The Puppeteer King

by Chris Ward

  Nozomi exited, flung away back into the balconies on the left side of the nave. The wizard and the strongman returned, followed by a woman dressed as a mermaid.

  * * *

  ‘Alas, in the pool created by the dam, a beautiful mermaid had come to live. Besotted, the young man became, day and night.

  ‘The river god was displeased. The mermaid had been his lover in heaven, and now she had come to earth to find a human to love. One day, he decided to get revenge. He ordered the strongman to destroy the dam. The strongman went to work, and soon cracks began to appear.’

  * * *

  A rushing sound filled the air to Jun’s left, quickly followed by screaming from below. He jerked his head around and saw a huge cascade of water gushing from one of the pipes. It was quickly joined by others. Within seconds the air was filled with the roar of pouring water, competing with a rising hysteria from the crowd below. People were scrambling over each other, trying to find a way to get out.

  Jun stared. Crow had turned up the volume on his narration, but even as Jun jerked back and forth, apparently fighting with the strongman while the river god watched, one terrible thought stood out above all others:

  He’s going to drown them all.

  #

  The shadow puppet show was unlike anything Elenora had ever seen. As the kind woman held her tight, she watched it unfold on the screen above, trying to concentrate on it to forget the horror of the pressing crowd. The young man was caught in a love triangle with the mermaid and the wife the river god had provided him with. Then, as the river god decided to enact revenge, she heard the sound of rushing water, and suddenly a spray was hitting her in the face.

  From the nearest pillar a huge cascade of water like a factory outlet was gushing down on to the people below. The whole crowd shifted as they tried to get out of the way, and Elenora was almost pushed to the floor as she was ripped out of the woman’s arms. For a few seconds the woman screamed her name, then they were lost to each other. Two older men pushed her between them, trying to give her air to breathe, but they could barely hold themselves up. All she could feel was a crushing sensation on her chest, and now the floor was wet too. She couldn’t turn around, but she could hear the sound of other pipes opening up to douse people in other areas of the nave. People were trying to push back towards the doors, but over the sound of the roaring water came desperate assertions that they were barricaded shut.

  A splash of spray hit her in the face and Elenora instinctively flicked out a tongue, tasting salt.

  It’s coming right from the sea, she thought, panic rising all over again. What’s going to happen to us?

  #

  Galo gritted his teeth and pushed with his right hand. The metal girder shifted just enough for him to wriggle into a wider space. His body still screamed at him, but one arm was unhurt and with it he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. His legs were trapped by the broken bumper of the bus, but that was plastic. He closed his eyes and concentrated, letting his mind feel the objects around him. With a groan the plastic began to creak and shift, lifting upwards a few inches. Galo pulled his legs free and let go of his hold, the plastic groaning as it settled back into place.

  It took him a couple more minutes to free himself from the rest of the wreckage. His left arm was broken, as he suspected was his right leg, from the way bolts of pain snapped up his spine with every step. His chest was a mass of bruising and lacerations, some bone deep. Blood had soaked his clothes, but his wounds were already starting to heal. His bruises were fading and many of the cuts had already sealed over.

  As he limped back out on to the street, he felt only a seething, blinding anger. The Grey Man would be upset with him, but if there was one way to overcome the Grey Man’s displeasure it was to succeed in his mission.

  Stealth was no longer an issue. Judging by the sounds coming from across the city and the fires that were gleaming against the night sky, Barcelona was in full meltdown.

  He remembered the face of the young man driving the bus, and the feel of the girl’s fingers as they broke through his skin.

  When he caught up with them they would discover that no matter what nightmares they might have suffered, there was another level they hadn’t known existed before now.

  41

  Water levels rising

  ‘Alive?’

  Another little slap came on the side of Jennie’s face. She groaned and opened her eyes. Her body felt like someone had run over it with a tractor, pain springing up from a thousand different points on her skin. She sucked in a deep breath that filled her lungs with the scent of antiseptic and at first she thought she was in a hospital. Then something that stung pressed against her arm with a touch a little too hard to be professional, and she opened her eyes to see Jorge leaning over her.

  ‘Ah, good. Alive!’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  He dabbed her again with the stinging thing. ‘Doctor.’

  ‘Thanks, I guess.’

  She sat up in the seat and looked down at where the huge lacerations on her arms had been. Now she was so crisscrossed with band-aids so that she looked like a patched up ragdoll. It wasn’t an expert repair job, but it was an effective one.

  Jorge was still dabbing blood out of a large gash on her left shoulder. He gave it one more dab then squeezed the skin together and stuck a large, square plaster across it. For extra protection, he tore a strip of strapping tape off a roll and slapped it across half her shoulder.

  ‘Drink.’

  He held up a can of coke and a handful of pills.

  ‘What are these?’

  ‘Green kill pain. Blue kill … other thing.’

  ‘Antibiotics?’

  ‘Maybe okay.’

  ‘Where did you get these?’

  Jorge poked a thumb back over his shoulder. ‘Across street. At pharmacy.’

  ‘The pharmacy was open?’

  Jorge flashed a wide grin and gestured throwing a rock, then pointed at his chest. ‘Me. Rock. Open.’

  ‘I don’t approve of your methods, but I’m thankful for them,’ she said. ‘How long was I blacked out?’

  ‘Sleep hour or two,’ Jorge said.

  Jennie jolted upright. ‘We have to hurry, Jorge!’

  ‘Road block,’ Jorge said. ‘Many car. Diagonal is no go.’ He slapped a map down on the dashboard with lines drawn on it in red pen. It was a meandering route around the outskirts of the city.

  ‘What if we get to another road block?’ Jennie said. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave the truck and walk?’

  Jorge gave a solemn shake of the head. He held out his empty hands. ‘No horse, no good,’ he said, then tapped the truck’s dashboard and smiled. ‘Magic.’

  She nodded. He was right. Whatever trouble Jun might be in, the best chance of being able to help was if they took their giant metal tube of nightmares to the party.

  ‘Street talk,’ Jorge said. ‘Sagrada is trouble.’

  She assumed he meant he’d been asking people what was going on. ‘What trouble?’

  He made a steeple with his hands, then moved his thumbs wide. ‘Doors open, people in,’ he said. He moved his thumbs together. ‘Doors close. People no out.’

  ‘Why?’

  Jorge shrugged.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  Jorge patted the most recent plaster and pointed straight ahead. ‘Magic,’ he said again.

  #

  No one with any sense would have left a good motorcycle out on the street. It took Galo half an hour of breaking through wooden doors into enclosed courtyards before he found one, a 650cc Honda not unlike a model he had ridden some years before. The owner had clearly had faith in the thick, bolted gates of the internal courtyard because there was a spare key under the back mudguard, held in place by a strip of duct tape.

  He kick-started the engine and turned out onto the street. The bike was impossible to manoeuvre without using both hands, and every time he had to put weigh
t on his left arm the fracture somewhere in his forearm screamed at him. He was able to take the weight off his left leg a little by leaning to his right when he stopped, but he kept his speed low to make things easier, picking his way slowly through the blocked streets, keeping the illuminated towers of La Sagrada Familia in view.

  The rioting and demonstrations seemed to come and go in patches. Some streets looked like open warfare, pitched battles between groups of protesters and riot police, others were eerily silent. Many roads had been blocked by abandoned vehicles, some haphazardly, others as intentional roadblocks. The sheer size of the city and its myriad winding alleys and lanes meant that if he took a little time he could eventually find a way through.

  When he turned a corner and found the great church rising in front of him on the other side of a plaza filled with people, he climbed off the motorbike and dropped it to the curb. Someone nearby was asking to borrow it, so Galo nonchalantly tossed the key in the man’s direction and limped off across the plaza, the sounds of a squabble for the bike starting up behind him.

  There was an uneasy calm about the crowd that Galo had not seen in other areas of the city. There was no fighting, just groups of people talking in hushed tones and pointing up at the church. Galo limped up to a group of men and lifted a hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said in English. ‘I’m a tourist. I’ve lost my daughter.’

  ‘Maybe she’s inside,’ a dark-haired man with sad eyes said. ‘Sagrada has been hijacked.’

  ‘Hijacked?’

  ‘People are phoning out from inside. The doors are sealed. Something bad is going on.’

  Galo nodded. ‘Thank you for the information. I’ll keep looking for my daughter. Keep safe now.’

  The largest mass of people was at the front of the church. He guessed there were several thousand, but around the side where other buildings closed in the crowds were sparser. People also seemed to be keeping a safe distance, so when Galo climbed over a gate onto a circular pathway in the shadow of the church’s ornate façade, he found himself alone.

  He wasn’t a fan of climbing, but the myriad sculptures and statuettes that adorned the church’s walls were a rock climber’s wet dream. He started up, moving slowly, working with just one hand and foot, using the others for balance. Even with his injuries the first thirty feet were easy, a steep but not impossible incline up into a hollow below the nearest towers on his side. The difficult part was an overhanging lip about two feet wide that hung out over him like a ledge. Its outward surface was smooth with no obvious handholds.

  Galo climbed until the lip was directly above him. Any higher and he would be underneath it with no way to get around. He glanced down. People were visible out on the courtyard in front of the church, but perhaps no one was watching the shadows around to the side. The Grey Man would condemn him for using his skills anywhere he could be seen, but he had no choice if he wanted to get inside.

  It would be easier with two feet. He could feel his body healing, but he would still need to put all his weight on his right foot to propel him upwards. Then he would have to make sure to catch hold of the lowest window slit on the tower to avoid slipping and falling to the ground below. He was eighty feet up by now; too high even for him to survive.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the strength in his good leg, using the other to balance. Then with a grunt of exertion he shoved himself upwards.

  The window slit veered off to the left as he lost his balance, and he had no choice but to reach out for it with his left hand. A pain like a pneumatic drill to the face slammed through his body and he screamed as his broken arm took his full body weight. His fingers shook and he almost lost his grip, managing to swing across and reach up with his right just in time.

  The window slit was too thin for a normal man, but Galo was slightly built, almost feminine. He pulled himself up and squeezed through the gap, feeling the rough stone grazing against the lacerations on his chest.

  When his body hit the hard stone floor just inside the tower it was all he could do not to pass out from the pain.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself rest while at the same time trying to focus.

  He was inside.

  It was time to finish his mission.

  #

  In her first-class compartment on the 19:35 express from Barcelona to Madrid, Lietta Garcia rested her head against the train carriage window and closed her eyes. She had no choice left but to resign her post and it was possible she would face a tribunal over mismanagement of the city. Still, it was out of her hands now, into those of Spain’s central government, and what would be would be.

  She took a gulp of the wine she had bought at the station. It tasted cheap, but she could feel the sharp edge of her reality starting to soften. Perhaps by the end of the bottle things would seem okay.

  ‘Madam!’

  She looked up to see Leo Ramos opening the door of the compartment and slipping inside. He had gone to the buffet car where there was a better internet connection so he could browse faster. His dedication to the cause was impressive; Lietta had just wanted to forget. She hoped that when she was foundering in exile somewhere he would be holding a position in Madrid deserving of him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘La Sagrada Familia.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Reports are coming out via phone from people trapped inside. It’s not being used as a refuge. It’s been hijacked.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about? How can someone hijack La Sagrada Familia?’

  ‘More than five thousand people are trapped inside. The doors and lower floor windows have been specially sealed and reports are that the building is filling up with water.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘Sea water, so I’m told.’

  She gulped back the last of the wine in her glass and poured herself another. A trickle ran down her chin and she wiped it away. ‘This is crazy. What does Madrid have to say? Where’s the fucking army?’

  ‘Those already in Barcelona are engaged in battles with Catalan demonstrators. Other units are moving in but most of the streets around La Sagrada Familia are gridlocked. Armed paramilitary units are being flown in by helicopter, but they’re coming from a base further south and it will be some time before they arrive.’

  Lietta nodded slowly. ‘Can I trust you, Leo?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I need to get out of the country. The fallout for this could destroy me. I need you to charter me a flight from the nearest airport.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Madam.’

  Lietta stood up and punched his shoulder. ‘It’s an order, damn you.’

  Leo shook his head. ‘I told you to make a public statement. It’s too late. A warrant has been sent out for your arrest.’

  ‘You’re my fucking secretary! Order me a goddamn plane!’

  She could see his pulse in his neck as he shook his head. On the surface he was calm, but underneath he was flustered. He might be working for Madrid now, but she’d seen the way he looked at her, with that puppy-dog longing that a teenager has for a good-looking teacher.

  She reached up and stroked his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Leo, I’m just upset. Listen. We can work this out. Order me a plane—use public funds if you have to. Istanbul or Moscow. We need to get out of the European Confederation. Did you hear what I said? We.’ She ran a hand down his arm. ‘Just you and me. I’ll make it worth your while.’

  From the sweat on his brow she could sense his indecision. She wondered whether drastic measures might work. Perhaps if she got on her knees right now he would agree to charter her a plane. She was just reaching out for the growing bulge in his trousers when the door opened and a train guard stepped inside. Behind him were two stern men in black suits, their hands holding up ID cards.

  Leo stepped aside, his face a mixture of regret and relief. ‘I’m sorry, Madam,’ he said.

  ‘Lietta Garcia, Governor of Barc
elona?’ the nearest suited man said. ‘Come with us, please. You’re under arrest.’

  Fuck them, Lietta thought, as the first man pulled her hands in front of her and slipped cuffs over her wrists. Fuck them all. They can burn in hell for all I care.

  42

  A lake of fire

  ‘Try to spin around me,’ Jun shouted at the wrestler—whose name he had learned was Slav—as they played out a scene above the rising panic below. ‘Swing yourself back and forwards. We have to break free!’

  * * *

  ‘And so his friend helped the young man to bury his beautiful wife in the ground. He then wept for seven days. On the seventh, he went back to the dam and smote it until the fragile rock finally burst.’

  * * *

  As his arms made chopping motions, Slav began to swing back and forth. In the moments between the jerking of the wires on his legs Jun shifted his weight forwards and back, building up his momentum until he and Slav were swinging side by side.

  ‘Now!’ he shouted.

  Jun swung out one way, Slav the other. Their wires circled each other and then they crashed together. Jun gasped, the wind knocked out of him. He held on to Slav’s arms, even as he felt the wires jerking, some creature far above trying to untangle them.

  ‘We have to break it,’ he said. ‘If we can get enough momentum, perhaps we can bring the whole thing down.’

  ‘And then what?’ the giant shouted. ‘We drown like the rest?’

  As Jun stared down at the melée below, the water up to the waists of the people trapped on the floor, he heard a hint of desperation slipping into Professor Crow’s narration.

  * * *

  ‘But the river god would not be denied! He cast a spell over the corpse of the young man’s wife and brought her back from the dead.’