Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

“ Well? ” Tasso shouts. “Am I in charge of this fucking anthill or not?” There’s an immediate flurry of answers, everybody hurrying to swear allegiance. “In that case, stop wasting time, get out on the street and spread the word that it’s business as usual at Party Central.” The gathered heads of the corporation start to file out. “Gentlemen,” he calls them back. “If I even think that any of you are plotting against me, I’ll have your heads for bowling balls, your wives for whores and your children for house-slaves.” A few of the men begin to chuckle. Then they realize he’s not joking and their laughter dies away in gurgles. Tasso turns his back on them and limps to the balcony for a breath of fresh air.

“A force of fucking nature,” Frank whispers admiringly.

“I told you he’d crack the whip,” Jerry smirks.

Tasso makes his slow way back from the balcony. The strain in the huge man’s face is evident, but so is the relish. He’s loving this.

“Algiers,” he nods.

“Ford.”

“Been a while.”

“You’re looking good.”

He snorts. “I look like a fucking wreck. You two!” he barks at Frank and Jerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Awaiting orders,” Frank says.

“Don’t you have any initiative? I’ve just throttled the chairman of one of the most profitable pharmaceutical firms in the city. The race to replace him has already begun. I want one of our men in there. See to it.”

“Yes, sir!” Frank salutes smartly.

“Right away, Mr. Tasso!” Jerry mimics Frank’s salute.

“Pair of fucking clowns,” Tasso grumbles as they exit, but the left side of his mouth lifts into an amused half-smile. “Take a load off, Algiers.” I grab a plastic chair and sit opposite him as he eases himself into the soft leather chair. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Better than you,” I comment.

He chuckles. “I’m a mess, sure as fuck, but I’ll take punks like Ron Pena any day, crippled or otherwise.”

“Pena was a nobody. Will you be able to take Eugene Davern when he comes?”

Tasso grimaces. “Let’s not dwell on that. Get you something to drink?”

“I’d rather skip the preliminaries and find out why you called me in.”

“As you wish.” Tasso rubs the wrist of his right arm, then moves up to the elbow. “You heard about Capac and the Fridge?”

“Jerry filled me in.”

“Ever meet him?”

“Raimi?” I shake my head. “Saw him a couple of times.”

“A strange kid,” Tasso reflects. “Cold and alien inside. Dorak was a mean son of a bitch, but he was human. I don’t know what the fuck Raimi is.”

Tasso tosses a doll at me. It’s a dead ringer for Capac Raimi. It reminds me that this room used to be full of dolls — absent now.

“I locked them in a cupboard,” Tasso explains as I stare at the bare walls. “Never could stand those fucking mannequins. Had to put up with them when I was playing second fiddle to The Cardinal.”

“But when the cat’s away…”

“Exactly.”

I turn the doll around, examining it idly. “Think he’s dead?” I ask.

“He can’t be killed.”

I smile, keeping my eyes on the doll so that Tasso won’t see the grin. “You never struck me as the gullible type.”

“I’m not. But I’m telling you, Capac Raimi can’t be killed. He’s immortal.”

“I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t believe them.”

“I’ve seen it firsthand. He’s been shot, knifed, blown to pieces, pushed off that balcony. The fucker keeps coming back. I don’t know how, but he does. His remains dissolve away and a few days later he forms a new body and returns. If you think I’m going senile, check with Jerry and Frank. They’ve seen it too.”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “If that’s true, why are you worried?”

“He’s never been gone this long. Normally he returns within three days. At a stretch, four. Never longer. This time he’s disappeared. I don’t know where he is. And I don’t think he’s going to make it back on his own.”

“But if he can’t be killed…”

“I don’t know how to explain it!” Tasso roars. “If I could, I wouldn’t need to turn to you.”

“Speaking of which… What do I have to do with your missing Cardinal?”

Tasso’s left hand creeps to his right shoulder and he kneads the flesh firmly. If he were sitting at an angle to me, the right side of his face would show all the vitality of a corpse.

“Capac came to see me the week before he vanished,” Tasso says. “He was agitated. The city’s going to hell and he wanted to halt its slide. He believed the villacs— they’re blind priests—”

“I know who they are,” I chip in softly.

“—Were responsible for the unrest. This wasn’t the first time they’d clashed. Capac had his own way of doing things. The villacs didn’t approve. He felt they were undermining his authority. He asked me to step in for him, freeing him to deal with them. I refused. The following weekend he wound up at the Fridge and nothing’s been seen of him since.”

I dwell on that a while. “Why return to the hot seat now, when you wouldn’t before?”

“Guilt,” he answers directly. “I thought Capac could handle things. I didn’t take his offer seriously. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t be on the missing list and this city wouldn’t be on the brink of war.”

“It’s a bit late in the day to put things right.”

Tasso shrugs (only his left shoulder rises). “If I’m late, I’m late. Point is, I’m here and I need your help.”

“I still don’t understand what you think I can do. I have no idea where Raimi is.”

“You can find out,” Tasso says evenly. “I think the villacs have him and I think you’re the one person who can deal with those blind sons of jackals and persuade them to set him free.”

“Why would you think that?” I frown.

“Stuff Capac told me over the years. I know about the Ayuamarcans, your father and how, aside from Capac, you’re the only survivor of Dorak’s phantasmagoric army.”

“You remember Paucar Wami?” I hiss.

“Not clearly, but Capac told me all about him.”

I’m trembling. That won’t do. I need to be composed. I count silently until I’m in control. When I reach twenty-two and my hands are still, I speak. “Even if there’s a link between Raimi and me, what makes you think I could find him?”

“I’ve been here since Friday,” Tasso says. “But it was only last night, when this was dropped on my desk, that I thought about you.”

Tasso tosses an envelope to me. Warily, I slide the flap open. A large playing card slips out — the jack of spades. An ordinary card in most respects, except two tiny photos have been glued over the faces of the jacks, one of Capac Raimi, the other of me, in Al Jeery guise. Across the middle of the card runs a printed message, written in red ink on a white strip of paper. THE BLOODLINES WILL MERGE.

I read the message twice, glance again at the photos, then place the card back in its envelope and return it to Ford.

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “The villacs have him.”

“Any idea what it means?” he asks. “About bloodlines merging?”

“The priests have a vision. They want to make this city the center of the world. They believe in a sun god, and they think he’ll bless them if the conditions are right and ensure their longevity until the end of time. That can only happen if three bloodlines come together in a chakana of blood — Blood of Flesh, Blood of Dreams, and Flesh of Dreams.”

“I haven’t the slightest fucking clue what you’re babbling about,” Tasso says.