Page 38 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

August

The morning began with Keaton and me having the same conversation we’d had the night before.

It stalled at the same point too, Keaton unable to come up with a viable alternative that didn’t involve taking potshots at William Anderson with his crossbow, and then trying to outrun the men who’d come for revenge.

I’d left him everything of value I had, including my watch. That had been easy to part with. The horseshoe chain was much harder. I didn’t want to risk it being taken, and from what I’d seen, the Seekers weren’t big on personal possessions.

There’d been no tearful goodbye. In fact, it had barely been one at all, just my quiet assurance that he could trust me to do what needed to be done, and his quiet nod in return.

Now here I was, making my way up the cliff to the castle, eyes and ears open in case they had any defense measures in place. So far, there were none, but I was only halfway up. The proper test would be at the door.

I glanced back toward the beach. Could they have seen us with Madeleine the other day? The stake was visible, but from this distance, the three of us would have looked no bigger than ants.

Still no attack as the steps dwindled, until I stood before the massive wooden door, all limbs intact. So far, so good.

“Showtime,” I whispered as I knocked.

The door creaked open in under a minute, someone clearly stationed behind it.

The man who filled the doorway—and I mean filled—was tall and broad. His scowl said he didn’t appreciate visitors and would much rather not have to deal with them. His robe was so large I wondered how many normal-sized robes could be made from it. Two, maybe three.

“Hello there, friend,” I said, ignoring the glare. “And how are you this fine morning?”

“What d’ya want?”

Getting people to do what you wanted was mostly about choices—usually two. The right choice moved you forward, the wrong one, back. String enough right choices together and you achieved your goal. Enough bad forced you to retreat.

Here, my choice was simple: be direct, or spin an elaborate lie. I chose direct. “I seek an audience with William Anderson.”

A rumble started in his chest. It took me a second to recognize it as laughter. “Oh, you want an audience, do you? And what is it you want to talk about?”

“I’ve traveled many miles.” Not strictly a lie.

I was just omitting the part about the motorbike and the companion.

“At great personal risk to myself.” When the man simply looked bored at my proclamation, I scrapped the big sell and cut straight to it.

“The Lord speaks to me. He has told me that there is only one man worthy of my services in the land.”

A spark of interest flickered in his brown eyes. “The Lord speaks to you, does he?”

“He does.” I nodded for emphasis. “He has shown me the way, and the path leads here, to this castle.” I gave a small bow. “So, I offer my services to the Beloved Father.”

The honorific stuck in my throat, but I made sure it didn’t show. William Anderson wanted people bowing, praising, telling him he was right. I could be that person for as long as it took to earn his trust. It would stick in my craw like nothing else ever had, but I’d do it.

“And what do you think you can do for the Beloved Father?”

“I will be his conduit. A messenger between him and the Lord. The Lord is pleased with what he has done so far, but believes he can do more.”

“Like what?”

This guy asked too many questions. I’d expected William Anderson to grill me, not his doorman. “The Lord wonders why Beloved Father does not spread his word far and wide, why he has stayed in this one castle. He believes there should be many castles. That it is selfish to focus on just the one.”

The man tilted his head. “Selfish, huh? I can’t wait to hear you tell him that. Can I watch?”

“They are not my words,” I said evenly. “They are the Lord’s. I am merely his messenger. I have no opinion except for what He tells me.” Right. That would be the day.

We locked eyes. I held steady, no blinking, no fidgeting, steadfast in my bullshit. Finally, he sighed. “Stay here. If he wants to see you, I’ll let you in. If he doesn’t, you’ll be sent on your way.”

I nodded and took a polite step back from the door. “Take your time. I’m in no rush. I shall enjoy the sea breeze, the view, and the birds while I wait.”

For the first ten minutes that passed, I did exactly that. The next ten were harder. Without my watch, my time-keeping might have gone to pot, but I didn’t think so. Anderson was testing me. A true devotee would wait as long as required. So I waited.

After half an hour, I sat. After an hour, I leaned against the cold stone wall of the castle, wondering what Keaton was doing.

Given his silence on our first visit, I’d told him to make nice with the community we’d found.

He needed food, and they had it. Whether he’d listen, I had no idea.

Keaton was a survivor, though. You couldn’t be in the army and not be one, so I had faith he’d still be there when this was done.

Besides, he had to eat and stay alive to exact vengeance, so he’d do what needed to be done.

After two hours, my eyes started to close. In a world populated with biters, it wasn’t wise to fall asleep in an exposed place for fear of waking to find your face being chewed off. The steps might deter them, but then again they might not. There were those who were more determined than others.

I paced, disguising it as a casual stroll. If I were Anderson, I’d be watching. I’d sit and watch the threat until I believed it posed no danger. With that in mind, I pasted a suitably urbane expression on my face.

Would they leave me out here all night? After dark, it’d get far more dangerous up here, with no way of seeing approaching biters until they were virtually on top of me. And even if I could see them, defending myself without so much as a knife tucked in my boot would be a challenge.

Purple and red streaked the sky as the sun sank lower, announcing my wait as having reached the twelve-hour mark.

The steps back down the cliff would be too dangerous to navigate soon, and I’d have no choice but to stay.

I reckoned I had another hour, ninety minutes at most, before I had to make that decision.

Not long after that, the door creaked open to reveal the same behemoth of a man standing in the gap. He had a grin on his face. “Still here, huh?”

August would’ve told him where to shove that smile. I wasn’t August, though. And wouldn’t be for some time.

“The Lord told me to wait,” I said calmly. “And I do as the Lord commands. If he wanted me to stay here all night, I would. If he wanted me to give my life to the dark servants, I would.”

He looked me over. “I bet you’re thirsty. Hungry too?”

“I am,” I admitted in the same even tone. “But the wants of the body are nothing but a test. Lust. Anger. Greed. They are the weaknesses of the dark servants. We are better… stronger. Do you not agree?”

“Save your speech for Beloved Father.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Follow me. He wants to see you right away.”

Right away, and keeping me waiting for an entire day did not go together, but I remained silent. Something told me I’d be biting my tongue a lot here. Enough that I might wish Oz had cut it out.

The man led me across a grassy courtyard, some of it farmed, through another door and into the castle proper. Compared to the outside, it was pleasantly cool within.

“May I know your name, friend?” I asked.

“Bruce.”

Since he didn’t ask mine, I didn’t provide it.

Six corridors and a spiral staircase later, we reached a door.

I took a steadying breath in as Bruce knocked on it and then pushed it open without waiting for a reply.

This was the true test. Everything else up to this point had been child’s play.

Anderson wouldn’t be a fool. But then I didn’t need to be the cleverest person in the world.

I just needed to be cleverer than he was.

Inside, William Anderson sat at a long table with a young woman straddling his lap. Bruce showed no surprise. I allowed myself only the barest flicker, figuring it would be more authentic than no emotion. Too much reaction would be dangerous.

The robe hid enough that I couldn’t tell what stage their coitus had reached. I assumed—hoped—that she was one of his wives. Maybe not, though. Maybe we’d interrupted the audition process for the newest one.

I took him in at a glance. Early forties by my calculation.

Dark hair graying at the temples. Brown eyes.

A slightly crooked nose that suggested a past break.

Thin lips. Handsome in a slightly oily way, although the position we’d found him in, that he didn’t seem to give two hoots about, was influential in that impression.

Bruce bowed. “You said right away, Father.”

“I did.” The faint alien twang in Anderson’s voice reminded me he’d come from overseas. It wasn’t an impossible feat, but it was unusual. “Stephanie needed some counseling.”

Counseling! It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Who counseled someone with their dick?

Anderson leaned forward to whisper something in Stephanie’s ear. She nodded and then climbed off. I averted my gaze as he readjusted his robe, pretending to offer discretion. The real reason was having no wish to see his dick. Not erect. Not flaccid. Not at all.

She disappeared through a back door I assumed led to his bedroom. Once she’d gone, Anderson dismissed Bruce with a flick of his hand. The big man retreated, but only as far as the corridor, the door staying open. Wise of him. It told me Anderson was a cautious man.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. A faded emblem that must have been quite magnificent in its day hung on the wall behind him. “Bruce says you’ve come to offer your services.” He left a deliberate pause to see if I’d fill it. I didn’t. “I’m listening.”