And both Jack Sawyer and the Talisman would be broken in half.
And he, Morgan Sloat, would finally have the canvas his talents deserved. For a second he saw himself spreading his arms over starry vastnesses, over worlds folded together like lovers on a bed, over all that the Talisman protected, and all that he had coveted so when he'd bought the Agincourt, years back. Jack could get all that for him. Sweetness. Glory.
To celebrate this thought, Sloat brought the vial out of his pocket again and did not bother with the ritual of razor and mirror, but simply used the attached little spoon to raise the medicinal white powder to first one nostril, then the other. Sweetness, yes.
Sniffing, he came back into the bedroom. Lily appeared slightly more animated, but his mood now was so good that even this evidence of her continuing life did not darken it. Bright and oddly hollow within their circles of bone, her eyes followed him. 'Uncle Bloat has a new loathsome habit,' she said.
'And you're dying,' he said. 'Which one would you choose?'
'Do enough of that stuff, and you'll be dying, too.'
Undeterred by her hostility, Sloat returned to the rickety wooden chair. 'For God's sake, Lily, grow up,' he said. 'Everybody does coke now. You're out of touch - you've been out of touch for years. You wanna try some?' He lifted the vial from his pocket and swung it by the chain attached to the little spoon.
'Get out of here.'
Sloat waggled the vial closer to her face.
Lily sat up in bed as smartly as a striking snake and spat in his face.
'Bitch!' He recoiled, grabbing for his handkerchief as the wad of spittle slid down his cheek.
'If that crap is so wonderful, why do you have to sneak into the toilet to take it? Don't answer, just leave me alone. I don't want to see you again, Bloat. Take your fat ass out of here.'
'You're going to die alone, Lily,' he said, now perversely filled with a cold, hard joy. 'You're going to die alone, and this comic little town is going to give you a pauper's burial, and your son is going to be killed because he can't possibly handle what's lying in wait for him, and no one will ever hear of either one of you again.' He grinned at her. His plump hands were balled into white hairy fists. 'Remember Asher Dondorf, Lily? Our client? The sidekick on that series Flanagan and Flanagan? I was reading about him in The Hollywood Reporter - some issue a few weeks ago. Shot himself in his living room, but his aim wasn't too cool, because instead of killing himself he just blew away the roof of his mouth and put himself in a coma. Might hang on for years, I hear, just rotting away.' He leaned toward her, his forehead corrugating. 'You and good old Asher have a lot in common, it seems to me.'
She stonily looked back. Her eyes seemed to have crawled back inside her head, and at that moment she resembled some hard-bitten old frontier woman with a squirrel rifle in one hand and Scripture in the other. 'My son is going to save my life,' she said. 'Jack is going to save my life, and you won't be able to stop him.'
'Well, we'll see, won't we?' Sloat answered. 'We'll just see about that.'
CHAPTER 35 The Blasted Lands
1
'But will ye be safe, my Lord?' Anders asked, kneeling down before Jack with his white-and-red kilt pooled out around him like a skirt.
'Jack?' Richard asked, his voice a whiny, irrelevant skirl of sound.
'Would you be safe yourself?' Jack asked.
Anders twisted his big white head sideways and squinted up at Jack as if he had just asked a riddle. He looked like a huge puzzled dog.
'I mean, I'll be about as safe as you would be yourself. That's all I mean.'
'But my Lord . . .'
'Jack?' came Richard's querulous voice again. 'I fell asleep, and now I should be awake, but we're still in this weird place, so I'm still dreaming . . . but I want to be awake, Jack, I don't want to have this dream anymore. No. I don't want to.'
And that's why you busted your damn glasses, Jack said to himself. Aloud, he said, 'This isn't a dream, Richie-boy. We're about to hit the road. We're gonna take a train ride.'
'Huh?' Richard said, rubbing his face and sitting up. If Anders resembled a big white dog in skirts, Richard looked like nothing so much as a newly awakened baby.
'My Lord Jason,' Anders said. Now he seemed as if he might weep - with relief, Jack thought. 'It is yer will? It is yer will to drive that devil-machine through the Blasted Lands?'
'It sure is,' Jack said.
'Where are we?' Richard said. 'Are you sure they're not following us?'
Jack turned toward him. Richard was sitting up on the undulating yellow floor, blinking stupidly, terror still drifting about him like a fog. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'll answer your question. We're in a section of the Territories called Ellis-Breaks - '