by Adam Carter
“Office. Now.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. If you’re listening, Robes, I wouldn’t mind a ghost story next, ta.” Tarne glanced at the clock upon the wall and saw that it read almost six o’clock. “What, you’re telling me there’s a world where I work until six? You have to be kidding me.”
Her boss tried to say something but Tarne didn’t care.
“Laters.” Tarne took up her bag from beneath her desk and veritably skipped towards the lift. Or what she assumed was the lift, since several other people were heading in that direction. She passed a coat-stand, saw a nice jacket which was olive-brown and entirely her style, and took it as she danced past. It wasn’t stealing if the person from whom you were taking it was never alive to begin with. Then she jumped into the lift and put on the coat. There was a guy beside her she eyed up and down several times. She thought about speaking to him, although decided she really couldn’t be bothered to get into anything particularly strenuous right now, so took the lift down to the ground floor and left the building.
She found herself in pleasant enough surroundings. There were roads about her, although there seemed to be some form of fountain in a squared-off area, and she headed over to it. The fountain was large, although fairly unimpressive, and she could see many people seated about it. Standing beside the fountain, she could see what appeared to be a shopping centre, while to the left and right paths led to the river.
Caring very little for geographical correctness, Tarne took a seat upon one of the spare benches and began to rifle through her bag. It was hers, yet of course she had no idea as to what it actually contained. She found many useless or superfluous items and discarded them all. A smaller bag within the main one drew her attention and she opened it to find a compact, some lipstick and something to stop her lips from chafing. Tarne tossed the whole lot into the bin beside her in disgust; she had been through seedy towns, had fought uncouth men, had travelled the lands with nothing but her sandals as her guide, and here she was now carrying around lip gloss.
If she had ever been like that, she realised it was a life to which she could never return.
The remainder of the bag proved highly uninteresting. There was a mobile phone, so she cycled through the numbers, wondering what all the names meant and checking the entry under the location at which Old Man Robes would have been lest she had stored his number. Finding nothing of interest, she binned that also. Continuing to rummage, she came upon several papers; she didn’t even bother reading these before tossing them aside. She also found a sandwich and a packet of crisps and prayed for them to be cheese and onion. Her ecstasy at discovering that this was indeed the case knew no bounds, and she spent the next few minutes devouring her lunch. Then she dumped everything, bag and all, into the bin also.
“What?’ she asked when she saw a woman staring at her. “Hey, don’t mess with me, sister. I’ve beaten snake-men at stick-in-the-mud, I have.” If the woman reacted to this, Tarne neither noticed nor cared. Then she remembered she had stolen someone else’s coat and began to go through its pockets. She found a packet of fruit sweets to which she found she was particularly partial, and a handkerchief she wished she had not found. There was very little else in the pockets, although there was another mobile phone. She was about to bin this one also, but decided she would have a little fun with it. Judging from the coat she was wearing, the phone should have belonged to a man, so she spent the next fifteen minutes dialling up all the numbers on the phone and having a series of interesting conversations with those upon the other end. Eventually, however, she grew bored with putting on seductive tones, and was getting an increasing number of stares from other people as she sat there winding up all the women in the poor man’s life and then laughing about it each time she hung up.
“Right,” she said, standing and tossing away the phone into the fountain. None of those people she had phoned had been real, and Tarne was quickly growing bored with screwing around with people whose lives did not even count for anything. She thought about going shopping, although since it was after six in the evening, she doubted anything would still be open, and instead thought she might seek out a pub. She had found money in both her bag and the man’s coat, although there did not appear to be much; clearly not enough to get her as drunk as she intended to get. Discarding the coat lest any man she might meet should suspect her of being with anyone, Tarne chose a direction at random and began to walk. She crossed a small road, headed down some steps, and passed across a somewhat ordinary-looking bridge, before stopping short; for before her there was arrayed an entire row of bars. One after another, from one end of the row to the other.
“Has to be make-believe,” she told herself, heading for one selected entirely at random. Within, the atmosphere was close, although the music was loud and promised only to grow in volume as the night progressed, and Tarne made her way slowly to the bar. There were people everywhere and she grinned from ear to ear at the fact that she could not hear herself speak over the noise. Leaning across the bar, she managed to order a Malibu and Coke, and found her funds sorely depleted. Deciding that if she intended to get drunk she needed to find others who might buy drinks for her, Tarne surveyed the room, then headed across to two men who appeared to be alone.
“Hey,” she said, barely hearing herself. “Man, six o’clock and I can’t hear myself,” she laughed. “At least Robes knows how to fabricate a pub.”
The men wondered whether she was speaking to them, although the taller of the two began saying something she could not quite hear about angels and being sad and falling out of heaven.
She drew his ear close to her mouth and shouted, “Was that a cheap chat-up line?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Guys,” Tarne said, placing an arm over each of their shoulders so she might speak with them both at the same time, “if I were you two right now, I would make every effort at getting me drunk tonight. I’m not here to stay sober and it’s been several lifetimes since I got laid.” It may have been a bit tarty, but it was frank and Tarne knew it would work. “Oh, and my name’s Heather if either of you cared, which you probably didn’t, and no you can’t have my number because my phone’s in the bin outside and I didn’t know my number anyway.”
Tarne spent the next few hours drinking, and as she slowly found herself getting more and more drunk, she began to relax somewhat. “You know, guys, this sure beats taverns of the twelfth century. Man, they never knew how to have any fun; they could actually hear one another when they spoke in those places.”
“What?”
“Precisely. Although I suppose guys still molest the barmaids, so there are things which haven’t changed all that much.”
“You like history, then?” one of them asked.
“Not really, I just keep getting forced into it every five minutes. Future too, although that’s a waste of time. Present, you know what I like about the present which neither the future nor past seems to have? Malibu. And Southern Comfort. And J.D. I suppose. All of them together, now that might be a novel idea.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Tarne glanced lazily upwards from where she sat sprawled upon a two-seater chair and saw the bleary form of Old Men Robes standing over her. “Oh, hi, Homer,” she said, trying very hard not to slur her words. “Come in, take a sheet.”
“You do realise Kiel is after you, Heather?”
“Kiel’s always after me, Robes, ‘Snothin’ new there.”
“She’s here, upon this world.”
“No, that wash the last world.”
“She’s found her way through to this one already.”
Tarne blinked twice in an attempt to clear her mind, although without much success. “Thish world?”
“Oh for the love of ...” He took her roughly by the wrist and dragged her to her feet. The two youths in whose company she sat began to protest, although the old man waved a hand absently and they both immediately forgot Tarne had ever existed. Once he
had her outside, Old Man Robes released hold of Tarne’s wrist, and she tottered forward, holding onto the back of a chair.
“This is most unacceptable,” Old Man Robes decreed. “And you’re a fool for having allowed yourself to become so drunk.”
“No,” Tarne said, rounding upon him then and falling onto the back of the chair. “No, you bump me from world to world, telling me I have a mad killer on my tail. I work through each world, try to fit in, face pirates and vampires and ... and vampires and pirates ... and did I even meet the vampire? ... and what do I get for it? Do I get an explanation? No! Do I get a reason? No! Do I get a ... a ... do I get clarification?”
“Well considering they all amount to the same thing, the answer would have to be no.”
“No.” Tarne paused. “Exactly. No.”
“Look, you have to find the escape route from this world, and you’re not going to be able to do that from the bottom of a bottle, Heather. I realise this must be tough on you, but you cannot expect to ...”
“I don’t think you do. I mean, how can you?” Tarne said angrily. “You come and go as you please, flit in and out of existence because you’re some higher god being or something, and then there’s little me moving through each reality as though any of it really matters. I’ll have to face Kiel sooner or later, so what difference does it make where I fight her? I’m tired of running, Robes, and I’m scared, and to be frank, I’m getting a tad frightened too.”
“Which would explain the being scared part.” Old Man Robes sighed and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, Tarne’s head had cleared somewhat and she was able to stand without the aid of the chair.
“How’d you do that?” she asked.
“The alcohol in these realities is much the same as everything else, Heather. It’s not real and is therefore controllable by one attuned with the unnatural surroundings of this place. I just nudged the atoms a little so they reformatted into something else. Everything is formed of atoms, after all, and I just told them they were actually something else entirely.”
“Oh great, so what you’re telling me is that I can’t even get drunk in these stupid little worlds of yours.”
“You shouldn’t be getting drunk anyway. Nor should you telephone people and pretend to be someone’s mistress, or get yourself sacked from your job.”
“You think I could even consider holding an office job after everything I’ve been through? Homer, I’ve travelled to other planets, seen the past both near and distant; you really think I could sit at a computer and work in an insurance firm after all that?’”
“I think for the purposes of staying alive, you might have done so at least for a short while.”
“I’m through playing these stupid games, can’t you see that?”
“I understand you’re angry, but shouting at me shan’t really ...”
“Well it makes me feel better, if nothing else,” Tarne snapped. “I’m through with all this nonsense, and I’m through with you. Tell me how to fight Kiel and I’ll do it. I’m just not running any more.”
“You will if you know what’s good for you.”
“Why? Because I can’t defeat her?”
“Because you need something I have, and something which Kiel is developing all the while.”
“And what’s that? A long white beard?”
“Mastery over these realities. I can travel wherever I please, and Kiel is finding the symbols with ease, for she seems to know just where to look. You, on the other hand, are stumbling blindly through the cellar searching for the light switch and absently groping in all the wrong places.”
“Yeah, well you seem to forget that I’m only human.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“Yeah, well if you were human maybe you’d understand we do actually have our limitations, thank you very much.”
Old Man Robes glanced to both sides then and said, “Heather, we’re beginning to draw a crowd. Perhaps it would be an idea to withdraw.”
“To where? Kiel’d only find us, if she’s so adept at working these realities, or so you just said.”
Old Man Robes did not answer. Instead, his senses were attuned to something Tarne could not see. Finally, he looked directly upon her and said, “She’s here. She’s found us.”
“I don’t see anyone.” But then Tarne took a sharp intake of breath, for she could see a woman standing not fifty metres from her. Sara Kiel stood garbed in the apparel of the current present, wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt. She stood with hooded eyes, staring pure venom into Tarne, and if Tarne had not already had all the alcohol flushed from her system, she would have been rendered sober within that single moment of clarification. She now understood just why it was necessary for her to remain one step ahead of Sara Kiel; it was because Sara Kiel was just as much a master of these realities as was Old Man Robes. Of the two, perhaps she was even superior.
“I can handle this,” Old Man Robes said, turning towards Kiel. “Run, Heather. Find the eyes and move to another plane.”
“I’m not just going to leave you with her,” Tarne protested.
“A strange time to develop a sense of loyalty or morality. Now go.”
“But how will you ...?”
“As I said, I am a master of these realities, and I can bend them to my very will; now go!”
Tarne began to flee, although stopped after but a few paces and turned back to see the two combatants square off. There were crowds of people moving between them, oblivious to the fact there were beings of Heaven and Hell preparing to face one another. They both walked slowly, and stopped when they were but ten paces apart.
“Our confrontation comes quickly this world,” Old Man Robes declared. “You are growing in power, Sara Kiel. I’m impressed.”
“You are old, Abel. You’re slower than me. You cannot defeat me. Stand aside and we’ll trouble with this foolish charade no more.”
“I shall not allow you through to my charge, Kiel.”
“You would die for her?”
“Yes. Would you?”
Kiel almost laughed, although emotion had been slaughtered within her mind and she no longer knew the meaning of such a reaction. “I cannot die, old one. I am immortal.”
“We are none of us so.”
“Then I am truly the first.”
“Perhaps this day we shall discover the truth to that statement, Sara Kiel.”
“Perhaps, old man, but no.”
Kiel raised her arms swiftly and a nexus of crackling energies formed about her. Old Man Robes stood resolute, although made no move to defend himself. Tarne watched in horror as a blast of pure white energy shot from Kiel to stab towards her foe. The blast did not connect, and seemed to splash against some invisible shield erected about the old man. Kiel struck out again and again, although the very air shimmered and Tarne could see he was manipulating the very space about him. She understood then the power of these two beings; for there was magic to neither of them – they were simply so well-versed in the ways of this reality that they were able to draw upon the resources of other worlds. Tarne supposed Old Man Robes was sending the attack into other dimensions, while Kiel herself was somehow harnessing the same power and sending it back at him, perhaps even in a continuous stream. If such was the case, their standoff could well last an eternity.
Kiel broke off her assault shortly. “You’ve improved, Abel. I’m impressed.”
“We are all learning more with each passing moment,” Old Man Robes told her. “Cease, else I’ll be forced into actions you’ll not like.”
“And I’ll deflect each attack,” Kiel promised, charging.
Old Man Robes acted quickly, waving a hand and forcing a solid stone wall to rise through the ground that it might separate them. Kiel was not slowed and passed straight through, rolling with her leap as she emerged upon the other side. The old man had foreseen this, however, and she collapsed into a sticky black mass of tar.
“Why are you still here?” Old Man Ro
bes barked at Tarne. “Get out of here. Find the symbol and go.”
Tarne stood transfixed for several further moments as Kiel dispelled the tar and rose unsteadily to her feet. The old man reacted in an instant and from the very air about him conjured forth the stampeding forms of an entire herd of elephants. Kiel leaped back a pace, muttering incantations of her own which would hasten her to safety.
Tarne ran. There were other people running also, for they had noticed the strange battle of wills and wanted no part of it. Tarne suspected Old Man Robes had forced them to flee that they might conceal her own movements, for up until her own flight they had been standing entirely motionless.
She ran where the masses ran, and soon enough came to a staircase up which most people were fleeing. Expecting that it must lead to relative to safety, Tarne accompanied them and found herself standing on a train platform. Fortunately there was a train just about to close its doors and pull out of the station, so Tarne leaped aboard and pressed herself against the window. As the train began to move, she was afforded a view of the violence erupting before her, the blackening skies lighting up as though it was November. As the train rattled along, Tarne breathed a sigh of relief that she had escaped the madness. There seemed to be many people aboard the train who had also been present during the fight, for there was much chatter about it. Someone asked her what she had seen, although she replied that she had come from the other direction and so had seen nothing. Nor did she want to listen to what they had to tell her about it.
The train rumbled on, and Tarne decided she had escaped Kiel, at least for the moment. There was a newspaper upon the floor at her feet so she picked it up and began to flip through the pages. The news proved very uninteresting, and she couldn’t seem to find a crossword anywhere. About to toss the paper away, she noticed an advertisement and knit her brows. It was advertising some form of holiday package, although this did not interest her so much as the bold letters at the base of the advert. For they began with WWW and ended with .co.uk.
“The Internet,” she said to herself. She was in an age where the Internet held access to just about anything the world over. All she had to do was get to a computer and she could run a search for cat’s eyes and see what she could come up with. First, however, she had to find a computer. She thought about returning to work, although doubted she would be allowed into the building, so opted for travelling to wherever the train’s destination might have been, and then seeing what she could do about locating some form of Internet café.