Darren Shan: Procession of the dead

Two doormen controlled the massive front portal. They were dressed in red, capped and gloved. Harmless and friendly. The five armed guards to either side of them weren't so welcoming. These were members of The Cardinal's own personal army, the Troops. It had taken The Cardinal a long time to receive government backing for the recruitment and arming of his own personal force. He'd had to buy half the city's politicians and kill the rest. There'd been civil marches and protests from the police. It resembled a war for a while.

The Cardinal wanted his own official army. Everybody else-understandably-was less enthusiastic. Eventually The Cardinal won, like he always did, and the Troops came into being. Five hundred strong and increasing all the time. Ford Tasso had been their commander in chief in the early days, before moving on to bigger things. There were more Troops in the foyer, posted at regular intervals, alert and poised to open fire at the first sign of trouble. I wasn't about to give them any.

The ground floor of Party Central was all tiles and marble, and your feet clacked whenever you moved. From there on up, however, it was carpet. The building was famed for its carpets, imported from Persia and India. They covered every inch of the floors above, even the stairs and in the toilets.

Shoes were outlawed above the first floor. All employees and visitors had to check in their footwear at one of six reception desks before they could go up. There were no exceptions. Socks or bare feet, nothing more, not even a pair of slippers. And Christ help you if your feet smelled-everybody in the city knew at least one amputation story. The Cardinal had an allegedly sensitive nose and didn't appreciate foul odors in his innermost sanctum.

Ford Tasso and I handed over our shoes and took receipts. The receptionist placed them on a constantly moving conveyor belt and they were swept through to the back for storage. Ford got his bearings, I stared around in wonder, then we were heading for one of the building's many elevators.

It was late but the foyer was busier than most places were during the day. Businessmen with laptops were gathered in small groups, discussing the state of the markets. Off-duty Troops relaxed in the lounge near the back. A dozen or more receptionists manned the various desks around the floor, checking everyone in, arranging appointments, taking phone calls, keeping in contact with the hundreds of agents at work in the field.

The elevator was from a different time. Large, carpeted, with cushioned walls and soothing music. There was an operator present at all times, using a cranking lever to guide his ship up and down the twenty-three-story shaft. He was amiable but I could see the bulge of a gun beneath his jacket.

Theo had loved that elevator. He'd told me about it several times. He once said, if he could choose where to die, it would be in one of Party Central's marvelous old elevators. The memory brought a lump to my throat and I had to struggle to focus. It would have been nice to grieve for Theo, but these could be my last few minutes alive and I wasn't about to waste them mourning the dead. If I survived, there'd be plenty of time for Theo. My uncle would have expected nothing less of me. "Good evening, Mr. Tasso," the operator smiled. "Which floor?"

"Fifteen," Tasso grunted.

"Certainly, sir." He shut the door and spoke into a microphone. "Floor fifteen. Mr. Tasso."

"Identification," a dry, computer-controlled voice answered.

Ford spoke his name. A small panel beneath the microphone clicked open and he pressed down his fingers. There was a brief pause, then the elevator began to rise, much faster and more smoothly than I expected. Like the building's exterior, this might look like a throwback to simpler days, but it was modern and efficient beneath the surface, an oiled monster in an antique mask.

Fifteen. That was The Cardinal's floor, hence the security measures. Hellfire. No underlings on the fifteenth. I was being taken to the top man himself.

The elevator arrived. We got out. It slid back down.

Two Troops stood to either side of the doors, guns cocked. Three more were opposite. Apart from them, the place was deserted.

The air conditioners were set a couple of degrees lower than normal-I felt goosebumps creep across the back of my neck from the chill. The carpets were scented but lightly, the smell of fresh washing. I wriggled my toes in the plush material. Pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

Ford Tasso started ahead of me but I wasn't ready to move yet and stood my ground. He stopped. Looked back. Raised a speculative eyebrow. "Well?"

"What's happening?" I asked. "An hour ago I was on my way to a run-of-the-mill meeting. Now my uncle's dead, my future's in tatters and I'm on the fifteenth floor of Party Central, presumably about to meet with The Cardinal himself. What the fuck's going on?" I felt it was a reasonable question.

Tasso shrugged indifferently. "Don't know, kid. The Cardinal said to bring you in and that's what I'm doing. Why he wants you, I neither know nor care. I don't question the ways of The Cardinal."

"But he must have said something. There must be some-"

He shook his head. "If you live long enough, you'll realize The Cardinal don't need a reason for anything. And he certainly doesn't have to explain himself. Now come on and quit with the questions. You'll find out the answers soon enough."

He led me down long corridors, past war chambers, function halls and several computer rooms. The fifteenth floor was an office building of its own, independent and self-supporting, geared to meet all The Cardinal's needs. People moved in the various rooms that we passed, but silently and unobtrusively, like shadows. There was a sense of the sacred to the place.

Tasso led me to a room marked BASE. A secretary sat outside, busy at her PC. There was always a secretary on hand. The Cardinal often worked right around the clock, in touch with contacts in all the different time zones the world could offer.

She knew who we were without looking up. "Hello, Ford," she said, fingers never slowing.

"Hi, Mags. He ready for us?"

"Yes. But it's just the guest. You're to stay here with me." She looked up and winked. "Maybe he's trying to push us together. We'd make a good match, huh?"

He chuckled gruffly. "OK, kid," he said. "You heard the lady. In you go."

I walked over to the door, raised my hand to knock, paused, looked to Tasso for a guiding word. "In!" he barked. I took a breath, opened the door and entered the dragon's den.

hatun pocoy

As the door closed I looked around with wide eyes. I hadn't known what to expect, so I should have been ready for anything, but I was still taken by surprise.

The room was black with puppets. They were everywhere, dangling from the walls, slumped over on the floor, lying drunkenly on the huge desk in the middle of the room. Apart from the puppets it was sparse. No pictures hung alongside the marionettes. No computers, plants, water coolers or statues. There was the desk-at least twenty feet long-and several plastic chairs were lined against the wall to my right. Two more chairs by the window, one plastic, the other plush, ornate leather. Little else of any note.

Apart from The Cardinal.

He was stretched out in the leather chair, feet crossed, sipping mineral water. He waved a gangling arm, inviting me over. "Sit," he said pleasantly, indicating the plastic chair. "Do you like my display?" he asked, nodding at the puppets.

"Nice," I gasped without looking around. My mouth was dry, but I managed to force out a few more words. "Very… decorative."

He smiled. "Your eyes betray your lack of interest. You should learn to control them. Now," he said, lowering the glass, "take a long look at me. You must be full of curiosity. Give me the once-over, Mr. Raimi, and tell me what you think."