by T. A. Pratt
Marla shook her head. “You said there aren’t direct connections from one branch of the multiverse to another, right?”
“Right.”
She shrugged. “Maybe the briarpatch is an airlock.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Wait. You mean, like... a safe way to travel from one branch of the multiverse to another?”
“If there are giant bees and were-bears I don’t know about safe, but maybe a way to travel between worlds without damaging the fabric of the multiverse, yeah. You step into the briarpatch, and proceed through a series of implausible worlds, and emerge into another reality. Like going through a series of airlocks, one room sealed off from another. Hell, maybe that presence you sensed polices things in the briarpatch, too, and makes sure only certain people can get through to other realities. It makes sense there’d be some mechanism to go from one branch to another without shredding apart space-time.”
“That... huh. That is an interesting theory. And potentially even a testable one.”
“You see how helpful I am? Now you be helpful for me.”
Now he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You want to talk to me about your black sand.”
“Yes. Does it come from somewhere in our universe, or another one?
“You’re asking, is the sand my problem or not?”
“That’s right. Because a giant talking death sphere full of sores that glow like stars doesn’t seem ordinary alien, it seems alien alien, like it might hail from some other entirely different universe.”
Big B put down his lemonade. “Okay. Yes. The black stone Rondeau found in the desert did pass through a rift from another universe, a long time ago, during my predecessor’s tenure, or maybe even her predecessor’s.”
Marla leaned against the rail and crossed her arms. “So, this shit came from another universe. Isn’t it your responsibility to clean it up? Or at least give me aid and comfort while I clean it up?”
Big B swirled the ice around in his glass. “I did clean it up. I sealed up the breach in space-time that fragment of bad matter came through. Actually, it was one of about a thousand tiny breaches I sealed up when I took over this job. The multiverse was ragged back then, because it hadn’t had an overseer in a little while, and even when it did, well, my predecessor was stretched a little thin, which is how stuff like your cloak and the Outsider got past her. There’s no telling how long that stone was on Earth, and it was totally inert for a long time, because it really is just a stray hair, a single tooth, a fragment of something bigger. But that fragment got activated by Rondeau’s power, and somehow... got in touch with its mothership. I sensed that connection, too, and I severed it, because the flow of information between universes is as bad as the flow of matter. But I was too late. The black sand had already, I don’t know, downloaded its consciousness, or sent its instructions, or murmured sweet nothings, or who knows what. Now the sand on Earth is autonomous, and active, and it’s doing... whatever it’s doing.”
“Bradley, just help me. You took my cloak away, because it was from another universe. You helped us trap the Outsider. There’s precedent for you to step in.”
He shook his head. “The cloak was poking pinholes in reality and trying to get home. The Outsider was eating gods, and it was working up to eating me, so he counted as an existential threat, and allowed me to defend myself. This sand... at this point, while it’s certainly a threat to all life on Earth, it’s not a threat to the integrity of the multiverse itself, unless it tries to establish a connection to its original universe.”
“Shouldn’t you nip it in the bud now, before it can do that?”
“Arrest the criminal before it commits a crime, you mean? I’m not that kind of god. The thing is... I think the sand knows better than to draw my attention. I’m looking into a lot of branches of the multiverse adjacent to yours, where the sand is farther along in its process, and it seems content with taking over your planet, with some designs on the solar system as a whole. I’m looking for any excuse to step in, believe me, but the black sand isn’t giving me one. Even though I come from humanity, and have a sentimental attachment to Earth, especially those Earths where you and me were friends... maintaining life on Earth isn’t part of my job. The multiverse is full of life, and of consciousnesses that aren’t properly life at all—sort of like you, since you went all divine—but even if there was nothing out there at all but spinning rocks and incandescent plasma, my job would be the same: keeping reality from collapsing on itself. Conscious life makes my job harder, since sentient creatures are always pushing boundaries. That sentimentality I mentioned is why I’m talking to you now, and you can have all the moral support from me you can eat, but I can’t step in directly here unless the sand starts messing with the integrity of reality.”
“Can you at least give me some advice?”
“My advice is, get every speck of that stuff. In the branches of the multiverse where this problem has been dealt with successfully, you found the sand earlier, and you managed to eliminate every bit of it. If one grain remains, it can replicate itself infinitely... or until it runs out of matter to eat.”
“There’s sand inside people’s heads, B. This stuff is mind controlling people and using them as mules. The infected can look like anybody.”
“It sucks, Marla, I’m sorry. All I can say is... I’m watching. I’m rooting for you.”
“That and five bucks will get me a latte.” She put her glass down. “Thanks for the lemonade. I’m going to go try to save the world. You suck.”
“Marla, it’s just the job.”
“I know. The job sucks, then.” She gave him a hug. “At least now I know this stuff isn’t from my universe, so I don’t have to wait a few centuries for technology to get up to speed so I can send space marines to blow up the black star.”
“That must be a great relief to you.”
“Tell Henry I said goodbye.” She went down the steps out of the gazebo, and then she was back in the underworld, in her office now.
Pelham cleared his throat. “There you are, Majesty. It’s almost time for your next date. I know it’s not the best time, but—”
“No, no, I can spare the attention. I need a consort. This would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to split my attention to such an insane degree. This is the last one Cole’s found, right?”
“As requested, Cole limited his algorithm to the three best choices. If these options all prove unacceptable, we can try again.”
“Great. You know, I never did online dating or anything. Would I sound old if I said it I’d really rather just meet someone in person, feel some spark or curiosity, and see where it goes?”
“Mmm. It sounds terribly inefficient, at least. You could waste a great deal of time on people who turn out to be utterly unsuitable for you, and for the role.”
“Yeah, but sometimes that unsuitability is half the fun. Still, this is a royal marriage, so fun has to come second. Why did I become a god again?”
“I believe it was better than all the alternatives, Majesty.”
“Sounds about right.”
It Goes Beep
“So this is the thing?” Bradley turned the device over in his hands. “I expected, I don’t know, a Geiger counter, or some steampunk conglomeration of crystals and tubes. This looks like an ordinary smartphone.”
Cole sat on the other side of his desk. He didn’t look good; he looked like what he was, which was someone who’d stayed up all day and night doing complicated spellwork. “It is a smartphone, or it started out as one. It doesn’t make calls anymore, or get on the internet, but it is wrapped all around with divination spells, so what it does have is a map that should display the location of black sand within roughly a fifty-mile radius centered on the phone. That’s a rough guide, though. The map might tell you there’s sand in the middle of Times Square, say, but it isn’t accurate enough to tell you which person in the square is infected.”
“So how do we narrow it down in a crowd?”
“Sympathetic magic. There’s a single grain of black sand inside that phone, trapped in a bubble of force and primed to react to the presence of things like itself. That wasn’t difficult to engineer, really: the sand wants to find more of itself. When you’re close to an infected person, within, say, fifty yards, the phone will beep. The more quickly it beeps, the closer you are. That should allow you to narrow down your search. When the beep becomes a constant whine, it means the infected is close enough to touch. Wear headphones if you’re in a situation where constant beeping would draw unwanted attention.”
“This is great, Cole. How many do you have?”
“I have four finished. Will that be sufficient?” Cole slid a cardboard box across the desk.
“I’d take a hundred, but four is good to start.”
“I’m producing more, but it will take a few hours. I have to assemble the detectors myself, since I dare not risk any of my associates.”
“Makes sense. We can start searching from the known locations of infected people we got from the oracle, and work outward. With luck we’ll catch anyone those original carriers infected, too.” Bradley picked up the box and rose. “I’m going to muster up some troops and see if we can stop this thing before it spreads any farther.” He sighed. “I’m trying to tell myself it’s not killing people. The sand already killed them. Right?”
“That’s absolutely true,” Cole said.
“Can I borrow your bell? I’m going to need Marla’s help with rapid deployment.”
“Of course.” Cole took a small silver bell from his desk and passed it to Bradley. The bell didn’t chime when Cole moved it; it only rang when used intentionally.
Bradley put the bell in his pocket, tucked the box of black sand detectors under his arm, and started toward the exit. He paused on the way out. “Thanks for doing this. I know working with the black sand isn’t fun.”
“That is something of an understatement,” Cole said. “It’s quite harrowing, to know the smallest mistake, the slightest contact with the sand, could lead to disaster. But when the cause is this important, how could I do otherwise? You be careful, all right?”
Bradley said goodbye and departed.
After Bradley left, Sanford Cole sat unmoving at his desk for a long time. Then he sneezed, cupping his hands over his nose. When he lowered his hands, specks of glittering black sand dotted his palms. He scowled down, and the sand jostled and formed itself into a neat mound. He lowered his face, and snorted the granules back up his nose again.
Bradley rang the bell, and Pelham’s disembodied voice said, “Yes?”
“Pelly?” Bradley looked around his apartment, but apparently this was a voice-only call. “Is Marla around?”
“Her attention is elsewhere, but if this is an emergency—”
“Not exactly an emergency. She asked Cole to make black sand detectors, and tasked me with hunting down the infected. I need to round up some volunteers, and we need to travel very far, very fast. None of my available techniques for teleportation are safe enough for my taste, so I was hoping she could do the shadow-walk thing for me?”
“I have been invested with a portion of her majesty’s abilities while I oversee things in the underworld,” Pelham said. “I am authorized to deputize help at my discretion, and would be happy to grant you powers necessary for logistical support.”
“This is gonna rule,” Bradley said.
“Hey guys.” Bradley ducked to avoid a throwing axe that embedded itself in the wall above him. “Whoa! Since when do you do ranged weapons?”
Squat stared at him for a moment, then sat back down at the card table. Crapsey, sitting across from him, hadn’t even looked up. They appeared to be playing blackjack, with human teeth for chips. “Squat is expanding his repertoire of violence. Me, I like guns, but he thinks hatchets are cooler.
“Hatchets are objectively cooler,” Squat rumbled. He was short, wide, and wearing what looked like fifteen layers of coats and scarves, despite an old radiator hissing the apartment full of heat. October in Felport was gearing up for a chilly winter.
Crapsey slapped a card down on the table. “What do you want, lickspittle?”
“Do we have an adversarial relationship I don’t remember?” Bradley eased his way around the table and pulled up a chair beside the two.
Crapsey shrugged. “You and me never tangled too much, but you’re Marla Mason’s lapdog, and she has never, ever, even once, meant something good in my life.”
“Except for offering you new disposable bodies after your current body dies,” Squat said.
“Yeah, okay, that.”
Bradley leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Marla has pretty much withdrawn from the public sphere now anyway. Because of her, you know. New situation.”
“It’s so comforting to have her as the god of Death. Luckily, me and Squat don’t die.”
“Immortality bros.” Squat offered a meaty paw for a high-five from his murder buddy.
“So we’re in Felport, huh?” Bradley looked around the squalid apartment. “Are you guys back in Nicolette’s good graces?”
Crapsey snorted. “She doesn’t have any of those. But yeah, she’s in charge again, and we’re back on the payroll. Just got back to town. Nicolette’s not as vindictive these days. She’s, like, nesting. Making the city a better place. But we’ll still have to break the occasional face and spine, probably. We hope.”
Bradley saw his opening. “If you’re bored, maybe you’d like to do a little moonlighting?”
Squat belched, and Bradley winced. Whatever Squat had eaten for lunch, it had been dead a long time.
“Does it involve murder?” Crapsey asked.
“More abduction. I’ve got this charm that will immobilize your target.” Bradley held up a small round pebble. “How’d you guys like to go to Greece and chase down someone infested with evil black sand?”
“Nah. Squat gets antsy on planes. He was flying on one that crashed one time and he got the PTSDs. To be fair, he was the reason it crashed in the first place, but still.”
“No need to fly,” Bradley said. “I can transport you in an instant.”
“Fuck no. I’m not teleporting. Nicolette lost an arm one time doing that shit. I don’t think Marla will replace this body if I just get maimed, so I’m not risking that.”
“I have a foolproof transportation method. We’ll travel through the shadows, just like the gods can do. We go from here to there, poof, and I’ll bring you back when you’re done.”
“What’s it pay?”
Cole had extended him a line of credit, and Bradley named a number.
Squat grunted. “I have been saving up to buy a slaughterhouse. I want to eat all the bits that are left over after the animals get turned into meat, you know?”
“Yeah, all right, fuck it.” Crapsey gathered up the cards. “How do we find this guy?”
“I’ve got this thing that goes beep,” Bradley began.
Once Squat and Crapsey were dropped reasonably close to their target, Bradley shadowstepped to Las Vegas, where he found Rondeau in his luxury suite, dabbing at a cut on his face with a tissue. “B!” he said. “You see this crap? Some harpy thing on the roof of the Luxor slashed at my face. I considered cutting my throat and getting a fresh new unscarred body from the underworld, but I worry Marla will get mad if I keep going through those at my current rate.”
“What’s up with that anyway?” Bradley said. “Pelham told me you’ve died like three times.”
“Four, now, in a couple days. I’ve been consolidating power. I never wanted to run things, you know? I just wanted to have my casino, my hotel, drink some drinks, make out with some hot people, all that. But getting killed....” He shook his head. “It messed with my head a little. Marla’s retired to her palace of snakes and rotten apples or whatever, or she will soon. She always gave me stuff to do, stuff that mattered, and I realized that all the relaxing and downtime was what I did in between saving
the world or fighting monsters. Even back in Felport, I ran a nightclub that was the preferred meeting spot for the city’s most powerful sorcerers. Turns out I’m not meant for a totally mundane life. The last couple of Pit Bosses have been various sorts of pains in the ass, too, and I suddenly realized: I’m pretty badass myself, right? I know some magic. I’d totally forgotten how this body, my original body, has the power to Curse, to speak words of unmaking, and cause random disaster, which is handy in a place full of luck and probability spells. Besides knowing how to do magic, I am magic, and that’s kind of a tradition in Vegas: the magical community is historically run by non-humans here.” He shrugged. “So I took the city over. There were some enemy factions, you know, luck mages and probability witches, but once they figured out that I literally wouldn’t die, they went with the tide of the inevitable. I didn’t even have to kill anybody, though that harpy’s going to take a while to grow her feathers back. So I stand before you in all my glorious glory, the new Pit Boss of Las Vegas.”
Bradley was impressed. Rondeau had always had potential, but it had taken getting killed a couple of times to make him embrace it. “Congratulations, dude.”
“Thanks. It turns out there’s a lot of boring crap to this job, like keeping the water supply intact, but I’ll figure it all out. I could potentially live forever, you know? Maybe it’s time I did something with my life.”
“While you’re in a doing mood, you want to do something for me?”
He chuckled and turned around, leaning against the sink. “What’s the pitch?”
“We’re tracking down the human agents of the black sand. There are two in the US. I’ve got this phone, see, and when you get close, it goes beep—”
