The Anubis Gates

The man did, though he looked up again when he heard a gasp. The boy had gone white, and seemed for some reason to be on the verge of tears. “My God,” Jacky whispered, “you’re not bald anymore.”

It was the man’s turn to be mystified. “Uh… no… “

“Oh, Brendan…” A couple of tears spilled down Jacky’s cold-reddened cheeks. “You poor innocent son of a bitch,… your friend Ashbless arrived too late.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t,” Jacky sniffed, “talking to you.” She wiped her face with the end of her scarf. “I suppose you really are the Admirable Chinnie.”

“Yes, I am—or was. You find that… credible?”

“I’m afraid I do. Listen, you and I have got to get together and compare notes. Are you free for a drink?”

“As soon as I deliver this to my boss I’m due for a supper break. It’s just around the corner here, Malk’s Bakery in St. Martin’s Lane. Come on.”

Jacky trotted along beside Chinnie, who resumed his exercises. They turned left into St. Martin’s Lane and soon arrived at the bakery. Chinnie told Jacky to wait for him, then pushed his way through the gang of little boys that had been drawn by the warm plum pudding smell to cluster around the windows, and disappeared inside.

A few moments later he came out again. “There’s a public house down Kyler Lane here where I frequently stop for a pint. Nice people, though they think I’m barmy.”

“Ah, it’s the Admirable!” the aproned landlord said cheerfully when they pushed open the pub door and stepped into the relative dimness. “With his pal Gentleman Jackson, I perceive.”

“A couple of pints of porter, Samuel,” said Chinnie, leading Jacky to a booth on the rear. “I got drunk here once,” he muttered, “and was fool enough to tell them my secret.”

When the mugs of black beer had arrived and been tentatively sipped, Jacky asked, “When—and how—did the body switch occur?”

“When was a Sunday two months ago—the fourteenth of October. How…” He gulped more of the beer. “Well, I was fencing at Angelo’s, and just as I was about to do a particularly clever disengage, I—I suddenly found myself at the bottom of the Thames with no air in my lungs.”

Jacky smiled bitterly and nodded. “Yes, that’s how he works. Leaving you that way, I guess he wouldn’t have to chew the tongue to bits before he left.” She looked at the man with some respect. “You must be Chinnie—he’d never have left you in that position if it was at all likely you’d survive.”

Chinnie drained his mug and signalled for another. “I damn near didn’t. Sometimes, lying awake nights in my bed by the bakery oven, I wish I hadn’t.” He gave Jacky a hard stare. “Now you talk. Who’s this he you’re referring to? Your friend, this Doyle? Is he in my real body?”

“No, Doyle’s dead, I’m afraid. He obviously got the same treatment you did, but I can’t see him swimming up from the Thames bottom. No, it’s a… magician, I guess… known as Dog-Face Joe, who can switch bodies with people at will—and has to frequently because for some reason he starts growing thick fur all over himself as soon as he’s in a fresh body.”

“Yes!” said Chinnie excitedly, “right! I was all hairy when I climbed out of the river—even had whiskers between my fingers and toes. One of the first things I did was buy a razor and shave most of my body. Thank God it doesn’t seem to be growing back.”

“I guess it wouldn’t, after Joe’s moved on. I—”

“So this magician is walking around in my body. I’m going to find him.”

Jacky shook her head. “Not after two months, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to find him for quite a while, and he never stays in any one body for more than a week or two.”

“What do you mean? What would he do with it?”

“The same thing he did to poor Doyle’s when it started to get furry—get into a position where death is only seconds away, then switch with someone else who’s maybe miles distant, and just walk off in the new body while the man he evicted finds himself dying before he even knows where he is. The cast-offs never live long, and I think you’re probably the only one to actually survive.”

The landlord brought Chinnie a fresh mug of porter. “Th-thank you,” Chinnie said, and when the man had returned to the bar he stared at Jacky out of Doyle’s eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “He wouldn’t just abandon that carcass of mine. Listen, I’ve never been vain, but that was one hell of a fine… v-vehicle, in his terms.” Chinnie was obviously maintaining his composure only with considerable effort. “Handsome, young, strong, agile… “

“—And hairy as an ape—”

“So he’ll have to shave then, won’t he?” shouted Chinnie loudly enough to make everyone else in the pub turn toward them. There were tolerant chuckles when they realized who it was.

“‘At’s right. Admirable,” called the host, “shave ‘im bald as an egg. But keep the racket down, eh?”

“And,” the blushing Chinnie went on more quietly, “there’s these places, aren’t there, where people go to have hair removed? What’s to say he’d not go to one of those?”

“I don’t think any of those places really—”