Nuada and Wink followed me, while I followed my nose. I was upset with the fact that the rain had stopped some time ago, but my spirits were immediately lifted when my nose led me back to where this had all started: The Troll Market.
As we stood in the hidden cavern at the entrance to the Troll Market, watching a myriad of creatures shuffle, glide, flit, fly, walk, tromp, stomp, limp, crawl, scuttle, and lumber by us, I turned to the once-prince.
"Sir," I said, and he turned his head sharply in my direction. He'd cooled down a bit after Princess Nuala's disappearance, so his gaze was softer, but he still looked like he'd sooner yell at me again than be sympathetic. I forced myself to realize that I'd just called him Sir, and that earlier I had cowered before his temper, and the rebellious demon in me flared up in…well, in rebellion.
So I began again, standing straighter and maybe with a micro-hint of smugness in my expression, "I cannot track Princess Nuala any further than this, I'm afraid. Her scent trail's been lost among…that." I gestured to the Market.
The once-prince looked away from me, exchanged a glance with Wink and nodded before turning back to me. "Very well, demon. There are some preparations I must make, but in the meantime you will go with Wink; help him find Nuala, and the crownpiece."
This time it was Wink and I who exchanged a glance—he looked slightly less than thrilled—but neither of us protested. As Nuada ventured into the crowd, which gave him a rather wide berth, he paused beside his friend Wink and said quietly, "Do not harm her."
Wink grunted and nodded, and the once-prince quickly disappeared to make his 'preparations'. I stood there awkwardly for a moment before saying, "Wait. Don't harm me? Or Princess Nuala?"
The massive troll snorted and began to lumber off into the crowd, forcing me to run in order to keep up with his huge strides.
"Hey!" I yelped, narrowly avoiding a blue Fishman in some sort of black wetsuit. "Sorry," I said to him before hurrying to catch up with Wink. "Wait for me! I said wait!" But he refused to stop, and soon the crowd cut me off.
Grumbling to myself about the diminutive size of cave troll brains—Mister Wink's in particular—I shoved my way over to a wall and clambered up it, disturbing a small roost of tooth faeries along the way. I looked around at those down below, trying to spot the fair princess, but to no avail. I continued to crawl along the wall like a gecko; the beginnings of disappointment festering in my chest as I failed even to spot Wink's gigantic grey form.
They better not have ditched me, I thought irately, seating myself on a bundle of the hundreds of wires the Market received power from. That damn once-prince and his angry, stupid troll friend. Huh! See if I care! See how everyone in the Market cares when they learn the once-prince killed The King!
I stopped myself on that particular train of thought, because the thought of the Great King's death was not a pleasant one. Sure, demons have their issues with authority, but King Balor had always been more of a benevolent father than a bossy ruler. And the fact that it was all for a measly war...
I firmly told my brain to shut up, and in an attempt to change the subject I suddenly realized that I could see my stall from my swinging perch. The faerie cages were still mostly empty, aside from the few faeries that had returned from the museum. They always came back after they'd finished eating everything they could get their grubby little hands on, even though in some part of their pea-sized brains they must've realized they'd eventually be sold off again.
Beside my untended stall a fat Berghbat was giving the host I'd spoken to earlier a shave. Perhaps they would know something of Wink! He wasn't exactly hard to miss, though I'd managed to do that all right.
I stood and tightrope walked the wires until I was directly above my stall, and then I jumped down on top of the cage of faeries, who all fluttered around shrieking and chittering and yapping for more to eat. I ignored them and strode over toward the Berghbat and host. The latter's infant tumor had grown quickly in the few hours I'd been gone, for now it resembled a bald human baby from the torso up jutting out of its host's chest.
I had to avoid a weird talking suit with a clear bubble filled with mist for a skullcap, which tried to shove a couple of Poleroids into my face, before the host finally noticed me.
"Chinks!" he spluttered, speech still marred by his disfigurement. "Vhat are choo doing here!? I heard zat choo were wiz P-Prince Nuada, zat choo had broken ze truce!"
"Huh?" the Berghbat grunted, pausing with the foamy razor in his hand to look at me. His bat-like ears twitched and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"It isn't true, Chinks, is it?" the host went on.
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could do so the talking suit interrupted our conversation with his Poleroids again.
"Excuse me, lady and gentlemen," the suit said in a male voice with a prominent German accent, "have you seen anyone purchasing zis type of toos-faerie?" He held up a picture of a tiny blue tooth faerie on a metal tray. The poor creature appeared as though it had burned to death; it was covered in singe marks, and its wings were ragged and black.
The host opened his mouth, and for a terrible second I thought he was going to rat me out—if he somehow knew of my involvement in the Great King's death, then it would stand to reason that others would too and not be very happy with me—but instead he shook his big head and answered coldly, "No one sells 'em down here, pal."
"Over in Jersey, maybe," the Berghbat agreed, wiping his razor on the cloth in his other hand.
I silently shook my head and hoped the two of them could feel the waves of appreciation coming off of me. But the suit-man continued to probe.
"Vell…vell what about zis, zhen? Do you recognize zis seal?" he held up a picture of one of Nuada's war crates, the seal of war bright from the camera flash.
We all gasped, though I doubt anyone else was frantically thinking, how had he gotten the crates!?
The baby tumor stared at the photo with wide, horrified eyes before burying its head in the host's chest and whimpering, "Make 'im go away! Make 'im go away!" The host looked down at the poor little thing sadly before glaring at the suit-man and spitting, "No! We don't!"
"Please," the suit insisted, "dear sir—"
"You'd better go," the host snarled, the threat in his voice not so thinly veiled. "Now!"
"We'll make it wors your vile," the suit said in what he probably thought was a persuasive tone.
This made the Berghbat snarl like a beast, throw his cloth and razor to the ground and charge the suit-man. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he yelled at the suit, "Don't waste your time! We will not talk!"
It looked like a fight was about to break out, and my money was on the Berghbat, who was easily a head taller than the suit. I edged back, closer to the host, who was trying to calm his trembling tumor.
"Wuh, w-what are you doing—?" the suit cried.
Another voice that appeared to be ignoring him asked the Berghbat boldly, "You're absolutely sure about that, huh?"
"Absolutely!"
"You won't talk, eh?"
"Never!"
"Ever?" the new voice taunted.
"Never! Ever! EVER!!"
I'd been trying to help sooth the tumor this whole time, but my head jerked up when there was a loud crashing sound; I saw the Berghbat fly off his feet and across the Market. He hit the far wall and tumbled into a giant tub of boiling water that a scrawny thing had been carefully washing plates in. The plates went crashing to the ground and the Berghbat screamed and thrashed as he boiled to death, unable to find the edge of the tub in order to escape.
I stared at the one who'd done this, apparently with a single punch. I didn't want to believe it at first, but upon seeing the massive, bright red stone hand the creature was sporting, it seemed more likely. It reminded me of Wink's mechanical hand, though the swirling glyphs carved into the four-fingered rock meant that it was an actual part of the creature.
The bright red killer turned to face us, and I swore in the human language when I saw who it was. I had never seen him before, of course, but somehow a name surfaced from the farthest reaches of my mind. It was a name that every creature of magick knew, though it was unlikely they even knew they knew it until faced with its bearer.
"Anung Un Rama," I breathed. His horns were filed down to flat stumps, and his flaming crown was nowhere to be seen, but it was him. The Son of the Fallen One.
He stalked toward the host and I, and I was frozen in a mixture of terror and awe. He was a prince to demonkind! The bringer of doom, the one destined to ruin this world and bring about Hell on Earth!
I had no idea what he intended to do with the two of us, but I suppose whatever my subconscious had in mind wasn't merely a small shove. The Infernal Prince brushed past me and instead grabbed the host's shoulder with his normal left hand. With his stone hand he began repeatedly slapping the host across the face—left-right-left-right-left-right-left-right-left!!
He stopped for a moment, allowing the host to take a wheezing breath before giving him a few more hard smacks for good measure. Pulling the host's face close to his own he asked, "You feelin' a little chattier now?"
"We'll never talk!" the infant tumor declared, and I couldn't help but chuckle in spite of the situation.
The Prince drew back his stone hand, forming it into a fist, but the host gasped and cried, "Yes, yes! We vill! Only…don't hit me anymore!"
"Chick-en!" the tumor teased.
The Prince ignored the cute little thing and demanded, "Who bought the tooth faeries!?"
"Prince Nuada! They say Prince Nuada broke ze truce, and now zhere is talk ov war! A war vith the human world!"
The Prince looked confused for a second, and seemed to be attempting to recall something. Finally, he just looked at me and said, "That true, Scarlet?"
I realized that in his presence I'd allowed my glamour to slip, making me appear nearly as red as he did. "Yeah," I replied, picking at my claws nervously. "Yeah, Nuada bought the tooth faeries."
He nodded and turned to leave, but then turned back and gently patted the tumor on the head. "Sorry, kid," he apologized before going.
"That's all right!" it chirped.
The suit-man came around from behind me and mimicked the Prince's action, patting the tumor with a gloved hand. "Uh, nice baby," he said in an attempt at a compliment.
"It's not a baby," I told him pointedly. "It's a tumor."
The tumor nodded in agreement as the suit-man jerked his hand back.