Imajica. Clive Barker

your friends?’ Gentle asked.

      ‘Probably, but I’ve been accused of worse. Besides, it’s almost true. Any stranger here’s a friend of mine.’ He cast a glance at Pie. ‘Even a mystif,’ he said. ‘The people in this dungheap have no poetry in them. I know I should be more sympathetic. They’re refugees, most of them. They’ve lost their lands, their houses, their tribes. But they’re so concerned with their itsy-bitsy little sorrows they don’t see the broader picture.’

      ‘And what is the broader picture?’ Gentle asked.

      ‘I think that’s better discussed behind closed doors,’ Tick Raw said, and would not be drawn any further on the subject until they were secure in his hut.

      The hut was spartan in the extreme. Blankets on a board for a bed; another board for a table; some moth-eaten pillows to squat on.

      ‘This is what I’m reduced to,’ Tick Raw said to Pie, as though the mystif understood, perhaps even shared, his sense of humiliation. ‘If I’d moved on it might have been different. But I couldn’t of course.’

      ‘Why not?’ Gentle asked.

      Tick Raw gave him a quizzical look, glancing over at Pie, then looking back at Gentle again.

      ‘I’d have thought that was obvious,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept my post. I’m here until a better day dawns.’

      ‘And when will that be?’ Gentle enquired.

      ‘You tell me,’ Tick Raw replied, a certain bitterness entering his voice. ‘Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon. This is no frigging life for a great sway-worker. I mean, look at it!’ He cast his eyes around the room. ‘And let me tell you, this is the lap of luxury compared with some of the hovels I could show you. People living in their own excrement, grubbing around for food. And all in sight of one of the richest cities in the Dominions. It’s obscene. At least I’ve got food in my belly. And I get some respect, you know. Nobody crosses me. They know I’m an evocator, and they keep their distance. Even Hammeryock. He hates me with a passion, but he’d never dare send the Nullianac to kill me in case it failed, and I came after him. Which I would. Oh yes. Gladly. Pompous little fuck.’

      ‘You should just leave,’ Gentle said. ‘Go and live in Patashoqua.’

      ‘Please,’ Tick Raw said, his tone vaguely pained. ‘Must we play games? Haven’t I proved my integrity? I saved your lives.’

      ‘And we’re grateful,’ Gentle said.

      ‘I don’t want gratitude,’ Tick Raw said.

      ‘What do you want then? Money?’

      At this, Tick Raw rose from his cushion, his face reddening, not with blushes but with rage.

      ‘I don’t deserve this,’ he said.

      ‘Deserve what?’ said Gentle.

      ‘I’ve lived in shite,’ Tick Raw said, ‘but I’m damned if I’m going to eat it! All right, so I’m not a great Maestro. I wish I were! I wish Uter Musky was still alive, and he could have waited here all these years instead of me. But he’s gone, and I’m all that’s left! Take me or leave me!’

      The outburst completely befuddled Gentle. He glanced across at Pie, looking for some guidance, but the mystif had hung its head.

      ‘Maybe we’d better leave,’ Gentle said.

      ‘Yes! Why don’t you do that?’ Tick Raw yelled. Get the fuck out of here. Maybe you can find Musky’s grave, and resurrect him. He’s out there on the Mount. I buried him with these two hands!’ His voice was close to cracking now. There was grief in it as well as rage. ‘You can dig him up the same way!’

      Gentle started to get to his feet, sensing that any further words from him would only push Tick Raw closer to an eruption or a breakdown, neither of which he wanted to witness. But the mystif reached up and took hold of Gentle’s arm.

      ‘Wait,’ Pie said.

      ‘The man wants us out,’ Gentle replied.

      ‘Let me talk to Tick for a few moments.’

      The evocator glared fiercely at the mystif.

      ‘I’m in no mood for seductions,’ he warned.

      Pie shook his head. ‘Neither am I,’ it said, glancing at Gentle.

      ‘You want me out of here?’ he said.

      ‘Not for long.’

      Gentle shrugged, though he felt rather less easy with the idea of leaving Pie in Tick Raw’s company than his manner suggested. There was something about the way the two of them stared and studied each other that made him think there was some hidden agenda here. If so, it was surely sexual, despite their denials.

      ‘I’ll be outside,’ Gentle said, and left them to their debate.

      He’d no sooner closed the door than he heard the two begin to talk inside. There was a good deal of din from the shack opposite - a baby bawling, a mother attempting to hush it with an off-key lullaby - but he caught fragments of the exchange. Tick Raw was still in a fury:

      ‘Is this some kind of punishment?’ he demanded at one point; then, a few moments later: ‘Patient? How much more frigging patient do I have to be?’

      The lullaby blotted out much of what followed, and when it quietened again, the conversation inside Tick Raw’s shack had taken another turn entirely.

      ‘We’ve got a long way to go …’ Gentle heard Pie saying, ‘…and a lot to learn …’

      Tick Raw made some inaudible reply, to which Pie said: ‘He’s a stranger here.’

      Again Tick Raw murmured something.

      ‘I can’t do that,’ Pie replied. ‘He’s my responsibility.’

      Now Tick Raw’s persuasions grew loud enough for Gentle to hear.

      ‘You’re wasting your time,’ the evocator said. ‘Stay here with me. I miss a warm body at night.’

      At this Pie’s voice dropped to a whisper. Gentle took a half-step back towards the door, and managed to catch a few of the mystif’s words. It said heart-broken, he was sure; then something about faith. But the rest was a murmur too soft to be interpreted. Deciding he’d given the two of them long enough alone, he announced that he was coming back in, and entered. Both looked up at him; somewhat guiltily, he thought.

      ‘I want to get out of here,’ he announced.

      Tick Raw’s hand was at Pie’s neck, and remained there, like a staked claim.

      ‘If you go,’ Tick Raw told the mystif, ‘I can’t guarantee your safety. Hammeryock will be wanting your blood.’

      ‘We can defend ourselves,’ Gentle said, somewhat surprised by his own certainty.

      ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be quite so hasty,’ Pie put in.

      ‘We’ve got a journey to make,’ Gentle replied.

      ‘Let her make up her own mind,’ Tick Raw suggested. ‘She’s not your property.’

      At this remark, a curious look crossed Pie’oh’pah’s face. Not guilt now, but a troubled expression, softening into resignation. The mystif’s hand went up to its neck, and brushed off Tick Raw’s hold.

      ‘He’s right,’ it said to Tick. ‘We do have a journey ahead of us.’

      The evocator pursed his lips, as if making up his mind whether to pursue this business any further or not. Then he said: ‘Well then. You’d better go.’

      He turned a sour eye on Gentle.

      ‘May