Mysterious Cairo

by Edited By Ed Stark

  * * *

  The door swung open of its own accord, startling Cage. Standing in the doorway, framed by the shop's proper light, was the proprietor, Quentin Payne. When he noticed Cage, his mouth formed a pleasant smile. His eyes, however, burned with ferocious anger.

  "Ah, there you are, Mr. Cage," Payne said venomously. "We missed you at breakfast, today. We also missed you at lunch and supper. Have you forgotten our agreement? We had a done deal."

  Cage tried to form a response in his head. He wanted to examine all of the words carefully before letting them slip from his mouth. Payne had a way with words, and Cage felt that it was imperative that he not say anything that could be twisted or perverted. He almost had all of his words chosen when a loud, high-pitched squeal split the quiet twilight.

  "Move aside, Cage," Payne ordered. "I have a paying customer."

  Cage considered standing his ground when he felt Clemeta's hand grab hold of his wrist and tug. She pulled him into the shop, leaving Payne alone in the doorway. Cage resisted momentarily, but Clemeta appealed to him with large, dark eyes. His body responded to those eyes, remembering the orders another Clemeta had given, orders his body followed without question. So, almost immediately after proclaiming himself a free man, Angus Cage gave himself back to Clemeta's bondage.

  He followed her into the display maze. A part of him knew that to enter the maze was to lose himself completely. Another part of him didn't care. Still, he took a moment to look behind him. Payne was welcoming his last customer to the shop, speaking in his carnival voice as the squealing shadows fell away to reveal a dark-skinned young man. He was the twenty-second customer to cross the portal into Oddities and Ends. Twenty-third, if you counted Angus Cage. Cage wanted to watch a while longer, but Clemeta's insistent tug pulled him away.

  Into the maze.

  Clemeta led him through the maze with practiced ease. He still had trouble finding his way from one end of the shop to the other, even though few of the display cases were higher than eye level. He could look over the tops of most of them and see the four walls of the large room. But that rarely helped him navigate the complicated twists and turns of the maze. Come to think of it, the maze never seemed to be the same from one trip through it to the next. Even the exhibits were different. He rarely saw the same object twice.

  As they walked, Cage had the distinct impression that the maze was shifting around and behind him. He wanted to turn around and look, to catch the displays in the act of changing position just to satisfy his curiosity. But at the same time, he didn't want to look. He was sure that the displays needed to become nightmare shapes to accomplish their feats of movement. Like the thing in the shadows back at the gin joint, like grotesque slugs sliding across the floor in puddles of proper light.

  He heard something behind him. It was wet and heavy and it dragged itself across the bare wood floor. What would happen if he turned to look? What would he really see? He decided he really didn't want to know. Instead, he focused his gaze on Clemeta. Her curves were soothing, her hand was dry. She had taken him into a portion of the maze he didn't recognize. It was a circular alcove formed of tall display cases. The light from the cases fell in diffused rainbows onto a long, wide cot in the center of the area. Cage looked into the nearest case, but something in the light scurried back. He dropped his gaze, feeling his stomach tighten and twist at the sight.

  "Sit with me," Clemeta said, leading him to the cot.

  She started to kiss him. The first touch of her lips felt dry and cracked, and Cage pulled away. She insisted, however, and the next few kisses were moist and warm and wet. God, Cage thought, she did look and feel good. The rainbow light highlighted her best features, set fire to her hair and eyes, and made her soft curves glow. Part of him realized that this alcove was nothing more than another display, and that the rainbow light was set and fixed to the proper angle and illumination. She slid a hand across his thigh, and his thoughts melted. Her lips found his, and she explored his mouth with her tongue.

  "What about Payne?" Cage asked, speaking between kisses.

  "Forget Payne," Clemeta said, letting her hands join her lips and tongue in the exploration of Cage's body. "For now, there is just you and me."

  Cage let his concerns fade as she worked her magic. Her touch was sure, her technique expert. He could concentrate on nothing, yet everything was clear. He wanted her. He needed her. He had to have her. Her lips never left him, her fingers never strayed from their appointed task. The intensity was maddening, yet he hoped it never stopped.

  "Love me, Angus Cage," she whispered as she kissed his ear.

  "Yes," he heard himself respond, no longer in control of body or mind.

  "Love me, my master," Clemeta urged, crawling on top of him.

  He let her do as she pleased, unable and unwilling to do more than shudder and grind beneath her. This went on for a pleasurable eternity before her last words registered and Cage's eyes flew wide. He pushed her away.

  "What did you say?" he asked, shaking her.

  "You are hurting me, master," Clemeta whined, fear creeping into her usually-sexy voice.

  "That's what I thought you said," Cage spat, releasing her and standing up. "Clemeta — my Clemeta — was not a slave. She was the master. In her arms, I was the slave. You may be Clemeta, but you're not my Clemeta."

  Frantically, she leaped at him, grabbing him and trying to kiss him. "I can be anything you want, master," she pleaded. "That is what I am for."

  Cage threw her back. He watched her stumble and land beside one of the display cases. Then he turned toward the alcove's opening and stepped into the maze.

  "Do not do this, Angus," Clemeta cried. "Please! I want to live!"

  "So do I," Cage said, realizing that it was true for the first time in more than a year. He took a deep breath, but decided not to look at her. He wasn't sure how he would react to her tears. Without another word, he started off down the narrow corridor of displays.

  Cage moved through the maze with long, quick strides. He ignored the movements inside the glass cases and concentrated on reaching the maze's end. But no matter how fast he ran or how far he walked, the maze refused to let him go. Every turn sent him deeper into the maze, every new corridor took him farther from his goal. He walked for over twenty minutes in the middle of a room perhaps forty paces across, until his patience was at an end. He looked over the tops of the nearest display cases. Only a few feet away was the shimmering black curtain. It might have been a thousand miles, for all the good it did him.

  "Payne!" Cage screamed, giving release to his anger and frustration. He received no answer. "Fine," he decided, and began to push his way through the wall of displays.

  The first case was stubborn, refusing to budge. But Cage was strong, insistent. After a brief struggle, the case toppled. It struck the floor like a sack of wet jelly, making a plopping sound instead of the breaking glass Cage expected. He forged ahead, the remaining cases tipping and falling before his onslaught until only one remained. It glared at him with its smokey, glass-filtered light, standing tall and defying his advance.

  Its insolence angered Cage. He balled his hand into a fist and drew it back, determined to shatter this case before knocking it aside. He stopped, though, when he saw what the case contained. It held his Fedora, mocking him with its worn, well-used treasure.

  If it thought to delay him with its tactics, the case had another think coming. Cage almost laughed at himself for personifying these objects, but he couldn't laugh at the wet, dragging sounds emerging from the maze at his back. The rest of the maze was coming to the defense of its brethren, and Cage had to force himself not to turn around. If he saw the shifting shapes of the display cases, if he looked upon them as they dragged themselves closer, he would go insane. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the case containing his hat. Suddenly he thrust his fist through the glass door, hoping to catch the case off guard. He braced himself for the impact, for the sharp pain of splintering glass. But all hi
s fist encountered was a cold, wet membrane. His hand passed through it with hardly any effort, and it greedily sucked it in up to his elbow and held him fast.

  Cage ignored the wet grip and the changing shape of the case before him. He tried to block out the feel of its cold touch, the sight of its shifting black form. Instead, he concentrated on searching with his finger tips for his Fedora. It didn't take long to find it. He grabbed its soft-felt crown and pulled. But the case, now a shapeless oil-black mass at the end of his arm, refused to release him.

  "Let go," Cage ordered, tugging with all his might. "Give me back my hat!"

  The tug of war lasted a moment longer, then Cage's hand and the Fedora popped free. The black mass squealed, then scurried away into a corner of the shop. Behind him, the dragging, wet sounds stopped. Cage shuddered, examining his arm and hat for any signs of damage. Satisfied that all was in order, he placed the Fedora on his head.

  "Perfect," he decided, tilting the hat down over his forehead. He reached behind his back and pulled out his 9mm Browning. He turned, risking a look at the rest of the maze. The cases were just cases, all glass and velvet and proper light. They were closer than before, of course, with every display turned to face him, but they had stopped moving. He stared at them, waiting to see if they would change and move while he watched. He willed them to move, to flow, to advance upon him. Nothing happened. "Time to check out the prize exhibit, then," he decided.

  Angus Cage strode purposefully toward the curtain of shimmering black.

  * * *

  To Cage's surprise, the curtain parted without a struggle. He looked at it warily, then ducked beneath it and stepped into the stone chamber. The chamber appeared much the same as when Cage last saw it. Arcane runes were inscribed upon the walls. Black candles flickered with malevolent light. Eleven bell jars, sitting atop eleven pedestals, circled two stone sarcophagi. The differences, minor though they were, stuck out like sore thumbs.

  Quentin Payne stood before the mummified remains of Sutenhotep, spouting words in a language Cage had never heard before. Even though he could not understand them, the words made Cage uneasy. Payne directed his chant toward the shop's last customer, a dark-skinned young man who stood perfectly still. This was Payne's going-out-of-business sale, Cage knew.

  The small man with the carnival voice was pulling out all the stops to make one last done deal. The words he spoke were powerful, electrifying, and each one fell like thunder from Payne's small, smiling mouth.

  As Cage watched, the dark-skinned young man began to fade. His legs began to disappear first, changing to gray smoke that kept their original shape before being sucked into the final, empty bell jar.

  "No!" Cage shouted, and he raced across the chamber to the dark-skinned young man's side.

  Payne had finished his recital, however, and as Cage reached the young man he realized he was too late. Before his eyes, the remaining solid parts of man's body — his torso, arms and head — transformed into churning gray smoke. His head was the last to change, and at the last moment Cage saw understanding dawn in the young man's brown eyes. Then it changed to fear and, finally, to thick, gray smoke.

  "Stop it!" Cage demanded as the bell jar hungrily sucked in the last remnants of the gray smoke, filling itself with the thick, curling fumes. Cage fell to his knees beside the jar, cradling it in his arms. Inside, the smoke continued to swirl, only now it was full of twinkling lights.

  "We had a done deal," Payne said in his carnival voice. "You went back on that deal. Who do you think you are, that you can demand a refund? I do not give refunds!"

  The small man stepped closer, but Cage shifted his gaze to the events behind Payne. For Sutenhotep was stepping out of his sarcophagus, much of the remaining bandages and dust falling away to reveal vibrant, strong flesh. Payne followed Cage's eyes, and he smiled.

  "Do you like what you see, Cage?" Payne sneered. "No matter what you may now think or believe, you have given me an invaluable service. You have given Sutenhotep the knowledge he needs to depose Mobius. I thank you, but your usefulness has come to an end."

  Payne advanced upon Cage, but still Cage ignored him. He was busy watching Sutenhotep stumble toward one of the bell jars. As Cage watched, Sutenhotep placed his palms against the glass and breathed deeply. The gray smoke, twinkling lights and all, passed up through the glass and disappeared into Sutenhotep's flaring nostrils. That accomplished, he walked to the next jar.

  "No," Cage said sternly. "You've taken their lives. Isn't that enough?"

  "No, Cage, it is not," Payne answered. "For Suten-hotep to live, he needs everything they have. Dreams, desires, hopes. These are the things we crave."

  "You're vampires!" Cage declared, lifting his pistol and pointing it at Payne.

  "No, Angus Cage, we are not vampires," Payne replied coldly as Sutenhotep drew in the contents of the second jar. "Sutenhotep is a mummy. And I am ... I am a showman!"

  Hur-ree! Hur-ree! Hur-ree!

  "You're a fraud," Cage countered as Sutenhotep stepped in front of the third jar. "You deal in deceit and trickery. Nothing in here is real. It's all an illusion!"

  "Illusions are my stock and trade," Payne said, his carnival voice shifting into the creaking sounds of a house of horrors, "in that regard you are quite correct. But I would not say that nothing is real. On the contrary, everything is quite real. I just choose to hide the reality."

  "Hide this!" Cage shouted, shoving the bell jar from its pedestal. Unlike the display cases, the jar shattered into a hundred shards of glass. The sound it made was music to Cage's ears.

  Payne's face paled at the sight of Cage's violence. Even Sutenhotep turned to regard the destruction of the eleventh jar. For a long moment everything was still. Cage watched the two through a haze of gray smoke that was quickly fading away.

  "You should not have done that, Cage," Payne said. "I had such hopes for you." Payne moved quickly then, leaping toward Cage with terrible fury etched into his features.

  "Go to hell," Cage said, squeezing off two shots from his Browning. Both hit their marks, knocking Payne to the ground in mid-leap.

  As he landed in a heap, Payne toppled a number of the black candles. Their flames leaped around the stone chamber, seeking something to burn. A few licks of flame found Sutenhotep's discarded wrappings. The pile erupted into bright fire.

  "Destroy him," Payne ordered Sutenhotep, slapping at the flames which had found purchase on the sleeve of his black suit. He stood up slowly, seeming to ignore the slugs which had taken up residence in his chest. "If you want to live again, kill Angus Cage!"

  Sutenhotep hesitated, then advanced upon Cage. Cage kept the circle of bell jars between himself and Sutenhotep, trying to decide if his Browning would do anything to the mummy. He glanced at the curtain quickly, seeing Payne rush out of the chamber, trailing sparks of bright red fire. But it wasn't Payne, not the Payne that Cage had come to know. It was more a shadow-thing of shifting shapes and flowing forms. It was, he knew, the real Quentin Payne.

  "You have taught me well, Angus Cage," Sutenhotep said with some degree of effort. It sounded as if his vocal chords hadn't been used in a thousand years. Make that three thousand, Cage corrected. "I am sorry that we have come to this, but I want to live!"

  Cage toppled another pedestal. Its jar shattered in a symphony of breaking glass. "One Mobius is enough for any world to deal with, Sutenhotep," Cage said. He pushed over another jar. "You belong to a different time."

  "I belong here!" Sutenhotep shouted, grabbing Cage with his strong arms. "Who are you to deny me a chance to live?" He swung Cage into the wall, knocking the air from him and shattering his left shoulder in an explosion of bone and blood. Cage screamed, but managed to fire a shot into Sutenhotep's chest.

  The bullet startled the ancient man, causing him to throw Cage away from him. Cage sailed across the chamber, knocking over three more bell jars before he crashed into the far wall. He barely had time to realize that his pistol had fallen from his hand when
the sharp pain in his shoulder spread throughout his body and almost knocked him out. He held on to consciousness with an extreme effort of will, for he saw that Sutenhotep was coming toward him to finish the job he started.

  "Why are these things always so damn strong?" Cage wondered as he struggled to sit up. It was hard to gain his balance with only one good arm, and he slipped before he got his feet underneath him. From Cage's angle on the ground, Sutenhotep looked even bigger than he remembered. And he looked very, very angry. "At least I still have my hat," he mused as the ancient man drew closer. That's when Cage noticed his own shadow. It was dancing along the wall, flickering in a blaze of candle light. He turned his head, ignoring the pain it awakened in his shoulder, and looked for the tall, fat black candle he knew had to be nearby.

  "Time to die, Angus Cage," Sutenhotep said as he reached for Cage with long, regal fingers.

  "I couldn't agree more," Cage replied. He found the thick candle and grabbed hold of its fat base. With speed born of long years of practice and a moment of desperation, he shoved the candle's flame into the ancient wrappings that still covered the lower part of Sutenhotep's body.

  The hungry flame danced over the dry wrappings, setting them on fire. Sutenhotep squealed. It was the same squeal that the shadows outside the shop made. Mobius, Cage knew, might laugh maniacally, but he would never squeal. The fire spread quickly, engulfing Sutenhotep in a cloak of burning light. He squealed again, then raced for the shimmering curtain. In his rush to extinguish the flames, Sutenhotep didn't care that he shattered the remaining bell jars, leaving gray smoke and broken glass in his wake.