Free Live Free

for the ultimate truth, you were utterly deceived by that silly old man we sent to your King, a few actors in costume, and some colored lights in a hangar.” He paused. “We tried to take all of you down as far as we could. You, Marie, were the only one who never reached a point beyond which we could make you go no further.”

Stubb asked, “Why?” Candy was sitting up in the snow, her legs extended and spread, her paunch in her lap. He crouched monkey-like beside her with an arm about her shoulders.

“Because those were our orders from on top. To test you and send you there. All of you failed, I think. Now we’ve wasted too much time already. Get her on her feet.”

“Wait.” Barnes had taken Candy’s hand. “You said that when we did, you’d tell me about my son.”

The man in the duffel coat nodded. “When you get her up those steps and into the plane.”

Barnes and Stubb pulled; the witch joined them, lifting with all her strength. Candy rose and tottered, and twice nearly fell, but in the end lurched up the little ramp as she had once lurched up the stairs in Free’s house. A young man in a flight jacket stood at the top with a pistol in his hand.

“He got away from us,” the man in the duffel coat called to Barnes.

With The Army Air Corpse

Stubb got Candy into a seat, where she rocked back and forth rubbing the side of her head. The seats were of metal punched with holes. There was a partition between them and the forward part of the plane. Its door stood open, but the young man had stationed himself there with his gun. Stubb decided he was the copilot; one of the seats in the cockpit was empty. A rectangular patch on the left sleeve of his flight jacket seemed to show a winged propeller, though it was too dark to be sure. It was cold, and the roaring engines outside were deafening.

Slowly and almost clumsily, the plane banked. Lights from the active, commercial parts of the airport showed through the downside windows, seeming very far away. Beyond them lay only snowy darkness. A faint blue light burned toward the rear of the plane, and there was an even fainter light from the instrument panel in the cockpit.

Candy croaked, “Has anybody got a cigarette? Please?”

Stubb shook his head.

“Ozzie, please? Cigarette?” She made smoking motions.

“I’m out,” Barnes told her.

The witch opened her purse, then snapped it shut again. “I have none either. I recall now that I got my last from Mr. Illingworth. You do not know him.”

Stubb said, “Publisher of Natural Supernaturalism and that other one. Sandy’s boss.”

“Look!” Candy pointed out a window. The city seemed to fill the sky, an untidy constellation. “It’s beautiful! My God, isn’t it beautiful?” Her voice was slurred.

“Sure,” Stubb said. He pressed her hand.

“Mr. Illingworth smoked English cigarettes,” the witch continued. “Players. One can buy them everywhere in this country now, but he did not know that. I have always preferred what are called Russian cigarettes, though mine were made in Turkey. But now that I have neither, I find myself wondering if my preference were not a pose, as I am certain his was. I doubt that he either was willing to admit he played the poseur, even to himself.”

Candy asked, “Has anybody got any liquor?”

No one answered.

“Or aspirins. Alka-Seltzer. My head hurts.”

“Mine too,” Stubb told her. “And I can’t even remember to carry Sight Savers.”

Barnes, who had been slumped with his head in his hands, tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the young man, who was fumbling under his flight jacket.

“Oh, thank God!”

The young man held them out to her, shouting to make himself heard. “Camels okay, Ma’am?”

“I love’em!” Candy staggered from her seat. Stubb caught her and held her up, bending to peer at the package as she extracted a cigarette.

“Li’l too much wine with dinner,” Candy said. “Sorry.”

The young man nodded. “I know how it is, Ma’am. Sir, if you want one too, take it.”

“I will,” Stubb said. “Thanks.”

When they were back in their seats again, Stubb patted his pockets. Barnes said, “Here,” and extended a folder of matches.

Stubb lit both cigarettes. Candy asked, “Would you like a drag, Madame Serpentina?”

“No, thank you. I shall wait.” She was seated nearest the young man in the flight jacket, and she spoke loudly enough for him to hear. “Unless perhaps—”

“Sure,” he said, and once more held out the pack.

Madame Serpentina took one. “You need not bother, Mr. Stubb. I still have my lighter.”

Stubb was staring at the matches. “Can I hold on to these, Ozzie? Where’d you get them?”

Barnes thought for a moment. “They’re Robin’s, I guess. When they gave me my old clothes back, they