Reamde

“No, nothing as big as the party we put together. There hasn’t been time. But I’d say that word is getting around that something big is happening in the Torgai. Within an hour I’d expect to see some fairly well-organized hundred-man raids homing in on him.”

“I think that’s actually a good thing,” Egdod said, after thinking about it for a while. Richard had been playing T’Rain for something like fourteen consecutive hours, and his conversational skills weren’t everything that they could be. “I think it gives him more incentive to get it done now. He’s unHidden a million bucks’ worth of gold…”

“One point one million,” Clover corrected him. “He just raked in a big score.”

“Anyway, the point is that for him to re-Hide all of it now, with so many people watching him, would be difficult. Easier to make his strike tonight.”

“So what does that mean for us? Or for you, rather, since I am about as puissant as a bacterium living in Chuck Norris’s bowels.”

“It means that the time has come.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Are you wearing headphones?”

“Yeah.”

“I suggest you take them off.”

“I WAS EXPECTING one Chinese virus-writer kid, alone,” said the man calling himself James, with a nod in Marlon’s direction. “I didn’t realize he’d have a girlfriend, and a Hungarian bodyguard with a pistol in his pocket.”

They had withdrawn to a corner of the Internet café where they could speak privately and google things. The place was filling up with mongers.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Yuxia said. “I don’t think he likes tomboys.”

“De gustibus non est disputandem,” said the man.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s a fucking idiot.”

Csongor, a bit taken aback to realize that James and Yuxia were flirting with each other, felt himself receding to the periphery of relevance.

“I like him,” Yuxia said, “like a brother. But…” and she held out her hand, fingers splayed, and wiggled it in the air.

“Gotcha,” said James, looking at her fascinatedly. But then he seemed to remember his manners, and his gaze strayed to Csongor. “What’s your story, big guy? Fish out of water, huh?”

While not immune to James’s insouciant charm, Csongor could only think of Zula, so he broke eye contact and looked out the window in a way that must have seemed brooding. He noticed that he was drumming his fingers on the counter, each calloused, sun-dried tip bashing the Formica like a ball-peen hammer.

“I shot him in the head,” he said finally.

He turned to look at James, who had shut up for once. “I. Shot. Him. In. The. Head.”

“Hold on a sec, are you talking about Jones?”

“Yeah. But it was only, what do you call it?” Csongor pantomimed a bullet caroming off the side of his head.

“A graze,” James said. “I fucking hate that.” He pondered it for a few moments. “You shot Abdallah Jones in the head.”

“Yeah. With this.” Csongor slapped the heavy thing in his pocket.

“From how far away?”

“Too close.” And Csongor related the story. This ended up taking a while. He got the impression that this was the longest span of time that “James” had gone without saying anything since he had obtained the power of speech as a toddler.

But before James could follow up on some of the story’s very remarkable features—which was something that he clearly wanted to do in the worst way—they were interrupted by a sharp exclamation from Marlon: “Aiyaa!”

It was the first time since all of this had begun that Marlon had expressed even mild concern about anything. But this was more than that: it was a pang of dismay. He had taken both hands off the keyboard—a completely unprecedented lapse—and clapped them to the sides of his head, and was staring at the screen in astonishment.

His face was illuminated by flickering white light.

“James” was on his feet. He ran around to where he could see the screen. “Holy crap,” he exclaimed. “This could only be one spell. But I don’t think it’s ever been used before.”

“One time,” Marlon said, “it was used to kill a whole dynasty of Titans.”

“Who used it?”

“Egdod.”

“I’m going to Yank you,” said James, running over toward the terminal where his T’Rain session was still open.

“I have wards and spoilers in effect,” Marlon warned him. “You can’t Yank me.”

“Turn them all off and let me do it. My name is Thorakks.”