John Ford - The last hot time

"I said you can go shit your little elfin pants."

Whisper snarled and kicked the stool away

Doc got his hand inside the brass noose with nothing to spare; it scraped his knuckles and cinched into the back of his hand.

At home, a farmer's wife had hung herself in the barn with fence wire. The stuff hadn't bothered to strangle her; it didn't stop until it hung up on her vertebrae. This stuff was thicker, but it would still be ugly fast if Doc lost his grip.

He clenched his teeth and pulled. Kitsune moaned, opened her eyes, looking straight into Doc's. "Hang on," he said.

Kitsune's arms pulled at the wires holding them, making a little slack in the strangling loop.

"Now you act like yourself, mortal! Dancing on air." Whisper applauded and stamped time.

Doc felt his heart twist, then pulled his brain back into Trauma Mode. He got both hands inside the loop-he was actually dangling from it, and his weight helped pull it wide. Kitsune pulled her head down, and Doc eased the noose over her head.

He let the wire slip away. His feet hit the floor, and his fingers started burning. He reached up to work at the wire binding Kitsune's right wrist.

Whisper leaned against the wall. "Not a bad show of faith, for a mortal," he said. "But somehow I don't feel my flesh burning at the touch of the Nazarite Christ."

"Didn't see any point in bothering him," Doc said, and freed Kitsune's other hand. She sagged against him. "Can you walk?"

"I'll try."

"Touching," Whisper said, and moved to block the doorway. "Moving, is that not what the mortals say, who have nowhere to go? I shall give her two thin knives, and let her dance on you: her sister will echo it to all your companions." He gave a wet giggle. "You'll like it."

It washed over Doc. He had a vision, now, of what he was: there was plenty of darkness in it, but there was none of this. He said in Ellytha, "There is something in our way. Remove it."

"What, all rage gone?" Whisper said. "Have you forgotten that I killed Cloudhunter Who Keeps His Sisters' Counsel?" He stepped aside. "Or perhaps the thought of the mortal whore in his arms has supplanted all memories of a dead Ellyll."

Doc felt the anger rise again. Kitsune squeezed his hand hard.

Doc said, "You did not kill him. He accepted his destiny beyond the gates. You were only able to strike a blow because he had ceased to notice a coward. I am taking what I came for, and in return you may continue to be afraid."

Whisper was entirely still physically, but he wavered, as with rising heat. Doc made the effort to look away from him, and led the Fox down the corridor, into the icy tunnel.

A few steps past the door, Kitsune's breathing went ragged, and she leaned against some of the ruined furniture. Doc held her upright. "I'll be all right in a moment," she said.

From the inner chamber, there was a hideous, trembling howl, and the slam of boots. Whisper emerged, walking heavily, a knife in his fist.

"Look at my reflection, coward," Doc said, pointing at the wet floor, hoping this was a live card. "See what Glassisle saw."

Whisper Who Dares froze, his arm raised. There was a green flicker in his silver eyes. The knife dropped from his fingers; he clutched at his ring as if it burned him, and he backed against the wooden wall that blocked the tunnel.

Doc's eye caught a shimmer of black on black from the opposite direction, and he dared to turn away from W 7 hisper. McCain raised his crossbow and pulled the trigger; there was a bass plunk and a hiss. The bolt nailed Whisper's right wrist to the rough wooden wall. Whisper Who Dares yelped like a kicked puppy and groped toward the arrow with his free hand. McCain pumped the bowstock, re-cocking it, and had another bolt loaded in five seconds. He placed it right below the elf's left collarbone, stapling his shoulder back. Blood splashed Whisper's cheek, his left arm went limp, and he groaned, a sound like tearing cloth.

McCain slung the bow, walked up to the pinned Ellyll. Whis-per's left hand came up, holding a tiny stiletto, its blade stained with something like tar. McCain's hand slashed, and Doc heard Whisper's forearm snap; McCain didn't seem to have thought about it. Whisper began sobbing, calling out in some Trueblood language, not Kllytha.

McCain's fist hit Whisper's jaw like a twenty-pound sledge. "Shut up, Tinker Bell,* 1 McCain said. "Nobody believes in you no god damn more." He took a step back, unbelted his coat. Metal gleamed underneath.

Doc turned away. "Let's go," lie said to Kitsune, and led her down the tunnel, helping her over the worst of the ice. They paused at the bottom of the curving stairway.

"Here's the hard part," he said. "I'd love to carry you, but…"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," Kitsune said, and they climbed.

They found two cars at the curb. Stagger Lee opened the door of the new arrival. Inside, Mr. Patrise sat up against a pile of cushions, holding a slim delicate glass of champagne. "Konban wa, Kitsune-sama, " he said, his voice soft and a bit ragged. "Dozo, ohairi kudasai. "

"Domo arigato gozaimasu, oyabun Patrise-san. "

"Doitashimashite. There is tea hot. And perhaps a little brandy. Then Hallow and Stagger Lee must attend to you. And your sister-image."

"Yes, thank you," she said to Patrise, and then to Doc, "Gokuro-san, Doc. Thank you very much."

McCain stepped onto the sidewalk. He gestured. Doc went to him.

"You took him down," McCain said. "He's yours." He pointed to Doc's black bag. "Got everything you need?"

Doc nodded. McCain said, "I'll be at the car. Take your time, we got all night." As he went by, he said, much more softly, "If you need to think, think about Cloud." The doorway stood empty, lit dimly from below, just as it had before. It seemed like a much longer trip down this time.

Whisper Who Dares the Word of Words in Darkness was standing upright, arms outstretched. His chalk-white face was tilted, blood glaring red on his cheek and lips, a Pierrot puppet on wires.

He was held there by the two crossbow bolts, their steel fins quivering as he breathed, and maybe a dozen twenty-penny nails hammered through his clothes and his hands and one ear; some were driven through his boots into a slat of wood on the floor. On the concrete, little pools of gwaed Ellyll were glazing over.

The brass wire noose that had been around the Fox's neck was now around his, its trailing end twisted around another nail high up on the wooden barricade.

Doc set his bag down on the broken desk.

Whisper's eyes went wide open, looking at Doc and then away from him, semaphoring pain and fear. Doc took hold of one of the crossbow bolts, pulled it out. Whisper shuddered.

Doc wrapped the bolt in a gauze pad, tucked it away in his bag. He took out another small object. He held his hand in front of Whisper's face, turning a tarantelle cap over in his fingers. He pressed the cloth-covered ampule against Whisper Who Dares's upper lip, which trembled. The elf's pupils looked as big as silver dollars.

Doc thought of the flaying rooms, of all the abuses and the sufferings. He thought very hard of Cloudhunter.

He closed the cap in his palm, turned to replace it in the medical kit. As he did, his fingers brushed a thin edge, an object Doc had forgotten was still in the bag. He pulled it out, held it up in the bad light. Whisper saw the movement and whimpered in absolute terror of whatever might be worse than the tarantella dance: he tried to shuffle backward, in spite of the nails.

"Ace of Clubs," Doc said, hearing his own voice rumble and echo in the arched hall, "not worth the effort." He threw it down at Whisper's feet, closed his bag, and climbed back up to the street without looking behind him.

Mr. Patrise's car had already gone. He slid into the front seat of the remaining car, beside McCain.