Prince of Tricks Read online

  He’d only been inside for an hour, but when Belphagor hit the street again, Raqia was bustling despite the cold. The news of the planned action at Council Square was out; the pamphlets had been distributed. Those who could read were passing the information along to those who couldn’t amid cynical speculation as to what difference it could possibly make and dire predictions that something terrible would happen. Even a conspiracy theory was already afloat that the supernal army had orchestrated the event merely to get the demons all packed into one place and slaughter them. It was eerily close to the truth. If the principality were assassinated and a demon blamed for it, the bricks of Council Square would run red with demon blood before the next dawn.

  Belphagor did his best to stoke the flames of that particular theory’s advancement among the general populace even as he was circulating more practical information among those who were in his debt in one way or another. By noon, he’d made as many connections as he could, passing the word that any demon who owed him something should assemble in the private meeting room at The Brimstone in an hour.

  He arrived back at the den just as Oza was getting off duty. What the bartender owed him, in exchange for information Belphagor had kept quiet, was the private meeting room itself, no questions asked. Oza opened the room and bid him good afternoon, wanting to know nothing more about the purpose of Belphagor’s gathering.

  The number of demons who quietly made their way from the gaming tables into the private room over the next half hour was heartening. There was something to be said for beating the pants off half the demons in Raqia—whether figuratively or literally.

  The five who’d gone with him and the ladies from The Cat to Duke Elyon’s villa were among the first to arrive, curious what he might have in mind after the pleasant evening they’d apparently spent.

  “If you want us to bed more whores for you for free,” said one, “we’re all for it.”

  Belphagor cut the laughter short. “If you’d been paying attention to the whores I sent you with, they wouldn’t have been walking home alone to be jumped and beaten by angels in the street, and they’d both be happily back at work at The Cat right now instead of one recuperating in private and worrying about the other who’s been abducted.”

  The room went silent.

  Belphagor glanced around at the guilty-looking faces of the five. “Anyone have any information about that?”

  Paimon, one of the more trustworthy, spoke up sheepishly. “I’m afraid we all must have been out cold by then. The duke was serving some rather fancy liquor, and I guess it went to our heads. Don’t remember a thing until some angelic servant gave us the boot this morning.”

  Belphagor looked at the others. “You all passed out? At the same time?”

  “Do you suppose the duke had us spelled?” asked Paimon.

  “Or just drugged,” said Belphagor. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. Sefira, the one who’s missing, told her sister she’d overheard something troubling and wanted to leave right away. I think whoever abducted her didn’t want her to tell anyone about it, and it seems they’d already taken measures to ensure no one else heard about it either. It so happens, however, that I managed to obtain the information myself this morning. Or information I believe is part of it.” He paused and closed the door. “You’ve all heard already about the action planned at Council Square tonight. What you don’t know is that Duke Elyon and a secret society of angelic officers are behind the action and they intend to use it to overthrow the current government. They also intend to use my Vasily to do it.”

  “Your Vasily?” A paunchy demon who looked like he’d rather be at the bar gave him a quizzical look. “You mean that young firespirit rent boy who’s always on your heels?”

  Belphagor took a menacing step toward him. “Do you have some objection to my choice of companion?”

  The demon reddened. “None of my business, I’m sure.”

  “If anyone else has a problem with my relationship, you may as well leave now. I assure you, however, that we will be settling accounts.” He glanced around, noting a few pairs of eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his, but no one moved. “No? All right, then. Elyon’s group will be stirring up the demons in the square—perhaps disguised as demons, so trust no one who is not in this room with us now—during which time they plan to assassinate the principality and blame it on the Fallen. My understanding is that Vasily, specifically, is to be their scapegoat. What I want each of you to do is be ready when Vasily shows up. I believe you’re all familiar with what he looks like?”

  “Trouble,” muttered one of them, followed by a nervous ripple of laughter through the room.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Belphagor drily. “When Vasily arrives, he may be drugged, or perhaps bespelled in some way. He is likely to be accompanied by Elyon’s men and closely guarded. Your job is to see that he doesn’t get near the principality—that no demon gets near enough to assassinate the principality, as counter as that may be to your own instincts—and that no harm comes to Vasily in the process. I’ll be disguised as a supernal officer, and I’ll need a few of you to assist me in distracting whomever Vasily’s with so I can get him safely away.”

  “And what do we get in exchange?” asked Paimon.

  Belphagor smiled. “You mean, besides the satisfaction of serving your principality?” He paused for the cursing and guffaws. “Absolution of any debt you owe me. In full. Whether that debt is monetary or something less tangible. But that is only if Vasily gets away safely and the principality is also unharmed. I don’t think anyone needs me to explain the consequences to all of the Fallen should any of us end up being used as the supernal opposition’s scapegoat.”

  “And how will you know we’ve actually participated in this venture?” someone else asked. “You’re just going to absolve everyone’s debt without question?”

  “I’m going to assign each of you one demon to pass information to. I will find mine before Vasily and I leave the square and give him a word. I will then ask each of you later what that word is. If you are there at the square close enough to receive the word, it will be clear to me that you’ve fulfilled our agreement. If you give me the word but failed to pass it on to your assigned demon, I will assume that you and you alone betrayed me, and everyone below you in the chain of contact will be absolved. Trust me—that is not a position you want to be in.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” the demon objected. “What if my assigned demon is the one who wasn’t there?”

  “Then I suppose it would behoove you to make sure that he is.”

  With less than four hours until dusk, what remained was for Belphagor to see what he could find out about Sefira.

  Vasily jumped up and pressed his back against the wall beside the door when he heard the key in the lock, ready to leap on whoever was on the other side, but when he sprang forward as the door swung open, he was met by a jolt of pain. The Cherub had moved as fast as lightning and struck him in the chest with an outstretched wing. It stung like nothing he’d ever experienced and took the wind completely from him, knocking him to the ground.

  A pair of boots appeared before him on the floor as it seemed to reel beneath his cheek. “It’s best not to provoke a Cherub.” Duke Elyon was the owner of the boots. “They can be rather unpredictable.” The angel paused, and one of the boots turned toward the opposite wall as if he’d pivoted to look at something. “I see our pretty whore isn’t doing so well.”

  “Needs a doctor,” Vasily managed between his teeth, though his head was vibrating like an iron post struck by a broadsword.

  “I thought you might feel some concern for her after she popped your cherry. A performance which, I must reiterate, the rest of us enjoyed a great deal.”

  Vasily let out a low snarling growl between clenched teeth, in part because he was too furious for words, but more so because he could barely form any.

  “I’d be happy to get her the medical attention she needs, but I need you to do so
mething for me in exchange.”

  Vasily clenched his fists against the floor. “What?”

  “Accompany a few friends of mine outside to the square when the principality arrives to address our little gathering.”

  “What square? What gathering?”

  “We’re presently inside the Conciliary on Council Square. This evening, a few thousand officers of the Supernal Army and a few thousand demons will assemble to protest the ascendancy of Principality Helison to the throne of Heaven. After we’ve publicly refused to swear allegiance, the principality himself will feel compelled to make an appearance to quell the rebellion. And that is when I need you, dear boy.”

  It irked him to hear the words that ought to be Belphagor’s on Elyon’s tongue. Vasily gripped the wall beside him and managed to pull himself up. “I’m not killing anyone for you.”

  “Who said anything about killing anyone?”

  “You did. You said I’d assassinate the principality. And Sefira told me you wanted to make it look like I’d killed her too.”

  “Sefira has clearly suffered a blow to the head. It must have confused her. As for what I said, it was that you’d be famous for it, not that you’d do it. I would never leave a detail like that to a demon.”

  “So what the hell do you want me to do?”

  “Merely to stand about and look menacing.”

  “And take the fall for the assassination someone else will carry out.”

  Elyon flashed his handsome angelic smile, though it was marred somewhat by his bruised and swollen nose. “Something like that. In return, I’ll see to it that Sefira here is well taken care of.”

  “How about you bring her a doctor and take care of her first. Then I’ll see about doing you any favors.”

  Elyon frowned and gave a nod to the Cherub in the doorway. “Arzal.”

  The Cherub crossed to where Sefira lay motionless on the stone and lifted her, eliciting an unconscious moan.

  “Snap her neck,” said Elyon.

  “No!” Vasily tried to scramble up, making it as far as his knees. “Please!”

  Arzal paused and looked to Elyon with his eagle aspect.

  The duke sighed. “A typical demon who responds only to threats. So be it. Forget the fair bargain I offered you. You’ll do as I bid you, firespirit, or the whore dies.”

  Where his gift of influence failed, liquor and bribery took up the slack. Belphagor had ingested the “angelic bastard” glamour once more and donned the stolen officer’s uniform before heading to the Left Bank to see what he could learn. No one, it seemed, had witnessed the attack on the demonesses, but when Belphagor claimed he had, he began to get results.

  A few angelic Academy dropouts who’d been partying at the villa recalled seeing Sefira return without her sister—voluntarily, they claimed to believe, but in the company of Elyon’s most trusted companions. It had struck them as odd, not only for the lack of Tabris, who had apparently never been absent from her side at any gathering of the duke’s, but because the angelic companions had not been smiling. No one spent any amount of time around Sefira without either anticipating enjoying himself immensely or just having done so.

  Belphagor managed to get the names of Elyon’s companions by boasting of being in the inner circle and dropping random names over drink. His drinking mates were eager to correct him to prove through their own knowledge of the inner circle that he wasn’t part of it.

  Armed with the names, he moved on to the Left Bank equivalent of gaming houses and played backgammon with a group of artists and musicians. He dropped the story that he’d been commissioned to paint the duke with his three companions, but hadn’t been paid. The outrage was immediate, and in solidarity, the painters in the group, after a few more drinks supplied by Belphagor, agreed to help him sneak into the villa to steal back his painting.

  It was little more than an hour until sundown by the time he’d gained access to the companions’ quarters and left his new friends to create a diversion on his behalf while he searched the rooms. He came up empty, not really surprised; it would have been a piece of luck to have simply found Sefira tied to a chair, waiting to be rescued. But when one of the angels surprised him, walking in on him as he opened a rather large closet, he found this particular angel to be of the ideal nature for working influence upon—probably the same reason he’d become one of the duke’s companions in the first place, being both extremely suggestible and susceptible to a dominant personality.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the angel demanded.

  “You must be Haglon,” Belphagor tossed back, taking a chance on one of the names. “Do you have any idea how you’ve messed this thing up?”

  “You have the wrong person,” the angel replied defensively. “I’m Praxil.”

  “Yes, well your name certainly won’t make the duke happy right now either. And I suppose Haglon and Ormas have left you to take the blame for this fuck-up with the whore.”

  “What in Heaven’s name are you talking about? I did exactly what Elyon asked. He seemed perfectly pleased when we delivered the demoness to him this morning.”

  “And was she breathing at the time?”

  “Well, of course she was. Elyon said he wanted her alive.” The angel narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘at the time’? Isn’t she now?”

  Belphagor folded his arms and didn’t answer, hoping his grim expression would be interpreted in whatever way would get him the most information.

  “Shit. Look, I told Haglon to be careful, but would he listen to me? He never listens to anyone when Elyon’s not there to rein him in. She tried to run for it when we were getting her out of the back of the cart, and he belted her. All he had to do was grab her, the idiot. With her hands tied, she lost her balance and hit the flagstone.” Flagstone. There wasn’t any flagstone at the villa, or in this part of Elysium at all, so far as Belphagor had seen. The only flagstone he knew of was at Palace Square. And the nearby Council Square. “I thought he’d killed her then and there,” said Praxil, shaking his head. “But she came to after he slapped her cheeks a bit, and she seemed okay.” The rattled angel ran his fingers through his hair, clutching it anxiously. “Does Elyon know yet?”

  “No, and I suppose we should keep it that way as long as possible. He’ll have all our heads if his plan is botched.”

  The angel narrowed his eyes again. “Who did you say you were?”

  “I didn’t. Semyon Xomoyovich. I just arrived from Zevul this morning. Elyon told me to keep an eye on the demoness until things were ready to move forward.”

  “An eye on her? Isn’t that Cherub Arzal taking care of the demons? He’s supposed to make sure the firespirit does his job. Why else would Elyon want the whore?”

  Belphagor’s concentration was momentarily rattled by the mention of Vasily. “The firespirit? What does he have to do with her?”

  Praxil had finally become suspicious. “You seem to be missing a fair amount of critical information. And for someone who just arrived this morning, the duke seems to have placed a great deal of trust in you. Exactly when did the Academy start accepting half-breeds anyway?”

  Belphagor shrugged. “I never said I was at the Academy. I was one of Elyon’s kept boys.”

  “Bullshit. I’d have seen you about. Who the hell are you?”

  Belphagor started for the door, recognizing that he’d worn out his influence with this one, but the angel caught his jacket sleeve as he tried to pass.

  “Not so fast. I’m taking you straight to Elyon to explain yourself.”

  “Fine. While you’re at it, you want to tell him how the whore ended up dead? It’s your funeral.”

  “How do I know you’re even telling me the truth about that?” It had certainly taken him long enough to have this genius thought. The angel smirked as if he were clever. “Why don’t we just go take a look for ourselves?”

  Belphagor had to fight the urge to laugh aloud. “That’s exactly why I headed back here, to find one of you to
take a look before I had to tell Elyon. I sure as hell don’t want to be the messenger who gets shot.”

  The angel looked baffled, and Belphagor realized he’d mixed his metaphors with his spheres. Gunpowder was strictly of the world of Man—as was the saying. One could be shot by an arrow in Heaven, of course, but beheading would be the more efficient means of dispatching the bearer of bad news.

  He kept his mouth shut as they headed up Palace Avenue. He’d been running out of time anyway. If they’d stayed a minute longer at the villa, the protest at the square would have been in full swing by the time they arrived. As it was, dusk was upon them before they drew near. Belphagor had hoped his luck would continue to hold and his angel escort might take him straight to where Vasily and Sefira were being confined, but there was no chance of it now. The square had begun to fill with demons who’d gotten the word.

  “You got lucky,” the angel grumbled as they headed into the crowd. Not lucky enough.

  He tried to stay close to Praxil, but the scene was fast becoming chaotic and he lost him before long. The last he’d seen, the angel had been heading for the platform someone had erected in advance in front of the Conciliary, from which demons were currently taking to the podium, enumerating the crimes of the supernacy and leading the crowd in chants of “Liberation now!” and “End the dominion of the Host!” The latter was a play on words, as the angelic Order of Dominions, Heaven’s philosophers and scholars by whom all angels were educated at Zevul’s Universities, were the angels who promulgated the doctrine of the Host’s natural rule over the Fallen. They also continued to promote the belief that the supernal House of Arkhangel’sk was destined to represent that rule as surely as Divine Right had been fostered for centuries in the world of Man.

  Belphagor made his way through the crowd toward the platform and spotted Paimon, the demon he’d designated as the first to receive word from him. Paimon nodded to him discreetly. Other officers’ uniforms had begun to appear in the crowd, and the agitating that Phaleg had warned him about was soon evident, but Belphagor saw no sign of Duke Elyon himself yet, or any other angels he recognized from the party at the villa or the afternoon at the Left Bank.