Chapter 12: In Which Riddick Meets an Igor and Joins the Watch
"For hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."
The words floated through his head, looking for something to latch onto. Like a dragon?
I don't hate dragons. Fuck, I don't even believe in dragons. For an instant, he remembered a dream of being back in the Necropolis, standing over Jack's body, stretched obscenely out on a table, dead, dead, dead. Someone had put coins on her eyes, a knife in one hand, a walking stick in the other. He was crying, the tears hitting her face like blows.
He shook it off and opened his real eyes carefully. He seemed to be laying in a bed in an . . . art studio? There was an unsettling bowl of bananas with an unsettling big yellow bow on the table next to him. He stared at it, mystified.
The room was full of color and shapes. Things bubbling. Strange, fleshy smells. Dead smells. He sniffed cautiously, trying to remember. . .
Quasi-Dead? Lensor? The smell of flesh that should be dead, yet, inexplicitly, breathed. He sat up abruptly. For another horrifying moment, he was back in the Necropolis, surrounded by men who were mostly dead and utterly disturbing.
And then his vision shifted and he realized that he was still in Susan's crazy fuck turtle grounded world, facing a misshapen, shuffling. . . sentient being in a white lab smock. Seeing Riddick, it rearranged the scars on its face in a horrifying fashion. "You're awake!"
"You human?" Riddick asked abruptly.
The creature, whatever it was, rearranged the scars again into yet another fascinatingly horrifying formation. "Oh yes! Most of me. Let's see how you are doing." It approached inexplicably faster than anything with that sort of limp should have been able to.
"Most of you?"
The creature pulled itself up, scars rearranging again. Still horrifying. Fuck me, it's trying to smile reassuringly. "I am Igor. Mostly human."
"You're Igor?" Riddick repeated, dumbly.
It rearranged its scars again into what. "I know, I know, the lisp. It's a new age, my friend! We are no longer chained to the prejudices of the Century of the Fruitbat! Now, let's see if the leeches have done their good work."
Riddick's hand shot towards the creature's throat without Riddick's conscious volition. Volition mercifully caught up before contact. He did not want to touch this thing.
The creature spread its hands placating. Riddick saw with dim horror that it had two thumbs. On each hand. "I kid, I kid. Leeches do no good with broken bones." It picked up some sort of eyepiece, screwed it into place, twitched Riddick's blanket aside and began his examination.
"I see you met our Igor already," Angua's voice called from a doorway, dryly. Riddick glared at her.
"You knew about this?"
She came in and sat down on the bed with a bounce. Ignored his question. "We did good. You killed your dragon. I killed mine. Carrot and the Librarian got the other one tamed. The Librarian really likes you, you know. He sent the bananas. And the rat must have gotten the portal closed."
"Binky?"
"Who?"
"The horse?"
"Death's horse is named Binky?"
He glared at her again. She shrugged. "Haven't seen him. But Death's horse has to be pretty tough."
He growled at her.
"All done!" Igor announced happily. "All the bones have knit. Better than ever."
"Huh?" Riddick asked bewildered.
"You broke about 42 bones," Angua smiled at him, indulgently. "Our Igor's used to that."
Forty-two? "How long was I out?"
"'bout a day."
Un-fucking-believable. Not even the Necros could knit bones that fast.
"Mustard plaster," Igor announced, brightly. Riddick glared at him again, swung his legs around, and stood up.
"Let's go for a walk," Angua said.
0o0
She strolled out of the mad scientist's lab into a late afternoon in a busy city. Riddick followed, grimly.
"Somehow, I think Death's Horse made it," she said, quietly.
Riddick grunted. "Whatever."
"You really like that horse."
He shrugged. "Don't know a lot of people around here."
"You know me," her voice was soft. "And you just killed a dragon. You've got a lot of friends now. The Librarian adores you."
"Who?"
"The orangutan. The one who sent the bananas. He's the one who dug you out of the dragon."
"Huh?" Dug me out?
"The dragon got pretty squashed."
Riddick shrugged again, slightly, absurdly, mollified. "So I got saved by a monkey?"
"An ape. Monkeys have tails. Orangutans are apes. Like us. Well, our human parts."
He glared at her. "What the fuck ever."
She smiled indulgently. "Common mistake. Do you want a job?"
"Huh?"
"A job," she repeated patiently. "We could use someone like you. We could use you."
"As a cop?"
"As a watchman. Like me. Or you could see if there's anything at the library, but you don't really seem the type."
The surreal image of himself with a badge was unsettling. Not as unsettling as the image of himself shelving books. "You want me to be a cop? Lady, you are sniffin' the wrong . . . leg there. There's not a criminal in this city who's worse than me."
She snorted. "Oh, you'd be surprised. And I don't want you to be a cop. I want you to be a watchman." She hesitated. "Look, I know you've done things. I've done things. Where I come from, we hunt people for fun. Rip their throats out when we catch them. Pretty much everyone here has A Past. Except maybe Carrot. But think about it. First, you need a job. Second, I'd rather know where you are. Third, you're one of the only people around who has ever killed a dragon. Doesn't have to be forever. Pay's pretty good, and you'll drink for free most places. How about it?"
He started to reject the idea derisively. Yeah. Become a cop. When's that gonna get fun?
Cold.
Sudden, complete, totalizing cold.
At least it did not last as long this time. Disconcertingly, he was back on the Necromonger throne, except instead of anchoring the Necropolis, the throne was on a mountain. He was utterly alone, except for the dead girl at his feet and an eagle screaming in the distance. Angua kept on talking like she had not noticed. Suddenly, grudgingly, Riddick realized he did not want to be alone. At least not until he got the lay of this land. And maybe of Angua.
0o0
Riddick eyed the mannequin critically. He wasn't entirely sure of the point; why the little man had told him to attack it, but he was pleased with the result. It had taken three blows, but that was one mannequin that he wasn't going to be asked to attack again anytime soon. The stuffing was strewn fairly evenly across the courtyard, and, he judged, he'd splintered the boards representing spine, forearms, thighs, hands, and left foot. He was aware that Angua was watching.
"Well, he did good with the training dummy," Nobby Nobbs, who apparently was himself some sort of test Riddick had to pass, said. "But are you sure he's our kind of people, ma'am?"
Angua smiled. "Yes, Nobby. I'm vouching for him. He killed one of our rogue dragons."
"Of course, ma'am." Still, the man hesitated, looked Riddick up and down. "You commit any crimes?"
Riddick just stared at him.
Nobbs swallowed, continued. "You a law abidin' man?"
Riddick continued to stare. Nobbs hastily amended his question. "Any – any major felonies?"
Riddick continued to stare, letting his lips part, letting his tongue slip from those lips slightly. He'd worked hard on that gesture and he was utterly delighted that finally someone in this world was responding to him right. Nobbs stared, swallowed again and continued "Any recent major felonies within the jurisdiction of Ankh-Morpork?"
After a moment of due consideration, Riddick allowed, "No. Not yet."Angua snorted.
Nobbs smiled broadly, stuck out a hand. "Good enough! Let's get you sworn in."
0o0
Three days passed without any more dragons. They gave Riddick night watch. He liked night watch. He especially liked it with Angua.
They were walking the stone streets through sticky air when Angua stopped. "Smell that?"
Riddick sniffed carefully. The city stank of rot and flesh and stone and fire and something unsettling he'd learned was Foul Old Ron. He stayed away from Foul Old Ron. He sniffed again.
"Blood?"
"I concur. Come on." They moved quickly and silently over city streets. Slipped into an alley. One man was crouched over the body of another. He saw them and bolted. Angua bolted after him. Riddick hesitated. The man on the ground wasn't quite dead, but the amount of blood on the ground made that just a matter of time. Decided not to mention it. He caught up.
"Shit," Angua hissed after several minutes of running. "I lost the scent." She shot Riddick an irritated look. "I need the real nose. I'm gonna change. Don't watch."
Riddick nodded. Part of him wanted to hunt this man, rip his throat out. Most of him really didn't care. Guy was already mostly dead, what did it matter? He stared politely at the wall until a sharp bark indicated it was time to turn around. The werewolf looked pointedly at a small bundle of clothes. With a sigh, Riddick picked it up and loped after the grey animal, resisting the urge to scratch her behind her furry ears.
It didn't take Angua long in werewolf form. Long enough for the man to connect up with a confederate. He had a crossbow, and it was aimed right between Riddick's eyes.
Ooh, deadly force. Things are looking up already, he thought. Angua growled and leapt at the man she'd been chasing. Riddick saw Crossbow Boy's trigger finger tense and used a trick Zhylaw had shown him to be right there and slap the crossbow out of the man's hand. The bolt went wild. Shit, now he's unarmed. Not supposed to kill the unarmed. A quick glance at Angua showed she wasn't paying attention. Her attention fully occupied by making her man piss himself in terror. Shiv through the belly, pull up, feel the death gurgle. Oh yeah. Lawful use of deadly force. And I drink free. This is great. To think it was to do it. The man hit the ground hard.
Angua backed away from her man, growling. He scrabbled back. She gave Riddick A Look. He kept his face blank, tossed her clothes to her and crouched over the man on the ground, being careful to avoid the puddle. Tousled his hair.
"She'll be back," he offered. "She's just got to . . . change." The man whimpered. Riddick smiled down, cheerily. Stood and backed up as the man looked like he was going to piss himself again. Backed up and into something soft, where nothing soft should be. Shit. I'm losing my touch. I was sure that guy was dead. Riddick spun, knife out, slid into the side of the man he'd just killed who was, improbably, still moving. He gurgled and slumped to the ground, dead.
He's gotta be dead. I got guts, liver, and nicked the lungs. He's dead.
Angua loped around the corner. "Getting sloppy, killer?" He glared at her.
"Must not be human."
"Oh, he's human all right." She was cuffing the man on the ground, touching him as little as possible.
Impossibly, crossbow-boy was struggling to his feet, a knife in his hand. Riddick rolled his eyes, grabbed him around the middle.
"You think he's a threat?" She asked, mildly.
"Yeah. Call it Necro – call it intuition," he said, grimly. He twisted. With a deep, satisfying crack, the man's neck snapped. Twisted again, and the spine followed. The body went limp. Riddick let it slip from his arms, stepped back.
That was harder than it should have been, he thought. Angua was staring at him. He smiled at her. "That had to kill him."
She nodded, shortly. "Then why isn't he dead?"
Despite himself, Riddick started. Examined the man closely. He wasn't breathing. His neck was broken. His guts were spilled out onto the ground. He was dead.
Only . . . he wasn't.
Why do I know that?
He was dead. No person with a neck at that angle could be anything else.
And yet, he was alive.
Riddick blinked. The part of him that was the Lord Marshal of the Necromongers stirred, and suddenly he knew. The man's soul. In the body. Still resident therein.
With what was clearly an enormous effort, the man inhaled.
"Kill me," he gasped.
"This," Angua said, "is a problem."
Riddick shrugged. "It'll work itself out." He rolled his shoulders, started collecting various weapons from various surfaces. Angua followed him.
"What do you mean?"
"Susan must have . . . had to go."
"What?"
"When Death leaves, people don't die."
"No one?"
Riddick thought about this. "No, there are special people Death has to take. Until she does, things just . . . stop."
"Kill me," the man gasped, again. Riddick glared down at him, irritated.
"So people who are dying . . . can't until she comes back?"
"Yeah."
"Kill me!" The man managed to pull himself up slightly, paw at Riddick's pants. Riddick kicked him.
"Stop that!" Angua snapped.
"Why? He's dead."
"It's in poor taste to pick on the dead."
Riddick snorted, stared down. Then he forced his perspective to switch, knowing that it was going to give him a bastard of a headache. But the Lord Marshal could see souls. Perk of office. He'd often wondered if Zhylaw got the headaches.
This soul was not the rich colors he'd come to expect. As he watched, it was sliding from gold into an unhealthy, almost urine yellow. Disgusting.
Soul taker. How did Zhylaw do that anyway? He frowned, remembering. Zhylaw, reaching into a man's body, yanking out his soul . . .
Riddick flexed his fingers, reached forward. When he reached the skin, there was only the faintest of resistance. He focused hard on the yellow. It seemed sticky. He pulled, and pulled, and suddenly the body gave up the ghost.
The body was, at long last, dead. The dead man was standing above it, looking shocked. Angua was staring at it, looking shocked. Riddick was shocked too, but working hard to cover it up. He smiled up at Angua. "That better?"