by T. A. Pratt
“Also because it’s my fault the thing got loose.” She sighed. “I was trying to keep the cultists out of trouble, because a bunch of unsupervised zealots devoted to a goddess of death is a recipe for trouble. I sent them into the caverns to explore, thinking they wouldn’t find anything, that it was a snipe hunt, but the poor idiots found an actual snipe. That thing that got loose is my responsibility. I’ll take care of it. But I’m happy to have one of the Over-Bradley’s fingernail clippings to help out.”
Bradley, fortunately, had been under no illusions about how this was going to work. Just because he was an emissary from an entity elevated as far above the gods as the gods were above humans, just because he was a psychic capable of summoning oracles to answer nearly any question, just because he was well-versed in the dangers of incursions from other universes, didn’t mean he was going to be in charge. So what if Marla was currently penniless, without unkidnapped allies, and cut off from the powers she possessed as a god of death during her mortal month on Earth? She was still Marla Mason, and that meant she was going to take the lead.
Bradley was fine with that. He had enough responsibility in his life. Let it rest on someone else’s shoulders for now. When it came to killing monsters, she was more qualified, anyway.
He nodded at Crapsey. “What do we do with him?”
“Can you suck his mind dry, and find out everything he knows?”
Bradley frowned. “I mean, in theory, I guess. But I’d rather not. Messing around with people’s minds is dangerous. I could turn him into a drooling cucumber.”
“It might be an improvement.” She sighed. “All right, let’s get him tied up in the RV. I’m going to take a shower. You can start driving... wherever we’re going. Have you tracked this creature at all?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s hovering around in Santa Cruz. There’s, well... some weird stuff there. A spot where reality is malleable. Either the Outsider is just drawn to that spot mindlessly, moth-to-flame style, or else it’s plotting something. Assuming it has anything we would comprehend as thought processes or motivations, which is a big assumption.”
“‘The Outsider’? You’ve been chasing it long enough to name it, huh.”
“Gotta call it something, and ‘Rover’ didn’t seem to fit.”
“Hmm. Santa Cruz. All right. How long to drive there?”
“Like eight hours?” Marla wouldn’t want to do any of the driving, he knew. Driving was something apprentices did, and even though, as the representative of a meta-god, he should outrank her, even taking into account her status as a part-time death god, there was no way he was anything more than an apprentice in her company.
She cracked her knuckles. “Good. That allows time for me and Crapsey to have a chat.”
“So... you don’t want to go after Pelham and Rondeau?”
“Priorities, Bradley. Extradimensional creatures are dangerous, and this one is extra-dangerous – it must be, or you wouldn’t be here. I know you – or your higher self – doesn’t much care about the fate of any particular branch of the multiverse. There are zillions of them, and some of them are pretty horrible places, worlds where human life was extinguished long ago, or never existed in the first place. Worlds run by evil gods, robot spiders, skin-eating mutants, guys with goatees, who knows what. That means this thing, this Outsider, is a threat to the integrity of the multiverse itself, to all realities, so the stakes are pretty high, right?”
Bradley nodded.
“Pelham and Rondeau are capable. Good at getting into trouble, especially Rondeau, but also good at getting out of trouble, especially Pelham. So we’ll go to Santa Cruz, take care of this Outsider thing, and then, if they still need rescuing, I’ll get on that. When it comes to triage, ‘reality-destroying monster’ trumps ‘friends in the clutches of an incompetent severed head with delusions of grandeur.’ Even if she has popped her head on top of a mannequin or golem or med-school cadaver or something.”
“Can’t argue with your logic,” Bradley said. He cleared his throat. “There’s just... one thing. You’re right that the Outsider is a threat. It’s such a big threat that this branch of the multiverse has been quarantined. Not cut off, just sort of... frozen. It’s not branching anymore.”
Marla frowned, then nodded. “I get it. Keep it locked down, so there aren’t lots of alternate versions of the monster running loose. So if we get rid of the Outsider here, he’s gone everywhere, and we get welcomed back into the multiversal fold? The tourniquet comes off?”
“Right.”
“And if we fail... what? Amputation? Like somebody who gets a zombie bite on their arm, and you chop off the arm to save the body?”
She was looking at him so intently, he tried not to squirm. “Basically, yeah. But there’s kind of a ticking clock, too. It takes a lot of effort to keep this reality from proliferating and branching. I’m – the rest of me – is keeping it locked down, but it’s like stopping a volcano from erupting by sticking your thumb in the caldera. The pressure’s going to build, and when it gets to be too much, we’ll have no choice but to cut this branch free.”
Marla opened the cooler and took out another bottle of water. “What happens then? Will we even notice? Most people aren’t aware they spawn a new reality every time they make a choice between regular or decaf coffee anyway.”
“Ah. No. It’s not something we have to do often, but... cutting off this branch from the greater multiverse will be about as good for this branch as cutting a limb off a tree is for the limb. Or an arm off a person is for the arm.”
“We’re talking about some kind of philosophical rot?” she said. “Metaphysical gangrene? Epistemological maggots?”
“Decay. I think ‘decay’ covers it. What it would look like, what that means in terms of practical effects... Cause and effect would stop working. Physics would start to break down. Things would get seriously weird, but most people would die before it got too weird, like as soon as oxygen forgot how to oxidize, or when the first couple of laws of thermodynamics gave out.”
She frowned. “So basically if I fail I’ve consigned this entire branch of the multiverse, my branch, where all my friends and enemies and also my husband lives, to some kind of horrific oblivion, without even the comfort of knowing that I succeeded in some adjacent reality? Well. I wasn’t short on motivation before, but this doesn’t hurt. Why do you care, though? We’re one universe among trillions and trillions. Why even bother with the freezing? Why not go straight to the amputating?”
Bradley smiled. “You’d laugh, but... it’s basically just sentimentality. See, you’ve got continuity-of-experience with the version of Marla Mason who caused us to ascend to our current position. We feel like we owe you, so we’re going a little out of our way to keep you from dying a horrible death.”
She clucked her tongue. “That’s no way to run a multiverse, B. You’re soft. But it’s to my advantage, so I won’t complain. What happens to you, this instance of you, if we fail?”
“I’m stuck here, going through all that misery with you.”
“And if we succeed?”
“Then I get integrated back into the collective.”
She nodded. “Good. Then you have some motivation to bust your ass beyond mere sentimentality, because you don’t want to get stranded in a decaying universe any more than I do. You’re welcome to join me, then.”
“Much obliged.” He would have said it sarcastically if he’d thought she was likely to pay any attention.
“How long do we have? I’ve only got a month on Earth anyway, you know, before I’m due back in the underworld. I could try to get a special dispensation, but the way our deal was made, it’s like trying to get an exemption from a law of nature, not a zoning ordinance. Which is to say, it’s not impossible, but not easy, either.”
Bradley grimaced. “I’ve been here a few weeks already, tracking the Outsider – I came as soon as it got substantial enough to register as a threat. You won’t need an extension on your time in t
he mortal world. I’d guess we’ve got ten days before our, ah, cut-off. If we haven’t killed or imprisoned or neutralized this thing by then...”
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s get going. Now that I think about it, we’re going to be on the road longer than I said. We need to make a side trip before Santa Cruz.”
Crapsey on the Floor
Crapsey woke up to jostling and bouncing, and once he determined that his arms and legs were bound, he decided he should pretend to be asleep. Maybe just keep pretending to be asleep until he actually fell asleep, and then proceed that way indefinitely, on a cycle of real-sleep/fake-sleep/real-sleep. The only problem would be having to go pee, which he had to do a little bit already, and then eventually there’d be an issue with thirst, and also hunger, but those were problems for Future Crapsey, and fuck that guy –
“Your breathing changes when you wake up, moron,” Marla Mason said in her usual tones, which were whatever the opposite of “dulcet” is.
Crapsey cracked an eyelid and peered at her. She sat above him on a swivel chair that was bolted to the floor, the floor itself being occupied by Crapsey. The RV’s carpet was thin and scratchy and uncomfortable. Crapsey lunged forward, opening his jaws, intending to bite her leg, but squawked when a rope he hadn’t noticed tightened around his throat and drew him up short.
“Bad dog, no biscuit.” Marla picked up a magazine from the table, rolled it into a cylinder, and smacked him on the nose with it, hard. “You have terrible taste in masters, doggie.”
“It’s not my fault.” His eyes watered from the blow to his nose, and he did his best not to let it show. Marla getting the drop on him and tying him up wasn’t exactly shocking – she was a tough chick, and he’d been prepared for the eventuality – but the whole situation still stung his pride. “There are some unsightly gaps in my résumé, and anyway, you weren’t hiring.”
“Oh, I’m always hiring, but your qualifications don’t impress me. A friend of mine got a look into your mind during that business in Hawaii, did you know that? He told me, ‘Crapsey’s not a bad guy, apart from being a mass murderer.’ I guess I’m not as forgiving as he is.”
“Nicolette told me you’re literally a goddess of death now.”
Another smack. “God of death will do. No ‘ess’ necessary. I don’t need a special diminutive. Nobody ever got away with calling me a sorceress or an enchantress, so I don’t see why I’d put up with ‘goddess.’”
“Yes, okay, fine, but you kill people for a living now, and you’re going to bitch about me murdering a few people in an entirely different dimension? Murders I only committed because my genocidal boss ordered me to? My boss who would’ve killed me if I’d disobeyed?”
“Please. You enjoy the work. I don’t kill for fun, or because it’s convenient. I rarely kill anybody, personally. I just help run the whole life-death-rebirth cycle of the world. I’m like the casino manager, watching things from behind the scenes. I’m not out there on the floor dealing cards. Anyway, I’m off the cosmic clock right now, and concerned with more worldly matters. I’ve got some important business to take care of shortly, but once that’s done, I guess I’ll go mop up Nicolette, so why don’t you tell me where she’s hiding?”
“I wouldn’t say she’s hiding,” Crapsey said. There was no reason to keep this part a secret. Nicolette wanted Marla to come for her. “She’s in your old stomping grounds, the shithole city of Felport. In fact, I hear she got herself installed as chief sorcerer and protector of the city, with the goal of doing the job better than you did. Of course, as long as she doesn’t get exiled for being a monumental fuck-up, she should beat you pretty easily –”
“Bullshit.” Marla’s voice was troubled, and that was a balm to Crapsey’s sore spirit. “She was an acolyte of Elsie Jarrow. Chaos witches can be useful, but they can’t run a city. That takes order, discipline, control, all things she stands against.”
“Oh no,” Crapsey said, mock-appalled. “A chaos witch making the trains run on time! Think of the penalties she’ll face for acting against her alignment. She’ll never hit her level cap at this rate.”
“You’re a bigger nerd than Rondeau. But it’s nonsense. Nicolette was notorious in Felport. She was imprisoned in the local asylum for unstable sorcerers! The council would never accept her.”
“I get the impression Nicolette didn’t give the council a choice in the matter. It was more of a coup than an election. I don’t know the details, but the council’s a lot weaker than it used to be – Viscarro is dead, Ernesto is dead, Granger is dead, and wait, didn’t that all happen on your watch? The newbies on the council aren’t any stronger than Nicolette herself, and the ones who are more formidable, like Hamil and the Chamberlain... well, Nicolette knows them pretty well after all these years. Knows their weaknesses, anyway. She didn’t give me the blow-by-blow about how she accomplished her takeover, but I’m sure once you get to Felport she’ll want to gloat and fill you in.”
Marla looked off into the distance, maybe out the RV’s windows, maybe at some inner landscape. “Fuck Felport,” she said after a while. “They exiled me. What do I care if they have a maniac for a leader?”
“Very convincing. I’d applaud your performance if I wasn’t hogtied. My new boss is pissing all over your old house, and you want me to believe that doesn’t bother you? I worked for the Mason for a long time. She was a monster, but she was a monster made out of you, based on your personality, and she was jealous of her possessions and territorial as hell. Besides, Nicolette has Rondeau and Pelham, and she’ll cut them into little pieces if you don’t show up to pay your respects.”
“Oh, I’ll go, but she shouldn’t expect too much in the way of respect when I do.”
“That’s the whole thing, Marla.” Crapsey shifted around to try to get more comfortable, which wasn’t really possible. At least he wasn’t tied up on a bed of nails. “The fact that you disrespect her, that’s what drives her. I bet she secretly just wants your approval. You’re the big-sister-slash-mother-slash-mean-dominatrix she’s always needed in her life. Just go kiss her forehead and tell her she did good, and I bet she’ll hand you the keys to the city.”
“At least you’re still disloyal and like to talk shit about your bosses,” Marla said. “I’m glad some things in the world never change. Tell Nicolette we’ll be along shortly.” She turned away. “Bradley! Pull over!”
“Wait. Bradley? Like... Bowman?” Crapsey didn’t know the guy well – just that Marla’s attempts to bring him back to life had caused a tear to open between Crapsey’s home reality and this universe, and had led to all this subsequent bullshit. Bowman was here? Which version of him?
The RV slowed down, bumping up and down as it pulled onto the shoulder. Marla opened the door, then grabbed Crapsey by the ankles and dragged him toward the opening. “B, give me a hand?”
“You’re just going to leave him by the side of the road?” Bowman said, grabbing Crapsey’s shoulders and helping to lift him out of the vehicle. Gods, the humiliations just didn’t stop.
“We’re beside a freeway,” Marla said. “Somebody will see him soon enough.”
They dropped Crapsey on the sandy earth several feet from the roadway. Marla smacked him lightly on the back of the head, because apparently no indignity was too small for her to visit on him. “No murdering whoever stops to pick you up, understand me? I left half the cash in your wallet and your credit cards and fake ID. You’ll be fine. Where exactly is Nicolette holding court in Felport, anyway?”
This was a horrible situation, but Crapsey had been in horrible situations before. Marla had once left him tied up in the belly of a ship traveling from Hawaii to Oakland, and he probably wouldn’t be bound nearly as long this time. He sighed. Antagonizing her would only prolong his own misery. “I hear she set up shop in Rondeau’s old night club.”
“What? Hamil owns that place now, he bought if from Rondeau when I was exiled.”
“I understand there was a transfer of ownership.” Crapse
y grinned. Marla looked genuinely concerned now. She’d been close to Hamil, back before he’d voted to fire her from her job as chief sorcerer and kick her out of the city.
“Did Nicolette kill him? Answer me, Crapsey.”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me about it, and you know how she likes to gloat. He’s probably still alive, though I can’t vouch for his circumstances otherwise.”
Marla nodded. “All right. Let Nicolette know I’ll be there as soon as I can. Maybe in a week or so, ten days tops.”
“You’d better show up, Marla. Don’t keep her waiting too long. Nicolette hates Rondeau a lot. Not as much as I do, but she won’t hesitate to maim the guy just as an expression of frustration.”
“I will be there within ten days, or else the world will be doomed, and it won’t matter anyway. You can tell Nicolette that, too.”
Marla climbed back into the RV, and Bradley squatted down next to Crapsey. “Here, there’s not much silverware in the camper, but I found a butter knife.” He slipped the hilt into Crapsey’s hand. “You can cut your way out eventually. I’d hate to make you depend totally on the kindness of strangers.”