Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

I was supposed to bring them to that moon. If I’d accepted the priests as masters, and worked with Jeery and the other sons of Paucar Wami, they’d have risen from the depths. With the Manco Capac statue dominating the city, the Coya would have established herself as queen, the mamaconas would have been the most sought-after women, and the villacs would have been the most powerful of men. They’d have ruled supreme. That dream kept them going in the miserable gloom. It was all they had to live for. A nobler man might feel pity for them — they were born to their lot, they didn’t ask for it — but I’m a savage son of a bitch and I feel nothing but hateful glee at the thought of wrecking their carefully laid plans.

I’m almost upon them. A brief pause to draw breath and flex my fingers, careful not to touch the buttons nestled in my palms. Then I plaster a smile in place, force a weak whistle, and stumble around the final turn, into view.

The tunnel is narrower than the others, only just wide enough for the bed, with a low ceiling. The cave-in isn’t impassable — the Incas could wriggle through if not for their oversized queen — but it’s a tricky one to clear. All the priests and priestesses are working on it, but as they scoop rocks and pebbles away, fresh stony trickles cascade from the sides and overhead. If they’re not careful, the roof will collapse. It’s a delicate operation, requiring finesse and time, which they don’t have anymore.

“Having fun?” I bellow, and two dozen alarmed faces shoot around. The Coya is closest to me and she hisses with fear, making a sign with her huge, fleshy hands, as if that could ward me off. Her priests and handmaidens race from the rocks and line up in front of her. I grin at them. “Heard you were throwing a party. Thought I’d drop in.”

“Where are the others?” snarls the English-speaking villac from earlier.

“Gone.”

“Dead?” he asks, surprised.

“No, you fucking moron. They’ve returned to the city.”

He frowns. “You have come alone?”

“Shut up, you asshole,” I sigh, stepping forward for a better view of the Coya. “It’s the queen bee I’m interested in, not her drones.”

The priest starts to launch a retort but the Coya silences him with a bark. Drawing herself upright on the bed, she glares at me, then studies the vest I’m wearing over my robes. “You have come to destroy me,” she sneers in the ancient tongue that is as natural to me as my own.

“Sure as shit,” I laugh in her language.

“This is foolish. We are your parents, Blood of Dreams, your destiny. We have amazing plans for you. We can keep you intrigued through the long, interminable millennia. Alone, you would have only humans for amusement, and they will cease to amuse you far more quickly than you imagine.”

“I’ve already lost interest in them,” I sigh. “But you don’t interest me either. I don’t care about your plans. I have my own. The mistake you made in letting The Cardinal create me was thinking I’d feel a bond with your kind. You mean nothing to me, you fat, ugly, Incan cunt.” I’ve never relished anything as much as the delivery of that insult. If I survive, I’ll play that moment over and over, possibly until the very end of time.

The Coya snarls savagely at me, then shouts at her underlings. “Get him!” A ridiculous choice of final words, but there’s no time for her to reconsider and add a fitting coda. The villacs and mamaconas rush me. I have no more than four or five seconds.

Closing the fingers of my left hand, I press the slim button at the heart of my palm. A brief pause, then I press the button on my right. There’s no click and no poised moment of heightened tension. The vest explodes instantly, a ferocious blast, obliterating me and the nearest of the Incas, knocking the rest off their feet, bringing the roof down on a screeching, hateful Coya and her clan.

The end.

Ding-dong, the bitch is dead .

It’s been almost two weeks since the Troops, Kluxers and Snakes joined forces to rid this city of its Incan rulers, and although it’s early days, the signs for a favorable future are positive. Raimi and Davern are cooperating cautiously, and Sard and I have been representing the Snakes, making sure we’re not frozen out of the negotiations. The days of a divided, isolated east are over. From now on the gangs here operate under a single, unified banner. We had to crack some heads to begin with, and that will continue for a while, but in time people will see the benefits of doing it our way. They’ll flock to the cause and the new era of peace and prosperity it heralds.

Or so goes the plan.

The city never looked sweeter than it did when I broke clear of the tunnels with Ama and my father. It was evening, the sun was setting, and for the first time in a decade the ruby-red sky didn’t remind me of the color of blood. We’d heard and felt the explosion on our way up, and knew that Raimi had succeeded.

“So!” Paucar Wami boomed after a few minutes, as we lay on a bank of burned grass and gazed at the sky in solemn silence. “We have overcome the villacs and their queen, united the warring factions of the city, and laid the foundations for a long and lasting peace. Not a bad day’s work, hmm, Al m’boy?”

“It could have been worse,” I deadpanned, then shared a laugh with him, Ama looking on, smiling wistfully (probably thinking about Raimi).

Done laughing, Wami stood and scanned the towering buildings of the city, his green eyes thoughtful. “It is over,” he said softly. “I am truly free for the first time in my life. No Ferdinand Dorak or villacs to tell me what I must and must not do. I can be my own man, live for myself, do as I want.” His fingers flexed slowly, hungrily, by his sides.

I cleared my throat and stood beside him. “There’ll be no more killing here.” He didn’t give any sign that he’d heard. “Go elsewhere for your sick kicks. This city’s off-limits.”

“Says who?” he whispered, eyes still on the skyscrapers.

“The leader of the Snakes.”

“ I lead the Snakes.”

“No. Paucar Wami does. In this city there can only be one Paucar Wami, and that’s me . We can fight about it if you want, but there seems little point. It doesn’t matter to you where you kill. Why pit yourself against me when you could be out there”—I gesture to the world beyond—“slaughtering freely?”

He considered that, then nodded calmly. “Very well. The city is yours. I will depart immediately and leave you to it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” He glanced at me, surprised. “The next few weeks could be difficult. I might have need of you. I want you to stay, hidden and inactive, ready to step in if I call.”

“Why should I?” he asked. “I am eager to be about my new life. I care not for the people of this city and their problems.”

“I’m asking, as your son — please hang around.”

“If I do not?”

I shrugged. “I can’t force you to stay. You’ll do it or you won’t.”

He thought about it, then nodded again. “I am grateful to you for including me in the rousting of the villacs —that was sport I shall not forget in a hurry — so I will stay for a fortnight, lie low and heed your call. But,” he warned, “if you do call, you must accept the nature of the beast which you summon. I will not kill while in hiding, but if directed, I will consider those you sic me on fair game. I will show them no mercy.”

“Agreed.”