Pease broke away, running for the iron ladder to the beach.
Tom swung the gun back and shot at random into the men. This time he managed to keep the gun in his hands. Thorn jerked backward and fell down heavily. A bubbling sound came from his throat.
Del rolled over on his side and stared at Tom with dull eyes. Redness covered his face.
The others were already tearing into the woods, going for good, Tom knew. They were just employees. They weren't paid enough to be shot at. He swayed sideways and watched Pease reach the top of the ladder. He remembered the man bending back his fingers so that Collins could drive in the nail. He dropped the gun, and it fired and jumped when it hit, zinging a bullet harmlessly into dark air. He remembered Pease twisting in his seat, looking at him as if he were an inferior painting.
Ladder, he thought. Bolts. Loose bolts. He saw them: saw the rusty threads, the iron going into the clips. He began to trudge toward the ladder. He could hear Pease banging his way down. Two rungs, three, four . . .
A ground-shaking explosion. A red orchid bloomed in the sky.
He let his hatred of Pease bloom. Out. Out. In his mind the bolts were beginning to stir, crushing their threads, rattling free . . . he saw them flying out of the clips, tumbling down the bluff.
Pease screamed. In the silence between fireworks, a sudden popping noise of shattered metal stood out as sharply as a color. Tom made his legs go faster and reached the edge of the bluff in time to see Pease sailing far out and down, still clinging to the iron ladder. He seemed to fall dreamily for whole minutes, still trying to climb down the rungs. In time his feet fell out beneath him; then his hands let go, and he and the ladder were tipping back in tandem. There was a noise of splintering wood when Pease hit the pier. A hole instantly opened up
in the wood. A second later the ladder sliced it in half.
Pieces of the pier flew upward. Then water gouted up. Now there was only one way out.
11
He trudged back to Del and half-fell, half-sat on the grass beside him. Del was wiping the blood away from his face with his sleeve. They had hit him in the face before deciding to kick him to death.
'How do you feel?' he asked.
Del's eyes swam up. The lids fluttered.
'Did they break anything?'
'I hurt all over.' Red froth appeared on Del's lips. He looked dully at Thorn's body; at Snail's, facedown, closer to the house. Thorn was muttering something.
'What did they do to you?' Del said. 'Did they beat you up too?'
'Sort of,' Tom said.
The sky shook: after the thunder, an ice-blue fountain shimmered in the air..
'They're coming back!' Del shrieked.
'No,' Tom said. 'We're through with them.'
'Oh.' Del closed his eyes and put his head down on the grass.
'Can you move?'
'I want to go home.'
'Who doesn't?'
The lights in the forest flicked on; the house blazed. Tom could see the red smears on the window wall. Then he heard a car starting, heard the tires whisper on the drive. Could Collins have given up so easily?
Thorn's breath rattled and chugged in his throat. Tom turned to him in horror. 'Ah,' Thorn said, and died. No white bird lifted from his chest, but Tom knew that he had seen his life go.
'Car . . . ' Del said. 'He left, Tom. He left! We can go — we can get out.'
'I don't think so. You see all those lights? The show changed theaters, that's all.'
'Oh, my God,' Del said. He was looking at Tom's hands. 'How did you. . . ?'
'I was lucky,' Tom said. He looked up at the house. 'He's still there, Del. I think we really just started.'
'But we can't fight him.' Del shrank back into himself.
'We'll do whatever we have to.' It was not a strong statement, and Tom did not feel strong — he felt emptied of his resources, capable of doing nothing more than lying on the lawn and waiting in despair for Collins to produce his special effects.
Suddenly the sky was filled with fireworks, layer after layer of explosions in the night air. They would not have to wait long for the rest of it.
12
'WELCOME TO THE WOOD GREEN EMPIRE!' The amplified voice echoed from the trees, from the side of the house: as if the trees and boards themselves were speaking. 'WE PRESENT AN EVENING OF SPECTACLE AND THRILLS UNPARALLELED ON ANY STAGE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD. THE FINAL PERFORMANCE, THE FINAL PROFESSIONAL APPEARANCE OF THE BELOVED HERBIE BUTTER. IS HE ONE OR IS HE MANY? DECIDE FOR YOURSELVES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THESE FEATS OF CONJURY AND PRESTIDIGITATION ARE FAR BEYOND THE POWERS OF ANY OTHER LIVING MAGICIAN.
'FOR YOUR OWN PROTECTION, DO NOT ATTEMPT AT ANY TIME TO LEAVE THE THEATER.'
Del was crying again, his wet face illuminated by the brilliant flashes of fireworks.
'PRESENTING . . . MR. HERBIE BUTTER!'
The explosions in the sky doubled: a roll of snare drums from the loudspeakers. Whole areas of the sky blasted into white, fitting themselves together like a puzzle around eyeholes and an open, grinning mouth. Ka-whamp! Glowing red lay atop the giant face, and Herbie Butter stretched across the sky, grinning down at them. It was like a cartoon face, sharply etched and two-dimensional.
'THE AMAZING MECHANICAL MAGICIAN AND ACROBAT! THE KING OF THE CATS!'
Collins seemed too powerful to Tom, too tricky and experienced. He watched the enormous cartoon sift down through the air, seeking them out. Then he looked back at the house. All those blazing windows: he remembered his first full day at Shadowland, Collins a figure with the face of a wolf, pointing across a gulf and showing him that he could have anything he wanted . . . then he felt as though Collins were nailing him to the air behind him, pounding a spike through his chest. Rose Armstrong was looking down at him from the window where he had seen her that day. It was his bedroom. Even on that first day, they had been taking part in the magician's repeat performance.
It has to be like this. This is not an easy school.
Rose looked down with a stricken face. She motioned for him to stay where he was: that she would come down. Stupidly, he shook his head. Rose turned away from the window. He looked up again: Herbie Butter still sifted down toward them.
Tom saw the gun, a black lump in dark green. He could not imagine how he had lifted it. Very little fresh blood came from his wounds, but both hands had swollen. They felt like gloves.
'Rose is coming,' he said to Del. Fear had stolen the color from his friend's face.
'Oh, no,' Del wailed.
'may we have two volunteers from the audience, please?'
'I think her part is done,' Tom said. His heart was as numb as his hands.
'step up, step up smartly — we require the assistance OF YOU BRAVE YOUNG PEOPLE.'
Rose burst out of the living room onto the patio and started running toward them. The green dress shone in the light. Whiteness flickered in her right hand — she was carrying white rags.
'Leave us alone!' Del screamed at her, and she stepped on the grass. She looked fearfully at the two bodies. 'Go back inside, you Judas!'
'I had to do it,' she said. 'I didn't know what he'd . . . I thought it was just part of his show. . . . Tom, I'm so sorry . . . ' She held out her arms. 'He would have killed me otherwise, but I wish he had. . . . I brought some handkerchiefs for your hands, they're all I could find, please let me tie them on for you. Please, Tom.'