Papa Lucy & the Boneman

by Jason Fischer

  “When these people leave, they really leave,” Jenny said.

  Most of the Leicester statues were vandalised, faces chiselled into oblivion, hands snapped off. In some instances, the heads had been removed. The little hairs stood up on the back of Jenny’s neck. The clicking of Seph’s metal shoes against the flagstones echoed too loudly for her liking.

  Only one building remained intact. It looked to be a large house of worship with a spire and a belltower. A high row of windows were bleedthroughs, clear and true, where all other glass had been smashed. The doors were thick beams from the Before-Time, carved with a deep image of the Leicester-We-Forget.

  Jenny tied Seph to a bird rail and climbed the steps, pistol in hand. She pushed against the door with the Cruik and it opened effortlessly on oiled hinges. She stepped inside and scanned the shadows for any signs of movement.

  The church was well-lit and reminded her of a scaled-down Family Temple, but there was no killing pit, no friezes or murals. Nothing but rows of plain bench seats facing onto a raised platform on which stood some sort of altar.

  On the altar, a white stone Leicester stood vigil, brooding over a stone trough. The stone man was mounted on a strange litter, long handles slotted through recently fitted iron rings. A portable statue, left in a permanent structure.

  “Why break all the others but leave this one here?” Jenny muttered. She found the austerity of this scene more disturbing than anything out in the streets. The sunlight through the windows cast a reflection of the water in the trough against the back wall, and it seemed like the white warrior was underwater.

  This close, the water trough stank. A pity, she thought. We could have used the water.

  A horse trough, another voice told her quietly, as if such things were as common as horses themselves.

  Gripping the Cruik tightly, she walked forward with her boot-heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. The stone man watched her approach, glaring sternly at this trespass. Climbing the first steps of the altar, Jenny saw a long list of Before-Time names at the base of the statue under the title “In Remembrance Of.”

  At the bottom of this list, someone had crudely chiselled the words “MATILDE CARPIDIAN.” These marks were very recent, with the exposed bronze of the plaque still fresh and bright.

  Then, Jenny looked down into the water trough and gagged. A body floated face down in the water, bloated and pasty from weeks of damp decay. An old woman, flower-print dress split open by the rotten expansion of her waterlogged torso.

  As Jenny fought the rebellion in her stomach, the Cruik shivered faintly. When she prodded the body with the foot of the staff, a scene flooded into her head, vivid and terrifying.

  She looked upon the same location, but the seats were lined with the faithful, slouch-hatted and daubed in white. A priest exhorted the statue, holding up a silver tray as an offering. Something lay upon that tray that glinted in the sunlight, impossibly bright.

  Beside this, a small girl leaned over the water trough, crying hysterically. She held down a thrashing body with her tiny arms, pushed the head back down whenever it breached the surface.

  Jenny guessed this sacrificial victim had gone into the waters willingly, but at the end of things, the old woman fought for survival, scratching at the girl with her nails, her struggles getting weaker and weaker until the body lay still in the trough.

  The crying girl looked up and stared directly at Jenny. She recognised the child then from the scene that Papa Lucy showed her, the one where the twisted city grew from the earth.

  The shining of the relic grew in intensity, until Jenny could no longer bear to look at it. She cried out and was once more in the empty church alone with the corpse.

  A week ago, she’d never seen a dead body. Now, she’d killed five men and seen more corpses than anyone deserved to see. Her charmed life was behind her. Now she was Papa Lucy’s monster, a killer on a cold trail.

  Think, Jen, she thought. All you’ve got is this town, this place to track down the Jesusman. Find the answer here or you might as well march back home and peel off your skin yourself.

  You might be lost now, but you can still save Father, still serve the Papa, and hope for mercy. Forgiveness. A miracle to point to when the bailiffs finally track you down.

  There, in the depths of the killing trough, barely visible through the tangle of drifting white hair, a glint of something metallic. Grimacing, she put her hand into the chill water and felt past the cold flesh and the slimy ropes of hair. Her fingers brushed against a small chain, so snug around that swollen neck that it was sawing into the flesh. Digging her fingernails into dead meat, she got a grip on the chain and quickly snapped it loose.

  She retched, then pulled the necklace out of the fouled water, a thin silver chain with a locket spinning on its end. After wiping the muck from her hand, she leant the Cruik against the trough and popped the locket open.

  Two small portraits nestled within. One was an older woman with silver hair and a kindly smile, opposite was a young girl with mouse-brown hair with a crooked half smile. It was the girl from her visions, the weeping killer, one of three who walked the Waking City.

  “NONA JOAN” read an inscription under the older woman. Under the young girl’s face was one word: “TILLY.”

  “Oh no,” Jenny realised sadly. “They made you kill your grandma. Those mad bastards.”

  Jenny’s tutors had often praised her as a quick study. She re-read the list of inscriptions on the statue, both the names from the Before-Time and those added in the Now. She noted that two final names had been carved into the plaque. They’d taken their time with the first inscription, fitting the letters as closely to the original as possible. The last addition was a rush job, the letters larger and uneven.

  These two names were JOAN CARPIDIAN and MATILDE CARPIDIAN. It all fell into place. This was a list of sacrificial victims, people given to their grim-faced god.

  “Tilly,” she said, thinking of the vision Lucy had shown her. Two crooked women who were clearly her captors were dragging the girl into the nightmare city. “They’ve thrown you to the wolves, love. You’re meant to be dead.”

  Jenny left the church of Leicester-We-Forget, fixing the necklace around her own neck. She was picking the stones from Seph’s hooves, the way Barris had shown her, when she heard the sound of nearby voices and the squawk of two birds squabbling.

  No sooner had she got into the saddle than Quentin Dann turned the corner, accompanied by a full brace of birdmen. The big man saw her, and his look of surprise turned into a very nasty smile.

  — 11 —

  Well, fancy meeting you here, Jenny Rider,” the water baron called out. He was mounted on the biggest riding bird she’d ever seen, half again the size of those around him.

  Coin-riders filled the street, blocking her passage to the gate. The only way she’d be leaving Carmel was through them. She cursed as she turned Seph this way and that.

  They came, through all the gaps and over the burnt buildings, birds and camels and even a lizard with a pagoda on its back. Ten gunmen at least, and even a mounted machine gun resting on a pivot. Mercenaries flush with water money, brought north to destroy Fos Carpidian.

  “I’ve been seeing lots of pictures of you,” the Dann continued. He walked his bird slowly forward. “You’ve been a naughty girl, young Jenny.”

  It can’t end like this, she thought. She dug into her saddle-bags and brought out the mirror. Once more, the glass was silent, Papa Lucy unable or unwilling to answer her.

  “Turns out you’re worth a lot of money,” the Dann said. “You come quietly, and I’ll see you home, back to whatever your father calls justice.”

  “Back to the reward money, you mean.”

  “Ha! I won’t even ask for a lick of Neville’s left nut,” the Dann scoffed. “I’ll hand you in for free, just to see the look on your old man’s face.”

  Jenny felt exposed. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere but the church behind her. If she w
ent inside, they’d simply bar the doors or set the place on fire and smoke her out.

  The bird-riders started to surround her, blocking any escape from the town square. Mean-faced men and women looked down from their high saddles, unconcerned by the tiny pistol that Jenny drew. The birds shied at the scent of the horse, but their masters brought out the goads and whips to urge the birds forward.

  Don’t let them put a ring around you! one of her ghosts cried. Take the fight to them!

  “Just you try it,” she shouted, hoisting the Cruik like a lance. “You’ll be as dead as your dwarf.”

  “Enough! Get her!” the Dann roared.

  Jenny jammed her heels into Seph’s flanks, sending him into a mad gallop, bearing straight for the Dann and the gate behind him. Birds scattered at the approach of the horse.

  She heard the whining of the machine gun, the chatter as it hurled a hail of bullets across the square. The gunman swept the big gun to track the horse, but Seph had already plunged into the midst of the birds, kicking and wild-eyed. One of the panicked birds wandered into the line of fire. Beast and rider were instantly chewed apart by a hail of lead.

  “Stop your shooting!” the Dann yelled. “Take her alive, you morons!”

  Guiding Seph with her knees, Jenny forced her way through the blockade by swatting aside the braver birds with the business end of the staff. She traded blows with the bird-riders, shrugging off the licks of their whips, cracking heads, and pulling people out of their saddle with the hook. She felt a sting, and a detached part of her saw the spear-gun bolt protruding from her leg, but she barely noticed the pain.

  “You’re mine!” she said through clenched teeth, ever closer to the Dann. She lined up her revolver on the water baron as he lifted his own gun, using the thick neck of his bird as cover.

  Then the lizard charged into the fray, scattering the birds like fluttering chickens. The giant reptile pounced on the horse and seized Seph’s neck between its enormous jaws. It lifted the horse off the ground and shook it like a dog with a rabbit. Jenny fell from the saddle, landing awkwardly. Her pistol was gone somewhere amid the dust and dancing bird feet.

  “No!” she screamed, rising painfully from the ground. Ignoring the frantic cries of its crew, the lizard hauled the horse away, squeezing the life out of Seph with its powerful jaws.

  The last she saw of Seph was the twitching of his hooves. The lizard settled down to begin its expensive feast, its teeth and claws making short work of the dying beast. It plucked one of Seph’s forelegs like a drumstick, exposing bone and muscle.

  “I’ll kill all of you bastards,” Jenny sobbed. Someone was reaching for her, a rope in his hands, and she broke his nose with the Cruik, although she couldn’t remember picking it up.

  She fought with all of her fury. By the time they brought her down, three men and one bird lay dead. Not even the murderous arts of Papa Lucy’s ghosts could keep so many enemies at bay. When they finally plucked the Cruik from her hands, it was no more useful than a stick.

  Quentin wanted a pyre for the Half-Dann, but the people of Carmel had left him little wood to burn. He settled for a cairn instead and interred his ill-born son right underneath the open gate.

  “Pile the rocks high,” he said, tears running down his cliff of a face. “Block the gate. This whole damn place can be Vern’s marker.”

  Jenny lay slumped against a rock, observing the water baron’s grief through the one eye that still opened. She was a mess of bruises and cuts, bound hand and foot, but they needn’t have bothered. She didn’t think she’d ever move again. A birdwoman with a stitching kit and a hot iron had drawn the bolt from her leg and cauterised the wound, doing the bare minimum she could to keep Jenny alive.

  “Now we hunt these two-faced dogs,” said the Dann. The enormous man walked over to Jenny and scooped her up with one hand. He threw her protesting body over his shoulder. The coin-riders had a second lizard hauling a wagon full of supplies. It was into this wagon that he dumped her among the water barrels and sacks of jerky.

  He posted a guard to watch her, but once the mercenary realised that Jenny was no threat, he spent most of his time chatting with the wagon driver. The ropes were tight, and she couldn’t feel her hands behind her, let alone pick at the knots.

  Jenny managed to work herself into a sitting position by propping herself up against a sack of flour. The guard noticed the movement, but when she became still, he relaxed and returned to his bawdy conversation.

  Look at you. She watched the Dann trot up and down the line. You don’t even know what you’re hunting. I hope the Jesusman cuts your throat.

  The Dann was no fool. He made much of his fortune from the lazy assumptions of others who thought him slow. The man was sharp and meticulous to a fault, checking everything with his own eyes, constantly berating his employees over small infractions. The water baron rode to the rear of the goods wagon every hour to look in on Jenny. She noticed the Cruik lashed to his riding harness. He obviously did not trust the precious relic with anyone else. At one point the big man stroked the curved head of the staff, smiling vacantly to himself.

  You bastard bloody thing, she thought, the feeling of jealousy sudden and overwhelming. Finding a new friend?

  When the Dann saw the guardsman chatting with the driver, he cracked the man over the head with his riding knout.

  “You’ve got one job. Do it,” he said coldly.

  The guard climbed into the back of the wagon with Jenny. For hours on end he stared at her glumly. The swarthy gunman began to feed her scraps of information, out of boredom perhaps, but she pressed him too hard and he eventually kept his own counsel.

  She learnt that small groups of birdmen had circled Carmel and eventually picked up a trail. The Carpidians had made pains to hide their tracks, but they were townfolk and made stupid mistakes. There were diggings for toilet pits, scrapings where they’d buried their fires. A broken handcart surrounded by jettisoned belongings confirmed they were on the right track as the fugitives were becoming careless.

  “Fos thinks he’s safe now,” Jenny heard the Dann rumble. “I’ll feed him to my bird, one slice at a time.”

  If the strangers in her head had anything to say, they kept it to themselves. The pressure of their presence was still there, but faint, as if they’d retreated to the furthest corners of her mind. For days she’d been both scared and annoyed by the ghosts, but she found herself missing their strange chatter.

  The Dann set camp in a chalky gorge, where a trio of Taursi spires glowed softly in the dusk. Jenny was let out of her ropes and pressed into service with the waggoneer who doubled as the camp cook.

  “If I see you spit into any of the food, I’ll close your other eye,” he warned. He set her to peeling a sack of potatoes. She worked the plastic vegetable peeler sullenly, wishing they’d trust her with a knife. They weren’t complete fools though, and a fresh guard squatted nearby, shotgun across his knees as he watched her closely.

  The cook was hard but fair, and after everyone else had eaten, he gave her a large helping of stew and damper that she wolfed down. She was allowed to attend to her toilet, but she burned with embarrassment as a man stood only a few feet away, gun trained on her in case she attempted to run.

  Then it was back into the ropes and bundled into the goods wagon, every muscle aching as she slumped onto the wooden planks. The cook threw a thin blanket across her, more to prevent exposure than out of kindness.

  Sleep came instantly, as did the dream. She walked through the passages of a big house. It might have been the Overseer’s house in Crosspoint, but freshly built, an idealised pleasure manse drenched with sunlight. She shared the house with hundreds of others, figures that moved through the colonnades and lingered by the fountains. They seemed familiar. She approached the nearest, a man who sat stroking a sleeping dog’s belly.

  “This house is not safe,” the man said. When he looked up, he had no face, his features smoothed away as if by sandpaper. Nothing remained
but the suggestion of a nose and a slit for a mouth.

  “Ask yourself this,” he said. “If the Cruik is so powerful, so useful, why did the wisest of the wise bury it in a gaudy statue?”

  Jenny saw that most of the people were faceless, blank-faced mannequins that played at quoits and boardgames. There were others yet who lingered in the shadows and who seemed much less, little more than outlines. Her fingers flew up to her own face, and she could not feel her nose or lips. Her ears were nothing but holes, slowly sealing over.

  “Did they lock away Papa Lucy’s staff to keep it safe? Or to keep you safe?”

  She woke instantly when the scratchy blanket began to slide down her shoulder. The blanket jerked some more, an inch at a time. Jenny’s mouth went dry, heart racing. Was it the cook creeping in to molest a rich man’s brat?

  She bunched herself up tight, ready to thrash around with her head to bite at anything that came near her. Then she stopped and held herself perfectly still. A slight weight rested across her legs and moved slowly over her hip, cascading around to her back.

  Not a man. A snake or something worse. She didn’t dare scream. If she startled the creature, it might bite. The venom of a Rangewyrm could kill a man in hours, but the lesser Inland snakes brought a painful death in just minutes.

  Please no, she thought, trying not to whimper as she felt something cold rubbing against her bound hands and nudging into her wrists. Was it getting ready to drink from her veins?

  She heard a tearing sound behind her and then another. But she felt nothing pierce her skin, nothing but the creature jerking around on her back, tugging viciously on something.

  Then her ropes gave way and her arms were free. The circulation painfully pulsing back into her hands. Shocked, she felt the creature wriggling down her legs, and only then did she chance a glimpse of it.