Slices (21 page)

Harrison
stood and threw the newspaper into Will’s lap. “No, it’s
not the end of the story. The story is right there in front of you
and it’s going to keep going until you put it right.”

“Wait,
you think, what — you think Edgar
did
this? You think he set the fire?”

Harrison
said nothing.

“Look,”
Will said, “that’s ridiculous and even if it’s
true, it’s not your fault, it’s not your responsibility
any more and it’s certainly not mine — ”

“William.
Let me make myself clear.” Harrison picked up the newspaper and
stared at it. “You’re a young man. You’ve only been
a seller on the Shadow Market for, what, four years? I
do
understand. You’re quite good and you think that entitles you
to do whatever you want.”

He
sat down again. “You don’t lecture me about
responsibility, young man. It is, in fact, the duty of men my age to
teach men of your age the meaning of responsibility, and in your
case, that will be quite simple.” He reached into the inner
pocket of his jacket. “I trust you know what a Sanction
Certificate is.”

“You’re
not serious.”

“I
really don’t think you should test me on that,” Harrison
said quietly. “I just have to sign this, and my signature will
be echoed throughout the Registries. A black mark on your listing,
and I suspect you’ll soon find yourself without customers.
Well. Human ones. The Fae might still deal with you, or the Outer
Dark.”

Will
struggled to keep his voice calm. “I did not break any
agreement with you.”

“Yes,
William, you did, no matter what semantics you want to try to justify
it with. You knew what I wanted you to do, you had no intention of
doing it, and you took my money just the same. You stole from me,
William. I should sign this right now.”

“Don’t,”
Will said. He held his hand out. He didn’t want to admit to
himself how much it was shaking. “Let me see the newspaper
again.”

He
took it. God, he was shaking.
That’s
not fear, that’s anger,
he thought.
High-handed
bastard.

“It
might be Edgar,” he said again.

“Find
him,” Harrison said. “This time, I want you to bring me
its head.”

Will
kept staring at the photo. “I’m not doing this for free,”
he said.

“I’ll
pay your expenses,” Harrison said, shaking his head. “No
finder’s fee, of course.”

“Of
course not.” Will looked up. “I don’t really have a
choice, do I?”

Harrison
smiled his new smile, and now Will knew what it meant. “None at
all,” he said. “Sebastian will see you out.”

He’d
lost track of it.

That
was the simple truth of it, and he didn’t want to admit it.
This was not a problem he ever had — normally, once he sold a
doll, he didn’t care what happened to it after that, but still,
he didn’t think it could possibly be that hard to find. His
world was small and he knew everyone, didn’t he?

He
started with Ryden, of course, Jerry Ryden, the man he’d sold
Edgar to.

“How
am I supposed to know?” Will could barely hear him over the
crowd. The warehouse was packed with bodies, lined around the ring.
Ryden never took his eyes off the match, but Will had barely glanced
at it. A child-sized mannequin lashing out at something made of
sticks and wire and nails.

“You
want to put a bet down on this or not?” Ryden said.

“Not
much of a gambler.” Will shrugged. “So, you haven’t
heard anything.”

Wire-and-sticks
landed a nail right in the mannequin’s blank eye, and half the
crowd cheered while the other cursed and swore. Ryden pumped a fist
in the air, then scowled at Will.

“What
would I hear? I ditched Edgar months ago — sold him to Bedlam
Jack, but I know he doesn’t have him any more. I don’t
know where he went after that. Anton bought him, maybe, or the
Kingsman. Not my problem.”

Yesterday,
Will would have said the same thing. “So why’d you get
rid of him?”

The
mannequin had torn off its opponent’s makeshift arm and was
using it like a spiked club, swinging wide. Ryden looked at him
sideways.

Will
said, “You told me you needed a mean one, and I came through
for you, right? So why get rid of it?”

Ryden
laughed, but Will couldn’t hear it. “There’s mean
and then there’s — ”

“What?”
Will smirked. “Evil? Come on.”

“I
don’t know. Cursed.”

“I
thought you didn’t believe in curses.”

Ryden
shook his head, watching the mannequin strip the wires, splinter the
wood. “I don’t believe in anything any more.”

The
trail stopped dead with Anton.

His
six-foot-six frame hardly fit in the booth of the late-night diner.
The waitress had tried to tell them this was the non-smoking section,
but Anton had just stared at her with his dead dark eyes until she
left.

He
let a curl of smoke drift upward from his lips and looked at Will
thoughtfully.

“It
cannot be evil,” Anton said. “Evil, that is something men
do. And women also, mind you.” A smile flashed across his face
and was gone, like lightning at midnight. “You know how the
dolls are made?”

Will
nodded. “I used to make them.”

“Really?”
Anton sat upright. “And now you sell them only. Why did you
stop?”

Will
took one of his cigarettes and lit it. “I’m basically
just naturally lazy,” he smiled.

“But
then you know. They are not people. It is very simple magic, easiest,
similarity principle. Most people, they look at dolls, think they are
almost alive anyway. Takes very small push to make it so, to make
them move. But they move only. Inside — ” He tapped his
head, his heart — “is nothing. Nothing real. It takes a
soul to be evil.”

“So
if you weren’t scared of Edgar, why’d you get rid of him
so fast?”

Anton
smiled as wide as the horizon. “I never said I was not scared
of Edgar.” He leaned forward. “Is a rattlesnake evil? Is
a flood evil, an earthquake?”

Will
shook his head. He leaned forward. “Look, I haven’t heard
anything. No one seems to have him. Nobody knows who these people
are.” He slid the newspaper across to Anton. “I know —
I know you like to keep your deals confidential, I get that, but I
really need to know who you sold him to.”

Anton
shrugged. “Mr. Silverman.”

“Right.
Okay, thank you. I appreciate this.”

“He
will not be talking to you.”

“Why
not?”

“He
is dead.” Anton leaned back. “You know his building where
he lived, all those stairs? He fell down them.”

Will
suddenly didn’t want his cigarette any more. “Fell?”
he asked. “Or was pushed?”

Anton
shrugged again. “It hardly makes a difference,” he said,
“when you are the man at the bottom of the stairs.”

Will
swore and threw the shovel to the ground. His arms were killing him.
He shot another glance through the trees, but the house was still
dark, at least. That was something.

He
shook his head. At least he was on the right track, finally. Where he
should have been in the first place.

You
got so used to doing things the way they were done on the Shadow
Market, you forgot there was a world. He’d been assuming for
days that of course Edgar had passed on to another collector, of
course he’d be able to find out their bidder number and contact
them through proper channels — formally, if he had to.

But
Edgar had escaped all of that. He’d completely disappeared
after Silverman died. All Will had to go on was the newspaper article
— where he should have started out. Stupid.

He
found the address of the burned house, started asking questions, that
poor family, did they need anything? Help? Clothes and blankets?
Money?

Money
opened doors, especially when he had Harrison paying expenses. Soon
he had names, he had an address — the wife’s sister’s
house, that’s where the family was staying for now.

And
that was a door that money wouldn’t open. Not when he asked
about the doll.

“What
the hell do you want with that thing?” the man at the door had
said, glaring.

“I
have a buyer who would be very interested. It’s an antique,
very valuable. I’m sure the money would — ”

The
man shook his head. “It’s gone.”

“Gone
where?” Will said quietly.

The
man’s eyes darted past him, out to the woods. “We buried
it.”

“You
— what the hell did you do that for?”

The
man just stared for a minute. His eyes looked like they still
reflected the fire that had been his home. Will didn’t think he
was going to say anything else. But then he said:

“Because
we didn’t know how to kill it.”

Then
he quietly closed the door.

Will
had just stood there for a minute, trying to decide if he should
knock again. Then he’d gone out to the woods, wandered around,
looking to find a patch of ground that looked recently disturbed.
Judging by how loose the soil was, now that he’d returned under
cover of dark, he’d found the right place. But they’d
buried Edgar deep.

He
picked up the shovel again and kept going.

His
shovel struck something solid. He got down on his hands and knees,
started pulling the dirt out with his hands, brushing it aside.
Rocks. They’d weighed him down with rocks, but here, here was
the smile, two bright eyes glinting up in the light of his flashlight
beam —

“Hello,
Edgar.”

No
response. He lifted the tiny body out of its grave and sat down
heavily next to it.

He
wasn’t moving. Was he really not animate any more? Or just
playing dead?

“Hey.
Hey, Edgar. Come on. How’d you like to go home? Huh? Go see Mr.
Harrison and all your little friends? What do you say?”

Nothing.
Then —
“Billy.”

“Jesus.”
Will dropped the flashlight. He’d almost forgotten that voice.
It sounded like a rusty nail being pulled slowly out of a hole in
someone’s throat.

Edgar
blinked. Dirt fell from its mouth.
“Billy,”
it said again.
“Ride.”

“What
— ride? Yeah. Yeah, you remember me, huh? You wanna go for a
ride in my car, is that it?”

Edgar
sat up and nodded.
“Ride.”

“Sure.
Sure, hang on a minute, okay?” He pulled his phone from his
pocket.

“Do
you realize what time it is?” Harrison said on the phone.

“Last
time I talked to you, you wanted to know the minute I had something
for you.”

“It’s
the middle of the night. Any information you have can wait until
morning.”

“I
don’t have
information.
I have Edgar.”

Silence.

“Did
you hear me?”

“Yes,
I heard you.”

“
Ride,”
Edgar said.

“Bring
me its head, William,” the voice on the phone said quietly.
“First thing tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“I’ll
need you to cut me a check for my expenses.”

“Bring
your receipts for my accountant.” Will could hear the smirk in
the old man’s voice.

“Bring
my — I don’t have
receipts.
That’s not how this works, you know that.”

“We’ll
handle things your way when you’ve earned my trust again. For
now, we’ll handle them mine.” There was a pause. “Tell
me, William; did you find anything new while you were looking for
Edgar? Any interesting new leads, new dolls?”

“This
wasn’t a shopping trip, Harrison.”

“I’m
always looking. You know that. I expect you to be looking for me as
well.”

Will
smiled darkly. “For my usual percentage? Or is that something
you’re going to dick me around on, too, until I earn your
trust?”

“Language,
William. We’ll see. Be here in the morning.” He hung up.

Will
stared at Edgar in the dim moonlight.

“
Billy.
Pick me up.”
Edgar’s hands reached out to him.

This
wasn’t going to stop. He could do exactly what Harrison had
asked and this still wasn’t going to stop. As long as Harrison
could threaten him with that sanction, he was going to be Harrison’s
— puppet.

Just
another damn doll in his collection.

“Billy.
Up.”

He’d
found so much for this son of a bitch these past few years. The
Mechanical Turk’s left hand, still in working order. The Peking
Homunculus. One of Harryhausen’s stop-motion skeletons, brought
to life by a fan. And this was the kind of treatment he got. It
wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair.

“Billy
— ”

He
swung the shovel in a wide arc and took Edgar’s head off his
shoulders.

Three
nights later and the old man was nearly hysterical.

“Everything’s
dead. Everything.”

“Just
calm down,” Will said, cradling the phone to his ear. “Tell
me what happened.”

“I
don’t know. I don’t know what happened — I’d
gone out for dinner, and when I came back there was — broken
glass and arms and heads and all my pretty ballerinas torn to pieces
and everyone,
everyone
gone, all my friends dead — ”

“Harrison.
What do you want me to do?”

“You
did this. You did this.”

“No.
I was meeting with a client. Bidder number G6-336. All evening, the
meeting was registered. You can check if you don’t believe me.”

“But
— ”

“So
I think we’re done here. If it’s sympathy you’re
looking for, call someone else.”

“But
what am I going to
do?”

“Start
over.”

“I
— I could never — ”

“You
can. You will, I know you will. You loved having the biggest and best
collection of animates on the west coast. You’re not giving
that up. I know you.”

“I
— all my friends — ”

“You
can start over. And I’ll help you. I’m your best buyer,
you always said so. We can do this.”