A day of fear and the unexpected had reached this place, this monstrous moment. Diamond was terrified and cold and angry in ways that he didn’t recognize. He stared at the inhuman face, managing one worthwhile breath before saying, “Your father doesn’t want this.”
“My father,” said King. “My father wants many things. And so long as I’m the only son, no one else is in his dreams.”
Diamond started to shout.
King grabbed the boy’s throat and shook him until he was limp. Then he stood up, just the one arm lifting Diamond off his feet. They stared at each other’s faces. A rude wet sound came from the eating mouth, and the breathing mouth said, “I am not cruel. I promise, I’ll cut off the head, and you won’t feel anything again.”
Diamond was limp, and then he moved. The dangling right foot started to kick, and King pushed back his hips, another curse leaking out of the eating mouth. That’s when Diamond struck with his right fist. Endless practice wouldn’t have made him able to hit harder. Terror and rage gave him power. He aimed at the high mouth, the breathing mouth, but King started to jerk his head back. The tiny fist hit the eating mouth before the lips could clench, and the knuckles hit teeth, and then the hand vanished and a hard long tongue retreated deep into the body, recoiling against the alien taste.
King bit.
Diamond drove his left thumb into a glassy green eye.
Eyelids encased in scales shut, but too late. King cursed and shook his head, and he bit hard enough to shred flesh to the bone. But wounds meant blood, and the salty crimson blood ran fast across the tongue and down the throat. There was a choking sound followed by red bubbles full of stomach gases that burst, making the air foul. King let go of Diamond’s neck and bit harder, and he punched the human head with alternating fists. But that changed nothing except to slice open the boy’s face ten different ways, and it was Diamond who tried to laugh, talking through gore, saying, “Give up. Give up. Give up.”
The breathing mouth yelled, “No.”
Diamond shoved his left hand into the soft wet hole, grabbing a tongue that was as delicate and soft as anything on that armored body. Then he yanked and kicked, and King tried backing away. He dragged the boy until one heel caught the leg of a chair, and he tumbled with a thud to the floor.
Diamond found himself on top.
He shoved his right knee into the neck, but the overlapping plates were harder than steel. King kept chewing and throwing blows at Diamond’s face and chest, and Diamond put the pain aside, watching the face, studying the emotions rolling across it.
King started battering the arm inside his breathing mouth.
Diamond drove his forearm deeper, cutting off King’s airflow.
And King panicked. He swung and swung with the fists, wasting oxygen by beating what was already mutilated. Then he picked his rump off the floor, and with hands and feet dragged both of them toward the windows. A long chair faced the window, offering passengers a comfortable seat while watching the perfect world pass by. A neat stack of tools was waiting on the carpet: two saws and a long sword and boning knives just like the Master’s, only newer. This was where King had planned to butcher Diamond. An empty cloth sack was waiting to hold all of the living pieces.
Suffocating and desperate, King pulled them toward the sharpened steel. Diamond climbed forward and pushed down hard at the head, trying to slow their progress. But he was too weak and much too small, and this fight wasn’t buying more than a few extra moments.
Through the window and through the walls came the urgent piercing sound of a horn wailing.
The airship’s engines began to throttle up again.
King’s motions slowed, and the throat around Diamond’s left hand began to relax.
Again the horn let loose a long scream, followed by the rapid hard thuds of a single cannon firing into some great distance.
The big armored body kept moving its arms and legs, but there was little progress. King was half-choked and nearly limp. White smoke came into the eyes, and armored plates relaxed as they would in death, affording little gaps where a blade could enter and cut at tissues no stronger than Diamond’s. The boy looked at the sword and that keen ready edge of the blade, and it occurred to him that he could chop off that monstrous head and toss it into oblivion.
He could do what his enemy wanted to do to him.
And that’s when he recoiled—an image of violence and justice; a turn that would leave no retreat—and all the miseries of the day were nothing compared to the horrible thought that he would do that and do it happily.
Diamond eased his hand out of the breathing mouth.
King gasped, and the teeth and tongue in the other mouth started to chew until that sorry mess of a hand was yanked free.
King managed another deep breath and started lifting his arms.
Diamond picked up one long knife, and before the battle could start again, he pushed the tip into the gap that had already been stabbed once, pushing to the healed artery and twisting the blade until a heart was shredded, leaving his brother temporarily dead.
The cannon fired quickly and then quit firing. Some of the engines slowed while others held their terrific pace. The ship was attempting one hard turn, but the Ruler was enormous and stubborn and nothing changed quickly. Somebody shouted in the hallway, the words tangled together, making no sense. Then a big male voice came through a tube in the ceiling, calling everyone to battle stations, and that’s when hands began pounding at the locked door.
Diamond stood and let go of the knife, taking the sword with his better hand, lifting the hilt but not the heavy blade.
Keys rattled.
The Archon called out, “King. Have you seen him?”
King reacted to his name. Legs kicked, and he grabbed blindly at the knife in his chest, pulling and pulling again, finally yanking it free. Purple blood rose from the gash, forming a bright persistent bubble. Then he managed a pair of deep soggy breaths, finding the strength to whisper, “Here.”
Locks yielded, and the man on guard outside kicked the door open. His partner was limp on the floor and the human boy had a sword in hand, but the guard couldn’t see King behind the furniture. He cursed and came close and then thought better of it. What kinds of powers did this little creature possess? Stopping a few steps back, he pulled a heavy pistol from under his shirt, and with a hard voice, he said, “Come in.”
The Archon eased his way into the room. Nothing about him seemed formidable or special. Staring at Diamond, he yelled angrily for his son, but the voice was shrill and almost too soft over the droning engines.
“Here,” King repeated.
Keeping his distance, the Archon walked around the long chair. “What is this?” he asked neither boy. Talking to the bloody floor, he said, “This is not what we wanted.”
He asked, “What is this? What’s happening here?”
The airship had just started making its turn and now the engines changed again, struggling to push them in another direction. It was as if the steering hands didn’t know which line to follow. Another big gun began firing, this time beneath them, the furniture and the windows rattling hard. Diamond looked at the heavy glass and then at the sword, and once again, he tried and failed to lift the massive blade.
Out in the hallway, one of the ship’s crew shouted for the Archon.
“In here!”
The crewman entered. He was wearing a fine blue uniform and a tilted hat, and his jacket was soaked with perspiration, and the hat fell to the floor when he tried to salute.
“What’s the count?” the Archon asked.
“Three coronas, but dozens are rising, sir.” The crewman scooped up his hat and twisted it in his hands. “The captains says we’ve got maybe five recitations before those first few reach us.”