue. We get loaded and hunt for girls. We can’t help them.”

  “Not dead, we can’t.”

  “We’ll mess everything up.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  Lulu looked at Spyder. “I really love you, you know. You’re the best person I know. But I can’t have those things crawling around inside my skull.” Spyder heard Lulu pull back the hammer on the four-ten.

  “Before you do anything, I want you to listen to me, Lulu,” Spyder said in a calm and even voice. “You listening?”

  “I’m not putting the gun down.”

  “Fair enough. You hold on to it, if it makes you feel better.”

  “Okay.”

  “The Clerks took your eyes. We know that and are agreed on it, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did they take your ears?”

  “No. I’ve still got them.”

  “Right. So all they can do is watch TV with the sound off. You following me?”

  “Not really.”

  “If the Clerks are spying on us through your eyes it’s because that’s all they can do. They can’t listen to us. They don’t have your ears. That means, all we have to do is keep you from seeing where we are and they’re blind as a bat.”

  “You think that’d work?” Lulu asked. She moved the gun from under her chin and scratched the side of her head with the barrel.

  “We just cover up your little eyeholes and the Clerks get to play Three Blind Mice till we’re home, drinking tequila and winking at college girls.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “If you’re nice, I’ll get Shrike to slip the blindfold on for you. You like a little bondage with your morning coffee, right?”

  Lulu seemed to think about it for a moment. “I’m not giving back the gun,” she said. “I’ve been useless and naked up till now. But I know how to use this.”

  “I’m sure the Count won’t mind. Come on over here.”

  Lulu got up and went to Spyder. He kissed her cheek and hugged her tight. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

  “I won’t,” she said, and hugged Spyder back. “So, can Shrike really put my blindfold on? That sounds kind of hot.”

  Spyder slid his arm around her shoulders and led Lulu back to camp.

  “Christ, you got a cigarette?” Lulu asked.

  “Nope. Don’t worry. We’re almost to Hell. Bet they have plenty of smokes down there.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  ANTHROPOLOGY

  “We’re moving too slowly without the horses,” said Primo. “I’m afraid we won’t make it to the mountains in time.”

  “When will the moon reveal the entrance to Hell?” asked Shrike.

  “Tonight, I think. Perhaps tomorrow, too. After that, it will be invisible for a month.”

  “Where are we exactly?”

  Primo looked up at the stars, then at the mountains ahead and behind them. “Perhaps halfway between Mount Cholula and Mount Culhuacan, near the Tajin burial mounds.”

  Shrike nodded. “If we push through, we can make the base of the mountains late tonight,” she said. “But we’ll have to rest at midday.”

  “I’d rather not, ma’am.”

  “I know, but we all have injuries and no one’s had any sleep. I don’t want us limping and yawning into the underworld.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  They’d been walking most of the night, since an hour or so after the at
tack. Food and water was weighing heavier on their backs with each step. Spyder had a length of the Count’s rope tied around his waist and this was tied to Lulu’s left wrist. She was blindfolded with a yellow scarf, like a Tibetan prayer flag, Shrike had taken from a boudoir conjured by her magic book. Lulu didn’t have much to say as they trudged through the sand. She never let the four-ten drop from resting on her shoulder, Spyder noted.

  “How you doing, Lulu?” Spyder asked.

  “Feel like I’m your Rottweiler bitch you’re taking out for a whiz. Find me a fire hydrant so I can mark my territory.”

  “You’re lots sweeter than a Rottweiler. Hell, you might be a Shih Tzu. Maybe one of those little teacup poodles old ladies like.”

  “It’s not wise to taunt a woman with that much firepower,” said Count Non. “That gun is enchanted and will never run out of shells.”

  “I have this demon-made knife Madame Cinders gave us. Is that some kind of demon blunderbuss?” asked Spyder.

  The Count sighed. “The way you people use words, it’s a wonder you understand each other at all. Every vaguely inhuman creature you find unpleasant or frightening or just strange is a ‘demon’ to you. And everything conjured or made by these creatures is ‘demonic.’”

  “Back in San Francisco, there was a fat fucker with a monster mouth right in the middle of his chest. He wanted to eat me. You telling me that wasn’t a demon?”

  “He was no more a demon than Primo. Primo is Gytrash. Simply another humanoid race. A different kind of human animal. A more interesting and durable species than you ordinary humans, and probably a bit scary to you First Sphere bumpkins.”

  “So, what was Mister Mouth?”

  “He sounds like a Bendith,” said Primo. “They’re a particularly ugly sort of troll and aren’t averse to human flesh.”

  “A Bendith or possibly a Nagumwasuck,” said Count Non. “You boring one-headed, two-eyed humans are scattered through all the Spheres. Take our Butcher Bird. Like you, she’s an ordinary human, but clearly she didn’t grow up in some First Sphere backwater. She’s lived with other intelligent races and understands the infinite varieties of life, the magical possibilities, that spring from the conjunction of different living species.”