The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works 1911-1987

by C. L. Moore

  I turned. The great circular window that normally looked out over the city had clouded with shining opalescence. You couldn't see Malesco through it any more. But a shape was growing there. A vast luminous A, the symbol of divided worlds bridged by a crossbar between Paradise and Malesco, gleamed through the clouds.

  Very rapidly the A faded, and Paradise itself replaced Malesco beyond the window. New York at night, its streets streaming with lights, appeared to lie some hundreds of feet down just beyond the great circle in the wall.

  "Paradise awaits!" the Hierarch's rich bellow announced, still amplified to superhuman volume. "The two who came to us must now return to the glorious rewards of New York. Clia! Burton! The Earth-Gates open!"

  Behind me in the hall a wave of silence was moving outward through the crowd, though in the distance I could still hear shouting. Now a new wave began just below me, almost at my heels. I knew it would move as the shouting and the silence had moved, out and out until it reached the limits of the streets. But the new sound was very quiet. It was a sigh, a murmur. There was nothing they could do. They waited.

  Was I going to leave them to the mercies of the priesthood as Jimmerton had done? I wished I knew.

  The vision of New York rocked before me like a ship and seemed to shoot upward with sickening speed as if all of us who watched were dropping toward the street. And as we dropped the clarity of the view clouded. I could see why.

  If this were a real opening between the worlds, not a dressed-up version, it would never do to let the Malescans see too clearly what the real streets were like. Through a golden cloud I saw the blur of passing traffic, their lights making rainbows in the mist. We were looking at street-level straight into the City of Paradise.

  "Come," the Hierarch said. "Paradise awaits. The Gates are open. Clia, Burton—farewell!"

  All we had to do was step through. It was what I'd been struggling for during all this endless eternity in Malesco. Lorna's hand was still clasping mine. I'd got what I came for. What was in it for me if I hesitated any longer? Nothing.

  "Go on," the Hierarch said urgently, in his normal voice, not using the amplifier that would let the people hear. "Step through. You're all right now. Just get out of here and don't make any more trouble."

  Still I hesitated. His little eyes between their rims of fat were almost closed as he looked at me. He had never seemed more of a juggernaut than now. I had a curious feeling that this wasn't all, that there was something further on his mind as he waited so impatiently for my next step. But that could all be imagination.

  "Go on," he whispered again. "Get out! Or do you want some help?"

  I heard the soft snapping of his fingers and a couple of burly priests put their hands together in hieratically pious gestures and came forward on each side of us. I could see perfectly well that we were going to be shoved through the Gates in a minute or two if we didn't go of our own accord.

  The crowd was completely silent now. It didn't seem possible that so many people could stand so still, hardly breathing, waiting to be abandoned to the just punishment of the priesthood. Jimmerton had deserted them too, long ago.

  Now I was going, and the Hierarch could hardly wait to get me out of Malesco, so he could arrest Coriole and that ridiculous Little Man and put my cigarette lighter with the other relics of Paradise. Then it would be treason again for anyone to think about how the little wheel went around and the sparks flew out.

  And, I thought suddenly, maybe someday another man from New York would stumble through the Earth-Gates. Maybe somebody not yet born. What story would he hear from the descendants of these people, about how a man named Jimmerton and a man named Burton had led them into revolt and left them when the going got tough?

  Don't make any mistakes about Eddie Burton. That's sentimental talk. My own skin is the most important thing in the world to me. But if I could save Lorna and myself and still have some little dividend of glory left over, that wouldn't be too bad, either.

  "Farewell!" the Hierarch suddenly thundered with' full volume turned on. "Farewell!"

  I heard his fingers snap again and the two bulky priests ceased making hieratic gestures long enough to take each of us by an arm and move us at a sort of stately trot toward the Gates.

  At that moment, almost too late, I knew what I could do to collect on that dividend of glory.

  "Wait!" I said. "Just a second—I forgot something."

  The priests paused slightly to see what the Hierarch would say to this. He looked at me very sharply and I saw no relenting on his face. He knew when he was well off. He wasn't going to give me a chance to get him into any more trouble.

  And besides, there was something curious about his face and his eyes—a sort of gleam as if this weren't quite all, as if he waited for something yet to come. Coriole's arrest? Dio's punishment? Exterminating the crowd? All of those and maybe something more. I hadn't time to think about it.

  "Lorna," I said rapidly and softly in English. "Have you got your amplifier turned on? I want you to say something to the crowd. Quick!"

  She said in a sort of musical whine, "Oh, Eddie, I don't want to! Let's go! I—"

  There was no time to waste persuading her. I got a good grip on her hand and bent her little finger painfully outward. I'd rather have twisted her arm, but that would have showed too clearly.

  "Does that hurt?" I demanded in a rapid mutter. "I'll dislocate it if you don't repeat what I say after me at full volume. Understand?"

  All I got in reply was a squeal of pain and anger. I paid no attention. She was trying to squirm free, but the priest on her far side had a firm hold on her and didn't understand why she was struggling so suddenly. Between us we had her where she couldn't get away.

  "Say People of Malesco," I commanded, giving her the Malescan for it. "Go on, before I pull your finger off. People of Malesco!"

  "People of Malesco!" she cried furiously, and the volume of the sound roaring from her throat so near me was almost deafening. I wondered where the amplifier was—in a tooth somewhere? "People of Malesco!"

  The priests jumped slightly at the roar. The screen before us vibrated a little and the sound woke echoes in the vault of the roof over the dais. Lorna's back was to the crowd but they must have heard her speak clear out in the streets.

  The Hierarch gave us both a look of pure venom. But he had to give in. He made a gesture and the grip on my arm slackened. Still holding Lorna's hand in my compelling clutch, I swung her around to face the crowd.

  "I have one last message for you," I dictated. Lorna swore at me in a whisper and then rolled the Malescan words out in the rich, sonorously sweet voice they'd given her along with the lovely face.

  "Your Hierarch is a great man," I said, releasing her finger slightly. She put such emotion in the transcript when she repeated it that a very convincing half-sob broke up the words a little. It was a sound of rage and pain, but it gave the speech a touching quality.

  "He has done so much for Malesco," I dictated.

  "Let me go!" Lorna whispered. "He has done so much for Malesco—"

  "That Paradise has decreed him a reward."

  "Eddie, I'll kill you! Let go. Let go! That Paradise has decreed him a reward—"

  "Listen while I tell you," I whispered. "Listen well, for this is the greatest reward a living man ever knew. Do you hear me, people of Malesco?"

  Between the snarls of rage she got the words out. I made her pause then and in the interval the people gave us one unified roar of answer. They were with us. They knew something was up, and I thought they were ready to back almost anything I said. What did they have to lose now?

  "I was a mortal among you," I dictated, ignoring her snarls. "I lived a good life and went straight to New York when I died. But your Hierarch has lived a life so good that the Great Alchemist sent me here to claim him for Paradise—now!"

  Halfway through that speech Lorna stopped struggling. Evidently she had picked up enough Malescan to realize what she was saying. S
he rolled her eyes at me. "I hope you know what you're doing," she whispered in the pause that followed this speech.

  "Shut up," I said. "Wait a second. Let them yell. See how they like it?" I was looking straight down at Coriole as I spoke and I saw the sudden blaze of excitement on his face as he realized what I was attempting.

  "Your Hierarch returns to Paradise with me—now!" Lorna parroted after me. And then, in a whisper, "Oh, Eddie, do you think he'll go? You must be crazy. What'll we do with him in New York?"

  "Shut up," I said again. "Go on—make a gesture toward him. Invite him to Paradise. Go on or I'll break your arm!"

  With incomparable grace she held out her hand toward the Hierarch, her silver sleeve flowing and flashing with jewels. There was a good deal of ham in her acting, but the audience wasn't critical.

  The Hierarch stood there stunned at the foot of his golden throne. The entire priesthood stood stunned around him. Nobody had expected this. For an instant stillness and silence held everybody on the dais motionless.

  "Say, Come, Paradise awaits us," I hissed.

  "Come, Paradise awaits us," Lorna cooed and the volume of her coo filled the entire hall and echoed through the city outside.

  The Hierarch's eyes met mine. He shook his fat shoulders a little and said in a low growl several phrases of Malescan that Uncle Jim had never taught me. But he came. He had no choice. He couldn't repudiate Lorna before everybody. Slowly he lumbered toward us, juggernaut to the last.

  The overturned table was in the way, and he rolled forward, ignoring it, knowing somebody would snatch it out of his path. Somebody did. He didn't glance down. You could see the furious thoughts racing through his mind behind his frozen face, but it was quite clear that he didn't know what to do next.

  I did. It seemed perfectly simple to me. I was giving Coriole the chance he'd begged for. Coriole had friends among the priesthood and those friends were organized. I thought that if the Hierarch were suddenly snatched away Coriole would have a good chance of seizing control and putting one of his boys on that hideous golden throne. It was all I could do for him. I thought it was pretty good myself.

  -

  Chapter XVIII

  WE made a little tableau before the glowing Earth-Gates. Lorna and I, with our priest escort on each side, ready to seize us again at a word from the Hierarch—and the Hierarch in all his pomp and power, entirely helpless to save himself. It was a fine moment. I felt very proud of my own cleverness.

  The Hierarch shook himself again, growled deep in his throat, and spoke at about half volume, so that the crowd heard him clearly but not deafeningly.

  "I am not worthy of this honor." It must have gone hard with him to say such a thing, but it was the best he could think of just now.

  "Paradise thinks you more than worthy," I dictated firmly and Lorna rolled it out over the crowd.

  He ground his teeth. I really heard them grind. He let his little eyes shoot angry but hopeful glances around the dais. Nobody moved. Evidently nobody could think any faster than he could. Then I saw a sudden faint hope dawn on his face.

  "Come, then," he said clearly. "We will go together." And he bowed us forward toward the Gates. I didn't get it for an instant. Then I saw he meant us to go first. He was being very, very polite and urging us ahead of him through the screen. Then, no doubt, he wouldn't follow.

  "Oh no!" I said. "Lorna, tell them this. Paradise decrees your Hierarch the honor of stepping first through the Earth-Gates."

  She giggled a little and told them.

  And at that a sudden, unexpected tension settled down over the dais. A murmur ran through the priesthood. They stared in new consternation at the Hierarch.

  He himself froze to new rigidity. Something had happened and I didn't know what it was. But he did. All the priests did. I sought Dio's eye but he only nodded. It was okay. I waited.

  It was shocking to see how the color drained slowly out of the Hierarch's ruddy face as he looked at the Earth-Gates. I couldn't understand it. Naturally he didn't want to leave Malesco, but this reaction was all out of proportion to what he was called upon to do.

  I thought, "He can just face around toward the crowd and refuse to go, can't he?" and I tried to brace myself to combat that, racking my brain for something to say when he did. I was sure it was what he'd do. I think he was sure too—for a moment or two. I saw him waver just a little as if he were nerving himself to turn.

  Then the crowd seemed to sense the same thing. It was still a single organism and the tremor of refusal that had started close up under the platform when the nearest people saw the Hierarch waver spread rapidly backward through the hall.

  They didn't want him to stay. They weren't going to let him stay.

  "Farewell!" some raucous voice bellowed just below the dais. "Farewell!" Other voices took it up. In a backward wave it rolled through the hall until the ceiling rocked with the efforts of the people to speed their parting leader.

  He shook his thick shoulders under the golden robe. There was something bull-like about the way he swung his head around and ran a desperate glance along the ranks of the watching priests.

  "Fix it!" he said inexplicably through his teeth, hardly moving his lips. "One of you fix it! Flammand, help me! Hyperion, do something! Hyperion, I'll have you burned!"

  Nobody moved.

  There was dense silence on the dais while the roars of determined farewell gained volume in the hall below. No one on the platform would meet the Hierarch's eye. "Flammand!" he commanded in a frighteningly fierce whisper. "Flammand!"

  There was an almost imperceptible motion in the priestly throng near Dio. Someone took an indecisive step forward—probably Flammand. Dio, his teeth showing in a grin, stepped forward at the same instant and shouldered the volunteer. The fellow could have got past him, but he didn't try. After a second of agonizing hesitation he fell back and was lost in the ranks.

  "Hyperion!" The Hierarch's whisper was almost a scream now. And the silence on the platform had taken on a quality of relentlessness that seemed inflexibly cruel even though I had as yet no idea what it was about.

  There was a small seething among the priests to the left. If Hyperion were trying to respond, there seemed plenty to prevent him. Hyperion, like Flammand, subsided. And the priesthood, like the people, in that moment firmly and finally rejected their Hierarch.

  He stood there, swaying, his head down, shooting glances of rage and helpless hatred at the ranks of the priesthood which had been his to command until a moment ago, which by some mysterious alchemy of their own had simultaneously decided to defy him.

  It was very curious, that moment. Before it the Hierarch had ruled a world. After it, all in one instant, something inexplicable had happened and he was helpless.

  He rolled his small, agonized eyes from face to face. He lowered his head between the heavy golden shoulders and it seemed to me he was about to lumber forward with his bulldozer gait to crush down opposition and force obedience again. But the opposition was too intangible for crushing. He couldn't crush a world. There was only one thing left which he could trample under, if he hoped to save his face—

  Looking back now, I can see that he had no real choice. It wasn't only that the world he had ruled without question all his life suddenly presented an unbroken front of flat rebellion to him. There's just the barest possibility that if he'd attacked the rebellion openly he might have breached it and lived. I don't think he could have succeeded, but he might have.

  There was much more to his surrender than that. Because to overcome the opposition he'd have had to expose his own trickery. He'd have had to stand self-confessed before the people and the priests as a murderer, a liar and a blasphemer against Alchemy. And that he couldn't do. Hubris can be a force for good as well as for evil in such a case as his. Unwittingly, I'd given him a choice between death and glory, or life and disgrace, and once he realized what the choice was he never faltered.

  For what he did then I had to concede him respect.
He straightened, throwing his fat shoulders back so that the golden robes swung magnificently. There was a definite note of baiting in the farewells that roared from the crowd below now. But as he lifted his head they slackened a little to see what he would do.

  He made them all a stiff, proud bow.

  The little byplay on the platform had been lost upon the throng, who could neither hear nor see it. But something in the attitude of the Hierarch and the priests seemed to convey to them at least that something was about to happen which they didn't expect.

  The baiting note faded from their yells, but the volume of the noise did not slacken. They meant him to go. There was a dogged quality in their voices that would not cease while he stood here in their world. He would not again hear any sound in Malesco except the roaring of the people urging him toward Paradise.

  There was nothing left for him to do but accept the honor and the glory that was being thrust upon him. He turned with a regal sweep of his robes and with sudden firmness strode unhesitatingly toward the Earth-Gates. He knew what he was doing. He knew better than any of us just then. But he never faltered.

  He moved like a juggernaut to the last. He'd always crushed opposition. Now, when it was his own life that stood in the way of the prestige he'd built up and lived by for so long, his hubris sustained him and he crushed that, too. He rolled forward with grim pride, refusing to depart from Malesco in anything less than the full dignity of his office. In his own way he was magnificent.

  With majestic stride he stepped up on the brink of the Earth-Gates. The blurred sounds of New York traffic and the blurred motions of the lights flickered in his very face as he stood there. He did not hesitate or look back. He raised one arm in a gesture of farewell to the watchers and stepped forward over the threshold.

  The last sound he heard must have been the roar of his people driving him out of Malesco and into Paradise.

  The people couldn't see what we saw, on the dais. He'd planned it that way naturally. He hadn't wanted anybody but the priests to see the trap he'd set for Lorna and me.