Code Noir Page 18

  I gave Daac a steady stare. ‘I appeal to all the best types.’

  No smart reply to that. Instead Daac got glassy-eyed. The way I hated. He was already thinking forward, planning. He bent down and helped Schaum to her feet, checking the flat drive was unharmed.

  ‘I’ll get you and Mei to a safe place. Then I’ll find Ike,’ he told her.

  She lent against him, her matted hair leaving crawl-wet trails on what remained of his tee. ‘I don’t think I can walk any further.’

  ‘Parrish and I’ll carry you,’ he said, confident of my alliance, the way he expected everyone to be.

  ‘What about the other shaman?’ I said. Would he really leave them?

  ‘This is more important.’ He tapped the flat drive.

  Yes. Of course. Suddenly I was sick to death of him. Everything always came back to what he wanted. What he could gain. Nothing else mattered.

  Well I’d made promises and they didn’t include nursing his girlfriend, Schaum. With relief I finally knew what I would do. Just as well, because thinking time suddenly got to be a luxury.

  Twitchers shouting outside. Noise in every damn place.

  We were out into the corridor in seconds, automatically heading in different directions.

  Daac turned back and grabbed my shoulder. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

  ‘Keeping my promises.’

  Genuine surprise took the sting from his anger. ‘But I’m your only hope of beating the parasite.’

  ‘Yes, you probably are.’

  We locked eyes for one long moment of understanding.

  Our differences.

  Then I remembered something I’d been meaning to ask. ‘You said Ike went by another name. What was it?’

  ‘Dr Del Morte.’ He shifted Schaum’s weight to his uninjured side and headed for the stairs.

  Del Morte? Shite! ‘And Loyl . . . gimme the dagger.’

  He dropped the Gurkha on the top step as he disappeared.

  ‘Not that one, you pri—!’

  Damn!

  Chapter Fifteen

  I found a dark place to hide and reviewed my compass memory. Glida’s attic was north of where we had come out. The karadji said the battle had begun but there was still a flanking guard of Twitchers left.

  The last Tert war had been brutal and quiet. And for the most, I knew what it was about. This time I was guessing and I didn’t want any part of it. The Cabal versus Tulu’s rider Marinette, Ike and the crusty-skin brigade. Tek and voodoo versus some home-grown spirit shit.

  The very idea sent chills prickling my overtired body. I knew I was closing on a physical collapse, but I’d promised Glida I’d take her and the ma’soops with me. Now that included whichever shamans were waiting for me. I was going to do both those things.

  When I got tired, I got pigheaded.

  It could be a problem but it also got things done. Even if they were the wrong things.

  I moved as quickly as I could, but my hand throbbed and my feet seemed to trip me up. Several times I just lay down in the dark, face buried in my pack, as human traffic crept by me. I was in no state to defend myself but whatever was going on down on the pavements had sent the rest of Mo-Vay scuttling to the roofs. Each time I stopped to rest I fought the temptation to stay there and sleep.

  Or just die.

  The last time was the worst. A warlike chant had started in the distance. It made the air too thick to move in. I didn’t even know if it was real but it sucked me away from consciousness.

  You decline more than you know. I will have you.

  No!

  I kicked up into real time like I was saving myself from drowning in a dream and forced myself on. My resolve was somehow keeping the Eskaalim at bay. Whatever had happened in that alleyway in Mo-Vay had left me sure of one thing at least. While I could fight, it would be a fight. If I gave in, the possession would be quick and painful.

  In the end, I crawled, resting every few minutes, drawn towards the power of the distant chanting.

  I didn’t make it to Glida’s attic. I’m not sure I was even going in the right direction.

  She and Roo made it to me, forcing a bitter fluid into my mouth until I revived. When my eyes finally focused I saw Loser licking his paws in satisfaction.

  ‘He found you, Parrish. Kept hissing and spitting until we followed him,’ said Roo.

  ‘The shamans?’ I croaked. ‘How many got through?’

  Roo and Glida looked at each other. Roo held up seven fingers.

  That meant ten or more were missing. Mei, of course, was with Daac.

  They helped me back to the ma’soops’ attic. It was crowded with bodies but I felt the shamans’ relief at the sight of my sorry corpus.

  ‘Let me sleep. One hour, no more,’ I told Roo. ‘Have a shaman keep watch with you on the cut-thrus. If anyone tries to get in here, shoot ’em.’

  ‘Sure, boss.’

  That was good enough for me. I stretched out on a row of beams and mercifully blacked out.

  Ness and a couple of the shamans performed some spirit mumbo on me while I was out to it. ‘Renewal’, the feathered-haired kid called it later. They also let me sleep for two hours.

  I felt so good the first few moments after I woke up that it quelled my irritation at how long it had been. Even my optimism had revived a little as well. Maybe we’d all get home after all. Sleep was a wonderful thing.

  Loser spotted me awake and limped over to flop on my stomach. I got his message - don’t leave without me!

  The shaman sat in a rough semicircle around me, with the ma’soops curled up in the spaces between them. Roo and Glida, holding hands, launched into an account of my lost hour.

  ‘Thought you needed the rest, Parrish. Not sure what’s happening out there. Those kids—’

  ‘The Twitchers? Don’t mistake them for kids,’ I corrected. ‘They’re animals.’ I looked at the ma’soops. ‘They’ll eat you.’

  ‘Well they’re running wild, heading out toward the canal. The other punters are either hiding or running like somethin’ terrible’s about to happen.’

  ‘It is,’ I said flatly. ‘The Cabal have come to take back the land before Ike makes a move into theirs. They don’t like what’s happening here.’

  I stared through the gloom of the attic at the pensive shamans - seven frightened, exhausted disciples of spiritualism, each with their own brand of belief. It was a miracle really that they were all sitting together in such harmony. I guess having your brain juice sucked out together was a bonding experience.

  ‘Who’s missing?’ I ran my eyes round the group and stopped abruptly when I recognised one of the karadji by his tattered three-piece suit and curly hair. ‘Where are the others? Where’s the blind one?’ I demanded.

  His hands cradled his large belly as if it ached. ‘Loylme-Daac tells us to go. You say stay. Geroo says we should listen to you. We argue. The young-beasts come for us. I run and get free. I am the strongest. Afterwards, I am lost. This one found me.’

  His tone brimmed with accusation that I’d made the wrong call.

  I thought of Geroo, the blind karadji, and his gift of calm. Why did the arseholes always survive?

  I spied a ma’soop peeping out from behind the karadji’s shoulder - so small I’d scarcely noticed her before.

  ‘I tell all my famlee go look,’ Glida confirmed. ‘She bring him here.’

  ‘And you?’ I asked the other shaman.

  ‘Can you get us home, Parrish Plessis? We’ve seen within you and trust your honesty.’ Ness, the Polynesian kapna, spoke for them all.

  Within me? Now that couldn’t be a good thing. And there was that damn word ‘trust’ again. I hated it nearly as much as fake tits and false friends.

  ‘Tell us what you want us to do,’ she added.

  Do? I scrubbed at my face with my fingers, appreciative, for once, of my Eskaalim-driven healing.

  Or was it the Eskaalim? Schaum didn’t seem to know what it was. To date I
only had the word of some dead shaman and my own hallucinations. I played out the idea that maybe I’d been pumped full of some long-acting PCP which Ike or some other goonie had manufactured.

  And yet it was a real presence. Every heartbeat I knew it was there.

  Well, whatever it was, I’d use every reserve I had to get the remaining karadji to the Cabal and the others back to Torley’s. The rest of my problems could just damn well wait their turn.

  ‘OK,’ I said, levering on to my haunches. ‘Here’s how it goes. We stay in pairs on the pavements. Except Roo and me. I’m heads, Roo’s tails. If we have to go through the roofs, it’s single file. Same order each time. Remember who’s before you and after you when we do it that way. Each of you’ - I pointed to the shaman - ‘is responsible for one of the ma’soops. Take care of them or . . .’

  I didn’t need the threat. Understanding and agreement was in their nods and their serious expressions.

  Glida translated my instructions to the ma’soops. They chattered excitedly, but when she barked at them they settled into the laps of their keepers.

  ‘Glida, you’re my partner. I need you to navigate through here. When we go single file, you’re my number two.’

  Reluctantly she and Roo unclasped hands.

  I hid my smile.

  And my envy.

  I took Glida’s light strip and scouted down on the pavements, but things had worsened. Mo-Vay changed as I watched - morphing as if it were alive. Plas, timber and neon growing quicker than the jungle after monsoon. As the moon rose higher, the whole place stirred with unheard purpose. Twitchers ran the alleys, wild with new weapons and the change.

  Like us, the rest of Mo-Vay scrabbled into the rooftops for safety. It made our progress slow. So did the task of keeping so many bodies moving together.

  Punters barricaded the attics like tiny fortresses. A few times we managed to pass by as other groups fought. But most times I had to do the snarling, blade-waving thing.

  I did it well, but I knew eventually, someone would call my bluff.

  It happened too soon.

  As I held a gang at bay, Ness fainted at my feet. Seeing my concentration drift as the shaman collapsed, they came at us on mass. Knives and planks and whatever they could lay their hands on. I waded in with my fists, too scared to use the ghurka in such a small, dark space and cause a massacre.

  I repelled the first wave, but in a matter of seconds they were all over me again.

  ‘Glida, get the others through,’ I bellowed.

  Roo hustled to my aid and we fought with fists, like street kids. Only his were metal and relentless. Trouble was, I had two fights going - one against our attackers, the other against my Eskaalim-driven desire to rent them apart and daub their blood over me.

  I tried to contain it. These people were just trying to survive in a crisis. Same as us. I even managed to keep a weapon out of my hands. Then one of them jumped the karadji carrying the smallest ma’soop.

  I had a knife out before I knew it. It slid through the attacker’s skin - effortless and lethal. The smell of blood sent the rest of the gang scuttling into their corner.

  Roo hauled the body off the karadji and the ma’soop. The karadji was shaken.

  The ma’soop was dead. Crushed under the weight.

  I carried the child’s body into the next cut-thru where Glida had herded the rest. The light was poor, but they all knew, like they were somehow wired together. Listening to their wails, I felt their loss set hard on me. I had to see them out of this nightmare alive. Which meant not staying here a minute longer than we had to.

  ‘We go down to the pavements,’ I said. ‘Our . . . chances are better there.’

  What I really meant was, Down there at least I can see who I’m fighting. Anything else was a lie.

  ‘Glida.’ I motioned to the feral to lead us down.

  The ma’soops cried in unison of pain and huddled together.

  ‘They won’t leave Cha,’ she whispered, distraught.

  I gently levered myself in amongst them as they grieved over the littlest of lives. ‘This won’t happen again.’ The words came out strident with emotion but they seemed to understand.

  A couple of them clambered on my back, hugging me. One took my hand and stroked Cha with it. I felt her fading warmth and my own impotence.

  ‘Let me carry her,’ said the karadji.

  I nodded. ‘Glida, tell them we’ll take Cha with us until we can find a place for her.’

  Sombre and timid they followed me down into the moonlight. In the shelter of a doorway we crowded together as refugees. With Glida’s help, I talked to each ma’soop, looking at them properly for the first time. Despite my intentions, Cha’s life had been forfeited without me even knowing her name.

  I didn’t want that to ever, ever happen again. When I’d stumbled on Bras in the Villas Rosa months before, I’d felt the same way. Humanity wasn’t worth canrat-shit if we didn’t bother to know each other’s names.

  Shyly, the ma’soops spoke.

  Walbee, Biiby, Bettong, Fat-tail, Wombebe, Quoll, Cuscus.

  I ran impressions of them in my mind. Quoll glowers. Black spots on his tail. Wombebe . . . cockroach skin that bulges like smart armour. Fat-tail . . . he struggles to keep up. Biiby, two sets of ears, one encased in the other - loud noise causes him pain. Bettong’s toeclaws unbalance him when he walks. Walbee, she’s Glida’s favourite. Cuscus? What about her?

  I looked at Glida.

  ‘Cus sees what we all hear,’ Glida explained.

  There was a name for that sort of thing. I’d heard of it - when the senses got cross-wired. Ibis would know it. If I could just get the ma’soops back to Torley’s alive to ask him.

  I told them all to say ‘Parrish’.

  They each uttered a mutation of it.

  Around me I felt the approval from some of the shamans. Without prompting, each offered their names. As with the ma’soops I memorised something about them.

  ‘I am Ness, you know I can give renewal.’ Polynesian kapna. Waist-length hair. The oldest.

  ‘Stix.’ Implanted scalp feathers. Chlorine eyes. Lithe young body.

  ‘Chandra Sujin.’ Tattooed face. Silken voice.

  ‘Arlli, I tell futures.’ Veiled.

  ‘Tug. I am a healer.’ Tug, powerful, big hands. ‘And this is Talk Long,’ said Tug.

  A mute. ‘What does Talk Long give?’ I asked.

  The silent shaman raised a set of tranquil, green eyes. A colour I’d never seen. The eyes of someone not meant for this world.

  ‘Talk Long gives calm,’ answered Tug.

  I trembled. I needed an awful lot of that.

  The surly karadji spoke last. ‘Billy Myora. I don’t talk my stuff.’ I stared at his unblinking eyes and plump, unconditioned body and wondered if he even was a karadji.

  Whatever he was, I had no wish to know his secrets.

  Afterwards, though, a mood change took the group. I felt a sense of connection creep into my own heart - the beginnings of a chosen involvement, not something forced on me by the Cabal. While it dispelled my irritation, it also amplified my anxiety.

  Between Glida’s local knowledge and my compass implant we hurried north-west. Around us the pavements bulged with bizarre life. The bulbous wall growths that had first shocked me were now charged with a sickly luminescence like aged neons. The scars on the walls leaked rivulets of a clear plasma-like fluid. It puddled in crevices and dips and began to crystallise and shine.

  ‘Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. Especially that,’ I told the shamans.

  Their expressions spoke of abomination.

  ‘We must hurry more. King Tide brings it on,’ Stix whispered.

  I looked at Ness for confirmation.

  She nodded. ‘The voyants say this tide will be significant. It has long concerned us.’

  ‘Whyso?’

  ‘Not only the water rises on the tide but the earth’s crust lifts. Nature responds and things breed ex
traordinarily. They die so, as well, when it wanes. It has been said that this tide will bring on a biological singularity.’

  ‘Things will grow?’

  ‘And die.’

  So this is what the Cabal feared. Their invasion was already a given, but they wanted their karadji clear before the wild-tek spawned. ‘How can you know this is related? The sea is so far away.’

  Ness shrugged sympathetically at my ignorance. Stix began to cry. She twisted in his arms to comfort him. He almost carried her, staggering under the weight. I thought of taking his load but sensed a complex relationship between the two that invited no intrusion.

  ‘This can be healed.’ She touched his cheek.

  I wish I had her faith.

  Talk Long came behind Stix and concentrated on the rise and fall of his breathing. Gradually Stix calmed.

  Suddenly I saw inside Loyl Daac’s world. I saw how belief prevailed over truth every time.

  Maybe belief was the only way.

  We circled around a bristling tower of fibre. It glowed a pulsing siren of red. Ten feet up from the base a body hung. We watched it being slowly tractored up and down and across the glass shards, its blood seeping into the optics. The tower was bleeding the body. I guessed it was one of the shamans who’d gone on alone and glanced at the others. No one spoke. No one confirmed my suspicion but a grim mantle fell across us all.

  I shuddered, remembering how my hand had stuck to a tower in the same way. How the blood had leeched from my fingers.

  As I harried them onward, the sheaves of glass started to sing to us. The noise was discordant beyond description, a last bawl of life-agony that pleaded for help.

  Cuscus screeched in terror, scratching Billy Myora until he dropped Cha’s body, digging her marsupial claws deep into the karadji’s leg.

  Glida ran to them, forcing the ma’soop to let go. She scooped the distressed child into her arms, uncaring that the claws fixed straight into her arm.

  Billy Myora bent over clutching his leg. ‘What she doin’? Wha’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She sees blood. Everywhere. Round us,’ said Glida.

  ‘Carry her,’ I ordered.

  But as we moved on Biiby scrabbled free from Chandra Sujin. Crazed with the noise, he ran back toward the tower like he would fling himself at it.