The Wheel of Darkness

murmured, almost choking on the words from the feeling of dread.

63

THE THING WHICH HAD NO NAME MOVED THROUGH SHADOW AND audient void. It lived in a vague metaworld, a world that lay in the grayness between the living world of theBritannia and the plane of pure thought. The ghost was not alive. It had no senses. It heard nothing, smelled nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing.

It knew one thing only: desire.

It passed through the mazelike passages of the Britannia slowly, as if by feel. The world of the ship was but a shadow to it, an unreal landscape, a vague fabric of shade and silence, to be traversed only until its need had been fulfilled. From time to time it encountered the dull glow of living entities; their erratic movements were ignored. They were as insubstantial to the thing as the thing was to them.

Vaguely, it sensed it was approaching the prey. It could feel the tug of the living being’s aura, like a magnet. Following this faint lure, it made an irregular progression through the decks of the ship, passing through corridor and steel bulkhead alike, searching, always searching for that which it had been summoned to devour, to annihilate. Its time was not the world’s time; time was but a flexible web, to be stretched, broken, shrugged off, moved into and out of. It had the patience of eternity.

The thing knew nothing of the entity that had summoned it. That entity was no longer important. Not even the summoner could stop it now; its existence was independent. Nor did the thing have any conception of the appearance of the object of its desire. It knew only the pull of longing: to find the thing, to rend the entity’s soul from the fabric of the world and burn it with its desire, to consume it and satiate itself—and then to cast the cinder into the outer darkness.

It glided up through a dim corridor, a gray tunnel of half-light, with the flitting presences of additional living entities; through clouds heavy with fear and horror. The aura of its prey was stronger here: strong indeed. It felt its yearning grow and stretch out, seeking the heat of contact.

The tulpa was close now, very close, of its prey.

64

GAVIN BRUCE AND HIS LITTLE GROUP—NILES WELCH, QUENTIN Sharp, and Emily Dahlberg—followed Liu and Crowley toward a port-side hatchway onto Half Deck 7. It was marked Lifeboats;a similar hatch would be found on the starboard deck. A crowd milled before the hatch and, as soon as they appeared, converged on them.

“There they are!”

“Get us on the lifeboats!”

“Look, two ship’s officers! Trying to save their own asses!”

They were besieged. With a shriek, a heavy woman in a disheveled tracksuit grabbed Liu.

“Is it true?” she shrieked. “That we’re headed toward the rocks?”

The crowd surged forward, sweaty, smelling of panic. “

Is it true

?”

“You’ve got to tell us!”

“No, no, no,” Liu said, holding up his hands, the grimace of a smile on his lips. “That rumor is

absolutely

false. We’re proceeding on course to—”

“They’re lying!” a man cried.

“What are you doing here at the lifeboats, then?”

“And why the hell are we going so fast? The ship’s pounding like crazy!”

Crowley shouted to make himself heard. “

Listen

! The captain is merely bringing us into St. John’s at all possible speed.”

“That’s not what your own crew is saying!” the woman in the tracksuit bellowed, grabbing the lapels of Liu’s uniform and twisting them frantically. “Don’t lie to us!”

The corridor was now packed with excited passengers. Bruce was shocked by how wild and unruly they had become.

“

Please!

” Liu cried, shaking off the woman. “We’ve just come from the bridge. Everything is under control. This is merely a routine check of the lifeboats—”

A younger man pushed forward, his suit coat hanging open, the buttons of his shirt undone. “Don’t lie to us, you son of a bitch!” He made a grab at Liu, who ducked aside; the man took a swing and struck Liu a glancing blow to the side of the head. “Liar!”

Liu staggered, dropped his shoulders, turned, and, as the man came back at him, slammed his fist into his solar plexus. With a groan, the passenger fell heavily to the floor. An obese man charged forward, his bulk heaving, and took a wild swing at Liu while another grabbed him from behind; Bruce stepped forward, neatly dropping the fat man with a counterpunch while Crowley took on the second passenger.

The crowd, momentarily shocked by the outbreak of violence, fell silent and shuffled back.

“Return to your staterooms!” cried Liu, his chest heaving. Gavin Bruce stepped forward. “You!” He pointed to the woman in front, wearing the tracksuit. “Step aside from that hatch,now !”

His voice, ringing with naval authority, had its effect. The crowd shuffled reluctantly aside, silent, fearful. Liu stepped forward, unlocked the hatch.

“They’re going to the lifeboats!” a man cried. “Take me! Oh God, don’t leave me!”

The crowd woke up again, pressing forward, the air filling with cries and pleadings.

Bruce decked a man half his age who tried to rush the door and won enough time for his group to pile through. Within moments they had pressed the hatch shut behind them, shutting out the crowd of panicked passengers, who began pounding and shouting.

Bruce turned. Cold spray swept across the deck, which was open to the sea along the port side. The boom and rumble of the waves was much louder here, and the wind hummed and moaned through the struts.

“Jesus,” muttered Liu. “Those people have gone frigging crazy.”

“Where is security?” Emily Dahlberg asked. “Why aren’t they controlling that crowd?”

“Security?” said Liu. “We’ve got two dozen security officers for more than four thousand passengers and crew. It’s anarchy out there.”

Bruce shook his head and turned his attention to the long row of lifeboats. He was immediately taken aback. He had never seen anything like them in his navy days: a line of giant, fully enclosed torpedo-shaped vessels, painted