The Forever Man (W.A.R.P. 3)

‘Apologize to Mister Pointer,’ said Riley. ‘The sun has set and we are none the wiser.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ said Isles. ‘I’m sorry, partner. Can you fill us in now?’

‘I can,’ said Pointer. ‘But only because time is of the essence and not because I thought for a second that your apology was sincere.’

‘Chevie yet lives?’ asked Riley. This was after all the most vital piece of information.

‘Alive and kicking,’ said Pointer, but he frowned as he said it.

‘And yet?’ prompted Riley.

‘Well, she ain’t exactly swimming in gravy, know what I mean? She ain’t exactly quaffing champagne with the president.’

Isles took the binoculars and trained them on the wall, searching for a gap in the line. ‘Yeah, we kinda guessed that, Donnie. What is she doing exactly?’

‘She’s hanging in there, either crying or trying not to cry. Mostly keeping it together, to give her credit.’

‘On the stake?’ asked Riley. ‘Where they will burn her?’

Pointer wiggled closer to them for warmth. ‘Oh no. They ain’t burning her. That’s off the cards.’

Riley felt as though he might sink through the cracks in the planking from sheer relief. ‘Thank heaven. Thank providence. And thank you, Agent Pointer. That is surely the most excellent of news.’

‘Don’t thank me, kid. They ain’t burning her. It’s much worse than that.’

‘Worse?’ said Riley, thinking perhaps the dog was toying with him, but then he remembered that Albert Garrick was involved and knew that if there was a worse fate than being burned alive then he would be the devil to find it. ‘Tell me, Agent. I beg you.’

Pointer took a deep breath. ‘I crept in through a drain, which is why I might be a bit on the stinky side – but, hey, I gotta hide my aura or whatever it is Garrick can see. You know, if we ever get that creep in custody, I’m gonna be asking some tough questions.’

‘I don’t think custody is an option with this guy,’ said Isles. ‘It’s us or him, the way I see it. And by us I mean the rest of the planet.’

‘But what of Chevron?’ Riley insisted. ‘What news?’

‘So, in I go,’ continued Pointer, ‘all stealthy. I’m like a goddamn ghost, if I say so myself. And I creep towards the square, which I can find in my sleep since that’s where they restrain good old town drunk Fairbrother Isles when he’s had a few tankards.’

‘I have always appreciated the concern,’ said Isles drily.

‘So Chevie is up there on the stake thing – pole or whatever. And they got her surrounded. Every man jack in the militia is in the ring, all armed up the wazoo with pistols and pikes. But these guys look shook. All jittery and anxious, like something is up. So I trot in for a pet, which I am prepared to tolerate in the name of information. And I hear this kid in an old Roundhead helmet talking about the Devil’s Brew and how this is the plan for Chevie.’

‘So not burning?’

‘They got that on standby apparently, but the primary weapon is this Devil’s Brew. The kid is talking about it and he’s shaking, like big time. His sword is rattling in his belt. It’s un-Christian, he says, to pour molten silver down a girl’s gullet even if she is a witch.’

These words, spoken so casually, may well have signalled the end of Riley’s world. Pour molten silver down a girl’s gullet.

He could not stand it. He would not. And in that second all fear vanished from Riley’s mind and was replaced by a hard determination rare in one so young. He would rescue Chevie, and if he could not rescue her he would ensure that she never drank the Devil’s Brew.

It was unbearable, the very notion, and Riley’s body acted almost independently of his mind, tensing to rise. Indeed, he would have risen and leaped from the platform, and possibly sprained one or both ankles and been of no use to man, woman or beast, had not Isles placed a large flat hand on his back.

‘Dial it down, kid. We gotta consider this development.’

‘Development, says you?’ spluttered Riley. ‘A development, is it? That devil plans to pour molten silver down the neck of my …’

And even now he could not say it.

Say what?

Beloved, was that it?

Perhaps. He knew they could be happy. The tunnel had shown him a vision of happiness and it had been so clear that he wanted to cry.

Isles patted his back and the huge hand felt like a shovel. ‘I know, kid. You guys are sweet on each other. Even a mutt like Pointer can see that. But I gotta check in with the professor. See what he makes of this Devil’s Brew thing.’

Riley held himself still with some difficulty while Isles fished a radio from his duffel and keyed the talk button.

‘Prof,’ he said, ‘you there? We got some intel. Sounds medieval but there could be some science to it.’

Smart’s voice came out of a crackling wash. ‘Right here, Agent. What has Agent Pointer learned?’

‘Garrick has changed his plan. No more silver cannonballs. Now it’s molten silver inside the girl.’

The radio crackled while Smart pondered, then he said, ‘This Garrick is more than a mere Luddite. He has calculated, perhaps correctly, that the rift would reject silver, even at those speeds, so he means to cloak it using Chevron’s own body. No doubt he plans to activate the Timekey at the moment before death, hoping that the combination of key and foam in Chevie’s own DNA will flummox the inter-dimension’s natural aversion to silver. This plan is much better thought out than the last one. All credit to Mister Garrick.’

‘All credit to Garrick,’ said Riley. ‘By all means, let us heap praise upon the devil who would first cleanse the world and then rule the ruins.’

Smart sighed and through the small speaker the noise set Riley’s teeth on edge.

‘I was merely making an observation, Riley. The man is a formidable adversary and will at the least be the death of one of us and at the most be the death of us all.’

‘So what should we do, Prof?’ asked Isles. ‘Back to base, you reckon? I think the plan needs a bit of a rethink.’

Smart’s reply was sharp and immediate. ‘No. The plan is sound. All that has changed is the manner of Miss Savano’s planned execution. We must still assume that Garrick will execute his plan at the darkest point of the night when the solar radiation is at its weakest, and the draw of the inter-dimension is strong enough to overcome its repulsion to the silver inside Chevie’s person. If his plan succeeds, then this world is going to be a lonely place. It’s possible that Agent Pointer would survive, and myself, but you will die, Fairbrother, and Riley too, and the world will be overrun by abominations.’

‘Thanks for that,’ grunted Pointer, scratching the planking with his claws. ‘So Pointer is an abomination now.’

‘So we go in?’ said Isles.

‘As soon as possible,’ confirmed Smart. ‘I hate to say it, but the entire team is expendable in this instance. Everything depends on saving Agent Savano.’

Riley shrugged off Isles’s hand. ‘At last we are in agreement.’

Isles switched off the communicator. ‘A lot of interference for such a short distance. I guess it would work better if the professor actually needed a radio at his end.’ He pocketed the device. ‘I guess we’re going in. How’s our breach point looking?’

Pointer’s low growl could have been a chuckle. ‘How’s it looking, Fender? It’s looking like a latrine, because that’s more or less what it is, and I can guarantee you ain’t gonna like it. Neither of you.’

‘This is not the moment for levity surely,’ objected Riley, who felt that the canine agent needed to apply himself to the task with a touch more gravitas.

‘Oh, it ain’t his fault, kid,’ said Isles. ‘That’s the dog genes.’

‘It’s true,’ said Pointer. ‘The big questions don’t mean a lot to me any more. Dying, the afterlife and faith don’t even make the needle flicker. It all takes a back seat to beef and sunshine.’

Beef and sunshine, thought Riley. What a luxury to think about those everyday things. Abominations and inter-dimensions, that’s what I get to think about.