Fantasmagoria (9 page)

Gilbert scowled as the man entered the unicorn’s parlor with his mechanoid retinue. They were drinking and carrying on. “So why kill him if he’s a paying customer?”

Marcelline turned to watch the show. “He’s rich. He’s very rich, actually. His company breeds and trains war dragons for the Empire, a good business to be in these days.”

“Do you really think there’s going to be war with the Aminal Kingdom?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is people think war is coming, and that’s enough to get them to open their purses. It takes years, decades, to grow and train a dragon. Rumor has it the Emperor’s personal three-headed gold cost forty-seven million.”

“I think I remember reading about that.”

“But being a dragon breeder also means that he’s very well-connected. He’s not someone you can burgle.”

“Blackmail?”

“No,” Marcelline scoffed. “If word ever got out we were blackmailing our clientele, we would be out of business. An unimpeachable reputation for discretion is our capital.”

“Then what?”

Marcelline pointed. Inside the room, the man was admiring and stroking the unicorn. “As a result of his exposure to you, he’s going to get very sick, but he won’t know why.”

Gilbert looked down. The answer was right in front of him. “He’ll think he got it from unicorn sex.”

“It’s the natural conclusion for anyone who indulges in a secret perversion. And he’ll pay good money to get his doctor’s hands on the animal.”

Gilbert nodded. “You all will keep your reputation, and he’ll be dead before they figure anything out.”

“We estimate he’ll fork over a quarter mil, not that it will do any good. His son is in his forties and eager to take over the company. Has been for years. We don’t expect much of an inquest after Mr. Radic here dies.”

Gilbert shook his head.

“Say it.”

“It’s brilliant.”

“And that’s the point.” Marcelline leaned in. “Do you know why people come to the island?”

Gilbert turned away from the raucous scene in the room. “Because they can’t do stuff like this at home.”

Chains clinked. The unicorn whinnied and stumbled forward in response to Radic’s feverish groping. “That’s right, take it easy, baby.” He stepped onto a padded stool and moved the animal’s tail out of the way.

Gilbert looked at the floor.

Marcelline watched through the mirror. “After the war, the island was something of an outpost. And since it floats around the Western Sea, it became a haven and a retreat, a place to get away or not be found. Being it’s so close to the kingdom, a great many aminals settled here. And all that made it valuable to a certain class of people.”

“Like your boss.”

Inside the room, Radic inhaled the unicorn’s perfume. The mechanoid women were laughing and praising their scar-faced benefactor.

“Our boss. You need to understand your situation, Mr. Tubers.”

Gilbert was indignant. “I didn’t argue when you told me to sit in the car with him.”

“Money is what makes this town, from Parkus to Adamour, from City Hall to Midwitch. Money is what keeps the Empire away. Money is what we’re after. Somewhere in this town is a room full of it, more than you could count in a lifetime. The person who controls that does not control it by accident. Do you understand?”

Gilbert nodded as the man entered the unicorn. It bellowed and shook its pinkish mane. The women cheered like it was someone’s birthday. “But do I have to watch this?”

The man grabbed the unicorn’s rump and slapped it as he thrust feverishly again and again. Pearls of sweat trickled down his face. He screamed of conquest.

“No. In fact, the house is yours. Madame Kosi has been instructed to fulfill your every desire. Food, clothes, girls, whatever you want.”

“I see.” Gilbert thought for a moment as the moaning from the room increased. “What if I want to go home?”

Marcelline opened to the door and the noise returned. “This is your home, Mr. Tubers. There’s nothing left for you at your apartment. You’re part of our family now. I’ll be back for you in four hours. I suggest you eat, screw, and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to kill Pugs Roth tonight.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to speak, but Marcelline was already out the door. As it swung shut, the silence returned. He watched for a moment as the mechanoid women chanted in unison. Radic didn’t know it, but that would be the last happy moment of his life. He climaxed with a bellow and to raving applause. Then he stumbled back and clutched his head. The headaches were already starting.

(TEN) The Automatic Killer

Jack heard the hammer lock into place as the barrel pressed to the back of his head. He could tell from the cold feel and the baritone sound that the gun was massive. The hallway was silent except for the faint shrill of children laughing and the ensuing rumble of scolding parents.

There must be a field trip at the aquarium, he thought. “Where’d you get the cannon, Zee?”

“A girl can’t be too careful these days. Get on your knees, Jack.”

Zeek had waited until they were away from the others. After the elevator ride from Erasmus’s subterranean headquarters, she had motioned for Jack to follow her around the corner to a service entrance that opened to the back of the carnival. It would be risky to shoot him there, but there wasn’t another opportunity. Once outside the door, it was busy streets all the way to Pugs’.

“That thing must weight fifteen, twenty pounds, I’m guessing.”

Zeek pressed the barrel harder into the back of Jack’s head. “I’m not fucking around, Jack. Not with you. Jeez, not you. Get down.”

“That’s a lot of weight to hold up high like that.”

“Jack . . .”

“Doesn’t take long for the arms to get tired, start shaking. Unless you work out.”

“Jack . . .”

“You don’t look like you been working out, Zee.”

Jack felt the barrel quiver as if strength used for steadying had been switched to the trigger. He heard Zeek draw breath.

The service door swung open, flooding the hall with light and laughter. A small boy stepped in and lost his smile. He stared at the pair.

“Oh, dear.” Zeek stuffed the monster revolver into her purse as the boy’s mother came apologizing to collect him. She gave the pair a nervous glance as she herded the stiff child back into the crowd.

Jack followed as the door swung closed. He stood amid the laughing kids and looked up at the sun. It had been raining for days, and the few remaining storm clouds floated in a sea of gray.

Zeek walked through the door, straightened her wig, and stood next to Jack. The gunslinger wandered toward the lip of the massive pool in front of him. Children dragged their parents around it in bursts, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant squid in the deep water below. Jack leaned against the wall and peered into the blue. There was a dark and looming shape huddled at the bottom, but it was the future—deep and featureless.

A little girl in a spring dress, no more than nine years old, leaned over the lip next to Jack. She stared into the water. “What’s his name?”

“Archie.”

The girl turned her curls to the gunslinger. “Really?”

Jack nodded. “Yup.”

“What do they feed him?”

People, Jack thought. Anyone who needed to disappear. It was the perfect way to dispose of a body. “Vegetables.”

“Vegetables?” The girl made a face.

“Broccoli mostly.”

The girl stuck out her tongue and ran back to her parents.

Jack watched her go as Zeek walked up to him, her hand perched on the straps of her purse.

“We need to talk, Jack.”

“Who’s feeding Archie these days?” The job was dangerous and always fell to whoever had fucked up last.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“Why come back?”

Jack shrugged. “Versus what?”

“I thought . . . after that night . . .”

“That I was done?”

“Are you really just going to be Erasmus’s homicidal puppet forever?”

“Don’t have much of a choice.”

Zeek looked into the tank with Jack. “What if you did?”

“What do you mean?”

Zeek shook her head. “You’re not here to kill me?”

Jack scowled. “Is that what that was all about?” He nodded back toward the service door.

“I thought . . . never mind.” She blinked hard.

Jack watched tiny children push and pull each other on the far side of the massive tank. Behind them were the spinning rides, the swirling banners, the freak show tent, and all the rest. And above it all, the rooftops of the city and the tall, black spire of City Hall rising like an ice pick to the throat of the sky. It was a moor for an airship, a constant reminder that an Imperial zeppelin could arrive at any time.

“I never said anything,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“We’re both still alive.” Jack stood straight to face her. “So let me get this straight. You thought he found out and called me back to kill you.”

Zeek shrugged. “I thought maybe it was his way of making you prove yourself, of buying your way back in.”

Jack shook his head. “If Erasmus knew what really happened that night, he’d kill me same as you.” If LaMana was right, Jack thought, then it would happen as soon as they came back with the books. He wondered what trick Erasmus would ask of the samurai.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Zeek snorted. “You’re the only one left from the old days. You’re his favorite. You’ve always been his favorite.”

“The only favorite Erasmus has is Erasmus.”

“You’re wrong, Jack. You’re just too much of a machine to see it.” Zeek noticed the mother from the hallway talking to someone and looking at the pair. “But we should get going.” She started walking toward the stairs at the front of the carnival.

Jack followed. “Not gonna shoot me in the car, are you Zeek?”

The woman with the peeking stubble smiled back at him. “Just keep your hands to yourself, mister.”

Zeek’s car was parked on the street across from a lunch counter. It was an old Deckard, solid and steel and burgundy red. She opened the door and Jack looked at the seat. He wasn’t only moving slow. He was getting weaker and didn’t have the strength to lower himself properly. As he plopped into the seat, the car dropped to the ground and showered the asphalt in sparks. People stopped and turned. A row of fairies snickered from a power line, then fluttered off to steal fries from children.

Jack waited for the car to stop shaking. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t realize you weighed that much. I mean,” Zeek corrected, “you don’t look it.”

The atmosphere in the car was stiff and nervous, so Jack turned and stared out the window as they pulled into light traffic. Shops lined the road. A wealthy woman walked a small green wyvern. Its tongue hung out of its mouth. Jack looked at the leash.

“Lot’s changed, Jack.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing’s the same since you left. Rabid, Togo, the others, they don’t have your style. Sciever’s insane. Ruud hardly even shows up anymore.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Out picking up the pieces. As soon as he heard LaMana died, Erasmus has had us all running around. He’s got some plan.”

Jack nodded. Erasmus always had a plan. “I’m sure your family misses you.”

Zeek turned and look at him. The car swerved a little. A car honked from the neighboring lane and Zeek turned back to watch the road. “What do you mean?”

“Woman puts on weight, lets her makeup go, means one of two things. She’s either dying, or settled down.”

“You’re a pig, Jack.”

Jack shrugged.

“And that hardly means I have a family.”

“Okay . . . then I’m wrong.” Jack sat up and the car shook as it shimmied down the road. “That gun,” Jack nodded at the purse at Zeek’s feet, “it’s overkill.”