Darren Shan: Procession of the dead

"If you jump, and I survive, I will take a few lives yet," Wami snarled, setting his sights on me now.

"Ominous words, Mr. Raimi," The Cardinal chuckled. "I would not like to be in your shoes if my predictions about the other Ayuamarcans prove invalid." His smile faded. "If I am wrong about them," he said quietly, "will you care for my Conchita? Keep her in the city if you can, tell her I loved her, honestly, as much as I could. Despite everything, I loved her to the end."

"You know I will."

The Cardinal nodded glumly. Then his fingers twitched and his jaw jutted forward proudly. "In that case, there's only one more thing to do. Goodbye, Mr. Tasso." Ford was staring at him, head cocked sideways, a peculiar expression on his face. "Farewell, Mr. Wami." Wami spat at him in disgust. " Au revoir, Miss Situwa." Ama ignored him and moved toward me, reaching out, mouth opening to say my name one more time. "Here's to a long life, Mr. Raimi," he shouted, drowning out anything she might have said. "Farewell!"

And with that final shout-Wami roared too, darting forward to drag him back, but too late, too late-The Cardinal stepped over the ledge and dropped through the night to his untimely death, hollering like a monstrous baby all the way down.

capac raimi

And that's where the story of Capac Raimi ends. A simple tale really-once upon a time a boy came to a city, met a monster, killed him and became a monster himself. I don't like the man I've become but I don't hate myself either. Truth be told, I'm moving beyond emotions-hatred, love, fear and desire are relics of an obsolete past, symptoms of a personality I'm in the continual process of shedding.

I survived Ferdinand Dorak's death. While they were scraping him off the curb, I led a shaken Ford Tasso to my office and advised him of my abrupt promotion. He accepted the change with barely a murmur. Ford needed a master, he couldn't function without one. He'd been loyal to Dorak because he was the most powerful man in the city. Now that there was a new Cardinal, he was pragmatic enough to accept it and blow with the wind of change.

Ama and Wami froze as The Cardinal hit the pavement. As swiftly and simply as that. One second they were closing in on me-for very different reasons-the next they were statues. Then their bodies drew in upon themselves as if they were shrinking. The lines of their faces grew tauter by the second. Their carcasses contracted, arms, legs and necks merging with their torsos, losing shape, becoming dense, ragged forms.

And then they exploded. Silently, their bodies came apart in showers of cold, green sparks, and formed seconds later into two clouds of familiar green fog which quickly spread and covered the whole of the roof, so thick and cloying it caused Ford Tasso to fall to his knees and almost choke.

Moments later-guided, I'm sure, by the unseen villacs -the fog flowed from the roof, down the sides of the building to the ground and through the streets, until the entire city was in its grasp. It hung over the city like a death shroud for ten days, eradicating all memories of the final batch of Ayuamarcans, bringing travel and commerce to a virtual standstill. A fitting period of mourning for the deposed Ferdinand Dorak.

I tried the large chair in the office. It wasn't as grand as his old one but it felt good all the same. I asked Ford if he recalled Ama Situwa. As tendrils of green fog swirled in his nasal passages, he said he didn't. I asked if he knew anybody called Leonora Shankar. "She have anything to do with the restaurant?" he replied.

Over the coming weeks I wiped the files on Ama, Conchita, Leonora and the rest of the Ayuamarcans. It paid to be tidy.

Nobody from the outside world took much notice of the changes. As The Cardinal had said, no one was bothered. There have been a few puzzled visitors and inquiries in the years since, but they've been easily dealt with.

Ford's been a huge help. He directed me to Dorak's secret files, outlining his plans for world domination, the steps I'd have to take, the speed I should move at, the difficulties I would have to overcome. It'll be a long time before those plans are put to the test but I have faith in them. The Cardinal was a genius in his own crazy way, a dreamer like no other I've ever heard of.

I wonder occasionally if he was speaking the truth when he told me I'd forged my own way to the top. It seems unlikely, the more I consider it, that he'd leave so much to chance and circumstance. Logic suggests I was steered, that he knew I'd demand his death, that he always intended it to end this way. But then I think back to our earlier meetings, the way he looked when he spoke of his games with the stock market, and I'm not so sure logic can be applied in his case.

Ford's talking of retiring soon. I'll miss the grizzly bear when he goes. I've thought about making him vanish when he steps down-he'll know more than any outsider should-but I'll probably let him see out his days in dignified retirement. He's earned it.

The villacs…

We've had run-ins. They've kept a low profile but whenever we've met to talk business, I haven't liked what I've heard. They have plans of their own. They want me to stick to the city and forget the rest of the world. They're only interested in the city's well-being. They might cause problems one day. I'll have to keep a close eye on them. If they think they can manipulate me the way they used Dorak, I'll have to prove them wrong. They might live to regret the day they put such power in my hands.

For a long time I kept thinking the world would wake up to my existence, that reality would realize I shouldn't be here and remove me with a swift flick of its fingers. But it hasn't happened yet and, having survived this long, I now doubt it will. I think we got away with it.

Assassination attempts come frequently. In the months after The Cardinal's death, I was eliminated by ambitious competitors no less than six times. They shot me, knifed me, even blew me up. The attempts are growing less frequent-I've killed lots of the pretenders to the throne, and the others respect me now-but there's still one or two every few months.

I always bounce back, no matter what they do. Even if they kill me, burn my body and scatter the ashes over the seas, I turn up a day or two later at the familiar train station, ticket stub in hand. My mind's sometimes a touch cloudy when I return but it clears after a while.

The rain shower is always there to greet me, narrow, straight and strange. It's become a tourist attraction-people flock from all over to see it. I've asked the villacs about it but they're keeping tight-lipped.

People have started saying I'm a god, the second Christ, the Devil, an alien. I let the rumors grow. Fear does them good and enhances my reputation. It's part of the plan. Gangster, businessman, politician, God. A natural progression, yes?

I suppose it'll be a good life. I'll have countries at my feet, more money, power and influence than any man in history. If we ever head for the stars, my people will be there, ready to put the squeeze on whatever kind of life-forms we find. No matter where mankind ends up, Capac Raimi will tag along in spirit, the infallible, foul Pope of the underworld, the gangster god who can't be shaken free. My voice will be heard everywhere and it will be obeyed.

It's not all fun and games. I have nightmares. Faces of the dead, berating me for my ruthlessness. Dee, Conchita, Ama-so often Ama. I still feel guilty for abandoning her so cheaply. I wish I could have saved her, that I could bring her back. In my dreams she haunts me, her eyes filled with pity, never hating me. Only wanting to be with me, to save me from myself.

I even have nightmares in which I'm accused and tormented by a younger Capac Raimi, the one who watched silly movies and knew how to laugh and love, whose dreams never ended like this. I wake screaming some nights, a cold sweat covering every inch of my body, feeling like a man who's woken up to discover he's been buried alive.