by John F. Carr
"Thanks, Tortha, for coming to see me on such short notice. I know you just arrived from Fifth Level, but Verkan's so busy and I really need-"
"It's all right, Dalla. You can stop blathering. I take it you've just come back from another visit with your lovely younger brother."
"How did you know?"
"Hadron Tharn is the only person I know, besides your husband, who can break through your impenetrable good humor. And, since I've stopped my meddling, you and Verkan have been happier than I can ever remember."
"That wasn't all your fault, Tortha. I could have turned down some of those assignments. In those days I was younger and didn't realize how rare it is to meet a man of Verkan's caliber. I do now and I don't ever intend to forget it, or chance losing him again."
"Good. I don't have to tell you that I agree with you wholeheartedly. Now, tell me, what's the problem with Honorable Hadron Tharn?"
"I don't know he's nastier than ever. I've overlooked his tantrums and mean behavior for years. He was always jealous of Verkan, you know. Before Verkan, he was such a sweet boy."
"Whoa. Now, wait a minute, Dalla. Is this the same Hadron Tharn, I knew? The one who burned your house down? And that was years before you met Vail."
"Yeah, well, maybe I exaggerated a bit. But, his personality took a real nose dive after Verkan came into the picture."
"Dalla, that might be because Verkan was the first man you really fell in love with."
"True," Dalla said, trying not to blush.
"I think Tharn's problems are deeper than mere sibling jealousy. Yes, I know you both were left to fend for yourselves, after your mother went outtime. Your father was always too busy to spend any time at home. He bedeviled the Department as Chief of the Opposition Party. It may sound horrible, but I was neither surprised or disappointed when the Bureau of Psych-Hygiene decided to put him in 'protective' custody."
Dalla felt her eyes begin to well again.
"Sorry, Dalla, damn this tongue of mine. I didn't mean to stick a soft spot."
"It's not father I'm feeling bad about; it's Tharn. Today, I finally saw him for the spoiled, mean, horrible little man that he's become. He's not a boy anymore, flirting with danger and oddball cults. He's a devious and-sadly-unprincipled grown-up, who I really don't know at all. If anything, I think he's…"
"You don't have to say it. I know all about your family."
"I know," Dalla said sadly, "Insanity runs through our family."
"Yes, and no."Tortha replied.
"What do you mean?"
"It always begins in the early thirties after the first longevity treatments. The longevity serum may well be the trigger."
"How do you know?"
Tortha looked very uncomfortable. "After your first compionate marriage with Verkan went sour, I decided to do a deep background check when I learned you two were getting back together. I also learned that the Psych-Hygiene people told this very thing to your brother and he disregarded it. It happened while he was at the University just before he got involved with those awful Axis people and got expelled for going outtime without a proper Paratime Permit. He knew that subsector was proscribed-"
"You don't have to defend yourself to me, Tortha. It was Tharn's decision to spend time with those terrible Nazis people. It wasn't your fault he got caught! He still looks up to them, you know; that's one of the reasons I believe he's insane himself. There, I've finally said it-admitted it to myself. He's as mad as grandfather and it scares me."
"That's not all that scares you, is it?"
"Tortha, you can see right through me! This is a secret I've never shared with anyone, not even Vail. Promise you won't ever tell."
"I promise, Dalla, you have my word."
"Good. There's no better bond. I'm worried about my own children becoming like Tharn or my father or his grandfather, well-you get the picture. I love children, but I'm afraid to have any of my own. Look at the horrible choice I have to offer: be sane and die soon, or live long and go crazy!"
Tortha shook his head. "That's not what I was expecting. I thought you might be worried about yourself."
"No. The family curse only strikes the males in our family; probably one reason why they marry so badly."
"That I didn't know. You could always adopt, and there are ways to guarantee birth sex."
"Sure, and give my daughters the same terrible choice I'm having to make! I won't do it."
"You could adopt, or get a surrogate mother, or clones of you and Verkan. Today on Home Time-Line there are lots of choices."
"Yes, I know. But I want children from me-like Rylla and Kalvan are having. Still, the clone idea isn't bad. It would be nice to have a little Verkan around, one I could actually house train."
Tortha laughed. "Good luck. You can see how successful I was with the original."
Dalla laughed, too, feeling as though a terrible weight had moved from her shoulders. It was almost like having a father, talking with Tortha. "If you've made a study of the Hadron family, I guess you know the family secret too."
Tortha nodded, not saying a word.
"Does Verkan?"
Tortha shrugged. "I've never brought it up. I always believed if anyone should tell it, it would have to be you."
"Thank you, you old bear!"
Tortha actually blushed when she reached over and kissed him on the cheek.
"Should I tell him, Tortha?"
"That's for you to decide. It won't change his feelings for you that I know. Or I'm a complete romantic idiot."
Dalla laughed. "I will, I promise. But not now; poor Verkan, already has more problems than any three people I know; well, except for Kalvan and Rylla-and poor Ptosphes, of course. He still blames himself for the defeat at Tenabra."
"Not his fault; he was up against Styphon's heavy troops; and he's no Kalvan. But, my advice to you, young lady, is, don't wait too long. Secrets are burdens and no one understands that better than myself."
Dalla nodded. Tortha had spent almost half of his life protecting the Paratime Secret, and many times from the very people he was trying to protect. Now, her Verkan held the same untenable position.
To change the subject, she asked, "What are you doing here so far away from your farm?"
Tortha shook his big head. "It was getting boring, maybe I'm not cut out to be a farmer. And those rabbits!"
Dalla smiled mischievously, "That's not what I heard from Verkan. He told me about your nieces and their swimming lessons!"
Tortha blushed right down to his hair follicles. "Dralm damn-it! That blabber mouth!"
"Don't blame Verkan, I weaseled it out of him. Why did you really come?"
"Oh, you want the real reason as opposed to the fit for broadcast story. The truth is Dalla; I'm bored out of my skull. I'm tired of trapping rabbits and gophers. I'm tired of grapes and silly young girls. I'm tired of myself, I don't wear well; just ask any of my six former wives! I've spent the last three hundred years of my life doing important work and I'm still too young for the scrap heap. I came back here to help Verkan, if I can, or just help myself, if I can't."
"I understand. And, really, Tortha, Verkan needs all the help he can get. I've never seen him so 'involved' with an outtimer as he is with Kalvan-not that I blame him, I adore Kalvan and Rylla is already my best friend. Now he's fretting because he's stuck dealing with this Europo-American shutdown project of his! I've been going to all these meetings and I can tell you it's going nowhere. Can you pump him some sunlight on the issue, Chief?"
"Ex-Chief-really Dalla," Tortha said, trying to hide a big grin.
"Sure, but you'll always be Chief to me. Anyway, Europo-American has become the public 'Sector;' it's been that way since they brought back jazz and flappers. You know how these outtime fads run; everyone was Indo-Turanian crazy when I was a girl. I still remember practicing yoga, wearing a turban and those tantric exercises, although those still come in handy with Vail."
Tortha turned pink again.
Sh
e smacked him on the shoulder, playfully. "You've been with those nieces of yours for too long, Tortha. Anyway, it's gotten worse ever since rock and racket became popular. Remember when every nightclub had to have their own 'Elvis?"
"What a headache for the Paracops! They were hi-jacking them from every subsector where that crazy noise was still undiscovered. For a while we had to guard that dumb hillbilly truck driver on a thousand time-lines. I'm still surprised we never designated an Elvis Subsector!"
"Verkan's really never paid it any attention, because he doesn't hear or see what he doesn't like. I can't get through to my husband, because he's a snob-and I mean that lovingly-he just doesn't realize that everyone on Home Time-Line doesn't have his class or taste. Well, it's worse here now, since the Beatles. Not the insects, it's another noisy Europo-American singing combo. They're even noisier and louder than Elvis, if that's possible. And then there are the flat screen films and film stars-Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Humphrey Bogart, and now James Dean-and art deco and all sorts of nonsense. Europo-American is-to paraphrase one of their aphorisms-the "cat's pajamas" and if Verkan doesn't quit this silly crusade of his he's going to derail his job and possibly the Paratime Police along with him."
"Wow!" Tortha replied. "Dalla, you've just given me a needler shot of reality. Maybe we have the wrong Chief! I'm even worse than Verkan, when it comes to these crazes. And I never had any children, except you two-by proxy, of course-to teach me any different. I'll try to talk Verkan into holding off on this shutdown for a few decades until all this Europo-American sheep-dip becomes old hat. It will; I've seen half a dozen of these crazes just since I've been Chief. Meanwhile, you stay on top of these committees and study groups."
"Good. I need something to keep me occupied while Verkan's glued to his Chief's chair. But what about you? What are you going to do?"
"Dalla, I don't know. Hang around the office, I guess, until Vail throws me out."
"Well, I know some other people who need some help. And you would definitely be an asset to them."
"Really. Who?"
"Rylla and Kalvan."
"I'm an ex-Paratimer. I can't deal in contamination-"
"Oh, stop being so huffy, Tortha. Hear me out. Sometimes you remind me so much of Verkan. The two of you! Anyway, you could give them moral support and be a Dutch uncle. I'm sure Verkan could come up with a suitable disguise. And don't tell me you're not interested-I see that smile."
"Dalla, that might be a very good idea. I'm curious about Kalvan and his lady, Rylla, that I've heard so much about. I would like to meet them. And, with this Styphon's House Crusade, it sure won't be boring!"
"Tortha, you've just said a mouthful!" They both laughed.
EIGHT
I
he great stone walls of Balph rose up all around him, while the air was torn apart by the boom of cannon fire. Kalvan was shackled and bound with gold and silver chains. Dozens of yellow-robed Archpriests of the Inner Circle were carrying him toward a giant hopped-iron bombard. It wasn't until they reached the barrel that he realized they meant to stuff him inside. He broke one of the golden shackles and attempted to force his escape, but the Archpriests only gripped him tighter.
Where were Rylla and baby Demia? He tried to scream but they stuffed wadding cloth deep into his mouth. The air was filled with the yells and screams of a great multitude, all chanting, "Kill the Daemon Kalvan! Kill the Daemon! Kill the Daemon!"
Again he tried to wrestle away, but the Archpriests manhandled him into the giant bombards borehole. Outside everything was suddenly still and he could hear the crackle of the burning fuse-
"Kalvan, Kalvan! Is everything all right?"
He opened his eyes to a throbbing headache and a blurry view of Rylla leaning over him. "Where am I?"
"In bed. You must have come home at dawn, my husband. It's almost mid-day and Duke Skranga is here for his audience."
Kalvan fell back into his goose down pillow and groaned. "Help me, Dralm, I have the murthering mother of all headaches, and the father, brother and sister, too. Where was I last night?"
"You were supposed to be at the new University," in a tone-of-voice that hinted if he hadn't been there, he would soon come to more than wish he had.
"Ahhh. I remember now. Master Ermut's new brandy. It must have had a higher proof than the Hostigi mint! I must warn him about over distillation. Not that I could fault the smoothness. Rylla, please bring me my pipe."
"Yes, my darling. How about your crown, too?"
"Ouch! No… thank you. I don't think it would fit. Can I cancel the audience with Skranga?"
"No. You've put him off twice already. Do it again and he'll think there's something amiss."
"Yes, and that man could read larceny in tea leaves. As usual, you're right. Maybe if I had another spot of that brandy, it might help."
"I wouldn't begin to know where to look," Rylla replied, "nor am I about to fetch and carry for his Most Debauched Majesty!"
Kalvan tried to grin, but it hurt too much. "You're only jealous because you missed out."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Rylla said, her wrist pressed back against her forehead in a pose of a long-suffering wife-something Rylla would never allow to happen. "I'll get Cleon and he can fetch you some winter wine."
"Thank you, darling." Kalvan said, as he tamped down the bowl of his pipe and then used his gold tinderbox-a gift from Rylla-to light it. "Now is Harmakros about? I'd like to have him attend this little meeting."
"Last I saw, he was waiting patiently in your private audience chamber."
"Dralm-damn it! I never thought I'd say it, but there is such a thing as being too contentious. Back home we give people like Harmakros and Prince Phrames halos. Ermut, well, the Master might win a forked tail-for the introduction of spirits, at the least, by the Temperance League. I'll have to talk with Master Ermut about shortening the distillation period of his brandy."
Rylla rolled her eyes, paused to light one of her silver-inlaid redstone pipes, and added, "Or maybe tell him to pour smaller portions."
"Hush, woman, hush. I've got to get dressed. Cleon get in here!"
After a goblet of winter wine and with his hose and breeches on, Kalvan almost felt human again. He sucked in his stomach as Cleon pulled the stays and tied up the cords to his doublet. Kalvan had been totally against having personal body servants, until the first time he'd had to put on one of these jacket-shirts, or doublets, all by himself. Rylla had laughed so hard she'd fallen to the floor and Kalvan had realized that he was going to have to have his own personal servants or face a total loss of dignity in the Royal Bedchambers.
Now Cleon was as indispensable as his sword's scabbard and he didn't know how he got along without him for so long. Kalvan tottered to his audience chamber and found Harmakros and Duke Skranga, the former horse-trader turned intelligence chief, deep in conversation. They both stood as he entered. "Sit down, sit down, both of you."
They both waited until Kalvan was finished lowering himself into the chair behind his desk before sitting down. "Is His Majesty all right?" Harmakros asked, with concern written all over his face. Skranga sat there with a knowing grin which told Kalvan that either his intelligence gathering network was better than he knew about, or that Skranga had been in his boots so often he could tell a fellow sufferer at first glance.
"Nothing serious, just a bit more of Ermut's new spirits than necessary and a spot of indigestion. Now, Duke Skranga, what's this news that's so important I had to leave my sickbed to hear it?"
"As I was just telling Captain-General Harmakros, Your Majesty. Great King Kaiphranos of Hos-Harphax is dead. He died in the bed he hasn't left since the fateful Battle of Chothros Heights, where his eldest son died of sheer stupidity. I don't doubt they had to burn the bed in the royal chambers since it positively reeked of noxious vapors, or so the rumors go."
Considering the general bathing habits of here-and-now, or lack thereof, Kalvan didn't doubt that for a moment. Still a Gre
at King should go out with a bang, but it appeared that Kaiphranos the Timid had gone out with barely a good sneeze. Kalvan had hoped the old king might have stayed bed-ridden for a few more years, thereby leaving Hos-Harphax in a permanent succession crisis and Kalvan free to wage war directly on Styphon's lesser lieutenants.
Kalvan mentally reviewed the Harphaxi line of succession. Kaiphranos's only remaining son was Prince Selestros, a whoremonger and slave-of-the-flesh, who had already lost all the love of the Prince Electors and would be lucky to get the position of Royal Slop-Catcher. Next in line was the late King's brother, Duke Lysandros, who was so far into Styphon's pocket that even the debauched Princes of Hos-Harphax, spoiled by too many years of Kaiphranos's light rein, were revolted. After those two, there was a gaggle of greedy cousins emboldened by Kaiphranos's mismanagement and their own venal natures.
"Duke Skranga, who do you think will come out on top in the race for Great King of Hos-Harphax?"
Skranga picked at the fringe of his sparse red beard for a few moments. "If I were a bettin' man, I'd place my gold on the old fool's younger brother, Grand Duke Lysandros. Yes I would. He's got all of Styphon's gold he can carry and a natural gift, that unfortunately his older brother was spared-the gift of leadership. It'll take him six moons or so to whip the Princes and Electors into shape, but for my money there's no doubt he will be the next Great King. The rest of the Harphaxi are curs fighting over a bone too big for their greedy mouths."
"What's your opinion, Harmakros?"
"I agree with Duke Skranga, Your Majesty. Duke Lysandros is the only high lord they have who can lead an army. Before he can claim the Iron Throne, we need to move our siege train into Hos-Harphax, invest Harphax City and once the city is taken, put forth Your Majesty as Great King of Hos-Hostigos and Hos-Harphax. Prince Selestros and Lysandros can be drawn-and-quartered for the whoresons they are." Harmakros paused to rub his hands together. "And that, Your Majesty, will end the Harphaxi Succession issue."
Harmakros was a brilliant tactician and a fine military leader, but he was still a little too atrocity happy. Phrames, now Prince of Beshta, had taken off some of Harmakros's sharp edges with his almost too-good-to-be-true character, but with Phrames in Beshta, Harmakros was reverting a little too much to type.