“Detective, detective,” said the man trotting to meet them. He grabbed Rad’s hand with both of his own and pumped the detective’s arm up and down with some vigor. “Why, you made it! Safe and sound, safe and sound. I’m so pleased to see you!”
Rad sniffed, and put on a smile, at least until he figured out what the hell was going on. The newcomer was perhaps in his early sixties, his grey hair cut so short that it stood on end, with a neat beard trimmed into a triangle so precise it looked lethal. He was wearing a suit of dark blue velvet, double-breasted, with a brown shirt underneath and an orange handkerchief in the pocket that matched the color of his tie.
The man was smiling from ear to ear. Rad scratched his chin.
“Ah, yeah, hi there,” he said. He nodded at Jennifer. “I don’t think you’ve met my friend.”
The man’s eyes lit up and his smile grew wider, stretching into an almost open-mouthed expression of delight. He placed one arm behind his back, executed a theatrical bow, and took one of Jennifer’s hands in his own, gently drawing it to his lips.
“M’lady,” he said, breathlessly. “Charmed, I’m sure, Miss…?”
Jennifer pulled her hand carefully away from the man’s grip.
“Special Agent Jennifer Jones,” she said. The man’s eyes widened.
“Oh, splendid, splendid,” he said. Rad didn’t like the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off Jennifer. He cleared his throat.
“Would you be the, ah, King of 125th Street?”
The man turned and clicked his heels together. “I have the pleasure of holding such high office, Detective Bradley.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked between Rad and Jennifer, his face split with a grin. “I’m so glad you could make it. Really, I am.”
Jennifer shook her head. “We’re here on official business, sir.”
The man’s smile didn’t falter. He looked Jennifer up and down and then winked at Rad without trying to hide it. Rad raised an eyebrow.
“I was only expecting one, of course,” said the King. He clicked his tongue and glanced back at Jennifer. “But I’m not one to complain about such pleasant company.”
“Ah, yeah,” said Rad. “Pardon me for saying, sir, but you don’t look like much of a king.”
The King laughed. “Well, it takes all sorts, my man…” He looked down and seemed to study the carpet. Rad sighed and exchanged a look with Jennifer, but she seemed as bewildered as he was.
Rad said, “Hey, buddy?” In the pocket of his coat he could feel the rod from the warehouse. “Your majesty?”
At this, the King clapped his hands and threw his head back in a booming laugh. When he looked at Rad again his eyes were streaming tears, which glinted green in the light from outside.
“Look,” said Rad, “you wanted me to come here because you wanted something back, something that I picked up downtown. But more important, you said Kane Fortuna was here. So where is he?”
The King slapped his knee. “My, you do like to get right to business, don’t you detective?”
Rad ignored him. “Let’s cut to the chase. You take me to Kane and I might give you the component back. But I think Special Agent Jones here might have something to say about that. See, I don’t think she likes whatever racket it is you’re running, and I’m not sure I do either. But hey, there’s a lot in this city I’m not sure I like, and this little ice age we got going on is one of them. So let’s get moving before the ice outside gets any thicker and we all need to start sipping antifreeze like your friend at the bar down the street.”
The King had started laughing as Rad spoke, a mild case of the giggles turning into a full belly laugh. The detective shook his head in frustration. It figured. The man was a lunatic. What other kind of person would call himself the King of 125th Street and lock himself into a disused theater?
Jennifer stepped up to the King, who was leaning over, recovering from his fit of mirth.
“Look, sir,” she said. The King looked up at her and waved her to continue as he took deep breaths, coughing as his laughter threatened to return.
Jennifer glanced at Rad, then looked back at the King.
“There’s something going on in the city. I have a lot of questions I need to ask you. I’d appreciate your cooperation and I’d prefer it if we could do this in a civil manner, but we can do this in a more formal capacity downtown if required.”
The King of 125th Street finally stood. He sniffed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, then looked Jennifer up and down again before turning back to Rad.
“Come,” said the King, patting Rad on the forearm. “Let me give you the grand tour, so you can see how we run this joint.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jennifer. “Feel free to tag along, sweetheart. You sure do brighten the room.”
He laughed and headed towards the right-hand set of doors that led into the theater.
Jennifer sidled up to Rad. “He’s psychotic.”
“The man thinks he’s a king,” said Rad. He removed his hat and rubbed his scalp, then glanced at the driver. The machine was still standing, immobile, silent. “The king of what?”
“King of the robots?”
Rad drew breath to answer, but the King reappeared through the doors.
“Hey, friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your feet and walk this way!” He vanished back into the theater.
Jennifer looked at Rad and Rad gestured for her to lead the way. She sighed, gripped her silver gun, and headed for the doors.
Rad watched her back, and then as she went out of sight, turned to the driver. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a long night?”
The driver said nothing. Rad huffed, and followed Jennifer.
Alone in the lobby, the driver turned its head towards the double doors that were still swinging from Rad’s exit. Something flashed behind the driver’s round glass eyes, and there was a sound from behind the grating that formed the robot’s mouth. It was quiet, and low: the sound of chuckling.
The driver watched the doors for a second or two, then jerked into life, heading towards the nearest staircase and jogging up them two at a time.
There were things to be done.
ELEVEN
It was cold, and getting colder.
The man on the bridge frowned, his breath steaming in a huge cloud before him as he peered ahead. Behind him, the wall of fog was as dense and impenetrable as ever, but ahead the view was clear.
But… he wasn’t sure.
The night was quiet, like it wasn’t just the bridge and the water beneath it that was frozen solid. It was like the air itself was too cold even to allow sound to pass.
A moment later the ice beneath the bridge cracked, the sound like a muffled gunshot echoing around and around. The man shuffled, the knob of his wooden leg scraping the roadway, as the bridge shook, the tremor strong enough to knock him over. The man grabbed the rail next to him and clung on, pressing his chest against it, ignoring the way the cold of the metal cut through his thick jacket. The tremor stopped, but the man held on a moment longer, just to be sure. He glanced over the edge. The ice had cracked, a great zigzag fissure opening directly below the bridge.
The tremors worried him. They were getting stronger and more frequent, far more so than when he had left the city.
He straightened up. And how long ago had that been? How many years had he been traveling, lost in the fog? Too many, and somehow far more than had apparently passed here.
If this was the same place, the right place.
He had to admit, he wasn’t sure. The buildings on the other side of the bridge were dark and apparently empty. The sky was clear but completely black. The fog bank behind the man cast a dirty orange glow over the bridge.
The bridge was the problem. The city was alone, isolated, surrounded by a wall of fog. Beyond the fog was nothing but the lands of the Enemy.
Or so he had thought. He knew, now, that his knowledge of the universe was incomplete. There was plenty beyond the fog. The Pocket was larger than he had ever dreamed, stretching far beyond the reach of his instruments.