Daisy made a move, adding a double-two to a six-and-two, releasing more blurbs to the map.
…Jazir was inside the Hive of Chances. A small room where a million blurbs gathered before streaming off through various passageways. Above him he could see glimpses of the moon, as more blurbs came in through the hole. Jazir was covered still with his suit of flies. Other blurbs were brushing against them, nuzzling and petting, whispering. As long as he kept his cover with him, there should be no trouble. Together they floated through a dark opening…
Hackle was lost in a maze. He had taken two steps only, already the door was impossible to find. There never was a door, he thought. I’ve always been here, lost like this. Blindly, under harsh lighting, he wandered along a branching passageway. Take the left, because that’s where Horny George wants to go. Hackle had decided to follow the cursor blurb, having no other guidance.
…Jazir Blurb Masala was blind, constricted, pulled and squeezed by the river of vaz, twisting through darkness that pulsed with juice, with no direction now, only to find the queen. Yes there was a queen blurb somewhere, something he had never considered, but thought wasn’t his anymore, only the collected one thought of the blurbmind, find the queen, let us feed…
Hackle came to a pavilion of mirrors, where his thin, stricken shape shocked him. Who was that creature, with the lank hair falling in clumps and the sunken eyes? So weak, he looked, a mere shell. Was that what he was? A shell for the Joker Bone? He could no longer feel Benny’s presence, only the bone, the bone, the dry bone. He felt like his skin was ready to crack.
Following the cursor, he took one of a thousand passages, again lost in corridors. This was like no other maze he had ever known. Mr Million had taken the original Hackle Maze, multiplied it with itself, bred a twisted monster that made love to itself constantly, breeding ever-new passageways that he stumbled down, lost in corridors…
Hackle screamed.
‘Something’s going wrong,’ said Joe.
‘What is it?’ asked Jimmy, not looking up from the game.
‘The maze, it keeps changing.’
‘What?’ said Daisy.
‘It does,’ cried Celia. ‘Look, it keeps changing all the time. How will we ever find…’
‘What time is it?’ demanded Jimmy. ‘Quickly!’
‘Eight thirty. No, it’s changing as well! Eight twenty-five now. Fuck! Eight forty-seven.’
Suddenly, Jimmy swiped all the bones off the table. ‘OK, new game.’
He opened the second box of dominoes and emptied them quickly.
‘Father…’
‘Choose! Play!’
‘But they’re…’
‘Play! Play to win!’
Daisy played, even though the bone she chose kept changing every second, even as she placed it down. It started out as the double-five and ended up as the two-one.
‘No good. You need a double. Let me…’
Daisy’s father slammed down a bone, which flickered for a moment, and then came up double-five. Daisy tried to match it, but was too slow.
‘Faster. Don’t think. Just play.
Daisy played. Just played. Found a match.
‘The maze is stabilizing,’ cried Joe.
‘OK, we’re back on course,’ said Jimmy. ‘Time?’
‘Eight twenty-nine,’ said Joe. ‘Eight thirty. The show’s just starting.’
On the second screen the theme song was playing out its merry tune:
And all over Manchester, in toilets and bathrooms and theatres, and in honeymoon suites and strip joints, dog kennels and swimming pools and bus shelters and rubbish dumps, all-night shopping malls and non-stop garages, dream homes and broken homes and private drinking dens, crash pads and launch sites and bomb sites, palaces and gleaming bright offices, darkened hospitals and dingy bedsits and penthouses and dog sites and honey kennels and broken pools and rubbish shelters and strip dumps and private moons and launching offices and bed bombs and pent-up bathrooms and gleaming crash toilets and all-night dream theatres; anywhere there was a hope or a chance or a glimmer, a sparkle or a sliver, all the gamblers were stroking their hard-earned domino bones, hoping that Cookie Luck would come up dancing, just for them.
And in the old House of Hackle on Barlow Moor Road, another game was being played, with more distant prizes. At least we know who’s singing now,’ said Joe.
‘Aye,’ said Celia, ‘that bloody Frank Scenario. The dirty cheat!’
And in the House of Chances, another two games were being played, with prizes made of bone and blurb. Hackle heard the song, echoing a thousand times around the passageways, calling forth answering cries from the hidden places. Shufflings could be heard, and grunts and wheezes along every line of broken sight, around every convolution of the brain…
…Play to feed to win to feed to win that song that comes through to win to feed upon the queen to win the feed that song now that never leaves me why to feed the feed song of chances even here if only I Jazir can to win play play play to find the queen the queen feed…
‘Here’s Tommy!’ shouted the city’s collective televisions. The video channel in the cellar picked up the same invitation to the random dance, as the popular star of dynamite domino came tumbling wild.
‘Tommy’s on,’ said Joe. ‘Time’s running out. And look…he’s in the maze as well.’
‘I see him,’ cried Celia. ‘He’s all purple and orange dots.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Jimmy. ‘We’re getting there. Stay cool.’
Daisy played a bone of her own, finally getting used to the play of random chances. How she did it, who can tell, only that trust had to be your gaming partner. Her father played as well, remembering his days of loss, and now the bones were banging down hard in succession, tile by tile, building the new maze.
In the outside world it passed 8.39, creeping fast towards the bone-dance, and the people were gathered to welcome the Lady Cookie home.
In the maze Hackle had no idea of time anymore; it seemed to slip and slide, sometimes backwards, so that he arrived at where he once was, and sometimes he landed back in his tiny cell and was merely dreaming. Was that just bad mazeography on his blind self? He was doing his best to keep up with Horny George, but should he be so trusting in a blurb so wild and strange that led him happily nowhere?
…As Jazir found himself back in his room, only dreaming of flying mazebound, only dreaming was he or else really no back again really moving now through tunnels to where…
Hackle reached up for the blurb, where it chortled, where it whistled and sang: Play to lose! Play to lose! Nothing like the real George had been. A sham of a blurb. Hackle grabbed it with both hands, twisted, around the neck, twisted, until…got bitten by it, didn’t care…twisted…until the satisfying sound of crack and squelch was heard. And a dying song…
Hackle dipped his fingers in the juice of it, spread the stuff all over his hands and face and grinned with the burning sensation. He threw the dead thing onto the floor and crunched it under foot.
Free to wander and filled with Joker, he wandered where he wanted, seeking only his next footstep. Around a corner could be heard a clattering of feet and a raucous laugh, quickly followed by a large ball of a man adorned in spots of purple and orange.
‘Paul?’ asked Hackle. ‘Paul Malthorpe?’
‘Sorry!’ cried the figure. Tumbler’s the name, tumbling’s the game. Must dash. Got a bone to catch.’ And the strangeness passed, tumbling over and over in a swirl of colours, laughing as he bounced along merrily.
‘The Tumbler just passed Hackle,’ said Joe.
‘Good,’ said Jimmy. ‘Where’s Jazir?’
‘He’s in there, doing well I think, but well hidden inside the blurbs.’
‘That’s what we want. They’ll have trouble spotting him on security.’
‘He’s moving towards the centre of the maze…Shit! It’s happening again. The maze just shifted, and the time…it’s moving backwards now.’
‘Play, Daisy!’
‘I’m trying to. But look at them…how can I…’
The dominoes on the table were shifting so quickly now, the dots were blurs of movement, like a time-lapse of the stars against the still night.
‘This time’s for real, Daisy. You got me?’
‘No. I…’
‘Play!’
‘Six-zero,’ she said, out of nowhere. And was amazed as the bone in her hand changed and stopped on that very pair of numbers. ‘How did I…how did I do that?’
‘You’re a natural, Daisy. Didn’t I ever say so?’
‘What do you mean?’
To the world, all was the same, time was the usual inevitable tread towards death and taxes and no further prizes. Whereas, to the maze and its various players, whether inside or controlling, time was just another choice of branching pathways, one that led forward, the other back, and all the twisted routes in between. Joe had to watch both screens at once, for while the game show’s clock was turning normally (8.49), the maze clock was a spikier beast (8.22, 8.59, 7.39, 8.17, 7.56, 8.37…).
‘OK punters!’ cried Tommy Tumbler. ‘Clack those bones together. Here she comes, the Queen of All Fortune! Cookie Luck!’
Cookie Luck! Cookie Luck! This is what they played for.
‘Cookie’s on, Jimmy,’ said Joe. ‘Eight fifty-two. Is it time?’
‘Not yet!’
‘But which clock, which clock do I follow?’
‘The maze clock. The game can’t be won until they coincide.’
‘What did you mean?’ asked Daisy then. ‘I was a natural? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Let’s play,’ replied her father, banging down a piece. ‘Six-two!’ But getting it wrong. ‘Shit! Sorry, I can’t…’
‘Max is meeting Cookie!’ cried Celia, feeling her domino tingle.
Hackle had fallen exhausted against a looking-glass wall that contained no reflections, only shadows that moved beyond its silver. A woman was standing over him, gently swaying in tight black, her body sliding with sexy dots that teased the eyes of the city, no less those of the professor.
‘Max, darling…’ she breathed. ‘So long since we last kissed.’
‘I’ve never kissed you, Susan. Malthorpe wouldn’t let me.’
‘Don’t you be cruel to your favourite Cookie. Who’s this Susan, Max? Are you making me jealous again? You know you can love only me, Max, as I can only love you. Will you kiss me, Max?’
‘No! Keep away from me!’
Hackle was trying to scramble up the wall, which was suddenly slippy and soft, with a perfume of flesh that his fingers sank into.
‘Ahhhh!’
‘Must go, Max. Got a date at nine. Remember me to Paul…’
‘Paul? Paul Malthorpe?’
‘Darling, he’s simply dying to meet you.’
Hackle felt something wet and warm touch his lips, then it was gone. He fell back and the wall gave way under his weight, allowing him to sink down slowly through another tunnel that finally landed him…
‘I’m losing him!’ shouted Joe.
‘What?’
‘Max…he’s slipping away. The time…’
Max woke with a start. The door to his cell opened, and Executive Crawl stepped in. ‘Good evening, Professor. I trust you slept well.’
Hackle smiled weakly. ‘What time is it?’
‘The time? Certainly, old chap. Twenty past.’
‘Eight?’
‘Of course. Friday evening. Nearly time for the draw. Mr Million wants you to watch the choice being made. A rare privilege.’
‘Don’t put me back in there.’
‘In where, old chap?’
‘The maze. I can’t seem to…’ Max closed his eyes. ‘Have you drugged me? The food?’
‘Maze? Calm down, Professor. Perhaps you were dreaming. Perhaps the maze is inside here, eh?’ Crawl was tapping his own head, producing a hollow ringing tone. ‘This way, please.’ He was gesturing towards the open door of the cell. ‘Sorry I can’t come with you. I am far too lowly.’
Real time. ‘Where is he?’ demanded Jimmy.
‘I don’t know.’ Joe was hitting keys to try to get the maze under control. ‘The whole thing’s going mad. I can’t…’
The screen was covered with blurbs, who fluttered in a cloud of black information, desperate for food. Beneath them the maze was twisting around into ever new pathways, but still the blurbs could not enter it. Joe wanted to hit the switch, let loose the Theseus blurbs, let them feed, but Jimmy was saying, ‘No. We wait. Play, Daisy…’
‘But where’s Jazir?’ she asked. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Jazir…he’s…’
‘He’s near the centre,’ shouted Celia. ‘Look at my feather go!’
…Find the centre Jazir feed the centre feed the queen play the queen feed the play to win to feed to find the centre where the play is winning to feed off the queen the king the queen king who wins for ever…
Real time: 8.58.05. As Cookie Luck started to slow her dance, to let her dots slowly form, and Celia felt her bone tingle again in expectation.
Maze time: 8.28. As Max stepped through the door…
‘Max is back,’ said Joe, under control again.
‘Never mind Max,’ shouted Jimmy. ‘Where’s Jazir?’
‘Nearly there. Nearly…’
‘Don’t do anything! Not till it’s nine in the maze.’
‘Hate to mention this…but the maze just vanished.’
Domino.
A large circular room greeted Max, perhaps the whole top floor of the House of Chances, but empty now of all walls and corridors. Only emptiness. A dazzling white emptiness that spread from the outer edges towards the darker centre, where a lone figure stood waiting, perhaps 5 miles away.
Max set off walking.
It took only minutes to cover the vast distance, to let the shaded figure dissolve out of the time which was dressed in the latest lime-green demob, with matching trilby and night-dark sunglasses. The darkness at the centre was shining from a circular pit set in the floor. The figure was standing near the hole, holding his hand out towards Max. ‘No further, please.’
‘Mr Million?’ asked Max.
‘The very same.’ The figure doffed his hat and bowed slightly.
‘Frank Scenario?’
‘The very same.’ The figure took off his glasses.
‘Adam Jagger?’
‘The very same.’ The figure laughed.
‘Where’s Malthorpe?’
‘You were always saying that. At school. “Where’s Malthorpe? What’s he doing now? How can I do better?” It was so funny to watch you two, fighting, following. So funny.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Are you still obsessed?’
‘He killed Georgie…’
Real time: 8.58.54. The computer screen had gone completely white, taking the maze and the dominoes and the blurbs and Miss Sayer’s inset into some hidden realm. Only the clock remained. Joe was banging at the keys, trying to reconnect, getting nowhere.
Domino.
‘What now, Jimmy?’ he asked.
‘We play.’
‘But the time? Jazir…’
‘We play. Daisy…your go, I think.’
Domino. Just thinking it even.
Nobody had heard her. She could hardly speak.
‘Daisy! Play. Play to win!’
Domino. Louder now, but still caged.
Maze time: invisible. ‘Oh yes, I remember Georgie Horn. A gentle boy that you two destroyed. You were very cruel to the unusual in life, I noticed that. I was luckier, being invisible, unnoticed…’
A buzzing noise could be heard, rising in smoke from the pit.
‘Who are you?’ asked Hackle.
‘The boy you ignored. The boy in the middle, not strong or weak or brilliant or stupid. Do you think I didn’t want to be like you, or Paul? I wanted to be special.’
‘But you are. You’re famous. A singer
. What more do you want?’
‘A minor talent I have exhumed in the last few years. A cover, if you will, for my real occupation. And a burden it has been, pretending.’ He threw the hat and glasses aside. ‘I wanted only to be chosen, Max. That’s all. To be a child of the moment, like you were. Like Paul. But Miss Sayer paid no attention to me. While you and Paul fought over her love, I grew to hate the woman. What was I? Another pair of lowly numbers. But so close…so close to being special.’
‘Six-Five?’
‘The very same.’
‘I remember you now.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You were the kid that Miss Sayer used that first day, to demonstrate probability theory.’
The figure nodded.
‘We were asked to predict what domino you would choose. And Malthorpe shouted out “double-six”, but you got the six-five instead?’
‘It was my chance, you see. My bone. I was cheated.’
‘But Miss Sayer taught us the odds. Sixteen to one. It was just bad luck, Adam. Look at me…getting the two-blank. How did I feel? It’s just bad luck.’
‘There’s no such thing, Max, as you well know. After all, is this not your creation?’ He pointed down into the pit. ‘You make your own luck, in a town like Droylsden, isn’t that ultimately what she taught us? Take Malthorpe for instance. What were the chances he would get the double-six? Minute. And yet he did. He cheated. Miss Sayer let him win.’
‘That’s stupid.’
‘Play to win, she said. And Paul did so, but now he’s mine, and I am the double-six, and life is a song sung low and cool to rouse the gentle spirit. But yet…this desire for more, how can I tame it? You’re my next step, Max. Won’t you come and bite me. Give me your knowledge. Feed me.’
‘You could’ve just taken me. Why Benny? Why Dopejack? The others…’
‘Do you think I control the system, Max? I am a victim of chances. I take my chances. The Joker Bone has been drawn. He has eaten, it is good. Whoever you carry, all is knowledge. Now, he comes home…’
‘No!’
Real time: 8.59.07. ‘Play, Daisy! What’s wrong with you? Play to win!’
‘Domino,’ she said, whispering it, letting the very thought of it come seeping through to the real world.