“Surely he doesn’t want you to,” Lucifer said. “You two are so… formidable. The great thief Crick wouldn’t want to condemn two brave warriors to death unnecessarily?”
“No,” Crick moaned. “No, don’t do it.”
“That’s good, Crick! Now they can provide entertainment for my troops,” Lucifer said, smiling angelically.
“The Collective would frown on that,” Batanya said.
Lucifer’s smile dimmed a little. He strolled over to the little cluster of shaken outer-worlders. His nose didn’t wrinkle when he got within smelling distance, so Batanya figured his olfactory sense must have been damaged by his long sojourn in the fetid air of Hell. “The Britlingen Collective,” he said, only the faintest trace of a question in his voice. The two women nodded in unison. Lucifer made a face; a disappointed face, Batanya decided.
“I have no wish to fight the Collective,” Lucifer said. He brightened. “On the other hand, who’d know?”
“If we don’t come back, everyone would know,” Batanya said. “Our souls belong to the Collective. You’re aware of our death clause?”
Everyone who’d heard of the Britlingens had heard of the death clause. When a Britlingen died, his or her soul appeared in the recording hall, reenacting that death. The reenactment was recorded for posterity. The recordings were required viewing during the course of instruction.
“Perhaps some of my people could keep you just at the brink,” Lucifer suggested. “They’re quite talented at that.”
“They’ll die out of sheer pigheadedness,” Crick said, his voice raspy. “Lu, what the hell?”
Lucifer was close enough now for Batanya to see every detail. He was formed like a man, and was extremely handsome; his short blond hair was more golden and thicker than Crick’s, but it was smoothed back in the same way. Lucifer was also thin and well-muscled like Crick, but he made no pretense at foolishness. Even a sick bodyguard could register the avidity in his eyes when he looked at the recaptured Harwellian.
Clovache stood on Crick’s far side, her back to Batanya’s. There was a long moment of tension while they waited to hear what Lucifer would say.
“Oh, all right,” Lucifer said. He sounded both gleeful and a little sulky, as if he’d gotten what he wanted but it could have been a little better.
“All right what?” Batanya said, not relaxing in the least. A wolfman was snarling at her from three yards away, and she was keeping her eyes on him. He was close enough to a canine to give her the creeps. She was ready to sweep the sword across his throat, given half a chance. She could feel Clovache trembling at her back. The trip through the tunnels had taken its toll on the junior Britlingen.
“We’ll make a deal,” Lucifer told them. He took a step closer. “Stand down, and your client only has to stay for a week with me. Fight, and he stays the rest of his life.”
“Why are you willing to make such a deal?” Batanya said, after examining the idea briefly. “Kill us both, and you have him forever anyway.”
“True. But you’re right, I don’t want to get in bad odor with the Collective,” Lucifer said. “I’ll hold you all for a week, enjoy the delights of Crick… then you can all three return to the Collective, more or less unmolested. Besides, when I was taking inventory a few days ago, I found that an item is missing from my collection of wonderful things. I’d like to ask Crick a few questions about that, while we’re having fun. But I swear he’ll live, especially if he talks quickly.”
Batanya’s leg was touching Clovache’s, and she could feel Clovache’s leg begin to shake a bit harder.
She didn’t believe Lucifer, of course, but she couldn’t think of any counteroffer that would give them an advantage. The wolfman advanced an inch or two, his lips drawing back from his fangs. Another one of the four-legged creatures with a net eased a little closer on her left.
“What is the law?” Batanya said quietly.
“The client’s word,” Clovache whispered. There was a moment of silence.
“I accept your offer,” Crick said to Lucifer. His voice was devoid of any inflection.
“Oh, that’s good then,” Lucifer said. He beamed at the three. “Ladies, you can stand down. I have a lovely jail just waiting for you, and you can enjoy it all by yourself. I won’t permit any company. Crick, for you I have something else entirely.” The host of creatures circling them began yowling and laughing, or making whatever noise passed for it.
Batanya turned to help Crick up, and their eyes met squarely.
“He won’t keep to his word,” Crick said very close to her ear.
“What shall we do?” Batanya said. “We can fight to the death. I will kill you now, if you would prefer that to him.” She jerked her head toward the advancing Lucifer.
“No,” Crick said. “That part’s bad, but not fatal. I can get through it and even enjoy some of it. He won’t let me go, though. Something will happen to me, or you. We have to get out with the conjuring ball. I might as well die here if I don’t get out with it. It’s in Barrack Three, on top of the first cabinet on the right.”
Batanya said, “All right,” having no idea what she could do with the knowledge. “I’ll ask to speak to you in a couple of days.”
Crick patted her on the shoulder, turned to nod at Clovache, whose face was streaming with sweat, and then bowed to Lucifer.
“ Marl, take them to the cells,” Lucifer instructed the wolfman, and draped his arm across Crick’s shoulders to lead Crick away.
Batanya heard him say, “Love, I’ve gotten some new toys since you were here last,” and then the wolfman snarled at her. When he could see he had her attention, he jerked his shaggy head northward. The two Britlingens surrendered their weapons to two quadrupedal net-throwers, then trudged off, following the wolfman’s lead. The crowd of Lucifer’s hirelings surrounded them, but aside from an occasional poke or prod or gobbet of spit didn’t offer them harm. Batanya didn’t like being spit on, but then again, no one had ever died of it, unless you counted the acid-spitting lizards she’d encountered on a previous job. She cast an uneasy look through the crowd and didn’t spot any.
“Well,” she said to Clovache, “We’ve been in worse spots.”
“Right,” Clovache said, with some effort. Batanya could tell Clovache’s stomach was still acting up. “This is an evening at the Pooka Palace compared to some of the places we’ve been.”
Batanya almost smiled, to the astonishment of the crowd.
Jail in Hell was about what you’d expect. They passed through the guardroom, with weapons hung on the walls that even Batanya had never seen, and many that she had. The weapons ranged from full-tech guns to your basic swords and spears and clubs. The guards were your basic hostile and contemptuous louts. A snakeman flicked his forked tongue out to touch Clovache’s cheek as she passed him, and he laughed in a hissing kind of way at her expression of disgust. The wolfman growled, “Keep your tongue to yourself, Sha,” and Sha snapped to attention, or at least as close to that as a curved spine like his could manage.
Clovache and Batanya had to strip under all eyes, because they couldn’t remain in their armor; they had expected that, but it wasn’t pleasant, of course. They donned the drawstring pants and shapeless tunics they were given, along with pairs of thick socks with padded soles. Then Marl, who appeared to be the shift captain, unlocked a heavy door with a peephole in the middle, and held it open for the prisoners to pass through.
The cells were rough-floored, having been hewn out of the rock instead of being created by the tunneling slugs, and the dimensions were roomy since occasionally they had to house creatures much larger than humans. Batanya assessed hers in one quick look. There was a latrine in one corner, which was quite an odd shape since all species don’t poop the same way, and there was a cot, twice as wide as Batanya’s bed in Spauling, to accommodate a variety of creatures. Clovache’s cell was right by hers, and there were bars from floor to ceiling in between, spaced a little less than the breadth of a hand apart. In the same manner, the front of the cells were also barred from floor to ceiling, so the prisoners were always in view of their fellow prisoners and whoever happened to be in the jail block. There were only six cells. The first cell on each side was empty. The last one on the left became Batanya’s, and the one next to it, Clovache’s.