Informally, without a word being spoken, they ranged themselves about the body, each an arm’s length away from the next. The atmosphere in the room was religious—deeply religious, in a way that Shadow had never previously experienced. There was no sound but the howling of the wind and the crackling of the candles.
“We are come together, here in this godless place,” said Loki, “to pass on the body of this individual to those who will dispose of it properly according to the rites. If anyone would like to say something, say it now.”
“Not me,” said Town. “I never properly met the guy. And this whole thing makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Czernobog said, “These actions will have consequences. You know that? This can only be the start of it all.”
The fat kid started to giggle, a high-pitched, girlish noise. He said, “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it.” And then, all on one note, he recited:
“Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold . . .”
And then he broke off, his brow creasing. He said “Shit. I used to know the whole thing,” and he rubbed his temples and made a face and was quiet.
And then they were all looking at Shadow. The wind was screaming now. He didn’t know what to say. He said, “This whole thing is pitiful. Half of you killed him or had a hand in his death. Now you’re giving us his body. Great. He was an irascible old fuck but I drank his mead and I’m still working for him. That’s all.”
Media said, “In a world where people die every day, I think the important thing to remember is that for each moment of sorrow we get when people leave this world there’s a corresponding moment of joy when a new baby comes into this world. That first wail is—well, it’s magic, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s a hard thing to say, but joy and sorrow are like milk and cookies. That’s how well they go together. I think we should all take a moment to meditate on that.”
And Mr. Nancy cleared his throat and said, “So. I got to say it, because nobody else here will. We are at the center of this place: a land that has no time for gods, and here at the center it has less time for us than anywhere. It is a no-man’s-land, a place of truce, and we observe our truces, here. We have no choice. So. You give us the body of our friend. We accept it. You will pay for this, murder for murder, blood for blood.”
Town said, “Whatever. You could save yourselves a lot of time and effort by going home and shooting yourselves in the heads. Cut out the middleman.”
“Fuck you,” said Czernobog. “Fuck you and fuck your mother and fuck the fucking horse you fucking rode in on. You will not even die in battle. No warrior will taste your blood. No one alive will take your life. You will die a soft, poor death. You will die with a kiss on your lips and a lie in your heart.”
“Leave it, old man,” said Town.
“The blood-dimmed tide is loose,” said the fat kid. “I think that comes next.”
The wind howled.
“Okay,” said Loki. “He’s yours. We’re done. Take the old bastard away.”
He made a gesture with his fingers, and Town, Media, and the fat kid left the room. He smiled at Shadow. “Call no man happy, huh, kid?” he said. And then he, too, walked away.
“What happens now?” asked Shadow.
“Now we wrap him up,” said Anansi. “And we take him away from here.”
They wrapped the body in the motel sheets, wrapped it well in its impromptu shroud, so there was no body to be seen, and they could carry it. The two old men walked to each end of the body, but Shadow said, “Let me see something,” and he bent his knees and slipped his arms around the white-sheeted figure, pushed him up and over his shoulder. He straightened his knees, until he was standing, more or less easily. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got him. Let’s put him into the back of the car.”
Czernobog looked as if he were about to argue, but he closed his mouth. He spat on his forefinger and thumb and began to snuff the candles between his fingertips. Shadow could hear them fizz as he walked from the darkening room.
Wednesday was heavy, but Shadow could cope, if he walked steadily. He had no choice. Wednesday’s words were in his head with every step he took along the corridor, and he could taste the sour-sweetness of mead in the back of his throat. You protect me. You transport me from place to place. You run errands. In an emergency, but only in an emergency, you hurt people who need to be hurt. In the unlikely event of my death, you will hold my vigil . . .
Mr. Nancy opened the motel lobby door for him, then hurried over and opened the back of the bus. The other four were already standing by their Humvee, watching them as if they could not wait to be off. Loki had put his driver’s cap back on. The cold wind tugged at Shadow as he walked, whipped at the sheets.
He placed Wednesday down as gently as he could in the back of the bus.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. Town stood there with his hand out. He was holding something.
“Here,” said Mr. Town, “Mister World wanted you to have this.”
It was a glass eye. There was a hairline crack down the middle of it, and a tiny chip gone from the front.
“We found it in the Masonic Hall, when we were cleaning up. Keep it for luck. God knows you’ll need it.”