Part 24 (1/2)

Snips stood at the edge of the cliff, wind swirling at her back. The Committee for the Fair Distribution of Cake had cornered her, all of them bristling with an array of savage-looking weapons.

”I'm failing to see any cake,” the old man said, standing at the front of the mob. Every so often, his left eyebrow would give a frightful twitch.

”Right. About that. The cake thing, I mean,” Snips said, grinning. ”Funny story, actually. There isn't any.”

”I beg your pardon?”

”There is no cake,” she repeated.

”Oh, wait,” one of the Cake-ites behind the old man said. ”I think I've heard of this before. It's like, you know, one of those zen koans.”

”Zen what?” the old man asked, looking over his shoulder.

”It's like a riddle,” the Cake-ite said. ”You have to try and solve it. Like, if a tree falls in the woods and n.o.body's around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

”Of course it makes a b.l.o.o.d.y sound. Why wouldn't it?” the old man shouted, frustrated. ”That's a stupid riddle!”

”Well, I think the point is that zen Buddhists are horrible with riddles,” the Cake-ite said.

”So if we solve her stupid riddle,” the old man said, ”we get cake?”

”Or maybe the cake is a metaphor,” the Cake-ite said.

”Like, you have to reject the cake and all its worldly temptations -”

”And then you get a better cake?” the old man asked, getting impatient.

”That'd be the gist of it, aye.”

The reverend turned to face Snips. ”Right, then. So, about your stupid riddle.”

Snips crept back another step, glancing over her shoulder at the yawning chasm that lay behind her. She caught sight of something, blinked with surprise, and looked back to the mob with a smile stocked full of cheer.

And then she stepped backwards, dropping off the cliff.

The reverend blinked. He looked back at his followers, then back to the cliff. ”Well, erm-that was... That was unexpected.”

”Huh. Usually, they at least have the courtesy to let us lynch them first,” a Cake-ite sniffed disdainfully. ”I mean-that's just unprofessional.”

”You'd think people would have more courtesy these days,”

another follower agreed.

And that's when the cake arrived.

The gondola was no more than a puzzle of junk fitted together with wedges of wood and rusty iron; its balloon had been woven from an a.s.sortment of fabrics, giving it a lumpy shape. The fact that it flew at all was basis enough for a theory proving the existence of divine intervention.

The balloon itself had once been painted into the likeness of a pig, its paint faded and peeling. On either of its sides were smeared drawings of wings; its front bared the worn-but-still-cheered face of a porcine grin, complete with stubby nose. And on its side was a torn and tattered placard, which read: FREE CAKE!

At once, the Cake-ites fell to their knees. Snips slid down from the top of the balloon where she had landed, dropping in next to Miss Primrose-who was covered in soot and busily feeding fire to the brazier at the airs.h.i.+p's center. They exchanged glances, looked back to the Cake-ites below, and then turned their gazes towards their destination-the tallest steep in the Heap.

The a.s.sa.s.sin searched the patterns of smoke with his eyes, raking through them like a fortune teller in search of his destiny.

He had picked the highest hill in the Heap for several reasons, not least of which was the ability to see anyone approaching it from a good hundred yards away. He had set an array of traps on all sides in preparation for Snips' ascent; it was very likely that the poor girl would get herself killed without ever even reaching the top. And if that didn't work, well...

That's what the rifle was for.

The a.s.sa.s.sin tore his gaze away from the smoke that unfolded from his pipe, returning his mind to his perch. He swept across all sides of the crumbling ruins with the gun's lens, searching for some sign of the thief in the night. Nothing.

Maybe she was smart enough not to come, he thought.

Despite his dedication to the task at hand, he found his mind drifting up with the streams of smoke that emerged from his pipe. More than once, he caught his eyes drifting away from the telescope and up to the moonlit sky. On one such occasion, he began to ponder the moon itself, and wonder what kept it afloat.

It was on this occasion that he noticed the distant cloud.

”b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” the a.s.sa.s.sin swore, realizing his mistake. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it? His advantage was height and time; it only made sense that the thief would seek to outdo him.

The a.s.sa.s.sin stood up and took careful aim at the airs.h.i.+p that was rapidly approaching from beneath the moon.

The gunshot took them both by surprise. Snips had a.s.sumed the a.s.sa.s.sin wouldn't bother to look up, preoccupied with his a.s.sumed cleverness in setting the encounter somewhere high; the fact that she had put the moon directly behind them only occurred as an afterthought, prompting Snips to curse her own lack of foresight.

The bullet tore a gaping wound through the balloon's body.

Miss Primrose grasped the rudder and did her best to steer, but the s.h.i.+p only groaned out a complaint and kept going the way it was going. They were sinking, and sinking fast-at this rate, they'd be hitting the spire of rubble somewhere above its center.

Another gunshot rang out. Snips ducked for cover as another hole appeared; that bullet had come far too close for comfort. The smart move would be to stay low until they landed, then try to scramble for cover.

”When we hit,” Snips yelled, ”stay low and out of sight.

Just look for cover, all right? I'll get William.”

Miss Primrose shouted something, but by then it was too late; the airs.h.i.+p crashed against the spire with all the grace of an anvil dropping on a pile of manure. Snips had avoided getting herself shot, but now she had to worry about falling-and whatever traps the a.s.sa.s.sin had no doubt set. Already, Snips could see what looked like a figure descending down the labyrinth of junk, rifle in hand.

Leaving Primrose behind to the cover of the airs.h.i.+p, Snips dove behind a half-sunken sofa and pressed her back against it. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself, pondering over her options.

”Arcadia Snips?” The a.s.sa.s.sin shouted down. ”We haven't formally met. Anyway, in case you're curious, here are my terms: Come out by the count of three and let me shoot you or I'll shoot the boy.”

Snips sighed. The direct approach; she had to admire that in a killer. She drew out the length of twine from her pocket, swinging it over the top of her hat.

”Three.”

Like water, Snips thought, clenching her teeth. Be like water. She slid the string over her hat, pulling it down and knotting it under her chin.

”Two.”