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Part 3-9: Runes
There were words written in The Secret to Living. Well, I assumed they were words. Groups of strange runes and alien symbols ran in little lines across the formerly blank pages. I ruffled through them as Dack peered over my shoulder.
“Any language you recognize?” he said.
“Dickish-ghost, I’ll bet.”
Dack snorted, but I found little humour in my quip. Only a few pages were filled before they went blank again. I tried to remember if I saw anything like them in Fort Ticktock or Clockworld. Nothing rang a bell. But I had an idea. I checked my phone—it was on data, no strong wifi signals here.
Phasing into Clockworld was easier the closer I was to the clock. Right now, I was in the very same building. I’d never tried it this close, but before I could talk myself out of it, the ring flared and the mere thought sparked a powerful buzz up my arm and into my chest. I blinked, and the buzz coated me. It was a good feeling.
“I just hopped into Clockworld,” I told Dack. “Real easy switch to flip here it seems.”
“Careful, we need you at full later, yeah?”
“I know. I won’t take too long.”
The runes on the book had changed into a blurred mess. I tilted my ghostly head out of real-me’s head, and closed real-me’s eyes. English words ran along the pages. To make things easier, I moved my physical body away and used her to tell Dack when to flip the pages. I read:
Splendid darling. You’ve received my letter. Quite sorry for the manner in which you had to retrieve it, my abilities insofar as moving objects into your plane are rather limited compared to our dear Collector and he is ever so, how should we say, irritated with the outcome of your little foray into our kingdom. Nasty bit of business, those snapping plants.
“Flip,” I croaked. My flesh-and-blood body’s throat was dry.
Further apologizes on my continual misjudgment of yours and your companions’ mettle. I was impressed when you bested The Keeper but thrice moreover when you managed to dodge your way past The Collector. Bravo! By the bye, you should have access to the study now, perceptually speaking. Up here, Sally-Alena.
I looked up, jaw clenched. Instead of the bare wall of the space under the stairwell, I looked out upon a lavish room from an odd, low angle. Interrupting the view: a pair of legs, clad in smart, creased pants.
My head was in the fireplace of a study. A study I’d visited for only a minute before shoving a piece of splintered furniture through its owner’s chest.
The legs bent, and The Minder crouched low, smiling and tipping me a short wave.
“Dack?” I said, checking.
“Right here,” he said from over my shoulder. “What’s up? What’s it say?”
Great. Was I split in three now?
“Making sure you’re there. Just a second,” I said.
The Minder goose stepped closer then got himself down into a cross legged pose. He had a book with him, and held it out so that I could read:
There’s a dear. I much prefer a face to face parlay, don’t you agree? The Collector isn’t much for words; a trade, one supposes, for mobility. I’ve a trade to offer you, as it were. Straight to the point—you’ve come across my charges in the trees. The Collector’s aim is to extend them to the edges of your village for maximal impact. But I’ve convinced him we need but the requisite three to be on our way. The nearest homestead is a challenge with its bloody—what do you call the ward? Weefee?—but there are three dwelling there and we can manage with them alone.
He flipped the page, fixing me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, and held an upturned palm to the next passage.
I propose a ceasefire. Leave us be, we leave your village be. You owe us the one you set free, and then we need but two to be on our way and out of your lives forever.
The words ended there. I scowled, and said, “Can you hear me?” with my ghost-lips. The Minder smiled and shook his head, then tapped his temple.
Now? I thought.
The word bloomed on the page. He turned the book around, read it, and nodded.
Okay, I thought, so, far as I understand you’d like us to offer up the Walkerby family for ritual slaughter and then you and your merry band of monsters and creeps will pack up and split?
He read that, then turned the book back to me as his words finished forming.
Slaughter isn’t the word I’d choose, but these Walkerbys would be sufficient indeed. No need for crass over-expenditure. Have we an accord, Sally-A?
I think we have a grand ole pip-pip-cheerio fuck you, you psycho cockwit bastard.
His brow furrowed as he peered over my counteroffer. He sighed and pointed the tome back at me.
Alena, I’d hoped you’d see reason. This needn’t end violently.
But I was done with its bullshit. “Dack?” I called.
“Yeah?”
I anchored on the sound of his voice and ripped myself back and out. It was as easy as going in, and the sudden oneness of my reality filled me with a suffocating wave of claustrophobia. I kicked the book deeper under the stairs and whirled for the door, needing out.
“It’s going to try and hit the Walkerbys first,” I said to a stuttering, confused Dack as I shoved into the exit bar, remembering too late that there might be a pissed off mob of gangsters waiting on the other side.
Those fears vanished as I stepped out into the disapproving glare of a police officer.
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