The Pilgrims

irritably.

‘Can you still speak English?’

This guy and his questions, jeez. Sharfy tapped his head. ‘All gone. Unless I go back.’ He scowled, thinking of the peculiar diamond-studded sky, and the howling metal demon rocking side to side as it careered past with living people in its belly. ‘Which I won’t. Didn’t like the place.’

‘You didn’t see much of it. Try the seafood, next time.’

‘Eh? No! Not going back. Why’d you come through anyway?’

The Otherworlder laughed. ‘It’s either a very long story or a very short one. Not sure which.’ He was relaxed, off guard at last. Now was a good time to disarm him. Sharfy had his knife out quickly. The thin white smoke wafting from its enchantment felt cold. The young man backed against the wall but didn’t reach for a weapon. ‘Have to check,’ said Sharfy, ‘since I don’t know you yet. Weapons?’

‘No. I could’ve attacked you when your back was turned if that’s what I wanted.’

‘And your guts’d be spilled on the ground.’

The young man emptied his pockets. Sharfy went through his confusing leather pouch with great care, taking out some small pieces of paper and some metal coins, which he examined for some time with growing excitement. What would some of those Engineers in Tanton or Elvury pay for these? Or those rich snobby collectors at the Bazaar? Voice casual, he said, ‘What city these from?’

‘No city you’ve heard of.’

‘Aw c’mon, just tell me.’

‘Gotham City. Those are genuine Gotham City coins. Keep it all. It’s not worth much.’

‘Not to you.’ He handed back the soft leather pouch, pocketing the coins and glad the young man’s gift had spared him a moral dilemma: to rob or not to rob? It would’ve been a tough one. ‘What about that box?’ he said, pointing at the square leather case.

‘Just a briefcase. Here.’ The young man clicked it open. Sharfy excitedly rifled through it, grabbing out sheets of paper. ‘That’s my resume. That’s my bus schedule. Enjoy them. Rare and precious things, they are.’

Sharfy nodded agreement. ‘Good for trade or for paying tolls. Groundmen love the strange writing. Those paper blocks we took, all blank. Quality, though. Would sell decent if we got it to a city, but Anfen said too much bag room to carry.’

‘I could write on the printing paper, if that’s valuable to you.’

‘Too late, we used it for fire. What else you got here? What’s this?’ He held a cold metal object, encased in what almost seemed a small leather scabbard with shoulder straps. He’d seen one of these when they’d gone through the entry point.

The Otherworlder hesitated. ‘It’s nothing. All these boxes have them.’

‘I knew that. But what’s it do? Weapon?’

‘I’ll show you …’ The young man held a hand out for it.

Watchful, Sharfy gave it back, with faith enough in his enchanted knives and the speed in his arm, if it came to that.

‘It makes light,’ said the young man. ‘But this one’s broken. It’s a cheap one. See?’ He pulled the trigger: click, click. ‘Light’s supposed to come out of this end. Must have been the fall that broke it.’

‘Won’t matter,’ said Sharfy, mollified. ‘I know these tunnels. Better than anyone.’

‘Still, maybe I can find someone to fix it. Do you want to keep it, or should I?’

‘Not much room in my pockets,’ Sharfy grunted. ‘You take it. And these?’ Sharfy held up two smooth black objects that felt cool in his hand.

‘Those are computer parts, called clips …’

‘What’s a … com pu hor?’

‘It’s … well, a device for computing, I guess. Working out numbers, that sort of thing. Kind of difficult to explain. Mind if I hang on to them?’ But Sharfy smelled something up … perhaps these were the Otherworlder’s weapons. He hadn’t got past that war mage from the goodness of its heart, after all …

Sharfy pocketed the ‘clips’ and noted the Otherworlder’s jaw clench with frustration. ‘Your name?’

‘Eric.’

‘Sharfy. Not my name, but ’swhat they call me. Let’s get out of here. I’m not waiting for both those mages to cook. Enough death and killing. Turns my guts.’

Eric groaned. ‘Shit! Case might come through there. I left him a message by the door.’

‘A friend? He might be all right. You got through.’

‘I can’t risk it. What can we do?’

‘We do nothing,’ Sharfy said. ‘I took enough risk with you down here. It probably saw where you went.’ This was a new and startling thought. ‘We have to move! Get up.’ The Otherworlder began to protest until the knife reappeared in his hand.

9

Some hours later, as Case dropped, he glimpsed that there were other people lying in the grass nearby, but that was all. It wasn’t until he’d landed on his backside and rolled a little way, stood up painfully and dusted off the black slacks Eric had loaned him, that it seemed strange to him so many people would be asleep out here in the open. The truth wasn’t long in coming.

He set his hat back in place and looked around the field of corpses, spread between the sheer white cliff faces. In some spots five or six were piled in groups. Elsewhere they lay more sparsely, as though some had made a run for it before being killed. ‘Eric?’ he called. Silence answered him. Not a body stirred, only a breeze swept through the grass.

Was there a point in being sad? Their lives weren’t so important in the grand scheme. The young man wouldn’t be bothered by anything, now. He’d never hurt or be lonely again, that was certain. Soon Case would be in the same boat, and they’d be on the other side of yet another door, maybe in a better place altogether.

But looking among the corpses he couldn’t see Eric’s, unless something had killed him so badly there wasn’t anything left to recognise. No point being sad, perhaps, but tears welled up in his eyes anyway. He called his friend’s name again before taking a long, careless pull of the scotch.

A rasping, guttural sound from behind, to the right. He turned.

The war mage squatted down, its staff across its knees. Its horns were now almost entirely black and thick smoke poured from them. Its face was covered in what looked like soot. Smoke also puffed from its thick tangled beard. Only its eyes, yellow and gleaming, could be seen clearly through the mess. It rasped, muttered and babbled, pointing a long crooked finger at Case.

Case knew he was looking at death, maybe Death himself, right here in the skin and bones. Did everyone who was about to die see this same scorched face? Did the fellow Case had shot, all those years ago, see it too? Somehow, before Case had seen it, it had been a lot more frightening. What could it do now but put him to sleep, into a state where nothing mattered?

Strange, though, that it seemed to be trying to talk to him. ‘Can’t follow you, friend,’ Case answered it.

It listened, head cocked like a bird’s, then babbled some more. What a horrible voice, unnatural as a robot’s. Only one or two words stood out, the rest was like an animal growling. Case looked where the man-beast pointed. There was another just like it, lying dead as all the other bodies. It was charred to a crisp — two curved horns were charcoal. The lower half, where its legs were supposed to be, was a pile of ash being slowly scattered in the light breeze. Smoke drifted off it gently.

Case turned back to the one still living. ‘You won a fight, that’s what you’re telling me? With something as foul-looking as you? You’re a pretty mean customer. But why’d you have to kill my friend?’ With those words, Case was startled to find anger boiling over in him, sudden and powerful. ‘Huh?’ he yelled, ‘Why’d you kill my friend? Ugly bastard!’