by Mike Resnick
"Not everybody likes artsy-fartsy movies,” said Mephisto defensively. “Some of us just like a good story."
"With no clothes and lots of forty-eight-inch bosoms,” said the mirror sarcastically.
"Well, it makes more sense than all those morbid Swedish films you keep asking me to watch."
"I'm just trying to broaden your horizons,” explained the mirror. “We're stuck with each other for better or worse, so we might as well try to find some common ground for conversation. But no, not you. You can't take it when a mirror tries to rise above its station, to acquire a little culture, to upgrade its standard of living!” Periwinkle's face reappeared, and it rolled its eyes toward Mallory. “Do you see what I have to put up with? Is it any wonder that sometimes I get a little moody?"
"What'll it take to put you in a good enough mood to contact the Grundy?” asked Mallory.
"A little kindness, a little consideration, that's all.” It paused. “By the way, did you know that you were followed here?"
"By Mürgenstürm,” said Mallory, nodding his head. “I caught a glimpse of him just before I climbed down the stairs."
"What does he want?” asked Mephisto.
"What does everyone want?” replied Mallory ironically. “If he had half a brain, he'd get the hell out of town while the getting is good. The Grundy and his guild are both going to be hunting him at sunrise.” He turned to the mirror. “I don't want to be rude, but I've still got things to do tonight. Are you going to put me through or not?"
"And I thought you were different!” sniffed Periwinkle. “I thought you were thoughtful and sensitive. I should have known better! You're all alike!” It paused. “I'll connect you,” it continued petulantly. “I'll let him know exactly where you are, and I hope he does something awful to you."
Suddenly the mirror fogged over, and then the Grundy's visage appeared.
"Why have you contacted me?” asked the demon.
"I thought I'd let you know that I've already made my first checkpoint."
"You are lying. The cat-girl isn't there."
"I'm not going to give you a chance to get your hands on her,” said Mallory. “I told her to make sure I was standing in front of this building at four-thirty. I don't know where she was hiding, and I don't know where she is now.” He paused. “But I know where she's going to be in an hour, and if she doesn't see me, the game's over."
"I have infinite patience,” said the Grundy grimly. “I can wait."
"I just wanted to make sure you don't jump the gun when I leave here. I still don't have the stone, and I'm still making my rendezvous points, so it would be self-defeating to kill me now."
The Grundy looked past Mallory to Mephisto. “You have allied yourself with the enemy,” he said ominously.
"No, sir!” said Mephisto. “Not me! I just met him tonight. I swear it, Grundy!"
"He is a worthy adversary,” continued the Grundy. "You are a cowardly, whimpering, incompetent, second-rate illusionist, fit to amuse guests at cocktail parties and nothing more. You thought you could oppose my goals with no risk to yourself. You were wrong!"
"No!” whined Mephisto.
"I will attend to you later,” promised the Grundy. “Not for what you have done, but for what you are."
His image vanished, and suddenly Periwinkle was just an ordinary mirror again.
"See?” shrilled Mephisto. “See what you've done?"
"I didn't do anything,” replied Mallory. “You joined us of your own free will."
"But I didn't know it would come to this!"
"That's a chance you took,” said the detective with a shrug. “You don't go up against someone like the Grundy without taking risks. You knew that, and if you didn't know it then you should have."
"Platitudes!” screamed Mephisto. “The Grundy is going to kill me, and all I hear are platitudes!"
"He was probably bluffing,” said Mallory. “After all, he let Winnifred and Eohippus go."
"What do I care about a fat old woman and an animal? It's me I'm worried about!"
"They're worth ten of you!” said Mallory heatedly. “They went out and faced the enemy. You hid in your apartment and talked about how brave you are."
"Well, I'm not talking now!” said Mephisto suddenly, reaching into the air and producing a wand. He pointed it at Mallory. “You've got a gun in your pocket. Take it out very carefully."
Mallory stared at him without moving.
"I'm not kidding, Mallory!” snapped Mephisto. He pointed the wand at a lamp, and suddenly the lamp—shade, bulb, and base—disappeared with a loud popping noise. “This isn't a toy. Now, take the gun out and drop it on the floor."
Mallory groped in his pocket for the gun and withdrew it gingerly by the barrel.
"On the floor!” repeated Mephisto.
Mallory placed the gun on the floor.
"Now slide it over to me with your foot."
Mallory did so.
"Now what?” asked the detective.
"Mürgenstürm must have given you a retainer,” said the magician. “Let's have it."
The detective pulled the thick wad of bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the floor.
"You're wasting an awful lot of effort,” said Mallory. “There's no way that I'm going to tell you where the ruby is."
Mephisto grinned. “I don't give a damn where it is!"
Mallory looked puzzled.
"You haven't figured it out, have you?” said Mephisto. “If I stay here the Grundy is going to kill me sooner or later, so I'm going to your Manhattan. The membrane will stay permeable long enough for me to get through it.” He smiled triumphantly. “The Grundy won't follow me as long as the ruby's here—after all, it means a hell of a lot more to him than I do—and the best way to keep it here is to kill you before the Grundy can find some way to make you reveal its location to him."
"If I die, that ruby will be back in my Manhattan within an hour."
"Perhaps,” said Mephisto. “But whoever takes it there won't know that I'm the one who killed you. They'll assume the Grundy did it, and they won't have any reason to come hunting for me.” He paused. “I hate to do this to you, but it's your own fault for getting me involved in the first place.” Suddenly he smiled. “You know, I think I may really get myself a job as a magician in Vegas after all."
"I don't know how to lay this on you,” said Mallory, “but card tricks aren't exactly in demand these days."
"Then I'll work on sawing a lady in half."
"Good idea,” said Mallory. “You shouldn't run through more than two or three dozen ladies before you get it right."
"I hope you enjoyed that joke,” said Mephisto seriously, “because it was your last."
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Chapter 16
4:48 AM-5:05 AM
Mallory looked desperately around the living room for some means of defending himself, but it was useless: there was nothing within his reach that he could throw at Mephisto, no loose rug that he could pull out from under the magician's feet, no piece of furniture close enough to hide behind.
"Shit!” he muttered under his breath.
"You look unhappy,” gloated Mephisto.
"I am,” said Mallory.
"I don't blame you. Nobody wants to die."
"It's not that,” said Mallory. “Everyone dies sooner or later.” He looked into Mephisto's eyes. “But I feel cheated. I was thrust into a strange world, and in six hours I solved one hell of a mystery, recovered the jewel, and found a way to hold the Grundy at bay.” He shook his head. “To accomplish all that, only to be wiped out by an asshole like you..."
"That's it!” snarled Mephisto, pointing the wand between Mallory's eyes. “You're dead!"
"You're not making me a party to murder!” snapped Periwinkle.
And then, suddenly, the magician screamed in agony as an unbearably bright light struck his eyes. He reeled backward and careened off a wall, then crashed into a couch and fell heavily
to the floor as his wand flew halfway across the room.
Mallory, too, was temporarily blinded. He felt his way across the living room floor until he came to Mephisto, wrapped his left hand in the magician's hair to hold his head steady, and delivered a right to the chin. He couldn't see the reaction, but he felt Mephisto's body go limp.
As his vision began returning he saw the wand lying on the floor and picked it up, then took back his money and began looking for the pistol.
"What is it, Mallory?” asked Periwinkle.
"The gun,” he replied. “I can't find it. I must have kicked it under a piece of furniture when I was groping around for him."
"Don't worry about it,” urged the mirror. “Just leave."
"I can't leave the gun here! He'll come right after me."
Mephisto groaned and rolled onto his side.
"If he wakes up and you're still here, he won't need the gun,” said Periwinkle. “You don't know how to use the wand, and he does. He can order it to kill you."
Mephisto groaned again.
"He's coming to,” said Periwinkle urgently. “Leave quickly—and hide the wand!"
"How about just breaking it?” asked Mallory, snapping the wand in half as he spoke.
"It still has potency. Take it with you, and hide it when you get the chance."
"All right,” said Mallory, hurrying to the door. “And thanks."
"If you really want to thank me, arrange for me to be moved to a more respectable setting."
"I'll see what I can do,” Mallory promised.
"Don't forget now!” yelled Periwinkle as Mallory slammed the door behind him. “You owe me!"
Mallory thought he could see Mürgenstürm darting into a doorway as he ran down the street, but he didn't have time to look more closely, for Mephisto, bellowing and cursing, emerged from his apartment with the pistol in his hand and fired off a couple of shots in the detective's direction.
Mallory ducked between two buildings, found that his path was open to the alley that ran behind them, crossed it, tossed the broken wand onto the roof of a garage as he raced by, and soon emerged on the next block. He could still hear the sound of gunfire, but it was a little farther away now, and he slowed his pace to a trot.
Two more blocks brought him to the end of the residential area, and he momentarily debated whether to double back to where the streets were darker or take his chances in the commercial section, where he might at least be able to find some means of defending himself.
He was still considering his options when he saw two uniformed military men entering a bar. Hoping that he might be able to beg, borrow or steal a weapon from them, he sprinted across the bright avenue and entered the bar a moment later.
As he paused, panting, just inside the doorway, he surveyed his surroundings. The walls were covered with scenes of battle, covering every American war from the Revolution right up to Vietnam. Several grim generals stared out from framed, autographed photographs, and there was also a snapshot of Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. A long bar dominated one side of the room, opposite a number of plain wooden tables and armless chairs. A jukebox played an endless series of military marches.
There were perhaps ten patrons standing at the bar, and another fifteen sitting at tables around the room. All were decked out in full military regalia, though their uniforms seemed more in keeping with an elaborate costume ball than with any army unit Mallory had ever seen.
The longer Mallory looked at them, the more he realized that something was wrong. Their heads were too round, their bodies too trim, their bearing too perfect. Finally, as one of the soldiers turned and offered him a friendly smile, he knew what had bothered him: their facial features had been painted on. There were no jutting jaws or angular noses, no ears that stuck out from the sides of the head, no hair in need of cutting—just black dots for eyes and nostrils, red lines for mouths, circles for ears, and varnished black hair that seemed to fit their heads like skin.
He looked at their hands, half-expecting to see wooden joints instead of knuckles, but all of them were wearing white gloves. Their uniforms practically glowed with epaulettes and sashes, medals and brass buttons, silver sabres and shining pistols.
"Welcome to Pinnochio's,” said the bartender, who seemed as human as Mallory. “What can I give you to start the New Year off on the right foot?"
Mallory approached the end of the bar. “Whiskey'll do just fine,” he said.
"You got it,” said the bartender pleasantly, pouring him a glass.
"And one for yourself,” added Mallory, slapping some coins down on the counter.
"Why, thank you, sir,” said the bartender. “I call that mighty Christian of you!"
"Are you Pinnochio?” asked Mallory, as the bartender poured his own drink.
"Goodness, no, sir,” laughed the bartender. “In point of fact, there isn't any Pinnochio. It's just a name.” He paused. “I find that it makes my clientele feel more at home."
"Tell me about them,” said Mallory.
"Well, as you can see for yourself, sir, they're all military men."
"They look like they're all toy soldiers."
"That, too,” agreed the bartender. “They tend to stop by after midnight. I suppose that's why they're all officers; the enlisted men probably have to be back in their barracks by now.” He took a sip of his drink and emitted a satisfied “Ah!” “Anyway,” he continued, “they sit around and talk about the war until the wee small hours, and then go back to their regiments."
"What war?” asked Mallory.
The bartender shrugged. “Whichever one they're fighting."
"Do their weapons work?"
"You can't fight a war with nonfunctioning weapons,” replied the bartender. “In fact, more than once I've seen a pair of them wager on who could dismantle and rebuild one of their weapons faster while blindfolded. Of course,” he added, “that's strictly done with their pistols. It's pretty hard to dismantle a sword."
"I can imagine,” said Mallory, wondering how to broach the subject of borrowing a pistol.
The sound of gunfire came to his ears, and a couple of the officers farther down the bar began peering out into the street.
"New Year's Eve!” complained one of the officers, a tall man with a thick gray moustache. “You'd think the bastards would have the decency to wait until sunrise!"
"Excuse me,” said Mallory, moving down the bar. “But who, exactly, are you at war with?"
"That's the damndest thing about it!” complained the officer. “We don't know."
"An unknown enemy?” asked Mallory.
"He's damned well known to someone," replied the officer. “But nobody tells us anything.” He looked at Mallory. “You're new here, aren't you?"
Mallory nodded. “My name's Mallory."
"MacMasters, sir—Major MacMasters,” said the officer, extending his hand. “Always pleased to meet the local citizenry."
"How much action have you seen in Manhattan?” asked Mallory curiously.
"None,” replied Major MacMasters. “I'm just here until my transfer request is approved and I'm sent to the front."
"Wherever that may be,” said Mallory dryly.
"Not knowing who the enemy is doesn't mean that we can't harass and harry him!” said Major MacMasters defensively.
"How?"
"We know he's infiltrated our forces, so we've taken countermeasures to discourage him."
"Such as?"
"Have you ever heard of the Department of Redundancy Department?” asked Major MacMasters.
"I can't say that I have,” replied Mallory. “It sounds fascinating."
"It's more than fascinating. It's damned effective!"
"What does it do?” asked Mallory.
"Maybe you should talk to the head of it.” Major MacMasters gestured toward one of his companions. “Mallory,” he said, as a tall, trim man approached them, “allow me to introduce you to Captain Peter Anthony Captain."
Mallory ext
ended his hand. “Captain Captain?"
"Right,” said Captain Captain, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. “What can I do for you?"
"Tell him about the Department,” said Major MacMasters.
"There's not all that much to tell,” answered Captain Captain. He turned to Mallory. “We're in charge of all the army's red tape."
"How does that help you harass the enemy?” asked Mallory.
"You'd be surprised what you can do with a little red tape,” replied Captain Captain with a smile. “Take the case of Grobinsky, for example."
"Who is Grobinsky?"
"We don't know,” admitted Captain Captain. “But we know that he's not one of us. He's an enemy infiltrator who somehow rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel."
"So what did you do to him?” asked Mallory.
"We began by transferring him to Manhattan, just to see where he wanted to be reassigned. But he was a tricky son of a bitch: all he requested was a transfer to the front.” He lit a small cigar. “Next, we had him fill out fifty-seven identical forms, which he then had to take to fifty-seven separate governmental offices around the city. Finally, after he had made the rounds, we tentatively approved his transfer, pending a physical examination."
"Let me guess,” said Mallory. “He had to take fifty-seven of them."
"Right,” said Captain Captain. “And we found that his weight varied by two pounds between the first and last of them.” He smiled. “Naturally, we accused Grobinsky of being an enemy spy—six of him, anyway. The other fifty-one Grobinskys were cleared for transfer."
"So what happened?” asked the detective.
"He took six more physical exams, and since his weight was the same on all six, the charges were dropped—but all six of him were denied transfers."
"What about the other fifty-one?"
"Each and every one of them was transferred from Manhattan to Manhattan."
"Isn't it diabolical?” grinned Major MacMasters. “The poor bastard has been locked away with acute schizophrenia for almost half a year now!"
More gunfire came to their ears.
"They're getting closer,” remarked Captain Captain.
"Good!” said Major MacMasters. “All this inactivity was beginning to pall."