Hylozoic (39 page)

Lovva's soundbox bore an image of a demon with a harp, but now the demon's harp bore an image of a smaller demon with a harp, and this tiny harp bore a yet smaller picture of a hellish harpist, and so on—iterating down to levels that the naked eye could barely see. By way of capping the series, Bosch set a tiny triangle of ivory white at the vanishing point. The eye of God.

The harp sang a farewell chord and her mind turned glacially slow—at least as seen from the outside. It was as if she'd gone into suspended animation. She was time-skimming now.

“Speaking of painting,” said Jayjay, wanting to push himself forward a bit. “Last night went fine, Jeroen. I covered that donor portrait with a thistle like you said.”

Right on cue, Alderman Vladeracken's hoarse voice billowed up from Bosch's front hall. Unfortunately, Kathelijn had let him in again. And it seemed he'd teeped what Jayjay had just said.

“Fiends! Demons! You're responsible, Bosch! Your little goblin defaced the very altar of our Lady!”

“I hate that disgusting pig,” said Thuy. “He practically tried to rape me.”

“I should kill him right now,” said Jayjay, socking his fist into his palm. “It'd be easy. Split his head like a watermelon.”

“No, no,” said Thuy. “That would make things worse. Let's go outside. We'll meet up with Azaroth and wait for that hillbilly pitchfork to take us home.”

“But we'll have to confront Jan on the stairs,” said Jeroen. “Or—I suppose we could climb out the window.”

“What about your wife?” asked Thuy.

“Jan won't bother Aleid,” said Jeroen. “Everyone's scared of her. Her family is rich.”

“Let's just teleport,” said Jayjay. “I'll show you how, Jeroen. It means that we hop from spot to spot. I discovered the trick back in California. You focus on the precise image of where you want to be, you get mixed up about whether you're here or there, and then you decide you're there. It's easy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he
three hopped to the market, landing near where some guilds had lined up for the procession: butchers in their aprons, carpenters holding adzes, and bakers whitened by flour, each group with a garlanded wagon bearing a keg of beer. Monks and nuns jostled priests in fancy robes.

A band of strapping young clerics arrived, carrying a canopied litter with the dark little statue of the Virgin. Ahead of them strode a hard-faced priest with bloodshot eyes. He stared at Thuy and Jayjay, not liking what he saw.

“That's Father Kreeft,” said Jeroen. “And God help us, here comes Duke Ongeluk as well.”

A leathery man in floppy boots and a pale green cockade hat emerged from a sedan chair. He greeted Father Kreeft, familiarly patting the ecclesiastic's rigid shoulder. Kreeft whispered
something in the Duke's ear, nodding his head toward Jeroen and the Lobraners.

Peasants were dispersing from a cockfight that had just broken up. The mind-amplified roosters had no interest in clawing each other to death. Next to them were some actors playing the Bible scene of the Woman Taken in Adultery. They were having a little trouble with their performance, as they kept tripping over each other's ribald thoughts and breaking into laughter.

On every side, the merchants continued gamely hawking their wares. The locals had waited all year for this festival and they were loath to let things go off track. Doing their best to ignore the voices in their heads, they glared at the newly sentient objects as if they could force them back into dumb silence. But the caps, potatoes, sheets, and baskets were awake for good.

Now here came Alderman Jan Vladeracken pushing through the crowd, braying like the barnyard animal that he was. He buttonholed Duke Ongeluk and pointed at Thuy and her companions.

“Arrest these evil gnomes and their sorcerer, Jeroen Bosch! We'll string up the owl and his newts as a festal offering. If you can accomplish this, I'll see that our town increases your troops' pay!” Vladeracken strode over to Father Kreeft and handed him a little purse that chuckled with its fatness. “We rely on your guidance in executing this sacred obligation, your grace.”

“Follow me,” Thuy said to Jayjay and Jeroen. “Azaroth will help us.” She wormed through the stockinged legs of the crowd, minding the voices of the shoes. Jayjay was right beside her, and Jeroen close behind.

They found Azaroth gazing dreamily at the fire of a great open hearth set up before the city hall: a furnace melting iron
in a stone tub. Three grimy smiths were about to forge a special new bell in honor of this year's pageant. The mold for the bell sat on the ground. Grimacing against the heat, a smelter was standing on the rim of the tub, using a pike to work loose a stone stopper so the dull-red metal could flow.

The flushed Vladeracken had kept pace better than Thuy had expected. He was almost upon them, hollering and using his teep to point them out. In his wake came Duke Ongeluk with a platoon of soldiers, and Father Kreeft with his priests.

The smelter atop the tub glanced distractedly toward Thuy, and just then his foot slipped. He teetered, flailing his arms—and tumbled into the lavalike metal, partly rising up, then falling down again. In his death agony, he let out a series of hideous, juicy, telepathy-enhanced screams. The silp of the molten iron sang a solemn, antiphonal response.

What put the crowd totally over the edge was that the charred bones and greasy bubbles continued the telepathic screaming long after the smelter's spark of life was gone. Judgment Day and the torments of the damned looked to be commencing right here, right now.

Peasants snatched up sticks to whip their backs; merchants rubbed mud and ashes on their faces. The soldiers, priests, and town sheriffs began seizing God's enemies—starting with the beggars, the jugglers, and the magicians.

Fast on their feet and nimble with their teleportation hops, Thuy, Jayjay, Azaroth, and Jeroen stayed one jump ahead of the death squads. Their flickering transformations made them look all the more like sinister sorcerers—but they were loath to wholly leave the marketplace. Jeroen in particular wanted to see what came next. And so they twinkled about the steps of the city hall, first on one side, then on the other.

Faster than could be believed, the town bailiffs trundled torture and execution equipment onto the city hall's stone
porch. There was no thought of magistrates—these were the End Times! By way of placating the angry God, His enemies were to be flogged, mutilated, and broken on the wheel, with the beheadings and hangings still to come.

“Oh no,” said Azaroth. “They've got Menso, Luc, and Dora.”

“And my beggar friends, too,” said Jayjay. “Maarten and Hugo.”

“We have to help them!” cried Thuy. Focusing her mind, she began teeping the prisoners the secrets of how to teleport. Keen old Dora picked up the trick immediately. As a bald, puffing monk bent over her with a pair of red-hot pincers, she grew translucent, dissolved in a puff of sparkles, and relocated to the river road outside of town.

“I don't understand,” teeped Luc, distracted by the whips lashing his bloodied back. With a massive effort of will, Thuy bodily teeked the conjuror to the road where his wife waited. At the same time, Jayjay was coaching Maarten and Hugo, who were being laid out on wagon wheels, upon which their bones were to be broken by hammers. Hugo got the hang of teleportation first—and what a thrill for him to flee faster than a man with legs! Maarten followed close behind.

Just then, Jeroen grunted and fell against Thuy—and the sky seemed to collapse onto her head. As she later pieced it together, a stealthy group of soldiers had descended upon them, cudgels rushing down. They'd cloaked their approach behind a particularly large banner, their minds too dim and brutal to give off much warning teep. Before Thuy and her friends even saw the need to escape, they'd been laid out unconscious on the uncaring cobbles.

 

 

She awoke groggily, her head throbbing with pain. The sunny market's crowds and mounds of goods had been replaced by stones and gloom. The air was waxy, hostile, oppressive. Thuy was in a huge, cold room with a ceiling that looked a thousand feet tall. She sat up, shackled with chains attached to a heavy band of iron around her waist.

“Are you okay?” Jayjay privately teeped to her. “This is Saint John's Cathedral. They've moved the executions in here.” He was chained by her side, with Bosch beside him, and Azaroth next in line, the four of them tethered to a stone pillar. The air rang with hellish screams of agony.

“Let's hop out of here!” exclaimed Thuy. “Now!”

“I don't think we can,” said Jayjay. “I'm so dizzy.”

“The cathedral obeys Father Kreeft,” added Bosch. “The dour stones block our view of the outer world; the air envelops us like a shroud. I tried just now to—teleport? No use.”

From the altar came the worst scream yet, followed by a swish and a thud. Menso's blond-stubbled head was—how horrible—bouncing down the sanctum's low stone steps, followed by the river of his whole body's blood.

In a spasm of terror, Thuy clenched her stomach muscles. With a little creak, the metal of her waist band began giving way. Another push and she'd be able to jump free. Her sixfold strength advantage was enough to snap the Hibrane fetters. But—

“Careful,” said Azaroth, calling Thuy's attention to the two soldiers with crossbows standing over them. One was fat, blond, and mustached, the other thin and olive-skinned—she'd seen these two in the Muddy Eel last night. Their crossbow bolts were steadily aimed at her and Jayjay's throats.

“I'll think of something,” said Jayjay. “Just wait.”

“No more waiting,” interrupted the fat soldier, smirking at him. “It's your turn to die.”

A hooded foursome of monks grabbed Jayjay's arms and legs, untethered him, and bore him up the aisle. A hangman's noose had been rigged above the freestanding pulpit—which was now a makeshift gibbet, with a hangman standing in the preacher's stead.

Step by step the monks mounted the pulpit stairs. Kicking and struggling, Jayjay sent his chains clattering to the floor—but he was unable to break free of the monks.

Thuy had to save him. But still the two crossbows were leveled at her throat.

“Do something!” she privately teeped to Azaroth and Jeroen. “Make them look away!”

Moving his shackled hands in unison, Bosch fished out his paintbrush and a painting rag. He used the brush to flip the rag into the air, tossing it with such mind-enhanced precision that it looked for all the world like a devilish ghost.

“Demon!” roared Azaroth.

Briefly the two distracted soldiers tracked the rag with their crossbows. Seizing the moment, Thuy burst her manacle, snatched the sword from the thin soldier's scabbard, and charged up the aisle.

The masked hangman had already shoved Jayjay off the pulpit. He was arcing toward the floor, with the slack of the rope about to run out and snap his neck. Springing high into the air, Thuy slashed the rope in two.

“Yes!” cried Jayjay, and hit the ground running. He and Thuy zigzagged pell-mell toward the cathedral door. Jayjay splintered it with a single kick.

Reaching the clean outer air, Thuy began shrilling the Hrull whistle with all her might. Growing doubly brave, Jayjay sallied back into the cathedral, meaning to fetch Azaroth and Jeroen.

For a long few moments, there was no sign of any alien manta ray.

“I got them!” yelled Jayjay, emerging from the church with Jeroen at his side. Just behind them was big Azaroth, walking backward, clashing a commandeered sword against the blades of the pursuing soldiers.

“Come with me, you three!” called Bosch. “We'll hop to my home! We'll barricade ourselves. The Swan Brotherhood will protect us. And surely the Antonites will—”

Just then the pitchfork reappeared. He took a stand between the four allies and their enemies. Leaning toward the soldiers and priests, Groovy vibrated a funky, subsonic rhythm that set their enemies to clutching their bellies and shitting their pants.