Part XXXI

Part XXXI

Hello Aubrey.

How do you know my name?

I know the names of all things. I knew your Uncle. He was the only Unique who ever turned down my invitation to join the Fabulon. I choose my invitations wisely.

Her chuckle was warm and endearing and it passed through me taking all of my nervousness with it.

I was sorry to hear about what happened to him, and even more sorry to hear that you were allowing yourself to be dragged into it.

It's definitely not the smartest thing I've ever done, but I have to.

I know. What is it you want of me?

I need to know how to defeat the Tall Man.

There was silence, or at least as close to silence as there can be had with two people so close to each other in such a small room. Her contemplative sigh undid what her chuckle had accomplished earlier and I sat forward in the chair.

The one you call the Tall Man is very powerful. He is a product of of my battles with the Man of Shadows. He is fear and malice and cunning and avarice. He is the nightmare of a dying child.

The silence again.

He is, however, not all powerful. He can be undone with the very thing that makes him powerful.

What is that?

Fear. If you can turn it upon him, press it against him, his hunger for it will destroy him, as hunger does to all who let it define them.

I still don't understand how to do that.

Your Uncle will.

But he's dead.

Is he? I had understood that there is still an aspect of him, a whole that is now parts.

That's what I'm looking for.

Then you must find it, and make it whole again. It is the only way. You have everything you need.

The pieces, if I can find them, how do I make them whole?

They reside in a state of flux now, bound to objects like a djinn to a bottle. But be cautious, you can not simply release them and hope they remain, you must bring them together in a single object, something that will give them back their ability to be whole again.

You mean give them a body again?

NEVER!

The last word drifted with hot stinging breath to my face.

Once torn apart, they can never again be placed in a vessel of flesh, they would rot it and corrupt it like a virus.

Then, I don't know.

She chuckled again, this time more patronizing and lost of patience.

I have told you what you have asked, and you know more than I can give. The knowledge will come to you when you need it. Now, I must ask you to go. I have work that takes me away now.

Thank you.

How is Alexander?

Her tone, now thoughtful and full of motherly longing.

He looked...content.

She sighed deeply and I heard the unmistakable sound of her shifting her bulk in the chair, which adjusted itself with the sound of crackling timber.

I stood in the dark, wobbly and out of place, and felt my way back to the curtain. Upon opening it, the light split the room, and I turned back, but Mother was gone and her chair sat empty and silent. Then Father was there.

Yeah, she does that.

Back outside the trailer, Father paused for a cigarette and surveyed they dismantling Carnival.

She's talked about you, you know?

What do you mean?

She was a great admirer of your Uncle and how he chose to use his gifts. He even helped us out on a few occasions.

Father blew smoke rings and I looked at them expectantly, waiting for Dragons.

Did she tell you what you needed to know?

I don't know. She thought she did. Maybe I just have to let it sink in.

That's always best.

Father flicked his butt into the dirt beyond the porch and wheeled about to go back into the trailer.

You'll find your friend in the trailer that smells like a frat house, down at the end of the row. The Clowns are useful, but their deportment leaves something to be desired. Hopefully he still has some money left, or you'll find he has little else on him.

Father rolled back in and shut the door behind himself.

I stepped off the porch and walked the lines of the trailers, each seemed its own unique construct, modded and hacked by it's occupant. I knew I was at the right trailer when I began to smell the unmistakable odors of stale cigars and old beer.

Carl was sitting at a round table, dwarfed by the three Clowns sitting with him. He was down to his t-shirt, but looked happy, most likely due to the empty cans of beer before him. How long had I been with Mother? It seemed like mere minutes, but Carl had seven cans in front of him.

Time to go Carl.

But...I'm winning.

No, you're not.

Mr. Jingles stood up.

Let the man finish his hand.

I don't think so.

Jingles gave me the once over and thought a minute about what had brought me here, I'm sure, and finally he threw the cards down and cracked another beer.

Get out of here, games over.

Carl wobbled and looked up, then stood with the confidence of a stumble drunk. He'd lost his pants too.

I grabbed Carl by the t-shirt and dragged him out, behind us the sound of Clowns laughing, deep and mean, pushed through the door.

Back at the Van, I dug a change of cloths from Carl's bag and pushed them at him. He looked defeated and guilty, but about what I didn't know.

Did she tell you.

I guess.

Wha'd she say?

I've got to put all the pieces together. Find a single object that'll hold them all, if we ever find them.

Carl had fallen forward while putting on his pants and was steadying himself with his forehead against the van and trying to shove his foot into the pocket of his pants.

Wha' about the bowling ball?

I looked at Carl and a broad smile lit across my face.

I hate to say this Carl, but you're a genius.

Carl smiled and finally got his leg in his pants.