Page 35 of Gunslinger Girl
Beeks.
CHAPTER 11
“Max,” she whispered. “What’s happening?”
“Shhh. Watch.” His former enthusiasm had receded, replaced by something that further curdled Pity’s anticipation.
“And why is tonight’s act so rare?” boomed Halcyon. “Because to have a Finale, we need a lawbreaker, and we all know that Cessation is lawless.” There was a rumble of laughter. “Or very nearly lawless.” He paused. “Tonight, I’m sorry to say that we have one of Casimir’s own.”
Luster gasped.
“Oh, hell,” Garland said. “Who?”
“Someone,” Halcyon continued, “who dared to cross Cessation’s guardian, its protector, its patron saint. There is no law but the law that she lays down!”
The stands screamed their agreement. “Selene! Selene! Selene!” they cried, the chant beating in time with the blood in Pity’s ears.
“Tonight, for the crimes of theft and deception, our criminal faces his sentencing!”
There were no lights, no music, as Beeks appeared in the center of the stage. On his knees he slumped, hands limp in his lap.
“Alastair Beeks, do you deny the charges?”
“I don’t.” He looked into the rafters, his face as pale as old snow. “I don’t, but please, Miss Selene, please have mercy!”
Pity scanned the other boxes. She saw faces rapt with attention, eyes greedy with bloodlust, but Selene was nowhere to be seen. Even so, Pity was sure she was watching, somewhere.
Halcyon replied in her stead. “Your plea of guilt is duly noted.”
The ceiling lit up again. This time, still projections of the different acts appeared. Scylla, the Zidanes, the Rousseaus, and others floated above the heads of the audience. The images began to rotate, faster and faster, until they were only streaks of color.
“Honored guests, here is where you weigh in. Tell me, what shall be the manner of his punishment?”
One image popped out as the others continued to spin. The Rousseaus. The crowd cheered. When another image appeared beside it, this time of the Zidanes, they cheered even louder, some stamping their feet in the stands. Then Scylla’s image appeared, and all hell broke loose. The noise was deafening, the stomping shaking the entire theatre.
“Ugh, rough draw for Beeks,” said Duchess. “They chose Little Miss Tits and Snakes again.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid of snakes!” Luster tossed back. “Personally,” she said to Pity, “I hate the Rousseaus. Last time they dangled the guy on a noose and toyed with him before dropping him from the top of the theatre. The sound he made when he hit the floor… bleah, it still makes me cringe!”
Pity barely heard her. Everything was muted, distant. There was only Beeks, caged in a spotlight, close enough that she could see the glaze of sweat on his forehead. He looked like he was going to be sick. She sympathized, bile rising in the back of her throat.
“Our champion is chosen!” Halcyon cried. Scylla’s music began to play again. “Alastair Beeks, you have been judged and sentenced. May whatever power you pray to have mercy on your soul… because Scylla won’t.”
Beeks finally panicked. He leapt to his feet and darted for the edge of the ring. A door opened in front of him. He froze as Scylla appeared. At her feet, a river of green and black and beige slithered out, spreading around either side of him. He stumbled backward, trying to get away, and nearly trod on a cobra. It struck out; he barely avoided the attack. The crowd roared.
Scylla took her time. She strolled around the perimeter of the stage as the audience cheered her on, traipsing among the snakes like they were summer flowers. She didn’t look at Beeks, who had retreated to the center of the stage, only watched her pets lovingly. At one point she stopped and ran her fingers over the back of a thick white python. It curled up her arm and over her shoulders.
Only then did she approach Beeks. With each step, the snakes she passed turned and followed her. The rest of the serpents slithered toward the center of the stage as well. Beeks’s island of safety began to shrink.
“Miss Selene, please!” His body shook as he screamed. “Scylla, sweetie, beautiful—you know me! I made a mistake. Don’t do this. Call them off. Call them off!”
Scylla’s step never faltered. She glided closer to Beeks as the audience began to chant her name, stopping a few paces from him. The snakes formed a dense ring around the pair. Scylla petted the python around her neck. Then, slowly, she lifted one hand and pointed. Beeks shook and fell to his knees.
Scylla snapped her fingers.
One by one, the snakes attacked. They struck at Beeks’s arms, his legs, his chest. One launched at his neck. Beeks batted it aside, but two more latched themselves on to his forearm. Somehow he managed to get to his feet, face pink and already beginning to bloat. Scylla signaled again. The snakes stopped and slithered back. Teetering, Beeks stumbled forward two steps, reaching out for Scylla. White foam bubbled from his mouth. On the third step, he fell, face forward, onto the floor.
His body shuddered a few times and stilled.
