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His
knees
and
elbows
ached
.
His
nose
was
running
;
he
wiped
it
on
the
cuff
of
his
jacket
,
then
searched
one
empty
pocket
after
another
.
'
Jesus
,
’
he
said
,
shoulders
hunched
,
tucking
his
fingers
beneath
his
arms
for
warmth
.
'
Jesus
.
’
His
teeth
began
to
chatter
.
The
tide
had
left
the
beach
combed
with
patterns
more
subtle
than
any
a
Tokyo
gardener
produced
.
When
he
’
d
taken
a
dozen
steps
in
the
direction
of
the
now
invisible
city
,
he
turned
and
looked
back
through
the
gathering
dark
.
His
footprints
stretched
to
the
point
of
his
arrival
.
There
were
no
other
marks
to
disturb
the
tarnished
sand
.
He
estimated
that
he
’
d
covered
at
least
a
kilometer
before
he
noticed
the
light
.
He
was
talking
with
Ratz
,
and
it
was
Ratz
who
first
pointed
it
out
,
an
orange
-
red
glow
to
his
right
,
away
from
the
surf
.
He
knew
that
Ratz
wasn
’
t
there
,
that
the
bartender
was
a
figment
of
his
own
imagination
,
not
of
the
thing
he
was
trapped
in
,
but
that
didn
’
t
matter
.
He
’
d
called
the
man
up
for
comfort
of
some
kind
,
but
Ratz
had
had
his
own
ideas
about
Case
and
his
predicament
.
'
Really
,
my
artiste
,
you
amaze
me
.
The
lengths
you
will
go
to
in
order
to
accomplish
your
own
destruction
.
The
redundancy
of
it
!
In
Night
City
,
you
hadit
,
in
the
palm
of
your
hand
!
The
speed
to
eat
your
sense
away
,
drink
to
keep
it
all
so
fluid
,
Linda
for
a
sweeter
sorrow
,
and
the
street
to
hold
the
axe
.
How
far
you
’
ve
come
,
to
do
it
now
,
and
what
grotesque
props
.
.
.
Playgrounds
hung
in
space
,
castles
hermetically
sealed
,
the
rarest
rots
of
old
Europa
,
dead
men
sealed
in
little
boxes
,
magic
out
of
China
.
.
.
’
Ratz
laughed
,
trudging
along
beside
him
,
his
pink
manipulator
swinging
jauntily
at
his
side
.
In
spite
of
the
dark
,
Case
could
see
the
baroque
steel
that
laced
the
bartender
’
s
blackened
teeth
.
'
But
I
suppose
that
is
the
way
of
an
artiste
,
no
?
You
needed
this
world
built
for
you
,
this
beach
,
this
place
.
To
die
.
’
Case
halted
,
swayed
,
turned
toward
the
sound
of
surf
and
the
sting
of
blown
sand
.
'
Yeah
,
’
he
said
.
'
Shit
.
I
guess
.
.
.
’
He
walked
toward
the
sound
.
'
Artiste
,
’
he
heard
Ratz
call
.
'
The
light
.
You
saw
a
light
.
Here
.
This
way
.
.
.
’
He
stopped
again
,
staggered
,
fell
to
his
knees
in
a
few
millimeters
of
icy
seawater
.
'
Ratz
?
Light
?
Ratz
.
.
.
’
But
the
dark
was
total
,
now
,
and
there
was
only
the
sound
of
the
surf
.
He
struggled
to
his
feet
and
tried
to
retrace
his
steps
.
