Firstly, he was dead. And dead men didn’t have much in the way of active brain chemistry or rushing hormones.
Secondly – and more importantly – this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was a memory. A rerun. Some of the less inventive Malwhere dimensions could do that to you. They didn’t have the means to inflict real nightmares on you, so they dug around until they found one you’d tried to bury, and brought it back to life.
Appropriate, Dan thought, all things considered.
This isn’t real, he told himself, trying to visualize himself back on the surface. I’m not underground.
He tried to open his eyes, but the soil held them shut. He tutted his annoyance.
Oh well. Guess I’ll do it the old-fashioned way, he thought, then he wriggled his arms out from beneath him, forced them upwards, and clawed onwards through the murk.
* * *
The more Ollie thought about Dan, Artur and everything else she’d seen, the more convinced she became that it couldn’t have been real. How could she have escaped? How could she have evaded her father long enough to make her break for freedom? And how could she fool herself into thinking anyone would risk their own lives to protect her, the way Dan and Artur had both done?
The more she thought about how she’d been tricked, the louder she screamed. Something about the scream had changed, though. It was no longer the primal squeal of terror that it had been, and was morphing into a piercing screech of anger and fury and rage.
Ollie’s fingers ignited. She didn’t know how or why, exactly, but it felt good. It felt right. It felt powerful.
The Malwhere Lord, Kalaechai, chose that moment to place a hand on her shoulder from behind. This was his first mistake.
When Ollie turned and Kalaechai saw the expression on her face, he stood his ground. The idea of running didn’t even occur to him.
This was his second mistake.
Ollie’s scream became a howl, then a roar, then a soundless vibration that flayed the skin from the demon, leaving him nothing but a quivering tangle of exposed flesh and bone. His form squirmed and shifted, but Ollie’s hands raised without her telling them to, and ten jets of blue flame erupted from her fingertips.
Kalaechai wailed as the fire cocooned him. For a moment, he thrashed and flailed. For a longer moment, he sizzled and popped.
And then, without a sound, he was gone.
The fire died in Ollie’s hands. The one in her gut faded, too, when she realized Kalaechai wasn’t coming back.
She stood there in the darkness, breathing heavily, her mind a jumble of thoughts yet somehow empty at the same time. What had happened? What had she done? And what would she do now?
A hand clamped onto her shoulder again. Ollie spun, the fire igniting in her fingertips again.
The flames illuminated a mess of scar tissue and gray skin, and eyes that were far kinder than they wanted anyone to know.
“Hey kid,” Dan grunted. He raised a finger and pointed up to a pinprick of light far overhead. “Want to get the fonk out of here?”
Ollie’s voice cracked. Her eyes moistened. He was real. It was all real.
“Yes,” she told him. “Yes, I do.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Worm shuffled backwards onto the carpet as Dan and Ollie rocketed out of the floor, looped clumsily in the air, then smashed into a bookcase. He watched as the rack of shelves toppled like a falling tree, depositing hundreds of priceless antique books in an unceremonious heap.
“You OK?” Dan grunted, before the jetpack activated again, sending him screaming horizontally across the room. He found a wall waiting for him, and while he wasn’t going fast enough to smash straight through it, he had a fonking good go.
The pack shuddered and died. Dan peeled away from the wall, fell a few feet, then crumpled to the floor.
“Fine, thanks,” called Ollie from over by the bookshelves. Dan shakily raised a thumb, then heaved himself to his feet.
The jetpack spluttered, briefly lurching him into the air. He shrugged it off and stamped on it until he was sure it had stopped, then cricked his neck and turned to face the others. The Worm was staring at the ruined jetpack in horror.
“Do you have any idea how much that cost?”
Dan shook his head. “No.”
He drew his gun and shot something large and ominous that had poked its head out from within the swirling Malwhere portal. “You might want to close that,” he suggested.
The Worm’s tail flicked, wiping away the smears of bile. As the pattern was disturbed, the glow was extinguished. The fog rolled upwards towards the ceiling and vanished. Silence returned to the Onyx Vault.
Dan slid Mindy into her holster, then crossed his arms and shot the Worm a stony-faced look. “So,” he said. “How did that go, do you think?”
The Worm’s blubbery lips opened and closed a few times, like he couldn’t quite settle on a reply. He settled for a question, instead. “What is she?” he asked, looking Ollie up and down. Unlike previously, there was no salacious glint in his eye this time. Instead, he regarded her with something closer to awe. Maybe fear, if you looked hard enough.
“Long story,” Dan said. He retrieved his hat and coat, and pulled them both on. That done, he held out a hand. “Got the ID?”
The Worm blinked and peered down at the hand, as if he’d never seen one before. “Oh. Oh, yes. The ID,” he mumbled. He leaned back just far enough for one of his fleshy rolls to lift up and peel away from the one below. Ollie’s face gazed out of the sweaty crevasse from a rectangle of semi-transparent plastic. “Here. Just like you asked.”
“You could have just left it on the counter,” Dan said, visibly horrified as he reached into the flesh fold and plucked out the card. He flicked it a couple of times to remove the worst of the slimy pink ooze, then wiped it on his shirt.
“Hey, that’s me!” said Ollie, appearing behind him. She squinted at the text beside it and frowned. “You wrote my name backwards.”
“That’s your surname,” the Worm said. He smiled at her, but it was an anxious smile that was as much of a defense mechanism as anything else, like the last thing he wanted to do was make her angry. “I didn’t know what to put, so I just reversed your first name.”
“Oledol Lodelo,” said Dan, trying the name out. He nodded, then held the card up for Ollie to take. “Happy?”
“Lodelo. Oledol Lodelo,” Ollie said. “Ollie Lollie.” She nodded, her smile widening. “Happy.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with it,” Dan said. He turned to the Worm. “Put it on the account, I’ll square you up at the end of the month.”
“You said that last month,” the Worm reminded him. “You still owe me for Nob Muntch.”
Despite himself, Dan chuckled. “Ha. Yeah. That poor son of a bedge.” He pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. “Like I say, I’ll square you up at the end of the month. Really, this time. I have a big payday coming.”
The Worm made a face that suggested he’d believe it when he saw it, but didn’t bother to argue.
“Ever hear of the Inhabitant?” Dan asked. “What was it? Aranok?”
“Can’t say I have,” the Worm admitted. “But ‘the Inhabitant’ sounds nicer than ‘the Devourer’ or ‘the Castrator’ or whatever else they usually call themselves. Compared to those, this one sounds borderline harmless.”
“It isn’t,” Dan said, remembering those organless bodies. “Do me a favor and keep your ears to the ground.”
“I always do,” said the Worm. His gaze shifted to Ollie, but struggled to maintain eye contact for more than a second or so. “Nice to meet you, Oledol,” he said. “And apologies for the… unpleasantness.”
“No worries,” said Ollie. “Oh! I don’t suppose I could get that drink now?” she asked.
The Worm’s face fell. He shuffled backwards on his tail. “You know,” he began. “I think I’ve completely run out. Another time, maybe.”
“Or maybe not,” said
Dan, then he slapped Ollie’s hand away before she could prod at an intricate carving of something monstrous and demonic-looking, and ushered her towards the exit.
* * *
It felt good to be heading back to the office. The more distance they put between themselves and the Worm’s place, the less vivid and intense their respective Malwhere experiences seemed. As they walked, Ollie had spoken at length about what had happened to her. Dan, for his part, hadn’t said a word.
They’d managed to flag down a cab. Dan had hung back in the shadows until Ollie had opened the door, then jumped in before the driver was able to catch sight of him and go speeding off.
As it turned out, the driver – a Horthian Gnullusk – wasn’t all that discerning when it came to who he drove around, and he didn’t seem all that bothered by Dan’s grisly features and decaying flesh. Like all Horthian Gnullusks, he had no nose, which probably helped quite a lot, too.
They’d got off a couple of blocks from the office, and Dan had picked up three breakfasts to go from one of the many food stalls that seemed to open up for a few days before lack of money, customers, or adequate hygiene regulations promptly closed them back down again.
He wasn’t sure exactly what the long sticks of meat were, but they looked interesting, the guy selling them wore gloves and a hair net, and they were cheap. This was, as far as Dan was concerned, the holy trinity when it came to buying food from street vendors, so he’d handed over the cash, taken the increasingly grease-stained bags, and headed for home.
Dan pushed open the outer office door, waited for Ollie to follow, then closed it behind her. He tossed the bags of food onto the table before unhooking the painting from the wall.
“Hey, Artur. We’re back,” he said, keying in the code to open the safe door. “Sorry we took a little longer than—”
The door swung violently outwards, slamming into Dan’s forehead with a hollow thonk. Hissing, Dan staggered backwards, clutching the point of impact and swearing through his teeth.
“Ow! Fonk! What was that for?” he demanded.
Artur stood inside the vault, now dressed in a silky white blouse and red pleather leggings. His hair and beard were practically standing on end, and his whole body was trembling with rage.
“What was that for? I’ll tell ye what that was for!” he said. “For not being here when those feckin’ eejits came in, that’s what for.”
Dan rubbed his head. “Who? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, what am I talkin’ about? he says. The burglars! The feckin’ people who broke in and stole…”
He gestured around the office. Slowly, his arm gestures became less emphatic. “Nothing at all,” he said. The arms dropped fully to his sides. “They must’ve taken something.”
“Who?” Dan snapped. He looked around, but the office was exactly as he’d left it. “Who took something?”
“I heard them. From in there,” Artur insisted. “There I was, minding me own business trying on some new outfits, when I heard them. Two or three of them, from what I could tell. Sneaking around, up to no good. Or, you know, so I thought, anyway.”
Ollie opened the door to the inner office. She poked her head through, looked left and right, then turned back to the others and shrugged. “Looks OK. Window’s still there.”
“To be fair, they were unlikely to steal the fecking window,” Artur pointed out.
“Why would anyone try to steal anything?” Dan asked. “There’s nothing here to steal.”
“Well how should I know? Maybe if ye’d let me out at a reasonable time, I’d have been able to find that out. But oh no, off ye go, swanning around just the two o’ ye, leaving yer old pal Artur locked up while ye have a high old time to yerselves.”
“We went to see the Worm,” Dan said.
Artur winced. “That creepy big bastard? In that case, I take it back. Thank feck ye went without me.” He hopped onto Dan’s shoulder, scampered down his coat, then dropped onto the table. “Sure, what did ye want to see him for? And, by the way, is that some delicious new meat product I smell?”
He eyed the paper bags hopefully, then clapped his hands and rubbed them together as Dan slid one of the bags towards him. “Knock yourself out.”
“What’s this now?” Artur asked, pushing the bag open and peering inside. Ollie sat across from him and unfolded the bag that contained her own meal.
“It’s a stick made of meat,” she said.
“I can see that,” Artur said. “What’re they called, I mean?”
“Meat Sticks,” Dan said, taking his seat. “Least, that’s what guy at the stall called them.”
“Feck me, he must’ve been up all night trying to come up wi’ that one,” Artur said. “I hope his marketing committee got a big fat bonus for that particular flash o’ brilliance, that’s all I can say.”
He gnawed off a gray and lumpy corner and chewed noisily for several seconds. “Holy father. Meat Stick? Fecking Gristle Pole, more like. Sure, that’s one of the worse things I’ve ever tasted in me life, and I’ve fallen into raw sewerage with me mouth open. More times than I’d care to recount, in fact.”
He took another bite, chewed it into submission, and grimaced when he swallowed. His whole body shuddered in revulsion, then he gestured to the third bag on the table in front of Dan. “Ye going to be eating that, Deadman? I advise against it, to be honest. Sure, it’s foul stuff. Stick it over here my way and I’ll dispose of it for ye.”
“I was going to try it, yeah,” Dan said.
“Ah come on, it’s not like ye even need to eat, ye selfish big boggle-eyed bastard, ye,” Artur told him. “Come on, quit acting the maggot and pass it over. Ye’ll thank me for it, trust me.”
Ollie took a bite of her Meat Stick. “It’s quite nice,” she said, chewing thoughtfully.
“Don’t listen to her. Ye know what she’s like, always talkin’ the old bollocks,” Artur said. He beckoned for Dan’s bag. “Come on now, pass it over. I’m trying to do ye a favor, so I am, ye ungrateful great gobshoite.”
With a sigh, Dan slid the bag over. “Good on ye, Deadman,” Artur said. He unfurled the bag and ducked his head inside. When it emerged a few moments later, his beard was shiny with grease. “Just so ye know, I’ve licked it now, so I wouldn’t go takin’ it back if I were you.”
Dan watched them both eating for a while, then got up from the table and closed the door of Artur’s safe. He paced slowly around the room, wandered into the inner office, then sauntered out again.
“So, you heard someone?”
“Hmm?” said Artur, looking up from his half-eaten Meat Stick. He swallowed. “Oh. Yeah. I mean… I thought so, but there doesn’t seem to be anything missing, right?”
“Right,” said Dan.
“So, why would someone sneak in, take nothing, then sneak out again?” Artur wondered. “Sure, it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe they didn’t sneak out,” Ollie said between mouthfuls. “Maybe they’re still here.”
Dan’s eyes went to all the possible hiding places in the room. There were none, so this didn’t take long. He returned to the inner office, where he checked behind the door and under the desk. Finally, he investigated the bathroom. Like everywhere else, it was completely devoid of intruders.
“Nope,” he said, returning to the outer office, where Artur was now getting started on his second Meat Stick. “No-one here.”
Artur shrugged. “Maybe I imagined it, then. In which case, smashing the door into yer face may have been an error of judgement on my part, for which I’ll apologize.”
“Right,” said Dan.
“One day.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” said Dan.
“Great stuff. Just, ye know, don’t hold yer breath or anything. I’m a stubborn and complex man, Deadman. There’s no telling how long such an apology is likely to take. Although, it’ll be a feckin’ while if past experience is anything to go by.”
Dan took his seat at the table
again. He interlocked his fingers in front of him and went back to watching the others eat. Or he tried to, at least, but his attention kept drifting and diverting his eyes around the room.
Artur probably had been imagining it. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d once become convinced than an entire squad of Xandrie gangsters were running a gambling den under the floorboards. Granted, he’d taken his own body weight in drugs just hours before – which explained why every member of the gang had his grandmother’s face and spoke only in rainbows – but seeing and hearing things that weren’t really there was nothing new for the guy.
Besides, he was right – why would someone sneak in and not take anything?
“So, what did ye think of the Worm then, peaches?” Artur asked. “A big ol’ creepy bastard, am I right?”
Dan’s hands banged down on the table before Ollie could reply.
The force of the impact tossed Artur several inches into the air. “What was that for, ye daft…?”
Dan held a finger to his lips and held the other hand out to indicate Artur should shut up. Showing quite remarkable restraint, Artur managed to contain the barrage of expletives he had been about to hurl in Dan’s direction, and instead just smoothed down his leggings and tucked in his blouse.
Ollie swallowed a chunk of Meat Stick. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
Dan straightened the finger in front of his lips and scowled. “You do know what this gesture means, right? You know what I mean by this?”
Ollie puffed out her cheeks. “Fingermouth?” she guessed.
Dan let his hands fall back onto the table. “Fingermouth? What the fonk is that supposed to…? Forget it. It means be quiet.”
“Oh. Right! Gotcha,” said Ollie. “I didn’t know.”
“Well now you do,” said Dan, pointedly. “So stop talking.”
“But you’re not doing fingermouth now,” Ollie replied.
“Just shut the fonk up,” Dan whispered, then he eased back his chair and carefully got to his feet.
It couldn’t have been burglars. There was nothing much of value in the office, but they’d have taken something or at least trashed the place while looking for something worth swiping. Amateurs would have turned the place over. Pros would have known to check for a safe.
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