Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

“Capac,” he beams as if we’re bosom buddies. “You’re the last person I expected to find. Come to check up on us, or is—”

“I want to see The Cardinal’s coffin,” I interrupt.

That throws him. “The…? Oh, you mean the other Cardinal. Mr. Dorak.”

“Yes.”

He smiles falteringly. “It’s rather late for a visit. May I ask—”

“Just take me to him. Now. Before I replace you with someone who knows how to obey when he’s given an order.”

Sines bristles but has sense enough not to bite back. He leads me through the maze of coffins. I follow silently, ignoring the onlookers, turning a deaf ear to their speculative whispers.

We end up at a crypt deep inside the Fridge. A small, octagonal, metal growth, the only freestanding structure within the building. Everyone else has to share. The Cardinal, in death as in life, resides alone. The entrance to the crypt is barred by a computerized door.

“I’m the only one who knows the combination,” Sines boasts, keying it in. “The walls are lined with every kind of alarm imaginable. The Cardinal made sure his body wouldn’t be vulnerable to grave-robbers.”

“What happens when you die?” I ask.

“I keep the code on file, in a secret location. My successor will be able to retrieve it.”

I step back as the door swings open with a series of heavy clicks. A light is shining inside. “It comes on automatically when the door opens,” Sines explains in answer to my inquisitive look.

I edge forward. The Cardinal’s coffin is set on an ornately carved slab of marble in the middle of the room. He used to say he didn’t care what happened to his body when he died, but the specific instructions he left about what he wanted done with his remains proved that was a lie.

“Lock the door after me,” I tell Sines.

He blinks. “The room isn’t ventilated. A few hours inside and you’ll run out of air.”

“That’s OK. I’ll signal when I want to leave.”

“There isn’t a button you can press, and nobody would hear you if you hammered on the door or walls — they’re too thickly insulated.”

I frown. “Then give me an hour and come back. If I want to stay longer, I’ll let you know when you open the door.”

“You’re the boss,” Sines mutters, hits a couple of buttons and watches, troubled, as the door slides shut, entombing me with The Cardinal.

“And then there were two,” I mumble, turning to face the coffin.

No answer.

I circle the coffin. Long. Wide. Black. Ferdinand Dorak’s name engraved on a silver plaque, along with birth and death dates, and a short epitaph — NOBODY TOLD ME THERE’D BE DAYS LIKE THESE. I laugh out loud when I read that. Nice to see the old bastard’s sense of humor didn’t desert him at the end. I skipped The Cardinal’s funeral. Had other things to worry about, like running a city all set to blow in the wake of its former ruler’s death.

“Where are you now?” I whisper, touching the coffin (it’s warm, some kind of hard plastic, softer than I expected). “Riding the devil’s ass in hell? Tearing up the heavens? Simply rotting here?”

I don’t know whether or not I believe in life after death. I’m proof that the dead can be brought back, but that doesn’t mean they can move on. What happens to the billions of spirits not waylaid by the villacs ? Do they find rest elsewhere, or did the Ayuamarcans, by their very existence, signify that this plane is all there is? The priests are powerful, but I can’t picture them wrenching control of a soul from a god or devil. Perhaps they’re only able to wield power over the dead because the dead have nowhere else to go.

Shaking my head, I check the lid of the coffin. It’s held in place by screws that can be easily turned. Suppressing a shiver, I undo them all and gently slide the lid aside. I’m ready for anything — a living, grinning Ferdinand Dorak, a villac , an empty coffin — but all I’m faced with is a standard, gray-skinned corpse.

The Cardinal’s hair is a mess, and his nails look jagged and long on his shrunken fingers, but otherwise he’s much as I remember. His hands are crossed on his chest in the traditional manner of the dead. I check the smallest finger of his left hand. It used to bend away from the others each time he created a new Ayuamarcan. Now it’s straight. Whoever’s bringing the dead back to life, it isn’t this decrepit stiff.

Curious, I press a couple of fingers to the flesh of the former Cardinal’s left cheek. There’s a thin snapping sound as the bone gives way. I pull back quickly before it crumples. The Cardinal was in a pretty sorry state when they scraped him off the pavement at the foot of Party Central — a fifteen-floor drop takes it out of even the toughest son of a bitch. The undertakers did an incredible job piecing him back together for the televised funeral, but it’s all spit and glue. One punch to the jaw and his head would explode.

I grin at the thought of desecrating the corpse — part of me hates The Cardinal for creating me and sentencing me to eternity — but I don’t. He was only obeying his nature, as I’ve obeyed mine since taking over. The villacs are the real enemies, the sly bastards who manipulated us.

I lever the lid of the coffin back into place. I feel foolish for coming. Conchita’s message must have had some other meaning. This has been a waste of time. Dead men can’t see. As soon as Sines lets me out, I’ll high-tail it back to Party Central and refocus. There must be…

A groaning sound stops the thought dead. I spin toward the door but it’s stationary. The sound isn’t coming from outside but from in here.

Backing up against a wall, I stare at the coffin. I expect the lid to creak open, the way it would in a horror film, and the corpse of The Cardinal to stumble out. But that doesn’t happen. Instead the entire coffin slides off the marble slab. At first I think it’s magic, but then I spot a thin metal shelf supporting it and I realize this is technology at work, not the supernatural.

The coffin comes to a halt. Taking a couple of steps closer, I see that the marble slab is hollow. There are steps set within. As I stare into darkness, pondering this arcane twist, a head appears — someone’s coming up. My throat tightens and I search for a weapon, but I gave up carrying guns and knives many years ago. No call for them when you’re immortal.

Fighting the urge to lurch away from the slab and hammer on the door, I stand my ground, facing up to whatever horror awaits. As the figure mounts the steps, I realize first that it’s a woman, tall, dark skin, long black hair. Next I notice that she’s naked. As that sinks in, the even more incredible truth of her identity strikes me.

“Ama?” I wheeze. Her head lifts and her eyes settle on mine, but that’s her only response. “Ama,” I moan, taking a staggering step toward her. Ama Situwa was the love of my life, the woman The Cardinal created for me. She could have been Eve to my Adam, for a few decades at least, but I sacrificed her. Part of the price I paid when agreeing to my demonic deal.

Ama puts a finger to her lips. Mouths the sound, “Shhh.” I stop and stare. I want to cry but I’ve forgotten how. She lowers her hand, then stretches it out, offering it to me. I shake my head, afraid. She cups her fingers and beckons, smiling reassuringly. Trembling, scared of what will happen if I take her hand, terrified of what will happen if I don’t, I slide my fingers into hers. She squeezes, then turns and starts back down the stairs. I hesitate at the top — it’s dark down there, I can’t see the bottom — but she squeezes my hand again and nods to say it’s safe. I shouldn’t go — this is insane, placing my life in the hands of a naked ghost — but I can’t help myself. Reason has fled. The spirits of the past have claimed me as their own.