Petty Pewter Gods (21 page)

I found myself on Fleetwood Place, one of the many short and lightly trafficked streets that enter the Dream Quarter. Fleetwood Place runs right through the Arsenal. Even now, with the war gone moribund, the place was going full blast. I don’t know how the workers there put up with all the rattle and bang.

I darted from cover to cover, confident that a few hundred yards would get me into the safety of the Dream Quarter. During one pause two huge owls hurtled overhead, tracking a blur up the far side of the street. I grinned. Had to be Jorken, going for my fake.

A trickle of golden light leaked over the brick wall back up Fleetwood. That rustling-paper sound passed overhead. Hundreds of black leaves fluttered in a minor whirlwind. Wolves howled in the distance. I’d like to say dragons roared and thunder lizards stomped, but it did not get that dramatic.

I resumed putting one foot in front of the other as briskly as I could. A remote, foul bit of mind breath reminded me,
Nog is inescapable.
Nog didn’t have much of a vocabulary.

As I ran I rehearsed what I had done to frame the ratman. Maybe I would work the stunt again, if I had to. I kept glancing back, expecting Jorken.

A huge boil of dirty brown smoke burst upward back whence I had come. Lightning ripped through its heart. An owl came flying out, folded up on its back, following a high ballistic arc. A thunderclap reached me moments later. And these were not phenomena that only I could see. People ran into the street to gape.

The Godoroth and Shayir were butting heads. I didn’t wait to see if they got down to it seriously. I kept sucking wind and pounding leather. A wolf, or maybe a dog the size of a cow, hollered behind me. It was a cry whose tone said, “I got the trail, boss.” I put my head down and went for new records.

I sensed something in front of me, a picket of shadow forming out of nothing, right in front of the line where I thought I would get safe.

That thing howled behind me. It was gaining fast. I didn’t even
try
to zig, zag, or stop. I went for the hurdle.

42

There was a face in my face.

“This is getting old,” I muttered. I tried to move. The darkness held me tightly, except for my eyes. I realized that that was all I controlled. My ability to see. No other sense was working.

The face in my face drifted back. It seemed to be a metal mask, its features stylized. Nothing but darkness appeared through the mouth, eye, and nose holes. It dwindled to a point of light.

Countless similar points materialized over what seemed like several minutes. A few began to drift, loop, swoop toward me, pursuing some pattern I did not recognize. These few became faces and even figures. Some resembled our better-known local gods. No two sprang from the same mythology.

Oh boy.

I grew up in Saint Strait’s Parish of my mom’s peculiar religion, so wouldn’t you know the Strait Man himself would come shining up right center? “Are you with us, Mr. Garrett?”

“Wouldn’t be smart to be against you.”

Saint Strait was the patron of seekers after wisdom. And he looked out for fools, drunks, and little kids, which shows you that divine bureaucracies lump stuff together as rationally as do the mundane.

Saint Strait didn’t get sanctified for his heavenly sense of humor or his divine tolerance for alternate viewpoints, but he was too preoccupied to indulge his famous temper. “If you will restrain yourself we can resolve several questions swiftly.”

“Who is we?” I was in a mood so black I didn’t much care if I was toe to toe with the gods themselves, including a leading saint of the religion that I had disdained and mostly disbelieved from eleven years old onward.

“We are The Commission, also sometimes called The Board, a permanent standing committee tasked with mediating and refereeing any arguments or contests between deities of different religions. Commission makeup changes continuously. Board service is a duty required of everyone. The Commission’s mission is to ensure peace in your Dream Quarter. We arbitrate entries and exits of the mainstream religions there.”

“I’ve always been content to ignore the gods. How come you can’t return the courtesy?” These Commission types would be the clowns who had stuck me with being the key to divine nightmares
 
—
probably as a reward for past slights.

“There was no better candidate than you. However, we did not anticipate your being so much at risk. Apologies. Estimates were that you would become wealthy off the interested parties.”

“Thank you very much. That sounds great. There’ll never be another black day in my life. When does the bribing begin? I’d really like to get those bars of gold stashed away. And what sort of protection will I be getting?”

“Protection?” The concept was so alien he had trouble pronouncing the word. Him who looked out for our less-capable folk. How can you be labeled a hopeless cynic when your cynicisms prove valid all the time?

His response was an answer all by itself. But I soldiered on. “Protection from those lunatic Godoroth and Shayir who have started figuring out the fact that I’m the key they want. You guys set it up winner-take-all — including me. But the losers aren’t going to just go away, are they? Maybe they’ll want to lay their despair off on somebody. Maybe they’ll want to hurt somebody by way of getting even with the universe. So who are they going to look for?”

While I rambled, the good saint had his eyes closed, either enduring my diatribe or communing with his associates.

He opened his eyes. “You will be protected. You have been troubled excessively already. They were supposed to win your support, not take it by intimidation. We will issue some addenda to the ground rules.”

Divine figures moved toward and away from me in some rhythm known only to the gods themselves. I felt some poke around inside my head, picking my mental pockets as habit rather than policy. They were bored and wished those creatures from down where celestial glamour turned to celestial slum would take a powder and save their betters all this ugly, finger-dirtying
work.

“Was there some point to my being dragged here?”

“The Shayir and the Godoroth collided not far off. They were out of control. It seemed possible the key might be at risk at an insalubrious juncture. You must remain alive for a while longer.”

Had I been anything but disembodied vision I would have sniffed the air and checked my soles for accretions.

“Gracious of you. Can we work it so I can hang in here, the age I am now, for a couple thousand more years? Say until the last one of you Commission characters goes?”

“I could tell you what you want to hear, but you would realize its worthlessness as soon as the air blew past you.” Saint Man had him a sense of humor after all. “If we made an exception for you, every man, woman, and child out there would petition us with unique circumstances.”

Grumble grumble whine whine. Gods forfend anybody actually has to do their job.

“You were made the key because it was our hope that you, being mortal, could distinguish the superiority of one pantheon over another and thus resolve the question of which should remain on the Street of the Gods.”

Boy, did they pick the wrong man. So much for omniscience. “I haven’t fallen in love with any of the contenders. How about you hide me out till after the deadline and let them all suck the death pipe?”

“That is not an option. Persevere, Mr. Garrett. And work on your decision. Which temple should remain with us?”

He had rejected my suggestion already.

He began to shrink away from me. “Few mortals ever stand in judgment upon the gods.”

Other Commission members fluttered about. Some swooped toward me, apparently curious. I got the distinct feeling that the gods from the uptown pantheons were way out of touch. They were like factory owners who never entered their factories for fear they would, somehow, sully themselves by associating with the people whose labor made it possible for them to live the high life. It was blatantly plain that for many, the notion that they had a responsibility to their followers was entirely alien. Many of these gods were what human teenagers would turn into, given unlimited resources and time. They watched me like I was a bug under glass.

“Good-bye for now, Mr. Garrett.” His voice was a fading whisper.

Then I wasn’t in a place where remote shimmers became curious gods and goddesses. I was where darkness was as thick as treacle. I swam hard. I was going to get out of town for real, let these crazies finish their incomprehensible game without me.

A genie in a bottle would have been a nice find. I could use her to straighten things out. But instead of something gorgeous and eager, I got another wave of darkness, of an altogether different kind. This invaded me, penetrated right down to the core of me. I began to feel better. Aches and pains vanished. My headache went away. Bruises and scratches healed. I felt the stitches in my scalp fall out. Suddenly I felt so good I almost turned positive. I almost wished I was bald so I could grow new hair. I felt younger, bouncier, eager to get into action — and more likely to do something stupid because I was regaining youth’s impatience.

Then yet another darkness engulfed me. In a moment I felt nothing at all.

43

I awakened in an alley. Surprise. Surprise, I did it with a face nose to nose with mine. I was going in circles. At least it was a different face each time. “This is getting old.” I tried to grab a throat again, but this scroat was no ratman. He was strong. He lifted me one-handed and shook me till my teeth wobbled. “Mom?” I asked. She used to shake me if I did something especially irritating. When I was still small enough to snake.

“Huh?”

Oh-oh. Another mental marvel.

He held me at arm’s length so he could check me out. Turnabout is fair play. I checked him out right back.

He had long, wavy blonde hair. He had blue eyes to kill for. One blue eye, anyway. The other was covered by a black leather patch. He was nine feet tall. He was gorgeous. He had muscles on top of his muscles. Obviously, he didn’t have much to do but work on his physique and study himself in a mirror.

I’d never seen his like running loose in TunFaire, so I assumed he was another pesky pewter god, though neither Godoroth nor Shayir.

“Now what?” I muttered. “Who the hell are you?”

My body still felt young and tough enough to whip its weight in wildcats.

Pretty boy shook me again.

Whip its weight in gerbils?

“You will speak when spoken to.”

“Yeah. Right.” Thought I was supposed to get protection?

Shake shake.

“Rhogiro! Trog!” I needed somebody big enough to get this guy’s attention.

What I got was the Goddamn Parrot, who plummeted into the gloom from the afternoon sunlight above. “Where have you been?”

“Trying to deal with a whole parade of these characters.” I got shaken again.

The bird said, “An apparent retard.”

“You see him?”

The huge guy took a swipe at Mr. Big. He missed. The bird stayed over on his blind side, obviously seeing him.

“Be quiet, Garrett.”

“Hard to do.”

Pretty boy looked baffled. He wasn’t used to having his orders ignored. He took a stab at Mr. Big. Maybe he was prejudiced against talking birds. The Goddamn Parrot evaded the blow.

“You try to talk to him?” the bird asked.

“Yeah. He told me to shut up. Then he started playing ragdoll with me. Got any idea who or what he is?”

The big guy pulled me right up close, eye to eye.

“There any divine dentists? He’s got teeth all over his mouth, and most of them are rotten. He’s got breath like a battlefield three days after...”

Bingo.

The Dead Man got it at the same time. “A war god.”

Baffled, the war god set me on my feet and squatted. “You do not fear me?”

“I spent five years at your birthday party. You got nothing left to scare me with.” I hoped he didn’t have a big talent for bullshit detection. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I am Shinrise the Destroyer.” Roll of drums, please. Thunder of trumpets.

“I know your sister Maggie.”

He frowned. He didn’t get it. Maybe the world wreckers didn’t get together and talk shop.

Where did I get the idea that gods were smarter than people?

“Garrett?” The Goddamn Parrot fluttered to my shoulder. “I don’t know the name. Do you?”

“Actually, it seems I should. Maybe from somebody in the Corps.”

Shinrise the Destroyer swung a fist in a mighty roundhouse. It tore a few hundred bricks out or the nearest wall. On the far side a couple in the throes of lovemaking took a moment to react. They gaped. The woman screamed. She had no trouble seeing Shinrise, either.

He stomped a foot. Bricks fell out of the wall. I said, “I’d better get out of here before he knocks everything down.”

As suddenly as the rage took Shinrise it passed. He grabbed me again. “Have you found the key?”

“No.”

“Don’t even look.”

Far, far off I sensed an echo of
Nog is inescapable.
“Why not? What do you care? You’re not Godoroth or Shayir.”

“I have cause to wish misfortune upon both houses. You will refrain from...”

“Sure, big guy. Like your wishes are going to override theirs.”

He started to shake me but frowned, tilted his head to one side. Maybe an idea was trying to get in.

The bird told me, “Others are coming.” He fluttered upward.

“I know.”

Shinrise completed his thought. He grinned. His teeth definitely were his weakness. “I will protect you.” He sounded proud of himself.

“Of course you will. And here’s where you start. Nog the Inescapable is coming here to snatch me. Discourage him while I find someplace to hide.”

I jumped through the broken wall into the room just vacated by the lovers, then used the only door. I glanced back. Shinrise looked like he was beginning to wonder if he had been hornswoggled. Behind him, but close, came
Nog is inescapable!
strong and tinged with triumph. Nog had the scent.

What did Strait tell me? The Commission was going to caution the players about being so rough? Must not have gotten the word out yet. And Shinrise sure wasn’t working for the Board. What he wanted was directly opposed to their desires. Why didn’t I find out what his interest was? Oh, yeah. Nog. Nog arrived.