by J. S. Miller
“Your reasons for leaving the city may be sound,” Coppersworth said. “But this is not a land of logic, and your foe treats reason as but a minor obstacle. Do you still believe the people of Astoria are safe?”
The animal struggled, and I watched silently, unable to think or feel much of anything.
“You know, I had to bury my dead once, too,” I said. “It’s not something anyone should have to do alone.”
I walked toward the remains of the bonfire. The animal snarled and reared onto its hind legs, spreading its webbed wings, which made it appear to double in size. It still only came up to my waist, but you had to admire its moxie. I locked eyes with the creature and saw a tired, beaten thing that nonetheless refused to abandon the people it loved. Believe it or not, I could relate.
I raised my open hands and slowed my pace but kept approaching. It continued growling but didn’t strike, even when I reached down and grabbed the wrist of one of the bodies. Flesh disintegrated under my grip, and I almost threw up again, but I wasn’t going to make this damn spidercat do this all on its own. I dragged the remains out and tried not to look down at them. Instead, I glanced up at the animal. It had fallen back onto all fours and was now standing in the ashes, gazing at me, clearly bewildered. I went back over and grabbed another arm. The cat slowly did the same, but with a smaller form this time — a child.
We repeated the process until all the bodies lay outside the ring of ash. Based only on size, I guessed there had been two adults and three children. Seeing them like that made me want to destroy everything The Laughing Man had ever loved, if he could even feel love. Who knew how many lives he’d taken? How many more he would take?
“Coppersworth, do you have a shovel in your …”
I trailed off when I saw the cat dragging one of the children down the hill toward a small river. I hesitated, but the animal had shown signs of intelligence before. Maybe this was how they did it here. I lifted one of the bodies in my arms and walked downhill after the cat.
The work was slow and unpleasant, but I didn’t complain. The animal could only move so quickly and had to work twice as hard. When we reached the river, the cat gently positioned the human child along the bank, then started walking back up. After laying mine beside it, I turned back and almost ran into Coppersworth carrying a third. The gargoyles were behind him, sharing the load of a fourth.
When we arrived back on the hilltop, we found the cat curled up next to the one remaining body — based on the size, it appeared to be the eldest child. Its true master, by the look of it. The animal’s eyes were wide, staring at the destroyed face with an almost human despair.
Coppersworth and I waited there for at least an hour. I took off my gun belt and satchel and laid them on the bank. I’m ashamed to admit the remains were starting to give me the willies when the cat finally pulled the final body down to the waterfront.
With the family assembled next to the river, the cat went over to the smallest child and used its head to push the body into the river. It floated in the current for a few seconds before being pulled beneath the surface. A soft glow pulsed under the water, and then the child was gone. Hopefully to a better world than this one.
We helped with the others, but the spidercat worked tirelessly. As it did, I saw that its fur had been singed and burnt away around the muzzle, most likely from snapping at the fire the night before. It must have been in incredible pain.
After the second to last body disappeared, Coppersworth stepped toward the final one … the eldest child. I put a hand on his metal chest. The cat was watching us. When we didn’t move, it walked over and gazed down at the face for a final handful of seconds. Then it lowered its head and pushed. The task was not easy, but the animal managed. We watched the small form drift downstream. As it sank beneath the shifting current, its last light glowed a bit brighter than the rest.
When we turned away from the water, the twin suns had begun to set, and the spidercat was gone. I scanned the trees in silence. Had we really worked through the entire day? I turned back to my friends. Cagney and Brando stood on the bank, looking tired and out of sorts.
“You two,” I said. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” Cagney said.
“Could use a little shut-eye, now that you mention it,” Brando said, forcing a chuckle.
As they trotted off, I listened for their usual banter. It was present — an argument about whether Goodfellas or The Godfather Part II was Deniro’s best work — but they’d had this debate before, and their hearts weren’t in it. My tiny squires had suffered a serious blow, and I wasn’t sure how to help them. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could help them. After another minute of unenthusiastic bickering, they squatted down next to the road and turned to stone. It was how they slept, a defense mechanism that made them both more durable and less conspicuous.
Silently hoping the sleep would do them good, I turned back to Coppersworth. He was standing by my satchel, which lay open on the bank. In his hand glimmered the small vial filled with sparkling black powder. He examined it with the intensity of a man planning chess plays three moves ahead. When he realized I was watching him, he walked over and handed the vial to me. I slid it into my jeans pocket.
“I dreamt last night for the first time in many years,” Coppersworth said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. It was not a pleasant dream, but something tells me you need to hear it. Let us build camp, and I shall endeavor to relay my tale as best I can.”
Chapter 20
“At the commencement of the dream, I awoke on a hilltop somewhere far away. Cold, wet grass prickled against my body, and I felt a shiver pass through me despite the warm light of two suns. The air was sharp with the fresh scent of green apples, and the sky was an empty, pale aqua. I describe these things not as mere set dressing, but to illustrate the strangeness of it all for me. You see, I sensed them with human eyes, a human nose, and human skin.
“The hills rolled endlessly in every direction, unmarked by structures but for one, which was perched atop the hill before me. I swear ‘twas the only thing to see for a hundred leagues — an enormous pillar of dark glass protruding from the earth like a shattered tectonic plate.
“I gazed up at the monolith, and in that moment, seeing the strange object with my own eyes, I knew that I was dreaming. Shapes and colors danced inside the glass — every color man has ever named plus a thousand more. The sight filled me with dread. Nonetheless, I strode up the hill, intent upon investigating further. I was Arthur Rundale’s protégé, after all. ‘An inquisitive mind is a healthy mind,’ he used to say. He used to say that.
“Halfway up the hillside, I realized the structure was not simply a pillar, but a throne. Upon it sat the figure of a man. He was light and darkness all at once, and each time I tried to lay my eyes upon him, they refused to settle there. I tell you … it was like staring at the sun.
“When the figure on the throne saw me, its awareness hit mine like a cataclysmic quaking of the earth. Within my head, a voice like the sea asked my name in a language I should not have understood. I offered up the name you call me, the name my father gave me, the one inscribed upon my iron ribcage — Coppersworth. I offered up that name in sacrifice. But it asked again, and again, and again. Its questions rumbled in my chest the way a soldier on the battlefield feels cannon fire.
“I finally forced my eyes to rest upon the throne, upon the being that shimmered black and white and gold. It reminded me again of the sun, except this time one spot shined brighter than the rest — the place where a man’s face would have been. It glowed like Christmas eve in London. His onslaught of inquiries continued, but I refused to answer. I did that much at least.
“It laughed at me, and the sound shook me to my very core. A wave of undiluted energy lashed out from the throne and caught my mind in a centrifuge. The planet withdrew beneath me, and I looked down upon it as if from a great distance. It was burning, along with a thousand other wo
rlds. Then my human senses disappeared, and my skin hardened into this crude metal casing. The being on the throne … it stripped that illusion from me. The illusion of my humanity. Even in my own dream, it had that power. Then it fell upon me with a ferocity like none I have ever known.
“As you know, Westley, I am a uniquely durable construct, but I am not invincible. Should I suffer a wound, my body does not heal like a mortal man’s. And I can tell you this with absolute certainty: I feel pain. And fear. At that moment, I felt both.
“I fled, and the beast hunted me across rolling hills until I could run no farther. I turned and stood against it, calling forth my faithful Bull-Dog, but the beast’s teeth, hewn from the same dark glass as its throne, sliced through my arm as though it were paper. Its claws raked my body and burrowed into my chest, passing through tungsten carbide steel like hot knives through butter. Then … then it devoured my soul.”
Several long seconds passed before I could think of anything to say. The dark throne … the way he’d described the glass … it was as if Coppersworth had purchased front row seats to my own nightmares. Or maybe I was hanging out on the sidelines of his.
“Your soul,” I began. “You mean that light inside your chest?”
“Yes,” he said. “I keep forgetting that you took it upon yourself to become … intimate with my inner workings. I do keep such polite friends.”
In spite of everything, I heard a smile in his voice.
“What do you think it meant?” I asked. “The dream, I mean.”
“The significance was not immediately apparent to me. At first I presumed it nothing more than a nightmare, albeit a rare one for a creature such as myself, damned to walk the Earth for all eternity, clinging to a soul but lacking a compatible body.”
“It seems pretty compatible.”
“Would you like to trade?”
“Point taken.”
“The dark glass from the throne … I could not be sure at first, but after closer examination, I believe it is the same substance you carry in your pack. It has the same uncanny luminescence. The same hypnotic, refractive vibrancy. May I ask where you found it?”
“Under the bed of an upstanding Astorian citizen. Tons of the stuff. I thought it was just a stash.”
“A what?”
“A hiding place. For contraband, drugs and the like.”
“Ah, yes. But where’s the link? How do this substance and my dream relate to the threat against Astoria and the kidnapping of your lady love?”
“Wish I knew,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes at that last bit. “But everyone who consumes that stuff, whether by ingesting it or being cut, seems to transform somehow. Into one of those creatures … like him.”
“The Outrider? Are you quite certain?”
“Pretty certain. The big guy who attacked us in Astoria was with me that first night, when Elena was kidnapped. Got cut up pretty bad. Thought he was dead, in fact. Why do you look so shocked?”
“Because, if I am not mistaken, you acquired quite a few abrasions yourself during your tussle with that beast. Remarkable that no such transformation has yet occurred.”
“Impact wounds, probably,” I said. “Those monsters seem to enjoy tossing me into things.”
Honestly, I had been trying not to think about that possibility. Nobody wants to go all zombie on account of a scraped elbow, and I had no time to waste on what ifs and maybes. Besides, there was something else I wanted to know.
“Hey, when you mentioned having human senses,” I said. “It sounded like you’d experienced them before.”
He just stared at me, his steel face unreadable.
“Well,” I continued lamely. “I kind of assumed you were always … like this.”
“Always like what?” he asked, eyelights flashing. “This abomination of screws and steel you see before you? This caricature of a man?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He sighed, lowering his head. I had a moment to wonder where those sighs were coming from before he spoke again.
“No,” he said. “I was not always … like this.”
“Feel like talking about it?”
“Of that tale, there is nothing left worth telling. Not since the attack.”
“What do you mean? What happened that day?”
“As you know, I fought to my last breath. Just before that, however, I returned to the house. We were overrun, and I wanted to ensure Arthur escaped safely. But … he was already gone. He had abandoned his post. He had abandoned me.”
Another long pause.
“Coppersworth?”
“Yes?”
“What’s your real name?”
He hesitated, then sighed again.
“I have known you but a few days, Westley, and yet I have seen the good in you, whether you would admit to its presence or not. I think, one day, I shall count you among my closest friends. On that day, perhaps you shall receive the answers you seek. But not yet. Not today.”
“Coppersworth …”
“Good night, Sir Alchemist.”
He stood and walked off into the darkness. I watched the spot where he’d disappeared for several minutes, but soon the warmth of the fire lulled me into blissfully dreamless sleep.
Chapter 21
“I have decided we must go back,” Coppersworth said.
I turned toward my not-quite-friend, abandoning a half-hearted quest for clues among the ruins of the house. The search was going nowhere anyway, revealing only burnt mementos that held no meaning to anyone who hadn’t lived there. But while these items told me nothing about the Outrider, they did still help. They hardened my resolve.
“What?” I asked. “Why?”
“This fiend has shown well enough the danger he poses to the peoples of this world.”
“And if I bust a cap in him, that danger goes away.”
“Bust a …” Coppersworth began, then shook his head and moved on. “Have you any leads as to his whereabouts?”
“I was looking for some before you stomped over here and started making proclamations.”
“I thought not,” he said, turning away.
“Listen, C-Dub,” I said, failing to keep a sarcastic edge out of my voice. “It’s not like I don’t know the stakes here. If you want to go, then go. I can’t stop you.”
“I had hoped you might see reason and come with me.”
I chuckled and shook my head.
“Why don't we cover all our bases?” I said. “I’ll track down the psycho, and you go back to Astoria. They probably need help battening down the hatches, anyway. Go. That's clearly where your heart is.”
“Ah,” he said. “I see. You are running away again.”
“Excuse me? If anything, I'm running full tilt toward the danger. You’re the one talking about leaving.”
“That’s because you're a different kind of coward, aren’t you, West? You would welcome, nay, pursue your own death, if it meant shirking all obligation or fellowship. You fear to let others down so much that you refuse to even try.”
“Now wait a goddamned minute—”
“No, I do believe you're right. Someone should help the fair people of Astoria. Especially since no one else will. I have left provisions near the fire pit. They should see you through to the end of your journey, wherever that road may lead. Goodbye, Sir Alchemist, and good luck.”
With that, he turned and started back down Cobblestone Road, leaving me alone in the bones of the farmhouse. I exited through the front door, more out of habit than necessity, and gazed after my departing companion. Hell … after my friend. He may not have considered me one, but the feeling was not mutual. How did I keep doing this? I knew how to brew potions that could knock down buildings or glue collapsing ones back together, but making and keeping new friends? Now that was tricky.
“Where’s the big fella goin’?” Brando asked, yawning and scratching his belly.
“Shut up, dummy,” Cagney said, slapping the back of his head. �
��He just bailed on the Boss. You think maybe you could rub it in a little more?”
“Oh, shit. Sorry, Boss.”
I looked down at the gargoyles, really seeing them for the first time in days. Their shoulders sagged, and their faces reminded me of sad clown paintings. Before this adventure, they’d lived on fast food and old movies. A static but contented existence. Then, in a handful of hours, they’d lost the only home they’d ever known and one-third of their entourage. A best friend since “birth.” A brother.
That was when it hit me. They didn’t need a boss right now … they needed a friend. And that was a role I’d never be able to fill.
“It’s all right, Brando,” I said. “In fact, I’ve got a special job for both of you. I need you to go with Coppersworth. Look after him for me. Help him protect the people of Astoria. It’s a job I wouldn’t trust to anyone else.”
They gazed up at me, brows furrowing at these orders.
“You really think the big guy needs us tagging along, Boss?” Cagney asked.
“I do.”
“But what about youse?” Brando asked, and the concern in his voice managed to cheer me up a bit.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I like being on my own, you know that. Coppersworth’s the one who needs company.” I forced a grin. “You might say I’m making an offer you can’t refuse.”
“But … but …”
“You heard the boss,” Cagney said, snapping to attention. “Get a move on, Brando! We got us a giant metal mook to bodyguard!”
Galvanized with new purpose, they flew off after Coppersworth, and I smiled at their backs as they disappeared over the hill. Only when they were out of sight did I let myself think the thoughts I’d been avoiding for the past few hours: What the hell was I supposed to do now?
As if reading my mind, a distant cry answered. It came from beyond the scorched fields. It was low and resonant but bereft of joy, like a brass section holding a single note to cover up the sounds of children screaming. I shivered and glanced back down Cobblestone Road. Maybe my friends had heard it too. Maybe they’d come sprinting back over the hill, ready to back me up. Hey, a guy can dream.