Mentor hung back. “I’m not sure …”
Irritably, Zozula jerked him to his feet, and together they followed Silver forward. Manuel and the Girl trailed behind, with some misgivings.
The Triad had seen the Locomotive’s cab before, but Mentor had not, and the sight was almost too much for him. He uttered a small cry of shock and jerked aside as the cowled fireman’s shovel swung past his face and crashed against the firebox sill, scattering coals across the roaring furnace within. Mentor stared into the flames, which seemed to draw him forward. Roaring with laughter, Silver reached for a dangling chain and dragged at it, and a banshee wail echoed through the cab like a lonely yell of terror.
Then Silver glanced at the pressure gauge and his expression changed. “By thunder!” he shouted at the fireman. “Ye’ve gone and done it this time, ye soft-headed lubber. Cease yer shoveling, for pity’s sake, or it’ll be Davy Jones’s locker for the whole ship!”
The fireman swung back, cloak swirling, and his shovel screeched against the footplate as he scooped up another load of coal.
“Avast there!” yelled Silver. He jerked at the regulator, opening it fully, so that the beat of the exhaust quickened to a manic throbbing and the cab vibrated in sympathy. “Avast there, afore ye blow us all to Kingdom Come! The boiler can’t take any more!”
As the stoker swung toward the firebox opening, Silver let go of the regulator and seized the shaft of the shovel, and a grim struggle ensued. Sweat rolled down Silver’s broad face as he was forced slowly backward until he was brought up against the very lip of the furnace and the hot sill pressed against the back of his one leg. “Belay there,” he groaned. His gaze, darting about the cab, settled on the Triad. “I … I’ve brought some shipmates,” he gasped. “Mayhap ye’d be pleased to meet them.”
At this, the fireman let go of the shovel and Silver stumbled forward, off balance, to collapse to the footplate floor. From this position he raised a hand, summoned a smile, and shouted, “Mates! I’d like you to meet the best friend a man ever had, the best worker ever to set foot in an engine room — the fireman of the Celestial Steam Locomotive!”
The fireman stood motionless. The shovel lay on the footplate.
“We may as well play this thing through,” said Zozula tolerantly, and he stepped forward, extending a hand.
“Y’see?” said Silver. “He’s stopped work — that he has! ’Tis the only time he ever does. Likes meetin’ folk, he does.” There was huge relief on his slab face.
The fireman’s hand emerged from under his cloak. It reached steadily toward Zozula’s — pale, bony, long-fingered.
Zozula said, chuckling, “I’m very pleased to —”
“Stop!”
It was Mentor, and his voice was high with fright.
“Eh?” Zozula’s hand stopped, a centimeter from the fireman’s.
“For God’s sake don’t shake his hand!”
“Why not? I don’t see what harm —”
And Mentor flung himself at Zozula, toppling him backward onto a heap of coal. Zozula swore, beginning to fight back. Beneath his cloak, the fireman’s skeletal shoulders shrugged, and he picked up his shovel.
“Just keep still for a moment while I explain, damn you!” panted Mentor.
“You’d better make it good.” The coal was digging into Zozula’s back and the ignominy of his position infuriated him. Again he tried to throw Mentor off, but his clone-son hung on grimly.
“Listen to me!” gasped Mentor. “He’s Death, don’t you understand? That fireman is Death himself. If you shook hands with him, that would be the end of you.”
“Death? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just a smallwish. He can’t harm real people.”
“So why are the neotenites in the Dome dying?”
“They’ve got some disease.”
“This fireman is the only disease that matters, Zozula. I heard about him the last time we were on the Train, before you arrived. That woman Tranter told me. She said people disappear when Silver introduces them to the fireman. And she was right — look! He doesn’t have a face! He’s Total Death — this is what it’s all about. He snuffs out people’s minds here in Dream Earth, so their bodies die back on Real Earth.”
The fireman paused in his shoveling and turned their way. And Zozula saw the empty cowl make a sharp movement, as though the phantom head were nodding. Suddenly he shivered. Then his fear turned to quick anger. He disengaged himself from Mentor and stood, facing a cowed Silver.
“Is this true?”
“Aye,” muttered the driver. “ ’Tis the truth, for sure. But ‘tis the only way I can stop the devil shoveling.”
Zozula said, “Whatever you and this fireman are up to, Silver, it’s killing people on Real Earth. You’ve got yourself mixed up in something you don’t understand, and you’ve got to stop it.”
“It’ll take more’n me to stop this devil!” protested the driver. A low laugh came from beneath the fireman’s hood.
“If you don’t stop him, Silver, there will be nobody left in Dream Earth. Do you know what that will mean? No more passengers. And if there are no passengers, then there will be no Long John Silver. You’re just a smallwish, man! Can you understand that?”
“Me a smallwish? Come now, shipmate.”
“Take my word for it. You must keep the passengers away from the fireman.”
Manuel, who had been struck speechless by events, spoke at last. “Let’s get out of here.”
“ ’Tis the lives of a few against the lives of every passenger on the Train,” said Silver, pleading.
The Girl was already limping through the tender’s narrow corridor.
“Don’t maroon me, shipmates!” cried Silver. “Don’t leave me alone with this devil!”
As Zozula, Manuel and Mentor turned to leave, Silver crowded after them, pawing at their backs. Sobbing, he whispered to Mentor, “D’ye think I’ve forgotten ye, lad? Oh, no — old Barbecue never forgets. We had a deal, didn’t we? And haven’t I kept my side of the bargain? Have I allowed anyone to lay a finger on ye?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Most certainly not. I’m an honorable man — ye may lay to it. But as for ye …” His mood changing swiftly, he seized Mentor by the shoulder, his huge hand like a vice, “Ye’ve tricked me, lad! Once when ye stood by and allowed yon pirates to desert the ship, and nary a word o’ warning to me. And now — this. I tell ye, lad. Only a fool tricks Long John Silver!”
“Get away from me!” Mentor half turned, shoving.
“Ye’ll pay yer dues, shipmate.”
A hand gripped Mentor’s and, furious, he tugged at it, intending to jerk its owner to the ground. But the hand held firm, and it dawned on Mentor that it was unnaturally cold and hard, almost fleshless … He turned round.
The fireman stood there.
*
As they reassembled in the carriage Manuel was a little surprised at the speed with which Silver had recovered his equanimity. The driver came swinging jovially into the carriage after Mentor — who looked pale and scared — and immediately addressed the passengers in a bellowing shout: “The sun is over the yardarm, messmates! Tis time to splice the mainbrace!”
But for once there was no answering roar of enthusiasm. The passengers sat silently, with expressions of embarrassment and distaste. Bambi’s gaze flickered toward a corner of the carriage, and for once even she could see no redeeming feature in the situation. Her face showed disgust. Silver followed her gaze.
Blind Pew stood there.
Silver backed away, one hand to his mouth, eyes wide with terror. He reached the swaying wall and could retreat no farther. Pew, smiling coldly and still silent, took two slow strides toward him and laid his stick across the flip-up seat; then he felt for him.
He ran his fingers over Silver’s face quickly and comprehensively. Then he smiled and nodded, and the smile was gone again, and his face was like seamed marble. He picked up his stick and sat on the flip-up seat, ad
justing his cloak about him. Under the green eyeshade, his eyes resembled pale stones on a wintry beach, cold and moist and heartless as he faced the passengers.
Silver tried to run for the Locomotive, but Pew slid his stick across the doorway without changing expression.
Manuel shivered. It might have been the effect of the appalling Pew sitting there like a judge, or perhaps the temperature had dropped. People began to recover from the shock of Pew’s materialization and the clink of glasses against bottles could be heard, and the murmur of the card games resuming.
What happened next was so unexpected that Manuel thought he’d imagined it.
An eye appeared at the window.
And yet he hadn’t been looking at the window. In point of fact, he’d been watching Pew and thinking how he’d like to get his fingers around that scrawny neck again. It was some seconds since he’d last actually looked at the window — and he’d noticed it was foggy out there, but there had been no eye.
He heard Zozula say, “It wasn’t there.”
The Girl screamed. There was a startled babble of comment.
“AH HAH!”
A hideous creature appeared on the luggage rack right above Manuel’s head. It squatted on thin, muscular shanks and peered down at him through the slats so that its face appeared from between its thighs — a face like a baboon, like a swamp, like rotting meat, like a nightmare. Fluid dripped from between the slats and Manuel jerked away; the varnish dissolved from the woodwork, leaving a grey, slimy stain.
Thick-armed and agile, the brute swung down and reached for Manuel almost casually, as an ape reaches for fruit. Then, quick as a flash, the creature hopped aside. Manuel flung himself back in his seat and kicked out with all his strength at emptiness. The Bale Wolf dropped into his lap.
Beside him, the Girl was struggling from her seat, while nearby Zozula swung aimless punches. Manuel caught the gleam of something red in the Girl’s hand, something heavy that she swung and then lost. The Bale Wolf bobbed up and down in his lap, knocking the wind out of him. Manuel was dead — and he knew he was dead. The beast was playing with him. Mercifully, he seemed to have stepped outside himself and for the last few seconds of his life was an observer, watching the death of the passengers and the Girl and Zozula, and Manuel. Manuel, noticed Manuel, had a Bale Wolf in his lap and it was shortly going to tear his throat out. Elsewhere, he noticed, Silver was slashing with his crutch to no effect, and Sir Charles seemed to be choking.
And nearby, noticed Manuel, a Bale Wolf squatted beside the Girl, who lay on her back on the floor. She made pathetic sweeping gestures with her fat arms, weakly trying to fend the creature off. The Bale Wolf held a little knife — just a short thing, but long enough to reach the Girl’s heart. The Bale Wolf played with it, teasing her. It touched her stomach with it, cutting the cloth of her dress and laying bare the flesh. Then it jerked the knife back. The Girl swatted at the place where the knife had been.
Manuel fought his way toward her.
“He-he-he-he!” His Bale Wolf uttered a high-pitched giggle and tripped him. Lying down, Manuel saw the Girl’s Bale Wolf snarl, all fooling done, and raise the knife high.
“No!” Manuel shouted. “Leave her!”
And just for a moment the Bale Wolf paused and glanced at him. Manuel saw a rush of movement; then the Bale Wolf drove the knife downward with all its force. He saw no more, because his Bale Wolf had jumped onto his head and was reaching for his throat. He rolled onto his back and the creature rolled with him, keeping its hold. As consciousness began to leave him and he slipped into a well of despair, he saw Zozula go down fighting and Sir Charles fall like a tree. He saw Blondie Tranter bleeding and screaming while a Bale Wolf teased her with its claws, and he saw Bambi smiling, patting on the head a creature that was preparing to disembowel her.
And he saw Blind Pew stand and swing his stick, and lay a Bale Wolf cold at the exact moment it materialized.
It lay twitching on the floor. Pew stepped over it and advanced down the aisle, a gaunt black figure using his stick like a flail with no regard for friend or foe.
But he left a trail of broken Bale Wolves in his wake. They dodged between happentracks, seeking to catch him unawares, but he knew they were coming, and with his uncanny precognition, he swung his stick time and again, clubbing them senseless at the instant of materialization. One by one they fell, to lie bleeding, twitching and whimpering, too dazed to skip into an adjacent happentrack, too bemused to avoid the crushing seaboots of Pew as he stamped and swung his way down the carriage.
There came a great howl, echoing the length of the Train, and the remaining Bale Wolves left the passengers, who collapsed where they stood, crying with pain and fear and disbelief, and relief. The Bale Wolves turned and stared at Pew. The howl became a jabbering snarl as they attacked in a body, bounding over the seat backs like a monkey troop and getting in one another’s way as they crowded Pew, tearing and slashing as they backed him against the wall.
Yet Pew stayed on his feet. He’d produced a knife, a sharp sailor’s knife, now that the stick had proved too cumbersome for close quarters, and with this he hacked and stabbed and out-thought every move of the Bale Wolves until they backed off, snarling in a semicircle, bleeding and watching him with their fierce little eyes.
Pew said into the sudden quiet, “So it’s a standoff, me beauties. I’m a poor blind man and I can’t see to kill ye — not unless ye attack. Then it’s a different kettle o’ fish, ye may lay to that. It’s a strange sense o’ danger I have. So what’s it to be, me beauties? Do ye leave us to continue the voyage in peace — or do ye die?”
And one by one, the Bale Wolves disappeared.
*
All except one, who lay in the aisle half under Zozula’s seat, a victim of one of Pew’s more vicious blows. The beast stirred, and his outline began to shimmer …
Zozula seized the fire extinguisher that lay nearby and crashed it down on the Bale Wolf’s head.
Its outline firmed up.
Manuel shouted, “We’ve got one! We’ve got one!” Then his excitement evaporated.
The Girl lay beneath Mentor, and from Mentor’s back there protruded a short knife. He was not moving, and Manuel knew he was dead. He rolled the body aside to reach the Girl. She lay with her head turned away. A sudden terror seized Manuel as he knelt beside her. She was very still. Her shoulder was bare, the clothing torn away. In the flesh was a jagged wound, semicircular, from which blood seeped slowly. The skin around the wound was black and ugly-looking. She was breathing — very faintly, but definitely breathing.
“We must get her to the Dome,” said Zozula. His eyes kept straying to his clone-son, his expression unfathomable.
“How?”
“It’s just a question of belief,” said Zozula.
Meanwhile, Silver was levering himself to his feet with his crutch. The rest of the passengers, shaken, some weeping, many injured, were sorting themselves out. It seemed that Mentor’s death was the only one. “Let’s go home,” said someone.
Silver crashed his crutch against the wall to gain attention. “Shipmates!” he roared. “I promised ye adventure, and by the Powers, we’re having it. ’Twas a royal victory, eh? ’Tis no time to be talkin’ o’ quitting. We beat the Bale Wolves and we beat them fair and square. Now we continue the voyage!”
“We want to go home!” the cry came from several passengers.
“Avast there!” Silver launched into a tirade against cowardice, mutiny and desertion, thumped his crutch against the floor for emphasis, while Pew listened with head cocked, and the passengers muttered.
Manuel said to Zozula, “Hasn’t he had enough?”
“He can’t quit. If the passengers leave the Train, Silver will cease to exist. I think he believes what I told him, deep down.”
“What about us? The Girl always got off this Train before. If you think we can wish ourselves off, you’d better start wishing quickly, Zozula. The Girl’s very sick!” The sharpne
ss of Manuel’s tone recalled Zozula to the problem and he concentrated, closing his eyes.
People were climbing from their seats, advancing on Silver in open mutiny now, and the driver’s voice became shrill as he harangued them, backing toward the door. Zozula opened his eyes again. It was beginning to look as though the whole Train would be returning to the Dome with no conscious effort on his part. Silver tripped and fell, and his one leg waved in undignified fashion as he tried to scramble up again. “We’re going back, by God!” shouted Sir Charles, jabbing the driver with a shooting stick. “Get a grip on yourself, man. Turn us around!”
“Silence!”
Pew stood above Silver like a giant. The shouting died away.
The blind man looked taller, monstrous in his black cloak. With his green eyeshade and beaklike nose, he resembled some great hooded bird of prey barely held in check. His opaque gaze roved among the passengers, and they flinched before it as though he could see into their very souls. Silver looked up at him from the floor, clutched his ankles in supplication, then began to crawl up his body, whimpering. Pew dashed him aside with one blow of his stick and then addressed the passengers.
“There’ll be no turning back,’ he said, so softly that they strained forward to hear, eagerly, wanting to get it right, not wishing to offend him. Then, hearing, they nodded at him and at each other; yes, there would be no turning back. Who could ever think of turning back?
Manuel found that his knuckles were white with tension and his hands were stiff when he uncurled them. “Get us out of here, Zozula,” he said quietly, scared the frightful Pew might hear.
“I can’t. I’ve tried. I can’t make it work!” And now, at last, there was fear in Zozula’s eyes. He had lost control. Pew was stronger than him. What had gone wrong? Only hours ago Pew had been their prisoner, a mere figment of the imaginations of the Dream People, who were in turn nebulous electrical charges in the Rainbow, which was supposedly controlled by him, Zozula. Sick at heart, he sat still, bewildered, beaten, mourning Mentor, his clone-son.
Manuel turned to the injured Girl and took her hand in his, and just for a moment her eyes opened and she looked at him. Softly he said to her, “Don’t worry about a thing, Girl. I’ll make sure you’re all right. Just lie there quietly, and we’ll have you back home in no time …”
Gods of the Greataway Page 23
