nose. He tore the plastic wrapper open with his teeth and ate the cookie in two bites. He smiled, belched, and sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged.
Then he tittered, an eerie high-pitched sound, like a schoolgirl’s ghost might make.
“What have you divined this day, oh Seer?” Gregor asked formally.
The Giggler touched the eyes on his undershirt, caressing them and the skin beneath. He reached for a plastic bag and dumped out a pile of bottle-caps and pop-tabs from aluminum cans, fingering them. “There’s a man in black,” the Giggler said, staring at the bits of metal. “He’ll help you, for a price.”
“You mean Zealand?” Gregor asked, frowning. The assassin had been wearing black, this last time.
“No, no, not an assassin. This man is mean. He has a mushroom head. White like a snake belly, skin like something growing under an old log.”
“You’re one to talk,” Nicolette said. Gregor glared at her, and Nicolette shrugged.
“Not the assassin, then. Someone else.”
“The enemy of your friend is your enemy, yes?” the Seer said.
Gregor digested that. “Possibly.”
“You’ve got another enemy, then, if you make the mushroom man in black your friend. His enemy.”
“Do you think he’d be less obscure if we shot him in the kneecap?” Gregor mused.
“Pain is a great clarifier,” Nicolette said.
The Giggler just giggled. “Do you ever dream when you’re awake?”
“I barely dream when I’m asleep,” Gregor said. Once upon a time that had been true, though it wasn’t anymore, not lately.
The Giggler nodded. “The woman who saved my life is still your downfall,” he said. “Many things have changed, but not that.”
The Giggler meant Marla. Once upon a time, she’d held the Giggler’s life in her hands, and she’d chosen to spare it. He always spoke of her in faintly awestruck tones, which annoyed Gregor. Marla had stumbled into a position far above her proper place. She was qualified to be muscle, absolutely, perhaps even a minister of war, but running the city? It didn’t suit her. Not that Gregor wanted the job, either. It was thankless, and the advantages wouldn’t outweigh the inconveniences. “But she can only hurt me if I go outside,” Gregor prompted. “I’m safe from Marla as long as I stay here, inside the building, correct?”
“I want a puppy,” the Giggler said, smiling, showing mossy teeth.
“That hasn’t changed, has it, in light of these other developments?” Gregor insisted. “You said if I stayed out of the weather, I’d be fine, that she couldn’t kill me. That if I didn’t go into the elements, I’d weather the storm.” He took a step forward, no longer bothering with the handkerchief, intent on the Giggler.
“Sometimes it snows in her dreams,” the Giggler said. “Or the wind blows, or it rains. Those are always the bad ones, when the weather starts.”
“Who? When who dreams?”
“The enemy of the friend you haven’t met. The man in black’s enemy,” the Giggler said. “The woman who dreams and weaves the world around her. The woman in yellow with violet eyes.
Her
.”
“This is different,” Nicolette said. “The last few times it’s been the same, once you strained out the craziness. This is new, though.”
“Bring me a puppy,” the Giggler said. “A stupid, loyal one.” He grinned at Nicolette and cut an enormous fart. Nicolette flinched, startled by the noise or by the echo of her earlier statement, Gregor wasn’t sure which.
“One last question, and you can have anything you want,” Gregor said. “When will I meet this man, my new friend?”
“Why? You planning on going somewhere?” The Giggler laughed again, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his belly. Bouts of humor like that usually lasted half the night with him.
Gregor walked away, Nicolette following. “Should I watch the door for surprise visitors, boss?”
“I don’t know,” Gregor said, getting into the elevator.
Then he tittered, an eerie high-pitched sound, like a schoolgirl’s ghost might make.
“What have you divined this day, oh Seer?” Gregor asked formally.
The Giggler touched the eyes on his undershirt, caressing them and the skin beneath. He reached for a plastic bag and dumped out a pile of bottle-caps and pop-tabs from aluminum cans, fingering them. “There’s a man in black,” the Giggler said, staring at the bits of metal. “He’ll help you, for a price.”
“You mean Zealand?” Gregor asked, frowning. The assassin had been wearing black, this last time.
“No, no, not an assassin. This man is mean. He has a mushroom head. White like a snake belly, skin like something growing under an old log.”
“You’re one to talk,” Nicolette said. Gregor glared at her, and Nicolette shrugged.
“Not the assassin, then. Someone else.”
“The enemy of your friend is your enemy, yes?” the Seer said.
Gregor digested that. “Possibly.”
“You’ve got another enemy, then, if you make the mushroom man in black your friend. His enemy.”
“Do you think he’d be less obscure if we shot him in the kneecap?” Gregor mused.
“Pain is a great clarifier,” Nicolette said.
The Giggler just giggled. “Do you ever dream when you’re awake?”
“I barely dream when I’m asleep,” Gregor said. Once upon a time that had been true, though it wasn’t anymore, not lately.
The Giggler nodded. “The woman who saved my life is still your downfall,” he said. “Many things have changed, but not that.”
The Giggler meant Marla. Once upon a time, she’d held the Giggler’s life in her hands, and she’d chosen to spare it. He always spoke of her in faintly awestruck tones, which annoyed Gregor. Marla had stumbled into a position far above her proper place. She was qualified to be muscle, absolutely, perhaps even a minister of war, but running the city? It didn’t suit her. Not that Gregor wanted the job, either. It was thankless, and the advantages wouldn’t outweigh the inconveniences. “But she can only hurt me if I go outside,” Gregor prompted. “I’m safe from Marla as long as I stay here, inside the building, correct?”
“I want a puppy,” the Giggler said, smiling, showing mossy teeth.
“That hasn’t changed, has it, in light of these other developments?” Gregor insisted. “You said if I stayed out of the weather, I’d be fine, that she couldn’t kill me. That if I didn’t go into the elements, I’d weather the storm.” He took a step forward, no longer bothering with the handkerchief, intent on the Giggler.
“Sometimes it snows in her dreams,” the Giggler said. “Or the wind blows, or it rains. Those are always the bad ones, when the weather starts.”
“Who? When who dreams?”
“The enemy of the friend you haven’t met. The man in black’s enemy,” the Giggler said. “The woman who dreams and weaves the world around her. The woman in yellow with violet eyes.
Her
.”
“This is different,” Nicolette said. “The last few times it’s been the same, once you strained out the craziness. This is new, though.”
“Bring me a puppy,” the Giggler said. “A stupid, loyal one.” He grinned at Nicolette and cut an enormous fart. Nicolette flinched, startled by the noise or by the echo of her earlier statement, Gregor wasn’t sure which.
“One last question, and you can have anything you want,” Gregor said. “When will I meet this man, my new friend?”
“Why? You planning on going somewhere?” The Giggler laughed again, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his belly. Bouts of humor like that usually lasted half the night with him.
Gregor walked away, Nicolette following. “Should I watch the door for surprise visitors, boss?”
“I don’t know,” Gregor said, getting into the elevator.
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