Grim Fandango, page 31
I snapped my own scythe open. I had often wondered why I had kept it, the last couple of years. Now, I was simply glad I had it. “Look, Dom,” I snarled, “I’m not gonna work for you!”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Manny,” he sneered. “You’re fired. Just consider this,” his scythe whooshed past my head, “your severance.”
We locked blades. Domino twisted his around and I went down. “This doesn’t look good for the kid!” he laughed, bringing the butt of his scythe down with a clang right where my head had been a second before.
I jumped up and swung, but only managed to slice his coat sleeve. He looked more angry than worried. I’d probably ruined an expensive suit, for all its cheap appearance. “Smart strategy,” he said, jabbing a forefinger at me, “always let your boss win.” He swung. I went down again. My skull bounced hard against the sub’s deck. “At least at the Christmas party you passed out before you really got hurt!” he jeered.
“Manny!” I heard Meche shout from far above. “The octopus!”
At first I didn’t understand. The octopus was inside the sub. It wasn’t a threat. But then I got it. The thing’s ‘head’ was jammed up in a tower toward the front of the sub, it’s eyes staring out of two half-globes of glass on either side. Realizing that I was the threat, I spun around and buried my scythe in one of the demon’s monstrous eyes.
The sub rocked violently as the octopus jerked its ‘head’ out of the tower. Domino almost went over, but ‘almost’ doesn’t count. The giant hatch amidships crashed open and the octopus jetted away, trailing pink blood.
Domino stared after it. He turned toward me and shouted, sounding incredulous, “I don’t believe you, Calavera!” He smashed the butt of his scythe into the deck in anger. “You’re losing a fight so you pick on one of my pets?” His voice rose shrilly to the question. He seemed to move only slightly, but the next thing I knew I was flat on my back, skull ringing and vision swimming, looking up as Domino continued to rage over me.
“Why aren’t you more like me, Manny?” he demanded, sounding absurdly hurt. “I’ve been trying to show you how, but you just—don’t—listen!” He emphasized his point by waving his scythe in my face, coming near to popping my skull off. “If you’d just adopt the proper attitude, look what could happen to you!” He spread his arms wide, as if that would give me a better view of what he was.
Just then a heavy rope snaked down and knocked him to the deck. I staggered to my feet and grabbed the rope. I started climbing while Glottis, up on La Mancha’s deck, began hauling up the rope. I looked down when he got a panicked look on his face, and saw Domino following me up. I tried to climb faster but I was having problems seeing where I was putting my hands. Glottis stopped pulling, his face creased in thought. Then he started yanking the rope up faster than before.
When I got even with the deck, Glottis reached down and practically flung me back onto the ship. Meche ran over to me when I landed, while I watched Domino climbing over the rail. Glottis grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him up into the air. Domino reached into his coat and pulled out a gun. Glottis grabbed the hand holding the daisy maker, yanked it off, and threw it overboard.
Domino screamed.
Glottis went on to systematically tear Domino to pieces, tossing each bone in turn over the side. Domino’s screams got more and more shrill until he was just a skull. Then Glottis tore away his jaw and threw it and the now-silent skull overboard.
No one on deck moved, or even made a sound, through all of this.
Glottis turned to me, to where I half-lay on the deck with Meche frozen beside me in the act of helping me up. “You were right, Manny,” he said, sounding perfectly normal. “Sometimes you gotta hurt somebody to help people.”
“Are you…alright, Glottis?” I asked slowly.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“OK,” was all I could say in response.
“Well,” he said, walking away from the port side of the ship, “I guess I’d better go and see if that sub did any damage. ’Scuse me,” Glottis said to the astonished Sister Calabaza as he pushed past her toward the nearest hatch and went below.
“¡Dios mío!” Meche exclaimed softly.
Puerto Zapato and the End of the Line
I don’t think there was anyone sorry that Domino got what he deserved, although many were uncomfortable with how it happened. None of the former prisoners had any real experience with demons, apart from Domino’s ‘pets’, and they were afraid that Glottis might suddenly turn on them. I did my best to keep imaginations from running wild, but I understood the fear. It might have been easier for them to take if Glottis hadn’t been so calmly methodical about pulling Domino apart. Near as I could discover, when Domino drew his rod some unsuspected instinct kicked in and Glottis simply acted on it. He wasn’t angry, nor out of control; it was just something he had to do, and he did it with the least amount of fuss possible. That, to me, was pretty creepy. Meche tried putting a Sergeant York spin on it, but that only worked on the souls who had seen the movie.
Once Glottis was certain we weren’t taking on water, I made him go to bed and made sure he stayed there. After three days he became so restless I let him go back to work. His color was a lot better, and his nose was cold and wet, so I figured he was OK. He, along with Albert and the others who had helped repair the ship, went to work on the number two engine.
The journey to Puerto Zapato was slow and difficult. There weren’t many real sailors on board besides me and Glottis. The survivors of La Mancha’s wreck were very few, not even half a dozen, and most of them were needed in the engine room. I had one guy to help keep the ship on course and that was it. I had to run the ship mostly using complete neophytes. That was tough on everyone. There was a lot of frustration, tedium and confusion all wrapped up in a nearly derelict ship.
It wasn’t pleasant.
Once we had settled into some kind of routine, I gave the promised answers to the questions people had about Hector, Domino, the LSA, and the Land of the Dead in general. That wore me down as much as anything else. And there were some questions I didn’t know the answers to, like what they would find in the Ninth Underworld once we finally got there.
So it was a hard, slow trip; but, eventually, we limped into Puerto Zapato. We made something of a stir when we sailed into the harbor. La Mancha was obviously not in good shape, and it was equally obvious there wasn’t even a real crew on board. I gave the port authorities a story about being shipwreck survivors. We were bedraggled enough the story went mostly unchallenged. There were questions arising from the fact there were so many of us and that most weren’t sailors. It would take a cruise ship to explain us, and none had been reported missing recently, but our story was that we had been stranded for many years before finding a derelict ship. That was close enough to the truth that it was eventually accepted. Since we could claim the ship as salvage, I had Albert try to find a buyer for it. Even as scrap, La Mancha was worth enough to allow us to equip for the next stage of the journey.
While Albert was making the necessary deals, I worked on finding Paddy Yeats, Puerto Zapato’s lone LSA agent. He was making himself scarce, I discovered, but I eventually tracked him down to a filthy tenement near the warehouse district. He was pretty cautious when he opened his flimsy door a crack to see who was knocking, but he swung it wide open once he recognized me. Next to his pal Slisko, I was probably the one from the old Rubacava days he trusted most.
“Calavera!” he exclaimed, then looked up and down the narrow stairwell behind me. “Come in, quickly,” he said, giving me space. He shut and bolted the door behind me, which probably would have kept out all but the most determined mouse. “Where the hell did you spring from, man?” he asked. “When the Lola headed back out to sea and we heard the explosion…”
“Well,” I said, sitting down at his rickety kitchenette table, “things got interesting after that…but first, what have you heard from Salvador lately?”
“Nada,” he said. “I sent along my report about the Lola but I haven’t gotten word back yet.”
“What about Alexi and the gang?” I asked, figuring he’d at least heard from them.
Paddy shook his head. “Rubacava’s gone dark, man. You should know that.”
“I’ve been out of the loop since I made captain,” I explained. “Too risky. I was hoping to reconnect once the Lola docked here.”
“I’m mostly out of the loop myself,” Paddy said. “Things are getting very hot for the LSA in El Marrow, and I’m pretty sure the DOD here in Zapato know about me, too, so I’ve been laying low.”
“Yeah, I almost couldn’t find you.” The newsies and derelicts I’d traced him through had seemed right enough, but still I’d had Glottis and others follow them up before I showed my face in Paddy’s part of town. “So how long’ve you been in this rat hole, carnal?”
“Only the last few weeks,” he said. “But what about you? What happened to the Lola after you steamed out of port?”
“Well, she went down. I don’t want to go into details, but I found out what happened to all those souls Hector stole Double-N tickets from. I have them with me and I’m going to try to get them to the end of the line.”
Paddy stared open-jawed at me for a couple of seconds. “Wow,” he said finally. “How’d you manage all that?”
I shook my head. “There’s no time to explain, and I wouldn’t even if there was. I want you to keep the little I’ve told you to yourself for as long as you can—I don’t want it getting back to Hector, somehow. It’s not that I don’t trust you, man…”
Paddy held up his hand when I trailed off. “You don’t have to spell it out. Hector’s intelligence is good, I know. So how long should I hold back? I’ll have to make a report eventually, if I can.”
I nodded. “If all goes right, it should take about a year to get to the end of the line on foot. I’ve got too many people to do any better than that.” I gave the answer some more thought. “Give us two, maybe three months before you pass the news on to El Marrow. Once we’re out in the wilderness, it doesn’t matter what Hector knows. He won’t be able to find us, much less stop us,” I assured him, “even if he’s got Captain Scott on his payroll. When you make your report, tell Salvador that the Pearl is the key. People don’t jump overboard there—they’re thrown overboard, and every one of them is a saint. The Pearl is the pickup point. From there, they’re taken to a forgotten island on the southern edge of the world. I’ve done a lot of damage to the operation, but there’s nothing to stop Hector from getting the system going again once he finds out what’s happened.”
“Now that we know about the Pearl,” Paddy said, ever optimistic, “maybe we can intercept Hector’s victims before they get that far.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but there’s not much you can do on your own.” I hesitated, not wanting to imply I didn’t trust the man. “Are you sure there’s nothing new from El Marrow?” I finally asked.
“The most recent news I sent to you by carrier pigeon when the Lola docked,” Paddy answered, either not picking up on my worries or not caring. “Everything else is so stale it isn’t worth telling any more. Basically, the LSA is working hard in El Marrow but can’t get any traction. Hector’s just too powerful.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, getting up from his tiny, Gay Nineties-era table, “Hector can be hurt. When you tell Salvador about the Pearl and the island, you can also tell him that Domino Hurley is out of the picture…for good.”
Albert found a buyer for La Mancha. The amount looked pretty impressive until we worked out what it came to per person. What we could afford to equip ourselves for the next stage of the journey was barely adequate, even when we added in my savings plus Glottis’, but we couldn’t take the time needed to raise more. I figured we needed to be out of town before any of the local DOD on Hector’s payroll got wise to what we really were, so we got the minimum of what we needed and set out.
And I thought the trip on La Mancha was rough.
Once we got away from the coast, the land became a flat plain, rising imperceptibly toward the mountains at the far distant western edge of the world. The landscape became unbearably uniform. Frozen gray dust lay everywhere under the dull gray sky. Terrain like this would have been tundra in the Land of the Living; but in this world there were, of course, no plants. We trudged forward, mostly silent, watching our own feet march forward…the only entertainment. We went numb after the first few weeks, and not only from the cold. There were occasional encounters with the demons native to the plain, savage parodies of moose and bear. But after a while, evading and escaping these beasts became routine. We never lost anyone. Everyone watched out for everyone else, and Glottis kept watch on us all.
Then we came to the ice and snow and the demons became equally polar, although demon penguins were nothing compared to demon beavers. In my opinion, anyway. The ground rose up, forming low, broad hills at first. In time, mountains began to show purple on the horizon, seeming not to grow any larger for weeks. But we did eventually come to the foothills, and struggled up into the mountains themselves. We were about a year out of Puerto Zapato by this time, and nearing the end of the journey, but it seemed as if we had always been traveling and always would be. Some people gave up and had to be carried.
One day we looked up and saw we were approaching massive pillars, marching in endless pairs toward the tallest peak. Between the pillars stretched rails glittering in the cold sunlight. We stopped and stared for a while. As we stood there, we saw the Number Nine shoot along. We looked back down at our feet and moved on. When we reached the pillars, we followed them up into the mountains, up to the massive Babylonian/Mayan/Aztec-style temple that sprawled across the shoulder of the tallest peak.
We had made it. The end of the line.
Year 4
Temple Station
We climbed the mountain, walking alongside the pillars supporting the Number Nine’s tracks. We came to the steps of the temple and we climbed those, wearily, to the platform just outside the arch near the summit through which the train passed. There we encountered the Gatekeeper, a nameless soul who—for whatever reason—was condemned to remain at the entrance to the temple, ushering others through to the next world but never able to cross over himself.
One by one the former prisoners filed up to the Gatekeeper and gave their names. The Gatekeeper looked over his scrolls and directed each to waiting area two. After an hour of that I got bored and looked around. Something seemed wrong, but it was a while before I realized that it was because Glottis was nowhere in sight. I asked Meche if she’d seen him. She said she hadn’t, so we handed Pugsy and Bibi over to others and went to look for him. We backtracked and found a place where we could make out Glottis’ footprints. Then we saw the impression of his body in the snow, many little feet, and a track apparently made of Glottis being dragged away. We exchanged worried looks and followed.
We followed the trail to a building built on a shelf below the temple platform. Weird chanting came from within. A system of suspended cables running up the side of the mountain led inside, as did the track in the snow. We went cautiously inside, and my attention was drawn immediately to several bright-red objects.
“Gondolas!?” I exclaimed. “I knew we should have checked this side of the mountain before we walked up!”
“Oh, Glottis!” Meche cried, pushing past me to rush forward. She knelt beside him and struggled to take one of his hands in hers.
“Hear the name of the great one!” one of the little demons surrounding Glottis warbled. “Glottis!”
“Glottis,” the others began to chant. The strange thing—apart from the chanting—was that they all looked like Glottis, but in miniature.
“What’s happening?” I demanded. Meche gave up on trying to pick up Glottis’ hand and settled on stroking his forehead instead.
“How many days has this grand demon gone without driving?” one of the little demons asked.
“Well,” I answered, “we’ve been hiking for months.”
“Months!?” another exclaimed in horror.
“Oh,” yet another said, shaking his head sadly, “then the noble one will surely die.”
I didn’t want to believe that. But I had to admit to myself that Glottis looked bad, lying there on the floor, with ashen skin and unfocused eyes staring up at nothing. Meche continued to stroke his broad forehead but he didn’t respond.
“I don’t understand,” I said to the demons. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Do you not know the one purpose, the one skill, the one desire of this humble spirit?” one asked in return.
“Yes, but we’ve been so far away from cars and civilization for so long.”
“Why,” one wailed, “oh, why did he ever leave his home?”
That was no mystery. “I…got him fired,” I said, “and then...Oh, Glottis! What have I done to you?” I wondered if Meche would blame me. I sure as hell did. I went to take a better look at Glottis. “How could I not notice this was happening?” I asked myself.
“Don’t punish yourself again, Manny,” Meche complained, looking up at me. “You weren’t to know. No one saw this coming.”
Glottis turned his head slightly toward us, his eyes struggling to focus. “Manny…” he croaked. One giant paw reached out toward me.
I took it in my relatively small, skeletal hand. “Are you in much pain, my friend?” I asked him gently.
“Only because I let you down, Manny.” He started to cough. His eyes lost focus again. “Can’t stop,” he said in a slurred voice. “Must save…everyone.” His hand slipped out of mine and fell to the stone floor with a meaty thump.
“What can we do?” Meche asked helplessly. “Won’t anything help?”
