Read Online Forever Shores by Peter McNamara - Free Book Online Page A

pleased.’
    â€˜We’ve got to delete his short term recall anyway, Maybelline, use your brains. I felt we owed him an explanation. There’s something these humans use called “politeness” that I think you could damn well try yourself.’
    â€˜Shit, Lune.’ Maybelline shook her head in remorse. ‘I know you’re not a stupid bitch. You’re not any kind of a bitch, even if you are so beautiful I could scream.’
    Lune offered her an accommodating smile, shrugged. The corpse leered up at us all from the floor. With a noise like tearing canvas, a short man pushed his way out through the mirror, stepping lightly from the basin to the floor. He carried a huge bag over his shoulder. I was ready to throw up. There wasn’t enough room in the place to faint, so I stayed pinned against the door. All this racket, and still no word from Do Good. I hoped violently that none of the bastards had harmed the dear old beast.
    â€˜Here’s a rum turn,’ the disposer said, looking around. He was small cheerful fellow apparently in his fifties, with a bleary eye and a three-day growth of beard. On certain singers and movie stars that can be a cute look, if rather too last century for my tastes, but on this man it was distinctly seedy. On top of his tousled head sat an old cloth cap set at a rakish angle. ‘Who’s this chappie, then?’ He beamed at the women, whipped an ancient meerschaum out of his jacket pocket. His jacket sleeves had leather patches. He stuffed the pipe with flake tobacco from a pouch and started to light it.
    â€˜Not in Aunt Tansy’s house,’ I said, and reached forward over the dead man and took the pipe from his mouth. He moved like a mongoose, had it back so fast my hand tingled. But he thrust it, unlighted, into his pocket, and put away his book of matches.
    â€˜My apologies. Rules of the house apply, of course. Come now, lassies, I don’t know this gent’s face at all.’ He peered genially at me.
    Both women spoke at once, stopped. Lune said, ‘It’s all right, sir, August got into this by mistake—’
    â€˜ Aug ust?’ cried Maybelline. ‘You been sitting here exchanging names while I—’
    â€˜Now, now ladies.’
    â€˜Well, we’ll be amnesing him, no harm done.’
    â€˜Aye, it’s a fair bastard,’ the disposer said, fingers plucking at his pocket for the pipe, dropped away again, ‘when one of the humans gets into the wrong part of a Set. Ah well, a drop of the green ray and no harm’s done. Now that you’re here,’ he said, rounding on me, ‘give me an ’and with this codger.’
    Dazed, simply unable to think, I helped him get the naked corpse into the bag, then fold in his shoes and clothing on top. We zipped the bag shut, me zipping, him pulling the edges together, and he hoisted the bundle up on his shoulder. I was mildly astonished that such a small man could tote such a weighty load, but I had seen too many unlikely happenings too rapidly, it was like stretching an elastic band to the point where it gives up the ghost and just lies there, no spring left in the thing.
    â€˜I’ll be making a report about this fellow,’ the disposer told the women, ‘but give him a dose of the green and I think the Director will let you off with no demerits.’
    He raised his cap to me. ‘Good evening, sar, and thankee for your help with the props.’ He clambered up on the basin, pulling out two drawers to make the climb easier, and tore open the mirror. He stepped into oblivion. The glass curdled, was once more still as a windless pond, golden tinted, slightly worn at its edges. I could see Maybelline’s reflection, holding the tube trained on me. Blue flame, green ray, whatever. I just wanted to have a hot bath and go to bed and wake up from this rather pointless dream. But then all dreams are pointless, that’s the thing about