Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

Jerry’s levelheadedness is refreshing. It’s comforting to find that not everyone in Party Central has succumbed to the forces of witchcraft and voodoo, that some can reason logically. That said, when I quiz him about Raimi’s immortality, he reads from the same book as Ford Tasso and Frank.

“The guy returns from the dead — fact. Every time he’s killed, he comes back a few days later on a train from a place called Sonas. He rematerializes on the train, though we’ve had people on it, watching for him, and they’ve never seen him regenerate. He somehow does it when nobody’s looking.”

“You know how crazy that sounds?”

“Of course. Early on, I searched for logical answers — clones, lookalikes, twins — but the truth’s the truth. Capac Raimi comes back from the dead. You learn to accept it when you’ve been around him a while.”

Arguing’s pointless — Tasso, Frank and Jerry can’t be shaken from their absurd belief — so I don’t bother. Instead I gather what relevant facts I can — who his friends were (he didn’t have any), where he liked to hang out (apart from trips to a gym with a pool, he worked nonstop), and if he had any untoward habits (clean as a whistle) — then return home with midnight fast approaching. I spend a few hours writing up notes and playing with theories, then hit the sack, where I toss and turn, obsessing about snakes, dead people, blind priests, sun gods and a nine-fingered ex-cop — alive and in the city.

I rise before dawn, tired and irritable, and squat in the shadows of my living room, thinking about Bill, wondering what he looks like now, what he’s doing, where he’s spent the past ten years. Tasso’s news both thrills and depresses me. Thrills, because the years of murder and madness haven’t been a waste — my quest is justifiable and revenge can be mine. Depresses, because Tasso could be lying — or Raimi could have lied to him — and I have a sick fear that even if it’s true, Bill will drop dead of old age or flee before I can descend on him in all my fury.

As desperate as I am to get my hands on Bill, I put thoughts of him on hold. I have a deal with Tasso to honor. Raimi must be found before I can focus on my dearest friend and most hated enemy. Where to start in my search for the missing Cardinal?

As the sun rises I focus all my mental faculties on the Raimi problem, and the answer soon presents itself. Start where Raimi was last seen — the Fridge. After a quick breakfast and a hundred push-ups, I cycle to the morgue. I’m in Al Jeery guise, so I use the bicycle I’ve had for fifteen years. I save the motorcycle for when I’m Paucar Wami, storing it in a nearby garage.

I’m no stranger to the Fridge, its false exterior (it looks like a deserted factory) and gleaming, coffin-lined halls. I’ve dropped off many bodies here, friends and foes of The Cardinal and his crew. I even have my own access code, though it has to be renewed every three months and only admits me to a small, self-contained section at the rear of the morgue.

Once I’ve parked and entered, I tell one of the assistants that I’d like to see Dr. Sines. He’s head honcho, though he was just one of many pathologists on the books when I first made his acquaintance ten years ago. He’s one of the select few who know that Paucar Wami and Al Jeery are the same man.

“Mr. Jeery,” he greets me with a curt nod, coming from an operating room, his hands encased in blood-smeared plastic gloves.

“Dr. Sines.” We’ve known each other for a decade, but have never dropped the formalities. Sines is an associate, not a friend. I prefer it that way. I’m safer without friends.

“Dropping off or picking up?” he quips. A standard joke.

“I’ve been hired to find Capac Raimi. I want to see where he disappeared.”

Sines stares at me. “I didn’t think you were into detective work these days.”

“I’m making an exception this once. I have clearance. You can check with Jerry or Frank if you don’t believe me.”

“If it’s all the same, I will. Nothing personal.”

One phone call later, Sines leads me through a maze of casket-lined corridors to Ferdinand Dorak’s crypt. “We’ve had a hell of a time since Raimi vanished,” the doctor mutters, peeling off his gloves as we walk and discarding them. “Hordes of Troops swarming around, interviewing everyone, upsetting everything. I’ve been quizzed on five separate occasions. I suppose you’ll make it an even half-dozen?”

“I don’t think I’ll bother. I know how clueless you are.”

“Very droll. You should have been a comedian.”

We arrive at the crypt. Octagonal, heavily reinforced, a computerized lock on the door. Sines keys in a code and after a number of clicks it swings open.

“Want me to come in with you?” Sines asks.

“Yes. I want to see the stairs under the coffin.”

We enter. A cold, dry room, The Cardinal’s coffin resplendent in the center, on a huge slab of marble. I examine the inscription — NOBODY TOLD ME THERE’D BE DAYS LIKE THESE — then the coffin and marble.

“There’s a lever at the bottom of the stairs,” Sines says. “Until the Troops came ferreting around, that was the only way to open it. They busted a few locks, so now the coffin slides aside if you push.” He lays a hand on the head of the coffin and demonstrates. It slides two-thirds of the way off the marble slab before coming to a halt, revealing a dark chasm and a set of stairs.

“This wasn’t here originally?” I ask, staring down into the darkness.

“No. They burrowed up from beneath.”

“How come nobody noticed?”

“The room’s soundproof,” Sines explains. “Besides, nobody passes by much — The Cardinal made sure he was put in a secluded part of the building. What gets me is how they knew where to dig. Only three people have access to the architectural plans. Each has been cleared by the Troops. Whoever did this didn’t find out about it through official channels.”

Several flashlights are set on the floor in a corner of the room. I fetch one and click it on. “I’m going to the bottom of the stairs,” I tell Sines. “I won’t be long.”

“What will I do if you don’t come back?” he asks nervously.

“Make up a good story for the Troops and pray they believe you.” I climb up onto the slab, swing my legs over, find the top step of the stairs and start down.

There are forty-one steps to the bottom, where a short tunnel ends in a door. The lock’s on the other side but the Troops must have kicked it open on one of their visits because it swings inward when I push. I step through and shine my light around. I’m at a junction, five crudely cut passages branching out to who knows where. Three of the passages are marked with crosses, where the Troops explored. Tasso told me they found nothing but more junctions and tunnels before giving up.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I whisper, turning off the flashlight and letting the darkness engulf me. “They’re keeping you where no one can find you. You’re the ace up top, but they rule beneath. These tunnels are theirs. I wonder what they’re doing to you?”

I cough self-consciously. One of the side effects of spending so much time on my own — I’ve started talking to myself. I haven’t gotten to the stage where I’m answering yet, but it can’t be far off.

I linger a minute, feeling the darkness as if it had a tangible, physical presence. I’m sure I’ll be down these tunnels again before this investigation’s over, but for the time being I have no use for them. I’m not going to find Raimi by walking directionlessly into the darkness. I’ll have to work to root him out. The villacs won’t make it easy for me.

I climb back up the stairs, wondering where to turn next. I proved no slouch in the detective stakes last time, but I’m no supersleuth either. The priests will have to strew the path with clues if I’m to progress, otherwise I’ll run around in circles. But I’m sure they’ll help me along, as they did before. The game means nothing to them, only the result. So it’s surely just a matter of time before…