The Dire King Read online

  “Friends of yours?” Jackaby asked, dropping down next to him.

  “What? No. I don’t fraternize with the help. If I still had my fangs, I could have tucked into them before their hearts stopped pumping instead of just leaving perfectly good blood to congeal in their veins.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  “I’ll get over it,” Pavel said, giving the brute’s head a kick. “Ogre blood is always sour, anyway. It’s really best if you have a pixie chaser to sweeten it up. Theirs is like syrup, pixies.”

  “The Dire King will be none too pleased with you,” said Jackaby.

  “That is the idea,” Pavel blustered, although his eyes were darting nervously up and down the wall.

  “Where are we?” Jackaby asked, glancing out over the terrain. Surrounding the castle was a wide field bordered by tall pines.

  “This is the Dire Council’s stronghold,” Pavel said. “Heart of the beast.”

  “Yes, but where is it within the Annwyn?” Jackaby said. “Arawn’s finest soldiers couldn’t find this place, but it hardly seems hidden.”

  “Heh.” Pavel smiled. “That’s because Arawn is an idiot. His own castle is beyond the trees there, not more than a few miles away. We’re right under his nose. We’re on his lands, technically. None of his subjects are allowed to hunt or travel these parts—not that they would, what with all the superstitions. This was Hafgan’s Hold. Anyone loyal to Hafgan was killed or driven away after the last war, and then Arawn set his dogs to guarding the perimeter so they could never come back. It’s supposed to be impossible to breach.”

  “But I see the Dire King managed to breach it.”

  “He didn’t bother at first. Ten years ago, he tried to build a machine on the earthly side instead. After that one failed, I guess he opted for this old hold. The veil-gate here had been sealed after the war, of course, but the seam was still there. The church rests right on top of it. The Dire King didn’t want to risk drawing too much attention, so he couldn’t just destroy the church outright. We weren’t even allowed to kill the clergyman. We broke through a couple of years ago and secured the rend right under his feet, though.”

  “The rend has been here for years?” Jackaby took a heavy breath. “Douglas and I scoured the church from top to bottom, but we never found anything. Arawn’s not the only idiot. You’ve been under my nose this whole time, too.”

  Pavel giggled in a manner completely unbefitting an undead menace. “I know! Oh, you’re fun. This has been fun. I’m going to miss this. Anyway, the Dire King’s machine is in the center of the castle. The keep. See that tower with the domed top? That’s it. You’ll find sentries on every corner—every corner save this one, obviously. You’re welcome, by the way.” He leaned down and plucked one of the curved daggers from a fallen guard. He felt the grip and weighed it in his hands. “Waste not, want not,” he mumbled. And then he paused and gave me a lascivious look that made my skin crawl.

  “We would fare better with more of your help along the way,” Jackaby said.

  “Yeah, you would,” Pavel agreed. “That’s too bad for you.” He was breathing heavily.

  “I can see it rising in you,” said Jackaby. “You don’t have to be the monster.”

  Pavel dragged his eyes slowly off me and up to Jackaby. “I’ll have that last vial of blood, and then I’ll be on my merry way. Have fun making a nuisance of yourself, Detective.”

  Jackaby hesitated. He pursed his lips and drew out the vial.

  “Thank you, Detective. Give her here.” Jackaby did not toss it to him right away. His expression was clouded. Something was wrong.

  “Come away from Miss Rook first, if you don’t mind.”

  Pavel’s eyes slowly crept back to me, crawling their way from my shoes up to not quite my face. It was a gaze I wanted to scrub off myself.

  “You’ve gotten us in,” Jenny said, sliding between us protectively. “You can collect your bloody payment and leave.” She pulled out the wooden stake Jackaby had given her and let the bottomless satchel slip from her shoulder and drop to the ground.

  “I know, I know,” Pavel said. “But I have such a long way to go, and they are such small snacks. And, really, Mr. Jackaby doesn’t need so much help, does he?” He leveled the dagger at Jenny.

  She was not impressed. “And what exactly are you hoping to do with that?” she asked, pressing forward so that the dagger slid halfway through her chest. “You can’t frighten the dead.” She readied the stake, pressing it firmly against Pavel’s chest. He did not flinch.

  “Where will you go, I wonder?” Pavel asked, cocking his head to the side and smirking arrogantly.

  “I—I’m not going anywhere,” Jenny replied.

  Jackaby slid his own stake out of the lining of his coat.

  “If we were on earth, you would snap right back to that quaint old house of yours, wouldn’t you?” Pavel continued. “But we’ve crossed a boundary. Will you make it all the way back there from here? Get lost somewhere in between? Or will you finally go where you should have gone all those years ago?”

  “What are you talking—” Jenny began.

  Pavel flicked his wrist, and the fine chain hanging around her neck snapped.

  Jenny realized what was happening a moment too late. She made a desperate grab to catch the little pewter locket as it spun through the air, but her hand was already dissolving into wisps. Her wooden stake clattered to the ground at Pavel’s feet, and beside it the locket struck the stones and clicked open, brick dust scattering across the top of the wall and blowing away in the breeze. Jenny’s silver eyes flashed to Jackaby as she faded, frantic, desperate, pleading. And then Jenny Cavanaugh was gone.

  Jackaby’s eyes were iron. The stake in his hand whipped through the air, but Pavel dodged it easily.

  Before I could even reach for my own, there was a blur of tattered rags and I felt icy steel against my neck.

  My blood ran cold. No. We were here, on the brink of an actual victory against the Dire King. This was all wrong! Pavel’s knife pressed against my skin.

  “Wait!” Jackaby yelled. “Stop! Take it.” He tossed the vial and Pavel caught it without letting up on the knife. “There. You can go. You don’t have to do this!”

  “I don’t have to,” said Pavel, casually. “But what did you say, Miss Rook?” He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, his breath cold and clammy. “It’s my nature.”

  “Do you really think he’ll still help you if you murder me?” I said, horrified.

  Pavel snorted. “Do you really think he’ll let the world burn just because you’ve died?” Pavel said.

  “Try me,” Jackaby growled.

  “You’ll finish what you’ve started,” Pavel told him, “because the alternative is too much for you to stomach. Me? I win either way. I’ve sent your ghost friend scattering in the wind, and now I’m going to drain your lovely assistant right in front of you. After they’re gone, if you die in a futile attempt to save your little world, then I’ll have gotten my revenge on all of you. If you somehow succeed, I’ll have gotten my revenge on the Dire King. Everybody wins. And by everybody, I mean me. I win. I’m pretty much the only one who wins.”

  “I gave you my blood so you wouldn’t have to do this!” Jackaby yelled. “We struck a deal!”

  Pavel popped the wax from the vial. “Yes, and I really have to thank you, Detective. I don’t think I could have pulled this off without your little pick-me-ups. It will be nice to have both of you flowing through my veins as I make my exit.” He tipped the last vial into his throat and threw the little glass off the tower.

  The blade against my neck trembled. I felt it pierce the skin. I tried to think past my own pulse thrumming in my ears. I had nearly destroyed Pavel once before. True, it had been someone else inside my head, but my hands had done it. That meant it was just a matter of will. With every
nerve in my body humming, I rammed my elbow backward and kicked away from the vile cretin. His knife sliced along my neck as I tumbled forward. I spun, ready to lash out and defend myself against his next attack, my neck instantly throbbing with pain.

  Pavel dropped the knife.

  His hands flew to his throat and he made a wretched choking sound.

  I stared, confused and wary. I felt a sharp ache and hot blood running down my neck. Was he mocking me? No. Something was wrong with Pavel.

  “Garlic,” said Jackaby calmly. “And silver dust, and a drop of holy water, for good measure. I’m not much of a drinker, but I know how to mix a fierce cocktail.”

  Pavel’s whole face twisted in agony. He stumbled backward, glaring furiously at Jackaby.

  “Miss Rook.” Jackaby had reached my side. He laid a hand gently on my shoulder. “You can end this.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t take my eyes off Pavel. He had collapsed with his back against the parapet. His legs kicked weakly as a convulsion shook his body.

  “It’s time to finish him, Miss Rook,” said Jackaby.

  “No,” I breathed.

  “You owe that creature no pity.” There was a skin of ice over his words, but Jackaby’s voice was shaking.

  “No,” I said.

  Jackaby turned his gray eyes to me.

  “He is already dying, sir.”

  “He died before. It didn’t take.”

  “No. I won’t become him,” I said.

  Jackaby raised an eyebrow. “He has no fangs. He couldn’t change you into a monster like him now even if he tried to.”

  “He couldn’t. But I could,” I said.

  “You don’t understand the basic mechanics of vampirism. One must—”

  “You don’t understand the basic mechanics of humanity,” I said. “I won’t make myself a cold-blooded murderer, sir. Not for him. Not like this.”

  Jackaby met my gaze, and for several seconds neither of us blinked. Finally his eyes dropped. “No, you’re absolutely right,” he said. “I should not have suggested it.” Jackaby knelt and retrieved the locket from the ground at his feet. He brushed it off and tucked it into his pocket. Then he scooped up Jenny’s sharpened stake. “I will do it.”

  “Sir, don’t—”

  “The spear grips the hand,” said a familiar voice very softly on the breeze. Jackaby’s head shot up. The twain was sitting directly above Pavel on the parapet, his fluffy legs dangling over the edge.

  “You keep saying that,” said Jackaby.

  “I do,” said the twain. “It does.”

  “Well then,” said Jackaby. “You’re an unfathomably powerful being, and you’ve just caught us lurking about your master’s stronghold, knee-deep in dead guards. So what happens next?”

  The twain sighed. “Probably death,” he said. “Usually death.”

  “The poem,” I said.

  “What was that?” Jackaby said.

  The twain looked at me. The bushy whiskers around his chin twitched.

  “The poem,” I said again. “You keep repeating a line of it. I can tell it’s important to you.”

  “It is important to you,” said the twain.

  “All right,” I said. “Well, you’ve caught us red-handed, bodies left and right. We could fight. Somebody could die. Probably us, if we are to be honest. Or you could recite some poetry, instead.”

  Jackaby’s eyebrow rose.

  The twain rocked a little. Below him, Pavel’s breaths were growing weaker. The vile vampire actually looked, somehow, peaceful. The twain pushed himself up until he was standing on the parapet. When he spoke, his voice was steady and softly intense.

  “In the heart of hate is nothing dear.

  The spear grips the hand that grips the spear.

  Temper the armor, steady the shield.

  The weapon to fear is the one that you wield,

  for a Kingdom of Blood is a desolate thing,

  a dire crown for a dire king.”

  “What does it mean?” said Jackaby.

  The twain was silent.

  “It means we’re not going to kill him,” I said.

  Below him, Pavel’s fingers twitched. The vampire was dying.

  “You do not wish him dead?” said the twain.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t wish anyone dead.”

  “He would not have any pity for you if your places were reversed.”

  “It isn’t pity,” I said. “It’s . . . I don’t know. Something else. Humanity?”

  “Is that what humanity looks like?” said the twain. “Would that all humans possessed humanity.”

  His nose twitched, making him look even more like a hamster standing on its hind legs than usual. I felt a tingling sensation on my neck and then the sudden unexpected absence of a pain I had almost forgotten I was feeling. I clapped a hand to the cut Pavel had dealt me. It was gone. The front of my dress was still red with blood, but its source had been erased entirely.

  “You—” I faltered. “Thank you. Can you help him, too?” I pointed at Pavel.

  “I could,” said the twain.

  “But you won’t,” said Jackaby.

  “He does not wish it,” said the twain.

  Pavel’s mouth was now moving as though he was speaking, though no sound escaped his lips.

  “What do you think he’s saying?” I said.

  “He, too, is speaking in verse,” said the twain, listening to the silence. “I do not know it. Is it familiar to you?”

  Pavel’s voice was suddenly inside my head. “. . . For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil . . .”

  Jackaby blinked, startled. I could tell the voice was in his ears as well. “This is the second-oddest poetry recital I have attended,” he muttered.

  “Hamlet,” I said, shaking my head. “He liked Shakespeare.”

  Pavel’s lips gradually stopped moving. His muscles went slack. His hand twitched once, and then the voice in my ears was extinguished like a snuffed candle.

  “He is gone now,” said the twain.

  “Well, that should make you happy. Save your boss the trouble,” said Jackaby. “He was a traitor to all sides, that one.”

  “Death does not bring me joy,” sighed the twain.

  “You realize that more death will come?” Jackaby answered. “Hafgan is back! You saw to that, you and your other half, when you raised him from the dead. It won’t only be soldiers and villains like Pavel, either. Thanks to your darling Hafgan, a lot of innocent people are going to die.”

  “No. That is not Hafgan’s way. Hafgan’s way is to do good.”

  “Tell that to Hafgan!”

  “I cannot.”

  “How can you still believe in that lunatic?”

  “My other half,” said the twain, “gave herself to Hafgan during the last war.”

  “Yes. You told us. The twain’s great sacrifice—bringing the dead back to life.”

  “The twain’s gift can also be given to the living,” he said. “The same power that can heal a broken body and retrieve a soul from the other side can be given to a body that yet lives. But for the living, it is a power that burns.”

  The twain’s little round head sagged on his downy shoulders.

  “Hafgan needed strength beyond anything the fair folk were ever meant to possess,” he continued. “My other half believed in him. She fashioned for Hafgan an instrument with which he might channel his power and a headpiece with which he might channel his will, the spear and the crown. When they were not enough, he opened himself to the full power of the twain. They accepted their fate together. Hafgan knew that it would destroy him. His need was dire.”

  “And so he became the Dire King,” I said.

  “But power corrupts,” sa
id Jackaby. “That’s what the poem is about, isn’t it? The spear grips the hand that grips the spear. In the end he failed because he became corrupted by his own power.”

  “Hafgan did not fail. He was victorious, but he succeeded at a terrible cost to himself. I cannot imagine the pain.”

  “Wait, what do you mean he was victorious?” I asked.

  “He accomplished his goal. It should have killed him to do it, but I came to his aid as well. I forged for him an amulet to temper the power burning within him, to protect him, inside and out. I made it possible that he could not be killed by any mortal weapon, nor by flame, nor frost, nor even by the passing of years.”

  “The shield,” said Jackaby. “It was an amulet. Your other half made him all-powerful, and then you made him invulnerable.”

  “Not invulnerable. I left a chink in his armor. Hafgan could be killed, but only by one who did not wish him dead. Only by one whose soul was pure and whose intentions were good.”

  “Enter Arawn,” Jackaby said. “Don’t go telling the Fair King he was pure and good, though. He’s arrogant enough as it is.”

  “But, wait,” I said. “If your other half sacrificed herself before the Dire King died—then who resurrected Hafgan afterward?”

  “Nobody,” answered the twain. “Hafgan is dead. He had borne the burden long enough. It would have been an unkindness to ask him to carry it again.”

  “If Hafgan is still dead,” said Jackaby, “then who is wearing the Dire Crown?”

  The twain opened his mouth to reply, but then abruptly vanished instead. The moment he was gone, an arrow glanced off the parapet with a spark, leaving a notch precisely where the furry figure had been standing. My eyes shot upward to a figure on the rooftop. She wore deep blue robes and was loading a second shot into a sleek crossbow. An ivory scar ran from her lip to the corner of her eye.

  “Confused yet?” asked Serif.

  Chapter Twenty

  You’re meant to be confused,” Serif continued. Her eyes were narrow and darting as she scanned the top of the castle wall. “It’s what the twain does. They are creatures of confusion and chaos. A twain will make you unsure if day is night or up is down or friends are enemies.”