Crosstime Traffic, page 23
Seeing no point in continuing further through the forest of pools, and perhaps risking fresh ensorcellment, he turned left, and made his way toward the citadel itself, with the intention of scaling it. At least from the roof he might be able to see some way in.
As he walked, he realized he no longer heard mysterious whispers in the sound of the water; it seemed that by breaking his trance he had lost forever the influence of that soft, soft murmur.
The renewed pain in his foot, he thought, might also help. His limp was back, worse than ever despite his best efforts.
A few minutes’ hobbling walk brought him to a narrow plaza between the water-garden and the palace, and to his astonishment he found himself before a pair of great gem-encrusted golden doors. He paused to stare up at them in dumbfoundment; from a single step back, on the amber path, the portal had been invisible, the palace wall blank.
Another illusion, of course — but which, he asked himself, was real? Was the blank wall an illusion, or were these doors?
Well, he answered himself boldly, there’s one easy way to find out.
He crossed the polished red marble of the plaza, and mounted three steps to the portal.
There, however, he had to halt, for he saw no latch or handle; not so much as a knocker marred the expanse of glittering gold, studded irregularly with rubies and sapphires. For that matter, he realized he could see no hinges; there were simply two huge golden panels, set flush in the stone wall, with the thinnest of hairline cracks marking their edges.
He stepped back down to study the situation, but could see no solution. Returning to the top step, he pushed with all his strength against the metal, but there was no give or play whatsoever; he could not budge it. He then tried to get a grip on the projecting gems, to pull the door open, which likewise had no effect. At last, disgusted, all caution lost, in frustration he cried out an oath.
The doors trembled expectantly.
He froze. Nothing more happened. Hesitantly, he said, “Allah?” The doors quivered.
Cursing himself for not trying the obvious means for opening enchanted portals, described in any number of old tales, he cried out, “Open, doors of al-Tir al-Abtan, in the name of Allah, the great, the merciful!”
Slowly and majestically, the golden valves swung inward, revealing a vast reception hall walled with jade, with a vaulted ceiling almost out of sight above him, and a floor of green marble. It was bare of all furnishings, and all but empty; the only thing in all that great chamber was al-Tir al-Abtan’s guardian.
Abu had his dagger out in a twinkling, upon seeing the dark, twisted form of the demon; it was indeed a ghoul, a loathsome creature, a travesty of human shape with gray skin and long, greasy ropes of black hair. Fangs jutted up from its lower jaw; its eyes had no iris nor pupil, and glowed a fiery yellow. Across one side of its face an oozing, leprous growth clung; it was naked, and grotesquely male. Although no taller than Abu al-Dîn, it must have weighed twice what he did, for it was as thick around as a barrel. It was armed with two-inch claws on every finger.
The thief could see the monster clearly, for a soft light emanated from the jade walls. Rather than be caught outside in the dark, he sprang inside and attacked first.
The ghoul fought like a mad dog, snarling and tearing at Abu without thought, its only aim to hurt and weaken its opponent. Abu, on the other hand, concentrated on dodging, only occasionally thrusting at the creature with his knife. He realized quickly that his blade could not pierce the thick hide of the demon; but still he kept stabbing at it, hoping against all evidence that it had some vulnerable spot.
Only when the blade snapped off did he recognize how badly he had erred. His only other equipment being his rope, he struggled to bring that into play; at last, he managed to break free for a moment, and dash across the chamber. When the ghoul came after him it met a hard-flung iron hook, which, as Abu had hoped and aimed for, took it in the eye.
The eerie golden orb burst with a blinding flash; the thief was staggered. An instant moment later the demon’s roar of pain and hatred brought him back to full alertness, and taking quick advantage of his opponent’s shock, Abu proceeded to swing the deadly hook into the other blazing eye. The flash was expected this time, and he recovered immediately from its effects.
The demon roared again, horribly, and sat still momentarily in the center of the chamber; then, in a burst of motion, it sprang at its tormentor. Abu dodged to the side, and it followed; blind as it now was, it could still track him by sound.
Although he had improved his chances, Abu realized he was still facing a formidable enemy; he fled desperately, hampered by his injured foot and a dozen gashes from the demon’s claws, trying to keep out of reach of the maddened monster.
As he fled he continued to swing the iron hook at the ghoul, annoying it, but failing to wound it, until at last it grabbed the rope out of his hands, tearing the skin from his palms. The rope coiled and whipped about as he released it, and to the surprise of both combatants, it wrapped itself about the demon. Abu saw his chance; and snatching up the loose end, he began to run about the room, winding the cord about his assailant until the creature was unable to move.
By the time the blinded horror had freed itself, Abu was out of range of even a demon’s sensitive ears.
Now, at last, the thief was loose in the palace, free to roam; prowling like a cat, he made his way through endless corridors and countless chambers, losing himself hopelessly in the maze of rooms.
He saw wonders like none he had dreamt of before. He saw peacocks that sang sweet songs, and glistening fish that swam the air. He saw books written in blood, and scrolls of human skin. He saw fountains that burned, and found a fire that cooled his wounds; strange fragrances filled the air, and stranger sounds and musics. It seemed to him that he wandered for days among the magician’s playthings.
And then, at last, he came upon the magician.
This was in a tower room, far above the body of the palace; the walls were polished crystal, yet black as death, and the stairs that he climbed to reach the chamber were lit from within, yet seemed as opaque as coal.
It was at the top of these stairs that he entered the wizard’s laboratory, cluttered with ghastly talismans and dusty books. Amid the clutter stood a tall, thin old man—very tall, with white hair that flowed to his waist, and a silvery beard almost as long. He wore an absolutely plain black robe that shimmered eerily, and was bent over one of the larger and dustier of the tomes.
Remembering the King’s instructions, and seeing his intended victim thus absorbed, Abu crept up behind him, the heavy hilt of his broken dagger in his hand, intending to kill the wizard.
As he raised his hand, all strength abruptly ebbed from his limbs, and he collapsed helplessly, to lie unmoving on the floor.
The wizard finished reading the page, closed the book, and put it atop a pile nearby; then he came and stood looking down at the paralyzed thief.
“You have disturbed me,” the Most Profound Tir said. “This is not to be permitted. Further, I see in your eyes that all of Tahrîr now wishes me ill, and that others will be sent after you. I will not have it.” The dry, ancient voice seemed to fill everything, although Abu knew that it wasn’t really very loud. He tried to speak, but could not.
“What will I do with you, you ask?” Al-Tir al-Abtan stroked his beard. “I don’t know. You do bear examination, having gotten this far into my palace, don’t you? But I’m too busy to bother with you just now; you’ll have to wait.”
He waved a hand, and Abu felt himself lifted by unseen hands. Then he was dropped roughly into a small trunk, and the lid fell closed.
It was a very small trunk, and very cramped, but Abu al-Dîn had nothing to say about the accommodations, or anything else. He could not move, could not speak, and soon realized that he was not even breathing any more—yet still he lived.
He waited, unwillingly, for al-Tir al-Abtan to find the time to deal with him.
Within a matter of hours, he felt certain that even death could be no worse than continued imprisonment.
As he lay there, events went on without him. Outside the palace, in the city of Tahrîr, Abu al-Dîn had been given up as lost, and as the Most Profound Tir had said, another was to be sent; but then, word came to the King of strange stirrings of the sea at the docks. Curious, he put off other matters to investigate, and made his way to the waterfront, so that he was the first men in all Tahrîr to be engulfed by the first great wave that washed over the city. In quick succession, a dozen immense waves broke across the stinking mass of Tahrîr, washing it into the sea. The land itself sank, and by the time peace had returned to the churning ocean the city of Tahrîr was utterly gone, lost forever, save for a single building, the Palace of al-Tir al-Abtan, which through all the tempest and flood remained untouched, as though a great glass wall encircled it. And when the seas stilled, the palace stood alone on a sheer-sided island, half beneath waves that broke harmlessly against that same invisible barrier, while inside, al-Tir al-Abtan worked on, paying scant attention to his handiwork. In his many long years of life and study he had gained knowledge and power of an incomprehensible order; the destruction of Tahrîr had been no more to him than squashing a bug.
Thus did the Island of al-Tir al-Abtan come into being, and thus it remained, for many, many years, until at last, one quiet night, al-Tir al-Abtan went away and took his palace with him. Now the seas wash lightly over the island when the tides are high, and gulls perch there calmly when the waves withdraw. All of Tahrîr is long dead — save for Abu al-Dîn, who is still in that trunk, waiting for al-Tir al-Abtan to remember him.
The Final Folly of Captain Dancy
1.
I was right there beside him when it happened, and I saw the whole thing. It wasn’t anything but pure bad luck, such as could happen to anyone—but it had never happened to the captain before, and I’d guess he wasn’t ready for it.
We had just come out of Old Joe’s Tavern, where the captain had beaten the snot out of three young troublemakers, and we’d left by way of the alley, since the troublemakers had shipmates of their own, and that alleyway wasn’t any too clean. I didn’t see exactly what it was the captain stepped in, but it was brown and greasy, and when his foot hit it that foot went straight out from under him and he fell, and his head fetched up hard against the brick wall, and there was a snap like kindling broken across your knee, and there he was on the ground, dead.
It was pure bad luck, and the damnedest thing, but that’s how it happened, and Captain Jack Dancy, who’d had three ships shot out from under him, who’d come through the battle of Cushgar Corners, where only three men survived, without a scratch, who’d sired bastards on half the wives in Collyport without ever a husband suspecting, who’d stolen the entire treasury from the Pundit of Oul and got away clean, who’d escaped from the Dungeon Pits of the Black Sorcerer on Little Hengist, who was the only man ever pardoned by Governor “Hangman“ Lee, who’d climbed Dawson’s Butte with only a bullwhip for tackle—that man, Jolly Jack Dancy, lay dead in the alley behind Old Joe’s Tavern of a simple fall and a broken neck.
And that meant that me and the rest of the crew of the good ship Bonny Anne were in deep trouble.
We didn’t know the half of it yet, of course, but even then, drunk as I was, I knew it wasn’t good.
I saw him fall, and I heard his neck break, but I was muddled by drink, and I didn’t really believe that the captain could die, like any other mortal, and most particularly not in such a stupid and easy fashion, so I judged that he was just hurt, and I picked him up and tried to get him to walk, but a corpse doesn’t do much walking without at least a bit of a charm put on it, so then I swung him up across my shoulders and I headed down that alley, swaying slightly, and in a hurry to get back to the Bonny Anne, where either Doc Brewer or the captain’s lady, Miss Melissa, could see about reviving him.
I think somewhere at the back of my mind I must have known he was dead, but sozzled as I was I probably thought even that wouldn’t necessarily have been entirely permanent. I’ve seen my share of zombies, and I know they aren’t of much use and don’t remember a damned bit of what they knew in life, but I’d heard tales of other ways of dealing with the dead, one sort of necromancy or the other, and I won’t call them lies as yet.
I had enough sense left to stay in the alleys as much as I could, and halfway to the docks I ran into Black Eddie driving a freight wagon, and I hailed him and threw the captain’s carcass in the back, and then climbed up beside him.
It took me two or three tries to get up to the driver’s bench, what with the liquor in me, but I made it eventually, and Black Eddie had us rolling before I had my ass on the plank.
“Head for the ship,” I told him, and he nodded, as he was already bound that way. He snapped the reins and sped the horses a mite.
Then he threw a look behind him, and turned to me.
“Billy,” he said, “what’s wrong wi’ the Captain?”
“Broke his fool neck,” said I.
He looked at me startled, then looked back at that corpse, and then asked, “You mean he’s dead?”
I started to nod, and then to shrug, and then I said, “Damned if I know, Eddie, but I’m afraid so.”
“Damme!” Eddie said, and he flicked the reins again for more speed.
That brought our situation to my attention. “Eddie,” said I, looking around in puzzlement, “What’re ye doing with this wagon?”
“Damned if I know, Billy,” he said. “’Twas the captain’s order that I get it, and have it at the docks by midnight, but he didn’t think to tell me why.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to remember if the captain had said anything about a wagon, and not managing to recall much of anything at all. The captain had mostly been on about the usual, whiskey and women and the woes of the world, and hadn’t spoken much of any special plans. A moment or two later we rolled out onto the dock where the Bonny Anne lay, and I hadn’t come up with a thing.
“Well,” I said, “Mr. Abernathy will know.”
We’d tied up right to the dock, as the harbor in Collyport is a good and deep one, with a drop-off as steep as a ship-chandler’s prices; no need to ride out at anchor and come in with the boats, as there would be in most of the ports we traded in. About a dozen ships were in port, at one place or another, and the Bonny Anne was one of them, right there at hand, and we could see the lads aboard her watching as we came riding up.
Looking up at them, the thought came to me that perhaps there were things we had best keep to ourselves, at least until we’d had a chance to talk matters over with our first mate, Lieutenant John Hastings Abernathy, who had the watch aboard and was Captain Dancy’s closest confidant. It seemed to me I recalled a few things I hadn’t before.
“Eddie,” said I, “Give me a hand with the captain, would you? And let on he’s just drunk, or been clouted, and let’s not say any more of it than we must, shall we?”
He gave me the fish-eye, but then he shrugged. “What the hell, then,” he said. “Let it be Mr. Abernathy what spreads the news, if you like.”
“It’d suit me,” I said. I was thinking of a deal the captain had made, six years before, with the Caliburn Witch.
So the two of us hauled that corpse out of the wagon with a bit more care than was honestly called for, and we got it upright between us, me with my hand at the back of the head so the crew would not be seeing it loll off to one side too badly, and we walked up the gangplank with the feet dragging between us, and we headed straight back to the captain’s cabin.
Old Wheeler, the captain’s man, was pottering about, and we shooed him away and dumped poor old Jack Dancy’s mortal remains on the bunk, and then Black Eddie sent me to fetch Mr. Abernathy.
I found Hasty Bernie on the quarterdeck, just where he should have been, and had little doubt in my mind that he’d watched us every inch from the wagon to the break in the poop, but he didn’t let on a bit, he just watched me walk up, and stood there silent as a taut sail until I said, “Permission to speak, sir?”
“Go ahead, Mr. Jones,” he said, and I knew we were being formal, as he didn’t call me Billy, but I didn’t quite see why, as yet.
“Mr. Abernathy,” I said, “I’d like a word with you in private, if I might, regardin’ the captain.”
He lifted up on his toes, with his hands behind his back, the way he always did when he was nervous about something, and he said, “And what is it that you can’t say right here, Mr. Jones? Who’s to hear you?”
I wasn’t happy to hear that, at all. He must have thought I was getting out of line somehow, and I remembered as he’d asked me especially to keep a close eye on some of the men, as they might be thinking the captain wasn’t looking out for them proper.
I wasn’t too concerned about mutiny brewing, not just then, in particular as I had been keeping an eye out, and hadn’t seen a man aboard who didn’t have faith in the captain. They might not think much of the rest of us, but they all admired the captain and trusted in him to do right by them.
Which made my news that much worse. “Mr. Abernathy,” said I, “you know as well as I do that any word said on this deck can be heard by any as might care to listen from below the rail, either on the halfdeck or on the docks, be they crewmen or townsfolk or any others that might chance by, not even mentionin’ the possibilities of sorcery and black magic as might be involved. You were with the captain at Little Hengist, weren’t you?”
He blinked at me, and looked about as if he expected to see the Sorcerer’s creatures climbing up the rigging, and then he turned back to me and said, “Very well, Mr. Jones, lead the way, then.”
I led him straight to the cabin, where the poor captain’s body lay and Black Eddie stood guard, and we closed up the sliding trap on the skylight above the map table, and we checked the stern windows and made sure they were tight, and Black Eddie went from one cabinet to the next and made sure that there was nobody tucked away in any of them, neither a crewman tucked small nor the Sorcerer’s homunculi, not as we really thought the Sorcerer still gave a tinker’s dam for any of us aboard the Bonny Anne, but you never know.
