The Mistress of Illusions

by Michael D. Resnick

  So you’re single and available. That makes the risk almost worthwhile.

  “And the rest?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure there are numerous charitable foundations that can use some economic help. And who knows? I may get married again someday. I don’t want my future husband to be marrying a pauper.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t care.”

  She stared at him. “Oh?”

  “Just a hunch,” he replied with a shrug.

  There was a moment’s silence, and then she spoke again. “You still haven’t answered me.”

  “About what?”

  “When we expect to reach the mines.”

  “I’d just be guessing. A lot of it depends on whether our information is accurate—and if it is, a lot more depends on who or what has successfully guarded them for a millennium or two.”

  “If you have serious doubts, you shouldn’t have agreed to come,” she said.

  I don’t remember agreeing. One minute I was in Manhattan, and the next I was facing a charging lion.

  “The thrill of actually finding the mines makes it worth all the risks and uncertainties,” he said aloud.

  “Good,” she replied. “Because there seems to be literally no one else with the necessary skills to lead this expedition.”

  I could mention Selous or Pretorius or even Trader Horn, but while they existed in my world, who knows if they belong to this one as well?

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, Mrs. Curtis,” said Raven.

  “Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sorry—Elizabeth.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, at least you’ll get to see a lot of Africa.”

  “You make it seem romantic and beautiful,” she replied, “but I know that it’s red in tooth and claw. That lion you shot today was the third one to attack one of us . . . and then there was the elephant, and the rhinoceros, and . . .”

  “We’re intruding on their territory,” he said. “They have every right to defend it.”

  “We’re certainly not eating what the elephant and the rhinoceros ate.”

  He smiled. “They have limited intelligence. Hell, if they were smarter, they’d still rule this land, and such men as survived would be kept in cages in their equivalent of a local zoo.”

  She chuckled. “I like your imagination, Mr. Quatermain.”

  I like it a hell of a lot better than Rofocale’s. What the hell am I doing here? In fact, now that I come to think of it, what are you doing here?

  He frowned and stared at her for a long moment.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Quatermain?”

  Might as well try.

  “Call me Eddie,” he said.

  “You’re Alan, not Eddie.”

  “Sorry,” he said, forcing a smile. “That just slipped out. I had a friend who couldn’t pronounce ‘Alan’ when I was a child, so he called me ‘Eddie.’”

  She stared at him as if he might begin foaming at the mouth any moment, then shrugged. “Actually, it’s not a bad alternative. I think under other circumstances Eddie fits you as well or better.”

  “The trick is to find those other circumstances,” he said, watching her intently for a reaction . . . but there was none.

  Njobo brought them their coffee.

  “Very acceptable,” she said as Njobo retreated. “It would have been better with cream, but one can’t have everything under these circumstances.”

  “Someday cream and sugar substitutes will be as common as coffee itself,” said Raven.

  “You say that like one who knows,” she replied.

  “I’m good at extrapolating,” he said with a smile.

  She returned his smile. “So you can predict something that will replace cream centuries from now, but you can’t predict if and when we’ll come to the mines.”

  I’d say “Touché,” but you’d probably find that offensive.

  “I could be wrong,” he said.

  “Let’s just hope that the map and the information poor dear Henry collected about the mines aren’t wrong.” She stared at him. “What will you do with your share?”

  “My share?” he repeated. “I’m just the hired help.”

  “If we find it, there’ll be riches for everyone.” Suddenly she grinned. “Which means, for you and me.”

  “I must confess that I haven’t given it a moment’s thought,” answered Raven.

  Which is why I keep wondering if we’re even going to find them. Because a few handfuls of diamonds should have made me among the richest men in the world, but when I met you before all this began, I was just a normal guy with a normal income and normal debts.

  “Well, that should give you something to dream about,” she said, finishing her coffee and getting to her feet. “I’m going to retire to my tent and get some sleep. I keep hoping that tomorrow will be the day, and I’ll need all my energy for it.” She paused. “I just wish those monkeys would stop chattering.”

  “They’re on our side,” said Raven.

  She frowned in puzzlement. “Our side?”

  He nodded his head. “When they stop chattering, we’ll know that a lion or leopard is approaching the camp, and that we shouldn’t leave our tents.”

  She smiled. “I never thought of that. Thank you, Alan.”

  “Sleep well, Elizabeth,” he said.

  She wandered over to her tent and entered it, and Raven found that he was carrying a pipe in his safari coat. He pulled it out and stared at it, and while he was doing so Njobo brought over a pouch of tobacco.

  “No, thanks,” said Raven. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Then why . . . ?” Njobo frowned as his voice trailed off.

  “Must have belonged to her husband,” he said, and appreciated that Njobo had the courtesy not to ask what he was doing with it.

  “I think we get there tomorrow, Bwana,” said Njobo.

  “I hope you’re right,” answered Raven. “We’re not that far from the border, and I’d hate to go to all the trouble of getting more permissions.”

  “Then why bother?” asked Njobo.

  Raven sighed. “No way around it. It’s their country. They make the rules.”

  “No!” said Njobo harshly. “It is our country, and no one may tell us where we can and cannot go!”

  “I knew I liked you the day we first met,” said Raven with a smile. “But just the same, I hope we find the mines in the next day or two.”

  “So do I.”

  “What will you do with your money?” asked Raven.

  “Easy,” answered Njobo. “I will give it to a white farmer for a dozen cows. And then . . .” He smiled and sighed.

  “And then?” prompted Raven.

  “I will buy twelve young and beautiful brides.”

  “No wonder you come with me on every hunt and every trek,” said Raven with a chuckle. “You’re clearly building up your stamina.”

  Both men laughed.

  Raven decided that as long as he was carrying a pipe he might as well try the damned thing, so he filled it, lit it, and tried to remember not to inhale.

  “If you get twelve wives, you won’t be able to come out on safari with me,” he said.

  “Certainly I will, Bwana,” said Njobo.

  Raven smiled. “I admire your notion of a happy home life.”

  “They will be too busy caring for my sons and daughters to miss me.”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” said Raven with a chuckle.

  “First, because you are a white man, and second, because you do not belong here.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Raven sharply.

  “You look like Alan Quatermain, and you shoot like Alan Quatermain,” said Njobo. “But you do not speak or think like him.”

  “Then why have you stayed wit
h me on this safari?”

  “Because you are a good man, and the woman depends on you, and before long you’re going to need all the help my men and I can give you.”

  “Why?” asked Raven promptly.

  Njobo smiled. “If you were really Alan Quatermain you would have read the signs the last three days.”

  “What signs?” demanded Raven.

  Njobo smiled. “You see?”

  “What did the signs say?”

  “Keep away.”

  “Just that?”

  Njobo shook his head. “Keep away—or die.”

  That’s damned good advice, Eddie, he said to himself. Maybe you ought to take it, no matter how good a shot you are as Quatermain.

  “We will not tell the memsaab,” said Raven at last.

  “We work for you, Bwana—not for her,” agreed Njobo.

  “Okay. Point out the next couple of signs when we come to them.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay,” said Raven, heading off to his tent. “Might as well get some sleep while I can.”

  “I have had two men guarding your tent every night while you sleep,” said Njobo.

  Raven was about to tell him not to bother. Then he thought about it, thanked Njobo, and entered his tent. He sat down on his cot, elbows on knees, fists propping up jaw, and considered the situation.

  Hey, Rofocale—are you there?

  No answer.

  Okay, it just meant that he would have to use his combined skills as Raven and Quatermain to solve whatever problems Fate chose to throw at him next.

  He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling that Fate was chuckling at the thought.

  4

  They were up bright and early, as usual—it seemed to Raven that no one ever slept late in Africa—then had a quick breakfast and hit the trail. Raven studied the map, wished some of the landmarks were familiar to him or that some of the words made more sense, then gave it to Njobo to hold (and, he hoped, to secretly read).

  They disturbed a herd of impala that was grazing peacefully and suddenly thundered off in a panic, received a baleful glare from a leopard that had been stalking them in the high grass, and stopped when they came to a stream.

  Njobo came over and said, in tones so low only Raven could hear, “We are getting near.”

  “Oh?”

  Njobo nodded his head. “They are not far from this stream.”

  Raven frowned. “Are you sure? Everything looks the same—flat, green, unexceptional.”

  “What better place to remain hidden for all these eons?” replied Njobo with a smile.

  Raven walked over to where Elizabeth was standing. “I think it’ll be today,” he said.

  “How I wish I’d brought along a camera!” she said. “Just to prove to people that we found the mines,” she added with a smile.

  “You start flashing a few hundred diamonds and they’ll figure it out by themselves,” replied Raven, returning her smile.

  “You know, Mr. Quatermain, we haven’t given a moment’s thought as to how we’re going to bring the spoils, such as they are, back with us.”

  “We’ve got Njobo and seven other men,” said Raven. “Each one can easily carry enough to buy a small country or two.”

  She chuckled. “I like the way you think, Mr. Quatermain.”

  “And I like almost everything about you, Lisa,” he replied.

  “Elizabeth,” she corrected him.

  “I apologize, Elizabeth.”

  “I wonder about this Lisa,” she said. “I get the feeling you were quite taken with her.”

  He sighed deeply. “Quite.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Look into a mirror,” said Raven.

  “I mean really.”

  “A bit like Morgan le Fay, a bit like Ingrid Bergman, even a little like a girl on her way to Oz.”

  “I don’t understand any of the references,” she said.

  “Why should you?” he said, half wistfully and half bitterly. “After all, you’re Elizabeth Curtis.”

  She stared at him. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Quatermain?”

  He nodded his head. “Yeah, I suppose so. But I’d be even better if you’d start calling me Alan.”

  “That would be quite improper”—a sudden smile—“Alan.”

  “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” he said.

  She was about to reply when they heard trumpeting off to their left. He turned and held his binoculars up to his eyes.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  He stared for another moment, then chuckled and lowered the binoculars. “A pair of outraged mothers.”

  She frowned. “Outraged mothers?”

  “A pride of lions that’s hunting wildebeest got a little too close to two or three elephant babies. The trumpeting was just to scare them off.”

  “Good!”

  “I agree,” he said. “Now if we could just scare off whoever or whatever’s guarding the mines . . .”

  “Is someone?” she asked.

  “They wouldn’t remain undiscovered if someone wasn’t,” he answered.

  She sighed deeply. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the effort. It was Henry’s dream, and he’s gone now.”

  “So now it can be your dream,” said Raven. “It certainly belonged to enough others over the centuries.”

  “Henry left me very well off,” she replied. “I’m paying for this out of petty cash. As we get closer, I keep wondering how badly I want those diamonds.”

  Raven shook his head. “It’s not the diamonds.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “It’s how badly you want to be the first person to enter the mines, to be the first person to definitely find them after so many have failed.”

  She considered what he had said. “I suppose you’re right. And why are you here, Mr. . . . Alan?”

  “Because I’m not in Manhattan,” he said bitterly.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said. “Have you ever been in Manhattan?”

  He shrugged. “There are days when I wonder,” he replied.

  “About what?”

  “Don’t get me started,” he said with a bitter smile, “or we’ll die of old age before we cover the last couple of miles.” He looked ahead. “Might as well get moving. You never know who might be coming from a different direction.”

  He signaled to Njobo, who in turn signaled to his men, and soon the entire party was walking again, Raven constantly forcing himself to walk more slowly so that Elizabeth/Lisa didn’t find herself trailing her entire party. Every half hour or so they had to chase an animal or two out of their path, but they proceeded without any serious incident until midafternoon.

  “Why are we stopping, Mr. Quatermain? I mean, Alan?”

  “If the map is right, it’s just around that cluster of termite mounds by the hill there,” replied Raven. “If it’s protected, and the odds are that it is, I’d like to try to spot them before marching straight in.”

  “Sensible,” she said, nodding her head. “Very sensible.”

  They stood where they were for a few minutes. Then Raven waved Njobo and two others ahead, pointing to where he wanted them to station themselves.

  “Shouldn’t we proceed?” she asked.

  “As soon as they tell us to,” replied Raven.

  A moment later Njobo waved an arm.

  “Now,” said Raven, taking her by the arm and starting to walk forward.

  They reached Njobo in another minute.

  “So where are they?” asked Raven.

  Njobo pointed to a spot just behind the termite mounds.

  “Good!” Raven turned to Elizabeth/Lisa. “I hope you’re tired of merely being a millionaire, because you’re about to come into some really
big money.”

  “I’ll just have to adjust to it,” she said with a smile. She took a step, then paused. “You’re sure it’s safe?”

  “Njobo says it is, and I trust him.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  They reached the first of the termite mounds. Raven smiled at her. “Two more steps and we’re—”

  The transition was swift, painless, almost instantaneous.

  Oh, goddamnit! he tried to scream, but nothing came out—and then, suddenly, he found that he was sitting in a chair in his apartment.

  Alone.

  It took him a couple of minutes to realize that he really was back in Manhattan. Then he immediately left his apartment, walked out of the building, and went to the featureless building that held Rofocale’s single room. He climbed the stairs, considered knocking, decided that Rofocale was in no shape to walk over and open the door (or lock it, when he had left previously), and just entered.

  The large reddish entity, which Raven thought of alternately as a man and a creature, lay on the bed. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t moved since Raven had last seen him.

  “Rofocale?” he said softly.

  There was no response.

  “Goddamnit, I’d like some answers!”

  Rofocale didn’t move.

  For a moment Raven thought he was dead, but then he saw his chest rise and fall and knew the man (or whatever) was still alive.

  “Damn it!” growled Raven. “A few days ago, or a week, or a month, who the hell knows anymore, I was just a normal guy, taking my lady around town and figuring I’d propose to her that night, or at least by the weekend. Then we walk into that idiot fortune-teller’s shop, the owner gets killed, you get shot, Lisa gets shot, and I spend the next—hours, days, weeks, who the hell knows—trying to get back here from Casablanca and Oz and Camelot and Africa. In the process I lose my memory of everything meaningful in my life—my past, my friends, my accomplishments if any—and here we are. You’re still unconscious, and who the hell knows where Lisa is or even who she’ll be next? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

  It’s not what you’ve done, said Rofocale’s voice inside his head. It’s what you can do.

  “Am I some kind of threat?” demanded Raven. “And if so, to whom? And what has Lisa got to do with it?”