Now Then (v1.0) - John Brunner, page 11
At last, having cast a helpless glance at his companions and receiving no offers of assistance, he was compelled to address the stranger.
“Sir, who are you and what do you want?”
With the terribly patient air of one dealing with lunatics, the stranger said, “My name is Bernard Brown, and all I want is to get home.”
“That is easy enough,” said the Margrave in relief. But his mind was getting ahead of itself. If he had stopped to reflect that Tyllwin was interested in this man’s arrival, he would not so soon have been optimistic. However, he did not reflect; he addressed a look of inquiry to Petrovic. “Will you oblige?” he said.
Petrovic looked up in the air and down at the ground. He scratched a number of ideograms in the dust with his staff Nitra, and then hastily scuffed them over with his foot. He said flatly, “No.”
“Well, if you won’t you won’t,” sighed the Margrave. He appealed to Gostala, who merely shook her queenly head and went on studying Bernard Brown with a speculative expression.
“Eadwil!” cried the Margrave.
The boy, whose face had gone perfectly pale, stammered a few incomprehensible words and burst into tears.
“See! They can’t! What did I tell you?” bellowed a bull-like voice from among the crowd, and the Margrave shot a glance at the offender as sharp as a spear.
“Come forth!” he commanded, and with the aid of a number of neighbors in the throng, the man was pushed and shoved to stand before his ruler. He was an insolent-faced fellow with a shock of corn-colored hair, and wore a leather apron with big pockets in which were the tools of his trade. He seemed to be a locksmith or something of the kind.
“You are-” said the Margrave, and ran through a small formula in his mind. “You are Brim, a locksmith. What did you mean by what you said?”
“What I said, of course!” the fellow retorted, and gave his master an amused look. “Why, anyone could see he’s not to be pushed around by mere men!”
“Explain further!” commanded the Margrave.
“Why, ’tis simple as your mind, Margrave.” Brim thrust an errant lock of hair back into place with his blunt thumb. “I see it all plain, and so do all of us. Here we’ve been saying these years past that what’s amiss with Ryovora is we haven’t got a god like all those towns around the world every wherever. And now today, what else do the omens say? Can you tell me that?”
He thrust a stubby finger almost in the Margrave’s face. The Margrave recoiled and looked at it distastefully, but he was by nature an honest man, so he had to shake his head and admit that although the nobles had speculated long about the possible significance of the recent omens they had not been able to arrive at any conclusion.
“There, mates! What did I tell you?” bellowed Brim, whirling to the crowd. There was an answering yell, and in a moment the situation had turned topsy-turvy. The crowd had closed in on Bernard Brown, unmindful of the dignity of the nobles, and had seized him and were chairing him off down the street, while men, women and children ran 95 and skipped behind him, singing some kind of rhythmic song and laughing like hyenas.
“Well!” said the Margrave in vexation. ‘This is a most improper and irregular state of affairs!”
VI
The Margrave had cause to repeat those words, with greater emphasis and an even more somber expression, the following morning. He sat once more at the head of the great table in the Moth Gardens, for the air had become if anything more oppressive than it had been yesterday, and the omens of which reports came seemed to have doubled in number.
“This is extremely aggravating!” said the Margrave testily. “I may say that the entire populace is firmly convinced this stranger is a god, simply because they do not understand anything he says. Accordingly, they have turned me out of my own palace—I spent an uncomfortable night here in the Moth Gardens!—and are at work converting it into a temple for this—character.”
Eadwil gave a reminiscent smile. “Moreover,” he said, “all those persons who have voyaged extensively are being consulted on the correct manner in which to pay homage to a god. Brim the locksmith, around whom this ferment seems to be boiling, has traveled to Acromel and is enthusiastic for human sacrifice; there is a group of women who in their youth were captives in Barbizond and wish to hold daily single combats before the altar; a man who formerly fished Lake Taxhling declares that the correct method of adopting the god is to burn down the city twice a year and rebuild it, as the fisherfolk do with their reed-hut villages----”
Petrovic shook his withered head and said, “No good will come of this.”
“Has anyone knowledge of Tyllwin’s whereabouts?” inquired the Margrave, for the gaunt one’s place stood empty today.
A shudder went down the table, and those present shook their heads, not without a sigh of relief.
“Well, then, let us proceed to a decision,” said the Margrave. He shifted in his chair; his night in the open, although the weather was warm, had left him feeling bruised all over.
“The first point to establish,” said Gostala sensibly, “is whether or not this Bernard Brown is a god at all.”
“Agreed!” came a chorus in reply.
Ruman snorted and thumped the table with a ham-like fist. “And how, pray, do we intend to set about that?” he inquired with honey-sweet sarcasm. “For we are all sure of one thing only—that we do not know what a god is. Was it not for that reason we never had gods in the old days?’
“I fear very much,” said the Margrave heavily, “that the days of rational thought in Ryovora may be finished. It would seem that the people insist on treating Bernard Brown as a god anyway. Unless we can arrive at conclusive disproof life in Ryovora is doomed to become most uncomfortable.”
“Hah!” said Gostala without mirth.
“I have a constructive suggestion,” ventured Eadwil. “A god is reputed to have knowledge and power beyond those men can command. Let us therefore interrogate Bernard Brown on the most recondite and esoteric of our arts; let us challenge him then, before the people, if he fails to answer well,- so that it may be seen his powers are small compared to our own.”
“The suggestion is rational,” sighed the Margrave. “But as I said, I greatly fear the days of rational thought in our city are numbered. However, if there is no better idea… ?”
None was forthcoming. Accordingly, the company betook itself to the newly converted temple, that had formerly been the palace of the Margrave.
They found Bernard Brown, much worried, to judge by his appearance, seated on a large silver and ebony throne on an enormous altar. Before the altar the townspeople were coming and going with gifts—their most prized possessions were heaped there now, from their inherited silverware to their newest garments. Around the throne itself, on the altar, were piles of luscious fruit and choice cuts of meat, together with bottles of delicious wine. Bernard Brown was sucking at one of the fruits and attempting to question the people. But the people would not answer him; they merely listened respectfully and then went and wrote down what he had said, with a view to creating a canon of mystical precepts from it.
The newcomers paused in the great hall to look at what had been done, and Eadwil spoke under his breath to the Margrave.
“Tyllwin has been here!” he said.
‘‘You are right,” nodded the Margrave. “I can scent his power in the air. Now what interest has he in this matter?”
He advanced towards the altar. Taking his stand some ten feet away—because of the piled-up gifts—he raised his voice and addressed the putative god.
‘‘Sir! We are come to determine whether or not you are a god, as the people of Ryovora hold.”
Bernard Brown gave a worried nod. “So I was advised,” he said carefully. “And I have been warned not to deny the possibility. Since meeting with Jorkas on the way here, I have acquired a healthy respect for the advice I am given in this lunatic world. But being an honest man, and never having had any idea that I might be a god, I cannot agree to the suggestion either.”
The Margrave exchanged a puzzled glance with Eadwil and then with Ruman, who snorted characteristically and called to the man on the altar.
“Are we to take it, then, that you believe it possible you are a god?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” said Bernard unhappily. “Until yesterday, I had always thought I was a perfectly ordinary man, but certainly I am not ordinary in this world, wherever and whatever it may be.”
“What do you mean?” said Ruman indignantly. “This is a reputable and respectable city! Or was, until you chose to intrude on its traditional calm existence.”
“I chose nothing of the sort,” said Bernard apologetically. “All I ask is to be allowed to go home.”
“This does not sound like the speech of a god, certainly,” the Margrave muttered to Eadwil, who nodded.
“Sir,” he said to Bernard, “we wish to know your powers. Are you acquainted with the Book of Universal Shame, and can you conjure from it?”
By now, the townspeople had ceased their going and coming before the altar, and were gathering in silence to listen to this inquiry. It was plain that many of them were unconvinced, and were presumably propitiating Bernard only out of a desire to insure themselves against his actually turning out to be a god. They followed the interrogation with some attention.
“I never heard of it,” said Bernard miserably.
“Nor of the Book of Three Red Elephants? Nor of the Casket of Disbelief?”
Bernard shook his head.
Eadwil turned to the Margrave. “It is most unlikely that he is a god,” he said, and smiled. _
Then in their turn Petrovic, Gostala and Ruman questioned Bernard about the most esoteric wisdom known to them—which meant the most esoteric wisdom known to man, for the enchanters of Ryovora had at least a nodding acquaintance with the uttermost reaches of their art. Some few surpassed them, such as Manuus, but those enchanters were far beyond the commerce of everyday human life, and chose to exist alone with their powers, not intruding on mundane affairs.
To each enquiry, Bernard was forced to reply in the negative, and in the watching crowd some people began to look significantly at Brim the locksmith, who grew more and more flustered and annoyed. At last, when Ruman had completed his questioning, this Brim strode forward and faced the altar challengingly, hands on hips, head thrown back to look into Bernard’s face.
“Let’s have it straight!” he bellowed. “Are you or are you not a god?”
“I—I was advised not to deny it,” said Bernard tentatively, and the Margrave clapped his hand to his forehead.
“Fool that I am!” he exclaimed, and thrust Brim to one side, ignoring the man’s complaint. “It was Tyllwin who advised you to say thus, was it not?”
“I don’t suppose it can do much harm to say who it was,” Bernard decided reflectively. “Uh—no. It was a very charming elderly gentleman with a wispy white beard, who was here a little before you arrived.”
“Manuus!” exclaimed several persons together, and the Margrave whirled to face his noble companions.
“How many of us had seen Tyllwin before yesterday?” he demanded.
“Why-” began three or four speakers together, and
then fell silent with expressions of amazement.
“Exactly!” snapped the Margrave. “He was there and some enchantment persuaded us that he was there by right and custom. But I for one now realize that I have no knowledge of Tyllwin. Well! So Manuus is behind all this! We must go to him and tell him that we will not permit 99
him to meddle in Ryovora’s affairs. If he chose to live among us as a responsible citizen, that would be a different cauldron of spells. But as it is, we will respect his privacy only if he respects ours.”
There was a shuffling of feet. With juvenile dignity, Eadwil spoke up. “Margrave, I regret that I will not face Manuus in this matter. My powers are inadequate. I hate to shelter behind my youth—but”
And he took his leave.
One by one, shamefacedly, the others of the company followed his example, until the Margrave was left by himself, and the townspeople, having gathered from these events only that the nobles had failed to disprove Bernard’s divinity, hastily set about their self-imposed task again.
“A fine lot we breed in Ryovora!” exclaimed the Margrave scornfully. The scorn was to quiet his own forebodings; he was less of an enchanter than many who served as his aides, but nonetheless he was a resolute man, and accordingly he summoned his train and set forth to beard Manuus in his castle.
The mists parted in a way that implied he was expected, and having left his train standing huddled together in the great yard, he ascended to Manuus’s study with determined steps. There the enchanter greeted him cordially and made him welcome.
But the Margrave was uncomfortable in this place of unusual forces, and came to the point as quickly as manners would permit. He said firmly, when he had the chance, “Sir, you know my business, since you are Tyllwin’s master.”
“Correction,” the enchanter said blandly. “I am Tyll-win. I have certain other natures besides my own—a trait which I share with all other persons save one.”
The Margrave made an appropriate sign at the mention of him who has many names but one nature, and pressed on with what he had to say.
“We will not tolerate it, sir,” he declared. “For centuries we in Ryovora have striven to create a tradition of calm rationality, and to rely upon hard sense. This petty trick of intruding a so-called god like a gaming piece into our affairs is hardly worthy of a person of your distinction.”
“I agree,” said Manuus. “And you may therefrom deduce it is none of my doing.”
“What?”
“In this matter,” the enchanter continued, ignoring the exclamation, “you and I are on the same side, Margrave. It will interest you to know that he of whom we were speaking a moment ago—he whose nature is single—was sitting in that chair only two days ago.”
The Margrave shivered, and said respectfully, “Sir, your powers are beyond imagining!”
“Oh, it was not at my bidding, you may be sure of that!” Manuus answered with a thin chuckle. “Rather the reverse!”
“Then I will take leave of you,” the Margrave said, rising and bowing. “For if this matter is his concern, I will do nothing to interfere.”
Manuus shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I am afraid you have no choice, Margrave,” he said. “Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side in this matter.” So the Margrave departed, feeling strangely perturbed, and when he had gone Manuus fell to ceremonies of a kind that had not been performed for several millenia, and strange phenomena attended them. There was a storm on peaceful Lake Taxhling; in Barbizond, three madmen ran screaming through the streets; on a hill near Acromel, dust-devils ceased their whirling. Last, but not least, several persons in Ryovora itself saw visions of a disturbing nature, and went hastily to the newly designated temple to place yet more offerings on the floor near the altar and to consult the already sizeable record of Bernard’s sayings. Studying them, they found no comfort.
VII
And thus the matter was to remain for another day. The Margrave, making as was his custom the best of a bad job, called up an obliging spirit and had a pavilion built in the Moth Gardens to serve as a temporary replacement for his palace; there he sat, swearing mightily, far into the night, while he wondered what he could do to get out of the forced alliance into which Manuus had dragged him unknowingly.
Those other nobles of Ryovora who were most skilled in the art, met to discuss in low tones over their wine the matter of divinity as against humanity; they remained unconvinced by either the insistence of the populace, led by Brim, or the evidence which their interrogation of Bernard Brown had provided. It seemed unlikely, they allowed, that this person was a god; none the less, Manuus had great powers, and so perhaps it was conceivable he had entered into a jest against Ryovora, and had indeed conjured up a god for them. …
As for the populace who had listened to Brim, they likewise made no decision one way or the other. Still, they had been longing for a god of some sort for a considerable while; indisputably someone strange had come among them, preceded by complicated omens, and it was deemed advisable to act as if a god were among them until the matter could be settled.
So the night passed; and of those many who spent it restlessly, not least suffered Bernard Brown, couched uncomfortably on a heap of gorgeous offerings of velvet and satin.
It had been centuries since another city had marched against Ryovora; this reputation which guarded them, so the citizens deduced,-had been an excellent defence. Men said that in Ryovora of all cities people had their heads screwed on right. Their ability to plan and reason carefully foredoomed any attack to failure.
Therefore it was with some astonishment and disbelief that a sleepy watchman gazed across the surrounding country in the direction of Acromel as dawn was breaking, and saw a red idol a hundred feet tall striding with enormous yells over the fields.
This idol, the watchman realized, could be none other than the Quadruple God of Acromel.
Around the idol’s monstrous feet were fetters of riveted steel; before and behind, men went with great blazing torches on poles fifty feet long, prodding and driving the idol when it made to turn aside. Sometimes the thing’s yelling howled into a ridiculous falsetto when a torch made contact with its blood-colored limbs, and men had to scatter and flee from the blows of eight gigantic fists. But they returned, and it became plain to see that they now well understood the actions of their idol, and could drive it like a maddened bull because its rage made it unthinking.
The watchman shouted an alarm that spread through the streets of Ryovora like flood-waters through a burst dam, and men, women and children leapt from sleep to go hither and thither in uncomprehending futility.
