She kept quiet for the rest of the trip. They moved east, away from the sea; Lavorgna was a port city, sprawling like a smoking, cancerous mass along this section of the Atomic Sea, but the Fifth Ward was deep inland, far from the water. When Katya was feeling bold sometimes she would climb a skyscraper and stare out toward the mad, boiling sea with its lightning erupting upward and noxious fumes oozing from its crashing waves.
Soon enough, more normal lightning flickered across the night, silhouetting the three thick towers of the Factory that jutted up proudly, belching smoke into the black sky. Katya knew the smoke was red, not black, and that it was just for looks, a constant symbol of Ravic’s power.
“Ever been inside?” Jack said.
She shook her head.
It wasn’t a real factory, of course, she knew, not since the fighting. A great hulking monstrosity, the building stood in a wasteland surrounded on all sides by bombed-out buildings. It too had been bombed, reduced to rubble, but Ravic had taken it over and rebuilt it to his own specifications. Now it was more castle than anything else, a huge mountain of metal and stone, and the hairs prickled on the nape of her neck as she approached it.
Ravic’s lair. She’d grown up in the Fifth Ward, the underworld of which he ruled with an iron fist, and all her life she’d heard stories of him and his barbaric ways. Now she was going to meet him.
Jack’s limo threaded through the bombed-out ruins. Bonfires blazed under jagged overhangs, and gangs of disreputable-looking people gathered around them for warmth, swapping bottles. They eyed the limo admiringly.
It pulled into the wide parking lot that surrounded the Factory. The only windows that looked out from the building were on its top floor; red light flooded out from them. A thousand autos and carriages cluttered the parking lot, and drunken rabble drifted to and from the Factory’s great hangar doors.
“We’re really going in?” Katya said, staring at that huge, red-lit doorway, like a portal to the hells.
Rough-looking people walked past the limo, some staggering drunkenly. They glanced at the homunculi and gave the vehicle a wide berth.
Jack smiled. “Scared?”
Katya hadn’t been aware of it, but the front compartment of the limo was equally as large as the rear, and four large bodyguards occupied it. One stayed behind the wheel, but three others emerged, one opening the door for Death’s Head Jack.
Jack wore a fine suit marred by a garish teal tie, and a black sable robe cascaded from his shoulders. He gathered it about him, placed a fedora on his head—it had a matching teal band around it—and left the cab. As he did, one of his bodyguards snapped a black umbrella open, and Jack stepped right under it just in time, as if by clockwork. Not a drop of rain hit him that Katya could see.
He turned back to her. “Well?” He stretched out a hand—a perfect, living hand, well-formed and long-fingered.
She mustered what threads of her courage remained and stepped outside. She wasn’t as smooth as Jack, or maybe the bodyguards didn’t care to accommodate her, and rain hit her. She hadn’t realized how much she had appreciated the warmth and dryness of the cab until it was gone. She shivered and huddled close to Jack.
He placed a hand around her shoulders, and for a moment she wondered if she should play the helpless maiden, but then she shrugged him off.
He marched toward the great gaping hangar doors, and Katya hastened to keep step with him, and his umbrella. More rough-looking people passed them, and some gave her interested glances.
At the doors, people paid the tattooed doormen and -women cover charges to get in. One man tried to sneak past, and a doorwoman unleashed one of her pet homunculi on him. It tackled the man to the ground, and screams filled the air. A handful of patrons gathered around to watch, screening the victim from Katya’s view—a blessing as far as she was concerned.
The doorpeople waved Death’s Head Jack in with a respectful nod, not asking for a cover charge, and his company, Kat included, passed through and into the Factory. Instantly heat enveloped Katya, and she shuddered in release. How long had it been since she’d felt warm? She couldn’t remember. Her crappy apartment, back when she’d had one, had never really kept away the chill, and she relished the Factory’s heat.
People pressed tight all around, and the bodyguards made way for Jack. What was more, once people saw who he was, they gave him space. Many nodded to him, almost bowing. Despite herself, Katya stood straighter at his side. If nothing else, she would be safer from Sedic now.
Most of the people here were normal—that is, for the Fifth Ward—but a few were infected. Mutated by the sea. Special processors cleansed the seafood caught in the Atomic Sea, but some people were too poor or desperate to afford properly processed food (or they swapped bodily fluids with someone who had eaten it), and these could fall ill and die … or become infected. Mutated. Most mutations were subtle, a reducing of the nose, webbed fingers, fish-like striations across parts of the body, but some were extreme. Katya saw a man with a crab-claw for an arm, a woman whose flesh looked like seaweed, a man with huge black fish eyes staring out of a warped, bulbous, fish-like head, and more.
Around her people talked and laughed, and vendors circulated, selling peanuts and trinkets. One vendor, an infected fellow with jellyfish-like skin, claimed that the strange-looking objects he sold hailed from the Below, that great system of caverns that honeycombed the ground beneath Lavorgna.
“Genuine artifacts from the Elders!” the vendor said, moisture (probably recently applied) glistening on his half-translucent skin. “Get your Elder artifacts here! No one knows where they came from or where they went, but you can own a piece of them for a copper!”
Katya ignored the man. Real artifacts from the Elders would be ridiculously expensive.
It smelled like food in here, of roasting peanuts, dripping meat on sticks, peppers stuffed with spices and beef, and suddenly Katya realized she hadn’t eaten in hours. Her mouth watered, and her belly rumbled.
She bought a hotdog off a vendor and lathered it with relish and mustard. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bit into it eagerly, and the flavors burst in her mouth. Hot. Delicious. She gulped it down, bite after greasy bite, then licked her fingers and scoured her lips for errant mustard. When she finished, she caught Jack staring at her.
“See anything you like?”
He didn’t answer. By this time they’d reached the lip of the Pit, and she gazed down into it, fascinated and repulsed. The Pit Room was a vast chamber, encompassing the whole ground level of the Factory, with a high, lofty ceiling wreathed in smoke. The smoke drifted around large electric lights far overhead, sometimes obscuring their illumination, sometimes diffusing the light into a golden glow. The great furnace blazed in a corner, and Ravic’s men threw alchemically treated rectangular objects that looked like blocks of crimson concrete into its gaping mouth. Kat didn’t know why they bothered; it was night and no one could see the red columns of smoke anyway. She supposed it was just tradition. Those red fires had been burning since before she was born. Some of the fire-tenders were steam-men, clanking and issuing vapor. Katya didn’t see many of those around anymore; they were relics from the Age of Steam, which had ended some years ago, but of course this was Upper Lavorgna, where everything old and broken down ended up eventually.
Thousands of people in the room pressed around the lip of the Pit, and many more sat in the seats below. The Pit was a great arena carved out of the earth in the center of the massive chamber. Tiered seats encircled the earthen floor, and Kat had heard that twenty thousand people could sit in those seats, with more standing above.
As she watched from the edge of the bowl, people down below swept aside body parts from a recent fight, clearing the arena for another round. In the intermission, swarms of spectators placed bets, ordered drinks, and engaged in criminal dealings. Katya knew the Pit was in some ways the heart of the Fifth Ward—black and bloody, corrupt and brutal. In the floors above, more entertainments and services could be enjoyed, or so she’d been told. A casino vied for business with a brothel, contract killers could be bargained with at the bar, loans could be taken out (with steep interest and harsh penalties for non-payment), and more. Ravic’s own private apartments could be found at the very top. It was his chambers that blazed with the red light Katya had seen from outside.
Her face must have betrayed some of her thoughts, or maybe it was her fidgeting hands. Jack said, “Feeling a bit over your head, are you?”
“Not a bit of it.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Have a cigarette?”
A bodyguard produced one, and another flicked a silver cigarette lighter for her. She took a hit, then a second, and blew the smoke in Jack’s face. That only seemed to excite him. It was weird to look into a dead face and see randiness there, but that’s what she saw. Well, she supposed, at least his lower parts would be normal. It was only his head that was dead.
“Ever been to the fights?” he asked.
This time she blew the cloud of smoke to the side, out of the corner of her mouth.
“No.”
A horn blew. All attention turned to a tall, curvaceous figure striding into the blood-stained arena below. It was a buxom woman in fish-net stockings, tight short black leather skirt and low-cut top, tattoos up and down her arms.
“Perhaps we should linger for a moment, then,” Jack said. “Increase your cultural perspective.”
The woman below held a microphone. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves!” she called, her voice ringing clear and loud. The audience responded lustily, hooting and hollering, banging beer bottles together, stamping feet. The wave of sound hurt Katya’s ears. She pressed her palms over them. Yet, at the same time, she felt a smile creep over her face, and a jolt of fire flushed through her veins. “Well, as it happens,” the woman continued, “the man himself would like to entertain you!”
More hooting and hollering, even louder.
“That’s Vivia,” Jack said, speaking through cupped hands directly into Katya’s ear. “An interesting woman. You might get to know her.”
“Would you like a show?” Vivia roared. She thrust the microphone outward, toward the crowd, and the crowd responded wildly.
“Is Ravic really going to fight himself?” Katya said.
“I’m sure he’ll fight other people,” Jack laughed.
“Well, with no further ado, welcome to the darkness!” Vivia said.
The overhead lights flickered out, plunging the Pit Room into utter blackness save for the furnace in its corner, though even its light was mostly hidden by the ranks of spectators. As soon as darkness fell, the crowd hushed, except for numerous excited whispers. Kat held her breath. Seats creaked as people leaned forward ...
Without warning, a great gout of flame shot high into the room, roaring out of a hole directly in the center of the arena. Katya gasped and jumped back. The spurt of flame licked so high she feared it would incinerate the overhead lights. Then, instantly, the flame shut off. As soon as it did, a dozen smaller fires erupted from the circumference of the Pit. They flickered sullenly at first, then, as one, they surged upward, throwing light on the middle of the arena, where a broad-shouldered figure stood, a man that could only be Boss Ravic.
By the light of the flames, Katya saw a tall, thick-chested man with bristly beard and long curly hair. Boots covered his feet and ragged pants his legs. His big chest was bare, and a long fur coat of some kind depended from his shoulders. Fire-light glistened on his many scars.
And in his hands, he held some object, large and phallic ...
Katya stared.
