by Jeff Elkins
“Yeah, not really battle-worthy now that I think about it. Just something for an opponent to grab onto.”
“Who needs horns coming out the side of their heads? That’s just stupid.”
“Egrats don’t think so.”
“You got me there,” Bashi said.
They watched the tents together again in silence.
“They’ve been gone a long time,” Jose said.
“Hyoi’s slow,” Bashi said. “He says it’s being ‘thorough.’ But I think he’s just slow.”
A bright light flickered from the east side of the camp. “That’s our signal,” Bashi said. He stood, and brushed himself off. Jose stood too.
“What are they after again?” Jose asked.
“Hyoi thinks he knows where Azo keeps his Lamina – those coins we use to cross over,” Bashi explained. “If we can steal them, then he can’t cross over.”
“So how are we going to get an entire army’s attention? Should I start jumping up and down, waving my arms or something?”
“Good idea,” Bashi said with a smile.
Jose shrugged. “Hey!” he yelled, jumping up and down, waving his arms. “Up here! Look up here! Hey! Morons! Look up here!”
“Well,” Bashi said. “That’s not really working. Why don’t we try this?” He removed from a small pocket in the front of his pants a black object. Jose thought it looked like a TV remote with a single red button on the top. Bashi smiled at Jose again. “You ready?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jose said.
Bashi held the remote up and pushed the red button. Seven large explosions went off on the west side of the camp. Each created a small mushroom cloud. Jose watched as the army below broke into chaos. Monsters ran everywhere, trying to understand what was happening. Horns rang out through the camp in strange rhythms, trying to call the troops to some kind of order. Lines of monsters formed at a nearby river, as the troops began racing to put the fires out.
“Nice,” said Jose.
“Planted them a few hours before you and Chris crossed over. Didn’t know when I’d use them. I just thought the chaos would be entertaining. Reality has the best toys. We don’t have anything like gun powder or explosives here. No reason to come up with quick ways to kill each other when you just reappear back home.”
Jose sat back down in the grass. “That was much more effective than me waving my arms.”
“I have my moments,” Bashi said, sitting next to Jose.
The army in the valley had formed bucket lines to all seven fires. Jose was impressed by the efficiency. The four of the blazes were already out, black smoke hanging in the air where the fires had been. The other three seemed to be almost extinguished as well.
“How long will that black smoke hang in the air like that?” Jose asked, watching the cloud gather and stand over the location of each fire.
“Forever,” Bashi said. “There’s no wind here. No weather, not like you have. Water comes up from the ground, not down from the sky, so clouds just sit.”
“So weird,” Jose said.
“No,” Bashi said. “Rain is weird.”
Things were calming down in the valley now. Monsters were beginning to mill around. Jose imagined the soldiers standing around, processing together what had just happened. Groups of twenty monsters were moving out of the camp to the west, searching for the saboteur.
“Do you think they got the Lamina?” Jose asked.
“We’ll find out in a little bit,” Bashi said.
They watched the search parties in silence. The groups slowly expanded a perimeter around the camp.
“What do they think they will find?” Jose asked.
“Like I said, we don’t use explosives, so most of them are probably completely confused. Those who have crossed over will know, but that’s less of them than you think. They have no idea what they are looking for. Azo will blame the Tinker. It will fire his leaders up to find the box.”
Jose paused in thought and then asked, “Why is Azo here? Why Baltimore? Why now?”
“Azo thinks the Tinker’s box is here. And he seems to think it’s what he needs to reignite the Great War and defeat the forces of Malacandra,” Bashi said.
“There’s so much about that sentence I don’t understand,” Jose said.
“If you really want to know, I’ll lay it all out for you, but it’s not a short story,” Bashi said.
“Maybe some other time,” Jose said. “Smoke that sits forever and grass that feels like sticks are about all the weirdness I can handle for one day.”
Bashi laughed. “You know what I like about Reality?” he said.
“What?” Jose said, watching the perimeter expand further from the camp.
“The smells. We don’t have smells like you do. You live among amazing smells.”
“Some of them.” Jose laughed at the thought of good smelling farts.
Bashi smiled. “I like you, kid.”
Jose turned to face the creature. “I like you too.” Then he turned back to the valley.
Bashi sighed and pulled his knees to his chest. He counted the tents. Wondering how much longer the other two would take. Just then, Chris and Hyoi emerged from the ghost trees, fifty yards away. Chris clutched a small bag in his right hand.
“Looks like they found them,” Jose said. He stood, and walked to meet his partner.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chris pulled the heavy doors to Imani’s Place open with both hands. The glass of the doors and the four adjacent seven-foot windows were thick and textured, allowing pedestrians to see the presence of patrons without recognizing individuals. Ignoring the “Please wait to be seated” sign, Chris stepped into the middle of the room and began scanning the faces.
The restaurant’s interior was simple. The walls were dark wood paneling on the bottom half and scarred drywall on the top. The floors were unpolished hardwood. To the right of the door was a long bar that ended in a cash register. Behind the bar was a large assortment of drinks and a big, black griddle. The patrons were an odd combination of twenty-something hipsters and homeless men.
Chris’ attention was drawn to the large, wooden circle that hung above the bar. Carved into the middle of the circle was the Gracanjo “g” with the word “home” underneath. He laughed and shook his head.
Chris scanned the room. Thirty-two patrons. Most sitting in twos or threes. A few of the homeless men he’d encountered before. He heard a throat clear and he turned. A familiar face sitting behind him smiled. The man sitting in the corner of the room wore a heavy green jacket, thick black pants, a black skull cap, and heavy boots. From conversations they’d had before, Chris knew they were the boots the man had worn home from his last tour. Chris walked over and took the seat next to the man. “Spencer,” Chris said.
“Blur,” the man replied.
“What’s a lost frogman doing hiding out in a joint like this?” Chris asked. “I never thought I’d catch you taking handouts.”
Chris had met Spencer in the streets shortly after they’d returned. They found mutual respect in their shared narratives: used up warriors with no war to fight hiding from their demons in the bottle and isolation. But Chris had found his war while Spencer continued to be chased by memories of gunfire and split decisions, wondering what would come next for him.
“Please. I’m never above free food. Especially when it’s good. But truth is, I’m working,” Spencer said. Neither man looked at the other as they spoke. Both continued to take in the room, noticing every move.
“What’s the gig?” Chris asked.
“This old guy paid me to watch his daughter while she was working here,” Spencer said.
“Which one’s your girl?” Chris asked.
“Blonde behind the counter,” Spencer said.
Chris casually allowed his eyes to drift in that direction. The girl had a supermodel’s build and a stunning smile. “Not a tough assignment,” Chris said.
“I get good coffee all day. Gives me someth
ing to do. I get to stay inside. Can’t complain.”
“She know you’re here?”
“Don’t think so. But it’s hard to tell. She’s a crafty one. Ditched multiple bodyguards before I was hired. Your turn. What’s one of the Navy’s step-kids doing in a spot like this? I know for a fact you’d rather eat out of a dumpster than take a handout. I’ve seen it.”
Chris knew that Spencer wouldn’t share this kind of information with anyone else. He appreciated the respect Spencer gave him and felt a need to return the courtesy. “I need to have a chat with the proprietor. Can you tell me anything about this place?” he asked.
“Stays busy. Big breakfast rush. Becomes a bar at night. There's never a ruckus, though. Mostly twenty-somethings. Closes for lunch. The owner is the one working the griddle. As it sounds like you already know, she’s got a thing for taking care of homeless guys. Doesn’t make us pay if we can’t. She lives up on the second floor. She owns the place outright.”
Chris watched the lean woman flip pancakes on the griddle. She wore a blue tank top and beige cargo pants. Her skin was smooth and her arms muscular. Chris couldn’t help notice her black bra strap peeking out from behind her shirt. “What’s she like?” Chris said.
“She’s good people,” Spencer said. “Got a good heart.”
Chris stood. “Thanks for the help,” he said without looking down at Spencer.
“Anytime,” Spencer replied.
Chris made his way toward the bar. He stopped under the large circle to inspect it. It wasn’t like the coins. It seemed to be hand carved.
“You like it?” a voice said from behind the bar. “My great grandmother made it.”
Chris looked toward the griddle to see Imani smiling at him. Chris was stuck by her brown eyes. He found them captivating. Her hair was cut short – almost shaved. Chris wondered what she would look like if she grew it out. He took a few steps closer to her so they could speak without being overheard.
Imani turned her back to him in order to flip pancakes. “My family were the original Gracanjo of Lagos until my grandparents immigrated to Boston.”
“I need you to stay away from Jose,” Chris said, refusing to engage with her story.
She dropped two of the pancakes on a plate, picked up a knife and fork, cut the pancakes, and then placed them on the bar in front of Chris. “You ever meet my uncle Machie? He was Gracanjo in Boston for eight years. He fell to a group of Mardocks who crossed to get high. He chased them away from a Sox’s game, but they got him in the parking lot. He was probably before your time. You look about my age. He died when I was ten.”
“I’m serious,” Chris said. “I don’t want you passing Jose food anymore.”
Imani placed two small ramekins of syrup in front of the pancakes. Using the fork she’d passed to Chris, she took a piece of pancake, dipped it in the first ramekin, and ate it. She then repeated the action with the second ramekin. “I can’t tell,” she said to herself. “Anyway, even though I was young, I still remember him living in our basement. My parents put an apartment together for him. It had a workout space with a hanging bag. Nothing fancy, just a cot and a dresser, but it gave him a place to come home to. Helped him feel like a member of a family. He’d eat dinner with us when he could. He was kind. Really kind.”
“Jose is young. He doesn’t need you screwing with his head,” Chris said. “Leave us alone.” His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the pancakes. The aroma of them tempted him to pick up the fork and devour the plate.
Imani smiled. “Do me a favor and taste this,” she said holding out a fork to him. “There’s a guy on the east side who wants me to buy his artisanal syrup, but I can’t tell the difference between it and regular stuff.”
Chris sighed. “I’m not hungry,” he began to say, but before he could finish, Imani pushed a fork full of pancake into his mouth. Chris chewed, swallowed, picked up the fork tested the second syrup. “They taste like syrup,” he said as he chewed.
“Right?” Imani said. She passed him a glass of orange juice. It was cold in his hand. “I don’t think I’m buying anything from him. I’m all for staying local, but not at the markup he’s giving me. He’s probably just emptying the store stuff into fancy bottles. Anyway,” she said. “Like I was saying about my uncle. His partners lived with us too. I can only remember two, but I was told he had three. The one I remember best was a lady named Shelia. She was feisty. Had a thickest Boston accent. Drove my mom crazy. But you don’t pick your family, right?”
Chris handed her back the empty orange juice glass. “Listen,” he said taking another bite of the pancakes. “I don’t know how your uncle interpreted the commandments, but we are supposed to go it alone.”
Imani passed Chris another glass of orange juice. “They’re really just guidelines and I don’t remember anything about having to eat trash all the time.”
“You don’t know anything,” Chris said, taking another bite of pancakes. “They’re not guidelines. They’re for your protection. We aren’t safe. I can’t be worrying about other people and do my job.” He took a long drink of the new orange juice.
“I have a feeling you worry about everybody in the city all the time, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions about my safety.”
“That’s not the point,” Chris said through a mouth full of pancakes. “We put everyone around us in danger and I won’t have that on my conscience.” He took another drink from the orange juice.
“You want a tour? I’ve got a room all set up in the basement. Two beds. Work out space. Even a shower.”
“No. No. No,” Chris said, wiping his mouth. “No, I don’t want a tour. No, I don’t need your beds. And no, I’m not coming to live in your basement like some kind of pet.”
“I know the risks. I just want to help,” Imani said. “And you need me. You need a safe place to call home. When I was a kid, I swore I’d be chosen. My parents thought so too. The call passed to my cousin, though. She was a strong one. Lasted a few years. She fell to a group of Conculos who’d crossed over for kicks.”
“Leave us alone,” Chris said, taking a step back from the cleaned plate. “I mean it. Stop giving Jose food. You aren’t helping him.”
“My door is always open,” Imani called after Chris as he left. “There’s always a room for you here.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jose heart pounded in his chest as he ran. He dared not look back for fear that even a quick glance would slow him down enough that they might catch him. He knew he needed to get off the street and out of sight. He needed a place to hide. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. His feet hurt from sprinting and his hand ached from gripping the small bag of coins Chris had entrusted him with. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been running. Fifteen blocks? Maybe more? He didn’t recognize his surroundings anymore. He’d been making turns by gut, hoping to lose his pursuers, hoping to blend in with a crowd. Now he feared he was lost.
“Stop! We just want to talk,” a breathless voice yelled from behind him.
It was hard to know, but from the distance in the voice Jose thought he might be pulling away. The hope renewed his energy. He forced his legs to pump harder. He took another right and was forced to dart between pedestrians as he sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.
Chris had left that morning to meet someone. He’d told Jose to stay in the car. Jose wished now he’d listened. He’d just wanted to stretch his legs. That was all. How was he supposed to know Bose would be waiting for him?
A car slammed on its breaks, barely missing Jose as he sprinted across a street. He heard a loud honk and a crash. Assuming he’d just caused a fender-bender, he turned left, hoping to use the new jammed traffic to create some separation between himself and his pursuers.
The cocky Conculos and three Slakes had been waiting at the entrance to the parking garage. If Jose had taken the car exit, he would have been caught in seconds. Lucky for him, he’d come down
the stairs and out a side exit. The four monsters had spotted him immediately and the chase was on.
“Small one! Stop! This is pointless!” Bose screamed from behind Jose. Jose glanced right and considered wondering into the giant building. He was stopped by a man and a young girl exiting from the front door. Jose had no desire to put Bose and his Slakes near children.
“This is pointless,” Bose yelled again.
Jose smiled. The voice sounded even farther away this time. He took a sharp right and his chest filled with joy. The tall windows filled with posters and books were a pleasant site. He’d know this building anywhere. He’d been to the Enoch Pratt Library countless times before his life with Chris. He pulled up at the front arch. Looking through the giant doors, he considered hiding inside among the stacks and stacks of books; but he hesitated at the sight of a small boy. The child was leaving the building with his mother. They both had bags of books. Blocked again. Jose pondered how long it would be before Bose started hurting innocent people to get his attention.
Realizing he’d been standing still too long, panic filled Jose’s mind again. His throat tightened. He had nowhere to go. At some point they were going to catch him. It was just a matter of time. His head started turning. There were people everywhere. There was nowhere to run. There was no way to keep them safe. He put his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, hoping to slow the spinning.
Jose heard their footsteps behind him. The sound of the frustrated shouts from people being pushed aside as the monsters ran passed shocked Jose back into action. He stood straight again and looked around. He had to move. They would be here any second. Then something caught his eye and a memory hit him. His legs filled with energy again and he ran. He crossed the empty street and grabbed the black handle. Pushing open the rod-iron gate, he took the marble stairs two at a time. As he pulled the heavy door to the Basilica open, he heard a Slake yell, “There he is. I’ve got eyes on him.”
The Baltimore Basilica was the first Catholic cathedral in America. Created by the same architect who’d designed the Capitol building in D.C., it looked more like an ancient Roman municipal building than a church. It had been a favorite field trip spot of several of Jose’s elementary school teachers. As he entered the vestibule, the layout of the place immediately came back to him. In front of him was a cavernous sanctuary littered with statues of saints and stained-glass windows.