The Good, The Bad, And The Uncanny Part 3

Up ahead, the other h.e.l.l's Neanderthals had turned themselves around and were now roaring back, weaving in and out of the approaching traffic while waving their various weapons in the air. Ms. Fate opened up with the forward-mounted machine-guns and mowed them down. The night was full of the sounds of gunfire, and the road was full of blazing motor-bikes and dead Neanderthals. Eventually, Ms. Fate ran out of targets, so she shut the guns down and cruised on in quiet satisfaction.

"What depressingly stupid creatures," she said, after a while.

"Evolution is wasted on some people," Screech said solemnly.

"Oh ... s.h.i.+t," said Ms. Fate.

"What? What?" I said.

I looked back again; even more h.e.l.l's Neanderthals were coming. Walker must have press-ganged every rogue Neanderthal in the Nightside. I counted forty before I gave up, and more were joining the chase all the time. I was beginning to grow somewhat annoyed with Walker. Time to show him what I could do when I really got annoyed and put my mind to it. I concentrated, firing up my special gift. My inner eye slowly opened, my third eye, my private eye; and my gift made clear to me all the things that could go wrong with a motorcycle. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to reach out, find what was nearly wrong with each motorcycle, and push them all over the edge.

Some bikes crashed, some exploded, and quite a few went up in b.a.l.l.s of flame, burning fiercely bright against the night. Neanderthal bikers were thrown through the air, roasted with their machines, or blown apart into scattered pieces quickly churned up by the pa.s.sing traffic. In a few moments the whole pack was gone, nothing left behind but bits and pieces of wrecked machines and ruined riders. I sank back into my seat, closing my eyes. Using my gift so widely really took it out of me.

"Hardcore, John," said Ms. Fate. I couldn't tell from her voice whether she approved or not, and I didn't feel like looking at her.

"Turn the music down," I said. "I've got a headache."

I don't like to use my ability too often. It takes a mental and a physical toll, and sometimes a spiritual one, too. I don't like to think of myself as a killer, just a man who does what's necessary, and I only ever act in self-defence ... But sometimes the Nightside doesn't care what you want. And so you do what you have to, and live with it afterwards as best you can.

I don't like to use my gift too often because the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long; and I do blaze so very brightly when I send my mind out, into the night. I can't use it too often without killing myself by inches. And I have relied on my gift so very often these past few years. There are days when it feels like I'm only held together with duct tape and will-power.

But some days you don't have a choice. Ms. Fate needed directions, and I was way past the point where I could do it from memory. So I fired up my gift again and sent my mind soaring up out of my body, to look down upon the Nightside from above, and See the whole dirty mess stretched out below me. Walker's roadblocks and barricades showed clearly in the night, and I sent Ms. Fate running this way and that to avoid them. We were making progress, but the Osterman Gate was still a long way off.

My head ached abominably, and my chest felt like it was full of razor blades. There was blood in my mouth, filling faster than I could spit it into a handkerchief. More blood dripped from my nose and seeped out from under my eyelids. It was getting hard to think clearly. I shut down my Sight, closed my inner eye, and slumped in my seat. I knew better than to push myself so hard, but the job decides what's necessary, not me.

Whatever Lord Screech had to tell me, it had better be worth it. Or I would drag his nasty a.r.s.e right back to Walker and dump him at his feet.

Ms. Fate was darting glances at me, clearly concerned, but she knew better than to say anything. She understood the price we have to pay to be the kind of people we have chosen to be. (I saw him naked once, in a sauna. He had scar tissue like you wouldn't believe.) If Lord Screech was aware of what his precious mission was doing to me, he kept it to himself. He just looked out the windows, admiring the scenery and smiling happily to himself, occasionally singing along to the music in the car. Figures he'd like Amy Winehouse.

I was half dozing when I suddenly realised we were slowing, and my head snapped up as we eased to a halt. Ms. Fate was leaning forward, peering over the steering wheel at the road ahead. I sat up straight and looked, too, but I couldn't see anything immediately threatening.

"What is it?" said Screech. "Why have we stopped?"

"It's the traffic," said Ms. Fate. "Where's it all gone?"

She had a point. We were on a minor road, in a distinctly shabby area, but even so, there should have been more than the mere trickle of cars slipping past us. The pavements were empty, too, hardly a tourist or a punter to be seen anywhere. When this happens in the Nightside, it can mean only one thing. Something really bad is about to occur, and people with any sense have removed themselves from the vicinity until it's all safely over.

"It's Walker," I said. "He must have shut down the side streets to block us in."

"What do we do?" said Screech.

"Get ready," I said. "Something's coming."

The werewolves came out of nowhere, dozens of them, streaming out of the side streets, racing down the main road, bursting out of the clubs and bars on either side of us. Huge, b.e.s.t.i.a.l shapes, with long, hairy bodies that were still vaguely, disturbingly, human. Muzzles full of teeth, and hands and feet tipped with vicious claws. Inhuman muscles bulged along their lupine frames. They were ahead and behind and all around us even as I realised what was happening. The first ones to reach us swarmed all over the Fatemobile, and it shook and juddered under their weight.

"Move move move!" I yelled, and Ms. Fate put the hammer down. The Fatemobile squealed off down the road, accelerating wildly. Some of the wolves fell off, but others clung to the roof, sinking their claws deep into the metal to hold them in place. The rest of the pack came running after us, inhuman strength driving their speed well past natural limits. The Fatemobile went faster, and so did they. Claw tips punched through the roof above me, as the werewolves fought to gain enough purchase to rip the roof open like a tin can and get at the meat inside. Ms. Fate yelled something entirely unladylike at them, and sent the Fatemobile swerving dangerously back and forth, trying to shake them off. They clung on, pounding their great fists on the metal, howling the joy of the hunt to the oversized Moon above. I yelled, and Ms. Fate put the hammer down. The Fatemobile squealed off down the road, accelerating wildly. Some of the wolves fell off, but others clung to the roof, sinking their claws deep into the metal to hold them in place. The rest of the pack came running after us, inhuman strength driving their speed well past natural limits. The Fatemobile went faster, and so did they. Claw tips punched through the roof above me, as the werewolves fought to gain enough purchase to rip the roof open like a tin can and get at the meat inside. Ms. Fate yelled something entirely unladylike at them, and sent the Fatemobile swerving dangerously back and forth, trying to shake them off. They clung on, pounding their great fists on the metal, howling the joy of the hunt to the oversized Moon above.

More werewolves were running along beside us, easily matching our speed, occasionally reaching out mockingly to trail their claws down the side of the car. That made a sound like screeching, like screaming. The whole pack caught up with us in a few moments, surrounding the car and forcing us to drive in a straight line.

The werewolves stuck close to the car, sometimes leaping right over it in the sheer joy of the chase. Dark red tongues lolled from elongated muzzles, and great toothy grins showed on every side. They could have stopped us anytime, but wolves live for the chase. They were playing with us now, and we all knew it. One jumped up onto the front bonnet, sat down on the pink metal, and laughed soundlessly at us. Ms. Fate slammed on the brakes, and he rolled suddenly backwards, somersaulting twice before falling off the front of the car and being crushed under the weight of the on-coming Fatemobile. I looked out the back mirror, just in time to see him rise, and pull his broken body back together, and come running after us again.

"Do you have any silver bullets for your guns?" I asked Ms. Fate.

She shook her head quickly. "Maybe a dozen silver shuriken left in my belt. Don't suppose you've got a silver dagger?"

"Not on me," I said.

"Don't even ask," said Screech.

A whole bunch of werewolves threw themselves in front of the Fatemobile, and we screeched to a halt as they grabbed the front wheels and the undercarriage, forcing the car to a stop. The pack was running in circles around us by then, jumping and leaping and howling beneath the huge Moon. Long, jagged rents appeared in the car's roof as the wolves above us went to work. One wolf reared up beside Lord Screech, and punched the side window. The reinforced gla.s.s shattered, leaving a jagged hole through which a huge hairy hand came clawing, reaching for the elf, who calmly grabbed the hairy arm with both his slender hands, and broke the arm in three places with quick, efficient moves. The werewolf yelped piteously, and s.n.a.t.c.hed its arm back. Screech kicked the side-door open and left the car so quickly he was little more than a blur. He grabbed the nearest werewolf, lifted it off the ground and turned it over, and broke its back across his knee. He threw the broken body aside, tore out another wolf's throat with his bare hand, then grabbed another and used it as a club to beat other wolves.

He was hurting them, but he wasn't killing them. They healed almost immediately and came at him again. And the moment he slowed down, they would be all over him.

A werewolf hauled open the driver's seat so quickly he ripped it right off its hinges. Ms. Fate's hand snapped forward, and a silver shuriken sprouted suddenly from the wolf's left eye. He howled horribly and fell backwards, turning half-human again as the pain maddened his mind and he lost control. Ms. Fate stepped quickly out of the car, a shuriken in each hand, and dared the werewolves to come to her. They prowled back and forth before her, showing her their teeth, wary of the silver; waiting for her to drop her guard for just one moment.

A wolf pulled open the door next to me, hauled me right out of my seat, and threw me into the road. I curled up instinctively and hit the ground rolling, but the impact was still enough to knock the breath right out of me. The werewolf loomed over me, snapping its long jaws mockingly. Up close, it smelled really bad, a harsh, rank mixture of musk and blood and wet dog. And then it must have got something of my scent, because it hesitated, and lowered its wedge-shaped head for another sniff. Because of circ.u.mstances not easily explained, I have some diluted werewolf blood in me. Not enough to make me were, but enough to accelerate the healing process. The werewolf could smell it on me; and while he was trying to figure that out, I punched him in the throat, hard enough to feel cartilage crack and break under my knuckles. The werewolf fell back, fighting frantically for breath as it scrabbled helplessly on the ground. I rose painfully to my feet and kicked him hard in the b.a.l.l.s and in the head, to give him something else to think about.

I looked about me. Werewolves were swarming all over the Fatemobile, tearing bits off it and p.i.s.sing on the roof, but the reinforced armoured frame was still keeping them out. One of the tail fins had been bent right over, and long runnels of pink paint had been torn away all down one side. One wolf grabbed at the silver figure on the radiator, then howled miserably as his hand caught fire.

Ms. Fate was still spinning and kicking and las.h.i.+ng out with the silver shuriken in her hands, but she was getting tired, and the werewolves surrounding her weren't. Screech danced and pirouetted gracefully through the heart of the mayhem, but for every wolf his elven strength put down, more rose up to take its place. He was strong and he was magical; but he wasn't silver. Ms. Fate and Lord Screech were fighting well and fiercely, but the odds were stacked against them.

Which meant, as usual, that it was all down to me.

People say that werewolves only fear silver, but that's not strictly true. There's one thing they fear even more, because it rules their lives. I concentrated again, raised my gift, and reached out to the oversized Moon that hangs over the Nightside. It took me only a moment to find the right ultraviolet frequency in the moonlight and change it subtly; and just like that, the whole d.a.m.ned pack howled and shrieked as the change raged through them, stripping them of tooth and claw and fur ... and suddenly the street was full of naked men and women, running for their lives. Except for those who didn't react fast enough and got the c.r.a.p kicked out of them by Ms. Fate and Lord Screech.

They soon ran out of victims and returned to the car. Ms. Fate wept bitter tears of rage and frustration as she saw what had been done to her beloved Fatemobile.

"Look what they've done to my precious! One door gone, windows smashed, the paint-work ruined ... b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! I'll have their hides for this!"

"Bad doggies," I said tiredly, and slid slowly back into my shotgun seat. Ms. Fate and Screech looked at me, then at each other, and got back into the car without saying anything. For all the damage it had taken, the Fatemobile started up the first time, and we roared off down the empty street.

We caught up with a few fleeing naked figures, and Ms. Fate made a point of swerving to run them down.

I dozed some more, half dreaming, as the car made its way steadily through half-deserted streets. Apparently our reputation preceded us. I woke up only when we eased to a halt again. I looked around quickly, but the quiet side street was entirely free of Neanderthals, werewolves, or anything else obviously dangerous. Ms. Fate tapped her fingertips thoughtfully on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. She seemed to be considering something. She turned to look at me, then stopped, and clucked in a motherly way. She produced a tissue from her utility belt and mopped some of the blood from my face.

"You look like s.h.i.+t, John," she said. "This isn't doing you any good. Tell me it's not as bad as it looks."

"It's not as bad as it looks," I said.

"Very good! Now try saying it like you mean it. I never knew using your gift screwed you up this badly."

"It's not something I advertise," I said.

"Should I call Suzie Shooter?"

"Don't you dare! She'd turn this whole area into a blood-bath." I looked around me. "Where are we, exactly?"

"I was wondering that," said Screech, from the back seat. "I am in a bit of a hurry, you know."

"If he says, Are we there yet? Are we there yet? feel free to hit him with something large and spiky," I said. "Why have we stopped again?" feel free to hit him with something large and spiky," I said. "Why have we stopped again?"

"Because we've come to the edge of a different territory," said Ms. Fate. "This whole area is currently under the rule of a new Mr. Big, name of Dr. Fell. If we try to cross without advance permission, we'll have to fight our way through his army as well as Walker's."

I scowled, struggling to concentrate. My head was pounding. "I didn't think there were any Mr. Bigs left, after the Walking Man paid his grand visit to the Boys Club. I thought he wiped them all out."

"Not everyone was there that night," said Ms. Fate. "The few that survived the Walking Man ma.s.sacre wasted no time in taking over the old territories and expanding their influence. Dr. Fell is still very much alive and running this whole area like his own private kingdom. I'm surprised Walker hasn't sent someone around to slap him down."

"Walker has always believed in dealing with the devil you know," I said tiredly. "Sometimes literally ... As long as this Dr. Fell sticks to his own territory and doesn't make waves, Walker will do business with him." I frowned. "Dr. Fell ... The name rings a bell, but I can't place him. Was a time I knew all the major sc.u.mbags in town ... Talk to me, Ms. Fate. Tell me things."

"He wasn't really anyone, until the Walking Man wiped out most of the compet.i.tion," said Ms. Fate. "Just one more freak with a nasty gift and an itch for power. No-one seems to know who or what he was before he came to the Nightside, but since he came to power here, he's made a name for himself for ruthless efficiency, money laundering on a grand scale, and general weirdness. They say he can See through the eyes of all those who work for him, so he always knows what's going on throughout his territory. All the lesser sc.u.mbags pay tribute to him, to be allowed to operate here. And anyone who pa.s.ses through has to pay a toll to him personally. Now, I could just put my foot down, drive like the devil, and hope he's got nothing fast enough to catch us ... but there are stories. And I don't think me or my lovely car are in any condition to fight a running battle if it all goes wrong. It might be ... expedient just to stroll into his presence, give him the money, and avoid a lot of unpleasantness."

"This Dr. Fell worries you," I said. "What makes him so different?"

"Dr. Fell is seriously weird," said Ms. Fate. "Even for the Nightside. I would have taken him down myself, just on general principles ... but there is that whole private-army thing he's got going. A girl should know her limitations."

"I don't pay tolls," I said. "Normally. But I think you've got the right of it. None of us are in any shape to fight off armies. So, we go in politely, act diplomatically, and see if we can sweet-talk the sc.u.mbag. Screech, you'd better stay in the car."

"I am deeply hurt by your insinuation," said the elf. "I can be diplomatic if I have to be. I am an emissary, after all."

"All right, you can come in with us," I said. "But don't kill anybody. don't kill anybody. Unless I start something first." Unless I start something first."

"Well, really," said Screech. "What do you think I am, a barbarian?"

"No," I said. "You're an elf. Which is worse." I looked at Ms. Fate. "Same to you, only less so. I've no doubt we're going to see some distressing things in Dr. Fell's court, but patience and dignity at all times. We can always go back and give him a good a.r.s.e kicking some other time."

"I have had ... disagreements with some of Dr. Fell's people, in the past," Ms. Fate said carefully. "Really quite vicious and b.l.o.o.d.y disagreements, on occasion."

"Oh, this is going to go really well," I said.

We drove a short distance until we came to what was obviously Dr. Fell's place of power. We all got out of the Fatemobile, and I took a long thoughtful look at it while Ms. Fate activated what was left of the car's security systems. From the outside, Dr. Fell's court looked like just another shabby night-club, with boarded-up windows and a really quite understated neon sign-The Penitent. The whole place could have used a lick of paint and quite possibly a teta.n.u.s injection. The only signs of life were the bouncers outside the firmly closed front doors, two huge golems in oversized tuxedos. They looked very professional and quite staggeringly dangerous. The only sure way to take down a stone golem is with a road drill. The whole place could have used a lick of paint and quite possibly a teta.n.u.s injection. The only signs of life were the bouncers outside the firmly closed front doors, two huge golems in oversized tuxedos. They looked very professional and quite staggeringly dangerous. The only sure way to take down a stone golem is with a road drill.

The fresh air had revived me, or the werewolf blood in me was kicking in, and I actually felt half-way human as I headed for the club entrance. I was in the mood to spoil someone's day, and the bouncers would do as well as anyone. Their heads turned slowly in unison, accompanied by low, grinding sounds. I nodded to them briskly, and they stared silently back with their empty stone faces.

"John Taylor and friends, here to speak with Dr. Fell," I said. "And don't give me any c.r.a.p about appointments or I'll make you targets for every pigeon in the Nightside."

"There aren't any pigeons in the Nightside, John," said Ms. Fate. "Something eats them."

"Yes," I said patiently, "I knew that, but very probably they didn't, until you told them. Now I have to come up with a whole new threat."

"Ah," said Ms. Fate. "Shutting up now."

"You're not on the list," the stone golems said in unison, in low, grating voices.

"I rarely am," I said. "But I think you'll find Dr. Fell will want to see me anyway."

The two blocky heads turned slowly to look at each other; there was a silent conference, then two empty faces ground back to look at me.

"Go right in," they said together. "Dr. Fell will have words with you, and your friends."

"Wonderful," Ms. Fate said brightly. "Doesn't sound at all intimidating."

Lord Screech sniffed loudly, stepped forward, and thrust a single long finger deep into the blank stone face of the nearest golem. With a few quick gestures, he etched long, sweeping furrows into the stone, giving the golem a nice happy face. He gave the other golem a sad face, then stepped back to regard his handiwork. He nodded, satisfied.

"Never take sa.s.s from the hired help."

"Can't take you anywhere," I said.

"Dr. Fell really isn't going to like that," said Ms. Fate.

"Good," I said. "Now, when we get in there, stick close to me, don't pee in the potted plants, and act civilised. If anyone's going to start anything, it's going to be me, and I really don't like to be upstaged."

I led the way forward, and the dull grey entrance doors slowly swung open before us. Above the doors, the neon sign had changed to read Suffer for Your Sins. Suffer for Your Sins. Nice touch, I thought. Beyond the entrance doors lay a spa.r.s.e and spartan lobby with cracked plaster walls and a grubby wooden floor. On the far side of the lobby was another set of double doors, apparently made of solid bra.s.s. I walked right up to them, but they didn't open on their own. I gave them an experimental push, and they swung slowly backwards, a few inches at a time, their hidden counterweights utterly silent. A bright light flared in the widening gap between, too painful to look at directly. I couldn't see a thing through it, so I waited for the gap to widen enough, then marched forward with all the confidence in the world. And a complete willingness to look down my nose at anyone who wasn't actually a member of a major pantheon. Nice touch, I thought. Beyond the entrance doors lay a spa.r.s.e and spartan lobby with cracked plaster walls and a grubby wooden floor. On the far side of the lobby was another set of double doors, apparently made of solid bra.s.s. I walked right up to them, but they didn't open on their own. I gave them an experimental push, and they swung slowly backwards, a few inches at a time, their hidden counterweights utterly silent. A bright light flared in the widening gap between, too painful to look at directly. I couldn't see a thing through it, so I waited for the gap to widen enough, then marched forward with all the confidence in the world. And a complete willingness to look down my nose at anyone who wasn't actually a member of a major pantheon.

Ms. Fate strode proudly beside me, like the renowned crime-fighter she was, and Lord Screech ... was Lord Screech.

The moment we pa.s.sed through the doors, the light sank back to a bearable level, and Dr. Fell's curious court was revealed before us. It looked like a circus, seen from the other side. A dark carousel of strange delights and twisted grotesques, candy-coloured clowns with painted-on leers, and malformed supermodels with a strange, wounded glamour. Cold-faced men in smart leisure suits sat stiffly in oversized chairs, surrounded by pretty boys and hard-faced girls in all the more extreme fas.h.i.+ons of decades past. All of this was set against a selection of colour schemes that were shockingly bright and almost painfully clas.h.i.+ng.

There was no music, no background entertainment; only a constant buzz of whispered conversation.

Every face turned to look at us, but though the whispers continued, no-one had anything to say to us. They looked us over with blank, expressionless faces, staring like so many dead people, as though all the life and pa.s.sion and independence had been beaten or intimidated out of everyone present. Many of them held champagne gla.s.ses in their hands, but no-one seemed to be drinking. They all looked like they'd been standing in Dr. Fell's court forever and might stand there forever more. They weren't his courtiers, or his acolytes, or even his army; they were his, to do with as he would.

Here and there, light flared up suddenly in this pair of eyes or that, and I remembered that Dr. Fell was supposed to be able to See through them. So I smiled cheerfully about me, determined to give him a good show. I heard the heavy bra.s.s doors close behind me, but I didn't look back.

Ms. Fate struck a super-heroine pose at my side, her leather fists resting on her black-clad hips, just above the utility belt. Her dark cloak swirled slowly, dramatically, about her. It was a tribute to her reputation and her sheer presence that she didn't look in any way camp or amusing. The dried werewolf blood spattered across her leathers probably helped. Lord Screech struck a carelessly elegant pose on my other side, his bored expression suggesting he was slumming just by being there, and everyone present should feel honoured that he had deigned to stop off on his way to somewhere far more interesting. Typical elf, in other words.

And I ... stood straight and tall in my white trench coat, and let everyone get a good look at me. I was John Taylor, and that should be enough for anyone.

Dr. Fell's foot-soldiers bothered me. I'd spotted them right away. Every crime boss and Mr. Big had them; young men with a lean and hungry look, eager to advance in the organisation by demonstrating just how much more vicious and extreme they were than their colleagues. Attack dogs, with good suits that couldn't quite hide the bulges of holstered guns and other weapons. There were quite a few of them, lined up casually in the crowd between me and their boss. Nothing I hadn't seen before, and even wiped the floor with on occasion ... but these were different. It was in their eyes ... He was in their eyes.

Supermodel types moved listlessly through the packed crowd, sporting garish little numbers and strangely styled gowns, offering trays of drinks and nibbles and the very latest chemical delights. They were all pretty as a picture, criss-crossing the room in simple patterns, moving in perfect unison, like flocking birds. They smiled widely, all the time, the only smiles in that place of whispers and staring eyes; but smiles too perfect and unwavering to be real. Sometimes guests would reach out to caress or slap their perfect bodies, and sometimes a girl would be pulled down to sit on someone's lap, and the smiles looked even more unreal.

This was Dr. Fell's carnival court, just so many living dolls for him to play with.

The man himself sat above them all, on the traditional raised dais, posed stiffly on a chair fas.h.i.+oned from human bones bound together with strips of mummified human muscle and tendon. Supplied, no doubt, by his many deceased victims. In a faded mourning suit, Dr. Fell was a tall, thin presence, with dull grey skin and a hideously mutilated face. Half a dozen naked women stood in a semicircle behind his hideous chair, all of them malformed or abnormal in various unpleasant ways. Missing parts, twisted limbs, gouged-out eyes. You only had to look at them to know they'd been made, not born, that way. They were the way they were because it amused Dr. Fell that they should be. Some of them held knives, some held guns, and some held nasty-looking magical weapons. All of them possessed a strange dark glamour and a dangerous attraction. Dr. Fell's personal body-guards and a.s.sa.s.sins.

I was beginning to remember where I'd heard his name before; and I didn't think we were going to get on.

Dr. Fell had burned out his own eyes with a white-hot crucifix. Now his scorched and shrivelled eyelids were sealed together under two great cross-shaped scars. He came to the Nightside as a rogue vicar and gave up his eyes in search of a greater Vision. Whatever he Saw, it changed his allegiance completely. Rumour had it he'd looked into a mirror ... And the man who'd come here to rage against the darkness ended up embracing it. He wore a crown of thorns, pressed down hard onto his forehead, and rivulets of dried blood ran down his sunken cheeks.

All the time I was considering Dr. Fell, he studied me through the eyes of his people.

I started forward and an aisle opened up, a narrow pa.s.sage through the crowd to lead me right to Dr. Fell. Ms. Fate and Lord Screech strode along beside me, but Dr. Fell only had eyes for me. A hand reached out from the crowd to tug at Ms. Fate's cape. She punched the man out without even looking round. He made no sound as he fell, and no-one else showed any reaction. A hunchbacked girl lurched forward into the aisle, blocking our way, and we had to stop or run over her. She was bent almost in two by the gnarled ma.s.s that ran the length of her spine, clearly visible thanks to her backless dress. She raised her head as high as she could, to smile at Screech.

"You're so beautiful," she said, in a voice like a little girl's.

Screech smiled upon her. "Yes," he said. "I am. You, however, are not a natural hunchback. This was done to you. Why?"

"Because it amused Dr. Fell," she said. "There is no greater purpose, no greater reward. He looks upon us with his divine Sight, and we become what he Sees, what we truly are. He says it is only fitting that our exteriors match our interiors. He lets us be ... what we really are."