by Gene Wolfe
Not just women. Some men were screaming, too.
Almost close enough to touch, a fat guy in a check suit who had been standing at the bar two or three people down from us was bleeding on the floor, gasping and saying, “Oh, God! Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!” There was a gun on the floor beside him, and I kept thinking somebody ought to pick it up only nobody did.
“Grafton!” That was Naala, turning her head just for an instant as she ran out of the club. She wanted me to follow her and I did, almost tripping over Rosalee, who was on the floor a little in front of me.
Out on the street it was darker than ever, which was bad, but there were a whole lot of people milling around, which was worse. Naala grabbed a guy who was pretty well dressed and shoved her badge in his face. “There was a car, yes? A truck? They force a woman in it?”
He nodded and said something I could not hear.
She asked a couple more questions, and I could see he was saying he did not know. She turned to me. “You saw them? Before the light? You watch them come in?”
I said sure.
“They have put her in a black truck for the dead. There is not room in such a thing for all. Some must be near here, but they scatter, I think. We separate and look. Bring him back to the Golden Eagle. I meet you there.” She pointed. “You go that way.”
I said, “Wait up! They didn’t get her. Didn’t get Rosalee. She was on the floor yelling when I went out. I didn’t see any blood.”
I think Naala stamped her foot. If she did not, she sure looked like she wanted to. “It is not the Rathaus woman they take. It is the other, the one who bring the hand.”
Then she was gone, and all I could think about was that the Unholy Way had Martya.
The way I saw it, the big wheels would have gotten into the hearse. The rest had three choices. Go on foot, getting as far from the scene as they could, or get in a wagon, or go into one of the clubs and mix with the crowd. Three police cars were coming down the street, with people scattering to let them through. I figured they would take care of the people in the clubs, and it would be better for me to go off the way Naala had pointed, looking out for wagons and looking for anybody who had come into the Golden Eagle with the photographer.
Right about here I noticed there was somebody with me, and I might as well tell you about him. It was the third border guard, the guy I saw sometimes riding with cops. I had seen him in JAKA headquarters when they had made me an operator, and three or four times since then. Now he was tagging along. He had on a dark suit, a white shirt, and a dark solid-color tie that was probably navy. Conservative and classy.
As I have said before in this book, all the cops and border guards had never seemed like they noticed him much. Or if they did, it was the way you notice something you are not really interested in. The kids’ books in the dentist’s waiting room, maybe. Something like that. It seemed to me that I ought to speak to him just to let him know I knew he was there and did not mind. If he rode with cops and could get into the JAKA building, maybe he would give me a hand. So I said, “Good to have you along. If you see any of the people we’re looking for, please tip me off. Only nothing obvious.”
He smiled and nodded, looking more like my father than ever.
We went a ways and I heard a locomotive whistle, not like an American locomotive, but like one of the old steam trains you see in movies sometimes. Pretty soon after that, the third border guard turned a corner when I would have gone on straight. At first I thought he was just going off on his own, which was all right with me. But he stopped and looked back at me, and motioned for me to come along.
So I did, walking another eight or nine streets until I found something I had always known must be in the city somewhere, even though I had never been there. It was the railroad station, a red brick building, pretty big, with a little tower with a big clock in it. The clock struck as we started to go in: one, two, three … eleven o’clock. If you backed me into a corner and made me explain why I am telling you all this, I would make a really bad job of it. But it meant something to me. It felt like God was telling me something, but it took me a few minutes to figure out what it was.
The show was about over. We had been looking for Russ. Okay, I had found him. The JAKA (that included me now) had been looking for the Unholy Way. Fine, we had brought it out into the light. Maybe we had not seen all the members, but we had seen a bunch of them in the Golden Eagle and there were probably security cameras. Most of all, the JAKA had been looking for the Unholy Way’s Undead Dragon.
And I was pretty sure I knew who that was. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but that did not change the facts.
God had used the tower and the clock striking eleven to remind me of all that stuff and maybe give me a clue about which way to go. He is good at that.
21
THE COVEN
We went into the station and I sat down on a bench. I had walked a heck of a lot by then, and I had danced some with Martya on top of it, so I would have sat down on the floor if that had been the only place. As it was, there were all these cozy hardwood benches with backs. At least a hundred empty seats, when I only needed one. The third border guard wandered off after I sat down. I looked around for him, but he had gone.
Pretty soon a big, raw-boned woman in a red-and-black-striped dress came in. Disguised, right? Okay, she had changed clothes somewhere and even changed the way she wore her hair, piling it on top of her head. But I would have known her anyhow, and there was a dead giveaway. She was carrying a long canvas case I knew damned well must have the camera and tripod in it, so the buck-toothed guy had stuck her with those. I watched while she rented a locker (there was a guy you gave money to who handed you the key) and put her canvas bag in it.
Of course I thought of busting her on the spot. There were two reasons I did not do it. One was that I did not have handcuffs. Give me a cop with cuffs and a patrol car, and I would have run her in right then.
The other was that the more I looked at it the dumber it looked. Suppose she ran. I would run after her and most likely catch up to her. (But I might lose her.) Or I could shoot, maybe. But I knew myself well enough to know I had no chance of hitting her where I wanted to unless I stopped to aim. That meant that she would get away unless I hit her solidly enough to bring her down. That meant a good hit in a leg, and her legs would be moving fast.
If I missed her, she would get away. If I killed her, she would not talk. Okay, we could probably find out where she lived and search the place. Maybe she had something that would tell us something, and maybe she kept it where she lived. And if she did, we might find it. About one chance in five, maybe.
On top of all that, the JAKA would not like a brand-new guy shooting in the railroad station. So no. Shooting if she ran was out, and I would have to catch her. I was fast but I was tired and she looked fast, too. It was dark outside, and there was a jungle of trees and shrubs around the building.
So I just watched, watching out hard for anybody who might be with her and not showing it. It seemed like she was alone, but after she had put the canvas case in her locker she went over to a door with a coffee cup painted on the glass and went in.
That gave me a problem, a good one. There would not be a whole lot of people in there at this time of night. Hell, there were not a lot of people in the whole station. If I went in there I would stand out like a pickle in the lemonade, and she would have seen me in the Golden Eagle just like I had seen her.
If I waited for her to come out, she probably would not. There almost had to be some other way out of that coffee shop, and ten to one she would take it. So I went outside and got around to where the coffee shop had to be. Right, there was an outside door. I backed into the trees.
And waited.
First thing. If she went back into the big room where people waited for trains, I had no way of knowing about it. From there, she could go out the front of the building and I would not see her. Or she could walk the tracks out back. I would not see her th
ere, either. Or she could even take a train, and it was a dead certainty that I would not see her. I was just about ready to stroll into the coffee shop and ask for a glass of water when she came out.
Not through the regular door I had been watching, but through a big overhead door that opened onto a loading dock. For half a minute I wondered whether she was really strong enough to lift that thing, but it was probably counterbalanced some way. It could even have been powered.
Whatever the answer was, here she was, walking fast and leaving the freight door open behind her.
I did not dare to get too close and I almost lost her twice. If I were to go into all that here, it would take half the book. It got later and later, and we got into a really crummy part of the city. There was almost nobody on the streets there, but you saw guys—it was always guys—waiting in the weeds between the trees. I was one building behind her when she opened a door with a key and went in.
I walked past it and had a look. There was black lettering on the window, but I could not read it and there were no lights inside. After that I walked past again on the other side of the street. Sure enough, there was a guy standing in the shadows under a tree.
If I had money, I would have slipped him a little for information. I had nothing, and all of a sudden it hit me that if he was selling something, like peddling crack or maybe pimping, he would have money already. Maybe quite a bit.
So I went up to him and said, “I’ve got a question.”
He looked right past me as though I was not there, and I tried a couple more lines before he slugged me. It was a pretty good one. I staggered backward, but I did not fall until I tripped over something. Then I went down for two or three seconds before I got up and went for him.
He stumbled into some bushes and I should have given him half a dozen more, but I grabbed him instead. He tore loose, leaving most of his shirt behind, and drew. His piece had been stuck in his waistband under the shirt. I kicked him and it fired, the bullet hitting a rock or something and singing away. I know I kicked him then and tagged him some more, but I cannot remember which came first. He went down still holding his gun until I kicked it out of his hand. I will not tell you the rest, but the fight went out of him pretty quick.
There was a wad of bills in his front pants pocket. I got it and got off him, checked to make sure the hand was still in the side pocket of my jacket, and tried to clean myself up a little. That was when I noticed that my new watch was broken.
I was still swearing when a black and silver skidded to a stop and a cop jumped out. You can probably guess what the first thing I did was—I looked for the third border guard in the front seat. He was not there.
The second thing was to flash my badge.
The cop touched his cap. “Need help, operator?”
I nodded and found the gun the guy I had just robbed had dropped. It was an old Walther, the kind the German Army used to use. “You better take this,” I told the cop. “I don’t want it weighing down my pants.”
“Yes, operator.” He took it. “This I will see to. You will file charges?”
“No. He wouldn’t talk to me, but I’ve got a feeling he’ll talk now.”
The cop chuckled.
“What do you know about that place across the street?” I pointed.
“The mortuary, operator?” The cop scratched his head. “They must close soon. A funeral every few weeks, it might be. They have the fine dead wagon, however. It I see now and again. It is behind if it is not out. Good blacks to draw it, operator.”
“Did it go out tonight?”
He pursed his lips. “You know, operator, it did as I think. I passed it.”
“I think it did, too,” I said. The guy Naala talked to had called it a hearse, probably, and when Naala said truck I had thought of the kind of hearse they use here in the States. Over here, quite a few bands buy old hearses for transportation. I asked the cop, “You know where the Golden Eagle is?”
“I do, operator.” He sort of hesitated, which told me he knew it was JAKA.
“Go there and ask around for Naala. She’ll be there. Tell her you talked to five five eight, and tell her where I was.”
“At once, operator.”
“Nice looking, about forty, white blouse, gray jacket, gray skirt. She’s a senior operator. Do you know her?”
He shook his head.
“She’ll be there. Find her and tell her what I said.”
“Yes, operator. I fly.”
I watched him drive away, then told the guy I had tangled with to stand up.
He did, moving pretty slowly, but moving.
I said, “I could take you to JAKA headquarters, and they’d hold you for a year or so just to practice on. Maybe once a week they’d knock you around or burn you a little. I’m not going to do that this time, but I don’t ever want to see you again. You got that?”
He turned his head and spit blood. “Cross the street and you will not.”
I took a step closer and said, “Maybe you’d better tell me about that.”
He ran instead, and he was fast. I watched him duck into the deep shadows, and made a mental note to corner the next guy I wanted to question.
There had been a fight and a shot fired, so I figured there was a pretty fair chance the woman I had followed was looking out a window somewhere, and it would not do to just stroll across the street and try the front door. It had been locked when she got there anyway, so there was a real good chance she had locked it again once she was inside. So I walked a couple of streets down before I turned a corner and circled around to get at the back.
You may have noticed that every once in a while I put something in this book that I cannot explain but think I ought to tell you about anyway. Okay, this is another of those. I passed a store that had a big picture of the third border guard in the window. He was younger in the picture and maybe a little bit better looking than he really was, but it was him.
Here is another thing, but I do not believe it is much of a mystery. Most of the stores I passed had a few lights on. Even some of those that had burglar bars did. But I think that was just like it is here. You leave some lights on so the cops can see in, and like I said, that was a seedy neighborhood. If the lights are on, the cops can see there is somebody in there when there should not be. If they are off in a store that usually has them on, maybe they will check that out, too.
The cop had told me there was a coach for bodies out back, and a couple of horses. What was really there was a barn. It was stone up to about four feet, with wood above that, and I got the feeling it might have been there back when there were farms where I was instead of city streets. Doors front and back, both of them padlocked. I figured I could probably get in pretty easily, but it was not worth doing. The woman I had been following had gone into the building, not the barn.
The thing that threw me was that there were no lights in the windows of the building. None. If she had gone in there she had not turned on a single light, or that was how it looked. The cop would have given me his flashlight if I had asked for it, but I had never thought of it. So live and learn.
I tried the back door. Locked, which was what I had expected. Then the windows. The first three I tried were closed and locked good. I pushed up hard, but nothing doing. The fourth one (I have always thought since then that four was my lucky number) was open at the bottom about three inches. It would not go up any farther no matter how hard I pushed. At first that made no sense, but it was summer and the people inside would want some ventilation. Nobody here seemed to have air conditioning, and it would have been miserable in there with all the windows closed.
So leave one or two open a little, but locked or blocked so they could not be opened any farther. And I remembered the hand.
I took it out and whispered, “I hope you can hear me, and I hope you really like me like Magos X said. I’m going to put you halfway in, through this little opening, see? I want you to unlock the window for me so I can raise it and get inside. Will y
ou do that for me? Please?”
Most likely you think I have too much imagination, and maybe you are right. But a breeze sprang up just then, not a strong wind but plenty strong enough to ruffle my hair. Up until I talked to the hand the air had been still that night, like it mostly is in the summer.
I laid the hand on windowsill and waited, and as soon as I looked away it was gone. Pretty soon I heard a rattle inside. I waited a few seconds more before I lifted, and the window went right up just as slick as you please.
The hand came out then, so I picked it up and said thank you and put it back into my pocket. Sometimes I have wondered how the ghost felt, walking along beside me all the time with her hand in my pocket. But I did not think of that then.
Jumping up, pushing aside some velvet curtains, and crawling through the window were all pretty easy. Doing those things without making much noise was a whole lot harder. I did the best I could, because as soon as I was inside I had heard voices. Not loud, and a long way from being loud and clear enough for me to understand what the people were saying, but voices for sure. When I stood still and listened hard I thought I could tell the men’s voices from the women’s. It sounded to me like there had to be at least four people talking, and it could have been more. Later I found out there were thirteen, but I did not know that then.
The worst thing, and it was really pretty bad, was that I did not have any kind of a light and it was blind dark in there. I walked as slowly as I could and as carefully as I could, too. The floor creaked anyway, little slow creaks every time I took a step. I knew there was a really good chance that I would trip over something even if I was careful. Knocking something over might be just as bad.
Only I was tempted to do it. For one thing I was tired and I had taken some good solid punches. I wanted everything to be over so I could maybe take a shower and for sure go to bed. For another, when the people I could hear talking heard me, they would turn on the lights.
And I cannot tell you how bad I wanted those lights. If they got rough or even looked like they wanted to, I was going to shoot. And if I ran out of bullets they were in for one hell of a fight.