hundred if I showed up tonight. Said she needed me, said she needed my milk.”
“Your
milk?
What on earth for?”
She shrugged again, and reloaded the pipe. “Said ’cos I was lactating. You think I care?” She held up a baggie full of pieces of crack. “I mean,
look
at all this rock, man. And when she lays another six hundred on me tonight? I won’t have to blow another guy for a month. Fuck, I hate it. Crack doesn’t leave a woman with any choice. You have to suck ten dirty dicks a day at least, just to keep up your jones. Think about that, buddy. Ten dicks a day. It’s like letting guys blow their nose in your mouth for money. Every time I see another dick in my face I wanna cut my throat but I know that if I do . . .” She jiggled the bag of crack. “I’ll never be able to get high again.”
Hudson frowned. “Deaconess Wilson told me I won a contest of some sort, and told me to meet her here. Where is she?”
“Right here,” answered a silhouette in the doorway.
Hudson grimaced from the shock. “God
damn!
Don’t sneak up on people like that!”
The female minister stepped forward into the candlelight. Her face appeared either blank or simply content and her blue eyes, which struck Hudson as dull yesterday, seemed narrow and keen now. She wore the same black surplice and white collar.
“How irregular for you to take God’s name in vain,” she said. “You of all people—one who yearns to be a priest.”
He had, hadn’t he? He
never
did that. “You scared the shit out of me,” he objected. “Now what’s all this about? And furthermore, what are
you
all about?”
She glanced at the prostitute, who was relighting her pipe.
“What I’m all about, Mr. Hudson,” the deaconess began, “is failure. You, on the other hand, are about success. I envy you—” Her voice hushed. “And I honor you.”
“That makes no sense. I should leave.”
“That is your prerogative, it has been all along. Didn’t I make it clear that you are under no obligation?”
“Yes, but—”
“And now you want answers. First, answers about me.”
“You got that right. A homeless guy living in your church had the same dream as me. I read an article in the paper about a baby’s grave dug up, and it turns out this girl over here is the one who did the digging. And a half hour ago I see the coffin stuck beneath the pews at
your
church.”
“It’s all part of the science—”
Hudson’s anger roiled. “The
science?
”
“You’ll understand more should you choose to proceed far enough to speak to the Trustee.”
Hudson opened his mouth to object further, paused, then decided not to.
Her eyes appeared as cool blue embers. “Do you choose to proceed?”
“Yes,” Hudson said.
“Then follow me.” The deaconess touched the prostitute’s shoulder. “Come along. You bring the candles.” Then she raised a plastic bag from which depended an object inside about the size of a softball. “I’ll bring the head.”
C HAPTER T HREE
(I)
A hundred Pipe Fitters—mostly half-Demon, half-Human Hybrids—clustered down below about the Main Sub-Inlet.
What are they doing?
Favius wondered, looking down from his precipitous sentry post on the ramparts. This was the end of the stupendous Pipeway that, Favius knew now, started all the way across the Quarter in the harbor of Rot Port. The Conscript studied the end of the Pipeway’s Inlet, a great circular maw sixty-six feet wide. He marveled at the sheer
volume
of fluid that the Pipeway would be able to transfer. But still he thought,
Why? Why?
And what were the Technologists
doing
down there now? Teams of the Hybrids began scaling the Inlet’s outer rim via ladders made of cured intestines, while others remained in the basin as if in wait . . .
But in only minutes more prison wagons hauled by strange, mutant beasts crossed the basin itself and stopped.
Immediately, Favius thought,
Corpulites
. . .
From the bared wagons, dozens of unfortunate victims were
“Your
milk?
What on earth for?”
She shrugged again, and reloaded the pipe. “Said ’cos I was lactating. You think I care?” She held up a baggie full of pieces of crack. “I mean,
look
at all this rock, man. And when she lays another six hundred on me tonight? I won’t have to blow another guy for a month. Fuck, I hate it. Crack doesn’t leave a woman with any choice. You have to suck ten dirty dicks a day at least, just to keep up your jones. Think about that, buddy. Ten dicks a day. It’s like letting guys blow their nose in your mouth for money. Every time I see another dick in my face I wanna cut my throat but I know that if I do . . .” She jiggled the bag of crack. “I’ll never be able to get high again.”
Hudson frowned. “Deaconess Wilson told me I won a contest of some sort, and told me to meet her here. Where is she?”
“Right here,” answered a silhouette in the doorway.
Hudson grimaced from the shock. “God
damn!
Don’t sneak up on people like that!”
The female minister stepped forward into the candlelight. Her face appeared either blank or simply content and her blue eyes, which struck Hudson as dull yesterday, seemed narrow and keen now. She wore the same black surplice and white collar.
“How irregular for you to take God’s name in vain,” she said. “You of all people—one who yearns to be a priest.”
He had, hadn’t he? He
never
did that. “You scared the shit out of me,” he objected. “Now what’s all this about? And furthermore, what are
you
all about?”
She glanced at the prostitute, who was relighting her pipe.
“What I’m all about, Mr. Hudson,” the deaconess began, “is failure. You, on the other hand, are about success. I envy you—” Her voice hushed. “And I honor you.”
“That makes no sense. I should leave.”
“That is your prerogative, it has been all along. Didn’t I make it clear that you are under no obligation?”
“Yes, but—”
“And now you want answers. First, answers about me.”
“You got that right. A homeless guy living in your church had the same dream as me. I read an article in the paper about a baby’s grave dug up, and it turns out this girl over here is the one who did the digging. And a half hour ago I see the coffin stuck beneath the pews at
your
church.”
“It’s all part of the science—”
Hudson’s anger roiled. “The
science?
”
“You’ll understand more should you choose to proceed far enough to speak to the Trustee.”
Hudson opened his mouth to object further, paused, then decided not to.
Her eyes appeared as cool blue embers. “Do you choose to proceed?”
“Yes,” Hudson said.
“Then follow me.” The deaconess touched the prostitute’s shoulder. “Come along. You bring the candles.” Then she raised a plastic bag from which depended an object inside about the size of a softball. “I’ll bring the head.”
C HAPTER T HREE
(I)
A hundred Pipe Fitters—mostly half-Demon, half-Human Hybrids—clustered down below about the Main Sub-Inlet.
What are they doing?
Favius wondered, looking down from his precipitous sentry post on the ramparts. This was the end of the stupendous Pipeway that, Favius knew now, started all the way across the Quarter in the harbor of Rot Port. The Conscript studied the end of the Pipeway’s Inlet, a great circular maw sixty-six feet wide. He marveled at the sheer
volume
of fluid that the Pipeway would be able to transfer. But still he thought,
Why? Why?
And what were the Technologists
doing
down there now? Teams of the Hybrids began scaling the Inlet’s outer rim via ladders made of cured intestines, while others remained in the basin as if in wait . . .
But in only minutes more prison wagons hauled by strange, mutant beasts crossed the basin itself and stopped.
Immediately, Favius thought,
Corpulites
. . .
From the bared wagons, dozens of unfortunate victims were
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