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The lunatic is doing a magic show for these mummies.

When the havoc catches on, they begin to laugh. I have to admit, I do, too. It’s all so mad, pathetic, and weirdly beautiful at the same time.

He links and unlinks rings. Breathes fire. Pulls a rabbit from his hat. He actually gets the mob to pay attention. A few even clap.

He puts a finger to his lips, clearly getting everyone ready for the climax of the show. Slowly, he opens his duster and takes something from inside. With one hand he points at the map. Shouting nonsense in a dozen languages, he uses his other hand to hold up what he took from his coat.

A bottle of water.

The crowd surges forward, but Daja pops a couple of shots in the air and they back off.

The Magistrate does a theatrical half bow with a hand to one ear. Waits.

From the middle of the crowd, an old woman shouts something. He points at her, and without a word the crowd parts, letting her up front. Her wild hair hangs down like dead weeds and she’s wearing a dress that looks like she took it off a Disney princess, tossed it in a grain thresher, and got an ape to sew it back together.

Gently taking her hand, the Magistrate leads her to the map. They talk for a couple of minutes. He points out landmarks and she points out others. He list

ens, cocks his head, and studies the woman as she chatters away. When she’s done, she looks at him shyly, like a dog hoping it fetched the master’s right slippers. Guess she did. The Magistrate opens his arms wide and pulls her into an embrace. He hands her the old water bottle as he releases her. Daja leads her to the havoc. The woman drinks greedily, dribbling all over herself, not caring where she’s going or who’s moving her away from the others. When the Magistrate turns back to us, he’s smiling in a way I haven’t seen before. I don’t like it.

Walking to his Charger, he gracefully hops over the hood and onto the roof.

“My friends, this is an auspicious day. Our new friend, the lovely Empress Consort Hristova, a wise woman who wants only to do God’s will and advance his just cause during these troubled times, has given me information that I believe will propel our crusade into its next stage. Soon, perhaps just a few days from here, lies the treasure we have sought for so long. With God’s blessing and this good woman’s help, we are one step closer to paradise,” he says. A dramatic pause. “And war!” he shouts.

The havoc loses its fucking mind. It’s like every Motörhead fan in the known universe stomping and screaming for an encore.

Me, I clap politely.

The Magistrate holds up his hands and the cheers die down.

“But there is still work to do. We will camp here tonight.”

That gets a round of cheers.

“Empress Consort Hristova will be my guest,” he says. “As for the others . . .”

He looks over the rest of the poor slobs he’s gathered together.

“Kill them all. Take everything useful from the town and then burn what is left.”

I thought the first round of cheers was loud, but this one makes my head hurt. All around me, the havoc surges forward. Humans and Hellions pull guns, knives, and swords. They rush the townies before they know what’s going on. The only good part is that their shouting covers up any screams. And when the slaughter is over and the townies have blipped out of existence on their way to Tartarus, there aren’t even any bodies.

When that’s done, there’s a second surge of motion as the havoc rushes in to loot the town. I let them go around and some slam into me. I stand my ground. As the Magistrate climbs down, I circle around to him.

Someone grabs my arm.

I whirl around, my hand closing on a throat. It’s Traven. He grabs my hand and I let go of him, but he holds on to me. It takes him a moment to get his breath and speak.

“Not now,” he says. “I know how you feel. But not now. He’ll see you coming. He probably expects it.”

I look over at the Magistrate. He has the map spread on the hood of his car. Cherry and the Empress stand on either side of him, moving their hands along roads and lines I can’t see.

I turn to Traven.

“Who the fuck is this guy? How does he do all those things?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s a distant whoomp as a couple of small buildings catch fire.