Blaize looked none too sure—in fact, he looked as fearful as a rabbit surrounded by foxes—but he swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and said bravely, “Surely we can. Let us march.”
“We have some protection, at least.” Mira looked up and a dozen wyverns came flocking, cawing in delight at being able to help her.
“You can summon up some anger too, I think.” Alea looked up at Gar. “You may try to pretend that you don’t have the ghost of an emotion, but I know better.”
“You won’t leave me in the shade,” Gar assured her. “I do have a well of bitterness I can tap, and I’ve had some experience with madmen.”
Alea looked at him again, startled, but he only said, “Lead on.”
She turned away toward the city and started the long climb down.
14
The first houses they came to were burned out and gutted, roofs fallen in. Each was surrounded by dozens of leafless trunks, most with very few branches, many rotted and falling apart, all rising out of dry brown tangles of undergrowth—yards that had been overgrown until everything died. The street was choked with rubble and filled with potholes.
“However this city fell,” Alea said, “it didn’t just rot away quietly.”
“It may not have gone out with one single bang, but it looks to have been noisy,” Gar agreed. “Walk warily. Anything could be hiding in these hulks.”
They went down along the cracked and pitted road as quickly as they could without running, trying to keep an eye on all four directions at once.
“Someone’s watching me,” Mira said, her face grim. “I feel it, too,” Blaize agreed.
“We knew they would,” Gar said. “The only question is whether the watchers are alive or dead.”
“Either way, they’ll wait until we’re too far in to be able to run,” Alea guessed.
“So long as they chase away the soldiers,” Gar said. “Blaize, how many ghosts are watching us?”
“Too many to count,” the lad said, shivering. “Most of them seem sane, at least, but there are one or two whose minds are whirlpools of confusion.”
“Don’t let them drag you down,” Gar advised. “Just note them in passing. Go quickly, friends—I don’t think we’ve anything to fear until we come to the city’s center.”
The houses grew bigger as they marched eastward until they weren’t houses anymore but tall buildings—taller and taller as they went, until Mira, Blaize, and Alea gaped at the towers around them. Gar contented himself with quick glances—compared to the palaces of Maxima and the clamoring mazes of Ceres City, this wasn’t terribly impressive. “There’s not a lot of light,” he commented.
“No, these towers shut out the stars,” Alea agreed. “We could kindle a torch.”
“Here, let me,” said a lugubrious voice beside them, and ghost light flared in the darkness, bathing their faces in its bluewhite glow.
The two younger folk leaped back with shouts of fright. Gar and Alea stiffened, drawing together without realizing it, glaring up at the native who towered above them, giggling in basso tones. He wore the robes of a guru and held up a forefinger whose nail blazed in a tongue of flame.
“Welcome to the city of Charenton,” he said. “Welcome to the city of the mad.”
Then he floated there giggling while the companions gaped up at him.
Gar was the first to recover. “Thank you for your hospitality. Can you tell us if our enemies have followed us into the city?” The ghost’s brows pulled together, but his lips kept their smile as he lifted his head to gaze out along the boulevard down which they had come. “No, they’ve turned away, as anyone in his right mind would. Their masters aren’t happy about it—shaking their fists at us and cursing—but they’re turning back, too. ”
“Reasoning that we’re out of their way, if we’ve come in here.” Gar nodded. “I expect they’ll be surprised when they find we’ve come out.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the ghost chuckled.
“Really?” Gar raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think they expect us to return from a city, do you?”
“Of course they don’t, and neither do I.” The ghost blew out the flame on his finger.
With a racket of groans, howls, and clanking chains, half a dozen ghosts surrounded them, each twelve feet tall and bending down to reach for them with claw tipped fingers.
Gar froze, and Alea rocked back against his chest while Blaize flung his arms around Mira and pressed his back against theirs. Then Alea recovered, glaring up at the guru’s ghost.
With a scream of agony, he clapped his hands to his head. Blaize saw and remembered that he was a ghost leader. He turned a cold gaze on the nearest specter, a dapper gentleman in doublet and hose with a very nasty grin—which disappeared as his mouth formed an O of surprise before he doubled over, hands clawing at the pain in his belly.
Alea turned to look daggers at a hatchet faced matron in full skirts and fuller bodice. The hatchet dulled amazingly as the woman clutched at her chest, eyes wide in panic, mouth gaping in wordless horror.
Blaize switched his gaze to a foppish ghost in a tailcoat, waistcoat, tight trousers with flaring cuffs, and a look of supercilious glee that turned to horror as he clutched at his throat, his howl choking off.
“Away!” cried the ghost of a young soldier, and all six specters vanished.
Blaize let out a sigh of relief and sagged. Mira looked up at him in alarm, then suddenly realized she was in his arms and twisted free. She caught his elbow and hauled upward. “Stand straight! They might come back—and they’re surely watching!”
“Yes, pull yourself together.” Alea didn’t look much better but managed to stand straight and tall. “Mira’s right, they’re still here, even if they lack the courage to show themselves.”
“Courage?” a new voice hooted, and a glowing gentleman in top hat and tails danced in the air before them. “Come now! What need have ghosts for courage? None can hurt us!”
“We just did,” Alea reminded him. “Ask your friends.”
“Oh, I was watching. Foolish creatures, to let you convince them they could feel pain.”
“You, of course, know better?” Gar asked.
“Certainly! I’m Corbin the Magician! Look, Ma, no hands!” He held them, up white-gloved and fingers spread just long enough for the companions to watch them disappear, leaving wrists and arms. “Look, Ma, no head!” Corbin cried, and sure enough, his head disappeared, too.
“Magician? Or conjurer?” Gar asked Alea.
“I conjure your head to come back!” Alea cried.
With a pop, the head reappeared atop Corbin’s neck—without its top hat and saying indignantly, “I wasn’t ready for that. Really, intruding on a gentleman when he isn’t dressed!” With another pop, the top hat reappeared.
“We’re wise to that trick,” Alea informed him. “Oh, yes, but not wise enough to fear us.”
“What’s to fear?” Gar asked. “The dead can’t hurt the living, after all.”
“Perhaps not truly hurt,” the ghost said, “but there’s pain, and then there’s pain.”
Suddenly the world seemed to spin around them. The towers seemed to lean—farther and farther, until they were about to fall, revealing a bulbous moon the color of blood. Indeed, it must have been blood, because it began to drip.
“He’s mad,” Blaize gasped, “and trying to make us mad with him! This is how he sees the world, as a confusing and threatening place!”
“Surely you know better now that you’re dead!” Gar reproved—but he had to hold on to Alea to keep himself stable. “Do I? Take a closer look.” The ghost yanked his head off his shoulders and held it out, only a foot from Gar’s face. The lips still moved as he spoke. “It’s even more confusing now—you never know what might happen.”