from narrow to medium to panoramic. That meant that a concentrated wave function would hit the slaughtermen first, and then two further wave functions would hit the killing floor, and then the entire workshop itself.
Two of the slaughtermen reached the top of the steps and came lurching toward him. They were both wearing brown leather skullcaps and floor-length leather aprons, and both were carrying bloodstained axes. They looked solid enough, but their faces were smudged and unfocused, with dark holes for eyes and no distinct features. Dom Magator knew that this was because George Roussos was dreaming about them, and although George Roussos knew how many slaughtermen he had working for him, he had no clear idea of what each of them actually looked like.
‘Give us back that dog, you thieving bastard,’ growled one of them, in a thick Polish accent.
‘Or else what?’ said Dom Magator.
‘Or else you wind up like one big hambooger.’
The slaughterman came forward, swinging his axe rhythmically from side to side, like
‘You don’t know how much I’m looking forward to this,’ he growled, swinging his axe faster and faster, in a figure of eight, until it whistled.
Dom Magator pulled the first trigger and — instantly — the slaughterman vanished, as did the rest of the slaughtermen scrambling up the steps behind him. Their knives and saws and axes fell to the floor with a clattering, ringing noise, like hand-bells. Technically, this was a paradox, because the slaughtermen had never existed to pick up their knives and their saws and their axes in the first place. But the paradox was only temporary, because the Absence Gun was set to eliminate their tools, too, and all of the cutting tables where the animals were being dismembered, and then the whole building.
There was a barrage of ear-splitting thunderclaps as the air rushed in to fill the vacancies left by the non- existent slaughtermen. Even inside his heavy protective helmet, Dom Magator was temporarily deafened. But he fired again, and again, and then there were two more catastrophic bangs, so violent that the ground quaked beneath his feet.
When he lowered his Absence Gun, Dom Magator saw that there was no workshop any more, no killing floor, no animals and no slaughtermen. He was standing in a briar thicket, with nothing in front of him but trees. The rain was still dredging steadily down, and when he turned around he saw the shack where Michael-Row-The-Boat- Ashore-Hallelujah was sitting on the porch, and Jekkalon, and Jemexxa, and Xyrena, and Zebnenjo’Yyx, all standing around him.
He looked back to the trees where the workshop had been. But there had never been a workshop, and there had never been any slaughtermen. He felt at least half satisfied with what they had achieved. Even if they had not yet succeeded in putting an end to Brother Albrecht and his hideous traveling carnival, they had at least thwarted his attempt to create even more freaks.
Michael was hugging the golden Labrador puppy in his arms. Dom Magator walked across to him and said, ‘We have to go now, Michael. But we’ll be back, young feller, I promise you, and we’ll get you out of this nightmare, and find you a really happy dream where they give you Cheerios and your mom can come visit you. At least you have your puppy back.’
‘Thank you,’ said Michael. His mouth was turned down and he was trying very hard not to cry. ‘You won’t forget about me, will you?’
Jemexxa hunkered down beside him and stroked the puppy’s head. ‘We won’t forget you, Michael. Ever. When me and my twin brother go on to the stage next time, we’ll sing
‘Does your puppy have a name?’ asked Xyrena.
Michael nodded. ‘He’s called Froggy.’
‘Froggy? That’s a pretty unusual name for a puppy. Most kids would have called their puppies, like,
Michael rested his cheek against the top of the puppy’s head. ‘That’s what my mom used to call me when I was a baby. She said I looked like a little froggy.’
Dom Magator saw that one of the needles on his seismic sensor had started to tremble. That meant that George Roussos was now rising through the last phases of REM sleep toward consciousness, and that he would soon be awake.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now we really do have to get the hell out of Dodge.’
SEVENTEEN
Flesh Forward
They ran in silence, like six shadows flickering between the tree trunks, their feet making barely any noise at all. They startled a few deer, and as they reached the edge of the trees, half a dozen gray grouse burst out of the undergrowth in alarm, like feathered bombs. But they kept on running. They had to circle around the right-hand side of the hilltop to stay out of sight of the clowns from Brother Albrecht’s circus until the very last moment.
As soon as they were clear of the trees, An-Gryferai started to run even faster, and flap her wings. She lifted off into the drizzle, and rose higher and higher as if she were climbing up one invisible flight of stairs after another. Soon she was almost a hundred feet over their heads, and a hundred yards ahead of them.
Although it was still raining it was gradually beginning to grow lighter, and the mist was shining like a breathed-over mirror. An-Gryferai switched on her green fog-lenses, and, as she beat her wings and rose up to more than two hundred feet, she could see the rabble of clowns and freaks pouring over the hilltop and hurrying down the long grassy slope. The leading clowns were already less than a quarter of a mile away from the Night Warriors’ shimmering octagonal portal — the portal that was their only way back into George Roussos’ bedroom, and the world of reality.
‘Dom Magator—’ she panted. ‘They’ve almost reached the portal already. There’s no way we have any chance of reaching it before they do.’
‘In that case, sweetheart, we’ll have to meet them head on. I still have plenty of fancy ordnance left. But if we’re forced to use the Absence Gun — well, that’s just too bad. I’m worried that I might hit the portal, that’s all. If the portal doesn’t exist any more — we’re Gregged, believe me.’
‘In that case, let’s hustle,’ said Zebenjo’Yxx. ‘It’s not goin’ to do us no good standin’ around discussin’ nothin’, and that’s for sure.’
They ran even faster, with An-Gryferai sweeping and swooping overhead. Inside his helmet, Dom Magator could hear them all panting in chorus. He thought at first that they might have a chance of reaching the portal first. But as they came around the hilltop, however, and ran down the slope together, they saw that the clowns were already waiting for them — hundreds of them. They were standing in a long line, their pointed hats drooping, their make-up streaked by the rain. They weren’t moving. Most of them had their arms folded, and they were simply staring at the Night Warriors with a combination of real and painted hostility.
The white-faced harlequin with the blackberry lips was standing right in front of the portal. It appeared that he was the leader, since all of the other clowns were standing well back. He was holding a curved scimitar which he kept circling around and around, so that it flashed in the mist like a steel propeller. Directly behind him, framing him, was the crackling blue electric portal, and by the expression on his face it looked as if he was challenging the Night Warriors to try to reach it.
Dom Magator stepped up to face him. ‘How about letting us pass, pal?’ he shouted out. ‘We didn’t come here to hurt none of you, believe me.’
‘
‘He deserved it. Trying to sew snakes on to that poor girl’s arms. How sick is that?’
‘Depends on your definition of sick, my friend. Life is sick, from beginning to end. Think how we’re born! Our faces squeezed out of our mothers’ nether regions like rabbits out of a tight pink hat! Only to grow, and suffer, and
