Angel - Shakedown Part 12

"Weapons!" Doyle said, and dashed into Angel'soffice. He reached for the first big, sharp thing he saw, a broadsword hanging on the wall. It was almost as long as Doyle was tall; he grabbed it with both hands, slung it over his shoulder and rushed back into the fray.

Angel was doing his best to stay out of reach of the demon's hands, while Cordelia confused the Tremblor by throwing whatever she could lay her hands on. Doyle stopped, braced himself and yelled, "Back off, y'rocky b.u.g.g.e.r! This is amagicsword!"

The Tremblor hesitated.

"It is?" Cordelia said. Angel shot her a warning glance.

"What's the matter, you never heard of the-the sword in the stone? Why, this blade has hacked up more boulders than, than . . ."

"Than anyothersword in the stone," Angel said.

The Tremblor glared at them suspiciously.I have heard tales of such a sword. . . he thought at them.

"Angel, Doyle!" Cordelia snapped. "Get over here, quick!" She threw open the window.

Angel and Doyle exchanged glances. Angel nodded, almost imperceptibly, and they both charged the demon.

Angel hit him high, with a flying kick. Doyle thrust for the demon's guts with the point of the sword, as hard as he could. Neither blow did anyappreciable damage . . . but they did succeed in knocking him off-balance. He fell backward, stumbled, and crashed halfway through the window before grabbing hold of the sill.

And screamed.

"NOOO! NOOOO! The Void! THE VOID!"

He was staring straight up into the smoggy sky. "Too big, too big," he whimpered. He sounded like he was in shock.

They pulled him back inside, Angel carefully avoiding the sunlight, and the Tremblor collapsed on the floor in a shaking heap. He suddenly seemed about as dangerous as a frightened puppy.

"O' course," Doyle exclaimed. "He's spent his whole life underground-he's agoraphobic!"

"He's afraid of sweaters?" Cordelia said.

"No," said Angel. "He's afraid of wide-open s.p.a.ces. Good thinking, Cordelia."

"Actually, I just wanted you to throw him out the window," Cordelia replied. "I mean,lookat this mess.

Can't you fight outside for a change?"

Have you ever wondered why we don'tdoanything?Baasalt thought.

No, I haven't,Feldspaar thought back. He and Baasalt were returning home with their captive. They had been trudging along for some time, descending deeper and deeper into the earth.Feldspaar had been thinking about Maarl; death was a rare thing among their kind, and he couldn't bring himself to really believe Maarl could be gone. It was just too big a change.

We live, Baasalt continued,but we don't affect the world around us. We warrior-priests have our holy duties, but most Tremblors spend their lives merely existing. Don't you think?

I think you should take that thing out of your head, Feldspaar replied.It doesn't belong there.

Baasalt had refused to remove the pickax from his skull, insisting it was causing him no harm.It's some sort of magical artifact,he declared.I see everything as if for the first time.

Your thoughts are strange. They do not flow in an orderly way.

They do not flow-they gush!Baasalt stopped and threw his arms open wide.Oh, I wish I could properly convey the impressions dancing in my brain!

Feldspaar didn't knowwhatto think about that.

"Talk," Angel said. "Or I'll open the box again."

They were on the roof of their building. Doyle and Cordelia had rigged up a sun-shelter out of blankets for their boss, and a large crate scavenged from the alley made an impromptu cage for their prisoner.

Angel sat in a lawn chair underneath hismakeshift tent holding a string; the other end was attached to a piece of cardboard serving as the crate's lid.

No! I will not betray my people!

Angel pulled on the string. A crack of daylight appeared between the top of the crate and the lid.

Aaah! No, no, not the Void! I'll tell you what I know!

Doyle and Cordelia stood a little way off, Doyle leaning on a ventilator hood and Cordelia with her arms crossed. "It's kind of creepy," Cordelia said. "The way it talks without talking? Right into yourhead. It can't do some kind of mental whammy, can it?"

"I don't think we have to worry about his brain power," Doyle said. "So far, he hasn't even figured out he can just close his eyes."

"Tell me about the fourth victim," Angel said. "Who is it?"

I do not know the Skin-Dweller's name.

"But you know where to find him."

Baasalt knows. His tuber has the scent of the marked places.

"Baasalt. Is that your leader?"

He is First Warrior-Priest. It is his duty to find the Four.

"You said there were 'marked places.' How are they marked?"

They are marked by our allies on the Skin of the World. It makes it easier to find the Four.

Angel leaned forward in his lawn chair. "Who are your allies on the Skin of the World?"

They are Skin-Dwellers, like you. They speak only to Baasalt.

"Do they have a name?"

I do not know.

Angel yanked on the string, letting the top flap open for just a second. The Tremblor's horrified mental scream made both Cordelia and Doyle grab their heads.

"Tell me their name! Is it the Serpentene? Wolfram and Hart?Tell me!"

Please let me go, oh please let me go home. . .

There was a slight breeze on the rooftop, and it shifted just then. Suddenly, Angel was sure he could smell lemon trees, and just the faintest trace of burning wood.

Baasalt and Feldspaar stood before the Grounding, the ruling council of the Tremblors. There were six members, and they stood in a semicircle in a cave miles below the surface. They resembled stone columns that reached from the floor of the cave to the ceiling, for they were one with the rock surrounding them.

The warrior-priests had delivered their hostage, and now Baasalt was making his report.

The Skin of the World is a chaotic, disorganized place,Baasalt thought.We accepted the help of the Skin-Dwellers for just this reason; they can navigate the shifting currents of their culture to provide us with what we seek, within the Skin-Dweller's time span instead of our own. But there is another way, a way to impose the order of our society on the unpredictability of theirs.

Go on.

We must dominate the Skin of the World.

Impossible! It is a seething river of madness!

Then we must dam that river. We must change the Skin of the World into a place of restraint and control.Baasalt began to pace in front of the council, a severe breach of etiquette. The pick in the back of his head bobbed up and down as he nodded to himself.And we can do this, Great Batholith-it is within our power.

To do what? Lay waste to the Skin of the World? Where then would we find sacrifices for the Crushing of Souls?

It is not the Skin of the World I suggest we attack. It is the Void itself.

The Grounding gave the telepathic equivalent of a collective gasp.Unthinkable!

Nothing is unthinkable. I understand that now . . . listen to me. There are places where Blood from the Heart of the World flows onto the Skin. Sometimes, itexplodes upward with great fury-and the Void is filled with minute bits of the Blood of the World.

This we know. The Void transforms them and they settle, to become one with the Body of the World again.

But is it only the Blood which is transformed? Is not the Void itself changed by having the Blood within it?

These are questions with no answers.

But the answers can be found, if only the questions are asked. And here is the question which I ask of you, the question which must be asked. What would occur if the Blood at the Heart of the World was unleashed upon the Skin-not at one or five or a dozen spots, but hundreds, thousands of places simultaneously? Unleashed with the full force and majesty it is capable of? What would happen then, esteemed council members?

The Grounding was silent once more. It was hours before they communicated again, the equivalent of a lengthy pause. Finally, their leader, the Batholith, broadcast his response.

The Void, terrible though it is, cannot be mightier than the Heart of the World. Should we unleash its full power, the Void would be filled.

The Void filled. It was a concept no Tremblor had ever even considered, at the same time both exhilarating and blasphemous.

We need to think on this. Go and fulfill your mission. Bring the Fourth to us-and we will discuss this idea further.

As you wish.

Doyle and Cordelia waited downstairs in the office.

"It's not like he's actuallytorturinghim," Cordelia said.

" 'Course not."

"And wearetrying to stop something terrible from happening."

"That we are."

Cordelia picked up some papers from her desk and opened a file cabinet. "And it's not like we could justask. 'Excuse me, Mr. Demon? I understand that you're trying to wreck the city and all, and I was just wondering if you could share a few of the details with us.' Likethatwould work."

Doyle poured himself a cup of coffee. "Highly unlikely."

Cordelia started cramming papers into file folders. "So it's not like Angel has a choice. And hey, it's not like he hasn't done this kind of thing before, right? I mean, this way at least his hundred years of torturing experience aren't going to waste."

"Hard t'argue with that."

Cordelia whirled around and glared at Doyle."Will youpleasestop agreeing with me? I feel bad enough as it is."

Doyle put up his hands in surrender. "Take it easy. I know this is hard to justify-though you were doin'

a bang-up job, I gotta say-but itisnecessary. Angel won't actually hurt him, just scare him a little."

Cordelia sighed and collapsed into a chair. "I know, I know. I just hate feeling guilty, okay? I'm notused to it."

"Just remember, we're on the side of the angels."

"Please, Doyle. Bad puns are not the way to cheer me up."

"Well, I don't know if there's such a thing as agoodpun . . ."

Angel came in. "I think I've gotten all the information out of him I can."

"Is he-" Cordelia began.

"What?"

"Still in one piece?"

"Not really. He sort of shattered, actually."

"Shattered?" Cordelia said.

"When he hit the ground. After I threw him off the roof."

"Angel, that wasnotcalled for," Cordelia snapped. "I mean,surehe was a hideous demon, andsure,he would have killed you given the chance-okay, he probably would have killedallofus. Actually, killing everyone in the city seemed to be on his to-do list. Never mind."

"Relax," Angel said. "I was kidding. He's still cowering in his box."

"So what did you find out?" Doyle asked.

"Possibly the location of the next target. And get this-even though they're still missing someone close to earth, they aren't going after a Serpentene victim."

"Why not?" asked Cordelia.

"He didn't know, but as far as the Serpentene goes, the Tremblors don't seem to bear them any personal ill will. Apparently the only reason the Serpentene's home was attacked was because the Tremblor's mysterious allies asked them to.