Crimson sally's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

The den fell quiet after the three men fled. Sally licked the last of the blood from the horn and sat down among the mess. Beer cans lay on the rug. A pool table sat scarred and stained. Sally rested here between hunts, in this cluttered man cave where the corrupt had lounged in their underwear. But rest would not come. The whispered name still hung in the air, and it led nowhere. The eggplant crawled up the peach shell, leaves torn, and blinked at Sally. "You heard it too," it said. "The name." "A name is not enough," Sally said. Sally had learned this the hard way. The red path outside had gone dark and cold. Sally could feel it through the door, like a rope with no end to pull. "The path needs a crime. A place. Without them it stays black." A soda can rolled across the floor and stopped. Then a green face leaned out from behind the couch. He wore a patched vest and striped pants, and he grinned too wide. He hummed a bright little tune as he stepped over the clutter, careful not to touch the sticky rug. "Careful bob knows the name," he sang. His grin did not shrink. "Careful bob knows where he hides." Sally rose. The horn came down and pointed at his chest. "You were here with them." "Careful bob never kicked the little one." He spread his hands and glanced at the wounded eggplant. "Careful bob only watched. Careful bob knows things." He danced a small step, humming, then went still. "The man they whispered about runs a counting house. He forges the wage books. He is the one who told the boss which workers to starve." The eggplant stiffened on Sally's hoof. "He speaks true," it whispered. "I saw that man once. He signed the papers." A crime. A place. Sally felt the words drop into the cold hunger like coals into a stove. "Where is this counting house?" Careful bob only smiled and hummed. He would not say. He wanted something first, Sally could tell, and he enjoyed the waiting. But Sally no longer needed his mouth. The name had a crime now. It had a place, a counting house full of forged books. That was enough to feed the path. Sally turned to the door. Outside, the red road flared to life. It burned bright and warm and pulled hard, straight and sure. The rope had an end again. Sally set a hoof on the glowing path. "Careful bob comes along," the green man sang behind her, skipping over the cans. "Careful bob wants to watch." Sally did not answer. The path was lit. The hunger had a target at last. Sally began to run, the eggplant clinging tight and the strange singing man chasing after.