"And what's that?" said Yie, stepping out of the retreating crowd wearing his human face.
"I don't want to be the one to tell Buddenbaum. You have to do it."
"Why do we even need to bother?" Haheh said, emerging at Yie's side.
"Because he served you all those years," Tesla said. "And he deserves to be treated with some dignity."
"He's not going to perish the moment we leave," Haheh ' pointed out.
"He'll have a quick decline as the years catch up with him, but it won't be so terrible."
"Then tell him that," Tesla said. She looked back at Rare Utu. "I don't want him coming after me with a machete, because I took his job."
"I understand," the girl said.
Yie scowled. "This is thefirvt and last time we accede to your desires," he said. "You should be grateful to be serving us."
"I am," Tesia said. "I want to tell you wonderful stories and show you wonderful sights. But first@'
"Where is he?" said Habeh.
"At the crossroads."
"Thank God for the darkness," Maeve said as they made their way through the murky streets. "I swear if I saw this ugliness in the plain light of day I'd weep." She demanded to be set down in front of the Hamburger Hangout, so that she could be appalled. "Ugly, ugly, ugly," she said.
"It looks like something made for children."
"Don't break your heart over it," Raul said. "It won't be standing much longer."
'We were going to build a city that could standforever," Maeve said.
"Nothing lasts that long," said Harry.
"Not true," said Maeve. "Great cities become legends. And legends don't die." She scowled at the Hamburger Hangout. "Anything would be better than this," she said. "A pile of rubble! A hole in the ground!"
"Can we get a move on?" Harry said, glancing back wards the mountain. They'd been meandering through the treets for maybe twenty minutes now, with the O'Connell woman confidently giving directions back to the place where she'd lived, though it was increasingly plain that she was lost.
Meanwhile Kissoon and his ladic legion had been descending from the Heights. Their tangled mass was now no longer visible, which surely meant they'd reached the bottom of the slope. Perhaps they were already in the city, and the demolition Maeve so relished underway.
"It's not far now," the old woman said, making her way unaided to the nearest intersection and looking in all directions. "That way!" she said, pointing.
"Are you sure?" said Harry.
"I'm sure," she said. "It was at the very center of the city, my whorehouse. The first house that was ever raised, in fact."
'Did you say whorehouse?"
'Of course they burned it down. Did I tell you that? Burned down half the neighborhood at the same time, when the fire spread." She turned back to Harry. "Yes, I said whorehouse. How do you think I built my city? I didn't have a river. I didn't have gold. So we built a whorehouse, Coker and me, and I filled it with the most beautiful women I could find. And that brought the men. And some of them stayed. And married. And built houses of their own. And"-she opened her arms, laughing out loud-"lo and behold! There was Everville!" iv Laughter? Bosley thought, hearing Maeve's amusement echo through the streets. How pitiful. Somebody had lost their mind in all this chaos.
He was sheltering in the doorway of the Masonic Hall at present, to keep himself (and the baby he was still carrying) out of the way of people and vehicles. Ten yards down the block, Larry had the Lundy kid up against the wall and was interrogating him. He wanted to know where the sodomite Buddenbaum was hiding out, but Seth wasn't letting on.
Every time Seth shook his head Larry traded him a blow: a tap sometimes; sometimes not. Waits and Alstead hung around at a distance. Waits had broken into Dan's Liquor Store on Coleman Street, and got himself a couple of bottles of bourbon, so he was quite happy watching the interrogation over Larry's shoulder. Alstead was sitting on the sidewalk, with his shirt hiked up, examining the abrasions he'd suffered during the earlier skirmish with Lundy. He had already told Larry that when the questioning was finished he would be taking over. Bosley didn't give much for Lundy's chances.
Quietly, he began to pray. Not just for his own salvation, and that of the child, but so that he could explain to the Lord that this was not the way he'd intended things to be. Not remotely.
"I just wanted to do your will," he said, doing his best to ignore the sound of Seth's moans, and of the blows that kept landing. "But everything's got so confused. I don't know what's right any more, Lord... "
A fresh chorus of cries rose from somewhere nearby, and drowned out his pleas. He closed his eyes, trying hard to keep his thoughts coherent. But with one of his senses sealed he became aware of information the others were receiving. There was a smell in the air; like the garbage behind the diner in a heatwave, only tinged with a sweetness that made it all the fouler. And along with the stench there was a sound, deep in his head, as though somebody was testing a tuning fork against his skull.
He couldn't bear to stay where he was any longer. Without announcing his departure to the others he slipped from the doorstep, and down the block, turning the first corner he came to, which delivered him into Clarke Street. It was completely deserted, for which he was grateful. From here he could get back to the diner, keeping off the main streets. Once there, he'd take a quick rest, then load a few belongings into the back of the car, and get out of the city. As for the baby, he'd take her along; protect her in the Lord's name. He was crossing the street when a gust of cold wind found him. Instantly, the baby began to sob.
"It's okay," he murmured to her. "Now hush, will you?"
Another gust came, harder and colder than the first. He w the child closer to his chest and as he did so something ved in the darkness on the opposite side of the street. Bosley froze, but he'd already been spotted. A voice came out of the shadows, as comfortless as the wind that carried it.
"You found her-" it said, and the speaker shambled out of the deepest shadow into plainer view. It was burned, profoundly burned. Black in places, and yellow-white in others. As it approached, a carpet of living dust lay down before it. Bosley started to pray again.
"Don't!" said the burned man. "My mother used to pray. I hate the sound of it." He opened his arms. "Just give me my little girl."
Bosley shook his head. This was the final test, he thought; the encounter for which the incidents with the virago and the sodomites had been preparing him. This was when he discovered what his faith was worth.
"You can't have her," he said determinedly. "She's not yours."
"Yes she is," the burned man said. "Her name is Amy McGuire and I'm her father, Tommy-Ray."
Bosley took a backwards step, making calculations as he went. How far was it to the corner? If he shouted now, would Glodoski hear him above Lundy's moans?
"I don't want to do you any harm," Tommy-Ray McGuire said. "I don't want any more death... " He shook his head as he spoke, and flakes of matter dropped from his encrusted face. "I've seen too much... too much... "
"I can't give her to you," Bosley said, striving to sound, reasonable.
"Maybe if you can find her mother."
"Her mother's dead," Tommy-Ray said, his voice cracking. "Dead and gone."
"I'm sorry."
"The baby's all I've got now. So I'm gonna find some place where me and my little girl can live in peace."
My little girl. Lord God in Heaven, Bosley thought, take this poor man's insanity from him. Relieve him of his suffering and let him rest.
"Give her to me," the creature said, moving towards Bosley afresh.
"I'm afraid... I can't... do that Bosley said, retreating to the corner. Once there, he loosed a yell"Glodoski! Alstead!"-and pelted back down the block, grateful to find them still tormenting Lundy.