Butcher Bird

Half an hour later, the big scorpion banked gently starboard and headed out to sea with a dozen other airships trailing behind. The morning sun turned the edges of the ships 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.

"You sure this guy knows the way to Alexandria?" Spyder asked Shrike.

"He doesn't, but his navigators know their way through all the Spheres. Relax."

Prince Bel gave them his best rooms. They happily cleaned up and settled in. When they weren't busy sleeping, crew members brought in a constant stream of food and wine. Shrike didn't let on that she could speak the prince's 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. Spyder is an archangel or maybe the new Lucifer. I get the feeling that a lot of asylums emptied across the Spheres when Hell came down."

Spyder relaxed on a silk-covered fainting couch, with Shrike curled up next to him.

"It's nice to be well thought of for a change," he said.

"Can't argue with that," Lulu said, blowing smoke rings and watching them float away through an open window.

The trip was calm and slow. Exactly what they needed, Spyder thought. He and Shrike disappeared into the unoccupied rooms in their wing 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. However, in the back of his mind, regardless of whatever they were doing, was always the image of Madame Cinders. What the hell was he supposed to do when they confronted her? He shook his head, pushing the thought back into the dark. What had the Count said? "You will never have more than what you have at this moment." If that's true, thought Spyder, it's all right with me.

By the time Bel delivered them to Alexandria, they were getting twitchy and restless. Shrike had spotted angels flying near the ship one night. They couldn't decide 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 when it was time for them to disembark. He and Shrike exchanged a few polite words on deck, but it was obvious that he was as anxious to have them gone, as they were to get away from him. 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. Maybe not. But it's very beautiful."

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 the spirits, angels and fantastic beasts 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 they turned a corner and seemed to leave ordinary Alexandria and entered the ruins of the necropolis complex. As before, thin children stood on enormous stones watching them. This time, though, a few of the older children waved to them and turned to whisper to each other before their parents came and nervously hustled them away.

"That's a bit more honest," said Spyder. "Seems like everyone knows who we are, but someone finally admitted they're not happy to see us."

"Not everyone loves a god-killer," said Shrike quietly.

"You said the Clerks weren't gods."

"They're weren't. But I'm not sure that detail means much to these people."

"Probably know there's a shit storm coming," said Lulu, "If this Cinders bitch is what you say she is."

"She is," replied Shrike. "And more."

At the next bend in the road, the great onion dome and minarets of Madame Cinders' compound swung 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.

They stood before Madame Cinders in her tower room. The over-sweet scent of mutant orchids and the old woman's rotting flesh almost made Spyder gag.

"One, we didn't lose him. He was our friend and he died 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. And three, if you think deviants are useless, we must not know the same deviants."

"Give me my book."

"What's the magic word all good children say when they want something?"

They'd entered Madame Cinders' fortress without bothering to wait for her servants to open the front gates. Spyder had Cornelius kick his way through. The splintering wood and twisting iron hinges flew to pieces with a very satisfying amount of noise. Ten of Cinders' guards had run into the courtyard, but they scattered when they got a good look at Cornelius. Spyder and the others had strolled straight through Cinders' palace and up her tower with Cornelius guarding their rear. No one challenged them as they went.

"Give me my book," repeated Madame Cinders.

"Pretty please, with sugar on top," said Spyder. "That's what good children say."

It had been a tight squeeze, getting Cornelius up the narrow staircase to the top of Cinders' tower. He had to turn his great mechanical body sideways and crab slowly upward, his head cutting a deep scar into the top of the passage.

Spyder gestured for Cornelius to come forward and drop the book. As it hit the floor, the tower shook as if an earthquake had hit it. Cinders' guards looked around anxiously, as bones, dried herbs and potions tumbled from the shelves, but Madame Cinders showed no outward reaction. Spyder wasn't surprised. She looked even worse, more inhuman 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 know nothing about power."

Madame Cinders was no longer in her wheelchair. She was laid out flat on a kind of mechanical gurney, atop a pile of stained silk pillows. She looked at them reflected in a gold-framed mirror perched at an angle above her head. Spyder was sure she'd shrunk in size. Were her legs missing? The pump system, that injected and drained whatever horrible fluids kept her feeble flesh moving, had doubled in size and complexity, and was nearly as large as the gurney. Still, even trapped in that ruined body, she managed to project both menace and intelligence. 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 the Madame," said one of her guards. Spyder ignored him. He licked the paper lengthwise and rolled the cigarette closed.

Madame Cinders continued, "Any fool can stumble into luck once, twice, even 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 can always pour beer without it getting all foamy," said Spyder.

"The last time you were here, the Butcher Bird was the one who spoke. Now, puffed up and preening, you do all the talking. Or are you the distraction while she carries out some action against me?"

"I'm not speaking, witch, because I have nothing to say to you," said Shrike.