“Is Fin here?” I all but bellowed.
“You want a beer?”
“No! I want Fin!”
“Okay, what kind of gin?”
“No, Fin! Fin! I just want to find out—”
“Stout?”
I gave up. “Never mind.”
He nodded and hopped off his box, disappearing under the counter, and I scanned the room. If Fin wasn’t behind the bar, he was usually taking bets over by the big screen, where everything was happening. But I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see anything with the old green couches completely covered in people, and more standing behind. And with the screen itself giving off only an occasional flicker through the yelling, jumping, and high-fiving patrons in front of it.
Somebody was having fun tonight.
“Here you go!” The bartender was back.
He handed me something reddish gold, with a good head.
“What is this?”
“What you ordered. Barley wine!”
I sighed and paid up, because arguing wasn’t worth the hassle, and took my barley wine on a tour of the facilities. It wasn’t easy. I got more alcohol on me than in me, thanks to buffeting elbows, and was all but deaf due to the constant thunder of the crowd.
But I made it to one side of the big screen, where I was pushed against a side table by the crowd’s ebb and flow. That wasn’t such a bad thing, since the table was currently empty, except for a bunch of used glasses. So I climbed on top to look for Fin.
And found somebody else instead.
Make that two somebodies, I thought, as another earthshaking roar went up from the crowd. The screen was so big, almost filling my vision from here, and the crowd was so close and so loud, that it was genuinely disorienting. It felt like I’d stepped into some weird virtual reality game, where we were all along for the ride.
And what a ride it was.
I had to steady myself on the shoulders of a couple guys, to keep from falling off the table as we went tearing along behind a huge troll
. Who in turn was tearing through a building, a bunch of screaming men running ahead of him, most of them too panicked to use the guns they were carrying. And the few who did finding it hard to aim while pissing themselves.
The troll smashed into something that shattered in a haze of flying wood, and whatever was providing the feed took a beating. We all lolled drunkenly, maybe half the bar together, as it flipped end over end, and hit the floor. And then we were leaning the other way, as it bounced up again and zoomed around in a circle to right itself. And showed us a dizzying view of an industrial building in the process.
It was old and grimy, with a row of high rectangular windows letting in streams of hazy moonlight, or maybe streetlight. It filtered down to illuminate the scene, looking strangely peaceful and serene. While below, the troll was literally ripping apart the building that the men were running through, and then using the pieces to rip them apart.
I saw one guy bisected by a flying piece of metal, maybe a large table or door; we were back behind the troll now and moving so fast that it was hard to tell. Another was crushed under a brick wall that decided to collapse when a massive arm was dragged through it. And a third was sent hurtling into another wall, courtesy of the girder that had been thrown at him like the world’s biggest javelin.
Others, however, were obviously mages, because I saw shrapnel bouncing off what had to be shields. Shields that were taking a beating, and not just from the troll. Because, on his back, hunched over like a tiny, wild-eyed wart, was . . . something crazy.
Or make that someone crazy, a screaming banshee with a machine gun and an afro, just letting it rip.
I had a sudden, dizzying flashback to the same woman in the cab of a truck, swaying back and forth and cackling maniacally. Kind of like she was doing now, only the machine-gun bursts drowned it out, along with the screams of the remaining men. One of whom finally got his shit together long enough to lob a spell. The big troll ducked, and it mostly flew overhead—his, anyway. The maniacal wart, however, got her hair singed, which started smoking.
But not because it was on fire.
But because the spell had lit the dozen cigarettes she had stored up there, like a tobacco crown.
She took a couple out of the smoking circlet, stuck them between her teeth, and let loose like the last five minutes of The A-Team.
I just stared.