Queen of the Dark Things (37 page)

“Knight to f3.”

Again, Yashar moved the dog's piece. He sat for a moment mulling over his next move.

“I miss the boss.”

“He's only been gone a few hours.”

“I know that. I mean I miss the old boss.”

Yashar passed the dog a bereaved look over his nose, his face still facing the board. “You can call him Colby.”

“I like boss.”

“I don't think he's coming back. Not the Colby we knew, anyway. Knight to c6.”

Gossamer let out a long sigh, his head drooping below his shoulders. “Bishop to c4. Why not? Just because he's making deals?”

“No one
just
makes deals with demons, Goss. They get in your head, futz around with your insides, show you futures where you can get everything you want. You can even get it sometimes. But it comes at a cost. Everything comes at a cost with them. And it's never the price that's advertised. Pawn to d6.”

“The boss is strong, though. He
might
be able to get through it all right?”

Yashar shook his head.

“Knight to c3.”

“I've been on this earth too long to believe that. Colby's cursed. It's my fault. And this is the fallout of that curse. There's no point in worrying about it. He'll be who he'll be on the other side of it.”

The two stared morosely at the board, examining their next moves.

“Bishop to g4.”

“Yashar, what's a familiar?”

Yashar again looked over his nose at the dog. “It's . . . it's a special relationship between a pet and his master.”

“I like boss. Knight to e5.”

“Between a pet and his boss.”

“Boss said it was a best friend.”

“It is, kind of.”

“What is it really?”

“It's a magical bond. It means he can see what you can see. You can read each other's thoughts. He can weave magic through you. Bishop to d1. Bishop takes queen.”

“You took my queen? Already?” Gossamer's eyes grew sad, his muzzle lowering to the board's edge.

“Yes.”

“But that's my favorite piece.”

“Learn to protect it better, then.”

“Bishop to e7. Check.”

Yashar eyed the board, looking for a way out of check.

“Why won't boss make me his familiar? That all sounds awesome.”

“Because it's not all awesome.”

“What's the catch?”

“Catch is that your life forces become linked. You can't ever get too far from each other. You would have had to go to Australia or else you'd both be doubled over, sick, puking your guts out. I've seen it.”

“That doesn't sound too bad.”

“King to e7. I told you, Goss, your life forces are linked. So if he dies . . .”

Gossamer looked up, suddenly understanding. “Oh,” he said solemnly. “I would die too.”

“And if something ever happened to you, he would be weakened to near death. It's a position that comes with great benefits, but terrible consequences. Colby doesn't lead a very safe life. And he loves you, Goss. Very much. He doesn't want anything to happen to you.”

“Is that how you feel about Colby?”

“Every goddamned day.”

“If you could take it back, would you?”

“The wish?”

“Yeah.”

Yashar sat silently for a beat. “What do you mean? Do I wish he had made a different wish?”

“No. If you had to choose between Colby's wish and the wish of another child, which would you choose?”

“I don't know. I've thought about that every day for nearly fifteen years now and I still don't know. Every time I sleep, I dream about it. I had a dream once, seven years ago, in which I granted a wish to a different child. It was a wonderful dream. Everything was just how it used to be. The kid's wish was simple, didn't end so badly, and we went about life happy, not involved with . . .” He waved around the bar. “Any of this. But then, what I assume was about a year or so into the dream, I remembered Colby. And he showed up in the dream. I saw him living his life. Normal. Bored. Working behind the counter of some retail chain. I have no idea what he was selling. But I missed him. I missed him so badly. So I talked to him. And he didn't know me. I tried to tell him that we knew each other, but he didn't believe a word of it. And for the rest of the dream, I was miserable. I went about the various unbelievable adventures I have in those dreams and couldn't enjoy a one of them because Colby wasn't there.

“So what would I do, given the choice? Would I spare my friend a lifetime of fear and suffering and damnation? Or would I put him through all that just so I wouldn't be so lonely? I'd like to think that I would be unselfish. I'd like to think that, but all evidence is to the contrary. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” said Gossamer. “Knight to d5. Checkmate.”

Yashar cast his eyes down incredulously, thinking for a moment that the dog had no idea what he was doing. And he saw it. Checkmate. “Wait! That's the fool's gambit. With a queen sacrifice! Where did you learn that?”

Gossamer's tail wagged furiously, his mouth dropping open with a panting smile. “Learn to protect your queen better, you said. You said that. You mocked me.”

“You just sharked me.”

“I did.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Don't . . .”

“Dog joke.”

“That only works on Colby.”

“What's good for the goose . . .”

Yashar could feel the doors opening, the metal outer door closing with a slam, the inner door popping open with a
WHOOSH
. He wasn't expecting anyone, but he wasn't expecting trouble either.

Half a dozen kutji flooded in through the door, their stubby malformed bodies skittering across the floor, scampering up the walls, scooting across the bar. Yashar pushed his seat back slowly, its legs grinding against the concrete.

“Goss,” he said beneath his breath. “If I say run, you fucking run.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

“This is no time for loyalty.”

“Screw you. This is exactly the time for loyalty.”

“Yashar,” hissed the kutji standing tallest atop the bar. “It's my understanding that this place is under new management.”

“It is. So get the fuck out of my bar.”

“No,” it said, hopping down, striding confidently toward the djinn. “I mean it's under new management now.” The kutji held out both of his hands, waving to the bar. “This place is ours.”

“Like hell it is,” said Gossamer, fur bristling, growling deep, as if he was ready to snap at the closest hand.

“Goss,” said Yashar. “Ease back.”

“This place is ours.”

“Not anymore it isn't,” said Yashar. “Live to fight another day, my friend.”

“Is that all it takes to own a bar? You just walk in and take it?”

The kutji smiled wickedly, teeth pointing every which way out from his black gums. “Sometimes,” it said. “Sometimes.”

Yashar stood up slowly, waving for Gossamer to follow him. “It's all yours.” The two then backed away toward the door, Yashar spinning slowly as they did, trying to keep an eye on all the kutji at once. A single kutji stood between them and the door, for a moment refusing to yield. But as Yashar cautiously closed the distance, he moved, holding the door open for the two.

Yashar gave one last, longing look at the bar, drinking in the sweet nostalgia, took a deep breath, and then stepped outside.

Crows lined the alley, a single kutji in demihuman form standing ten feet from the door. Yashar and Gossamer stopped dead in their tracks. They looked around, saw they were surrounded. Gossamer squatted low, tail back, teeth bared, growling.

“You the guys here to kill me?” asked Yashar, inching ever closer to his companion.

The kutji nodded.

“You doing this because you want to? Or because you have to?”

“What's the difference?” asked the kutji, balling up both of his fists.

“Difference is in how many of you I kill before we call it a night.”

The crows all squawked at once, angry, beating their wings against their sides, shaking their feathers while strutting on their perches.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” yelled Yashar over the sound. “I'll ask you again! You doing this because you want to or because you have to?”

“Kill him,” said the kutji.

At once the birds took to the air, their speed faster than Yashar imagined, diving toward him and Gossamer.

“Shit!” Yashar picked up Gossamer by his belly, hoisting him awkwardly in the air, then spun, pulling himself tight, vanishing into thin air. The birds swarmed in, finding nothing, some slamming into the wall, others the door—none striking home.

“Where is he?” screamed one of the kutji, shifting back from crow to man.

“He's gone,” said another.

“Well, spread out. Find them.”

“It's too late,” said yet another, sniffing the air. “They're gone.”

“What now?”

The lead kutji from inside leaned out of the door, dangling on the knob. “We make sure he doesn't come back. We make sure he gets the message. Everybody inside.”

The last of the crows shifted immediately, pouring inside the building. They leaped up on the tables and up on top of the bar. One swung back and forth on the single dangling bulb as if it were a jungle vine. The largest of them began tossing bottles against the wall, pouring liquor over the bartop. “Help me,” it said to the others.

In a flash, every bottle in the bar was shattering against any and every surface there was. Every bottle but one. The last bottle of Old Scraps's special reserve. The largest kutji held that bottle in one hand, stuffing a rag in it with the other. Then he picked up a lighter from behind the bar, lit the rag, and screamed, “Everybody out!”

Then he threw the bottle against the bar and the whole place went up in flames.

C
HAPTER
50

D
REAMSPEAKER

H
e awoke, a fire crackling beside him, a shadow standing silently at the edge of its light.

Colby sat up, smiling. “Hello, Mandu.”

The shadow walked slowly around the fire, a large walking stick preceding it step by step.

Mandu Merijedi looked only vaguely as Colby remembered him, the creases in his face deep from years in the sun, his hair no longer salt and pepper, but fully bleached white with age. His eyes were milky with cataracts, tired, iris and pupil fading into the whites as if he were blind. His teeth gleamed in the firelight, his smile warmer than the blaze.

“Hello, child,” he said, his voice darkened, affected by the grave. There was an echo to it, a hollowness, as if he was calling through a cave, recorded, then played back through an old speaker, static and all.

“It's been a long time.”

“No, it hasn't. Long for you because you're young. The young always think such a short time is forever. You don't understand forever. Not yet.”

Colby nodded. “You're right. I don't understand it.”

Mandu laughed, each
ha
trailing off into the night like distant fireworks. “Of course I'm right. That's why you came all this way to speak to a dead man.”

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

“I had no choice. You were always going to come here and call on me. I just knew in advance.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Ain't upset. No need being upset with the inevitable. I might sooner be angry that things fall down instead of up or that rain also darkens the sky. It is how things were meant to be.” He paused and beheld the stars as if he hadn't seen them in years. “You're here about the girl,” he said, still staring at them.

“Yes. The dreamwalker. Kaycee.”

“That's not her name anymore. But don't worry. She'll find you.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“How did you get here?” Mandu's gaze wandered down from the sky, looking Colby straight in the eye.

“A powerful spirit brought me. On his horse.”

Mandu shook his head. “No. Ask yourself. How did you get
here
? To this spot? Now. How did you get to now? Only when you understand what brought you to where you are can you really go farther. If you want to find your friend, you need to retrace your steps. Walk the path you walked as a child. Sing the song of your deeds, walk the songline to the last place you saw her. But do not sing it wrong or you will unsing creation. You will unsing your own story. Remember, Colby, the past is the past. If we try and change it, we only change ourselves.”

“You want me to walk my songline?”

“I want to rest. You, you want to remember. Because you want to find your friend. She needs you. To fulfill her destiny and free herself from what ails her, what binds her, she needs you. This was the destiny she has so long pined for and it is so close. You cannot let her down now.”

“Is that it? Is that all I have to do?”

Mandu laughed again, this time more heartily than before, though it still chilled Colby to the bone. “No. That's not it. That's just the beginning.”

“Tell me. Tell me everything.”

“I don't know everything. The spirits only show so much.”

“That's damned inconvenient.”

“Destinies are fulfilled best by people trying to avoid them. They are not carved into the earth like mountains, but are like water in a billabong. Knowing a destiny is like knowing where the water will go when it rains. You know the water will be there. But you cannot tell the sky to put the water there. You cannot tell it when. You just have to let it. You can carve the earth out yourself, make rivers and reservoirs, guide the water away. And destiny becomes different. But why would you? You want the water in the billabong. Because it will bring the animals that will feed the people. You must think back on your song, you must be the rain. It will fill the billabong. It will bring the animals. It will feed the people.