Orphan of Mythcorp (28 page)

‘
It’s the door,’ Marie said.

‘
Duh,’ Castor added. ‘What an
idiot.’

Another look proved just as unrevealing to
me. “Where’s the door?”

‘
Right here,’ Marie skipped through the
air to an unremarkable section of wall. A closer inspection
revealed hairline cracks in the cement between the bricks, adding
up to the shape of a door. An even closer look revealed the
porthole-window through which Faustus and I had looked out. It was
filmy and a section of graffiti ran through it, concealing it. I
shoved until my shoulder was bruised; all the while Malthus looked
on in silence, as revealed through lightning flashes.

“
You want to lend a hand here, big
guy?”

He made a kooky gesture before retreating
into the darkness, disappearing.

My hands flew up.

‘
Obviously the door only swings
outward,’ Castor said. ‘What did I do to deserve this? What did I
do so wrong that the fates would scourge me with watching your
dumb-ass for eternity? Must be some sort of ironic punishment;
stick a genius with a retard or something.’ The cig flapped up and
down in his mouth as he spoke. I wondered if he’d died with it in
there.

Without the big demon around to hulk out on
the door, I was forced to try something more subtle. I hobbled up
to the brick again, found the hairline cracks and, after drawing
the sword out of its bone-shaft, wedged the tip into the crack.

A few ticks of struggling and a good amount
of finessing later, the door stuck out an inch.

“
Okay,” gripping the edge, “here goes.”
I yanked on it. Fingers slipped. Naughty words slipped out of my
mouth right after this and then my feet, observing this slip-fest,
slipped out from under me and I ended up on my rump. Now that my
bones were sodden and my bruises had their own bruises, I figured
“Screw it,” and slipped another glorious heroin-laced butterscotch
candy into my mouth.

“
Why’d that big galoot have to go and
leave?” I complained to the spooks. “Why couldn’t he open this for
me first? How much trouble would that have been for him? Wham-bam
thank you m’am and boom it’s done.”

‘
Quit your whining, Morgan,’ Castor
mumbled, trying to light his cig.

“
Yeah, there you go,’ I snapped.
“Thousandth time’s the charm.”

Before he could rubber band my not-so-snappy
one liner, the brick door shot open all the way and a short woman
stumbled out. She was too busy snooping around inside her paper bag
to notice me—or even that she’d opened the door, apparently.

I darted forward, stretching the bruise on my
rump, and caught the door as it was closing.

After stopping to stick my tongue out at
Castor, I sneaked inside Vera City through its super secret back
door.

As far as I could tell, this back room was
the only section of the City where people were allowed to smoke.
And believe me, they allowed the hell out of themselves. A wheezing
fit is nothing to sneeze at (wait . . .), but once I got my
breathing under control, real troubles began to sink in.

I realized I had to find two people in a
place as densely populated as Tokyo. Only one idea struck my noodle
on how to accomplish this in less than a century: get into a
tussle.

Getting into a tussle is not as easy as you’d
think. I tried bumping into people, but after one dude used the
opportunity to grope me, I lost interest in that method.

My second grand idea was to steal stuff from
people’s bags. I ended up covered in a box of yogurt-covered
crickets, a black-and-blue pretty on my mouth from running into a
fist.

Frustrated and afraid of being run over
by the crowd (incited, no doubt, by that mysterious explosion at
the entrance), I plopped my butt down onto a wooden bench for a
think.
What would my father do in this
situation?
As I stressed my noodle, tapping the cane
against the concrete, two men, dressed in thick dark gray uniforms
(probably polymer Kevlar) marched by, toting bizarre looking
semi-automatics. Arthur’s Knights, I suspected.

Red and blue Neon lights from Smith Wesson’s
Guns and Weapons booth twelve feet away washed over me. A
particularly brilliant snake of blue light caught the crow-head
peepers of the cane. I stopped tapping to gaze at the purple
peepers.

Hmmm.

I looked both ways. When the traffic (people,
not cars) became somewhat sparser, I rotated the crow head so that
its bejeweled glories were pointing at the weapons booth.

This was going to be so naughty and
attention-getting.

My father would approve—if he weren’t a block
of ice, that is.

I pressed the no-no button. A stream of
amethyst lightning sizzled across the path, striking the neon ‘W’
in the Wesson’s sign. The letter exploded. I jerked to the side but
somehow resisted the urge to scoot. This was my fault and I would
pay for it. Well, someone would pay for it after I recruited the
Wards who would come and take me away.

Amidst a flurry of screams the ‘W’ kablammed
out from its place in ‘Wesson’ and clattered inside the booth. A
few ticks later a soul-shaking boom erupted and blew out the front
of the booth. Smith Wesson himself (he was sporting a mustache, so
who else could he be but a weapons dealer named Smith) ran out from
the back. He went right to work on the blaze with a
fire-extinguisher while his beefcake guard scanned the crowd.
Behind the crowd sat a lanky young man who was suspiciously sitting
down. When Beefcakes peepers landed on moi, he shoved his way
through the ranks of gawkers and grabbed me.

Gawkers did what they do: they gawked as the
Beefcake dragged me along the paths of Vera City, at last
depositing me on a bench outside the Court. I bit my tongue against
a pain in my rump. Beefcake completed the call on his FAD. A few
minutes later Kana and Faustus strode up, dancing neon lights as a
backdrop. It was all very dramatic but I was in no mood to
clap.

Faustus struck me with eye-daggers. “Thank
you, Todd,” he said to Beefcake. “We’ll take it from here.” Todd
toddled off. The Mythicons turned back to face me with crossed arms
and withering glares. “What are you doing back here?” Faustus
demanded. “Are you being intentionally dense or did you just miss
my handsome face?”

Kana backhanded him in the gut and he doubled
over in mock pain. The petite woman settled down beside me on my
bench. She smelled of cinnamon and was dressed in a wisp of a
pink-laced black dress that was short enough to give me hope of it
riding up. Naughty thoughts invaded my mind. Oh man. “Earle Combs,
Mark Koenig, Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig—”

“
What are you doing?” Kana asked, hand
on my shoulder.

“—
Bob Meusel, Tony Lazzeri, Joe Dugan,”
I bit my tongue. “I came”—wrong word—“because I need your
help.”

At last the hottie removed her hand and
looked up at the gingersnap, who snorted before leaning against a
pole—apparently to practice looking cool. “Help with what?” Kana
asked.

“
I need to get inside Mythcorp, like
now,” I looked down to avoid the sight of Kana’s perfect gams.
“Since you two have actually been in there, twice, I thought maybe
you’d—”

“
Maybe we’d what?” Faustus said. “Maybe
we’d jump at the chance to get bitchslapped again? Are you high?
Knox was always high, too.”

I sighed and accidentally caught a peep of
Kana’s panties when she crossed her legs. “Listen, I just need you
to help me get inside, get my father out—and then maybe also help
me to destroy the place so no one can ever reopen it.”

“
Oh, is that all?” Faustus
quipped.

“
Of course we’ll help,” Kana said,
patting my leg again. “Won’t we, Red?”

Faustus stopped playing with his switchblade.
“Um, no. Jeez and good God, Tiny. Don’t you see? This is exactly
how it always went with Knox. He’d come to us to lay out his latest
harebrained scheme and we, the constant idiots, would follow him.
It’s all ooh’s and aah’s at first, but then there’s running and
screaming.”

Kana’s face brightened.
“
The Lost World
,
right?”

“
Congratulations,” Faustus sighed. “You
finally got one of my
Jurassic Park
references. It’s a thirty-two year old reference, but still.
Point is,” turning to me now, “we’d inevitably end up shot or
captured. So no thanks. We’ve lost enough friends.” He returned to
whirling his knife around flawlessly.

We were all silent, watching him for a moment
until he spoke again.

“
Look, you remember Sawyer, or Sigurd,
or how about Marie, you remember Marie, don’t you, Tiny? What
happened to Marie when Knox asked for
her
help?”

“
It won’t be like that,” Kana said, but
she sounded about as convincing as a televangelist.

“
She’s right,” I quasi-lied, standing
with the aid of my cane. “It’ll be different this time. This time
no one’s inside Mythcorp, waiting to kill you. I just need help
finding a way into the building.” After shaking off a bit of nausea
from the doojee, I tapped the ground with my cane and said, “It’s
time for you two to do that hoodoo voodoo that you two do so
well.”

My smile quickly faded when I realized they
were not impressed by my rehearsed line.

Kana yanked the gingersnap off to the side
and whispered something into his ear. I doubted it was sweet
nothings—probably more like bitter something’s.

They stopped whispering abruptly. Grabbing me
by my less-than-sumptuous biceps, the two Mythicons started
dragging me away. I skirted my head around to sneak a peek at what
was up. Smith Wesson was charging up the warpath behind us.

Oops, I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to
be in trouble.

Kana picked up the pace, dragging me behind
as she zipped and weaved through the booths here at the ass end of
Vera City. “You got in trouble on purpose, didn’t you?” Kana asked.
“So we’d come. But why’d you have to blow up Smith Wesson’s booth
of all places?”

“
It was the closest one?” I
said.

Faustus chuckled. “You really can pick ‘em,
junior.”

“
What?” I asked. “What’s so bad about
Smith Wesson?”

Smith was starting to lag behind. He was old
and decrepit, and jogging is not a certified sport for decrepit old
farts, not least because their jowls bounce violently.

While rounding a booth showcasing girls and
women in skimpy outfits, Kana said, “Wesson is Arthur’s blacksmith
and personal arms dealer. He forges all the firearms for Arthurs
Knights.”

“
In other words, Lisbeth, you kicked
the King’s favorite hornets’ nest,” Faustus declared.

“
Figures,” I groaned.

Once we were through the steel door and
inside the Wards’ dorm, Kana slammed the door. We were safe from
the decrepit but well-armed arms dealer.

A couple of other Wards looked up as we
barged in. One of them was Ishmael. His lips curled up at the
corners and separated, revealing a mouth full of gold and black
teeth. “Slim!” he roared, finishing his snifter of booze before
stomping over to us.

“
Oh krit,” Kana groaned. “Just what we
need.”

“
What?” Faustus said. “A raving drunk
who moonlights as a nudist? Come on. Let’s try to reach Court
before he reaches us. If we’re lucky, Ish will trip and conk
himself out.”

“
Don’t make him trip, Faustus,” Kana
said. “He’ll get us back. He always does.” They gripped my arms to
drag me away again, oblivious to the pain they were inciting. The
red door leading to Mina Harkers Court was ten feet away. Why were
they taking me to court?

“
Why are you taking me to court? We
need to leave. Ash has probably already—”

“
Come for that job I offered you, eh?”
Ishmael said behind us. My chaperons stopped and turned. “I knew
you couldn’t long refuse my special charm. Few can. So,” he
chain-lit a black cig, deposited the spent butt in someone’s glass
of water, “follow me and . . . hold the phone. Mina’s on vacation.
Which means Waldo is in charge of Court, and seeing as no one has
seen him in days, I can’t imagine you’re actually taking Slim here
to Court. So—”

Please don’t say it, please don’t know
it.

“—
You’re taking him out of the City.
Damn and blast that’s clever. Going to use Mina’s back door to get
out, eh?”

“
Don’t you have some ants to burn with
a magnifying glass, or something?” Faustus asked.

In response, Ishmael scratched his stones and
farted. Then, looking at me, the naked kook whispered, “Don’t let
their size fool you, these two manfacs are as dangerous as they
come, but that don’t mean you should trust them.”

Did he know what we were up to? “Then who
should I trust?” I asked.

Ishmael took a long luxurious drag off his
cig and then exhaled perfect smoke rings. “Trust no one, certainly
not those in the employ of Arthur King, who loyalty can be
purchased for a stipend.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the
gingersnaps face. “Welp, buenes suerte my skinny friend. I’m off to
bust some Cherries and pop some heads—or possibly to pop some
cherries and bust some heads. I don’t know which. We’ll see.”

Kana and Faustus ferried me through the empty
Court and through a series of smaller rooms eventually leading to
the back door I didn’t want to see.

“
We should help him,” Kana told
Faustus. “If he’s right, Ash will reopen Mythcorp and
then—”