another lump of road kill that had once been Aleister the Great Dane. Lucrezia had been a bit more fortunate—though struck by a dart, she had managed to move out of the van’s path before collapsing. Nearest of all, Dragon stood shakily in front of the now idling van, two darts sticking out of his side. The ‘catchers had stepped out of their vehicle and were trying to throw a net over him.
You watch, Luther. Raaq ain’t to be trusted. Sometimes he turns on his own.
So Moses had said, and so it seemed. Only Manson had escaped.
“You brought this on yourselves,” Luther thought, trying not to feel too much pity for the dead. “You would have been happy to see us run down.”
“Wh—” Groggy, Dragon intercepted the thought. He looked up and saw Luther riding past in the flatbed. “ MANGE! "
The Wolfhound launched himself forward, a leap that would, under normal circumstances, have carried him up into the truck. Drugged, he only went about three feet, falling heavily on the concrete. As the flatbed sped away and the ‘catchers moved in, he fired a parting threat at Luther, fragments of a thought like shrapnel:
“. . . kill you, mange . . . find . . . I . . .”
Then he faded into greyness.
“Well,” said Blackjack, joining Luther, “looks like there is some justice in the world after all. How about that?”
Luther made no reply. He was staring at the remains of Perdurabo as they cruised past.
“Don’t lose any sleep over them, Luther,” Blackjack advised. “They deserved what they got. And this way you don’t have to worry about fighting them.”
Still Luther made no reply. He crawled under the tarpaulin and did not speak again for several hours. The truck rolled on, passing through a short tunnel at the edge of town and beginning a long ascent out of the valley.
They were back on the road to Heaven.
THE RIDE OF THE BOHEMIANS
I.
If some peace-loving millionaire were someday to sponsor a search for the quietest quiet little town in all Pennsylvania, one of the runners-up in the competition would almost certainly be the town of Auk. (The winner of such a competition would, without question, be Thanatos. Officially incorporated in 1892, Thanatos, which is located thirteen miles outside of Scranton, is literally a graveyard. The town’s one living resident is Desmond Emery Sargtrager, a groundskeeper, and he does not even snore.)
Though Auk can never hope to surpass the perfect serenity of Thanatos, on a good day it comes very close. No major highways pass within ten miles of it; the surrounding countryside is plain Pennsylvania forest, without a single cave, ski slope, waterfall, or other potential tourist attraction. The sole industry is the manufacture of jigsaw puzzles, surely one of the world’s less action-packed businesses. Perhaps the finest demonstration of Auk’s peaceful nature, however, came during the town’s hundredth anniversary, which was celebrated in a calm and orderly fashion just a few years before the time of this story. There were no fireworks, no marching bands or parades, and only one speech, which lasted for exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, making it shorter than the average FM pop tune.
While outsiders might consider this a boring state of affairs, the people of Auk—many of them senior citizens or at least middle-aged—are quite content with their lives. They need no change of pace, thank you very much, and if they feel a need for high adventure they can always subscribe to cable television, which has been available for some months now.
But nobody ever gets what they want, not all the time. Two days after Luther and Blackjack had their run-in with Dragon, the town of Auk received a century’s worth of excitement in the space of two hours. It was an event that Auk’s citizens still talk about—and fear the repetition of—to this very day.
The incident was born out of a mad tea partier’s recipe of travelers who arrived in Auk one after the
You watch, Luther. Raaq ain’t to be trusted. Sometimes he turns on his own.
So Moses had said, and so it seemed. Only Manson had escaped.
“You brought this on yourselves,” Luther thought, trying not to feel too much pity for the dead. “You would have been happy to see us run down.”
“Wh—” Groggy, Dragon intercepted the thought. He looked up and saw Luther riding past in the flatbed. “ MANGE! "
The Wolfhound launched himself forward, a leap that would, under normal circumstances, have carried him up into the truck. Drugged, he only went about three feet, falling heavily on the concrete. As the flatbed sped away and the ‘catchers moved in, he fired a parting threat at Luther, fragments of a thought like shrapnel:
“. . . kill you, mange . . . find . . . I . . .”
Then he faded into greyness.
“Well,” said Blackjack, joining Luther, “looks like there is some justice in the world after all. How about that?”
Luther made no reply. He was staring at the remains of Perdurabo as they cruised past.
“Don’t lose any sleep over them, Luther,” Blackjack advised. “They deserved what they got. And this way you don’t have to worry about fighting them.”
Still Luther made no reply. He crawled under the tarpaulin and did not speak again for several hours. The truck rolled on, passing through a short tunnel at the edge of town and beginning a long ascent out of the valley.
They were back on the road to Heaven.
THE RIDE OF THE BOHEMIANS
I.
If some peace-loving millionaire were someday to sponsor a search for the quietest quiet little town in all Pennsylvania, one of the runners-up in the competition would almost certainly be the town of Auk. (The winner of such a competition would, without question, be Thanatos. Officially incorporated in 1892, Thanatos, which is located thirteen miles outside of Scranton, is literally a graveyard. The town’s one living resident is Desmond Emery Sargtrager, a groundskeeper, and he does not even snore.)
Though Auk can never hope to surpass the perfect serenity of Thanatos, on a good day it comes very close. No major highways pass within ten miles of it; the surrounding countryside is plain Pennsylvania forest, without a single cave, ski slope, waterfall, or other potential tourist attraction. The sole industry is the manufacture of jigsaw puzzles, surely one of the world’s less action-packed businesses. Perhaps the finest demonstration of Auk’s peaceful nature, however, came during the town’s hundredth anniversary, which was celebrated in a calm and orderly fashion just a few years before the time of this story. There were no fireworks, no marching bands or parades, and only one speech, which lasted for exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, making it shorter than the average FM pop tune.
While outsiders might consider this a boring state of affairs, the people of Auk—many of them senior citizens or at least middle-aged—are quite content with their lives. They need no change of pace, thank you very much, and if they feel a need for high adventure they can always subscribe to cable television, which has been available for some months now.
But nobody ever gets what they want, not all the time. Two days after Luther and Blackjack had their run-in with Dragon, the town of Auk received a century’s worth of excitement in the space of two hours. It was an event that Auk’s citizens still talk about—and fear the repetition of—to this very day.
The incident was born out of a mad tea partier’s recipe of travelers who arrived in Auk one after the
Similar Books
