Lexicon: A Novel - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Max Barry is the author of four previous novels, Syrup, Jennifer Government, Company, and Machine Man. He lives in Melbourne, Australia.

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A Time Top 10 Fiction Book of 2013

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A Kirkus Reviews Best Fiction Book of 2013

A Goodreads Best Book of 2013

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An IndieNext Great Reads Pick July 2013

A New York Times Summer Beach Read

An Amazon Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Pick June 2013

A Best of June iBookstore Pick

A Time “What to Read Now” Pick

A Vogue Best Summer Mystery Read

A Huffington Post Best Book of Summer 2013

A Salon Summer’s Best Read

A Hollywood Reporter Buzzy Books for Hollywood’s Reading List Selection

A Pittsburgh Post Gazette Beach Read

A Kirkus Reviews Ten Best Novels for Summer Reading 2013

Every story written is

marks upon a page

The same marks,

repeated, only

differently arranged

[I]

Now when Ra, the greatest of the gods, was created, his father had given him a secret name, so awful that no man dared to seek for it, and so pregnant with power that all the other gods desired to know and possess it too.

—F. H. BROOKSBANK, The Story of Ra and Isis

[ONE]

“He’s coming around.”

“Their eyes always do that.”

The world was blurry. There was a pressure in his right eye. He said, Urk.

“Fuck!”

“Get the—”

“It’s too late, forget it. Take it out.”

“It’s not too late. Hold him.” A shape grew in his vision. He smelled alcohol and stale urine. “Wil? Can you hear me?”

He reached for his face, to brush away whatever was pressing there.

“Get his—” Fingers closed around his wrist. “Wil, it’s important that you not touch your face.”

“Why is he conscious?”

“I don’t know.”

“You fucked something up.”

“I didn’t. Give me that.”

A rustling. He said, Hnnn. Hnnnn.

“Stop moving.” He felt breath in his ear, hot and intimate. “There is a needle in your eyeball. Do not move.”

He did not move. Something trilled, something electronic. “Ah, shit, shit.”

“What?”

“They’re here.”

“Already?”

“Two of them, it says. We have to go.”

“I’m already in.”

“You can’t do it while he’s conscious. You’ll fry his brain.”

“I probably won’t.”

He said, “Pubbaleeese doo nut kill mee.”

An unsnapping of clasps. “I’m doing it.”

“You can’t do it while he’s conscious, and we’re out of time, and he probably isn’t even the guy.”

“If you’re not helping, move out of the way.”

Wil said, “I . . . need . . . to . . . sneeze.”

“Sneezing would be a bad move at this point, Wil.” Weight descended on his chest. His vision darkened. His eyeball moved slightly. “This may hurt.”

A snick. A low electronic whine. A rail spike drove into his brain. He screamed.

“You’re toasting him.”

“You’re okay, Wil. You’re okay.”

“He’s . . . aw, he’s bleeding from his eye.”

“Wil, I need you to answer a few questions. It’s important that you answer truthfully. Do you understand?”

No no no—

“First question. Would you describe yourself as more of a dog person or cat person?”

What—

“Come on, Wil. Dog or cat?”

“I can’t read this. This is why we don’t do it when they’re conscious.”

“Answer the question. The pain stops when you answer the questions.”

Dog! he screamed. Dog please dog!

“Was that dog?”

“Yeah. He tried to say dog.”

“Good. Very good. One down. What’s your favorite color?”

Something chimed. “Fuck! Oh, fuck me!”

“What?”

“Wolf’s here!”

“That can’t be right.”

“It says it right fucking here!”

“Show me.”

Blue! he screamed into silence.

“He responded. You see?”

“Yes, I saw! Who cares? We have to leave. We have to leave.”

“Wil, I want you to think of a number between one and a hundred.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Any number you like. Go on.”

I don’t know—

“Concentrate, Wil.”

“Wolf is coming and you’re dicking around with a live probe on the wrong guy. Think about what you’re doing.”

Four I choose four—

“Four.”

“I saw it.”

“That’s good, Wil. Only two questions left. Do you love your family?”

Yes no what kind of a—

“He’s all over the place.”

I don’t have—I guess yes I mean yes everybody loves—

“Wait, wait. Okay. I see it. Christ, that’s weird.”

“One more question. Why did you do it?”

What—I don’t—

“Simple question, Wil. Why’d you do it?”

Do what do what what what—

“Borderline. As in, borderline on about eight different segments. I’d be guessing.”

I don’t know what you mean I didn’t do anything I swear I’ve never done anything to anyone except except I once knew a girl—

“There.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

A hand closed over his mouth. The pressure in his eyeball intensified, became a sucking. They were pulling out his eyeball. No: It was the needle, withdrawing. He shrieked, possibly. Then the pain was gone. Hands pulled him upward. He couldn’t see. He wept for his poor abused eyeball. But it was still there. It was there.

Blurry shapes loomed in fog. “What,” Wil said.

“Coarg medicity nighten comense,” said the taller shape. “Hop on one foot.”

Wil squinted, confused.

“Huh,” said the shorter shape. “Maybe it is him.”

•   •   •

They filled a sink with water and pushed his face into it. He surfaced, gasping. “Don’t soak his clothes,” said the tall man.

He was in a restroom. An airport. He had come off the 3:05 P.M. from Chicago, where the aisle seat had been occupied by a large man in a Hawaiian shirt Wil couldn’t bear to wake. At first, the restroom had appeared closed for cleaning, but the janitor had removed the sign and Wil had jagged toward it gratefully. He had reached the urinal, unzipped, experienced relief.

The door had opened. A tall man in a beige coat had come in. There were half a dozen free urinals, Wil at one end, but the man chose the one beside him. Moments passed and the tall man did not pee. Wil, emptying at high velocity, felt a twinge of compassion. He had been there. The door had opened again. A second man entered and locked the door.

Wil had put himself back in his pants. He had looked at the man beside...