Plus, he had visitors! Like Patricia Delfine, who had discovered his cell a few days ago. Since then, she stopped by at least once a day to pay her respects, neither gloating nor scowling. She had grown into quite a terrifying woman, who moved like a knife thrower. The Nameless Assassin School would have given Patricia top marks for her soundless gait, the slight pronation of her left foot, the roll of her right shoulder, the lack of mercy in her sea-green eyes. She could end you, before you even saw her coming. Watching her close the heavy white door behind her, Theodolphus took a certain pride in his former student.
“Miss Delfine,” he said. She had brought some food for him. Fish and potatoes! Food of the gods. The warm starchy smell banished the usual rankness.
“Hello, Ice King,” she said. She always called him Ice King. He didn’t know what that meant.
“I’m so delighted that you could come and visit,” he said, just like always. “I wish you would let me help you.”
“How would you help me?” Patricia gave him a look that made it clear she had follicles that were deadlier than his entire arsenal.
“I told you already, about the vision I saw at the Assassin Shrine. It’s coming: the final war between science and magic. The destruction will be astounding. The world will be torn, torn to giblets.”
“Like Kawashima said, visions of the future are pretty much always total crap,” Patricia said. “Laurence and his people had a machine, we dealt with it. End of story.”
“Oh. I remember Laurence!” Theodolphus smiled. “I tried everything I knew to turn him against you, you know. I used all my guile. He still stood up for you. Bloody brat.” His pelvis made a sound like popcorn popping.
At that, Patricia’s calm wavered. “That’s not true,” she said. “He bailed on me. I remember. When I needed him most, he flaked. I could never rely on him when we were kids.”
Theodolphus attempted to shrug, but his shoulders were partway dislocated. “You believe what you want,” he said. “But I was there, and I saw the whole thing. Laurence suffered beatings because he would not disavow you. He spat the most awful insults at me. I remember well, because it was the beginning of how I ended up here.”
“The best thing about my life now is, I never have to listen to you again.” And now Patricia seemed a vulnerable child again—as if he’d somehow reached an exposed nerve, without even realizing. “I survived all your stupid mind games. I can survive whatever happens, from here on out. Goodbye, Ice King.” She put the plate of food on the wooden shelf in front of his face, then slammed the door, not even waiting for him to thank her for the fish and potatoes. They tasted amazing.
*
THE HENS LIVED in a coop and a small yard that became slick with chicken shit no matter how often you shoveled. Their ringleader was a big clay-colored broody named Drake who puffed herself up like a poisonous fish whenever anyone came near, and tried to peck your eyes out for the crime of feeding her. The other hens scattered in Drake’s path and attacked anyone whom they judged Drake to have softened up first; you had to let these little fuckers know who was boss right up front or they would ride your ass forever.
Roberta found herself shielding her face with her forearms and shouting, “I’m warning you, I’ve killed a man!” at Drake and her crew. The hens were unimpressed, launching another attack on Roberta’s ankles, and she had to leap outside the ring before she got clobbered. She leaned over the fence, looking down into Drake’s dark little eyes glaring up at her like come-at-me-bitch, and Roberta had instant access to a catalogue of a few dozen ways to retaliate. Ranging from minor acts of sadism that would leave no mark to a deniable accident that would remove Drake from the pen forever. Roberta could picture them. Her hands were ready. She could teach this dumb bird, it would be easy.
A surge of nausea followed that thought, and Roberta had to sit down, in the mud, nose perilously close to the wire hexagons of the fence. Dry-heaving. Of course she was not going to hurt this chicken. That was crazy, right? She stared at Drake, who was still a ruddy bowling ball, and felt kinship with the little psycho. “Listen,” she told Drake. “I get where you’re coming from. I’ve been through some stuff, too. I just lost both parents, and I had a lot of unfinished business with them. I spent so long thinking I never wanted to speak to them again, and now that I never can, I’m realizing how wrong I was. I never even expected to outlive them; they were supposed to mourn me and feel all helpless, not the other way around. And I guess what I’m saying is: Can we be friends? I promise I won’t challenge your authority. I just want to be one of your lieutenants or something. Okay? For real.”
Drake craned her neck and unpuffed slightly. She gave Roberta a once-over, then seemed to nod slowly.
“Tell your sister,” the hen said, “she waited too long, and it’s too late.”
“What?” Roberta leapt to her feet, then tripped and fell on her ass again.
“You heard me,” Drake said. “Pass on the message. She said she needed more time to answer, we gave her more time. It’s a simple yes-or-no question, for fuck’s sake.”
“Uh.” This was it. Roberta was finally losing her mind. “Okay. I’ll, uh, tell her.”