Darren Shan - Procession of the dead

He pinched my chin, tilted my head left and right, then grunted. "Looks like you're going places, kid. I figure it's just as well I didn't let Vincent waste you. Come on." He punched me on the arm. "Let's get you settled in for the night. How does the notion of a room at the Skylight grab you?"

"Sounds good," I mumbled, then let him lead the way down to the ground floor, where we collected our shoes and hailed another limo.

Party Central, Shankar's, the Skylight. They were the three architectural pillars on which The Cardinal's empire rested. I couldn't have dreamed of entering any of them just six hours earlier.

The Skylight Hotel was a huge box of metal and glass, encircled by a sea of gleaming cars. The city was full of hotels but the Skylight was where the cream came. Large wide-screen TVs in every room for starters, with a digital video library you could access whenever you liked. Four bars. Three swimming pools. Two gyms. A world-class restaurant. A wireless system and telephone lines which were the safest in the city, regularly scanned for bugs by the best experts money could buy. Free drugs compliments of the management (police never raided the Skylight). A spa frequented by movie stars. Computerized locks on every door. No theft or unauthorized soliciting-the Skylight was guarded by the Troops.

Ford said nothing while we checked in. The girl behind the desk smiled, took my signature and fingerprints, then asked if I had a passport-sized photograph. I didn't, so she took my photo with a digital camera. A bulb flashed, capturing my startled expression, then she printed it on her PC.

We were there eight minutes max. During that time I saw two TV stars, a big-name actress who'd have been mobbed anywhere else, several gangsters (all at least five times as powerful as Theo had been), more millionaires than I'd seen in my previous six months in the city.

When the receptionist handed me my pass card, a bemused Capac Raimi gazed up at me, his name, prints and room number lying neatly down the left.

"This is your credit bar," she told me, tapping a thin metallic line. "Present this at any of the leisure facilities and you'll be taken care of."

"How much credit do I have?" I asked.

"Unlimited," she replied.

"Can I afford this?" I asked Tasso.

"The Cardinal's picking up the tab."

"Are all his subjects treated this well?"

"Just his pets. Come on. I've a bed to get back to."

The elevator was ordinary compared with the one in Party Central. Large, modern, clean, but unattended and without dramatic operational procedures.

We got out on the eighth floor. It was a short walk to my room. I ran the card through the scanner at the side. There was a sharp buzz, the door slid open and we entered. It was small, nothing special, a letdown after the glamour of the lobby. A few prints, ordinary carpets, plastic flowers in a vase.

"What do you think?" Ford asked, dimming the lights.

"It'll do," I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

"You can order up stuff if you want," he said. "More pictures. Statues. A four-poster bed. You can even change the carpets. They've got a catalogue of extras-you'll find it in one of the drawers-designed to please."

That sounded more like it! "At any rate, it's better than Uncle Theo's new resting place," I joked.

"You don't seem too upset by his death," Tasso remarked.

I shrugged. "I'd only known him a few months. We were in a dirty business, we knew the risks. It's the way things go."

Ford nodded. "You've got the right attitude."

"The Cardinal certainly thinks so," I said smugly, "and he's never wrong."

"No," Ford contradicted me, "he's often wrong. But who's gonna tell him?"

"What do you think he's got in mind for me?" I asked.

"I don't know, kid. The Cardinal doesn't confide in anyone. You learn to live with that and take no offense, or you get out quick. Speaking of which…"

He left and I was alone for the first time that long and unbelievable night.

I moved about the room in a daze, replaying my conversations with Ford Tasso and The Cardinal. At times I was sure I'd dreamed it all, that I'd died by the docks and this was my final dream. I'd wake up any minute and…

I realized I hadn't been to the toilet in almost-I checked my watch-nine hours! I rectified that, then washed my hands, brushed my teeth and prepared for bed. I was about to climb under the covers when it struck me that, in all my months in the city, I'd yet to watch a sunrise. I dragged a chair over to the window, pulled back the curtains and sat down for nature's finest show. My head was still spinning and my fingers were shaking from delayed shock. I let my head loll back a moment to relieve the tension in my neck and before I could stop myself I was asleep and the sun was left to rise without an audience.

airiway

A maid woke me at seven to say Sonja Arne was expecting me for breakfast at Shankar's in forty-five minutes. If I was late, I'd have to go hungry until lunch.

I splashed water over my face, scraped the crust from my eyes, brushed back my hair, didn't shave-I'd call it designer stubble-sprayed under my armpits, slipped into my gear from the night before and was set to go.

The concierge spotted me in the lobby-I don't know how she knew me, since she hadn't been on duty when I arrived-and asked if I required a limo. I said I'd take a cab instead-they were more my style-and one of the bellboys hailed one for me. As I relaxed and stared off into space, I thought I recognized the back of the driver's head. He looked like the guy who'd picked me up half a year ago when I first came to this jungle of metal, glass and brick.

"Do you get many fares around the Skylight?" I asked, sounding him out.

"Nah," he replied gruffly. "Most of that lot are too high and mighty for a car like this." He had a curious way of accenting random words. I was sure it was him now.

"How about train stations? Do you-" I began as he stopped for a red light, but he cut me short.

"Look," he snapped, "just can it. I want nothing to do with your kind, OK? I'm giving you a ride, let's leave it at that."

"No need to get aggressive," I grumbled. "I was just trying to be friendly. I didn't mean-"

"I don't care what you meant," he interrupted. "I'm not interested." He honked at a pedestrian and was getting ready to wind down his window when the lights changed and he had to move on or risk being bulldozed by the river of cars to our rear.

"You work for The Cardinal, right?" he sneered. "Big man. Throws his money around like confetti. And everybody grabs, smiles and puckers up to kiss his hairy old ass. Sickening."

"You sound like you've had a run-in with him," I said.

"Me? Nah. I'm just a cabbie. I've never even seen him."

"Then what's your problem?"

"What he's done to this city. This was a good place to live. It had its problems, sure, but the scum knew their place and stuck to it. These days they run riot. Dirt everywhere you look. Everybody on the take. Because of him."

"Why don't you leave if you hate it that much?"

"Leave!" If he'd had a cigar, he'd have spat it out. "Why should I? It's my city too. I pay taxes, I earn my living. Nathanael Mead moves for no man."

"Nathanael Mead," I repeated. "I'll remember that."

"Do," he sniffed, then let me off at Shankar's a couple of minutes later. I thought he might refuse the tip, me being one of the Anti-christ's footmen, but he took it, albeit grudgingly.

The maitre d' was all smiles when I introduced myself. He treated me like a favorite regular and escorted me to table nineteen, waving aside the aides who normally seated the guests.

Shankar's was owned by Leonora Shankar, the woman behind The Cardinal in his formative years. The hippest restaurant in the city, where everybody who was anybody wanted to eat. But all the money in the world couldn't snare you a seat unless you were part of The Cardinal's crew. It was reserved for his people, from the shoeboys to the Troops to the executives. The food was great, the atmosphere delightful, and The Cardinal always covered the tab. One of the perks of the job. Occasionally the doors would open to a nonmember but outsiders were rare and carefully monitored.