Chương 62: Second Win

"And remember," I told Henriette quietly as we walked on, "don't do anything Za'rynn asks you to! She is trouble and she is dangerous. And especially do not let her smear any dubious paste on you!"

"Really?" said Henriette, intrigued now.

"What are those pastes?"

"It's called switch-paste," I explained.

"It switches your feelings about — pain to pleasure, sadness to happiness, that sort of thing. It makes people do horrible things to themselves. It's an awful thing!"

"That does sound horrible," said Henriette. Then she looked thoughtful.

"But… let's say you feel bored. What does it switch that to?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Curiosity, perhaps?"

"And if you feel confused?" she asked.

"Or… if you feel you simply must have chocolate? Or the feeling of a sneeze that won't come?"

"Oh, simply stay away from it!" I scoffed.

"Switch-paste isn't for small children," Za'rynn supplied, having caught the tail of our conversation.

"But she could try the calm-cream."

"Nothing of the sort!" I said.

"Wine is quite sufficient."

"Oh, look," said Henriette, pointing.

"There they are!" We reached a corner lined with several street carts. Through the small window of one, the wide scaly head of a fat lizard emerged, barking out prices and gesturing proudly at an array of glistening, greasy food items. Za'rynn finally set Ur down and turned to the seller.

"Four of those." She paid, took them, and pressed into each of our hands a slimy… something, skewered on a stick. Ew. This thing… This thing actually smelled really good…

"I like it!" said Henriette, already halfway through hers.

"It's sweet!" Ur sat on the floor, eyes wide and focused on his prize, devouring the greasy skewer with a feral intensity. After we finished, Za'rynn pointed.

"There's a clothes shop for non-lizard children right over there." Then she grabbed Ur like the object she clearly thought he was and started heading over. Ur seemed much more docile after being fed, but I still wouldn't bet against him stabbing her with that pointed stick, which he was very much still holding. I did consider warning her. But, nah—she could always apply some switch-paste to make the stab wound feel just lovely.

The shop had laid out half a dozen outfits, and Za'rynn insisted Ur pick two of them himself.

"It's important that he chooses," she explained.

"That way he'll feel they're really his." That was weirdly sensible, coming from her. Ur, of course, wouldn't choose. He stood there giving the clothes the same contempt he gave everything else and would not budge — until Henriette came back from the other end of the shop holding up a pink Beelzebun costume, head and all.

"It's this, if you don't pick." She warned.

"And we shall make you wear it all day," I added. I rather hoped now that he wouldn't pick. He went pale and pointed very quickly at two of the garments. Za'rynn bought four more sets besides and gave the clerk my address for delivery. The clerk took Ur to the changing nook and helped him into one of the new outfits, and when he came out, placed a mirror in front of him. He then went very still.

He looked at the boy in the glass — clean, dressed, in clothes that fit him — and the boy looked back, and it seemed Ur hadn't the foggiest idea who that was. The next place was the call doll shop, which wasn't far. But interestingly, this time Ur would not let Za'rynn carry him, and even tried to bite her when she reached for him. I wondered whether it had something to do with the new clothes.

"Fine," said Za'rynn.

"On your own, then. But don't slow us down." He limped as fast as he could manage, which was not fast at all, and his face tightened with every step. Then Henriette held out her hand. He looked at it a long while. Then he took it. I made me happy. It felt like an important step in… well. In something. We entered the call-doll shop, and I was immediately overwhelmed. The small space was packed to the brim with towering wooden shelves displaying numerous small skeletons.

They came in different shades of bone and varied sizes, some adorned with elaborate clothing, others sporting miniature horns and wings. Za'rynn got right to it.

"Hollow Bleak model, second version," she said to the old seller.

"Eight units. And the full large kit of dresses and matching wigs to go with them. Oh, and the doll cosmetics set, obviously. It won't do to have an ugly call doll — it reflects on one's personality a great deal."

"Ah, of course, of course," said the seller, and began carrying more and more to his desk, until I was thoroughly confused. It looked like a dressing room fit for a queen. Only very small.

"Here, I'll do the first one," said Za'rynn, and looked me over thoroughly. She took a small skeleton from its wrapped package, chose a green dress from the kit, then a wig that was very nearly my color, and set about it with the paints and a little comb, and pinned something bright in its hair.

"There you go!" She held the doll up beside my face and looked between us.

"Yes. I'm rather good at this. Exactly like the original!" I snatched the doll to look closely.

"It is not! I look nothing like this."

"Well, it's not that bad," chimed in Henriette.

"It's rather cute."

"I guess…" I said.

"Now I'll take mine." Za'rynn pulled from her satchel a red-haired little skeleton in a bright turquoise dress.

"And now we do the kiss." She took both dolls and began kissing them, thoroughly.

"Like this — kiss, kiss, mwah, mwah, mwah. Then turn it, like so, kiss, kiss, and here. Like lovers. Yes, that ought to do it." This was… very disturbing to watch.

"That's all," she said, and handed me her doll and dropped mine into her satchel.

"So now, if I want to call you," I said, "I simply prick my finger and drop the blood on the doll's skull?"" What?" Za'rynn stared at me, wide-eyed.

"What are you, four?"

"I… what?" Oh, she did make me feel stupid.

"You touch the skull and release the tiniest amount of magical energy into it," she said." Everyone knows that."

"And this magical energy thing…" I started, embarrassed now.

"Oh, I haven't the day to explain the basics to a toddler," said Za'rynn.

"But I know exactly the right tutor to take you through the fundamentals. He could actually teach all three of you."

"Yes!" said Henriette, beaming.

"We'll learn to be mages!"

"Yes..." I said.

"That might be a good idea." Then I remembered the other question I wanted to ask.

"Can I use these call-dolls to talk to someone from... the living world?"

"Oh, no," answered the seller.

"These models work within the country only. The ones that reach abroad are rather more complicated, and rather more expensive. Between worlds is something else entirely."

"How much?" I asked.

"The basic model starts at two hundred gold. But that doesn't include the registration fee, which is required, and there's a good deal of paperwork with it. Then there's the liaison fee for the delivery. It can come to quite a lot." Well. I could probably save that much in a couple of months… and if I were the liaison myself, that would cut the cost. Oh — I wondered whether I was allowed to run deliveries to the living world myself, and make a ton of gold that way.

Za'rynn, again, arranged for everything we'd bought to be delivered to my house, and we set off for our next stop: the physician. A few streets away we came to a narrow stone building with a green lamp above the door, and inside it an old lizard who greeted Za'rynn like family. Za'rynn took Ur and set him down on the examination cot. The old lizard took a small hollow bone and touched it to Ur's bad leg in several places, then tapped the bone with a thin metal rod. He repeated the process a few times.

"This isn't good," he said.

"A bad bonearm wound is difficult in any case. I could manage it if it were fresh. This is a year old at the least." This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Surely something can be done?" I asked.

"Not by me. You'd need a high-grade healer mage — and those are only found around the palace." He paused.

"It would take some doing."

"She is a Justiciar," said Za'rynn.

"She might get an audience with Azearothiel's inner circle."

"If that's so, then that's your best hope," he said.

"Seek out Zylil. If you can get her attention. She is one of very few ossomancers in this city I know can handle an injury of this kind." We thanked the physician and went back out into the street.

"Did you hear that, Ur?" I said to him.

"There's a way to make you like new."

"It isn't that simple," said Za'rynn.

"Zylil is in Azearothiel's innermost circle. You'd speak to Augustin first, or even to my uncle — they have the connections to arrange a meeting. That could take several weeks to set up. Then you'd have to actually convince her. We would need to find out what is customary as a gift, or what sum would be enough."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"The palace is right there." I pointed.

"So?" said Za'rynn.

"It isn't as though you can simply walk in and—" I stopped listening and started walking. I was fairly sure Zylil was the old lady I'd seen standing at Azearothiel's side. And it was only healing one small urchin's leg. For her it was probably nothing at all.

"Oh, you really do plan to barge in," she said, trotting after me, smiling. Henriette followed, holding Ur's hand.

"Well. I like it. I wonder how terribly it will go." First I decided to stop at my house and quickly change into my Justiciar uniform. That way, I figured, the guards would be far less likely to make trouble for me. A short walk more, past the white terraces and up the long rising road, and we stood at the gate of the absolutely enormous palace. The lizard guards at the gate let us through without a question.

At the main entrance, though, the stern-looking guards required rather more of a story — how Augustin had sent me on a matter of great security, to be discussed with His High Demon urgently and without delay. Luckily, they were the same guards as last time, so they recognized me and let us pass. We then came into the fancy antechamber, with the annoying halomaton standing in the corner. I suddenly had a great idea, and a sly smile spread across my face.

"Henriette," I said, "what do you make of the lovely angel statue? You should look closely at his fine details."

"Oh, that—" Za'rynn began, and I shushed her hurriedly.

"It really is pretty," said Henriette, leaning in for a better look. The statue turned its head and looked her in the eye.

"Hello! How can I help you today?"

"AAHHH!" Henriette screamed and stumbled onto her butt. I barked out laughing.

"It moves!" she explained, pointing at it in horror.

"It's a real angel!"

"It's a halomaton," I said wisely.

"They follow orders very badly, so they're really quite useless."

"That is so weird!" Henriette got up and moved closer to inspect it further.

"We can well play with it later," I said.

"Let's go into the audience chamber, and hope that Azearothiel and this Zylil won't be too busy just now." We opened the door and stepped into the impossibly large room, and there, I noticed, was an awful lot of people. Azearothiel was there, with the old lizard and the old woman at his side. So were a great many guards, and Augustin, and three Justiciars I hadn't met. There was a thirty-foot snake lying along the floor. There were twenty skeletons in orange capes standing in a neat row.

And standing apart from all of them were three demons dressed like angelic knights in brilliant white armor. One of them, that... that was Malakarthor! And absolutely every person in the room suddenly stopped talking and looked our way.

"Oh no," I whispered in horror.

"It seems we've come at rather a bad time."" YOU!" Malakarthor's voice boomed and echoed round the whole chamber, and he was pointing straight at me.

"You've come at the perfect time!"

"Ah… what?" I was fairly sure it was a bad time. He vanished — and in the next instant he was in front of me, his hand closed round my throat, leaning in close.

"No hole to jump into this time?" he whispered in my ear.

"Let… go!" His grip hurt, though not so much that I couldn't breathe. Then he shot upward, and I was airborne with him, and in a moment we came down right where he'd started, in the very center of all the important demons. I hung there in the middle of everything, hauled up by the throat in Malakarthor's fist for all to see.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Azearothiel. His voice quiet and calm, as though absolutely nothing of importance had just happened.

"It's all her fault." said Malakarthor, showing his sharp teeth.

"Our trouble — is her doing."

"Is it now," said Azearothiel, a small tight smile on his lips.

"And do tell, why is that?" Really, why? I was rather curious myself.

"My source in heaven," he said, "told me something extraordinary the other day. At first I would have laughed at it. But I turned the idea over, and turned it again, and I came to believe it. And now we may ask her ourselves." He lifted me even higher by the throat, and looked up at me.

"Tell us!" he said, loud and booming.

"Was it you who killed Napoleon?" Silence. Then whispering. Oh, so that was what this was all about? That silly affair? It wasn't even really a secret. And I would gladly have answered him too. But before that, Malakarthor's hand on my throat was beginning to really, genuinely irritate me. I closed my hand around his wrist and squeezed. He only smiled at that. But I was truly angry now: to strangle me, to humiliate me in front of the whole court — who did he think he was?

So I squeezed with everything I had, and was rather surprised to discover how much that was. And the angrier I grew the harder it got, the pressure simply building and building, until Malakarthor's eyes widened slightly. He let go. I straightened my collar, stood up tall, and looked him in the face.

"I killed Napoleon," I said, loud and clear, for every last one of those lousy demons to hear.

"What of it?" More murmuring. And then Azearothiel laughed — a low, delighted, unhurried sound.

"A highly amusing matter, indeed," said Malakarthor, rubbing at the red mark I'd left on his wrist. Then he turned to the twenty skeletons in the orange capes.

"And a punishable one. Meddling on such a scale in the living world is a capital offence. I demand she be executed here and now. And I further demand that Azearothiel answer for the crime of his Justiciar, and be suspended from the High Demon Committee!"

"No!" Henriette shouted from the doorway, and Za'rynn hushed her. There was a rumble from the crowd. And Azearothiel was smiling still, clearly quite enjoying this. They were all looking at me again. Wouldn't Augustin or Azearothiel, come to my defense and say something? Was I truly to defend myself? What did I know about the law of Hell? Oh, this had not been my intention at all in coming here! Now, somehow, I was on trial for my dear life!

"Well," I began, smoothing my uniform, "execution is a bit excessive, don't you think? I mean — Napoleon was a huge jerk." I wasn't entirely sure, but I had a sinking feeling I was really bad at being a lawyer. I frantically thought about what else to say. I was definitely missing something vital here. I decided to just ask.

"I mean, you'll have to explain it to me," I said, loudly, looking round at them all.

"What is so terrible about killing Napoleon?"

"Since Napoleon died," Azearothiel explained, in a low voice, "some French generals have taken control of the country, and they chose to halt the foreign expansion rather than continue it. Thus, Europe has entered a period of relative calm; peace negotiations are even underway. The Napoleonic Wars have de facto ended. And that is exactly the problem." Oh but that sounded like a good thing. Err... I need my stupid brain to start working here... Oh, wait, I thought I understood.

"So you're angry because fewer people will die, and so fewer come to Hell?"

"No," said Azearothiel.

"We don't care about that. But roughly half the dead go to heaven, and the angels care about it a great deal. They loved the high death toll of Napoleon's wars — a steady supply of fighting-age men. And they are angry. That, in fact, is the reason for this meeting." Oh. I see. Hmm. I was still missing something.

"But if it's bad for heaven," I said slowly, "isn't it… good for us?"

"It means more assaults from heaven!" spat Malakarthor, angry now.

"Extermination events! Thousands of casualties! All because of you!"

"You," I said, pointing at him, "are simply a coward!"

"Is that so?" he said, cold and calm.

"So you think me a coward. Please. Do explain why."

"Why, that is—" A hand came down on my shoulder. Augustin had crossed the floor without my noticing.

"That is a trap," he whispered.

"This is where you shut it." Malakarthor was watching me now, his eyes narrowed. And I understood. If I called Malakarthor a coward for wanting to avoid provoking heaven, I would be calling every high demon in this room a coward. Which was, presumably, bad for me. So I needed another angle. And I thought I knew what it was.

"You said what I did was a crime," I said.

"Not because it was Napoleon I killed, but because it was… how did you put it — Meddling on such a scale in the living world. Have I got that right?"

"That is correct," said Malakarthor.

"We are forbidden by law to interfere with the living world. Minor acts may be overlooked. Substantial ones may not. The assassination of a warlord, altering the course of an entire war, is interference of the highest degree!"

"Oh, I see," I said, looking at him, and trying desperately for a calm demeanour.

"Then I don't believe we have any problem at all. I said that I killed Napoleon, which is technically true. But it was really the other me."

"What?" he spat.

"You see, it's a funny story really." I paced a little as I talked.

"I was a timelooper, and I died while inside a loop — so my soul split. It happened because I was sent to Hell, and then the loop revived my mortal body, and a fragment of my soul tore away and went back into it. What was left behind in the living world was something like a puppet. Not really alive. It prefers to lie still, mostly, though it can manage small deeds. Talking. Walking about. And, apparently, killing Napoleon." I turned to Malakarthor and manage a small smile.

"But that was the Drizella puppet of the living world. It was not an act committed by anything belonging to Hell." Silence. Not even a murmur. Malakarthor's face twisted into something vile — and then, after a moment, he recovered his composure.

"I am familiar with the time-loop soul-bifurcation phenomenon." he said slowly.

"But in most instances such puppets do very little. Yet you would have this Committee believe that yours accomplished so remarkable a feat?"

"Would you rather believe that I somehow got out of Hell and into the living world myself?" I asked, looking round at the crowd.

"I haven't the faintest idea how anything here works. I was living in a cave until a few days ago. You may ask Za'rynn over there —" I gestured — "Until today, I thought I had to bleed on a call doll to make it work!" A few small laughs from the crowd at that.

"Very well. I believe you," said Malakarthor, still perfectly composed.

"I could hardly accuse you of being resourceful. Or, indeed, intelligent." He turned to address the room.

"But by Drizella's own account, her puppet is a more capable one than most. Perhaps the fragment that returned to it was, by some accident, larger. Still she and the puppet are connected. They share memories. They share purpose and goals. In essence, she controls it. She uses that puppet of hers. She used it, from Hell, to carry out her long-sought revenge upon her killer — upon Napoleon."

"That's a lie!" I called it what it was.

"I couldn't control the puppet. And as time passed she went through changes. She became less like me. She became something else entirely, something dark. By the time she killed Napoleon she was a different thing altogether!

"So yes, I said I killed Napoleon. Maybe I like to think that — but in truth it was a Drizella who wasn't me, and she did it from the living world, and it had absolutely nothing to do with hell."

"And you expect this Committee to believe any of that?" said Malakarthor mockingly, spreading his hands to the crowd.

"You were the same person. You shared a soul. Do not lie to the Committee." Just then, one of the orange-caped skeletons raised a bony hand. We all turned to look at him.

"In truth," the skeleton began, "recent studies of the soul-bifurcation mechanism as it occurs upon the premature death of a time-looper within a loop timeline concur with the defendant, and indicate a progressive divergence, over time, in the behaviour of the body the soul fragment inhabits. Some of this research has not yet been peer-reviewed. But for the purposes of this trial, the accuser certainly cannot demonstrate the reverse."

"This—" Malakarthor faltered, rage in his eyes, glancing here and there for support.

"The angels will fall upon us — upon your city. The extermination event will come sooner for it. All because of that rogue cave-dwelling servant. And she goes unpunished?"

"It will come because of the Seraphim," said Azearothiel, raising his voice, his amusement gone.

"They command the Exorcists. Drizella does not. This matter is concluded." Malakarthor looked to the skeletons in orange, but all they did was look back at him, blue light glowing in their eye sockets. Then he flew back to his seat, quietly, defeated. He looked at me once more. And it was not an angry look. It was a calculating one, and that frightened me. Nevertheless, I felt proud. This was the second time I had beaten that high demon jerk. And yes, I was absolutely counting.