Coming to Babylon had always seemed like something of a mistake.

Not that the slums of Dallas had been much better. Lucius Stangler had been born there. Born poor and Catholic, raised poor and Catholic- raised in fear of persecution by the police, the government, the Klan.

He'd been in his early 20s when he'd seen the ad: Employees needed for a silver-mining company setting up somewhere in the vast Texan desert.

Times were hard even then, and Lucius was sick of the city. So he signed on to run a little lunch place, somewhere the miners could stop off in the middle of the day for a bite.

Few of the miners in Babylon were married and those that were had to be fiercely loyal, because Babylon was fifty miles away from everywhere, and it was awful easy to forget one's spouse when you hadn't had a toss in months and a carnival drops by with its cooch dancers and whores.

Another side effect of Babylon's remote location was the lawlessness. Sure, the foreman kept order enough in the mines themselves, but in time the laws of the country- Prohibition, for example- began to fade away and then disappear. Lucius' little lunch place was slowly but surely transformed into a tavern. Meanwhile, Stangler just kept sending as much money as he could afford back to Dallas.

Somehow, though, it had always seemed like something of a mistake.

It wasn't only that Lucius missed his family, or the relative scores of women that wandered the streets of the big city. It wasn't that he felt lonely or without friends. It wasn't that he wasn't making enough money.

There was always something unstable about Babylon. And after a while Lucius began feeling that someday, something had to break. Something would go terribly wrong.

It had only been a whispering fear. He'd been making fair money, and had friends enough for conversation. But he was always on his guard.

Then, in the last leg of hiring for the mine workers, Henry Scudder showed up...

---

Come one! Come all! Only twenty-five cent! The talker, in his red and blue vertical striped jacket, waved his cane and tipped his hat to the ghostly miners filing past. Freddie the Fantastic! He calls upon the ancient powers of old to read your future! Step right up, gentlemen!

From somewhere else, another talker was competing: Come see the girl born with a beard! Sally Drake! Just one nickel!

Stangler was meandering along the midway, hands in pockets, his eyes skirting around the crowd nervously. The miners, for now, were being as zombie-like as ever. But that sentence was still ringing in his head:

Someone gotta die for him.

Was that why they'd been waiting for a carnival for so long? To kill Scudder? It didn't make any sense!

The presence of the carnival itself, however, was a reassurance for Stangler in that he realized now he couldn't have been crazy all this time. The miners weren't a dream or some drunken hallucination- someone else was seeing them now.

A sudden thought made him stop in his tracks, right outside of Freddie the Fantastic's tent.

All the miners were here. There wasn't- so to speak- a soul left in town. And a thought entered his head that he hadn't dared to think in months.

Perhaps this was his chance.

---

Freddie Nevin, aka Freddie the Fantastic, gazed into the crystal ball, making a big show of it as he always did. He hummed a low, grumbling hum, one that he'd always thought sounded rather mystical. He waved his hands, wheeling them in slow circles around the orb that sat before him.

It was around this time that whoever was sitting across from him would gaze intently into the ball as well, looking for whatever Freddie might see. Freddie noted, however, that the tired-looking man in overalls only was gazing straight ahead, straight at Freddie's face.

Odd. And a little unnerving. But Freddie didn't let it show.

Ah, sir, he said, in his most ethereal voice, I can see bright things within your future.

The miner only drawled a single word:

Freddie was not enjoying this man's unwillingness to play along. Obviously a non-believer.

Oh, yes, he said, A large sum of money coming your way... Have you any well-off relatives, sir?I got a cousin in Dallas, the miner said.

Freddie said, feeling lucky to have hit a vein, That must be it, then... Well, sir, I daresay you're going to see plenty more of these in the future. He held up the quarter that the miner had relinquished to him. Good evening, sir, he said with a nod, and as the miner started to rise, Freddie offered his closing line: And may the gods be with you.

The miner cast him a sneering glance before heading out.

Freddie sighed, twiddling the quarter over his fingers. He didn't blame those who didn't believe in his act, he only wondered why they bothered to stop in at all, especially when quarters were so hard to come by these days.

And may the gods be with you.' Not for the first time, Freddie chuckled at his own private joke, a play on his pagan beliefs. If only those suckers could see some real magic...

---

Stangler cast a triumphant glance over his shoulder, towards the bright lights of the carnival. They weren't expecting a thing, these miners. He could make it this time, he could really make it- maybe.

He was trying not to get his hopes too high.

But he knew he had enough supplies to make it to the next town, as long as he traveled quickly. Ten miles a day, at least. And he'd have to sleep out in the freezing desert night, and ration his water, and watch out for snakes.

It didn't matter, though. None of it mattered as long as he could get out.

He was nearing the top of the hill.

Stangler did his best to ignore the sudden, inexplicable weight that kept bearing down on his shoulders, growing heavier with each step. This had happened before, but he could overcome it, somehow. He had to.

He stepped onto the top of the hill.

Beyond what the carnival's playful light could reach, the stars above glimmered, sprinkled across the sky. The Milky Way, shining like the road to Heaven, lay in wait, ready for Lucius to follow its path.

Lucius took one more step, and found, to his utter dismay, that he could not move.

He thought for a moment he'd been frozen in place somehow- but he realized after a moment that this wasn't true. It was only- he tried stepping again- something was blocking his path. Something he couldn't see.

He took one step to the right, tried again. Nothing. Another step to the right. Nothing.

Who's there? he called out suddenly. Someone had to be doing this to him. A little louder: Who's there?

No answer.

Stangler's nostrils flared; his breath turned to mist in the chill Texas night. Whoever this was, for whatever reason they were doing it, they weren't going to stop him this time. He was going to get out, or die trying.

He took a few steps back, then ran, slamming into the invisible barrier, pressing on it with all his weight. It didn't give an inch.

He tried again, taking more steps back and running with as much speed as he could muster.

But this time he stopped even before he reached the top of the hill. Startled, he cried out in alarm, stumbled back, almost fell.

It was hard to say exactly what he was looking at. A shadowy figure had perched itself atop the hill. It might have been called a person, except that it kept shifting, kept transforming somehow. The only true clue to its form, to its nature, was the burning end of a cigarette clutched in its right hand.

Did you think it was only the miners keeping you in? asked a dry, gravely voice. The embers on the tip of the cigarette flared as the shadow took a drag.

Stangler stayed silent. He found he couldn't get up the courage to speak. It was almost as if he were standing before God.

Or, perhaps, the devil.

But after the several moments of silence that soon passed, Stangler felt that one of them had to say something.

You've been doin' this? he asked, squinting, trying to get a clear view of the figure, which was of course impossible.

I have no reason to reveal my motives to you, the voice declared smugly, tapping the cigarette, disposing of the ash, I will only tell you that I need someone alive in Babylon.So get somebody else, Lucius pleaded, One of the carnies. Anybody. Just let me out. He hoped this was a benevolent god he was talking to.

said the voice, though Lucius took a small comfort in the voice's tone, which sounded as if it had really considered his suggestion. No carnie here will do. They will serve their destined purpose; the sacrifice in place of that which gives the dead unrest, and no more. Lucius exclaimed, ALL of em are gonna die?!I will answer no more questions, the voice stated, But I cannot let you leave.

Lucius wondered if gods could bleed. He decided to find out. Angrily, he strode right up to the shadowy figure and punched it across the face, finding it to be surprisingly solid. It hurt his hand, and he tried not to show it.

As for the shadow itself, it reacted to the hit as a human would- its head sprang back and its body reeled momentarily. Lucius took this moment of weak defense to make another break for it.

But at the top of the hill, he found himself once again halted.

The shadow, apparently stunned only a moment ago by Lucius' attack, now stood calm and collected in front of him.

That was unwise, it said, bringing the cigarette to its mouth.

Stangler was stunned, though not particularly surprised, by the fact that even at this close proximity he could not see the figure's face.

he said, I don't give a rat's arse about what you need. I'm getting out of here. You've got to let me out.I'm getting quite tired of your persistence, the shadow complained, and then its voice lowered, and became threatening. Sinister. You know nothing of the forces which bind your fate, Lucius Stangler. You are a simpleton of weak mind and even weaker spirit. But none of that matters because, whether you like it or not, you're going to help me find Henry Scudder. Lucius asked, his eyes crinkling. There was a long moment of heavy silence, in which the shadow's breath, full of smoke, flowed and swirled up towards the stars.

Who are you? Lucius finally asked the shadow.

The shadow told him.