Exultant, Leonard watched the flowering trees speed by as the wagonette made its way through a dusky residential district, full of shoebox houses painted blue and green, Failsafe Guards posted outside the gates, some of them snoozing, which made Leonard smile all the more. They would return to Leonard’s garage apartment, he’d give Sally the no-longer-white room for her exclusive use until they were married, as long as she promised not to paint over Felix’s drawings on the walls … Oh, joy! The sun seemed to agree, sending cheerful pink rays over the Industrial District, as it sunk behind spiraling smokestacks and liveried lorries. He wondered whether Sally knew how to cook.
Speaking of which, his true love was hiccupping! How adorable was that? Before he knew what he was doing, he put his arm around her and dared to look in her eyes.
She was fighting back tears; Felix was already squeezing her hand.
What is it, Sally? he asked.
She didn’t answer; she only shook her head.
Leonard felt like such a fool. Of course: good fortune was his only because Sally had lost hers! Her Special Gift, her friends, her job, her safehouse — all gone! Felix had understood, but Leonard — Leonard had thought only of himself! How lowly was that? Lowly as a worm! Leonard was no better than a worm! What did he have to offer Sally? No wealth, no position. Nothing! Less than nothing! He didn’t have a job, or any notion where to find one. He was responsible for a seven-year-old boy who no longer went to school, his sister was a renegade neo-Maoist wanted by the police, their home might not even be safe!
The sky was no longer rosy, it was streaked with gray. They seemed to be on the edge of the Business District, but it was smoky, and darkening, and hard to see.
Your home isn’t safe, the wagonette driver said, pulling over to the curb. My wagonette oath does not permit me to deliver you there. Besides, you haven’t the lucre to pay me.
Simultaneously, the three dug into their pockets. Among them they only had three coins.
I’ll leave you here, then, shall I? the wagonette driver said, releasing the airlocks. Around them, the dusk-laden street was lit only by roving beams from unmanned fire towers. Leonard rolled down his soundproof window and heard, from not far away, the distinctive zing-hiss-boom of pocket rockets. And shouting. Lots of shouting.
What’s going on? Sally asked as Leonard grasped her hand, but she was addressing Elphadot, the driver.
More of the same, he said. You’ll want to avoid Main Street. And most of the side streets.
You can’t just leave us here! Leonard said.
The police are at your house, he said, but they’ll be too busy to bother with you here. Just avoid Main Street, like I said. And most of the side streets. Lucre, please?
The three handed over what was left of their cash, and as the wagonette reversed direction and sped off, Sally pulled a small round of material from her clutchbag, then pressed what appeared to Leonard to be a pumpswitch. The material expanded into a hat — a very stylish hat with a wide brim and cherry blossom — jujuberry motif. Placed on Sally’s head, it illuminated a twenty-foot radius.
Stan the man! Felix exclaimed.
It’s a personal collapsible beacon, beta version, based on Baconian optics, Sally said proudly. She took it off to show Felix, and they were in darkness again. It works only on my head!
Light, please, Leonard said, feeling jealous of the bond Sally and Felix were forming. At his expense, he assumed, though he couldn’t say how.
Sally put the hat back on and they found themselves in a Business District none of them recognized. While the side street they stood on was quiet, at the intersection a quarter verst ahead they could see one building reduced to a smoking titanium frame, while another, to its left, was fully aflame. As they crept forward, Sally’s hat illuminated bands of Heraclitan flamethrowers running through the intersection, chased by monarchist jousters on horseback and — could it be? — off-key singing waiters from the Dada Dinner Diner. Soda jerks from the Strawberry Parfait were shouting insults and trying to trip the horses. The street was cluttered with abandoned torches, eatery leaflets, and broken glass; neighborhood webcams and Hello! lamps had been wrenched from their Everything’s-Okay poles. It smelled — not just of smoldering buildings but of burning pizza, blackened bacon, charred grillsteak, and blistering jujuberries. The musicians had wisely stayed away, but amid the exploding rockets and shattering glass and clattering of horses’ hooves, they could hear, faintly, as if from an old-fashioned discograph, a tinny rendition of the “Internationale.” In Chinese.
Mother! Felix whispered, and Leonard grabbed him.
No running off, Leonard said. And no shouting.
I think it would be prudent if we put the hat away, Sally whispered, and again they were in darkness. Shall we sidle to the side and make a plan?
A plan? Leonard was good at that! He would choose for himself a role that allowed him to be brave — brave but not foolhardy. He would protect Sally from danger — well, not immediate danger, but imminent danger, probable danger … But just then, alarm whistles sounded, audible even over the din, and a dozen neo-Maoists, visible in silhouette against the flames and identifiable by their dust caps, ran through the distant intersection, pursued by police. One slightly built Maoist tripped on a fallen neighborhood webcam. As her jaw hit the cobbles, her dust cap flew off. A policeman was immediately upon her, beating her backside with his justice stick. She curled to her left in the classic defensive position, and they could see … Was it? A red afro?
MOM! Felix shouted in a voice twice as loud as the one he’d used the day before. Buildings shook and trembled as his cry echoed across the avenues of the Business District, each reverberation growing louder and louder, rattling Leonard’s spine and jarring his bones.
Sally reacted first.
Leonard! she shouted. Felix isn’t moving!
Is that pizza I smell?
It was true. Felix was frozen solid like the dry-ice walls around the Leader’s domus.
Leonard patted his nephew’s cheek, which was cold and unmoving, his mouth still pursed together forming the last momentous M!
In the intersection, everyone was likewise frozen; only the horses moved about (Felix liked horses), sniffing bodies and debris, looking for dinner, perhaps. A white spotted pony trotted toward Leonard and Sally, his jouster tottering on his saddle because his legs no longer clamped the horse’s sides.
Even the eatery odors had come to a standstill.
Check Felix’s health meter, Sally said, putting her collapsible-beacon hat back on.
Leonard lifted Felix’s shirt. The health meter, which should have been slowly pulsing toward calm, wasn’t moving at all! Leonard flicked it, in case it was stuck. It wasn’t.
Sally and Leonard looked at each other. They knew what this meant. Unless and until Felix’s health meter returned to normal, the world would not move, Felix would not move.
Carol! Leonard said, and rushed to his sister, who still lay curled in her defensive position. Not moving, but not frozen — unconscious. He tried to lift her from the cobbles, ruing that Pythagorean discipline had not required strength training. He gestured to Sally, who ran over to help him. Together they moved Carol twenty paces onto the side street beside Felix.
The spotted pony, who was nuzzling Felix as if to wake him, or to thank him for stopping the fighting, whinnied and shook her mane, which caused her tottering jouster to topple stiffly to the ground next to Carol, his legs now straddling air.