No cops.
We made it across the road alright, the Asians looking at me funny, but I was used to that. Into the Platt Fields. The trees were swaying in a slow winding dance to the beat, brushed by waves of noise from the sound systems up ahead. Even the rain was caught up in the pulse of Bhangra; it blew into my face until I was soaked and the Thing was taking in the moisture, until he felt like a thick lump of sponge on my back, weighted like a pig. I was almost collapsing under him but I kept it going, making for the dancing kids ahead. "You alright, Big Thing?" I asked. He gave me some answer back, along some Vurt wave; all I caught here and there were scattered words; my name, my sister's name, mixed in with the gibberish. He was alive, that's all that matters.
I had the Thing. I had the yellow feather.
All I needed was a quiet and private space, and time enough to take them both. But first some distance, between ourselves and any stray cops. So I headed into the Bhangra crowd. It must have been getting on for midnight now, but those kids were still dancing. The system was draped under rain sheets, but the rain didn't put the dancers off; this was their night of the year. They were high on Eid, and young Asian life pulsed through them.
They let us pass.
They were laughing and pointing; the white guy with the strange lump on his back, the young kid racing ahead. I guess we looked like fun of some kind. That's alright. I can handle that. They let us through anyway, towards the paths that led down to the boating lake.
Almost there…
A shot of light ringing through the rain, bringing a breath of fire to my ear. I managed a painful twist back, over my shoulder, swinging the Thing around, out of the line of vision. Through the veil of rain I saw a cop coming up fast on us, his flame-gun blazing with inpho. And then the Asian kids were really cheering us on. Because the enemy of fun was after the madfuckers, aiming to screw us down. I guess that's how they saw it. Twinkle was well ahead of me now. The Thing was getting to me, pulling me down to a slow motion crawl. I was slipping on wet grass, fighting for a hold, pushing against the rain, which felt like pins of steel, cutting the skin. Everything was wet and hazy, all bleached out in the moonlight, a violet and green shadow playing on the grass in front of me.
Shakacop!
He was in full Takshaka Yellow mode, beaming down from the Platt Fields' aerial, filling the world with his snake of smoke, whipping the air above the Bhangra into the colours of old myths. The kids were responding for sure, but not in kind. Because the Takshaka was a Hindu, and these kids were Muslims, and that's a world of difference. The dreamsnake was coming down for me and I was failing myself, my own sweet dreams, and all who had believed in me. Slipping on black mud, dragging myself onwards, towards the glistening lake. But no chance of getting there.
No chance.
The first bullet hit. A hard push in the back. I felt its vile energies hitting me, pushing me down. I tumbled into the grass, face first, but then up again, finding the strength somehow, still believing.
"Keeping running, Twink!" I cried.
Second bullet hit. Shot from a cop gun, fired on a shadow tracer beam, it went in straight and pure, pitching me forward, so that my head was pressed flat against the mud and the grass, hard on it, right down, and I was just lying there waiting for the pain to come, waiting for my back to set on fire, and the life to go wandering away.
Should've cottoned it.
Pain didn't come.
Wasn't thinking too good.
The dreamsnake colours lighting up the field all around, Takshaka hovering above me. Another shot rang out, but there was no impact this time. I craned my head around some, looking back, to where these Asian lads had surrounded the cop. It looked like a crazy scrum. And then looking back to see Twinkle there, miles away it seemed, through the walls of rain, down by the lake. I tried to get up, but the Thing was a dead weight on my back. All I could manage was to roll over, onto the Thing, so that I was looking straight into Takshaka's wounded face, his split-ended tongue hissing like the rain, between the long fangs.
Then that snake whipped down, fast and true, a vicious blur. But he didn't go for my neck, which was the usual target, instead he sank those daggers into my ankle, piercing the skin, and the shadow smoke was all around my body and I was gone, a total shadowfuck, collapsing…
Into a world of numbers.
Falling.
A realm of mists, where green and violet inpho played on waves of shadows. The smell of jasmine enveloping me. I was falling through the clouds of yellow, and as I was falling I could still move around, twisting to the right.
Still falling.
Twisting over again, trying to face upwards. But still falling. Turning around in a full circle, but no matter the direction I faced, I was still falling down, down towards the snake pit. And all these numbers floating by, pure and naked information, wrapping me up in mathematics. The records of all my crimes were being written in the saffron air. And all of the Stash Riders' crimes. Everything. All we had done, and lost, and killed. I was coming to it then, the story, where I was, with my hair still wet from the outside rain, inside this palace of numbers.
I was inside of Takshaka's head, Copvurt Yellow, where he played all his inpho, working it all out, all the crimes of the world. I was falling through this sea of maths, without any feelings of up or down, just travelling, until something whipped itself around my leg, low down, around the ankle, where the dreamsnake had bit. I was pulled back tight by the pressure, my spine jack-knifing, so that the Thing was pressed between my shoulder blades and the small of my back. Thing didn't make a sound, cushioning the blow for me. Then I was whipped back the other way, so that my head came up towards my stomach, pulling the Thing with me, until I was looking direct into the king of snakes.
Takshaka was floating in space, his tail wrapped around my ankle, his face inches from mine, so I could smell the shadow-breath, and see the orange cells of inpho moving around inside his eyes.
I'M THINKING I SHOULD JUST DROP YOU.
This isn't real!
He was beaming direct into my skull, drilling through the bone with his words, pricking my soft brain until I got the message, each word a new pain.
THERE'S SOME BAD MOTHERS DOWN THERE. SOME REAL TASTY EQUATIONS. THEY CAN FRACTALIZE A MAN IN SECONDS. THIS IS A YELLOW VURT. THE COLOUR THAT KILLS. YOU WANT THAT?
He let my head fall back so that I was suspended over the space. Down below there were numbers and symbols clashing against each other. It looked like a set of jaws down there, opening and closing. And where the equations were being solved, broken numbers were being discarded, forming themselves into columns of jagged teeth.
SHAME ABOUT THE BEETLE. HE WENT OUT GOOD, DIDN'T HE? I LIKE THAT IN A MAN. COULD'VE FOUND A PLACE FOR HIM ON THE FORCE. WE NEED SOME DEMONS LIKE THAT. I'M TELLING YOU SCRIBBLE, THE STATE OF THE PURE COPS WE GET, WELL IT MAKES YOU WANT TO CRY.
He loosened his grip a little, so that I jerked down some two feet or so, before he caught me again, tightening.
WHOOPS! NEARLY LOST YOU THEN.
He brought his ravaged face down to my new level.
EXCEPT FOR MURDOCH, OF COURSE. SHE WAS GOOD AND FINE. SUPER PURE. AND OH SO VERY GOOD IN BED. WHOOPS! THERE YOU GO!
And I could feel his tail unravelling.
Then I was falling down, into the mouth of the numbersnakes, screaming.