mother would have turned aside.
His eyes were twisted in fear and shock, but the rest of his body looked perfectly relaxed, in spite of the blood. Someone had shoved a ball of twine into his mouth. He was dressed in the Wright's vestments, simple brown and black. I always knew Gray claimed to be a Wright who got away from the Algorithm, but I had never imagined him dressed like this. I wondered how he would have felt, to be found like this. Also wondered why someone had taken the time to dress him up, just to kill him.
There was a single wound, an improbably large puncture wound to the center of his chest. The weapon that made it was still there. From here it looked like a copper tube, plugged with glass. Around the injury was a sticky ring of blood, dry and black. Nasty.
Wilson was ignoring the body. Naturally, because the rest of the room looked like a mad scientist's drunken fantasy, in the process of being dissected. Brass pipes lined the walls, stacked to various depths and of progressive height. Bits of the ceiling had been knocked out, to accommodate the larger items. Each pipe was enclosed in a tangle of tubing that led to the next pipe, or fed from the previous one. Each pipe was open at the top, and cut at an angle, away from the center of the room. Something was passing between the pipes, a sound, like a hurricane heard from far away.
"I don't think this is what he was expecting, when we took this job," I said. Wilson was circling the room, touching the pipes lightly with the talon tips of his spider arms. "Guess I couldn't get him out of this trouble."
He stopped and looked down at the body, recognized him finally. "He was coming back here, wasn't he? After we left on the boat this morning?"
"Yeah. Damn it, Gray. Why couldn't you just be happy living in shitty little houses, doing shitty little jobs?"
Wilson came and stood next to me. He laid an arm across my shoulders.
"Because he isn't you, Jacob. Most folks want to better themselves."
I shrugged his arm off. "Maybe don't give me shit right now, Jacob. This guy was my friend."
"You're a terrible person to friend, Jacob." He turned back to pipes. "Friends of yours keep ending up dead."
"Show a little respect for the dead guy in the room, man."
"Dead guy'll still be dead tomorrow. There's something with these pipes."
"Is there something about them that could have shoved a copper tube through Gray's chest?" I asked. "Because if not, I'm not sure they're immediately relevant."
"Could be," he answered, shrugging. "See if you can find some kind of valve. Or a control panel. Or maybe -"
He stopped moving, but his voice continued around the room, ghosting from pipe to pipe, quieter and quieter. Wilson turned to look at me. Rather needlessly, he held a finger to his lips. Quiet. Got it.
The anansi's voice tumbled away into silence, but the background hurricane kept rolling. I bent my head to it, trying to pick up snatches of sound. My eye was drawn uncomfortably to Gray's restful corpse at the center of the room. Maybe his voice, the last seconds of his terrified life, caught up in this garden of pipes and held forever in brass? I shivered and put a hand on Wilson's shoulder. Pulling him close, I whispered directly into his ear.
"Why do you think Crane would leave this contraption behind?" I asked. Wilson's voice, when he replied, smelled like insect wings and dust.
"Because it's heavy, idiot." His lips hardly moved when he spoke, though his teeth were bared. I was reminded of just how many teeth he had. Wasn't usually this close to them. Their bright white enamel was veined in black that seemed to pulse with each word. "You don't just lug equipment like this around every time you get spooked."
"Which means he might come back for it? Or that he planned to be here for a while?"
Wilson shrugged. The noise in the room was picking up. He squinted at me nervously.
"Or that he doesn't mind it being found. Like the mask. He wants someone to find this." He
His eyes were twisted in fear and shock, but the rest of his body looked perfectly relaxed, in spite of the blood. Someone had shoved a ball of twine into his mouth. He was dressed in the Wright's vestments, simple brown and black. I always knew Gray claimed to be a Wright who got away from the Algorithm, but I had never imagined him dressed like this. I wondered how he would have felt, to be found like this. Also wondered why someone had taken the time to dress him up, just to kill him.
There was a single wound, an improbably large puncture wound to the center of his chest. The weapon that made it was still there. From here it looked like a copper tube, plugged with glass. Around the injury was a sticky ring of blood, dry and black. Nasty.
Wilson was ignoring the body. Naturally, because the rest of the room looked like a mad scientist's drunken fantasy, in the process of being dissected. Brass pipes lined the walls, stacked to various depths and of progressive height. Bits of the ceiling had been knocked out, to accommodate the larger items. Each pipe was enclosed in a tangle of tubing that led to the next pipe, or fed from the previous one. Each pipe was open at the top, and cut at an angle, away from the center of the room. Something was passing between the pipes, a sound, like a hurricane heard from far away.
"I don't think this is what he was expecting, when we took this job," I said. Wilson was circling the room, touching the pipes lightly with the talon tips of his spider arms. "Guess I couldn't get him out of this trouble."
He stopped and looked down at the body, recognized him finally. "He was coming back here, wasn't he? After we left on the boat this morning?"
"Yeah. Damn it, Gray. Why couldn't you just be happy living in shitty little houses, doing shitty little jobs?"
Wilson came and stood next to me. He laid an arm across my shoulders.
"Because he isn't you, Jacob. Most folks want to better themselves."
I shrugged his arm off. "Maybe don't give me shit right now, Jacob. This guy was my friend."
"You're a terrible person to friend, Jacob." He turned back to pipes. "Friends of yours keep ending up dead."
"Show a little respect for the dead guy in the room, man."
"Dead guy'll still be dead tomorrow. There's something with these pipes."
"Is there something about them that could have shoved a copper tube through Gray's chest?" I asked. "Because if not, I'm not sure they're immediately relevant."
"Could be," he answered, shrugging. "See if you can find some kind of valve. Or a control panel. Or maybe -"
He stopped moving, but his voice continued around the room, ghosting from pipe to pipe, quieter and quieter. Wilson turned to look at me. Rather needlessly, he held a finger to his lips. Quiet. Got it.
The anansi's voice tumbled away into silence, but the background hurricane kept rolling. I bent my head to it, trying to pick up snatches of sound. My eye was drawn uncomfortably to Gray's restful corpse at the center of the room. Maybe his voice, the last seconds of his terrified life, caught up in this garden of pipes and held forever in brass? I shivered and put a hand on Wilson's shoulder. Pulling him close, I whispered directly into his ear.
"Why do you think Crane would leave this contraption behind?" I asked. Wilson's voice, when he replied, smelled like insect wings and dust.
"Because it's heavy, idiot." His lips hardly moved when he spoke, though his teeth were bared. I was reminded of just how many teeth he had. Wasn't usually this close to them. Their bright white enamel was veined in black that seemed to pulse with each word. "You don't just lug equipment like this around every time you get spooked."
"Which means he might come back for it? Or that he planned to be here for a while?"
Wilson shrugged. The noise in the room was picking up. He squinted at me nervously.
"Or that he doesn't mind it being found. Like the mask. He wants someone to find this." He
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