“The Compendium of Srem.”
“Yeah, that. There’s nothing else in the world like it. That was a clue. And then the Order turning against me.”
“They were never for you.”
“Pretty obvious now, but they come on so benign, with such a seductive line. All the movers and shakers belong, and you can belong too- if you qualify.”
Weezy nodded. “That’s the grabber.”
“Damn right it is. Appeals to the elitism in all of us. And it’s not a marketing tool. You really do have to qualify. They put you through a rigorous vetting that lots of people don’t pass.”
“‘Many are called but few are chosen.’”
“You’re quoting Jesus now?”
She shrugged. “Whatever fits.”
“Well, whatever their criteria, I was chosen. I look back and can’t believe I let them brand me. That’s how seductive it is. I spent six years in blissful ignorance until…”
“Until I upset the apple cart.”
“Turned on the light is more like it.” He shook his head again. “The Order was going to kill me.”
Right… bad enough Eddie had learned something he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d mentioned it to the wrong person.
He added, “They would have if Jack hadn’t interfered.”
Weezy had to smile. “He’s very good at interfering.”
Had it been only two weeks?
“You should have seen him, Weez. He beat the crap out of some guy named Szeto, then killed the guy who was driving me on my one-way trip. I mean, killed him like you or I would swat a fly.”
“Well, the driver was trying to shoot you.”
“I know that.” He barked a brittle laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being the least bit critical. You’d told me he’d killed to protect you, but the image wouldn’t stick. Then I saw him in action and he was… the best way I can put it is coldly efficient. It was like someone else had taken over.”
Weezy nodded. “He’s able to do that. It’s like he has a switch that can turn off every emotion and allow him to do what has to be done without hesitation.”
“Well, I don’t have that, but I do want to get involved.”
“In what?”
“In getting in the Order’s way. They’ve made a mess of my life, so I’d like to return the favor.”
A part of Weezy immediately disliked this. The last time he’d been proactive hadn’t turned out so well.
“I don’t know, Eddie…”
He leaned forward. “Why not? You don’t think I can be useful?”
“You’re maybe a little too emotionally involved.”
“I’m an actuary, Weez.” He tapped a temple. “A numbers guy. I can be dispassionate, especially about probabilities.”
“But you have no idea of the scope of what we’re up against. The Order is just the tip of the tip of an unimaginable iceberg. Meanwhile, humanity, existence as we know it, is sunning itself on the decks of the Titanic.”
He frowned. “‘Humanity’… ‘existence as we know it’?”
She sensed a reflexive doubt.
“Listen to me, Eddie: It’s black.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Black. I accept that it’s black because I trust you. But you never take things simply on faith, so don’t expect me to. You need to educate me.”
She wished he could have been at the Lady’s just a little while ago. Seeing that flap of skin melt into her back… that would have been a combination education and big-time doubt eraser.
She tapped her backpack. “I’ve got the Compendium. I’m going to give you a crash course in the Conflict.”
“The Conflict?”
“With an uppercase C.” She looked around. “But not here. Eat up and we’ll go to your apartment. We’ll start with the First Age.”
He frowned. “That little black pyramid you found as a kid… you said it was from some First Age.”
“It was, Eddie. It’s all connected. Everything is connected.”
Wait till she told him about the Otherness and the Ally and the Lady-he’d grown up knowing her as Mrs. Clevenger-and all the rest. The big question: Would he be able to handle the fact that he and the rest of humanity were property?
7
Hank Thompson popped into Drexler’s office to see if he’d calmed down from yesterday. And to see if maybe he’d explain his “you might be the most surprised of all” remark. It had bothered him yesterday, but after last night’s dream…
The Kicker Man in trouble again, worse this time. Just like the past few nights, he’d been under attack by a flock of birds or things that looked like birds-like in that movie where the birds turned on people. Just like before, they swarmed him, but this time they knocked him down and wouldn’t let him get up. And at the end he’d just lain there as they pecked at him.
Gave Hank the creeps.
Annoying Drexler would take the edge off.
But instead of Drexler he found his enforcer, Szeto, in the office. Not just in the office, but seated behind Drexler’s desk. The Kickers had their fair share-some said more than their fair share-of scary guys, but Hank had always found Szeto even scarier. Everything about the guy was black, from his eyes to his hair-Hank had always wanted to ask if he dyed it-to his clothes. He looked better than he had a couple of weeks ago when someone worked him over real good. Anyone who could put that kind of hurt on Szeto had to be one tough mother.
“Where’s the boss?”
“Mister Drexler not in today,” he said in English warped by an Eastern European accent. Russian? Romanian? Hungarian? They all sounded the same to Hank.
Then he raised his black-booted feet and plopped them on the desk.
“Don’t know if the boss would like that.”
“Do I look worried?”
Hank noted the smug tone. What was going down here? A little palace revolt in the works?
Szeto smiled. “Is something I can help you with?”
Hank was about to say no, then remembered a little research Szeto had been assigned last month.
“Remember those guys you were supposed to look into? The one who’d been a kid when Drexler met him-the friend of the brother and sister you were hunting-and John Tyleski, the one who stole something from me?”
Stole the Compendium of Srem… Hank couldn’t believe he’d allowed that to happen. He still lay awake some nights dreaming of strangling that son of a bitch.
Szeto shook his head. “Both are dead ends. The boy disappears during college. No record, not of taxes or even Social Security number. Your man, Tyleski, he lives only on paper. Has credit card and Social Security but address is mailbox.”
Hank wandered around the office. The news was hardly a surprise. About a year ago-in fact, next month would make it exactly a year-this asshole Tyleski had presented himself as a reporter from the Trenton Times who wanted to interview him about his book and the growing Kicker movement. Back then, Hank would ramble on to anyone who’d listen. The guy had asked all the wrong questions-hell, they almost got into a fight. Hank ran a check and found out the Trenton Times had never heard of John Tyleski. And then he went and robbed Hank of what was unquestionably the most valuable book on Earth-mugged him and snatched it in broad daylight.
Hank couldn’t report the theft, of course, because the book had been stolen from the Museum of Natural History by one of his Kickers.
But wait…
Certain tidbits began to circulate in his head, bouncing off each other, looking for ways to fit together.
“Check this out: We’ve got a real person-personally known to our good buddy Drexler-who grows up and disappears. Later on there’s a person who uses the name of a man who exists only on paper.” He turned to Szeto. “Could the first guy have become the second?”
Szeto looked mildly interested. “Possible. But not probable.”
“Tyleski knew more about me and other things than anybody should know.” That had become apparent to Hank during the interview. “And then last summer up pops this guy who Tasers your boss and me while we’re trailing the Fhinntmanchca. Only Drexler got a look at him.”
Szeto smirked. “No. You must have seen him as well. I understand he was posing as Kicker and was in and out of here many times.”