The Cydonian Pyramid (26 page)

“What was
that
for?” Kosh asked, putting a hand to his jaw.

“You know what it’s for!” Adrian advanced on him. “And you wrecked my car, you godless backstabbing piece of trash!” He swung again. Kosh dodged the punch and scrambled back, tripping on a chair and knocking over a table. He jumped to his feet, fists clenched, and braced himself. Adrian came at him again, his face a mask of fury. Red ran around the end of the bar and grabbed Adrian from behind.

“Take it outside, boys,” he said. He frog-marched Adrian to the door, planted one foot in the small of his back, and propelled him out onto the sidewalk.

“You too, Curtis. Out!”

Kosh glared at him, then walked stiff-legged to the door and followed his brother outside. The door slammed.

For a moment, Tucker just stood there trying to take in what he had seen. Was that really his father? And Kosh?

“Damn fool Feyes,” Red muttered as he picked up the table and chair.

“What about me?” Henry whined, looking in dismay at his sodden pants.

“Shut your hole, Henry. I’ll get you a fresh beer.”

From outside came the sound of angry, muffled shouting. Tucker ran to the door and opened it. His father and Kosh were rolling around on the sidewalk, grunting, cursing, and trading punches.

“In or out, kid,” Red said. “Don’t stand there letting the weather in.”

Tucker stepped outside just as the two men broke apart. Kosh jumped to his feet first. Adrian dove at Kosh and grabbed his leg. Kosh punched him on the forehead, jerked his leg loose, staggered over to his motorcycle, climbed on, and kick-started it. He sat revving it for a few seconds, watching as Adrian stood up unsteadily, blood streaming from a cut on his brow.

“I’m sorry, bro,” Kosh said.

In answer, Adrian charged at him with clenched fists.

Kosh dropped the bike into gear. The bike spun around, and Kosh took off down Main Street, snow and ice spitting from the back tire.

Adrian Feye chased after him for a few yards, then stopped in the middle of the street. He wiped the blood from his eyes, turned, and noticed Tucker standing on the sidewalk.

“Are you okay?” Tucker asked.

His father — no, not his father, but rather the man who would one day
become
his father — stared back at him, squeezed his eyes shut, then looked again.

“Who are
you
?” he asked.

“I’m nobody,” Tucker said after a moment.

Adrian Feye held his eyes for a second, then shook his head in resignation.

“I must be losing my mind.” He turned his back on Tucker and walked unsteadily down the sidewalk to a 1980s-era Ford Mustang with a bashed-in rear fender. He got in the car and drove off after Kosh, leaving Tucker alone on the sidewalk.

Tucker watched until the single taillight disappeared into the night. He knew that his dad and Kosh had a big fight when they were young, before he was born. He’d heard the story from Tom Krause, who had heard it from his father. Was this the fight that had driven them apart and made Kosh leave Hopewell? Because Kosh had dented his brother’s precious Mustang? Was that why they went all those years without speaking? It seemed embarrassingly trivial — after all, they were brothers. It was just a car.

Tucker was getting cold again. He started back for Red’s, thinking he might borrow a coat from someone, then walk home and try to find out what had happened.

“Tucker?”

Tucker turned toward the voice. A boy was standing in the entrance to the alley, wearing a pair of gray coveralls exactly like Tucker’s. He stepped out into the light. His feet were bright blue, and his face . . .

“Tom?” Tucker said.

“Yeah.” Tom Krause took a few tentative steps toward Tucker. “You . . . you don’t look like before,” he said. “Did you get taller?”

“Are you okay?” Tucker asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I got here. How it got to be winter, and . . .” He looked around. “Everything’s different. Those two guys fighting . . . Was that your
dad
?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure. You were in a hospital, right?”

“I guess. I mean, I was at the park to see Father September —”

“Wait. You mean the same day — at the revival? During Pigeon Daze?”

“Yeah. And one of the guys in yellow robes came up to me and said I was
chosen
or something, and he brought me up on the stage, and . . .” Tom hugged himself. “It’s really cold out here.”

“We can go inside in a second. First, tell me what happened.”

“It was really confusing. They put a hood on my head, then they had me lie down on this table, then something hit me really hard in the chest, and it
hurt.
There was blood and then . . . then I woke up in this weird hospital place with people wearing masks and stuff.”

“A Medicant hospital,” Tucker said. “Gheen must have shoved you into the maggot after they stabbed you. It was supposed to be me.”

Tom stared at Tucker with an utter lack of comprehension.

“I’ll explain later,” Tucker said. “What did they do to you at the hospital?”

“They wouldn’t talk to me. After I woke up, they just took me to this big round misty thing and shoved me into it. Next thing I knew, I was here. I mean, up on the roof.” He pointed across the street at Hopewell House.

“So those were your tracks,” said Tucker. “I thought maybe —” Sensing something behind him, Tucker turned. Two bearded men, one large and one small, both wearing black hats and long dark coats, were standing at the entrance to the alley. The smaller of the two men was carrying a suitcase in one hand and holding an object that looked like a TV remote in the other. Tucker had just enough time to recognize Yonnie-Dav and Albers when the small device crackled. All his muscles went slack, and he crumpled to the wet, snowy sidewalk.

O
N HIS BACK, STARING UP AT THE SNOWFLAKES DRIFTING
through the glow from the streetlamp, Tucker felt completely disconnected from his body. Strangely, he was not afraid. Whatever Yonnie-Dav had hit him with, it had relaxed not only his muscles but his mind as well. Whatever was to happen next, there was nothing he could do about it. No decisions to make.

Yonnie-Dav and Albers were speaking in their rapid, incomprehensible language. Tucker felt his feet being lifted, and then his whole body came up off the sidewalk. Albers threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Tucker’s head flopped to the side. He saw Tom lying senseless a few feet away. Yonnie-Dav set the suitcase on Tom’s belly, grabbed him by the legs, and dragged him into the alley. Albers, carrying Tucker, followed. They proceeded down the alley to an alcove at the back of the building where they were out of sight of the street. Albers lowered Tucker to the ground, none too gently. Yonnie-Dav bent over him and looked into his eyes.

“Apologies,” he said. “This is not your time. Our equipment has been unreliable of late.”

Tucker tried to speak, but his mouth and tongue would not move.

“The effect of the paralytic is temporary,” said Yonnie-Dav. He opened the suitcase and backed away. Inside was a pinkish ball the size of his fist. The ball began to grow. Within seconds, it was bigger than the suitcase, taking on the elongated, segmented shape of a maggot. Yonnie-Dav, his face lit by the glow from his handheld device, looked from the screen to the maggot and back again several times until the maggot had reached its full size. He bent over Tom and looked into his eyes.

Albers spoke; Yonnie-Dav responded irritably. Albers threw up his hands and walked off a few paces, muttering to himself. Yonnie-Dav touched his device to Tom’s neck. Tom twitched and moaned.

“Are you able to move?” Yonnie-Dav asked.

Tom’s arms flapped weakly. Yonnie-Dav pressed his thumb to his device. The maggot’s front end began to enlarge and flatten. Tucker heard a familiar crackle and hum. The orange-gray light of the forming disko reflected off the rough brick wall of the building. Yonnie-Dav said something to Albers. The big man grunted and lifted Tom, carried him to the front end of the maggot, and threw him into it. The disko flashed orange, and Tom was gone.

The two men turned their attention to Tucker. Once again, Yonnie-Dav consulted his device. He frowned. Albers spoke. Yonnie-Dav shook his head. Albers, clearly angry, rattled off a long reply. Tucker understood almost nothing of what they were saying, but he thought he heard the word
Terminus.

Yonnie-Dav manipulated something on the side of his device; the maggot’s disko closed, then reopened.

“You are an anachronism,” he said to Tucker. “It is no wonder the Gnomon are perturbed. We will let the old woman deal with you.” He pressed his device to Tucker’s neck. Tucker felt sensation flooding back into his body, but before he could act, Albers lifted him and hurled him into the disko.

Tucker landed on something wet. He lay there staring up at the pale yellow-green foliage of a tamarack, waiting for his muscles to start working again. The smell of the place was familiar, as were the sounds of the birds and the hum of a nearby disko. After several seconds, the effects of the stun device wore off enough for him to sit up. He was in a tamarack bog, as he had suspected. This was Awn’s woods. The Terminus.

He had landed in a soggy depression between two hummocks. The low sun and a moist chill in the air indicated that it was early morning. He stood and looked around. The disko was a few feet behind him. His feet were ankle deep in the peaty muck; he pulled them free with a sucking sound and climbed onto the larger hummock. His arms and legs still felt a bit rubbery and weak. The yellowing of the tamarack needles suggested autumn. The last time he had been here, it had also been fall, and he had seen Awn murdered by Master Gheen.

The disko hissed and sputtered. Tucker took a careful look around, fixing the location in his mind. He had no desire to return to the Hopewell that had existed before he was born, but there might come a time when his other options would be even less desirable.

He chose a direction at random and walked.

A
SHARP KNOCK ON THE DOOR INTERRUPTED
T
UCKER
’
S
story. Dr. Arnay opened the door and exchanged a few words with the man outside. He closed the door and turned back to Tucker.

“Captain Calvert says we’ll be under way in fifty minutes. You think you can wrap up this story you’re telling?”

“It’s not a story,” Tucker said.

Arnay sat in his chair and crossed his legs. “Well, whatever it is, you’re running out of time to tell it.”

I’m running out of time, period,
Tucker thought. But he didn’t say it out loud.

“L
IA!
L
OOK!
A K
ING
J
AMES
B
IBLE IN PERFECT
condition!” If Yar Jonis had not been on crutches, she would have been jumping up and down.

Lia regarded the plump librarian with amusement. “When I was in Hopewell, Arnold and Maria had a Bible in every room.”

“Yes, but that was eight hundred years ago. This is a true rarity! Who knows what else the priests have hidden away?”

The underground room, illuminated by Boggsian lamps, was one of several book caches they had discovered in the catacombs beneath the priests’ temple. Books were stacked against the walls in haphazard array, some piled higher than Lia was tall.