Free The Nekropolis Archives by Tim Waggoner Page A

thrown back against the seat.
      He hung half out of his open window, shouting, "Out of the way, morons!"
      Most of the celebrants scattered, but despite what had happened to Tri-bod a few moments ago, a massive bull-headed man wearing an I'M HORNY T-shirt wasn't – pardon the expression – cowed so easily. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and braced himself for impact.
      "Look at the size of him!" Devona cried. "Swerve!"
      But there was no point shouting at Lazlo. He never listened to passengers' suggestions. "After all," he once told me, " I'm the professional."
      "Hold on!" I warned Devona, and then there was a loud crash and the cab shuddered and jerked; but it kept moving. Behind us, falling quickly away in the distance, came the wounded bellow of one very unhappy – but lucky to be alive – minotaur.
      "Hah!" Lazlo barked in triumph. "That'll teach that uddersucker to play chicken with me!" He turned around to look at us, and grinned. "So where we headed, folks?"
      "Put your eyes back on the road, and I'll tell you," I said nervously. The last time Lazlo turned around to talk to me, we almost ended up taking a flame bath in Phlegethon.
      Lazlo laughed, but did as I asked, so I said, "The Cathedral. And we'd like to get there in as close to one piece as possible."
      "Gotcha. You two just sit back and enjoy the ride." He pointed his cab in the general direction of the Bridge of Nine Sorrows – the crossing point between the Sprawl and Gothtown – and pressed down on the accelerator.
      "Enjoy the ride?" Devona said, her nails digging into the greasy fabric of the seat. "Not until it's over!"
      I had to agree.
      A few blocks from my townhouse, Lazlo was forced to stop when a fight erupted between a group of lykes and several vampires. Even Lazlo wouldn't try to drive through that mess. Things got pretty bloody for a bit, until a Sentinel came charging through the crowd, knocking aside those who didn't get out of its way fast enough, and broke the conflict up, basically by breaking the combatants up. The Sentinels are Father Dis's police force: eight feet tall, massive, gray-fleshed, featureless golems that are strong as hell and, as far as I know, completely invulnerable. The lykes and vamps tried to fight back, but they never had a chance. When it was over, the Sentinel tossed their bloody, broken bodies into an alley and stomped off. The fighters would heal, eventually, but in the meantime, they wouldn't be bothering anyone.
      As Lazlo pulled away from the scene, I said, "Every time I see a Sentinel in action, I can't help thinking we could've used a few during my days on the force in Cleveland. Sure would've made life a lot easier."
      "For the cops, maybe," Lazlo said. "But the morticians would've been a hell of a lot busier."
      "I've never seen a Sentinel before," Devona said quietly.
      I looked at her, surprised. "You're kidding."
      She gave a small shrug. "I don't get out of Gothtown, much."
      From her tone, I knew she wanted that to be the end of it, so I leaned forward and said to Lazlo, "Hear anything interesting on the street lately?"
      We'd reached the Obsidian Way, the only road that passes through all five of the Darklords' Dominions. There was a Hemlocks next to the on-ramp, and a skeletal being in a sombrero who looked like a picture on a Mexican Day of the Dead postcard came out of the coffee shop, carrying a grande-sized drink of one sort or another. The bone-man made the mistake of stepping into the street just as Lazlo came barrel-assing along, and the demon barely yanked the steering wheel to the right in time to avoid turning El Hombre Muerte into a pile of bleached-white pick-up sticks.
      Lazlo flipped off the bone-man as the cab roared onto the Obsidian Way. The road's glossy black surface is hard as diamond, though it's not slick, and there's never a crack or chip in it. Despite how crowded the streets of the Sprawl were, the Way