Rydell remembered being taught how you had to use something anything if someone was coming after you with a knife and you were unarmed. If nothing else you were supposed to take off your jacket and
roll it around your hands and wrists to protect them Now he imagined using the projector, in its bag, as a sort of shield, to ward off the knife he’d just seen, and the hopelessness of the idea actually struck him as funny.
“Why did you smile?” the man asked.
Rydell stopped smiling I don t think I could explain he said ‘Who are you~ ALL TOMORROW S PARTIES 197 “I can’t tell you that,” the man said.
“I’m Berry Rydell,” Rydell said. “You saved my ass back there.”
“But not your torso, I think.”
“He might’ve killed me.”
“No,” the man said, “he wouldn’t have killed you. He would have rendered you helpless, taken you to a private location, and tortured you to extract information. Then he would have killed you.”
“Well,” Rydell said, uneasy with the matter-of-factness here, “thanks.”
“You are welcome,” said the man, with great gravity and not the least hint of irony.
“Well,” Rydell said, “why did you do that, take him out?”
“Because it was necessary, to complete the movement.”
“I don’t get it,” said Rydell.
“It was necessary,” the man said. “There are a number of these men seeking you tonight. I’m uncertain of how many. They are mercenaries.”
“Did you kill someone else, back there, last night? Where those patches of dried blood and Kil’Z are?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“And I’m safer with you than I am with these guys you say are mercs?”
“I think so, yes,” the man said, frowning, as though he took the question very seriously.
“You kill anybody else in the past forty-eight hours?”
“No,” said the man, “I did not.”
“Well,” Rydell said, “I guess I’m with you. I’m sure not going to try to fight you.”
“That is wise,” the man said.
“And I don’t think I could run fast enough, or very far, with this rib.”
“That is true.”
“So what do we do?” Rydell shrugged, instantly regretting it, his face contorting in a grimace of pain.
“We will leave the bridge,” the man said, “and seek medical aid for your injury. I myself have a thorough working knowledge of anatomy, should it prove necessary.” 198 “Unh, thanks,” Rydell managed. “If [could just buy some four-inch tape and some analgesic plasters at that Lucky Dragon, I could probably make do.” He looked around, wondering when he’d next see or be seen by the one with the scarf. He had a feeling the scarf was the one he’d really have to watch out for; he couldn’t say why. “What if those mercs scope us leaving?”
“Don’t anticipate outcome,” the man said. “Await the unfolding of events. Remain in the moment.”
In the moment, Rydell decided he knew for a fact his ass was lost. Just plain lost.
199 I G6B1346
RA *AF 1fl153 The 6B denoting a particular grade of movement, degree of accuracy, he knows, though the 346 is a mystery. The broad arrow, central, the Queen’s mark, her property. 53 the year of issue, but 172? Could the boy somehow pry knowledge from these numbers, if the question could be put to him? Somewhere out there, Fontaine knows, every last 49. RADON SHADOW
FONTAINE finds the boy an old camping pad, left here by his children perhaps, and lays him back on this, still snoring. Removing the heavy eyephones he sees how the boy sleeps with his eyes half-open, showing the white; imagines watches ticking past, there, one after another. He covers him with an old sleeping bag whose faded flannel liner depicts mountains and bears, then takes his miso back to the counter to think.
There is a faint vibration now, though whether of the shop’s flimsy fabric, the bones of the bridge, or the underlying plates of the earth he cannot tell: but small sounds come from the shelves and cabinets as tiny survivors of the past register this new motion. A lead soldier, on one shelf, topples forward with a definitive clack, and Fontaine makes a mental note to buy more museum wax, a sticky substance meant to prevent this.