Hell’s Heroes. Darren Shan

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СКАЧАТЬ What I find more unsettling is the fact that she seems to want to please Lord Loss. Why should she care about his wishes, or dress to impress him? This is our enemy, a vile, twisted monster. Yet she’s letting him treat her like a doll.

      When Bec has dressed, Lord Loss leads her to the table and applies make-up as she sits patiently. It’s obscene, watching his mangled hands brushing across her face. I want to knock him away and slap Bec back to her senses. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was controlling her thoughts, brainwashing her to do his bidding. But I don’t get any hint of that. Bec looks nervous, but her mind appears to be her own.

      When Lord Loss is finished, he drifts back a few metres and studies her. He nods with satisfaction, as he does every time, and murmurs, “What a vision.”

      Bec blushes, unable to hide a timid smile. I’ve grown to loathe that smile. It’s wrong. This should be a place of tears and heartache, not shy smirks.

      “Come,” Lord Loss says, offering Bec an arm. “Let me show you more of my palace.”

      Bec gulps, then takes his arm and lets the demon master lead her out of the bedroom. They descend a staircase of webs. Some of Lord Loss’s familiars scurry past as the pair walk gracefully down the steps. The lesser demons scowl at Bec, but steer clear of her, afraid of angering their master. Bec knows they hate her, but she doesn’t care. She’s safe as long as she stays by her protector.

      They stroll through the castle, Lord Loss polite as a prince, the perfect host, pointing out features of special interest. Bec admires the chandeliers and statues, and coos when Lord Loss modestly admits to designing them himself.

      “You’re so creative,” she says.

      “That is kind of you, but untrue,” he replies. “They’re modelled after objects I have seen on Earth. I have a certain workmanlike skill, but no real artistic streak. Unoriginality is the curse of my kind.”

      They descend further, to a cellar deep beneath the ground. In my sleep I tense. I know what’s coming and I hate it. This is one of the worst parts of the dream. If I could skip it, I would, but it draws me on as it always does, an unwilling viewer, unable to pull back or look aside.

      We enter a chamber of torture. Savage implements of torment are strapped to the webby walls. Brands glow red in burning fires. The air is pierced by the screams of the dying. Bec flinches and her fingers tighten on Lord Loss’s arm. He pats her small hand, comforting her. She gulps, then takes a trembling step forward. Lord Loss nods approvingly and leads her on.

      I’ve never been able to count all the people in the cellar, since many are hidden behind walls or cabinets. There are at least thirty, probably a lot more to judge by the volume of shrieks and moans.

      “Do you feel sorry for them?” Lord Loss asks as Bec shudders.

      “Yes,” she whimpers.

      “Good,” he says. “Pity is a virtue. I feel sorry for them too. It’s true,” he insists as she shoots him a dubious glance. “I take pleasure from their torment, but I feel pity too. That is how I differ from my fellow demons. I don’t hate humanity. I crave their torment and sorrow, but I also adore them. I torture with love, Little One. Can you understand that?”

      “No,” she frowns.

      He sighs. “At least you are honest. I’m glad you can reveal your true feelings to me. I don’t want there to be any deception between us. Always tell me the truth, even if you think I won’t like it. Lies belittle us all.”

      Bec observes silently as Lord Loss sets to work on a few of the humans hanging from the walls or lying across hard tables. He acts like a nurse as he tortures them, every movement deceptively gentle and loving. He purrs softly, telling them how sorry he is, how he wishes he could free them, how it won’t be much longer now.

      Bec doesn’t look as if she shares the demon master’s enjoyment, but she doesn’t object either. I’ve tried to read her mind every time we get to this point, but I can’t. I’d give anything to know what’s in her thoughts. I hope she’s putting on a detached face to fool Lord Loss, to stay on his good side and trick him into thinking she doesn’t hate him. I hope this is a masterful act, that she’s plotting to betray him, waiting and praying for Kernel and me to burst in and rescue her.

      But her eyes are calm and emotionless, and when she licks her lips, it looks as if she’s fighting a desire to try what Lord Loss is doing.

      As the demon master continues to extract fresh pain from his victims, Bec casts her gaze around and my virtual head swivels too. This is the part I hate the most. I try to look away or shut my eyes, but I’m locked in. I have to see what she sees, even though it sends a chill through my bones that will still be there when I wake.

      The people chained to the walls and torture devices are a varied mix. Men and women, boys and girls, of different races. No babies — Lord Loss likes to be able to hold discussions with his victims. With a single exception, I don’t recognise any of them, though I know by his magical aura that one – a thin, blond-haired man – is a Disciple.

      Bec studies the Disciple – he’s in the worse shape of anyone, kept alive only by magic – then moves on, her gaze sweeping over a girl my age. I didn’t notice her the first few times. To Bec she’s of no more interest than any of the others. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. It was only after the fourth or fifth time, when I was concentrating on details to keep boredom at bay, that I focused on the girl’s face and got a shock that echoes even now, twenty or so viewings later.

      The girl is pretty, but her face is covered with blood and scrunched up with terror. Her clothes hang from her in filthy rags, but I’m sure they originally came from the finest designer boutiques. And although her hair is a tangled mess and her nails are long and cracked, once they were as carefully tended as a model’s.

      Apart from the blood, the girl doesn’t seem to have been tortured, but many of Lord Loss’s victims look unmarked. He patches them up and lets them recover a little when he’s done, to make it all the more painful next time. Inside, I’m sure she’s been twisted and torn in more ways than most humans could imagine.

      As Bec’s eyes dart about, I snatch the same quick glimpse of the girl that I’ve been horrified by ever since I realised who she was. Back on Earth, in a quiet hospital room, my lips move as I mutter in my sleep. “Bo Kooniart…”

      EXECUTIVE BOARD

      → Bec and Lord Loss move on eventually, up another set of stairs, to a different part of the demon master’s palace. Blood drips from his doughy flesh as he floats along, but it’s not his own. Bec is silent, head bowed, brooding.

      I’m thinking about Bo Kooniart. It seems like a lifetime since I last saw her, racing back into a demon-infested town in search of her horrible father and pain of a brother. Bo was one of the actresses in Slawter, a movie about demons made by a crazed director who decided to use real-life monsters in the name of art.

      I despised Bo. Her father, Tump Kooniart, was a powerful agent, which was the only reason she and her brother were cast in the film. He was working in league with the director and Lord Loss. He thought the Demonata would spare him and his children. He thought wrong.

      Bo was a spoilt, snobbish, sneering little brat. But when the demons ran riot and our lives hung in the balance, she acted selflessly, heroically. We might not have escaped without her help. Then, rather than follow us to freedom, she went back to try and rescue СКАЧАТЬ