Kieran Baxter turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. His pistol led the way as he stepped into the Result Mechanism warehouse. Bright light streamed in through the windows along the ceiling, the puddles here and there attested to the previous night’s rain. It took only a moment to see the body lying halfway across the room. With one more quick look around to make sure there was nobody else there, he stepped across the cement floor and knelt down beside it.
“Sweet Kafira,” he muttered when he saw Peter’s dead eyes staring upward.
It was only too obvious that the wizard was dead, but Baxter felt for a pulse anyway. Then he closed the young man’s eyes. Carefully examining the body, he found a bullet’s entrance wound in the chest. He scanned the floor for a shell casing, but didn’t see one. Then he noticed Peter’s hand. The young wizard had drawn a shape on the floor using his own blood. Baxter tilted his head one way and then the other, but he couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be. With his index finger, he traced the design. Suddenly smoke exploded from the spot on the floor. Jumping back, Baxter watched as the column of smoke rose up and coalesced into a shadowy form of Peter Bassington. Then the shadowy form spoke.
“I’m glad it’s you, Baxter. I don’t have much time. It was Pantagria. Bell freed her. She has Philo Mostow, maybe others, helping her. They’re going to St. Ulixes. I don’t know how I know, but I do. You’ve got to stop her. Tell Senta…”
Whatever magic was holding the smoke in Peter Bassington’s form ended, and it became regular smoke and floated up, dissipating into the air.
“Kafira damn it.”
* * * * *
The door opened and the face of Chief Inspector Saba Colbshallow peered out. He looked first at Baxter and then at the child he carried, and his face lost some of its color.
“What do you want?”
“I need a few words,” replied Baxter, “and a favor.”
“And why would I do you a favor?”
“I didn’t say it was for me.”
“Who is it, Daddy?” The face of a six-year-old, with large eyes, one brown and one hazel, and a cute button nose, all framed by a veritable forest of multihued curls peered around the chief inspector.
“It’s just a gentleman and his… little girl.”
“Can she come inside and play?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” said Baxter, setting Sen down.
“For just a few minutes then,” said Colbshallow through thin lips. “Take her inside, DeeDee.”
The six-year-old stepped around her father and took the three-year-old by the hand and led her inside. Neither looked back.
“I was sorry to hear about your little boy,” said Baxter.
“Just say what you wanted to say.”
“Senta’s brother is dead… murdered. His body is in the Result Mechanism warehouse.”
“Why aren’t you at the police station?”
“The killers have already fled the city. They’re on the train to Mallontah.”
“We can send a telegram to the police in St. Ulixes.”
“It wouldn’t help,” said Baxter. “It’s a magic um… situation. I’ve got to go deal with it.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m here.”
“I’ll get my gun and go with you.”
“No,” said Baxter. “I need you to take care of little Senta.”
“Why me?” asked Colbshallow.
“You know why. You’re the only one who’ll protect her like I would.”
“I’d give my life for her,” said Colbshallow. “But I can’t have her here. My wife will see her next to Dee Dee and see how much they look alike.”
“Maybe she won’t notice,” said Baxter. “All children look alike.”
“Not to women, you ass.”
“You have to do this. I may not come back. I need to know she’ll be okay.”
Colbshallow sighed. “All right. You have my word she’ll be safe here. But I can’t let you go alone.”
“You can’t?” Baxter arched a brow.
“I’ve seen you in action. You’re handy with a firearm, I’ll give you that, but if you’re going up against magic you need somebody with you. You need somebody to cover your back.”
“No wizards. I can’t trust them with this.”
“You shouldn’t trust them with anything,” said Colbshallow. “I’ve got a man for you.”
“All right,” said Baxter. “Have him meet me at the train station. The train leaves at 4:40PM.”
* * * * *
Baxter was at the train station at 4:20, carrying a small carpetbag in one hand and a rifle case in the other. His new companion was waiting. He was a big man, six foot four and heavy set, and very little of it looked to be fat. He wore a blue reefer jacket, that though it bore no insignia, was clearly police issue.
“Hello Shrubb?”
“Hello.”
“You know, this isn’t a police operation.”
“I understand,” said Shrubb, just as the locomotive let out a huge cloud of steam. “Shall we get aboard?”
Baxter purchased a first class cabin and the two men carried their things aboard, quickly locating the correct door. Once inside, Baxter tossed his things on the top bed and looked at Shrubb.
“Do you have a weapon?”
Shrubb pulled out a .45 caliber pistol that was the same model Baxter had in his coat pocket.
“Am I going to have to shoot anyone?”
“Somebody is definitely going to get killed. Hopefully, it won’t be us. What do you know about Pantagria?”
“Too much,” said Shrubb. “I read Captain Dechantagne’s memoirs. He described her pretty thoroughly. She seems all right at first, but she’s really evil.”
“Well, she’s out.”
“What do you mean, out?”
“She’s here in the real world, and she’s dangerous—a monster. She’s got at least two men with her. One’s a wizard.”
“Bell?” asked Shrubb.
“That’s right.”
“Damn. He’s a pretty powerful wizard. What’s the plan?”
“We hunt her down and we kill her,” said Baxter. “If anybody gets in our way, we kill them too.”
* * * * *
The train pulled into St. Ulixes, Mallontah at just after six in the morning, having taken two days and three long nights to cross the bulk of the continent. The station platform was crowded with those waiting for arrivals, the local reptilian trogs begging for coins, and railroad workers preparing to service the train and see to the unloading of cargo. There were also more than a dozen gaunt, grey-skinned people who surveyed, with dead eyes, each passenger as they stepped down from train.
“You see them, don’t you?” asked Baxter without turning around as he stepped down.
“Yes.”
“They may recognize me, but I doubt they’ll be looking for you. Don’t acknowledge me. You go right and I’ll go left. Meet me at the Portnoy at midnight.”
Without looking to see if the big man was following his directions, Baxter turned and walked toward the hissing locomotive, his rifle case in one hand and his carpetbag in the other. As he stepped down from the station platform, he glanced nonchalantly to his right. Not all of the dead-eyed people were watching him, but a couple of them were. Two pasty-faced women with dirty, stringy hair shuffled down the steps from the station and followed him down the dusty street.
“Kafira, it’s like Attack of the Zombie Women,” he muttered.
The two women did not attack, but they followed Baxter as he made his way through what passed as a capital city in Mallontah. Every so often, he would stop to look at the goods some reptilian peddler was selling or to examine one of the more bizarre architectural forms and he could see them. They weren’t obvious. In fact, they were going out of their way not to be, but he could locate them.
Finally, he arrived at the Portnoy Hotel and secured a room in the back on the second floor. He changed and checked over his gear, but he didn’t go back out, ordering up a sandwich from the kitchen for tea. After eating, he took a nap, getting up in the evening to check over his weapons. Just before midnight, there was a knock at the door. Shrubb slipped inside when he opened it.
“The first thing we have to do is find her,” said Baxter. “She really could be anywhere.”
“She’s in the Church of St. Ulixes with a whole bunch of seers,” said Shrubb.
“The church?”
“Where else would you expect to find an angel?”
“How’d you track her down?”
“I paid a couple of marks to some trogs. Seems they don’t get on with the opthalium addicts. I suppose they’re competitors in the begging market. In any case, they were happy to sell her out.”
“All right then. Let’s go.”
“We can’t go out the front,” said Shrubb. “You’ve got a couple of seers out there. I assume they’re watching for you. I scouted around though. I think I know a way.”
“Lead on then.”
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Baxter followed the police sergeant out the door of his room and downstairs to first floor. Shrubb pulled out his pistol and knocked on the door of room 106. When the door opened, he shoved his way in. The hapless hotel guest, a short man, barefoot and in his undershirt, jumped back.
“Police business,” said Shrubb, flashing his badge. “We just need to make use of your balcony.”
Without waiting for the man to say anything, they stepped quickly through the small room and out the Mirsannan doors to the balcony. The small platform extended out over a narrow alley behind the hotel, enclosed in only a rickety wrought iron railing. With a kick, Shrubb sent the railing falling to the ground below. Then he took a quick step and leapt across the alley to land on the top of the single-story building next door. Baxter followed.
“The streets are so narrow that we can get halfway there without having to touch ground,” said Shrubb.
That prediction turned out to be overly optimistic, but they did manage to get several hundred feet from the hotel, before they took a mud brick stairway on the side of a sloppy residence to an unlit alley. Once there, they found themselves in a crowd of dozens of trogs, lying hither and thither in the dirt. Some of them seemed to be sleeping, but most looked up balefully with greenish-yellow glowing eyes.
“You,” said Baxter, to one of the few of the creatures standing. “Take us to the church. We want to avoid the seers. You understand?”
“Savvy, savvy,” said the trog.
They were apparently lucky in their choice of guides, because the reptilian, leading them through a maze of darkened side streets, delivered them to the base of the gentle slope leading up to the imposing edifice. Baxter shoved a handful of bank notes into the trog’s hand and sent him on his way. Then he turned to look back at the church.
Shrubb pointed. Several human forms could be scene walking slowly around the outside of the church.
“Guards?”
“Looks like that to me,” said Baxter. “They don’t look like they know what they’re doing though. They’re just strolling along, and they spend more time looking at the church than they do looking away from it.”
“Probably why drug addicts are seldom a good choice for sentries,” said Shrubb. “What’s the plan?”
“Head for the back corner there. That fellow seems even less observant than the others. Then we’ll figure out our next move.”
Hunched over, they hurried across the dark dirt road, passing through the hedge, and then up the lawn. The guard for that part of the building seemed fascinated by the stained glass window above him. He didn’t turn away from it until they were practically on top of him. As he did so, Baxter smashed him in the face with his pistol. The man fell to the ground in a heap. They shoved him up against the base of the building.
“Those windows look like they swivel open,” said Baxter looking up.
“What good does that do us down here?” wondered Shrubb.
“If I can climb up this drain pipe to the first floor, I should have no problem.”
“Do you think you can?”
“I’m going to give it a try. This rock is rough, I think I’ll have plenty of traction for my feet, at least as long as that pipe holds.”
“All right, let me give you a lift.”
“Try and look like you belong here,” said Baxter. “Maybe they’ll think you’re their sentry. If it seems like things have gone wrong though, get the hell out of here.”
Shrubb clasped his hands together and held them down for Baxter to step into. The police sergeant hoisted him up and Baxter grabbed hold of the pipe and shoved his feet against the church’s surface. The cut coral blocks grabbed the souls of his shoes, keeping him from sliding back down, but they also sliced into his knuckles and knees. But he was surprised to find himself only a few feet below the top of the ground floor. It had been a while since he had done any climbing, but he was in good shape, and a few seconds later, he grabbed onto the ledge that separated the floors and pulled himself up.
Standing between the statues of two saints, he glanced down at his partner below, and then turned his attention to the stained glass. A simple push and the window pivoted open from a point in the middle. Unslinging his rifle, Baxter slipped inside, finding himself between rows of pews in the church’s balcony. Hearing voices below, he dropped to his knees and slowly made his way toward the front. He could hear her voice before he saw her.
“At first light we make our move, my loves. Mallontah will be the center of our new Xygia and you will be my apostles, spreading our message of peace and love and surrender around this world.”
Baxter reached the front edge of the balcony and looked down at the ground floor from between the slats in the handrail. Against the back wall, as one might expect, was a large cross, but the figure of Kafira Kristos crucified upon it had been modified. Her brown hair had been repainted, none to expertly, to yellow. The bits of plaster cloth that usually provided just enough coverage of the savior’s body for modesty, had been ripped away, and crude nipples had been painted on the now damaged breasts. And attached somehow to her shoulders were two large white, but bloodstained, wings—Pantagria’s wings, Baxter realized. At the lectern below the icon, stood Pantagria herself, just as naked as the plaster figure above her. The church was filled beyond capacity with dirty, ragged people, who pushed forward, all stretching their arms out, trying to touch her.
Sliding his rifle forward, Baxter took careful aim at the spot between Pantagria’s bare breasts. He squeezed the trigger, but suddenly another body pushed her out of the way. The rifle’s report echoed through the vast openness of the church as the bullet pierced Philo Mostow’s shoulder, knocking him backwards in a spray of crimson.
“Damn it!” growled Baxter.
He looked again for Pantagria, but she was buried beneath a pile of her followers, as they used their own bodies to shield her. With an angry growl, he climbed to his feet and hurried back toward the open window. He was halfway there when the door in the back of the balcony burst open and a stream of the angel’s crazed followers rushed through. Some ran down the aisle to cut off his escape. Others ran down the aisles at the other end of the pews. And some actually climbed over the wooden benches to reach him. All of them screamed wildly and had the look of a crazed animal in their bloody red eyes.
Dropping his rifle, Baxter dived for the window, but was grabbed before he got there. A flowing tide of humanity pushed him and themselves down the balcony until they hit the railing and crashed through it. Baxter could see half a dozen others falling with him down onto the crowd below, and then everything went black.