Darren Shan - City of the Snakes

“I will be near the burned-out police station. Come if you need me. Otherwise I will contact you before I leave.” He paused, tugged at his robes and grimaced. “I hate these rags.” He pulled the robes off, stood naked before us — he winked lewdly at Ama, but she gazed back blankly, unimpressed — then turned and set off at a leisurely pace, whistling as if out on a casual stroll.

“I despise that monster,” Ama said as we watched him leave, “but there’s no denying the man has style.”

“Come on,” I chuckled, taking her arm. “The Snakes and their friends should be finished in the tunnels. Let’s go separate them before they turn on one another.”

I got virtually no sleep the next few days. There was a lot of work to be done in the east — fires to extinguish, roads to unblock — and the Snakes made sure all went smoothly, providing escorts for the police, medics and cleanup crews who were soon swamping the streets. We kept tabs on dissident gangs, knocked them into order if necessary, safeguarded the public by patrolling the neighborhoods, securing the peace.

I faced a constant stream of meetings with public officials, on top of the head-to-heads with Ford Tasso and Eugene Davern at Party Central. I involved Sard and the other Cobras as much as I could, getting them accustomed to the politics of self-control, but as the Sapa Inca my presence was expected. I had no intention of saddling myself with the job in the long run, but in the short term there was nothing for it but to bite down hard and go with the flow. No point rescuing people from the wolves only to leave them for the vultures.

Raimi returned on Friday, fresh and unscarred. Tasso stepped aside without a murmur and The Cardinal was soon locked in negotiations with Davern and Sard. When anyone asked where he’d been, he grinned and replied, “On vacation.”

It soon became clear that The Cardinal had changed, and everyone agreed it was for the better. Before his disappearance he’d been arrogant and aloof, conferring only with the elite in Party Central, having nothing to do with the ordinary people, spurning media interviews. Now he was on the news all the time, pitching in to rebuild the east, sponsoring shelters to house the homeless, liaising between the Troops, Kluxers and Snakes. He also worked closely with the police, even going so far as to publicly run Stuart Jordan out of the city and allow an honest cop to replace him.

I have my doubts about how long The Cardinal’s change of heart will last. He’s come through a terrible ordeal, and I think he’s overcompensating for the torment he endured. It’s probably only a matter of time before his old personality reasserts itself. But I keep my doubts to myself. Everyone thinks he’s a new man, and that gives them hope — if The Cardinal can change, anyone can. I don’t have the heart to piss on their parade.

It’s a beautiful June day, and all’s well. So well, I’ve decided to cut out before the job takes me over and I find myself stuck here, head of the Snakes for life, tied to this city until the day I die. The east’s at peace, the gangs have been brought under the thumb of the Snakes, there’s harmony between them, the Kluxers and the Troops. I’m not needed any longer. Time to pass control of the Snakes over to themselves and hope they don’t go wild with power.

As Al Jeery, I told Flo and Drake of my decision last night, and sat up late with them, drinking and reminiscing about Fabio and the past. Now, as Paucar Wami, I tell Sard and install him as leader of the Snakes. He asks me to reconsider but he doesn’t plead. I’ve spent a lot of time with Sard, and I think he’s come to realize I’m not the immortal Sapa Inca. He’s never mentioned the man he saw in the cavern, but I’m pretty sure he knows that the “double” was the real Paucar Wami. He acts as if I’m their leader, but I sense his relief when I say I’m leaving. He doesn’t want the others figuring it out and splintering.

“What will I tell them?” he asks. “How will I explain your departure?”

“Just say I’ve gone away. That will be explanation enough. The Sapa Inca does not have to account for his actions.”

After passing the baton of power to Sard, I drop by the abandoned police station where my father has been hanging out and find him perched on the rafters, paring his nails. “You can leave now,” I tell him.

He drops to the floor and faces me. “You no longer require my services?”

“Peace has been restored and life’s moving on. I have no need of you.”

“Once I go, you will never again be able to find me.”

I smile thinly. “I’ll never wish to.”

“Al m’boy,” he purrs. “If I did not know better, I could almost believe you were anxious to see the back of your dear ol’ pappy.”

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” I laugh.

Wami grows thoughtful. “There was something I failed to consider when Raimi went after the Coya . By blowing her up, he should have blown up my doll too, thus destroying me. Yet here I am. What do you suppose happened to it?”

I shrug. “She probably dropped it while they were fleeing.”

“I thought about that. I returned to the tunnels and retraced their route. I did not find it.”

“Then it must be buried under the rubble, trapped in an air pocket. You always did have the luck of the devil.”

“The dark one favors his own,” Wami chuckles, then waves his worries away. “It has been fun, Al m’boy. I will miss you, and I mean that sincerely.”

“In a strange sort of way, I’ll miss you too,” I mutter, gazing at his shaved head, his cruel lips, the tattoos, his cynical green eyes, one final time. “If I begged you to stop killing,” I blurt out suddenly, “do you think you could?”

“Of course not,” he says. “Why make such an absurd request?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Guess I’m getting soft in my old age.” I offer my hand. “Take care, you evil-hearted son of a bitch.”

“You too, O misdirected spawn of my loins,” he grins, clasping my hand. “You could have been a legend, Al m’boy.”

“It’s better to be human,” I reply.

“Perhaps,” he says, releasing me. “That, however, is something I could never aspire to. I was made to be vile.” Stepping back, the assassin salutes, turns, walks through the door and slips away, never to be seen in these parts again.

Ama’s face lights up when I walk into Cafran’s, my tattoos painted over, stubble coating my skull, the beginnings of a new head of hair, my first in a decade. I don’t know what it will look like — I imagine I’ll have more than my fair share of gray — but it’ll be interesting to find out.

“Howdy, stranger,” she greets me, standing on her toes to kiss my cheek. I haven’t seen much of her lately. I’ve been busy elsewhere.

“How are you doing?” I ask as she leads me to the back, out of earshot of the busy lunch crowd.

“Can’t complain. Business is good, the city’s booming, Cafran’s bought a new restaurant and has said I can run it. I’ve got my life back.”

“I hope you take care of it this time. It’s your last.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of wasting it.” We nudge into an alcove in the kitchen, out of the pathway of the waiters. “What’s happening with you?” she asks. “How’s the dividing-up of the city going?”

“Pretty good. I’m going to see Raimi after this, bid him farewell and warn—”

“ Farewell? ” she interrupts. “You’re leaving?”

“This afternoon. I’ll catch a train out.”

“Where to?”

I shrug. “Away.”

“You’re not coming back?”

“Don’t intend to.”

She stares at me in silence, then smiles. “Good!” She takes hold of my hands and squeezes. “Don’t return, no matter what happens. You’ve served your time and done all you could for this city. You owe it nothing more.”