The Stringer Read Online Free PDF

situation. For you are correct, Mr. Vonnegan: Arad do not inhabit living things. They can inhabit only the dead, animating them as puppets. And this they can do only via assignment.”
    I stared at him. He sighed. “They must be placed within a vessel by ustari . Someone has done this. More than once. Is still doing this. Sowing chaos. Your man, what was he doing?”
    â€œPushing people in front of a train.”
    Fallon nodded as if this fit some secret category of behavior. “Mine was stabbing people in the park with a screwdriver,” he said. “There are many more, and they are all engaged in random violence. There is no plan, no escape route, no elegance to it. They are rabid intelligences given form and let off their leash.”
    This was so far above my level of experience, I was going to get a nosebleed. It was time to bow out and get back to figuring out how to retire on one hundred dollars. Before I could vocalize my exit strategy and leave this mess to the enustari of the world, however, there was a sudden commotion from the direction of the bathroom.
    Fallon raised one eyebrow a precise amount that he must have practiced in a mirror, assigning a specific reaction to each millimeter. “Our guests have shrugged off their magical bonds,” he said. “Shall we ask them a few questions?”
    The old man was on his feet, taller than I’d expected, graceful and slender. His suit, I saw from up close, was worth more than every single piece of clothing I’d ever owned in my life combined. Fucking enustari . Nice work, if you weren’t bothered by the oceans of blood you had to shed to get there. Still, the fact that Fallon didn’t have any Bleeders was a confounding mystery.
    The thin man strode confidently from the room, and I followed, Hiram sauntering after me, hands still in the pockets of his shapeless trousers. The noise from the bathroom had risen to the level of pretty serious; they were both up and tearing the place apart. The sound of running water flowed under everything else like a silver thread. Hiram had a mess on his hands, and I was comforted by the fact that I wasn’t solely to blame.
    Fallon paused outside the door and turned to us. “We will—”
    The bathroom door exploded outward in a spray of splinters, the young black guy hurtling through and slamming into the wall beyond with bone-shattering force. He straightened up and staggered, shaking his head, while Mr. Landry, looking really, really worse for the wear, leaped into the hallway behind him.
    Mags skidded into place next to me, grabbing hold of my arm. We looked at each other for a split second.
    â€œ Balahul! ” Landry shouted, sounding exultant.
    Fallon whirled, one hand diving into his jacket pocket as Hiram, Mags, and I produced our blades; Hiram was an old scrapper, and his left arm was crisscrossed with white and pink scars just like mine. Hiram had taught me how to hold the blade, how to gauge the necessary pressure, how to avoid tendons, and how to select the right vessel. As we slashed our forearms in sync, Fallon produced a small wooden box from his pocket that looked about as dangerous as a thumbtack. You didn’t meet many Fabricators, and now I knew why: They’d all been eaten by Udug while playing with their toys. I could sense gas in the air from the bleeds Hiram and I had going. I ran through the combat spells I knew, the fragments that might be combined into something weaponized, but before I could speak, Fallon held the box in his palm, reached with his other hand, and opened the lid.
    A soft, sweet note emanated from within, louder than should have been possible. It was a beautiful sound, a constant clear tone that made me pause in surprise and wonder. It burst forth without variation, perfect and steady. It was the most gorgeous noise I’d ever heard.
    Landry and the black kid began screaming.
    They collapsed to their knees and covered their