I closed my eyes and tried an inter-brane trance. I'm not usually good at psychic connections, but this was my coat we were talking about. We went way back, my coat and me. It had to work.
At first all I could hear was the baying of the boundary wolves, forcing me back. I tried just running for it, but I couldn't get past them-Arachne's silk straight-jacket stopped me doing the moves. I was stuck here all right, just like Arachne.
But even though my body was trapped, some piece of my mind must have slipped through. Because suddenly I could hear a familiar sound. It started faint, in the distance, then it got loud and close.
The gurgle of a coffee pot. My coffee pot.
I tried opening my eyes. But I didn't have any.
I was a coat.
I couldn't see, but I could smell…
… hot java, brewed just how I like it.
And I could touch…
… warm, soft, skin laced through with thousands of tiny ribbed carriageways. I felt a human pulse beating under pliable flesh, felt myself ride across intimate curves and bury myself in tantalising creases, felt the smooth slithering of me over a living, naked skin, which was her skin, of course: the skin of the resurrected girl.
I'm a coat, I thought.
And I was.
I let the sensations rule me. Inter-brane trances are fragile. You just have to relax. The more you immerse yourself, the stronger the link becomes. So I clung to the girl. It wasn't so bad.
And I could hear…
… their voices, Byron's and the girl's. The girl's name was Nancy. They were deep in discussion. I let my velvet lining slide over Nancy 's scarred and sensual collarbone and listened in…
"I was born on the east side," Nancy said. "I don't go back there much now. But this job came up and I knew the neighbourhood. It doesn't scare me down there, so I went."
"So what do you actually do?" said Byron.
"I work for Godiva Couriers. It's regular courier work, only I go on horseback and don't wear any clothes. I've got a licence."
"Oh. I see. Isn't that… dangerous?"
"I have several swords."
"Where do you hide them?"
"That would be telling."
"Oh. So, what happened then? When you made this delivery."
I felt Nancy shiver beneath me. "Well, I got a call to collect a package from this address on Crucifix Lane. Documents or something. The package was going all the way up to the mountain and the client wanted to make an impression. That's usually why people want to use Godiva."
"You sure do make an impression," mumbled Byron.
"Why, thank you. Anyway, I got to the address, railed my horse and knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so I pushed it open and went inside. Inside… it was odd. The building had, I don't know, maybe twelve floors. Or rather, it used to. Someone had gutted it, taken out all the floors so it was just one big space, floor to ceiling. Just a shell. It was wild, like walking into a giant's house. It was dark so I couldn't see if anyone was in there with me. So I called out. And that's when… "
"When what?"
"When something came out of the darkness and sliced me into a thousand pieces."
"Something? Or someone?"
"I don't know. But whatever it was, it was big and it had pink eyes… "
Nancy 's voice grew faint. Suddenly I couldn't feel her under me any more. I was flapping like laundry on the line. Only the line was a silk thread, reeling me in. It dragged me back between the strings, back through the boundary where the cosmic wolves howl, back to where I was hanging upside-down from a ceiling made of rats.
I had time for one thought: that golem makes a fair detective. Then I hit my body like a slam-dunk and passed out.
When I came to, Arachne was doing the spinneret thing again. I tried not to look.
"All right," I said. "I'll do it. I'll get you out of here. But on one condition."
Another bargain? Is this to be our relationship, gumshoe? An ever-escalating sequence of deals and debts? Where will it end?
"It ends here and now. This is the last deal I'll ever make with you. Take it or leave it."
Arachne closed her rags over her spinnerets and scowled.
What is it you want?
"The girl."
The spider woman changed. Suddenly she wasn't a crone any more. She straightened up and smoothed out. Got beautiful. Her rags became a tiny red dress so tight it showed her pores. She looked like a loaded gun in a crimson holster.
Well, she said, seeing my surprise, I'll need to look good if I'm going to be seen outside.
"So that's a yes?"
Arachne started unslitting the cocoon.
You know the girl won't hold together. She was butchered, gumshoe. My needlework is good, but it cannot repair her soul. Her soul is in shreds and there is nothing I can do about that. Oh, sewing her up like that is a good trick… but it is just a trick. Give the girl a day or two, and she will start to come apart at the seams. Literally.
"You think I don't know that?" I said.
I just wanted to make sure you understand the small print.
The last of the cocoon gave way. I dropped to the floor. Above me, the rat-ceiling sighed.
"I understand it," I said, massaging my arms. "So where d'you want to go?"
"Hold your fire!" I shouted. "We're coming out!"
I unlatched the singularity bolts and led them out into the rain: Byron the golem, Nancy the stitched-up courier, and Arachne. Twenty-four zombie cops trained their guns on us. The zombie with the bull-roarer said:
"PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!"
"We're not carrying," I said.
"PUT UP YOUR HANDS!"
"No need," I said. "The girl's okay. See for yourself."
Nancy came forward. When she stepped over the cellar vent, a jet of steam briefly lifted the coat above her shoulders. One of the zombie negotiator's eyes popped out and hit the street with a splat.
"MA'AM? ER, ARE YOU THE SAME NANCY LEE DONAHUE, FORMER EMPLOYEE OF GODIVA COURIERS, WHO WAS BRUTALLY HACKED TO PIECES AND HIDDEN IN A GARBAGE CAN OUTSIDE NUMBER EIGHT-EIGHT-SEVEN CRUCIFIX LANE, EAST SIDE?"
"One and the same," said Nancy. "Say-how come you know who I am? You never exactly got a chance to ID my body."
This confused the zombie. He lowered the bull-roarer and glanced across the street. Straight at the whale-sized Cadillac. The rest of the cops looked that way too. We all looked that way.
The door of the Cadillac swung open. A pair of shapely calves came out, each as big as a man. The calves belonged to a thirty-nine-foot goddess wearing a golden cloak. Hanging from her hip was a machete the size of a small ship's rudder. Her skin was white and her eyes were pink. On her breast was a shield with a gorgon's head in the middle.
Her flower-decked crown bore the initials:
PA.
"Pallas Athene!" said Byron.
The goddess pulled the lens caps off the gorgon's eyes. Twenty-five zombies turned to stone. The rest of us were lucky: just as the gorgon's eyes came on Arachne jumped in front of us and dropped her disguise. A gigantic red spider burst out of that tiny dress like an eight-legged life-raft. It was so big it blotted out everything up to the skyline.
The spider advanced.
Pallas Athene snarled and puffed out her chest. Two of Arachne's legs had already turned to stone, but the gorgon shield was heavy and had a narrow angle of fire. Arachne was over the sandbags and ripping the shield from Pallas Athene's breast before the goddess could correct her aim. The shield landed two hundred yards down the street, facing up; seconds later it was crushed beneath a stone thunderbird with a surprised look on its face.
Then it was just a grappling match. Pallas Athene clawed Arachne's eyes-she had eight to choose from; Arachne wrapped her opponent's legs in silk and pulled them out from under her. To begin with, Pallas Athene was on top. But Arachne was mad-the kind of mad you only get from stewing in a self-reticulating semi-dimensional oubliette for seven years. She waved her spinnerets like a samurai waves his katana. Soon flowers were flying from Pallas Athene's crown. Once the goddess had dropped her machete she didn't stand a chance.