plate. He was in a grimy apron, sweeping up. There were fresh bullet scars on the walls, like the ones in Daine’s penthouse. Exactly like, I could see the same patterns – faces, almost – in the damage.
‘Marvin and the others must have set you up. They’ll all be with the new man by now.’
Things had changed while I was out, but I couldn’t tell how yet. I had the memory of a headache now, but my head was clear. That felt like a first.
‘We’d best be out of here, Richie,’ Carradine said. ‘They might come back.’
It took me a moment to realise he was talking to me. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about the mess, Kelly…’
‘That’s okay,’ the chef said dully, ‘it’s been worse before. When the Muni Mob and Jimmy Cagney had a gang war, they tossed in hand grenades every twenty minutes.’
Carradine helped me get out of the diner, but I didn’t feel so bad. Some of the earlier aches had faded, and the new ones hadn’t had time to get settled in. It was still raining, but it was a hard, fast, clean downpour now, washing garbage off the sidewalks.
‘We better get you off the main streets, you’re a target…’
It hit me. ‘John, what happened to the pidgin Shakespeare? You sound almost Hemingway. Well, maybe Steinbeck.’
His long face was quizzical. ‘I guess it wore off. It’s been a funny kind of an evening. I feel like I’ve just woken up after a long dream.’
‘I know how you feel.’
‘It’s as if only the last few hours of my life were real. I could tell you my story up until then, but it happened to someone else, an imaginary character.’
We walked a couple of blocks, looking in vain for a cab. Carradine struck me somehow as unusual, even for the City. He was spilling over, out of his stereotype, confused about his role.
‘I’ve got things in my head that came from nowhere,’ he said, ‘things that don’t make sense to me. Clues, I guess you’d call them.’
‘Clues? Like what?’
‘The World Tree,’ he muttered, ‘something about the World Tree, Richie. No, that’s not it. Damn it, but it’ll come to me in a moment. I’m sure it will.’
‘Yggdrasil,’ I said, ‘the World Tree.’
‘That’s it. Yggdrasil. Queer sort of a word, isn’t it?’
I remembered Yggdrasil. The wooden fist of Viking legend, wrapped around the world, extending its branches everywhere. Only my Yggdrasil wasn’t wood, but something else alive. In my mind, I had a crazed vision of a composite creature, with iceboxes and radiograms and vacuum cleaners and electric chairs and telephone exchanges for nerve endings, trucks and aircraft and cranes and streamlined trains for limbs, and perhaps a Bomb for a brain.
‘It has something to do with Daine, and the way he ran the City. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a start.’
I knew where to go now. I started steering Carradine, rather than him supporting me. He hesitated, but followed my lead. I guessed he wanted the answers too.
‘We’ll have to find out who Daine’s heir is. Or maybe it’s not an heir, exactly. Maybe we’re after his ghost.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I saw him dead. There’s no doubt about that. And things have changed since he got remaindered, but I’ve got this feeling – call it a detective’s intuition – that he left something of himself behind. The City’s still his in some way, held in trust.’
It was in a sleazy neighbourhood, but then again so were most places in the City. We approached it cautiously, in case the cops had it staked out. I had Carradine walk up and down the street several times, acting suspiciously. Nobody came for him. He stood on the steps outside the building, tattered cloak flapping like a scarecrow’s nightshirt, and signalled to me.
Then we went up to my office to do some serious detective work.
12
I n my office, Carradine cat-napped, snoring vigorously, hammocked between two chairs. The irritating neon sign outside the window strobed the room, broken
‘Marvin and the others must have set you up. They’ll all be with the new man by now.’
Things had changed while I was out, but I couldn’t tell how yet. I had the memory of a headache now, but my head was clear. That felt like a first.
‘We’d best be out of here, Richie,’ Carradine said. ‘They might come back.’
It took me a moment to realise he was talking to me. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about the mess, Kelly…’
‘That’s okay,’ the chef said dully, ‘it’s been worse before. When the Muni Mob and Jimmy Cagney had a gang war, they tossed in hand grenades every twenty minutes.’
Carradine helped me get out of the diner, but I didn’t feel so bad. Some of the earlier aches had faded, and the new ones hadn’t had time to get settled in. It was still raining, but it was a hard, fast, clean downpour now, washing garbage off the sidewalks.
‘We better get you off the main streets, you’re a target…’
It hit me. ‘John, what happened to the pidgin Shakespeare? You sound almost Hemingway. Well, maybe Steinbeck.’
His long face was quizzical. ‘I guess it wore off. It’s been a funny kind of an evening. I feel like I’ve just woken up after a long dream.’
‘I know how you feel.’
‘It’s as if only the last few hours of my life were real. I could tell you my story up until then, but it happened to someone else, an imaginary character.’
We walked a couple of blocks, looking in vain for a cab. Carradine struck me somehow as unusual, even for the City. He was spilling over, out of his stereotype, confused about his role.
‘I’ve got things in my head that came from nowhere,’ he said, ‘things that don’t make sense to me. Clues, I guess you’d call them.’
‘Clues? Like what?’
‘The World Tree,’ he muttered, ‘something about the World Tree, Richie. No, that’s not it. Damn it, but it’ll come to me in a moment. I’m sure it will.’
‘Yggdrasil,’ I said, ‘the World Tree.’
‘That’s it. Yggdrasil. Queer sort of a word, isn’t it?’
I remembered Yggdrasil. The wooden fist of Viking legend, wrapped around the world, extending its branches everywhere. Only my Yggdrasil wasn’t wood, but something else alive. In my mind, I had a crazed vision of a composite creature, with iceboxes and radiograms and vacuum cleaners and electric chairs and telephone exchanges for nerve endings, trucks and aircraft and cranes and streamlined trains for limbs, and perhaps a Bomb for a brain.
‘It has something to do with Daine, and the way he ran the City. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a start.’
I knew where to go now. I started steering Carradine, rather than him supporting me. He hesitated, but followed my lead. I guessed he wanted the answers too.
‘We’ll have to find out who Daine’s heir is. Or maybe it’s not an heir, exactly. Maybe we’re after his ghost.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I saw him dead. There’s no doubt about that. And things have changed since he got remaindered, but I’ve got this feeling – call it a detective’s intuition – that he left something of himself behind. The City’s still his in some way, held in trust.’
It was in a sleazy neighbourhood, but then again so were most places in the City. We approached it cautiously, in case the cops had it staked out. I had Carradine walk up and down the street several times, acting suspiciously. Nobody came for him. He stood on the steps outside the building, tattered cloak flapping like a scarecrow’s nightshirt, and signalled to me.
Then we went up to my office to do some serious detective work.
12
I n my office, Carradine cat-napped, snoring vigorously, hammocked between two chairs. The irritating neon sign outside the window strobed the room, broken
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