The Thief of Always

XIX

Dust to Dust

Rictus was waiting at the top of the stairs. His smile was sweet. His words were not.

"You're a murderer now, my little man," he said. "Do you like the feel of Marr's blood on your hands?"

"He didn't kill her," Mrs. Griffin said. "She was never alive. None of you are."

"What are we then?" Rictus asked.

"Illusions," Harvey replied, ushering Mrs. Griffin and her cat past Rictus to the front door. "It's all illusions."

Rictus followed them, giggling insanely.

"What's so funny?" Harvey said, opening the door to let Mrs. Griffin out into the sun.

"You are!" Rictus replied. "You think you know everything, but you don't know Mr. Hood."

"I will in a little while," said Harvey. "Go and get warm," he told Mrs. Griffin. "I'll be back."

"Be careful, child," she said.

"I will," he told her, then closed the door.

"You're a strange one," Rictus said, his smile failing a little. His face, when his teeth no longer dazzled, was like a mask made of dough. Two thumb-holes for eyes, and a blob for a nose.

"I could suck out your brains through your ears," he said, all the music gone from his voice.

"Maybe you could," said Harvey. "But you're not going to."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've got an appointment with your master."

He started toward the bottom of the stairs, but before he reached it a dark figure flitted in front of him. It was Jive, and he was carrying a plate of apple pie and ice cream.

"It's a long climb," he said. "Put something in your stomach first."

Harvey looked down at the plate. The pie was golden brown and dusted with sugar, the ice cream melting in a sweet, white pool! It Certainly looked tempting.

"Go on," said Jive. "You deserve a treat."

"No thanks," Harvey told him.

"Why not?" Jive wanted to know, turning full circle on his heel. "It's lighter than I am."

"But I know what it's made of," Harvey said.

"Apples and cinnamon and-"

"No," said Harvey. "I know what it's really made of."

He looked back at the pie, and for a moment it seemed he glimpsed the truth of the thing: the gray dust and ashes from which this illusion was made.

"You think it's poisoned?" Jive said. "Is that it?"

"Maybe," Harvey replied, still staring at the pie.

"Well, it's not!" Jive said. "And I'll prove it!" Harvey heard Rictus make a warning sound behind him, but Jive didn't catch it. He plunged his fingers into the pie and ice cream and delivered them to his mouth in one swift motion. As he closed his mouth Rictus said: "Don't swallow it!"

Again, too late. The food went down in one gulp. An instant later, Jive dropped the plate and began to slam his fists against his stomach, as if to force the food up again. But instead of half-chewed pie, a cloud of dust issued from between his teeth. Then another; then another.

Half-blinded, Jive snatched at Harvey's throat.

"What...have...you...done?" he coughed.

Harvey had no difficulty shaking himself free.

"It's all dust," he said. "Dirt and dust and ashes! All the food! All the presents! Everything!"

"Help me!" Jive said, clawing at his mouth. "Somebody help me!"

"There's no help for you now!" came a solemn voice,

Harvey looked around. It was Rictus who had spoken, and he was retreating across the hallway, his hands clamped to his face. He stared at Jive between his fingers, his teeth chattering as he voiced the horrid truth. "You shouldn't have eaten that pie," he said. "It's reminding your belly of what you're made of."

"What's that?" Jive said.

"What the boy says," Rictus replied. "Dirt and ashes!"

Jive threw back his head, howling Noooo! at this, but even as he opened his mouth to deny it the truth came pouring forth: dry streams of dust that ran from ms his gullet and flowed over ms angers. It was like a fatal message being passed from one part of his body to another. Touched by the dust his fingers began to crumble in their turn, and as they dropped, the same whisper of decay spread to his thighs and knees and feet.

He started to drop to the ground, but with a final pirouette, swung himself around and grabbed hold of Me banister.

"Save me!" he yelled up the stairs. "Mr. Hood, can you hear me? Please! Please, save me!"

His legs crumbled beneath him now, but he refused to give up. He started to haul himself up the stairs, still yelling for Mr. Hood to heal him: There was no reply from the heights of the House, however, nor any sound now from Rictus. There were only Jive's pleas and wheezings, and the hiss of dust as it ran away down the stairs from the emptying sack of his body.

"What's going on?" Wendell said, appearing from the kitchen with ketchup smeared around his mouth.

He stared at the cloud of dust that hung around the stairs, unable to see the creature at its heart. Harvey was closer to the cloud, however, and so was witness to Jive's last, terrible moments. The dying creature reached up with an almost fingerless hand, still hoping-even as its life drifted away-that its creator would come to save it. Then it sank down upon the stairs, and its last pitiful fragments crumbled.

"Somebody been beating the carpets?" Wendell said, as Jive's dust settled.

"Two down," Harvey murmured to himself.

"What did you say?" Wendell wanted to know.

Before he replied, Harvey glanced around the hallway, looking for Rictus. But Hood's third servant had disappeared. "It doesn't matter," Harvey said. "Are you done eating?"

"Yeah."

"Was the food good?"

Wendell grinned. "Yeah."

Harvey shook his head. "What does that mean?" Wendell asked.

Harvey was on the verge of saying: It means you can't help me; it means I have to go up and face Mr. Hood on my own. But what was the use? The House had claimed Wendell entirely. He'd be more of a hindrance than a help in the battle ahead. So instead he said: "Mrs. Griffin's outside."

"So we found her?"

"We found her."

"I'll go say hi," Wendell said with a cheery smile.

"Good idea."

Wendell had his hand on the door when he turned and said: "Where will you be?"

But Harvey didn't answer. He'd already climbed past the heap of dust that marked Jive's demise, and was nearing the top of the first flight, on his way to meet the power that lay waiting in the darkness of the attic.