darkness. Muffled shouting erupted from it. Jack paused and took a couple of steps back.
[Can you see that, Fist?]
A couple of Sandal’s wheelie bins half-blocked the view. Beyond them, Jack could just make out sudden, violent movement. A raised hand, gripping a piece of piping, disappeared sharply downwards. A strained voice, dense with static, shouted ‘Help!’
[ Jackie, that’s a biped – no, don’t!]
Jack pushed the bins aside and threw himself into the passageway. It was so much darker than the street.
[Come back! You’ll get hurt!]
That made some stubborn part of Jack want to damage himself. But he’d have to live with the consequences too. He ran forwards. Wet concrete was slippery underfoot. Damp had corroded brickwork. Empty walls stretched up and away. There was a smell of piss. A girl and a boy – not even teenagers – were standing over a fallen biped. Violet light glowed feebly out of its head. It had pulled itself back into a doorway, curling up in a weak attempt at self-protection. One arm waved feebly. The boy pushed it aside and brought the lead piping down again. It hit the victim’s chest and sank in. The biped groaned. ‘Fucking squishy,’ said the boy. The girl kicked the prone figure. It squeezed a little further back into the door. The soft light it cast illuminated its attackers’ tired faces and exhausted clothing. Neither of them noticed Jack.
[ Well, if we must,] grumbled Fist, resigning himself to helping Jack. He hissed combat options. [ Take the boy first. Twist his throat out. The blood panics the girl, she runs.]
[ For gods’ sake. You know I won’t do that. Just manifest.]
[ What?]
[MANIFEST. Lightshow. Blow their little minds.]
A crack and a flash of light, and the two attackers turned, surprise becoming shock then fear. Jack stood there, a bright point of light hanging next to him. That point began to grow, emitting whiplash cracks of brilliance. Fist’s cage expanded into dark bands, made silhouettes by the vivid luminosity that they contained. There was one last great crackling burst, then all was silence. The cageware rings revolved slowly and deliberately. Within them hung the little figure of Fist, apparently lifeless.
Then they blurred and shimmered and vanished, and the little puppet looked up. The attackers gaped at his red-painted cheeks and lips, dead glass eyes, perfect little hairpiece and perpetual grin. His body floated beneath his carved face like an afterthought dressed in a blue-grey suit, a starched white shirt and a little red bow-tie. He clacked his mouth open and shut twice, the snap of wood on wood echoing down the alleyway. Then he roared in fury:
‘ I’LL EAT YOU ALIVE, YOU LITTLE FUCKERS !’
The two children stepped back, first slowly, then more quickly.
‘I’LL TEAR YOUR OVERLAY OFF YOU! I’LL KEEP YOU OFFWEAVE FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES!’
Now they were turning, now running. They reached the corner of the little alleyway and the boy was gone. The girl stopped and looked back.
‘Puppets don’t scare me!’ she shouted. She suddenly seemed terribly young. Another pulse of light from Fist and he was next to her. She stood there unmoving. He leant in, a dream of wood almost touching real flesh.
[ Just tell her to go, Fist. Try not to scare her too much.] Uncomprehending silence from Fist. [ Remember how young she is.]
The girl’s eyes widened, unsure of what Fist would do next. Her hand trembled up and she touched the cageware, as if to make sure it was real. It flashed, and she snapped her hand away as if it had been stung.
‘Come on!’ shouted the boy. ‘We’re done here!’
The girl was still frozen, staring at Fist.
‘He’s right,’ whispered Fist, leaning in towards her, his voice soft with barely controlled rage, ‘you really are. RUN! ’
At that she broke and was gone.
Jack was leaning over the figure in the doorway.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘They took me by surprise.’ The static that
[Can you see that, Fist?]
A couple of Sandal’s wheelie bins half-blocked the view. Beyond them, Jack could just make out sudden, violent movement. A raised hand, gripping a piece of piping, disappeared sharply downwards. A strained voice, dense with static, shouted ‘Help!’
[ Jackie, that’s a biped – no, don’t!]
Jack pushed the bins aside and threw himself into the passageway. It was so much darker than the street.
[Come back! You’ll get hurt!]
That made some stubborn part of Jack want to damage himself. But he’d have to live with the consequences too. He ran forwards. Wet concrete was slippery underfoot. Damp had corroded brickwork. Empty walls stretched up and away. There was a smell of piss. A girl and a boy – not even teenagers – were standing over a fallen biped. Violet light glowed feebly out of its head. It had pulled itself back into a doorway, curling up in a weak attempt at self-protection. One arm waved feebly. The boy pushed it aside and brought the lead piping down again. It hit the victim’s chest and sank in. The biped groaned. ‘Fucking squishy,’ said the boy. The girl kicked the prone figure. It squeezed a little further back into the door. The soft light it cast illuminated its attackers’ tired faces and exhausted clothing. Neither of them noticed Jack.
[ Well, if we must,] grumbled Fist, resigning himself to helping Jack. He hissed combat options. [ Take the boy first. Twist his throat out. The blood panics the girl, she runs.]
[ For gods’ sake. You know I won’t do that. Just manifest.]
[ What?]
[MANIFEST. Lightshow. Blow their little minds.]
A crack and a flash of light, and the two attackers turned, surprise becoming shock then fear. Jack stood there, a bright point of light hanging next to him. That point began to grow, emitting whiplash cracks of brilliance. Fist’s cage expanded into dark bands, made silhouettes by the vivid luminosity that they contained. There was one last great crackling burst, then all was silence. The cageware rings revolved slowly and deliberately. Within them hung the little figure of Fist, apparently lifeless.
Then they blurred and shimmered and vanished, and the little puppet looked up. The attackers gaped at his red-painted cheeks and lips, dead glass eyes, perfect little hairpiece and perpetual grin. His body floated beneath his carved face like an afterthought dressed in a blue-grey suit, a starched white shirt and a little red bow-tie. He clacked his mouth open and shut twice, the snap of wood on wood echoing down the alleyway. Then he roared in fury:
‘ I’LL EAT YOU ALIVE, YOU LITTLE FUCKERS !’
The two children stepped back, first slowly, then more quickly.
‘I’LL TEAR YOUR OVERLAY OFF YOU! I’LL KEEP YOU OFFWEAVE FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES!’
Now they were turning, now running. They reached the corner of the little alleyway and the boy was gone. The girl stopped and looked back.
‘Puppets don’t scare me!’ she shouted. She suddenly seemed terribly young. Another pulse of light from Fist and he was next to her. She stood there unmoving. He leant in, a dream of wood almost touching real flesh.
[ Just tell her to go, Fist. Try not to scare her too much.] Uncomprehending silence from Fist. [ Remember how young she is.]
The girl’s eyes widened, unsure of what Fist would do next. Her hand trembled up and she touched the cageware, as if to make sure it was real. It flashed, and she snapped her hand away as if it had been stung.
‘Come on!’ shouted the boy. ‘We’re done here!’
The girl was still frozen, staring at Fist.
‘He’s right,’ whispered Fist, leaning in towards her, his voice soft with barely controlled rage, ‘you really are. RUN! ’
At that she broke and was gone.
Jack was leaning over the figure in the doorway.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘They took me by surprise.’ The static that
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