Michael Ford - Z

“How do you know all this?” Josh asked.

“Clatter told me,” Charlie said.

“I did indeed,” said a voice. A moment later a figure emerged from the wreckage of the huge ship and walked toward them. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a strange outfit consisting of a very old-fashioned black suit and a top hat. As he moved he made a strange noise, which Josh soon realized was the rattling of hundreds of keys that were sewn onto his coat. They were the old kind—skeleton keys, Josh thought they were called—with long, thin, round bodies and elaborately curled ends. That explains his name, Josh thought.

Clatter had long, dark hair that fell onto his shoulders in limp strands. His skin was pale, and he wore steel-rimmed glasses with gray glass lenses. His hands were encased in black leather gloves, and on one finger he wore a gold ring with a very large red stone. Josh was surprised that Clatter seemed to be only a few years older than he and Charlie were.

“You must be Josh,” Clatter said. His voice was silky smooth, almost serpentine, as if the words flowed from his mouth like water. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” Josh said, genuinely surprised.

“Charlie says you have great natural talent,” Clatter continued. “And she ought to know. She’s one of the best I’ve ever discovered.”

Josh looked over at Charlie, who was beaming with pride.

“You must be wondering what you’re doing here,” Clatter said.

“I hear we’re going to play a game,” Josh said.

“Perhaps we are,” said Clatter, smiling. “As Charlie told you, she is part of a group of people who play the game in its purest form. That is to say, in real life.”

Josh nodded. “Right,” he said. “She did.”

Clatter smiled, his mouth forming a thin line across his face. “Well, you might say that I am the… master of ceremonies… for these games. I seek out the most talented players and bring them here.” He swept his hand around the graveyard of ships. “To the arena.”

But what do you get out of it? Josh wondered.

“I enjoy watching players who are good at what they do,” said Clatter, seemingly reading Josh’s thoughts. “It’s a beautiful thing, almost like a… ballet,” he concluded. “It gives me pleasure.”

Josh looked at Charlie. She gave him a quick nod, as if to say everything was okay.

“So how does this work?” he asked.

“You’re eager,” Clatter said. “I like that. You’re going to play in a game with the rest of the team. After I’ve observed you in action, I’ll decide whether or not you’re a good fit. If you are, you’ll be asked to join.”

“And if you don’t think I am?” Josh asked.

Clatter smiled again. “Let’s hope that won’t be the case,” he said.

Josh nodded. “Okay,” he said. “When do we play?”

Clatter snapped his fingers, and half a dozen figures materialized from out of the ships. “As I always say, there’s no time like the present.”

The group of figures approached, their faces becoming clearer as they stepped into the light. There were four boys and two girls, all of them around Josh’s age. They were dressed in black Torcher uniforms, and they each carried a flamethrower. They flanked Clatter, three on a side, and looked at Josh with unreadable expressions on their faces. Suddenly he was nervous.

“This is my team,” Clatter said. He pointed to the first Torcher, a tall, muscular boy with dark brown skin and a thick, pinkish scar running diagonally across the bridge of his nose and down past his lip. “This is Scrawl, the team captain. He’s been with me the longest.”

Josh nodded at Scrawl, who fixed his dark eyes on Josh and didn’t blink. Clatter continued with the introductions. “Then we have Seamus and Finnegan,” he said, indicating a short boy with pale skin and black hair and a tall boy with equally pale skin but red hair. “Believe it or not, they’re twins.”

“Hey,” the two boys said in unison, nodding.

“Our last man is Stash,” said Clatter. A heavy boy with thick arms, thick legs, and a thick neck looked back at Josh. His fat cheeks were tinged bright pink, and his blond hair was shaved into a crew cut. As Josh watched, he took a handful of nuts out of his pocket, cracked the shell from one, and popped the nut into his mouth. He dropped the shell on the ground.

Pistachio, Josh thought, looking at it. Stash. Very funny.

He wanted to laugh, but he knew that would be a mistake. Whatever was happening, everyone was taking it very seriously. He flashed a smile at Stash, who nodded curtly.

“And then we have the ladies,” said Clatter. “Allow me to introduce Freya and Black-Eyed Susan.”

It was easy to tell which girl was which. One was slight, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes; the other was a beautiful Latina with dark hair and eyes. “Call me Bess,” she said. “It takes less time.”

“And of course you know Charlie,” Clatter concluded. “Now let’s get you geared up and get this game going.” He clapped his hands together, which seemed to break the spell holding everyone in position.

Scrawl came over to Josh. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the locker room.” He turned back to the others. “The rest of you, go through the hit-and-run drill we practiced last week. I don’t want any screwups this game.”

Charlie smiled and waved at Josh. “See you soon,” she said.

Scrawl walked through the ship graveyard with Josh beside him. Josh wanted to ask all kinds of questions, but he also wanted to look cool and collected, so he said nothing. To his relief, Scrawl did enough talking for both of them.

“So you’re Charlie’s friend,” he said. “I hear you’ve got a good game going. Well, we’ve got the best gamers around on this team. You want to play with us, you’ve got to be ready. This isn’t some weak-ass holographic game. This is the real thing.”

They walked down a short corridor that ended at a wall. There were doors on both sides of the hall. “That’s the girls’ locker room,” Scrawl said, indicating the left-hand door. “And this is ours.”

He opened the door into a large room tiled all in white. Rows of lockers lined one wall, and there were long wooden benches bolted to the floor in front of them. On the other side of the room were four bathroom stalls, and through an archway Josh saw what appeared to be a communal shower area.

“I’ll skip the guided tour,” said Scrawl. “Your locker’s over here.”

He strode to one of the lockers and opened it. Inside a black uniform was hanging, a pair of black boots on the floor beneath it. “Put those on,” Scrawl said, nodding at the contents of the locker.

Josh peeled off his T-shirt and hung it in the locker. Scrawl glanced at it. “You into comics?” he asked, nodding at the Batman logo on the shirt.

“Yeah,” Josh said. “Are you?”

“Big-time,” Scrawl answered. “Mostly the classic stuff. You ever been to the Pageteria?”

“The paper museum?” said Josh. “No.

Scrawl nodded. “My house is about a block away,” he said. “It’s great. They have actual newspapers, magazines, anything printed on paper from before Cybooks made them obsolete. They have a great exhibit of comic-book art up right now. You should check it out.”

“That sounds cool,” Josh said as he removed his shoes, shucked off his pants, and stepped into the one-piece uniform.

“This uniform may not look fancy,” Scrawl said as Josh zipped himself up. “But built into the fabric are touch-sensitive threads. They send readings to a monitor back at base. Not only can the monitor read your heartbeat and body temperature, it can tell the difference between me just touching you and you falling down and you getting bit by a z.”