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Well, she said, seeing my surprise, I'll need to look good if I'm going to be seen outside.
"So that's a yes?"
Arachne started unslitting the cocoon.
You know the girl won't hold together. She was butchered, gumshoe. My needlework is good, but it ca
"You think I don't know that?" I said.
I just wanted to make sure you understand the small print.
The last of the cocoon gave way. I dropped to the floor. Above me, the rat-ceiling sighed.
"I understand it," I said, massaging my arms. "So where d'you want to go?"
"Hold your fire!" I shouted. "We're coming out!"
I unlatched the singularity bolts and led them out into the rain: Byron the golem, Nancy the stitched-up courier, and Arachne. Twenty-four zombie cops trained their guns on us. The zombie with the bull-roarer said:
"PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!"
"We're not carrying," I said.
"PUT UP YOUR HANDS!"
"No need," I said. "The girl's okay. See for yourself."
Nancy came forward. When she stepped over the cellar vent, a jet of steam briefly lifted the coat above her shoulders. One of the zombie negotiator's eyes popped out and hit the street with a splat.
"MA'AM? ER, ARE YOU THE SAME NANCY LEE DONAHUE, FORMER EMPLOYEE OF GODIVA COURIERS, WHO WAS BRUTALLY HACKED TO PIECES AND HIDDEN IN A GARBAGE CAN OUTSIDE NUMBER EIGHT-EIGHT-SEVEN CRUCIFIX LANE, EAST SIDE?"
"One and the same," said Nancy. "Say-how come you know who I am? You never exactly got a chance to ID my body."
This confused the zombie. He lowered the bull-roarer and glanced across the street. Straight at the whale-sized Cadillac. The rest of the cops looked that way too. We all looked that way.
The door of the Cadillac swung open. A pair of shapely calves came out, each as big as a man. The calves belonged to a thirty-nine-foot goddess wearing a golden cloak. Hanging from her hip was a machete the size of a small ship's rudder. Her skin was white and her eyes were pink. On her breast was a shield with a gorgon's head in the middle.
Her flower-decked crown bore the initials:
PA.
"Pallas Athene!" said Byron.
The goddess pulled the lens caps off the gorgon's eyes. Twenty-five zombies turned to stone. The rest of us were lucky: just as the gorgon's eyes came on Arachne jumped in front of us and dropped her disguise. A gigantic red spider burst out of that tiny dress like an eight-legged life-raft. It was so big it blotted out everything up to the skyline.
The spider advanced.
Pallas Athene snarled and puffed out her chest. Two of Arachne's legs had already turned to stone, but the gorgon shield was heavy and had a narrow angle of fire. Arachne was over the sandbags and ripping the shield from Pallas Athene's breast before the goddess could correct her aim. The shield landed two hundred yards down the street, facing up; seconds later it was crushed beneath a stone thunderbird with a surprised look on its face.
Then it was just a grappling match. Pallas Athene clawed Arachne's eyes-she had eight to choose from; Arachne wrapped her opponent's legs in silk and pulled them out from under her. To begin with, Pallas Athene was on top. But Arachne was mad-the kind of mad you only get from stewing in a self-reticulating semi-dimensional oubliette for seven years. She waved her spi
Last I saw, Arachne was headed for the docks with Pallas Athene cocooned on her back. Word is she's still down there, holed up in a derelict warehouse. One thing's for sure, she won't run short of food. When you string up a goddess by her feet and liquefy her insides, you get enough ambrosia for about a billion years.
As for me, I was just glad the debt was cleared.
Then I looked at Nancy, and remembered things weren't so good after all.
"I feel peculiar," said Nancy. She sank to her knees, clamped her hands across her belly.
"Get her inside," I said to Byron. While he picked her up, I checked the street. The petrified zombies stared through the rain like museum exhibits. The stone thunderbird tipped over and broke a wing. Nothing else moved.
"What's wrong with her?" said Byron when I got back inside. He'd laid Nancy on the carpet. She was turning blue.
"I'm fine," groaned Nancy. "What the hell was that all about? Was I really murdered by the biggest goddess on the block?"
"Yeah. I put it together just before I brought Arachne out of the oubliette. But it was Byron who asked you all the right questions."
"I did?"
"How do you know what questions he asked me?" said Nancy. She winced, bit her lip, drew blood. But her eyes were bright: the girl was a fighter.
I figured she'd need to be.
"Long story," I said. "I'll tell it when there's more time. But you're right, Pallas Athene was the Macerator. She's always had a violent streak. Comes from her gangster roots-she used to go round wearing a Titan's skin, you know that? Anyway, going respectable must have cramped her style. When you're mayor you can't go around hacking people up any more. So she got herself a hobby."
"A hobby?"
"Some folk surf. Some paint toy soldiers. Pallas Athene-she took up serial killing."
"How come she never got caught?"
"When you're mayor, the cops tend to do what you say. Especially when you've got a gorgon on your chest."
Byron scratched his massive head. "But… if they knew it was her all along, why did they bother coming after me?"
"Who knows? Maybe PA figured it was time the Macerator retired. Maybe it was all a set-up-she did plant that axe with the body, after all. Probably knew a garbage collector would end up taking the heat. Nobody cares if a golem goes down. Tough but true. I figure you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Either way," said Nancy, "that bitch got what she deserved."
"Amen," said Byron.
Then Nancy started screaming. She writhed, tore off my coat, clutched at the scars on her arms and legs. It didn't take a medic to see what was up. Like Arachne said: the poor girl was coming apart at the seams.
"Didn't last as long as Arachne thought," I said.
"What?!" said Byron. "You mean… you knew this would happen? You got her all sewed up and you knew she'd come to pieces again?"
"If it's any consolation," I said, "I wish I hadn't. Seems you can stitch the body but you can't stitch the soul. Still, it got you off the hook."
"I'd rather be on the hook! What can we do?"
Nancy shrieked and snapped her back like a trout. She flipped on her front, landing exactly where she'd first landed when Byron poured her out of the garbage can. That time she'd been in pieces. Any minute now, she'd be in pieces again.
"There's something," I said. "But it's risky. And I've never seen it done. It's… well, call it a hunch."
"What is it!" said Byron. "I'll do anything!"
"You might not want to do this."
He didn't hesitate. He didn't even ask me why. He just lay down and told me to get on with it.
Golems-you think you got them figured, but they just keep pulling surprises.
I'd grabbed Pallas Athene's machete from the street. I used it to cut a deep gouge in Byron's chest. It wasn't hard: there was nothing in there but orange river clay. I groped through silt and grit. I found a pretty shell, left it where it was. At last I found what I'd been looking for. I pulled it out.