When Apprentice woke up, all his muscles were stiff and sore, and he had a pounding headache that originated in the back of his skull. He groaned and moved to rub the throbbing spot, and when his hand touched it, pain lanced through his body; it was only then that he remembered how he'd hit his head the previous evening.
"Get up, kid," he heard his master say unfeelingly; "you've overslept as it is."
Apprentice groaned again, but he opened his eyes and forced his cramped muscles to move, struggling out of the trash, out of the dumpster, and ungracefully onto the street. He stood up, one hand on the dumpster to steady himself, and looked up at his master.
"How are you feeling?" his master asked him with a cold, cruel smile.
"Horrible," he groaned.
"Too bad," his master said, sounding almost as though he enjoyed his apprentice's misery. His wicked smile widened. "Today, kid, you learn the less tasteful parts of this job - and you're going to have to set aside the pain you're in right now…or else."
"Or else what?" Apprentice asked wearily.
"Or else I'll refuse to train you further," his master replied; "and you know what that means…" He trailed off in an almost singsong voice.
Death.
Like Apprentice could ever forget.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand up straight, taking his hand off the dumpster.
The necromerchant raised an eyebrow. "Not bad," he said, though his tone made it clear that he was completely unimpressed.
Apprentice nodded. "How long was I asleep?" he asked.
His master shrugged. "Four and a half hours, give or take about fifteen minutes," he replied.
Four and a half hours! No wonder he felt like shit!
"Now, before we get started, I have a few questions for you," Apprentice's master said. "First, what's your name?"
Apprentice blinked, surprised by the question. He opened his mouth to answer.
"Think," the necromerchant interrupted in a dangerous tone of voice, "very carefully, before you answer."
Apprentice closed his mouth and thought. What was it his master had said when he'd first accepted him as his apprentice? "From now until you complete your training, your name - your only name - is…"
"Apprentice," Apprentice answered.
His master smiled and nodded. "Very good," he said. "Do you remember what your old name was?"
"Yes," Apprentice replied.
His master nodded again. "I suppose it would be unreasonable of me to expect anything different so early in your training," he said.
Apprentice could think of several things he could say about his master and the concept of being 'unreasonable', but he held his tongue.
"Now," Apprentice's master said, resuming what was turning out to be a pop quiz, "how many junkies came and found me last night?"
Apprentice blinked. "I don't know," he replied. "None?"
His master rolled his eyes. "Three," he corrected. "Did you really sleep through all of them?"
"Yes," Apprentice replied.
"You're going to have to learn not to sleep so heavily," his master told him; "if you can't be a light sleeper, you can't do this job."
So much for trying not to be unreasonable, Apprentice thought, but again he held his tongue, and he simply nodded.
"What rules of this business do you know so far?" his master continued to quiz.
"I know that the Absolute Law of being a necromerchant is that a necromerchant may never, ever, inject him- or herself with Zydrate," Apprentice recited. "I know that the first of the five more flexible rules of the business has two parts: one, do not take risks, and two, do whatever it takes to not get caught. I know that necromerchants have to completely let go of whatever lives they had before they became necromerchants, though I'm still not quite sure why. I know that being a necromerchant is a 24-hour job, and that they need to take whatever opportunity they can to sleep. I know that necromerchants sleep in dumpsters, because the only people who will find them there are desperate junkies, so it's safe to rest in them. I know that necromerchants have to rotate what graveyards they raid each night, so that there are plenty of bodies to dig up in a single run without having to change graveyards. I know how to mark a gravestone as belonging to the family of a necromerchant, so that no necromerchant will ever desecrate the grave. I know that necromerchants have to be strong and have keen senses. And I don't know nearly as much as I wish I did." As Apprentice spoke, his master's eyebrows raised; clearly, he hadn't expected half so detailed an answer.
There was silence for a moment; the necromerchant almost seemed stunned.
"You know what, Apprentice?" he finally said. "There may be hope for you yet."
"I was born to do this," Apprentice said firmly; "as I said, this life chose me. I'll do whatever it takes. I'm willing to put all my time and energy towards learning to do this job. It's what I'm meant to do."
"You're determined," the necromerchant noted; "that will take you far. Whether or not it will take you all the way remains to be seen, but it's a start. Also, for the record, the reason you have to let your old life go is because this business is so risky - you can't take the risk of being traceable."
Apprentice nodded, accepting this explanation. "That makes sense…and, also for the record, my determination will take me all the way," he added. It certainly seemed true to him at the time; his head and muscles were in agony, but he was able to deny the pain and stand strong.
An evil smile spread across his master's face. "Let's put that to the test," he said wickedly, and he turned and started walking through the city.
Apprentice followed him.
~X~
As it turned out, the daytime part of the job consisted entirely of something Apprentice was already vaguely familiar with - it was how he'd found his master in the first place.
"Necromerchants spend days standing by secluded alleys that lead away from busy areas," the necromerchant told his apprentice, stopping halfway down a back alley. "I'm sure you know the rest, since you performed the ritual flawlessly yesterday afternoon, but I'll tell you again anyway for the record, since you won't remember where you first heard it by the time you're done - if you complete your training."
Apprentice didn't comment out loud, but he retained his doubt that he could even possibly ever forget his old life. He also didn't bother acknowledging the possibility of his training ending in death by the hand of his own master.
"Most people deliberately avoid eye contact with necromerchants," Apprentice's master went on. "They'll try not to look at us at all. A junkie who wants to deal with us, on the other hand, will try to catch our eye. As soon as we notice them, we turn around immediately and head down the escape route we're waiting by. The junkie counts to five in his or her head, then hurries after us, calling for us to wait. They try not to catch up to us until the crowded area is completely left behind, and no one can see the transaction. Upon catching up with us, they say the code phrase, for additional protection: 'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else.' The deal is then led by the junkie, as discretely or directly as he or she sees fit. After the trade is made, the junkie returns to the crowd as discretely as possible, and we go to a different spot. Simple."
"Yeah," Apprentice said, "right. Simple."
The necromerchant raised an eyebrow at him. "Sarcasm, kid?" he asked.
Apprentice shrugged. "It's a mighty fine system," he said. "I'm not sure if 'complicated' is the right word, but I wouldn't call it 'simple', either. Careful, I guess I'd say. Careful and efficient. It's touchy, but it works."
"That it does," Apprentice's master said in an indecipherable tone of voice; "and very well, at that."
"So where do I fit in?" Apprentice asked. "What should I do?"
"You can stay back here, where no one will see you," his master replied. "One of this city's dealing spots is just up ahead. Wait here; you'll be able to see the part that matters."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he leaned against the alley wall to wait.
His master nodded at him once, then went on ahead.
There was silence for a while, and Apprentice was left alone with his thoughts. He didn't worry about not being able to become a necromerchant - it didn't matter what it would take, he'd do it. What concerned him was his master's insistence that he forget his old life entirely. It just wasn't possible, in Apprentice's mind. Sure, there were times when he wished he could, but if he did, what would keep him determined to be a necromerchant? Nothing…
After a few minutes, his thoughts turned to his mother. He hadn't told her where he was going; she was probably worried about him. His master had told him that he would never be able to say goodbye to her, but he couldn't help but wonder…what would she do without him? Would she ever find out that he was okay, that he had left by choice? Would she ever forgive him? He wanted to see her…to tell her that he was okay…to let her know that he was living his life as he wanted to…
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps startled him from his reverie. He looked up, and saw his master walking quickly towards him. A moment later, he saw a girl running up behind his master, catching the necromerchant's arm not two feet away from where Apprentice was waiting.
"Hey, wait!" she exclaimed.
The necromerchant turned back to her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," she said with a smile; there was something about her tone that made Apprentice want to gag.
"That's okay," the necromerchant replied, giving her a strangely friendly smile in return.
Apprentice stepped forward and took a closer look at the girl. She wasn't pretty; her brown hair was in a ponytail that stuck out at an odd angle, and her clothes showed far too much skin. Her face was plain under unattractively heavy makeup and eyeliner, and the rest of her skin, though smooth, was so pale it was almost sickly.
Her unnaturally green eyes (which, Apprentice realized, were probably literally unnatural) widened as they turned from the necromerchant to Apprentice. "Who are you?" she asked.
"This is my apprentice," the necromerchant told her, widening his strange smile slightly. "You don't have to worry about him."
"Your apprentice, huh?" she asked, walking past the necromerchant and getting uncomfortably close to Apprentice. "What's your name, kiddo?" she asked him, giving him a nasty smile that he didn't quite know how to interpret, but which still made him nauseous.
"Just Apprentice," he said, taking a step back.
She gave a strange giggle, stepping closer to him as though not even realizing that she repulsed him. Then, incredibly, she raised her hand and touched his cheek.
Apprentice felt his face get hot, and he knew he'd turned a bright red. He pushed her away. "Don't touch me," he growled.
She laughed. "Aww, look at him," she said teasingly, walking back over to the necromerchant until they couldn't have been closer without touching; "he's so cute! Where'd you find him, Graverobber?"
Apprentice's master shrugged. "He found me," he replied; "I'm not entirely sure where he's from. Now then…" He touched the girl's arm lightly. "Was there something you wanted from me?" he asked her, looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes.
She giggled. "You really are a greedy bastard, aren't you?" she teased, meeting his gaze.
"And proud of it," he said, mirroring her nasty smile.
Apprentice wanted very much to puke. He wasn't oblivious to what was going on, and what he knew sickened him: They were flirting!
The girl rolled her eyes, still smiling teasingly, then pulled out some money. Apprentice's master pulled a vial of Zydrate out of his belt, and they traded.
"Thank you," she said with a nasty smile. She turned to Apprentice. "It was nice to meet you, kiddo," she said nastily.
"I wish I could say the same about you," Apprentice said, his attempt at not openly displaying his revulsion resulting in a toneless voice.
Out of the corner of his eye, Apprentice saw his master stiffen. The girl blinked, looking surprised and slightly hurt. Apprentice glanced at his master, and was frightened to see him giving him a wrathful glare.
The necromerchant closed his eyes and took a breath.
"Don't mind him," he said to the girl in a brittle tone of voice; "he's new. You have what you wanted. Now, would you kindly excuse us…please, my dear?" he added, clearly trying to undo the effects of Apprentice's relative rudeness.
"Oh…okay," the girl said slowly. She looked back at the necromerchant and gave him another nasty smile. "See you around, Graverobber," she said, and she walked away.
The necromerchant watched her go, then turned to his apprentice, who realized a second too late that he was in trouble. Before he could do more than blink, Apprentice found himself slammed hard against the wall of the alley, his master gripping him uncomfortably tightly by the throat.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" his master snarled furiously. "Why in the hell did you say that to her?"
"Well, she was disgusting!" Apprentice choked in reply.
"News flash, kid," his master spat: "They're all like that! That one was actually relatively attractive!"
"You can't have actually liked her!" Apprentice exclaimed, struggling slightly to remain conscious; he'd hit his head against the wall in the same spot as he'd hit it on the ground the previous evening, and the pain was blinding.
"Of course not!" his master snapped. "They repulse me, each and every one of them! But I can't let them know that, because that's how this job works! Rule number two of the business: Never antagonize the customer! Ever! You got that, kid?"
"Oh, come on, how could I have known that?" Apprentice cried. "You didn't tell me!"
"You could have followed my lead, if you'd had any sense!" his master snarled, tightening his grip on his apprentice's throat.
"I'm sorry!" Apprentice gasped, fearful for his life. "It won't happen again, I promise!"
"It better not," his master growled, and he released his grip without warning.
Apprentice stumbled, unable to land on his feet properly due to the pain in his abused head.
"Slow reflexes," his master observed icily; "that's not good. You'll have to be quicker than that."
Apprentice let out a cry of frustration. "I'm weak, I'm slow, my senses aren't strong enough, I'm naive, I follow a stupid religion, I sleep too heavily, I can't read your fucking mind, and now my reflexes are poor! Is there anything about me you don't hate?" he demanded of the necromerchant.
His master lifted one eyebrow at him coolly. "There is one thing," he replied; "just one: your determination. That, I admire. Given everything else about you, though, it's hardly worth shit."
"I will become a necromerchant," Apprentice said in a low, firm voice. "I will."
"Well, one thing's for sure," his master said mockingly; "either you will, or you'll die trying."
"I plan to go on living," Apprentice retorted.
"Then smarten up," his master spat. "You're lucky she thought you were cute until the end there, or I would have punished you severely."
"You've hit my head - hard! - in the same place twice, and you choked me!" Apprentice exclaimed. "That's not punishment?"
"Oh, trust me," his master said darkly; "I could easily have done much worse."
Apprentice gulped; he suddenly remembered just how strong his master was, and there was no doubt that a full-blown beating from him would be excruciating, even dangerous.
"Now," his master said dangerously, "if you're done whining, I have a business to run."
Apprentice swallowed again. "Yes, Master," he said.
The necromerchant turned and started walking to another daytime dealing spot. Apprentice followed him, still slightly in shock.
~X~
The day proceeded, and Apprentice discovered that his master was right: All junkies were as gross as the first, if not more so. It almost seemed like a rule. It crossed Apprentice's mind that it was slightly ironic that people so addicted to trying to surgically perfect their bodies would all turn out to be so ugly. He tried to suppress his revulsion at them and their overly sexual behavior as best as he could, and his master seemed satisfied enough with his attempts to not hurt him again, but it seemed to Apprentice like it was a losing battle. Once or twice, there was a male junkie, and mercifully, they didn't flirt with Apprentice's master like the women always did; however, there was still something off about them that made the hairs on the back of Apprentice's neck stand up, though he couldn't quite place it.
Towards the end of the day, one especially twitchy woman with short, curly black hair, tan skin, and hazel eyes came after Apprentice's master down the alley, then started raving.
"I can't take it anymore!" she exclaimed. "Please, I need a hit now!"
"Pay up, and I'll give you one," Apprentice's master told her coolly.
The woman shook her head wildly. "No, it can't wait!" she wailed. "It hurts too much! I can't…I can't…!"
The necromerchant pulled out a vial of Zydrate and held it up to her. "Do you want this or not?" he asked her unpityingly.
"Yes!" the woman gasped, and she grabbed for it, but Apprentice's master pulled it out of her reach.
"Then pay me," he said coldly.
This was not at all how any of the other transactions of the day had gone, and Apprentice was confused.
"Master?" he said questioningly.
"Not now, kid," his master shot at him.
"Please!" the woman sobbed, apparently oblivious to Apprentice's presence. "Please, just give it to me! I'll pay you when it stops hurting!"
"If you want the pain to stop, you'll have to pay me first," the necromerchant stated. "Arguing about it will only prolong your suffering, so pay up now."
The woman whimpered, then struggled to open her purse. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold it open. She seemed utterly helpless. Unable to bear the sight, Apprentice stepped forward to help her. When his master didn't stop him, he gently eased the woman's purse out of her hands and looked through it for the money - his master had told him the cost earlier that day, so he took only what was needed and not a bit more, then handed her purse back to her as gently as he had taken it.
He gave the money to his master. His master took it, then gave the vial to the woman. The woman took hold of it with shaking hands…and dropped it.
Quick as a flash, the necromerchant caught the little glass vial before it shattered on the ground, glaring at her.
"I'm sorry!" she whimpered, reaching for it again.
The necromerchant rolled his eyes. "Oh, here," he said exasperatedly, and he pulled out a gun. Before Apprentice could flinch, his master snapped the vial into place on the device, pressed the head of the gun against the woman's bare arm, and pulled the trigger.
Her eyes rolled back in her head. "Ohh," she groaned, and she collapsed to the ground. Alarmed, Apprentice stepped forward to catch her, but his master caught his arm.
"She'll be fine," he told him, putting the gun away. "Come on, kid, let's go."
"We're just going to leave her here?" Apprentice asked.
His master was already walking away from the woman on the ground. "She'll be fine," he repeated.
Apprentice hurried after his master, but still argued. "It's not right to just leave her on the ground like that," he said.
"She's not our problem, kid," his master told him; "not now that the deal's done. She'll be okay. Once the counter-shock wears off, she'll be able to get herself home, or wherever it is she wants to go."
"Counter-shock?" Apprentice asked.
"She was off Zydrate for too long," the necromerchant explained; "she tried to get clean. Unfortunately, she did it wrong. Not many people know how to do it, so I had a feeling she'd come crawling back sooner or later. When you try to just take yourself off it the way she did, the pain it was originally used to negate returns, then gets magnified. You saw the way she was shaking? The pain spreads until you take Zydrate again; I'm told it's like being boiled in acid. When you take Zydrate again, the pain vanishes instantly; unfortunately, by then, your body's also sort of used to excruciating pain, so when it's suddenly gone, your body goes into a type of shock. It wears off quickly."
"That's awful," Apprentice said softly.
His master shrugged. "It's not our problem," he stated coldly.
"What's the right way to get clean?" Apprentice asked, curious.
His master just shrugged again. "Don't know, don't care," he said; "again, it's not our problem. People don't do it, so we don't go out of business."
Apprentice caught his master's arm, stopping him. "Are you really this heartless?" he demanded.
His master raised an eyebrow at him coolly. "Do you really care about these people?" he asked in reply.
"They're human beings Rotti poisoned," Apprentice said; "sure, they're gross, but that's not really their fault. If they want to break free…"
"It's not our problem," the necromerchant stated firmly. "They don't have to come to us; but they do, and it's how we make a living. That's just how it is." And with that, he pulled out of Apprentice's grip and kept walking. After a moment, Apprentice hurried after him.
"Why didn't you just give her the Zydrate, though?" he asked. "I mean, she was so desperate…would it really have been so wrong to give her the stuff before she paid?"
His master stopped again and turned to him with a wicked smile. "I'm very glad you asked, Apprentice," he said. "Rule number three of our business: Never give the customer Zydrate without being paid first." He tilted his head. "I must say, I didn't think you'd learn that rule this way," he mused; "I expected you to learn it with number four, since they go…hand-in-hand." He laughed nastily.
"What's number four?" asked Apprentice, getting the feeling that he very much did not want to know.
"Oh, you'll see," his master said nastily. "Rule number four is fun."
"I'll just bet," Apprentice muttered as they started walking again.
There was silence between them for a minute.
"Hey, what was that thing, anyway?" Apprentice asked. "That thing you used on her?"
His master raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a Zydrate gun," he replied; "wasn't that obvious?"
Apprentice blushed but said nothing.
~X~
Apprentice attended the Z gathering with his master that night. As it turned out, a "Z gathering" was simply a gathering of all the local junkies, to all deal with Apprentice's master at the same time, in a given place. Apprentice recognized most of the attendants, and even apologized to the girl he'd been relatively rude to before (though his apology was completely insincere).
In a herd, the women were all but unbearable. Apprentice realized that his master hadn't been kidding the previous night when he'd said that they would tear him apart - it was all he could do not to get buried under a swarm of them, though why they seemed so intent on flirting outrageously with him was beyond his understanding, since he wasn't the one who dealt the Zydrate. It almost seemed like it was a game to them. Apprentice was very glad when the Z gathering ended.
Afterwards, he went out raiding graves with his master again, and again, he was the one to dig. His muscles protested strongly against the abuse, and he actually collapsed halfway through the second hole, shaking, physically unable to go on.
Needless to say, his master was unimpressed. Instead of pushing him to keep digging, however, he picked him up and quickly carried him somewhere out of the range of where the guards searched, then went back and finished the raid on his own.
Right before he was left behind, Apprentice thought he heard his master say something like, "Don't die on me, kid." Of course, it could easily have been his imagination, or even just wishful thinking…
Then he passed out.
~X~
When Apprentice woke up, it was pitch black. He started to sit up, but firm hands pressed down on his shoulders before he rose even a couple of inches.
"Whoa, whoa, careful, kid!" he heard his master say quickly. "You'll hurt yourself."
Apprentice struggled mindlessly for a minute, then realized that he was in a dumpster again…which meant that, if he sat up, he'd hit his head. He stilled.
His master released him and moved back. "So," he said, "you done dying on me?"
"How long have I been out of it?" Apprentice asked.
"A few hours," his master replied. "I finished raiding about an hour ago." He sighed. "You nearly worked yourself to death," he said. His tone was indecipherable, and of course, Apprentice couldn't see his expression.
"I told you I'd work hard," Apprentice said.
"That you did," his master agreed. "I guess I didn't believe you meant it quite so much. You really are a determined kid."
"Did you have any doubts?" Apprentice asked.
"I did," his master admitted. "It seems, however, that the hard work isn't going to be your greatest obstacle." A nasty chuckle echoed in the metal bin as he added, "In fact, I'm getting the feeling that your greatest test is going to be…ironic."
"What do you mean?" Apprentice asked, getting a bad feeling.
"Oh, you'll find out tomorrow," his master said wickedly. "I actually thought you'd find out today, but it seems fate has decided, against my wishes, that you will be eased into this. Two days in a row, however, is unheard of to the point of being impossible. You'll find out tomorrow, mark my words."
Apprentice swallowed, but didn't know what to say.
There was silence for a minute. Then, Apprentice heard his master move.
"How many fingers am I holding up, kid?" he asked.
Apprentice tried to see in the dark, without success. "I don't know," he replied.
His master sighed.
"Give me time," Apprentice said. "I can't train myself to do these things in just a single day. I need to work at it. I will work at it."
"Well, you've certainly proved that you mean it when you say that," his master commented. "Now, get back to sleep, kid. Your true test will come tomorrow, and you're going to need your rest."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, not knowing just how bad his true test was going to be.
~X~
The next morning, his master quizzed him as he had the previous morning.
What was his name? Apprentice.
Did he remember his old name? Yes.
How many junkies had come calling the previous night? He didn't know.
What did he know about being a necromerchant? Apprentice recited everything he knew, adding the second and third rules, the true nature of Zydrate addiction, and the almost innate nastiness of junkies to the previous day's list. At this, his master looked pleased, if not impressed.
"Come on, kid," he said when Apprentice was done; "let's go."
Apprentice followed his master, and the routine of the previous day resumed…until that afternoon.
~X~
It was about half past noon when she dealt with his master.
A blond girl, again not even slightly pretty, and in the typically slutty clothes, completed the ritual of contacting the necromerchant, but after a couple of nauseatingly flirtatious sentences were exchanged, she said, "I'm sorry, but…I don't think I have any money with me."
Apprentice's master sighed with mock exasperation. "Again with this?" he said, his evil smile widening for some reason. "This is getting to be a pattern with you. I may have to start refusing to do business with you."
"Can't I just pay later?" she asked, her teasing tone making it clear that she knew the answer.
"I don't take IOUs - you know that," Apprentice's master said.
"Well then," she said, a nasty grin crossing her face, "is there some other way I can pay you?" She traced a finger down the necromerchant's jaw line.
The necromerchant sighed again. "Oh, very well," he said, again with mock exasperation, taking off his pack and dropping it on the ground; "if you must. This is happening a bit too often, though."
"Come on, Graverobber, you know you like it," she teased as he took off his gloves and pocketed them.
"I never said I didn't," he replied nastily.
Apprentice's mind had been slow to comprehend what they were talking about, but at that point he could deny it no longer; it clicked, and he fully understood what was happening.
He cleared his throat. "Er, Master," he said, taking a step back, "I'll just go…"
"No, no, Apprentice," his master told him with a truly evil grin as he shrugged off his coat; "stay. You'll learn a thing or two." He turned to the girl. "You don't mind, do you, sweetheart?" he asked her wickedly, running a hand down her bare arm.
"Not at all," she replied breathily, reaching down and undoing his belt and pants; "let's give your boy a show."
"I'm for that," the necromerchant said roughly, pulling the girl against him.
Apprentice very much did not want to see this. There was nothing he wouldn't rather do, and nowhere he wouldn't rather be. He remembered what his master had told him his first night, though: "Sometimes, it may seem more like I'm making a suggestion than giving you an order, but if I tell you to do something, you do it."
So Apprentice watched as his master took the girl to the ground, pulled aside her scraps of clothing, and started violently rutting on her.
Minutes passed. With each excruciating second, Apprentice had to battle his gag reflex. It was disgusting. The very concept of sex was repugnant to Apprentice, and had been for years; he had trained himself to reject Rotti's preachings, and one of the things Rotti preached was that sex was the meaning of life. Ultimately, that was why Apprentice had become a Christian: According to Christianity, sex was original sin. Between a married man and woman, with the purpose of producing a child, sex was, if nothing else, forgivable; doing it like this, however - as payment for drugs - was sick and gross and so, so wrong.
Apprentice sank to his knees, warring with himself, fearful of what his master would do to him if he failed to suppress his urge to puke; this, he knew, was the 'true test' his master had spoken of, and he refused to fail it.
Moments later, however, something interesting happened: the girl's groans gave way to whimpers, and the necromerchant paused, then reached to his side, pulled out a vial of Zydrate, and held it up to the girl's face.
Fascinated, if no less repulsed, Apprentice watched as the girl's eyes caught on the vial and held. She raised a hand to grab it, but the necromerchant pulled it just out of her reach. He said something that sounded like "Hold still," and she did. In seconds, she completely stopped moving, and even her breathing softened and evened out; she seemed completely oblivious to what was happening to her as the necromerchant resumed, and apparently didn't even notice when he finished - her attention was entirely focused on the little glass vial of glowing blue liquid.
When he was done, the necromerchant rolled off her and handed her the vial. She took it, smiled at him, stood up, and walked away without another word. The necromerchant stayed on the ground where he was for a moment, catching his breath, then sat up and did his pants back up. Finally, he turned around to look at his apprentice.
He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Are you okay, kid?" he asked, amused.
Apprentice imagined how he must look: on his knees, shaking with the effort of suppressing the urge to throw up…his skin was probably pale green.
He shakily forced himself to his feet. "Do you…?" he choked. "Do you…have to do that…often?"
His master smiled. "All the time," he crooned.
Then, he said the words Apprentice had been dreading:
"It's part of the job."
Apprentice stumbled back. "No," he said, horrified.
"Yes," his master said with relish, grinning like a demon. "Rule number four of our business: The customer is the one who chooses the form of payment. If a customer offers alternative payment, we have to accept."
"Alternative payment?" Apprentice repeated, completely appalled.
"That's what it's called," his master said, still grinning wickedly.
Apprentice shook his head slowly, manically. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no-"
"Yes," his master said, cutting him off. He stood up. "Is it really that bad?" he taunted, sneering.
"I won't do it," Apprentice stated. "I will never do that. Ever."
"You don't have a choice, kid," his master told him. "Besides…" He sneered again. "I thought you said you would do whatever it takes?"
"I wanted to become a necromerchant because I thought it meant being a rebel, not a slut!" Apprentice shouted.
"Not slut," his master corrected; "Z whore."
"Slut, whore, what's the difference?" Apprentice retorted.
"The difference is, whores get paid - sluts just get laid," his master replied.
Apprentice shook his head again, disgusted by the gross rhyme.
"Not my words," his master added, seeing this, "but I really couldn't put it better myself. It may be true that, in this case, the sex is the payment, but payment is payment."
"Pretty useful payment!" Apprentice snapped sarcastically. "What's the point?"
The necromerchant shook his head, still smiling. "Kid, I didn't make the rules, I just follow them," he said; "and the 'point' is to have fun."
Apprentice shook his head again, utterly repulsed.
His master laughed. "Come on, kid," he said; "were you like this the first time you fucked?"
"I've never had a first time," Apprentice replied in a low voice. "I'm a virgin."
The necromerchant blinked, his smile vanishing. "You're a what, now?" he exclaimed.
"I'm a virgin," Apprentice repeated, "and proud of it!"
It was his master's turn to shake his head. "First Christianity, now virginity," he growled. "Kid, where the fuck have you been your whole life?"
"Either at my father's grave, alone, saying prayers, or at home, with my mother, reading a bible, in both places hating Rotti and renouncing everything he preached," Apprentice replied.
His master blinked. "Oh," he said.
"And it's funny you should mention my religion," Apprentice went on. "You remember how you said it didn't matter why I became a Christian? Well, you were wrong. I became a Christian because according to Christianity, sex is original sin - the ultimate shame." He crossed his arms. "Rotti preaches that sex is the meaning of life, and I renounce him and everything he says. I will not live my life his way. Sex is disgusting and shameful, and I never want to do it. I intend to live and die a virgin-"
"Die?" his master repeated. "Kid, who the fuck wants to die a virgin?"
"I do," Apprentice said firmly.
His master's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that?" he asked dangerously.
Apprentice fell silent.
"You can't be a grave-robber without being a Z whore, kid," his master told him; "if you can't fuck, you can't do this job…and you know what that means."
Death.
There was silence between them for a minute. Apprentice's mind was racing. The fact was, he didn't know if he even could fuck - he'd trained himself to be utterly repulsed at the very idea, and he hadn't felt sexual arousal since his first few weeks of puberty; he didn't even remember what it was like, nor did he want to. But if that was the only way he could become a necromerchant…would it be worth it? Was anything worth…that?
His master had already pulled his coat and pack back on and was walking away when he made up his mind and spoke.
"What if I don't care?" he challenged.
His master stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned back to him. "What was that?" he asked coldly.
Apprentice stood up straight. "What if I don't care?" he repeated. "What if I'm not willing to do that to become a necromerchant? What if I would rather die than fuck?"
The necromerchant turned around fully and took a step toward his apprentice. "Would you?" he asked dangerously.
Apprentice swallowed. "To be honest, I don't know if I could fuck even if I did want to," he told him. "And I don't want to."
"Do you want to live or not?" his master asked him softly. "It's fuck or die, kid - what do you choose?"
"I…don't even know if I can choose the former," Apprentice said, "and…I don't want to have to find out."
"Is that your choice?" his master repeated, a dangerous glint in his eyes, as he took another step towards him.
Apprentice swallowed…then nodded.
The necromerchant sighed heavily. "Damn it, kid," he muttered; "and here I was starting to become fond of you."
Apprentice blinked at the unexpected words. A split second later, his master grabbed and lifted him by the throat with both hands and slammed him against the wall of the alley. The necromerchant pressed the crooks between his thumbs and first fingers against Apprentice's throat in such a way that, aided by gravity and Apprentice's own weight, Apprentice's airway was completely cut off - he was essentially being hung.
Apprentice struggled involuntarily - he knew his master was far too strong to fight off. He couldn't take in even the tiniest bubble of air. He looked in his master's eyes, and realized two things: one, his master was killing him slowly to give him a chance to change his mind; and two, if he didn't change his mind, his master would kill him, fully, without a second thought - this was no bluff.
A minute later, Apprentice realized a third thing: He didn't want to die.
If I die, he thought, then my whole life has been for nothing…all the years I spent praying, vowing to become a rebel, determined to live my life spiting Rotti and GeneCo…for nothing. Rotti will win. And my father…will have died for nothing.
"Stop!" he mouthed.
His master shifted his grip on his throat, allowing a narrow passage in Apprentice's windpipe to open. "What was that, kid?" he asked.
"I…said…stop!" Apprentice choked, trying to suck in as much air as he could.
"Change your mind?" his master asked.
"Y…Yes!" Apprentice gasped. "Please…I don't…want…to die…Please…!"
"If I let you go, and you try to run, I won't bother strangling you again," his master warned him; "I'll just snap your neck, clean and simple. Understand?"
"Yes…Master!" Apprentice struggled to reply. "Please…!"
His master held him up for another second, then suddenly let go. Apprentice fell heavily to the ground, coughing and choking, gasping for air.
"That was a close call, kid," the necromerchant said dryly, looking down at his apprentice with no remorse or pity whatsoever.
It was a minute before Apprentice could speak.
"You really…would have…killed me," he panted; "wouldn't…you?"
"Did you have any doubts?" his master asked, raising an eyebrow coolly.
"I wasn't…sure," Apprentice admitted.
His master laughed coldly. "Thought you were calling my bluff, were you, kid?" he asked mockingly. "Something you should know about me: I don't bluff…and I will do whatever I have to to survive."
"I…know," Apprentice gasped, rubbing his throat.
"Can you get up?" his master asked him unfeelingly.
"Yes," Apprentice said, struggling to his feet.
His master raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not what I meant," he said.
Apprentice blinked…then blushed as he realized the implied meaning of his master's words. "Oh," he said. "I…I don't know."
"You don't know…" his master repeated slowly.
"Look, just give me some time, okay?" Apprentice begged. "I spent eight years training myself to think and feel a certain way - it's going to take me a while to retrain myself. I will, though! I'll work at it as hard as I can! I promise!"
"Well, I know to believe you when you make that particular promise," his master commented. "How long do you think it'll take? You'll have to tell me, because I can tell you this: you're not completing your training as a virgin."
"I don't know," Apprentice said. "I…I'll speak up when I…when I can…"
His master laughed cruelly. "When you can fuck?" he asked.
Apprentice blushed again and nodded.
His master chuckled. "You really are one-of-a-kind, kid, I'll give you that," he said. "Now come on; I have a business to run." He turned and started walking away again.
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he followed.
Suddenly, he thought of something.
"Hey," he said to his master, "why did you hold out that vial to her halfway through?"
His master chuckled again, probably at Apprentice's hesitance to fully vocalize his meaning. "Kid, junkies want one thing and one thing only: Zydrate…and they will do whatever it takes to get it," he told Apprentice. "They'll let you fuck them, but it's the rare junkie who'll last until you're done before she realizes that sex isn't what she really wants. I guarantee you'll have to do this, if you get that far: you have to remind them what they're getting, or they may not let you finish."
"She seemed like she didn't even notice what you were doing, once you were holding Zydrate in her face," Apprentice said.
"Again, she only wanted one thing," his master said. "That's how it works. It always happens that way."
"Oh," Apprentice said, and he didn't say another word on the subject.
Of course, there was no way Apprentice could have predicted that, when he eventually did become a necromerchant, he would end up dealing with a junkie who would break all the rules. He couldn't predict that he would actually, genuinely desire her; nor that she would be the richest bitch in the world, able to afford to pester him constantly but only pay him in money; nor that she would, for years; nor that, when she finally gave him alternative payment, it would be only after he'd found a reason to believe in humanity again, and therefore no longer as resigned to his fate as a necromerchant; nor that he would end up using the Zydrate trick on her, not to make her forget that she wasn't enjoying it, but to make her forget that she was - or, for that matter, that it would be an attempt, not to get it over with faster, but to prolong the event; nor that the Zydrate trick wouldn't work on her anyway…
No. There was no way anyone could ever have predicted any of that.