by Tom Holt
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
Which he did, for nearly two minutes. It was probably the happiest moment in both of their lives so far, and it was a pity it had to be spoilt by a loud voice calling out, “Armed Elves, we have the cottage surrounded—”
“Damn,” Buttercup said.
“—Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands on your heads. I repeat—”
Turquine wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Elves?”
“Better go and see what they want.”
“Bastards. Oh well.” He unbuckled his sword belt and threw it through the window. “What could we have done to piss off the Elves?” he said.
“Well, we’re grocers now. Maybe we misused an apostrophe.”
They walked through the door together, and found themselves in the middle of a ring of black-clad pointy-eared bowmen, all aiming straight at them. If Buttercup had been on her own, she’d have ducked and let them shoot each other, but with Turquine along she didn’t want to take the risk. “You,” ordered an Elf. “Step away from the basket. I say again—”
“I heard you the first time.” Buttercup put the basket down. “Who are you? That’s not Elf Service uniform, you’re not policemen. You can’t just—”
But it turned out that they could, and they did. Buttercup and Turquine were cuffed, blindfolded and loaded into a windowless cart. When they were aboard and the doors had been bolted and padlocked shut, the cart and its escort moved off down the road, in the direction of Sair Carathorn.
If, as he’d hypothesised, heroism for Benny Gulbenkian consisted of patience and thoroughness in the face of dispiriting frustration, he’d overtaken Beowulf some time ago and was catching up fast on Robin Hood and Luke Skywalker. He had no idea how many miles of identical paved, surprisingly well-swept tunnel he’d walked down, how many side turnings and cul-de-sacs he’d explored, all to no result. His feet were hurting, he was starving hungry and he needed a pee, and the thought of Perseus and Captain Kirk choking on his dust was no longer quite enough to keep him motivated. The afterburn from the adrenalin rush he’d got from escaping from the Chairman was about all that was keeping him going, though he wasn’t entirely sure that what he was feeling was that and not heartburn. All he needed was toothache, and his wretchedness loyalty card would be all filled up.
Toothache or goblins; but he still hadn’t seen one, which was very strange. The deeper into the mountain he went, the more evidence he’d encountered that goblins had been here once, from half-gnawed bones on the floor to goblin graffiti on the walls (rather an anti-climax; mostly it was stuff like Victory to King Mordak and the seven-year plan! or Productivity is the sinews of war, with just the occasional Thrag was here, and the pinnacle of goblin humour, See other wall). The neatly stacked pickaxes suggested they hadn’t left in a hurry or a panic; they’d just gone. Maybe it was a goblin holiday; or maybe, more likely, they’d all gone off to fight the dwarves. In which case, they could be back at any moment, probably feeling jovial and boisterous. He shivered, and quickened his pace.
He turned a corner and entered a long, high-roofed gallery, in use until quite recently; the walls were bare rock, and here and there they sparkled with tiny knobs of the same shiny yellow stone that lit the tunnels. A worked-out seam, presumably. Benny didn’t like the loud noise his feet made on the sheet-metal floor. He was trying to decide whether to spend a long time shuffling across it as quietly as possible, or march across it quick and noisy and get it over with, when he realised there was something breathing behind him.
Mental geometry, coupled with best-guess estimates of the time it’d take him to run the length of the gallery, compared and contrasted with the best time of a notional goblin warrior. The results of his calculations weren’t encouraging, so he turned to face the breather.
“Oh,” he said. “You again.”
“Hello,” the unicorn said. “You found it all right, then.”
“Have I?”
“Oh yes.” The unicorn nodded, setting its milk-white mane dancing in a revolting display of gratuitous prettiness. “This is Gallery One, more usually known as the Cradle of All Goblins. Just think, it was on this very spot, two thousand years ago, that the first Ecumenical Goblin Council met and voted that they were a species.”
“Fancy,” Benny said. “All right, then. Where is it?”
“Where’s what? Oh, you mean—”
“Yes,” Benny said. “You told me, if I went to this Cradle place, I’d find a doughnut.”
“That’s not what I actually said.”
“Sure.” Benny laughed scornfully. “Here it comes, you’re going to weasel out of it, aren’t you? Because there isn’t a doughnut, is there?”
“No,” said the unicorn.
“Ha! I should have known.”
“No doughnut,” the unicorn repeated. “Just a phone.”
Instantly, it had Benny’s full and undivided attention. “What? A real phone?”
“Mphm. Here, look. I’m resting my hoof on it.”
And so it was. There was only a corner visible, but enough for Benny to identify it as a sixth-generation Kawaguchiya Integrated Circuits ZX5000 InTouch, quite possibly the coolest phone in the multiverse. It was glowing faintly, which meant it was fully charged and working, and if the unicorn shifted its weight just a tiny bit in the wrong direction it would go crunch and be completely useless. “That phone,” Benny said.
“Yes.”
“Look, would you mind awfully keeping very, very still, because—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the unicorn said pleasantly. “I’m not going to tread on it and crush it accidentally. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. I promised you, didn’t I, that if you made your way to the Cradle of All Goblins, you’d find what you need to get out of here and go back to where you came from. And here we are, and here it is. Another prophesy fulfilled, on schedule and under budget.”
“Did you just bring it here?”
“Well, yes. It didn’t walk here on its own.”
“So you had it all along.”
“Yes.”
“So you could’ve given it to me back in the forest.”
“No,” the unicorn said, “because back then you hadn’t earned it. But now you have. And here it is, available for you to take and use. Except,” it added quickly, “termsandconditionsapply.”
Disappointment can be quite relaxing. “Of course they do,” Benny said wearily. “All right, what’s the deal?”
The unicorn swished its tail. “In order to gain possession of this phone—”
It paused. A cue. “Yes?” Benny obliged.
“This entirely functional KIC ZX5000 InTouch, capable of receiving a signal anywhere. Including here.”
“Yes.”
“And capable, therefore, of enabling you to Google a foolproof doughnut recipe that even you will be capable of following without loss of life or excessive damage to property—”
“Yes?”
“All you have to do,” the unicorn said, “is take it. You indicate to me that you want it, I step back, you pick it up, it’s yours. That’s it. That’s the deal.”
Benny looked at the unicorn. “That’s it.”
“Absolutely. Everything I’ve just told you is true.”
“Yeah, right. What about the devious little catch you’ve neglected to mention?”
“I have left out nothing of importance.”
Benny blinked twice. “I say, move away from the phone, and then you move away and it’s mine and it works?”
“That’s right.”
“So all I have to do to get it is want it?”
“Concisely, accurately and elegantly put,” the unicorn said. “All you have to do is want it.”
The unicorn’s eyes were as deep as wells. “It’s a trap,” Benny said. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s a trap, silly. But everything I’ve told you is true, and I haven’t left anything out.”
Benny sighed. “Yo
u’ll have to excuse me,” he said, “I’m being a bit thick today. If everything you’ve said is true et bloody cetera, how’s it a trap?”
“Ah.” The unicorn looked smug. “If you take the phone, you can never go home.”
That feeling of stepping on a missing stair. “But you said it’s working.”
“Yes.”
“And if I take it, I can Google doughnut recipes and make a doughnut and escape.”
“Yes.”
“Right back to where I came from, a fraction of a second after I left.”
“Exactly so. I guarantee it. You can get on with your revision for your exams. What fun.”
Benny craned his neck for a better view. Yes, beyond question a KIC ZX5000. He could just about remember a time (three days ago, from one perspective) when a KIC InTouch was the one thing he wanted most of all in the entire universe. Now it was a plastic box you could do something useful with, just a way of getting what he really wanted. And also, apparently, a trap. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I still don’t get it. Would it absolutely kill you to explain?”
“Of course not,” the unicorn said brightly. “My apologies, I’d assumed you’d already figured it out, a smart boy like you. If you take this phone, you will escape from this world and never return. With me so far?”
“You bet.”
“You may have noticed,” the unicorn went on, “that there’s quite a lot wrong with this world. Put crudely, it doesn’t work.”
“I’d sort of noticed.”
“That’s because it’s been messed around with by an unscrupulous character from your own reality, the individual known over here as the wizard. Sooner or later, if things go on as they are, the wizard will control and exploit every living thing in this world, and it won’t be a very happy place. In fact, it’ll be utterly wretched.”
Benny winced. “And how is that my fault exactly?”
“Not at all. Not your fault, not your problem. However, you are the only person in the multiverse–you know about multiverse theory? Oh good. You are the only person in the multiverse capable of stopping the wizard, setting these people free, undoing the harm the wizard’s done and making it all happy-ever-after. Only you. But you don’t have to.”
“Um.”
“You’re perfectly at liberty to pick up this phone, find out how to make doughnuts, make one and leave this world for ever, go back to your old life and carry on exactly where you left off. Just say the word. You don’t have to do that, even. Just nod. Ready? Or would you like me to count you down from three or something?”
Then Benny remembered something. “Just a minute,” he said. “You’re forgetting something. Back in the forest, there was all that stuff about three tasks.”
“That’s right.”
“The great truth that was hidden, right the ancestral wrong, and throw the fire into the ring of power. Only when I’ve done all that—”
The unicorn gave him a sweet smile. “I think we may be at cross purposes here,” it said. “The three tasks were if you wanted to go home. If you want to escape back where you came from, just take the phone. Now, are you ready? Three—”
Benny shook his head. “All right,” he said, “hold on a second. If I go away, things will be very bad.”
“For everyone here, yes. Not for you personally. You’ll be just fine.”
“Things will be very bad, for everyone.”
“Everyone here, that’s right, yes. But what do you care? You’re not even from this reality. After all, back in the reality you came from, things aren’t exactly super-wonderful. There’s starvation, disease, your economy’s stupendously buggered without even the excuse of supernatural intervention. You never seemed particularly concerned about any of that stuff when you were there, so it’s not like you’re one of those bleeding-heart types who can’t sleep at night for thinking of the plight of the ring-tailed lemur.”
Benny realised his fists were clenched. Silly. But human. “There was nothing I could do.”
“Of course not,” the unicorn said soothingly, “I forgot, sorry. That doesn’t alter the point, though, does it? The bad stuff there wasn’t your fault, and neither is the bad stuff here. So why not take the phone and depart in peace?” It lowered its voice into a soft whisper. “Nobody will ever know.”
Benny took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said. “Step away from the phone.”
“Ah!” the unicorn’s eyes gleamed, but it backed delicately away. And there was the ZX5000, glowing soft as the dawn, all the colours of the enhanced rainbow. Benny looked at it for about four seconds, rather a long time in context. Then he took a long stride forward, placed his heel on the phone and ground it into the iron plating of the floor, until he could feel its screen go crunch.
“Indeed,” the unicorn said. “What is life without the occasional grand gesture? Well done.”
“Don’t you patronise me, you Disneyfied bloody mule.” He stepped back, and there were little popping noises where he trod on tiny shards of broken glass. “That wasn’t fair. Because it’s not my fault, and I shouldn’t have to sort out other people’s messes. And what the hell do you mean, I couldn’t have gone home?”
The unicorn suddenly went blank. “Sorry,” it said, “this unit is not programmed to resolve fundamental metaphysical issues. Sayonara, Florizel. Have a great day.”
Benny stooped to grab the wreckage of the phone, but, by the time he’d straightened up with his arm cocked to throw, the unicorn had vanished.
“You’ve got it?” asked John the Lawyer breathlessly.
The Elf scowled at him, then made a slight beckoning gesture with her head. He followed her, out of the newsroom, down some stairs, out through a window onto a broad, tapering branch. John suddenly realised he was a hundred and twenty feet off the ground, standing on a tree branch, in the rain. “Well?” he said.
“It’s all in here.” The Elf tapped a brown manila envelope. “Everything you asked for. Though what you want with that stuff I really can’t begin to guess. It’s disgusting.”
“Let me see.”
The Elf gave him a shrivelling look. “We are the Elder Folk,” she said. “Logically, therefore, it follows that we weren’t born yesterday. You first.” A strange pale light suddenly glowed in her harsh grey eyes. “Have you got it?”
A hundred and twenty feet up a tree is solitude enough for most purposes. On this occasion, however, John felt the need to look carefully all round, up and finally down (oooh!) before reaching into his pocket and bringing out a small iron box. “Of course.”
“Let me—”
“Ah-ha,” John rebuked her, lifting the box out of her reach, “no grabbing. You have no idea how much aggravation it cost me, getting you this.”
“So what?” The Elf edged an inch or two closer, and it occurred to him that humans aren’t nearly as comfortable in trees as Elves are, and nobody would be in the least surprised if a human fell to his death off a slippery branch, in spite of a nearby Elf’s valiant efforts to save him. Well, they might not believe the second part, but the inquest would accept the first bit without question. “Give it to me. Now.”
“Just a moment,” John squeaked. He held the box out at arm’s length. Directly underneath the tree, he’d noticed, was a dense patch of brambles. Elves despise getting scratched. “Let’s just both calm down a bit, shall we? You’ll get your box when I get my file.”
“Humans,” snarled the Elf. “Can’t wipe their arses without melodrama.”
“Your box,” John said. “My file. Give me the file and I’ll give you the box. Simple as that.”
The Elf gave him a look that would’ve liquefied nitrogen. “Here,” she said, and held out the envelope. At the last moment, she snatched it clear of his closing fingers. “Box.”
He looked at her. He didn’t trust her one little bit. Just as well, then, that he was smart. “Here you go.” He held out the box and she snatched it. “It’s locked, of course.”
She froze. “Bastard.”
“I’m a lawyer,” John replied. “Now give me the envelope.”
He could see her doing calculations in her head; assessing probabilities, risk factors; a wooden box she could smash open with a stone, but an iron box takes specialist tools, appropriate to trades that Elves don’t sully their hands with. She could try bashing it open with a big rock, but what would that do to the contents? I’m smarter than you, he thought, and the revelation filled him with a special kind of dark joy.
“Fine,” the Elf spat, and thrust the envelope into his hands. “Now, give me the key.”
“Well obviously it’s not here,” John said sweetly. “I’d have to be really stupid to have it on me, so you could take it from my dead body after you’ve pushed me off this tree. It’s down below, hidden under something. Now, let’s have a look in here.”
He opened the envelope and saw the crest of the Elf & Safety Executive. His heart leapt, and he nearly lost his balance. “Looks all right,” he said, trying in vain to be casual. “Right, down you go. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”
Five minutes later, they both stood at the foot of the mighty marshmellorn tree that housed the offices of Sneer! magazine. By now she was literally trembling with rage; by contrast, oddly enough, John had never felt more serene in his life. He’d tucked the envelope deep down inside his shirt, under his woolly vest. Three Elves went past, on their way back from lunch. He was safe.
“The key.”
He smiled at her. “Actually, it’s not locked. I was lying.”
With a snarl like tearing cloth, she scrabbled at the lid of the box, found the catch, pressed it and flipped the lid open. Inside, she saw, nestling in red velvet, a single Cheerio. She gasped, and slammed the box shut.
“Well?” John asked.
“It’ll do,” she whispered. “Are there–any more?”
He grinned. “Yes,” he said. “Five. But nothing on earth would induce me to get them for you.” He edged away just a little. “Well, I think we’re all done. I’d like to say what a pleasure it’s been—”
Her eyes were filled with hate and yearning. “Please,” she said. “Just one—”