Roods pointed the barrel at Abe for a moment, then turned the gun around and held it out. “No worries, mate. We're here to help.”
“Like this morning?” Abe closed his fingers on the butt of the gun and yanked it back from Roods, pointing the barrel at him.
Roods held his hands up and smirked like it was all a joke. “Oh, that didn't help this morning? I was under the impression that you were about to be killed before somebody handed you a revolver...”
Abe kept the gun pointed at him.
“I'm really quite stuffed,” said the troll behind him. “And if you kill him then I'm going to have to eat you... and then I couldn't very well let his body go to waste... and I'm overeatin' as it is, Mr. Crompton.”
“You shouldn't ruin the man's diet,” said Roods.
“Oh, gods forbid,” said Abe. He lowered the gun, but he kept a good grip.
3.
Abe wished that he hadn't insisted on the stairs. Sure, Roods could appreciate his recent bad experience with an elevator, but all the same he had encouraged Abe most sincerely to use the lift. But no, Abe had to be stubborn about it.
Of course, he had never before encountered such an enormous building, so how was he to comprehend the idea of thousands of stairs?
Climbing to the roof of a sky scraper one stair at a time was the sort of experience that was likely to traumatize a man in a way wholly different from watching an invisible troll rip a living man apart before his eyes, but both would be experiences Abe would not soon forget.
The worst part of all was that Roods seemed entirely unfazed by the climb, standing calmly against the wall of the small raised enclosure that they had emerged from minutes ago and apparently cleaning his nails while he waited for Abe to finish wheezing. The troll seemed fine as well. He had cleaned off the blood and so had reverted to being invisible, but Abe assumed, given his size, that he would be a fairly conspicuous heavy-breather. And yet all he could hear was his own heart pounding.
“Goodness,” Abe said finally. “Are we somewhere new now?”
“If only,” said the troll.
Abe stood up and wiped his brow. “What? I was just making a joke... you know, because the stairs... twice as many as there are between Underton and Highmark.”
“At least twice as many,” agreed Roods. “But I think you'd like to know what's going on, right?”
“First of all,” Abe tried to point at the troll, but as the troll was invisible it was very difficult, “why is he invisible? And why did we have to climb a million stairs for you to tell me anything? I mean, I understand not wanting to have an involved discussion standing over the bloody carcass of a soldier...”
“It wasn't a bloody carcass,” said the troll. There was a shimmer in the air and then, very slowly, the troll began to take shape. It was much bigger than Spirit House, and had more of an animal appearance, a bit rhino-like, but its thick skin was nearly pitch black. It was rotund with a generous belly, but the muscles of its legs and chest and arms prevented anyone seeing it from considering it 'fat.' “It was a bloody helmet and gun. There was no carcass to speak of.” The troll licked its lips and smiled with its wide, massive, jagged-toothed mouth.
Abe made a gesture of impatience. “We're on the damned roof because I live up here, and I live up here for the sunlight, which is also why I'm transparent.”
“Oh, well, naturally,” said Abe.
The troll didn't seem to grasp sarcasm, so Roods said, “Trolls feed on sunlight... they become more opaque to pick more of it up... they live on roofs to gather more light, and when they're well fed they become transparent to absorb less.”
“Well if he's well fed, why'd he eat that fellow?”
“So I should've just killed him and left his body in the street?”
“You could have let him go!”
“Mr. Roods,” said the Troll, “I didn't know your friend was in such a great rush to face Wood again.”
“If you mean the Woodsman,” said Abe, “I killed him this morning.”
Roods paused in the process of wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt. “You know that wasn't the Woodsman, Abe.”
“And you didn't kill it, either.” The troll sat ponderously down on the roof, legs folding under him. He was still many feet higher than Abe or Roods but it was a start. Now Abe was only mostly sure that his neck would hurt from looking up at him, instead of being entirely positive. “The thing you think you killed came out of the clock tower two hours before you did.”
“Made a bee-line for The Lady's manor, too.”
“But what was it?” said Abe.
“Is,” the troll corrected him.
Roods pulled on the chain attached to his vest and looked at his pocket watch. “We've got hours until the party,” he said.
The troll shrugged its monstrous shoulders and said, “then I suppose there's time for a story.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Mud and Wood
1.
When the world was new and the gods were young, they made the heavens and the earth and the water. The light from the heavens came down to the earth and the seeds the gods had left there split open and reached up through the soil to bask. The tendrils of the plants grew in the light and fed from it; and they drank from the water when they grew thirsty. In this way the world was soon green and alive, with grasses and trees in abundance. The gods sculpted the mountains and valleys and breathed life into the very clouds and the cycles of rain and wind, of snow and cold and the seasons themselves began.
And all was as a paradise for the gods, and they rejoiced in their accomplishments and reveled in the splendor of their creation... but the gods soon grew tired of their own accolades. Their praise fell on their own ears and was hollow, for they each understood precisely what had been done to forge this world. They had labored to create it and their awe was tempered with their own pride. The world was glorious, but its majesty was like that of a perfect secret, never fully appreciated for it can never be revealed.
But unlike a secret, the revelation of their work could not undo the wonder of the working, and so the gods began to seek out those who could praise their work. But there were none.
The plants who had sprouted from the seeds of the gods were mute. Though the sunflower would turn its face toward the sun the gods had made, it could do no more, and the sunflower was the closest the gods came to being revered as they desired. The animals were little better, showing as much awe and reverence for a god among them as they did for a tasty acorn or fallen peach.
And so the gods attempted to create something else. A creature in their likeness, able to comprehend some small part of the wonders that had been wrought so that the gods could finally find the reverence and praise they desired.
The gods began their work in earnest, laboring long and hard. They cast a bolt of lightning down onto the earth and felled the greatest tree to have sprouted from their seeds. After the tree had died and the wood been cured, the gods used all their art to shape the tree into a man. Tall and strong and fierce and brave, the gods made this first man, and he was pleasing. He was slow of speech, but able, and could recognize and understand enough of the world to know the gods were worthy of praise.
But when he praised them, his voice was flat. He did not smile or weep or sing of the glory of the gods, he only stated the awe he claimed to feel, but he was without affect and the gods found his praise wanting. The man knelt and bowed and scraped and begged, but he was without emotion, carved as he was from wood. The gods were not pleased with this first man, and they cast him away.
Learning from their error, the gods began again. After flooding the world with the rain of their anguish the gods chose to build their new man from the soft, cool clay of the earth. The dense, wet mud of the world had harbored the roots of the plants and been home to the animals who burrowed and dug. It was integral to the whole of the world, and unlike the wooden man that had preceded it, this sculpture could show the gods the emotion they sought.
This man was eager, as had been the first, to please the gods. He wept at their cruelty and prostrated himself before them. He sang with wide eyes and open heart of their grandeur. He danced with joy in celebration of the world the gods had built and what understanding he had of the gods only redoubled his reverence for them.
But there came a time when there was a rift amongst the gods.
The factions were formed for slights both real and imagined, and it came to pass that all creatures were made to choose. Each of the factions believed the other to be wicked and cruel; each viewed itself as a pillar of light and virtue besieged on all sides by the calumny and vileness of their foe. And each demanded that the man they had made praise them and condemn the other faction.
And man complied.
The man did precisely as was required of him, bowing to each faction when asked and cursing the other for traitors and deceivers. And both factions were well pleased with their creation, for he praised them rightly and knew the mistaken cause of their rivals.
But the factions of the gods were not static, and soon it came to pass that gods regretted their choice or sought simply to bring harmony between the warring sides. And gods that had been on one side and witnessed the praise of man for them soon came to see man heaping opprobrium on their former fellows. They asked man how he could praise a faction openly and with utter sincerity when before them only to sneer and speak ill of them when before the other. Did man not have any loyalty? Was man so mercurial, or was he simply reciting what was asked of him like a puppet for the gods?
And man said he only did what he was made to do. How could man, made soft and pliable from clay, ever question the gods?
And the gods saw that the man was ill-made, that for all his animation and effusion his praise was as hollow as his predecessor's had been. And so they cast out the second man, sending him to dwell with his brother outside the light of the gods' regard.
They made another man, then. One with a spine as strong and straight as the first, but a heart as soft and open as the second. This man would be strong and brave enough to stand fast and be loyal and yet would be capable of weeping and of joy.
And the gods forgot about the first man and his flawed brother, so happy were they with the true man...
Chapter Twenty-Three: Your vote counts!
1.
“...and that's where babies come from,” the troll finished with a grin.
Abe looked at Roods and his brow rose up just as high as he could make it. “I appreciate that there's some time to kill, Roods, but why are we telling fairy stories?”
“Well,” said Roods, “there's an epilogue. After the gods had their finished products they just left their prototypes to rot... only the prototypes didn't.”
“Talk about craftsmanship,” said the droll troll. “Really divine work. Literally.”
“So Mr. Wood and Mr. Mud got together and spent all their time really angry at the gods and at people and, really, pretty much everything. They hung about glowering for eons until someone came to them with a plan on how they could get back at the gods and at man.”
“Right,” said Abe. He reached into his pocket and discovered that his sandwich had been squished. This seemed more important than whatever Roods was going on about.
“So this someone, Abe,” said Roods, “was a lady... runs a school, massive bun... perhaps you've heard of her.”
Abe looked up from unwrapping his sandwich and trying to push it back into shape. “Mmm... so what's the plan? And what does it have to do with Merry and a school and Tym Wharmley?”
“You really want to know?”
Abe tried lifting the bread off his sandwich and shaking it to get it to fluff back up into that unbelievable soft texture from before, as if it were a tiny edible feather bed, but it wasn't working. “Sure,” he said without looking up.
Roods squatted down to try and address Abe from his level while Abe sat on the roof and fiddled with his sandwich. “Well we don't quite know yet, so the only way to find out is to follow it all the way through to the end.”
Abe threw the bread down and glowered. “Well then why in hell did you ask me!? Dammit, Roods, what am I supposed to do? You want me to just try and guess? I'm in a weird place with some weird people and this morning you punched me in the chest and your friend there ripped a man apart! I just wanted to try and make things right after what happened in Underton, but I am tired and sore and confused and I don't know even a fraction of what you do...” Abe finished weakly and sniffled hard to keep from doing worse. He felt panicked and scared, and saying so seemed to only make it worse.
“Is he done?” said the troll.
Abe glared at the troll. “Maybe I am.”
“Don't be unkind, Rooftop,” said Roods. “He's a bit in over his head.”
“Well, I'm sure crying about it's going to help.”
Abe took a deep breath and got to his feet. “Fine. To hell with you both.”
He started for the door.
“Abe,” Roods called after him. He stood up but didn't move otherwise. “Where are you going?”
Abe whirled around quick and angry. His face was red and he did, actually, look like he might cry, but he mostly just looked irate. “Like I said, I'm just trying to make things right. Merry's at the party, so that's where I'm going.” He slid his revolver from his pocket and held it in his hand. “Sitting up here with you two isn't helping... I've got a gun and a finite number of bullets, you know,” he gestured with the gun toward the troll. “And so far I've heard a myth and been sorely tempted to waste at least one of my bullets, so if you don't have anything useful...”
Abe turned to go, then turned back and stalked purposefully to retrieve his sandwich. Then he stalked back toward the door.
“You can't do it alone,” the troll said dismissively.
Roods shot a dangerous look at the troll. “Neither can we. Unless you think I can get close enough on my own after leaving The Lady in the lurch? Or you want to try blending in with her crowd yourself?”
The sigh from Rooftop the troll was titanic. “Fine, Highmark. I apologize.” Trolls, Abe allowed, were possibly just incapable of sincerity. He turned back. “Let me tell you some things.”
Abe couldn't quite stop the eyeroll.
“Relevant things.”
2.
“As McCallister said, we don't know all of what The Lady has in mind, but we know that she wants to destroy the Spirit supply, which, as you can imagine, I have a problem with.”
“So this is about drugs?” said Abe.
“Indirectly.” Roods walked back and sat down across from the troll, who was beginning to get transparent again. “I know how all this sounds, but bear with me. So Spirit is magic.”
Abe held out for only a few seconds before he went and sat down across from Roods and the troll. “I don't know about that, but I understand that you're a fan...”
“No,” said Roods. “Literally. The difference between rock and Spirit is that one is suffused with magic.”
“Okay, I'll bite.” Abe illustrated this by taking a bite of his sandwich. “Why?”
“Don't know,” said the troll. “But we suspect The Lady is planning to do something to throw it all off.”
“You see Abe, the same myths that have the Woodsman and the muddy gentleman you tangled with this morning also call magic the essence of the gods... or their remnant or their Spirit, depending on the stories and the translations.”
Abe chewed loudly. “So you think The Lady's going to stop it...?”
Roods shrugged. “Or something. Interfere with it.”
“Mr. Wood and Mr. Mud wouldn't help her unless she was going to harm gods and man,” said the troll. “And it must be likely to succeed or they wouldn't be taking her side.”
“Why's that?”
“They're immortal, of course. All they do is stew in their hatred and bide their time and try to find a way to have revenge.” Roods reached out toward the other half of the sand
wich.
Abe slapped his hand. “So it's a sure thing...”
“And it's going to disrupt my trade,” said the troll. “Not to mention the entire economy of Underton... and McCallister will be even more unpleasant if the Spirit dries up.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Abe. He shifted his sandwich further away from Roods. “If it's a sure thing, though, what are we going to do about it?”
“There's a crucial step that we can foresee, and if we can stop that step, crisis averted.” Roods reached out for the sandwich again and Abe pointed his gun at him. “Oh, come on! I just want to know if it's as good as you say!”
“What's the step?” said Abe. He then shoved the entire remaining half of his sandwich into his mouth.
“Bastard!”
The troll was grinning. “Whatever The Lady is going to do, she has to get to Hemina to do it. The only way to Hemina is through the door of the clock tower, and the only key to that door is with the mayor.”
“Hoo milbee atta portly tea no?” Abe said. Or something like that. He had an absurd amount of sandwich in his face.
“Right,” said Roods. “The mayor will be at The Lady's party tonight, and he's going to turn the key over to his successor.”
“My sources,” the troll said, “suggest that the mayor has no love for The Lady, but his successor is well and truly in her pocket. He will open the gate for her gladly.”
Abe swallowed somewhat painfully. The sandwich was still delicious even though his cheeks hurt. The look on Roods’ face was almost exactly as delectable. “How does she know who his successor is, I saw that there was an election tomorrow... won't the mayor have to wait until after the election to transfer this... key?”
“Oh, sweet, innocent Abnerssen,” said Roods. “So full of naivety and sandwiches... If the election mattered then you would be right, but everyone in Darbyshire knows that the next mayor will be Sarwell.”
“Why? Who's he running against?”
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