Read Online The Radio Magician and Other Stories by James van Pelt - Free Book Online

expression, but he was breathing hard. Chastity’s head hung low, and her hands rested flat on the bench, like a woman so tired she’d never get up again.
    “Where’s the lady who came down here with you?” Trellis couldn’t see a door or any place where someone could hide.
    Jennifer said, “She made a blessing for all of us.”
    The man on the bench swept back his hood to reveal a black border of hair around his mostly bald head. He had a vaguely Arabic cast to his skin. “We’re suicide bombers,” he said, his hand draped loosely over the knife.
    Trellis wondered if his walkie-talkie would work underground or if it wasn’t already too late for him to think such thoughts.
    “Nobody covers us on the ten-o-clock news, though,” said Jennifer. “People don’t even see us unless they are already looking.” She walked across the room to her sister. “Your turn to work the trailer. Maybe a cup of tea would do you some good.”
    Chastity sighed and gathered herself. “That woman had kids, she told me. An eight-year-old girl and four-year-old boy. I begged her not to go through with it, but she did. I don’t like the ones with kids.”
    “Where is she?” Trellis asked again.
    Chastity said, “Over 2,300 people are reported missing every day. Some never turn up.”
    The hooded man looked at her, clearly annoyed. He turned to Trellis. “Didn’t you ever wonder how suicide bombers could do it? Strap the explosive around their chests. Give up everything they ever will have for what? To kill a handful of people. Even the most successful ones don’t get more than a score or two. Doesn’t the trade seem inequitable? Everything for a few lives, and they have to know that their single sacrifice won’t make the difference. Most of the time they aren’t even killing their enemies. They’re just killing. They have to have seen the results of the other bombers’ work. A line or two in the newspaper. Maybe a poster in their neighborhood celebrating their gesture. That’s it. Conditions don’t change. So how do they do it?”
    “Are you saying that woman blew herself up? I didn’t hear an explosion.”
    “It’s for the magic,” said the hooded man. “There’s magic in the sacrifice, they figure. If they make the sacrifice, then the gods will smile at them to drive their enemies away. They do it to better the world. They think they are saving lives in the long run, making the world a better place.”
    “But it’s evil. What kind of motivation is that, suicide for evil?” asked Jennifer. “And their magic doesn’t work. They don’t really have magic.”
    Chastity walked past him toward the stairs. “Over 2,300 people a day. Almost 900,000 a year. Some vanish for sacred reasons. I’ll bring the next one down.”
    The hooded man checked his watch. “Good. We’re running late.”
    “Late for what?” Trellis glanced from one to the other. Nothing made sense.
    “The clock’s ticking. It’s just a few minutes to midnight,” said the hooded man. “It’s always ticking.”
    “No, it’s the middle of the afternoon.” Trellis took a step toward Jennifer and the hooded man, not sure of what to do. This situation certainly wasn’t a part of mall security training. Behind them, on the other side of the bench, he saw a pit. He sidled around the bench, keeping his distance from the two of them, and the pit’s dimensions became clearer. Eight or nine feet across and deep, so deep that he knew now where the breeze he’d felt when he entered the chamber came from.
    “We have real magic,” Jennifer said, “and better motivation.” She turned on the bench so her feet nearly dangled over the drop. “That is the throat of the world.”
    “Sort of the ultimate wishing well,” said the hooded man. He crossed his arms, still holding his black-bladed knife. “We don’t toss in coins.”
    Trellis felt stupid and so weirdly out of place that he wondered if he wasn’t still dreaming last night’s dream.