Free Procession of the Dead by Darren Shan Page B

has more in mind for you than a life in the insurance business.”
    “Like what?” I frowned.
    “I don’t know. I have my suspicions but what good are they?”
    “How do you know he’s got anything planned for me?” I pressed.
    “Your name. I’ve heard things through the grapevine and the like. The Cardinal pulled an unknown off the streets for a personal meeting, then set him up under the guidance of the clever Sonja Arne. But the name would have been enough for me.”
    “What’s my name got to do with anything?” I asked, perplexed.
    “My real name,” he replied, “is Inti Maimi. I took on Y Tse Lapotaire when I fell out with The Cardinal and wanted to distance myself. Inti Maimi… Capac Raimi…”
    “They sound alike, sure, but—”
    “It’s more than that,” he said. “Do you know anything about the Incas?”
    I paused. I’d heard somebody else name-drop them lately. “The Cardinal,” I said aloud, remembering. “He mentioned them at our meeting. He told me my name was Incan. Said he’d read about them.”
    “I bet he did,” Y Tse huffed. “He told me about them as well. Capac Raimi was the Incan phrase for the month of December. It means
magnificent festival
. Inti Maimi was June, the
festival of the sun
. Curious, don’t you think? There’s not many around with names like that. And both of us ending up working for The Cardinal…”
    “It’s odd, I guess, but I don’t see what—”
    “No,” he interrupted again. “In another town, another time, we could pass it off as mere coincidence. Not here, when The Cardinal’s involved. He’s told you about how he works, how he ties meaningless events in with bigger ones?”
    “A bit.”
    “He ever tell you the one about divination and the stock exchange?”
    “No.”
    “Ask him sometime. It’s a classic. Our names,” he said, “mean something. They link us. You’re more than just a wannabe gangster with dreams of grandeur. Inti Maimi was a real mover, up there with Ford Tasso. In the end I decided it wasn’t what I wanted and walked.” He grimaced. “How I survived is beyond me. I was a marked man. They’ll stand for everything here—murder, rape, incest—but not ingratitude. That’s a
Cardinal
sin. I had everything anybody ever wanted and I tossed it away with contempt. I should have been a dead man.”
    “Dorry took pity on him,” Leonora interjected. “He put out word that nobody was to hurt him or knowingly let any harm come to him. As much as many would have liked to kill him, nobody disobeys Dorry.”
    “Pity?” Y Tse shrugged. “I don’t think he’s capable of pity. I think there was a darker, selfish motive, but…” He stopped and was silent a long time. Eventually he lifted his head and gazed around. “Have you seen Harry Gilmer recently?” he asked Leonora.
    “Who?”
    “Harry Gilmer. Short, fat guy, meets with me a few times a month. You know Harry. You’ve eaten with us plenty of times. He’s always telling those awful mother-in-law jokes.”
    “No,” she said. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
    “You must!” he shouted, becoming livid. “You know him, Leonora. You do!”
    “I’m telling you,” she said firmly, “I know nobody by that name.”
    “Oh.” His face fell and his rage dissipated. “That happens a lot here, friend Capac,” he sighed. “Get used to it. People vanish. One day they’ll be walking around, big and brash, the next…”
    “Dead?” I asked.
    “No. Dead would be fine—everybody dies, especially in this line. This is more than death. This goes beyond. This is
obliteration
.” He pointed at Leonora. “She knows Harry Gilmer, but she won’t admit it. Nobody will. If you go to his home, you’ll find nobody there, no neighbors who’ll ID him, no postman or milkman who remembers delivering. If you check the files in Party Central, you won’t find anything on him. He’s gone. Never was, never is, never will be. Understand?”
    “I don’t think so,” I