Blink, blink.
It slithered across the table, slicing through the shadows like a mutant crocodile through water, changing shape as it moved toward the light. Muscles, bones and alien flesh, flowing and dripping like wax in a hot flame, shaping themselves into dozens of nightmare forms as it moved toward him.
Blink.
Cage raised his pistol with a remarkably steady hand, placing its business end between himself and the fast-approaching shape. It was out of the booth now, mingling with the thinner shadows around the freestanding tables. It crossed the intervening space like a huge slug, discarding unfinished shapes as it went.
Blink.
Sweat dripped into Cage's eyes, blinding him. He blinked fiercely in an effort to clear his vision, not wanting to give the thing a chance to reach him while he could not see. He could hear it getting closer, and the sound of its shifting body was even more terrible than the shadow-censored images he had seen: bones snapping and popping back into place, muscles ripping apart, flesh rippling and tearing and mending.
He wiped a hand across his face. It came away covered with cold, clammy perspiration that felt diseased. But his vision was clear again, and he jerked his head to see where the thing had gotten to. Before he could find it, something foul and sharp grabbed hold of his wrist. Angus Cage screamed.
"I did not mean to startle you, Mr. Cage, but you were waving your gun in my direction and I did not want it to accidently go off," said a surprisingly light voice.
Cage glanced first at his wrist. A hand held it with small, strong fingers, not with claws covered in short, black hairs (but it felt like that before you looked, didn't it Cage?). He followed the hand to an arm housed within a finely-tailored yet old-fashioned black suit. The arm, in turn, was connected to a small man with sparkling eyes and an amused grin. He was balding on top. The hair that remained was long and black, peppered with streaks of gray.
The small man smiled, charming Cage with infectious good will. "I have been waiting to meet you for quite some time, Mr. Cage," the small man said in a captivating voice. "I have an exhibit you simply must see. I think you will find it ... intriguing."
Cage wiped more sweat from his brow and returned his pistol to its place at his waist. He swallowed hard before speaking. "Exhibit?" he asked incredulously. "What exhibit?"
The small man did not answer. Instead, he asked a question of his own. "Are you all right, Mr. Cage?"
"What? Yes, I'm fine," Cage managed, feeling the last vestiges of fear slip away. "I just had the strangest hallucination ... Mister ...?"
"Excuse me, but my manners seem to have deserted me tonight," the small man said pleasantly. "I am Quen-tin Payne, traveling scholar and exhibitor extraordinaire. You might say that I am an expert in hallucinations. Perhaps you would care to tell me about yours?"
"Some other time, perhaps," Cage replied, deciding he liked this Quentin Payne. He liked his smile and his singsong voice. "You were telling me about an exhibit ."
Payne's eyes sparkled with excitement and amusement, and he leaned close to Cage to whisper conspiratorially. "Yes, Mr. Cage, an exhibit. But it is an exhibit, like so many other exhibits, that is better seen than described. My shop is not far from here. Not far at all. You really must come and see it for yourself."
Step right up! Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!
A far-away voice sang in the back of Cage's mind, but he ignored it for now. He was too busy watching Payne's dancing eyes, his charming smile. Cage allowed Payne to guide him from the stool to the door. Neither man said a word as they disappeared into the furnace heat of the Cairo night, leaving the heavy bartender alone with Cage's final drink. Abdul shook his head, whispered a prayer, and downed the drink himself. Then he walked around the counter toward the door, carefully avoiding the pools of shadow scattered throughout the joint's main room. He absently picked up the newspaper that had blown in earlier and tucked it under his arm. When he reached the door, he quickly slid the lock into place.
"Good luck, my friend," Abdul said, but there was no one left to hear him. He looked once at the picture of the young woman on the front page, shook his head, and crumbled the paper into a tight ball.
In the pre-dawn darkness, Cairo was alive with activity. Automobiles made to guzzle gas and take up more than their share of road space navigated the streets, their bright headlights cutting paths through the waning night. Men and women walked to and fro, sweating equally in their evening finery, their knockabout duds, and their dirty rags. A boy stood on one corner, beneath a puddle of light cast by a street lamp, hawking the first edition of the morning newspaper. He rattled off a titillating routine, repeating the top headlines and assuring potential buyers that this particular edition was not to be missed.
Cage listened to the boy's monologue. It reminded him of a voice from long ago, urging a much younger Angus Cage to step right up and enter the big top. Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree! that ancient memory-voice impelled, See wonders never before gathered in one place! See ex-zotic ex-zibits from the four corners of the world!
The boy had a carnival voice, Cage decided, similar to that long-ago memory-voice but not as good. Quentin Payne had a carnival voice, too, he realized, and his was much better than the boy's. Much better.
"Ex-tra! Ex-tra! Read all about it!" the newspaper boy shouted. "Heat wave continues! No relief in sight! Another disappearance reported! This time a man!"
"Come, come, Mr. Cage," Payne urged, "we are almost there. You do not want to miss what I have to show you."
Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!
Step right up and turn the page!
Come on in! Don't miss the show!
The old memory-voice was trying to tell Cage something, but he couldn't quite make it out in the din of all these carnival voices. He pushed the feeling away, like he had done when it first started singing back at the bar, and smiled at the small man beside him. "Lead on, Mr. Payne," Cage said, "I'm right behind you."
They walked another block, then Payne turned into a run-down, poorly-lit alley. Cage followed him, and as soon as he entered the alley Cairo was gone. It was still there, in the literal sense, but the sounds and bustle that made even the pre-dawn streets noisy were left behind when they passed between the dilapidated buildings that formed the alley. He could still hear the sounds of activity if he strained, but it was as if the noise had a hard time squeezing into this bleak corridor.
"Right this way, Mr. Cage," Payne urged. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and a sugar-coating of excitement and mystery.
Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!
There were other differences in the alley, too. No single difference would be noticed, but together they gave the impression of stepping out of hot, sticky, noisy Cairo and into another world. This alley-world was cooler, and thick fog clung to the cobblestone pavement and floated up the sides of the leaning, close-spaced buildings like gossamer webs. There were more shadows here as well, shifting puddles of darkness huddling along the edges of dim illumination cast by two gaslight lamps positioned at either end of the alley. The third source of light spilled from two display windows. It was a muted, hazy light, filtered by dust-caked and grime-streaked glass. The windows framed a simple door, and all were caught beneath an ornate awning like chicks beneath a mother bird's wing.
As they moved closer, Cage saw words scrawled across the awning. They were written in fancy letters that looked very old to Cage. He supposed that was the effect the sign painter had intended. He read the words before they passed beneath the awning:
Oddities and Ends
"What a strange name," Cage muttered, barely aware that he had spoken aloud until Payne chuckled.
"Strange, but appropriate, as I am sure you will soon see," Payne replied.
Cage looked into the display windows, but the hazy light and dirty glass made it difficult to see more than enigmatic shapes. At the door, Payne produced a large key, as ornate and old as the lettering on the awning above. A sign in the door's window announced that the s
hop was closed, please come again. There was also a listing of the establishment's hours: Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, 8 p.m. to 12 a.m.; Other Hours by Appointment. Cage heard the loud click of a lock being disengaged, then a gust of dead air hit him as the door swung open.
"Welcome to my shop, Mr. Cage," Quentin Payne announced with fanfare. "It is a carnival of dreams and curiosities in this city of sand and harsh reality. Enter freely and of your own will."
Cage removed his worn Fedora, nodded to his host, and stepped into Oddities and Ends.
* * *
The room Angus Cage entered was a large, cluttered affair, reeking of stale smells and musty odors. Shelves lined the walls, piled high with objects that looked more like someone's trash than high art. Display cases formed a maze through the middle of the room, protecting discarded memories within their transparent borders. Cage had the distinct impression that Payne gathered his stock from garage sales and attic cleanings. Under glass and bathed in display lights, garbage, Cage thought, was still garbage.
Quentin Payne must have seen an indication of Cage's thoughts in his facial movements, for the small man quickly took hold of his arm and led him through the maze.
"Do not be so hasty to judge my collection, Mr. Cage," Payne said. "You would be amazed at the quality of treasures one can acquire at garage sales and attic cleanings."
Payne's words surprised Cage. Had his expression been so obvious and easy to read? Or had he spoken his thoughts aloud without realizing it? He couldn't remember speaking, but lots of memories had been lost these past few months, washed away in an unending rain of vodka and orange juice. Cage allowed himself to be led to the first case.
"Memories are often discarded for all the wrong reasons, Mr. Cage," Payne continued. "Neglect, carelessness, forgetfulness. I find such memories to be the most precious, most valuable kind. My stock and trade, if you will."
Cage peered into the nearest display case. Inside, resting atop a bed of black velvet, was a piece of crumbled stone. A small spotlight was fixed upon it, making it glow in the small case.
"A piece of the Great Pyramid," Payne acknowledged, "removed by the priestess Anhai for use in arcane ceremonies."
The tour continued as Payne led Cage through the twists and turns of displays. Some cases revealed their contents willingly, easily. Others remained opaque, offering nothing more than a teasing, half-hidden glimpse as Cage walked by. He saw dried hearts and green scarabs, rune-encrusted scrolls and chunks of red glass. He saw gold, silver, and stone objects. He saw fingers and eyes and monkeys' paws. There were even mundane items like books and pens and candy wrappers. By the time they reached the last case, Cage had forgotten more items than he remembered. He felt like a kid in a toy store, excited, impressed, and eager to see more.
"Dreams, desires and hopes, Mr. Cage," Payne proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "One man's garbage is another man's glory, if seen in the proper light. And I only use the most proper lighting. But do you know the most exciting part of all this, Mr. Cage?"
Angus Cage shook his head, but his eyes were wide with anticipation. There was something more exciting than the things he had already seen? He had to know what it was. He just had to!
Payne leaned close, as though to share a special secret with Cage. He motioned for Cage to bend down, then he placed his lips against Cage's ear. Their touch was cold and dry, but the words he whispered were like runaway fire.
"There is more to see!" Payne forced the low, barely audible words past his cold, dry lips and into Cage's ear. "I have saved the best exhibits just for you!"
With that, Payne danced toward a shimmering black curtain set against the wall. Cage hadn't noticed it before, but that didn't surprise him. There was so much to see, so many strange and curious artifacts, that it was easy to miss a curtain of midnight black set against a blank portion of the wall. Payne gripped an edge of the curtain, but didn't quite pull it open. Instead, he paused and turned to look at his audience of one with gleeful eyes.
"My exhibits have brought people from all over Cairo and the Nile Empire to this out-of-the-way alley," Payne declared in his carnival voice, tempting and titillating with tone, gestures and carefully-chosen words. His hand tightened upon the shimmering black curtain, which seemed to be trying to wriggle free of his grip. "I have traveled from realm to realm to gather, display, and sell my wares. From New Majestic to Paris Liberte to Cairo and back again, all for the enjoyment of the crowds. But my prized possession, my headlining exhibit if you will, has not yet been viewed by the general public. Oh no, Mr. Cage, I have saved this one just for you!"
Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!
Payne, first-rate showman that he was, released the curtain with an exaggerated gesture. As soon as his grip relaxed, the black curtain parted of its own accord to reveal a second room. "Step right up, Mr. Cage," Payne hawked. "Come in and see the show!"
The room beyond the curtain was bare stone. Four stone walls proclaimed the limits of the room. A stone ceiling pressed down from above, and a stone floor was laid out hard beneath his feet as Cage stepped forward. The bare stone was decorated in arcane symbols — circles, stars, triangles and other geometric shapes were drawn on every surface in dried smears of brown, rust and black. Thick black candles provided light, while oily black wax dripped and pooled at their bases. Eleven pedestals formed a circle around the edge of the room. A huge glass bell jar rested atop each pedestal. Some of the jars were filled with gray smoke. Stars twinkled in the smoke, shimmering like living fireflies. But the main portion of the exhibit rested within the circle of pedestals and bell jars. There, bathed in the light of the black candles, sat two opened sarcophagi. The sarcophagus on the right was empty, but the one on the left contained a partially-mummified body.
"What is this?" Cage asked, trying to understand what his eyes were seeing.
"This," Payne said, "is my prize exhibit."
The partially-mummified body was obviously male. The dried, withered portions of its anatomy were still wrapped in prepared cloth, but on the healthy, full portions the wrappings were ripped away to reveal living flesh. Around its neck it wore an amulet shaped into the head of a crocodile — the sign of Sebek!
"Who is that?" Cage asked, unable to keep the questions from falling past his lips.
"Have you not guessed yet, my friend?" Payne shot back. "I imagined better from you."
"Sebek?" Cage stumbled over the word, realizing that his mental processes were still sluggish from the liquor he had consumed. "Sebek is Mobius' patron deity ."
"How true," Payne laughed, "how true!"
Cage continued to examine the body, marveling at its contrasts of vibrant, living flesh and dried, mummified remains. As he watched, the body tried to force open its encrusted eyes, but it couldn't quite manage the feat. Fascinated, Cage stepped closer. Then he remembered the empty sarcophagus.
"The other one," Cage stammered, "what about the other one?"
Someone stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the stone chamber and stopped beside the empty sarcophagus. It was a young woman with raven hair, raven eyes, and shapely form. She wore a simple dress that was gathered at her waist by a simple belt. The effect, however, was far from simple. It was stunning, the way the dress draped across her ample curves. Cage recognized the woman instantly, and his heart beat faster.
"Is this the man you were telling me about, Mr. Payne?" the young woman asked in a smooth, silky voice.
Quentin Payne stepped between the two, his face lit with amusement. "Yes, my dear," he said, "allow me to introduce the two of you. Angus Cage, I have the pleasure of presenting to you Clemeta, Royal Concubine to the Pharaoh Amat-Ra."
* * *
"While there are striking similarities between the history of this Earth and of your own Terra, there are also remarkable differences," Payne explained, making the confusing notion of nearly-parallel dimensions sound simple. "Take Amat-Ra, for example. On Terra, he was a powerful and evil Pharaoh who eventually died at the
hand of his bastard son, Sutenhotep. On Earth, his reign left no mark on history, and few records concerning him remain. But you can find information on anything, if you know where to look for it. And I definitely know where to look."
Angus Cage heard Payne's words, but he wasn't really listening. He was staring at the woman who looked so much like his Clemeta that it hurt. She was sitting across from him, at a small table the three of them shared, sipping tea and regarding Cage with her large, expressive eyes.
"Why is he looking at me like that, Mr. Payne?" Clem-eta asked, wrinkling her nose as though she smelled something foul.
"Pay him no heed, Clemeta my dear," Payne said. "He is simply captivated by your beauty. Be a dear and go check on Sutenhotep for me."
Clemeta rose from the table, which was set in a corner of the shop's main room, and walked toward the shimmering black curtain. She moved with grace and confidence, her head held high. The curtain parted as she approached, offering her admittance to the chamber beyond. When she stepped through the opening, the curtain fell back into place.
Angus Cage watched her every move, memorizing the way her curves swayed when she walked. As she passed through the open curtain, he rose to follow her. Payne stopped him with a gentle touch of his hand.
"Please, Mr. Cage," Payne said sternly, "I sent her away so that we could talk freely. We really must talk, you understand."
"No, Mr. Payne, I don't understand," Cage admitted, raising his voice in anger. "What is it you want from me?"
"I need your help," Payne replied evenly, ignoring Cage's outburst. "They need your help," he added, nodding to the chamber beyond the curtain.
"They? And who are they? Do you really expect me to believe those two people are three thousand years old?"
Payne's eyes narrowed to angry slits, and his voice took on a menace that Cage had not heard before. "I do not expect anything of you, Cage," Payne declared. The pretense of courtesy was gone now, and in his anger the small man dropped such formalities as titles before names. "No matter what you choose to believe, I tell you that that woman is Clemeta — not the Clemeta you knew a year ago, and not the Clemeta that Mobius knew three millennia past, but she is Clemeta just the same. She is Earth's Clemeta, a concubine in Amat-Ra's harem who had the ill fortune to become involved with a young man named Sutenhotep."
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