by G X Todd
‘Loyalty.’ The word resounded, echoing off the floor tiles and closed doors and empty spaces, and Lacey flinched under Pilgrim’s hand. He could feel her trembling. This man was Doc, all right. ‘Red is not the only pet who deserves special care. You and I have been a team for years; not to consult me when decisions are to be made is disrespectful. The rules are changing. More than ever we need to be strong, or else there’ll be no place left for us. Don’t presume you can do this alone.’
The chill injected into the air by this man’s speech made Pilgrim shiver, but now the low-burning anger in Dumont’s reply added an undercurrent of heat.
‘Choose your words carefully, Joseph. It is me these people look to for leadership. Not you.’
‘The Flitting Man isn’t the only one who has plans. We may be doing his work right now, but it won’t be for ever.’
‘You shouldn’t be so openly seditious. He has ears everywhere.’
‘Ears, voices, it’s all the same. All the people we’ve gathered so far hear only weak, undeveloped whispers. I don’t see the point. No one has a strong voice like ours.’
‘Not any more, no. You made sure of that. You had no right to hurt her,’ Dumont said, his words quiet and deadly. ‘Or think that you could hide what you did.’
‘I wasn’t trying to hide it, Charles. I wanted you to know. Red was using you as much as the Flitting Man is using us. She fed you just enough information to fool you into thinking she was helping, but all the while she was playing mind games with you. You honestly believe she chose to stay? She stayed because you threatened to hunt down her family if she didn’t. She hated you. She hated everything we’re doing. She’d have released those people we’ve captured if she could have.’ Joseph didn’t wait for an answer, his footsteps starting up again, coming their way. ‘You need to wise up, old friend. There’s no room for sentimentality any more. This is a new world, pure and simple. And anyone who doesn’t accept it will be left to rot alongside everyone else, including your precious Red.’
Pilgrim quickly released Lacey and tapped the top of her head. She dropped into a crouch, just as he’d instructed her to, and he lifted the shotgun, aiming it at the mouth of the corridor.
Another resounding crack sounded and the soft light vanished. The door to the lounge had shut. Dumont had retreated.
The coldly calculating man didn’t light his own way but continued onwards in the dark.
A tattoo of panic beat in Pilgrim’s temples and thudded to the back of his head, making the tender area behind his ear fizz with pain. He gently squeezed the trigger, felt it depress inwards by a fraction.
If he fired, the blast of the shotgun would bring them all running. Then it would be a crazy dash out of these dark hallways and into the rain, all their progress lost and the building put on alert. It would be impossible to re-enter and find Alex if they gave away their presence now.
The smell of blood was so thick it clogged the back of Pilgrim’s throat, filled it up like a stopper. He was close to gagging but ruthlessly pushed down the reflux.
His finger twitched when a shadow passed across the mouth of the corridor, almost firing off a shot. He quickly released the pressure on the trigger, and stared hard at the dark shape. It was strangely bulky and heavy-footed, lumbering its way past them. Was Doc injured? Had his and Dumont’s disagreement turned to violence? Although his tone of voice had conveyed no signs of pain, it would explain the strong stench of blood.
Pilgrim had two seconds to study the bulky shadow before it passed, the emergency-stair door opening with a vacuum-sealed whoosh – as if it had quarantined itself from the bloody atmosphere smogging the landing – and the man went through, the door clunking shut behind him.
The girl sucked in a long, ragged breath, as if she had been holding on to it the entire time. He had lost her hand but now reached for her again, finding her arm in the dark and sliding his hand down to grasp her cold one, tugging it back to his belt. He felt her fingers curl into his back as she gripped on.
Time was even shorter. He felt it. Very soon their opportunity would be gone and they would be hunted down like rats in a sewer. The time for hiding and sneaking was over.
He stood and pulled the girl after him, not sticking to the east wall any more but heading directly for the doors that had been open only a few short seconds ago. The doors leading into the Lounge of Stars.
The doors leading to Dumont.
The interchange between the two men had been intimate. Pilgrim believed that neither man would choose to talk so candidly in front of an audience. As such, he trusted his instincts and didn’t pause when he reached the doors, pulling the right one open. Muted light from inside fell over him.
The man had his back to them and didn’t turn when Pilgrim and the girl entered.
‘I’m sorry, Joseph,’ Dumont said, his head down and his wide shoulders slumped in apparent remorse. ‘You know I value your friendship, your loyalty.’
While he spoke, Pilgrim surveyed the room. The Lounge of Stars was an impressively sumptuous bar. Expensive-looking leather armchairs and sofas, a dark mahogany bar lining the back wall, where a bow-tied barman had once respectfully mixed drinks while a straight-backed sommelier waited at the far end with a wine list. Pilgrim was surprised to see a number of intact optics attached to the wall above the bar, filled with a wonderful array of warm ambers and honeys, a veritable line-up of cognacs, bourbons and whiskeys.
‘We must not argue between ourselves,’ Dumont continued. ‘Not if we want to survive.’
But most eye-catching of all was the ceiling, circular in design and segmented like a spider’s web in a transparent mosaic of glass panels. It opened up the roof to the sky and allowed all inside to see the dark expanse of the night laid over them, adorned with its millions of flickering stars.
The Lounge of Stars had rightly earned its name.
The rainclouds had mostly cleared, and the scattering of cold, blinking stars was an apt backdrop to Dumont’s speech of repentance.
When no response came, Dumont turned. The man’s shirtsleeves had been rolled up to reveal thickly muscled forearms. What caught Pilgrim’s attention, though, were the sleeves of blood that streaked him from fingertip to elbow. In this luxurious room, amidst the sophistication of dark woods and leathers, lay the stink of pain and suffering.
It was hard to read Dumont’s reaction. In fact, the man barely reacted at all, other than a slight narrowing of his eyes. Speckles of blood dotted his face on the left side like gory freckles.
His eyes widened to normal size when Lacey let go of Pilgrim’s belt and stepped into sight. The tall man broke into a smile, seemingly genuinely delighted to see her.
‘Lacey! You made it! What a surprise!’
Lacey didn’t spend time on chit-chat. ‘Where’s Alex?’
Dumont’s smile grew. ‘I don’t even get a hello? Well, that’s not very friendly, is it?’ He slid his wry smile over to Pilgrim, including him in his amusement.
‘You’re not my friend,’ Lacey said. ‘I don’t even like you. I just want to know where she is.’
‘I’ll meet you question for question – how’s that? Where’s my Red?’
‘We have her.’ It was the first time Pilgrim spoke.
Dumont returned his attention to him, smile still in place, his stare sharpening. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure—’
‘And you won’t. We only want the woman. Let us have her, and we’ll get the girl back to you.’
Dumont looked him over silently, smile fading. His eyes did a thorough journey from the top of Pilgrim’s head right down to his boots. Maybe he was considering the offer, but Pilgrim got the feeling the man was trying to unnerve him by not speaking. What he didn’t realise was that silence was Pilgrim’s friend and he would gladly allow it to stretch out for as long as Dumont wanted.
Lacey wasn’t so immune. He heard her shift anxiously beside him.
Dumont finally broke the stand-off and moved to
sit down, lowering his long body into an armchair. He winced and reached behind his back, plucking a handgun from under his belt. He left the gun resting flat on his thigh, pointed at them, and gestured to the other armchairs, indicating they should sit.
Pilgrim and the girl stayed where they were.
Dumont stroked his chin while he considered them, apparently unaware he was using bloodied fingers to do so.
‘What happened to Louis and Rink?’ he asked.
‘Dead,’ Pilgrim said.
Dumont regarded him a moment longer and then turned to the girl. ‘That’s four of my men you’ve been partially responsible for killing. That’s four more than I’ve ever let anyone get away with.’
‘I didn’t kill them,’ Lacey said, and Pilgrim could hear the defensiveness in her tone.
‘She’s right,’ Pilgrim said. ‘I killed them. Three intentionally, the fourth by accident.’
The bloodied fingers at his chin stopped their stroking. Pilgrim couldn’t recall having seen the man blink since they had entered.
‘You’re the man who stabbed Jebediah?’ Dumont asked.
Jeb. The dead man’s name.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re the one he shot? I was told you were dead.’
‘You were misinformed.’
‘I can see that. It’s very perplexing.’
‘Who’s the Flitting Man?’ Pilgrim asked.
Dumont smiled, unperturbed by the change in subject. ‘You must have heard the tales by now. The boogeyman with a cloak made up of the night sky, who breathes fire over his enemies. Or maybe the version you heard was that he was the night, a man made of darkness and stars with black holes for eyes. He passes like a ghost into encampments and takes those he wants, and leaves to burn any he doesn’t. He’s quite something, if you believe all the stories.’
‘I don’t believe them.’
‘Well, you should,’ Dumont said, all traces of good humour gone. ‘You should believe them. He’s gathering his people.’
‘People who hear voices.’ Again Pilgrim felt Lacey shift beside him. ‘Tell me why.’
‘What purpose is any army for? To fight for something it wants. The Flitting Man has his own voice, and it’s a voice unlike any I’ve come across before. It has grown in ways you cannot even imagine—’ Dumont’s gaze drifted, became unfocused, as if he were looking upon a world that was majestic and terrifying in equal measure. He came back to himself slowly. ‘Like I said, he’s quite something. Almost lives up to all the tales. He can’t do all the work himself, of course, despite his abilities. That’s where all the stories come unstuck: he’s only one person, after all. He’s had to enlist a little help.’
‘From people like you?’
The man smiled again. ‘Yes.’
‘But why now?’ Pilgrim demanded, uneasy to hear so much anger in his voice. ‘It’s been seven years.’
Dumont blinked for the first time, and a shrewd look came into his eyes. ‘It’s taken this long for him to be ready. You’ll understand when you meet him, which I’m sure you will. Everyone will know his name soon enough. You’d best think about which side you’re on and be sure you can live with it after all the dust has settled.’
The meanderings of a madman or the truth? Pilgrim didn’t know. This could all as easily be the work of another manipulative voice, one that was as unhinged as its host, whispering away inside this man’s head.
‘I just want to know where Alex is,’ Lacey said, a faint plea in her tone. ‘Please.’
Dumont’s attention shifted to her. He didn’t speak.
‘I’m sorry for interrupting,’ she added.
The man’s eyes crinkled. ‘Manners. There’s still a place for them.’
‘Doc was just in here,’ she said. ‘I heard him.’
‘Joseph? Indeed he was.’
‘What did he mean by “reprisal”?’
‘Ah, he’s punishing me for having my fun.’ Dumont lifted his hands to show the blood that had dried there. There was blood splashed in much larger spots on the carpet at their feet. ‘He becomes quite annoyed when I don’t include him in my decision-making. He was upset with me for letting you go, for example. Thought there were better uses for you. Do you know why?’
The girl had no answer for him, and even took a tiny step closer to Pilgrim, as if unconsciously seeking his protection.
‘He sat for some time outside the freezer you were held in, Lacey. Seems you like talking to yourself. Joseph enjoys listening and watching. It’s how we find the people we’re hunting for, by looking for certain signs. It’s how we learned of Red’s gifts.’
‘What gifts?’ Lacey had found her voice again. ‘What’s so special about her? I don’t get it.’
Pilgrim went back to studying the blood spatters on the carpet. They hadn’t fully darkened yet, were still damp. He followed the stains, tracking them past his boot and back towards the main doors.
‘She knows how to survive in this world,’ Dumont said. ‘Better than anyone else I’ve met. And that’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To survive. She knew about the voices before anyone even suspected they were coming. She knew about the Flitting Man when the rumours were merely whispers on the wind. And she has lots more secrets locked up inside her, but it takes a certain finesse to get her to open up. Like playing chess: you lose as many pieces as you capture, but it’s always a game worth playing. It’s the only game worth playing. Joseph doesn’t understand that. He lacks delicacy. Especially with what he calls my “pets”.’
‘He did that to Red’s mouth,’ Pilgrim said absently, thinking about the bulky shadow of the man walking past the corridor where they’d hidden. How heavy-footed his steps were, how cumbersome. Lacey had never mentioned Doc being fat or hunchbacked. Doc with his lack of finesse, with the coldness in his voice, the complete lack of emotion. ‘Doc,’ Pilgrim clarified. ‘It was him who pulled out her teeth.’
‘You saw Red’s face?’ Dumont sounded sad. ‘He thinks disfiguring my pets will stop me looking at them. He wants me to see them as he does, as objects to be used and nothing more. I get so easily distracted, you see. He’ll be as delighted as I am to hear you’re back, Lacey. We’re quite fascinated by you.’
Pilgrim didn’t like the smile he gave Lacey when he said that. Didn’t like it one bit.
Enough of this.
‘Yes,’ Pilgrim murmured. ‘Enough.’ To Dumont, he said, ‘He took Alex from you. Just now. She was in here. Doc was carrying her.’
For the first time, Dumont regarded him not only with curiosity but with sharp appraisal. ‘Yes. I let him take her. I’d had my fun, and he wanted to ask her some questions about our dear Lacey here. But he shouldn’t have touched Red.’ Dumont’s face suffused with blood and his eyes narrowed into slits. ‘The visit from our patron had spooked her enough. And it made Joseph question his place, too. The Flitting Man wanted her kept safe. He entrusted that to me. And Joseph hurt her. So she ran.’
‘And that upset you.’
‘Yes, it upset me! Don’t you see? She is like him. She has a foothold in this world, just like the Flitting Man does. She fits. She doesn’t have to grapple and claw to find her place, like you or I. It has already been carved out for her. And if I cannot have that, then she will give me the next best thing.’ Pilgrim noticed the man’s hand squeeze around the butt of the handgun. ‘She warned me that a new chain of events would start if she left, and here we are. Here you are. Joseph understood what the Flitting Man would do to us if we didn’t look after her. He knew how valuable she is. And now I want her back. And you’ – he jabbed his finger at Pilgrim and the girl – ‘are the only ones who know where she is. And you’re going to give her back to me.’ His flush had deepened to puce, and his eyes sparked with a dark, desperate need.
‘If you’ve hurt Alex—’ Lacey began.
‘Of course I’ve hurt her!’ Dumont snapped, mouth twisting. ‘I’ve hurt her so badly she’ll be wearing the scars I’ve inflicted the rest of h
er miserably short life! And Joseph will give her even more. She will be so grotesque even you’ll want to scratch out your eyes rather than look at her!’
‘Get behind me, Lacey,’ Pilgrim ordered.
Dumont rose up from his seat, gun in hand, a vein throbbing in the centre of his forehead. ‘She didn’t even know what suffering was until she met me! I broke her down until she pissed in her pants and begged me to stop! And I will do the same to you, so help me God, unless you give me back my Red!’
‘Lacey! Move!’
‘TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!’ Dumont roared, spit flying from his mouth.
Lacey leapt behind Pilgrim, brushing up against his back as Dumont’s arm rose, handgun coming up. But so, too, was Pilgrim’s. The bark of gunfire caused the crystal glasses and decanters to sing in reply, and the shotgun bucked in Pilgrim’s hands. Dumont’s fist exploded in a bloody splattering of meat and bone, his gun flying away to smack up against the bar.
Dumont howled, grasping at the pulpy remains of his wrist.
Pilgrim jacked another round in the chamber, but Dumont was already charging, his howl becoming a ferocious, wounded bellow. Pilgrim had a second to brace himself before Dumont crashed into him.
Pilgrim’s muscles and joints locked together. He was knocked back three paces and probably would have fallen if Lacey hadn’t shoved herself against him. The shotgun’s barrels were pushed up, trapped between his and Dumont’s chest, and Dumont wrenched at the gun, almost ripping it out of his grip; even with one hand shot to bits, Dumont’s strength was astounding.
‘Get out of the way!’ Pilgrim shouted at Lacey. ‘Now!’
Her bracing support disappeared. He heard her scurry for cover.
For Pilgrim there was only heat and unyielding power and slippery blood. Dumont made a guttural growling deep in his throat, the steam of his breath basting Pilgrim’s face, making him sweat.
He’s too strong.
Pilgrim’s left leg shook. His knee began to buckle. His fingers slipped along the blood-smeared gunstock.
