That is part of your prison, Jack, believing that meeting the needs of others will somehow restore the unmet need of the boy in the window.
That was too much to process. “Then what do I do?”
You have to make your spirit right.
I crept forward, still clutching my wrist. “How do I do that?”
You must begin to forgive those who’ve abandoned you.As soon as she’d said it, I knew she was right. “What if I can’t?”
Then we are lost.
“I’ll try?—”
The Ward jolted as if struck. Dirt rained down from her.
“What’s happening?” I peered around the grotto. “Are you okay?”
We are under attack. Modern Stratum. Tin Pan Alley. Help us.
She crumbled to the ground, silt and dust rising in eddies around me. “What is it?” Church hollered from the far wall.
“The ward’s being attacked. Modern Stratum. We have to go.”
Church rushed up the grotto steps. A few moments later he returned with Cassius, Lady, and Chuey, who was carrying his bat. Church crossed to the corner and pressed a rounded rock near the Abyssal Steps. A section of the wall receded and slid left, revealing a large, well-lit weapons closet.
“Jack,” said Church, “your new khopesh is thanaturgic steel, far better than anything we have here. But Chuey, you won’t be very effective in the Strata with just a bat. Quick, choose a weapon.”
“This might have come in handy sooner,” I said.
“Perhaps,” Church agreed, “but it wasn’t something I could share until the Horse belonged to you.”
“No catalysts?” I asked.
“There’s a catalyst closet, too,” said Church, “but only Henry had keys. You’ll need to get to a catalyst market as soon as you can. For now, Henry’s penchant as a collector is our good fortune.”
The case held Japanese kakute, spiked rings; an Italian boarding sword, its one edge deeply serrated; a Zulfiqar scimitar; and a dozen more. Chuey pulled down an Aztec macuahuitl, a large paddle whose edges had been fitted with sharpened obsidian. A skull with inlaid turquoise eyes had been carved into the flat side.
“I once told Henry about the storiesmi abuelaused to tell me about the macuahuitl.” Chuey held it up and gazed at it. “You think Henry knew someday I’d need one?”
It certainly seemed Henry had been planning ahead.
I shrugged at Chuey’s question. “Listen, man, you’ve got no reflection thread, so up here in our world you see things the waythanatists want you to see them. But this Enigma Covenant thing only applies to our world.”
Chuey hefted his macuahuitl. “So, down in this Strata place, I’m gonna finally get to see this stuff for what it really is.”
“It can feel strange.”
He grinned. “I’ll watch for celebrities.”
I grabbed a sheath for my khopesh from the weapons closet and tucked it into my jeans at the small of my back. “Let’s go.”
My friends all drew their weapons. I lit my Zippo, and traced the Who word-lock on the door to the Abyssal Steps. Then, together, we all started down toward Tin Pan Alley.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Music is not only a source of pleasure, but can also be an elegant tool for ensuring that the masses desire their own domination.
—Excerpt of a letter from Muster Brach to the Strata secretary of Athens, Greece
