by T. A. Pratt
Do Better: Marla Mason Stories
Tim Pratt
For Emily
Table of Contents
Introduction: What Am I Looking At?
Part One: Marla Mason
The Doorman
Mommy Issues of the Dead
Ill Met in Ulthar
Pale Dog
Grander than the Sea
Little Better than a Beast
Shark’s Teeth
Snake and Mongoose
Sorcerer’s Honeymoon
Cages
Manic Nixie Dream Girl
Mother of the Bride
Do Better
Three Petitions to the Queen of Hell
The Four Horsepersons of the Eucatastrophe
Part Two: Everybody Else
Down with the Lizards and the Bees
A Cloak of Many Worlds
That Time Hell Froze Over
Life in Stone
A Void Wrapped in a Smile
Ice Murder Safari
The Atheist in the Garden
The Gift of the Anthropophagi
Ghostreaper, or, Life After Revenge
Happy Old Year
A Pathway Up and Down
Under the Tree
Part Three: Odds and Beginnings
Encounter on a Back Street
Haruspex
Pride Is an Engine
Acknowledgments
Publication History
Introduction: What Am I Looking At?
Do Better is a collection of stories about Marla Mason, the protagonist of ten urban fantasy novels (and a short prequel that’s maybe also technically a novel) published between 2007 and 2017: Blood Engines, Poison Sleep, Dead Reign, Spell Games, Broken Mirrors, Grim Tides, Bride of Death, Lady of Misrule, Queen of Nothing, Closing Doors, and Bone Shop (that last one is the prequel I mentioned). The first four were published by Random House, and the rest were crowdfunded with print editions done in partnership with The Merry Blacksmith Press (which also published this edition, how nice!).
You don’t really have to read those novels to understand these stories; they were all written to stand alone, and many were published in anthologies and magazines. Others were written as rewards for crowdfunding supporters, and others for my story-a-month Patreon project (join at patreon.com/timpratt if you like my stories). If you like these stories you’ll probably like the novel, too.
Pretty much all you need to know going in is that Marla Mason is a sorcerer who initially attempts to solve her problems by punching them and yelling, and gradually learns there might be better ways sometimes, while always reserving the right to punch and yell. She begins as runaway who stumbles into the magical world and becomes an apprentice, then turns to a career as a mercenary and develops a ferocious reputation, eventually becomes the magical protector and chief sorcerer of her adopted city of Felport, gets exiled after inadvertently bringing destruction upon the city, and then goes freelance as an occult detective (she is bad at this) and monster hunter (she is good at this). She also marries the god of Death (you’d have to read Dead Reign for that whole story), and serves first as his consort and part-time queen, and, later, after her husband dies (that’s in Lady of Misrule), she takes over as god of Death in her own right, reluctantly giving up her mortal life in exchange for divine rights and responsibilities.
Part One: Marla Mason of this book has stories about Marla herself, spanning her life from apprentice to god. They’re presented in chronological order, because I needed some kind of organizing principle, and that’s the one I liked best. There are two original stories, written just for this collection: “Do Better” and “The Four Horsepersons of the Eucatastrophe.”
Part Two: Everybody Else includes stories about other characters who appear in the Marla Mason series, notably her apprentice-turned-overseer-of-the-multiverse Bradley Bowman; the assassin Mr. Zealand; her longtime friends Rondeau and Pelhalm; her longtime enemies Crapsey and Squat; and, with four stories of her own, Marla’s best frenemy, the chaos witch turned trickster god Elsie Jarrow. (She’s my favorite character in the series, after Marla herself.) I hope you like it! (If not, well, maybe next time I’ll do better.)
Part Three: Odds and Beginnings, exclusive to the ebook, has some of the earliest stories about Marla, when she barely resembled herself: “Encounter on a Back Street,” “Haruspex,” and “Pride Is an Engine.”
The ebook version of this collection has a few extra stories in the first two parts as well, because there were logistical reasons not to make the trade paperback 500 pages long.
I’ve got acknowledgments in the back, but up front I’d like to thank Steve Feldon for suggesting the title of this book, because it’s perfect.
Part One: Marla Mason
The Doorman
We begin with a story from Marla’s apprentice days, working for the pornomancer Artie Mann as an enforcer with her friend Jenny Click. This is arguably an odd beginning, because it’s not from Marla’s point-of-view, but I think it works: you can get a sense of how other people saw Marla, even early on.
Marla Mason and Jenny Click swaggered down the alley toward me like teenaged warrior queens. Marla wore a dark hooded cloak that somehow seemed less Renaissance-Faire-silly and more slasher-movie-menacing, and Jenny wore a fetching short yellow sundress and had a halo of twisting blue-and-white fire spinning lazily above her head. They were the Trouble Twins, the Goblin Girls, the Mistresses of Distress: amoral ambitious leg-breakers and hex-throwers employed by local crime boss Artie Mann, who sold vices mundane and magical to a clientele of sorcerers and ordinaries alike.
It paid to make sure you paid Artie in a timely fashion, because otherwise, he’d send his gruesome twosome to collect, in cash or psychic suffering. Marla was all brute force and bad moods, a runaway who liked making other people run away these days instead, and Jenny... well, Jenny liked fire, and more importantly, fire liked Jenny, and did whatever she asked.
I watched their approach with trepidation, which was annoying, since under other circumstances I might have enjoyed encountering two such young women in a dark alley. I owed Artie in excess of five grand (most of that interest, though I couldn’t afford to pay off the principal, either), and it was also true I’d been ducking his calls for the past month, and even smashed all the glass surfaces in my apartment so he couldn’t magic-mirror his way in. I just needed a little more time, that’s all, and then I’d make my big score and Artie wouldn’t be a problem anymore. I’m good at magic, but I can’t make the stars spin any faster in their courses, and I had to wait for things to align properly. Now, less than two hours short of my triumph, I was about to get beaten into paste and possibly set on fire. It’s true what they say: timing is everything.
I stood against the bare brick wall of the alleyway’s dead end, considering my options. I could use up some of my magic to pass through the wall and try to escape, but Jenny Click would just make the bricks explode, and anyway, these two liked chasing people. (I could relate.) Instead I held up my hands and said, “Okay, you caught me.”
“Hey there, Doorman.” Marla’s face was all shadows under her hood. Her hands appeared from the folds of the cloak, one holding a silver dagger, the other holding an apple. She sliced off a thin piece of fruit and popped it in her mouth, then tucked the apple away. The knife she kept out. For someone who knew magic, Marla had a weird preference for threatening people with pieces of sharp metal.
“Usually you open things, Doorman.” Jenny did a little pirouette, fire swirling and leaping above her head. “Tonight, we’re going to open you.”
“I’ve got the key right here.” Marla held up the blade.
I winced. I much preferred
being on the other end of knives. “Listen, you have to tell Artie, I just need a little more time—”
Jenny and Marla exchanged a glance, then laughed in unison, Marla’s a low growly chuckle, Jenny’s a high and slightly unhinged giggle. Marla said, “You asked for ten days, and Artie gave you ten days. Then you asked for another week, and Artie gave you that, because he’s a reasonable man, and doesn’t mind letting the interest pile up a little. Then you stopped asking for anything, and tried to hide, and he gave you even more time to come to your senses.” She shrugged. “You didn’t. So we came to remove a few of your senses instead.”
“Have you ever smelled your own eyeballs burning and melting in their sockets?” Jenny did another little spin, and this time she rose up off the ground, her skirt twirling, and hovered in mid-air on billows of warm air. “Most people never get to smell that at all. Some people get to smell it once. I’ll do your eyeballs one at a time, with a little break in between, so you can smell it twice.”
Try to stay calm after a threat like that, especially when you’ve always been a master of escape rather than combat, like me. I’ve hurt people, sure, but usually in circumstances where there wasn’t much chance of being hurt myself. “Listen, if Artie kills me, he won’t get any money.”
“Ah, but see, if we kill you, that’s free advertising.” Marla spun her dagger around in some showy, flashy way that would have impressed me if it hadn’t terrified me instead. “It tells everyone that Artie doesn’t care who you are, or how useful you’ve been to this crew or that crew in the past: stiff him, and he’ll make you into a stiff.” She took a step toward me, and I took an involuntary step back, phasing the back of my head and part of my shoulders into the solid bricks without passing through the wall completely. “You made the mistake of insulting Artie, Doorman. You could have walked through the wall of any jewelry store or bank in the state and come out with enough cash to pay him off, but you couldn’t even be bothered to do that much? Artie couldn’t figure out why you’d even borrow money from him, since a guy with your talents can make his own capital.” She paused. “His curiosity is the reason your guts are still on the inside. So what gives? Did you just think Artie was a chump you could rip off? Is that it?”
I shook my head. “No! Of course not! Look, first of all, it’s not as easy as you think. Most of the banks and jewelry emporiums are under the protection of some crew or another, and those are off limits to a freelancer like me, unless I want to spend the rest of my life running from people like you two. Sure, I can travel around and make some money, given time, but the thing is, a sudden opportunity appeared, and I needed funding right away. I went to Artie because he gives a square deal.” Artie Mann was a gouging usurious thug, like all the rest, but he was known to grant extensions on loans, so he seemed my safest bet. “But then, well, it turned out I couldn’t pull the job I had planned right away. The thing is, in ninety minutes, it’s going to go down, my plan will work, and I’ll be rich enough to pay Artie back double.”
“I have heard this song before.” Jenny held up her hand, and flames danced at the end of each finger, like they were candles. “I do not like this song.”
“Ninety minutes?” Marla cocked her head. “That’s weirdly specific, and short, if he’s just trying to stall us, Jenny. Why don’t you check in with Artie and see if he can grant one last extension... in exchange for the Doorman here paying back double what he owes.” I opened my mouth to object, and she tipped her head to the other side. “Wasn’t that your offer, Doorman?”
I phased out of the bricks, making myself all the way solid again. “Yeah, I... guess it is. That works. I need to make some preparations, though, lots to do.”
“Aren’t you lucky you’ll have me along to help you out?” Marla threw back her hood and smiled at me. When Jenny smiled, she beamed, and it was like the sun on your face, but Marla smiled like a razor catching a flash of light in a dark room. “I’m wonderful at doing things.”
“What if Artie says no no no, now now now?” Jenny said.
Marla shrugged and tapped the side of her head. “Give me a whisper and I’ll maim the Doorman appropriately.”
Jenny pouted. “You said I could do the coup de grace.” (She pronounced it “coop duh grace.” Teenagers.)
“You still can. I’ll take my time with him.”
Jenny shrugged and floated away, disappearing back the way she came. Marla put her hand on my shoulder, leaned in close, and licked my cheek. I shuddered. “Don’t go trying to walk through any walls to get away from me. I might not have Jenny’s firepower, but I’ve got your taste now, and anywhere you go, I will find you.”
I had no idea if Marla could really track me that way. Artie Mann had done a good job of cloaking his surliest apprentice in mystery. The closest thing to verifiable information I had about Marla was that she was adept at enchanting, and enchanters can do just about anything, given sufficient time, materials, and willpower. Maybe she’d enchanted her own tongue with bloodhound glands or something. I decided it was incontrovertibly better to have Marla at my side rather than lurking in the shadows behind me, though, so I just said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Who wouldn’t want the company of a lovely young lady like yourself?”
Marla snorted. “More people than you might realize, Mr. Open Sesame. Where are we headed?”
I sighed. I didn’t particularly want to share any information with this teen witch or her boss, but I didn’t have much choice yet. “Down by the docks. Underneath one of the piers.”
“You take me to the nicest places.”
There were all kinds of place I wanted to take her, but this wasn’t the right time.
I wanted to call a cab, but Marla said if I had money for cab fare I should be putting it in Artie Mann’s pocket instead. She made us take the bus. As we jostled among the ordinaries in a miasma of body odor and old pee, she said, “This here, being among the people, traveling the way the ordinaries do? This is how you get a sense of the health of the city.”
“The city could use a colonic.”
“I hate to generalize,” Marla said, “but you old people are gross.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m only thirty-nine.”
A blank stare. “I stand by my stated position.”
A few moments later she cocked her head, as if listening to an unheard voice. She patted my knee in an almost friendly way. “Jenny talked to Artie. He says give you a little rope, but use my best judgment. You got yourself a reprieve, Doorman, but you’ll have to pay for it.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Someone would pay, anyway.
We had to hike several blocks from the bus stop, past empty storefronts, graffiti, and trash-strewn streets. I’d had some good times in this neighborhood, and there were reminders of those good times sealed up in a couple of the abandoned buildings; I even visited them sometimes.
“Whose protection is this neighborhood under?” Marla scowled around.
“This is Gregor’s territory.”
She kicked a crumpled fast-food bag into the gutter. “Is he really terrible at his job?”
“Mmm, no. He also has a chunk of the financial district under his control. He does some kind of dis-equilibrium magic, I think? The yawning gap between rich and poor in his territory generates magical energy, like when weather systems of different humidities and temperatures collide.”
“So... basically a poverty tornado.” Her voice was so flat I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or disapproving.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Huh.” Luckily she didn’t quiz me more on the habits of leading sorcerers. I’d done work for most of the crews in Felport at one time or another—everybody needs a door opened for them sometimes—and people like that value confidentiality. I hadn’t told Marla anything that wasn’t common knowledge, but if she pressed I might find myself confronting areas better left alone.
“Why didn’t you ever join a crew?” she said. “You’ve been in the city for a c
ouple of years now, and you’ve got skills, even if they’re boring skills. The freelance life doesn’t seem to be working out too well for you. You could have been under someone’s protection. Now nobody’s got your back.”
I shrugged. “I like to keep my options open. I never stay in one place for more than a year or two at most, anyway.” After that long, my extracurricular activities usually start to get noticed, and it’s time to move on. Though if this score worked out, that could all change. “You don’t ever feel like you’ve traded freedom for security, working for Artie?”
She scowled at me, and I could tell I’d touched a nerve. There were lots of other parts of the snooty little witch I would have preferred to touch, but I had to take what I could get.
We reached the least-trafficked part of the waterfront. The piers here had been destroyed a decade before by a storm, and most of the warehouses had burned down not long afterward in what was either an accident or a magical turf war, depending on whether you read the official or secret histories. The shipping and development had moved farther north, leaving this bit of the city home to the homeless, addicts, underground fighters, squatters of artistic temperament, and the odd unhinged alley witch. It was technically Honeyed Knots territory, but even that gang of disgraced and rogue ex-apprentices had better things to do with their time than police these mean streets.
I led Marla through a rubble-strewn lot, down a concealed stone staircase slick with algae, to the rocky edge of the bay. “Just under here.” I guided her beneath the half-rotted pilings of the broken stump of what had once been the longest pier in Felport, in happier days gone by. I heard Marla murmuring something, presumably relaying her position to Jenny.
She followed me into the dimness. One single sweep of her gaze, and I knew she’d taken in everything. There was nothing visible to the ordinary eye there but jumbled rocks piled against a concrete wall, slimy wooden columns, and the drip of water. At high tide this whole area would be submerged, but for now, it was dry, but still stank faintly of dead fish. “Is there something here I’m not sensing?” she said.
