A Farce To Be Reckoned With

by Roger Zelazny

  "But if we get the pilgrims away from Venice?"

  "If we get them out before midnight they will be able to continue their normal lives, exactly as if I had never happened. They "will be returned to the time just before they met me."

  "Will they have any memory of what happened?"

  Azzie shook his head. "Only you will remember, Pietro. I'm arranging that so you can write the play based on our contest."

  "I see," Aretino said. "Well, it's all a little unexpected. I don't know how they'll like it."

  "They don't have to like it," Azzie said. "They just have to do it. Or suffer the consequences if they don't."

  "I'll make sure they understand that."

  "Do so, most excellent Pietro. I'll meet you at the church."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I've got one more idea," Azzie said, "that just might save this whole thing."

  Chapter 2

  Azzie passed quickly into the Ptolemaic system with its crystal spheres and stars fixed in their orbits. It always cheered him to see the orderly recession of the stars and the fixed planes of existence. He hurried on until he reached the Visitors' Gate that lets into Heaven. This is the only entrance that visitors are supposed to use, and there are severe penalties for anyone, human or demon, trying to enter by any of the angels' gates.

  The Visitors' Gate was a literal gate of bronze, a hundred feet high and set in marble. The approach to it was thick with fleecy little white clouds, and angelic voices in the air sang songs of hallelujah. In front of the gate were a table and chair made of mahogany, and seated at the table was a balding oldish man with a long white beard, dressed in a white satin sheet. He wore a name tag that read, ST. ZACHARIAS AT

  YOUR SERVICE. HAVE A HOLY DAY. Azzie didn't know him. But usually it was one of the lesser saints who pulled this duty.

  "What can I do for you?" Zacharias asked.

  "I need to see Michael the Archangel."

  "Did he leave your name on the visitors' list?"

  "I doubt it. He didn't know I was coming."

  "In that case, my dear sir, I'm very much afraid —"

  "Look," Azzie said, "this is an urgent matter. Just send my name in to him. He'll thank you for it."

  Grumbling, St. Zacharias went to a golden speaking tube that snaked down the side of the bronze door.

  He said a few words into it and waited, humming to himself. Then someone spoke through the other end.

  "You're sure? It's not really proper form… Yes… Of course, sir.

  "You're to go in," Zacharias said. He opened a small wooden door set in the base of the big bronze door.

  Azzie went inside, past the scattered buildings that were set out on the green lawn of Heaven. Soon he was at the office building in West Heaven, and Michael was standing on the steps waiting for him.

  Michael ushered Azzie into his office. He poured him a glass of wine. Heaven has the finest wine, though for good whiskey you need to go to Hell. They chatted a while. Then Michael asked him what he wanted.

  "I want to make a deal," Azzie said.

  "A deal? What kind of a deal?"

  "Did you know that Ananke has ordered me to stop my immorality play?"

  Michael looked at him, then grinned. "She has, has she? Good old Ananke!"

  "Do you think so?" Azzie said frigidly.

  "Indeed I do," Michael said. "Although she's supposed to be above Good and Bad, and indifferent to both, yet I'm glad to see she knows which side her morality is buttered on."

  "I want to make a deal," Azzie repeated.

  "You want my help in opposing Ananke?"

  "That's exactly it," Azzie said.

  "You astound me. Why should I make a deal with you? Ananke is stopping you from putting on your immorality play. That's just the way I like it!"

  "Is this the sound of personal pique I hear?" Azzie asked.

  Michael smiled. "Oh, perhaps a little. I do get annoyed at your carryings-on. But my decision to stop your play is not based on personalities. It is an advantage to my side to stop this insidious play you want to mount. It's as simple as that."

  "You may find it amusing," Azzie said, "but it's a more serious matter than you've given it credit for."

  "Serious for whom?"

  "For you, of course."

  "How could that be? She's doing what we want."

  "The fact that she is doing anything is the bad news," Azzie said.

  Michael sat up straight. "How do you figure?"

  "Since when has Ananke ever concerned herself with the daily operations of our struggle, yours and mine, between Dark and Light?"

  "This is the first time I can ever remember her interfering directly," Michael admitted. "What are you getting at?"

  "Do you accept Ananke as your ruler?" Azzie demanded.

  "Of course not! She has nothing to do with the decisions of Good or Bad. Her part in the running of the cosmos is to set an example, not to make law."

  "Yet here she is, making law," Azzie said. "Forbidding me to put on a play."

  Michael smiled. "I can't get too serious about that!"

  "You could if it were your play that was being stopped."

  Michael's smile faded. "But it's not."

  "Not this time. But if you accept the precedent that Ananke can set rules for Bad, how are you going to argue when she sets a rule for Good?"

  Michael scowled. He stood up and paced rapidly up and down the room. At last he stopped and turned to Azzie.

  "You're right. Her stopping your play, blessing though it is to us who are opposed to you, is nevertheless overstepping the rules that govern all of us. How dare she?"

  Just then the doorbell chimed. Michael gestured impatiently and it swung open.

  "Babriel! Good! I was just about to send for you!"

  "I have brought you a message," Babriel said.

  "It will have to wait," Michael said. "I have just learned that Ananke is poaching on our preserve, so to speak. I'll need to speak to Gabriel and some of the others immediately."

  "Yes, sir. They want to speak to you, too."

  "They do?"

  "That's why they sent the message, sir."

  "They did? But what do they want?"

  "They didn't tell me, sir."

  "Wait here," Michael said.

  "You mean me?" Babriel asked.

  "Both of you." He strode out of the room.

  Soon Michael returned. He was subdued, and he didn't meet Azzie's eye.

  "I'm afraid I'm not going to be allowed to interfere in this matter regarding Ananke."

  "But what about the point I made? About the potential abrogation of your own power?"

  "I'm afraid that is not the main concern," Michael said.

  "Then what is?"

  "The preservation of the cosmos," Michael said. "That's what's at stake, the Supreme Council tells me."

  "Michael, there's a matter of freedom involved here," said Azzie. "The freedom of Good and Bad to act according to the dictates of their reason, held back only by natural law, not by the arbitrary rule of Ananke."

  "I don't like it either," Michael said. "But there it is. Give up your play, Azzie. You're outgunned and overruled. I doubt if even your own Council of Evil would back you in this."

  "We'll just see about it," Azzie said, and he made a striking exit.

  Chapter 3

  Azzie began briskly enough. "I'm afraid we've got a bit of trouble. Our play has been canceled. But let me thank you for all the work you've done. You've all handled your candlesticks extremely well."

  Sir Oliver said, "Antonio, what is happening? Are we to get our wishes or not? I have my acceptance speech all ready. We need to begin."

  The others piped in with their remonstrances. Azzie silenced them with a gesture.

  "I don't know how to tell you this, but the highest possible source has commanded me to strike this production. There'll be no ceremony of the golden candlesticks."

  "But what's gone wrong?" Mother Joanna ask
ed.

  "It seems we've broken some silly old natural law."

  Mother Joanna looked puzzled. "But people break natural laws all the time. What of it?"

  "Usually, it doesn't matter at all," Azzie said. "This time, though, I'm afraid we've been caught out. I'm told that my use of the magic horses was overzealous."

  "Surely all that can be taken care of later," Sir Oliver said. "For now, we're eager to go on."

  "And I am eager to have you do so," Azzie said. "But alas, it cannot be. Aretino will now pass among you and gather up the candlesticks."

  Sullenly Aretino walked among them, accepting the candlesticks they reluctantly handed over.

  "We're going to have to get out of here," Azzie said. "Venice is doomed. We must leave at once."

  "So soon?" said Mother Joanna. "I haven't even started visiting the famous shrines."

  "If you don't want this place to be your shrine, you'll do as I say," Azzie said. "You must all follow Aretino. Pietro, do you hear? We must get these people off the islands of Venice!"

  "Easier said than done," Aretino grumbled. "But I'll do what I can."

  He put the stacked candlesticks in a corner near the altar. "Now what do you want me to do with them?"

  Azzie was about to answer when he felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down. It was Quentin, with Puss beside him.

  "Please, sir," said Quentin, "I've learned all my lines to say for this ceremony. Puss and I thought them up together, and we both learned them."

  "That's very nice, children," Azzie said.

  "Won't we get a chance to say them?" Quentin asked.

  "You can tell your lines to me later, when I've gotten you safe away from Venice."

  "But sir, that won't be the same thing. We learned them for the ceremony."

  Azzie grimaced. "There isn't going to be any ceremony."

  "Did one of us do something bad?" Quentin asked.

  "No, it's nothing like that," Azzie said.

  "Was it a bad play, then?"

  "No!" Azzie cried. "It was not a bad play! It was a fine play! All of you were acting just like yourselves, and that's the best acting job possible."

  "If it wasn't a bad play," Quentin said, "and we didn't do anything wrong, "why can't we finish it?"

  Azzie opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated. He was remembering himself as a young demon, contemptuous of all authority, willing to pursue his sin and his virtue, his pride and his will, to wherever they would lead him. Well, he had changed a lot since that day. Now a mere woman commanded him, and he obeyed. It was true that Ananke wasn't quite the same as a woman — she was more like a vague but compelling divine principle with breasts. She had always loomed above everything, compelling but remote. But here she was, breaking the precedent that had been set since the beginning of time not to interfere. And who did she pick to be the bearer of her broken precedent? Azzie Elbub.

  "My dear child," Azzie said, "to go on with this ceremony could mean the death of us all."

  "I guess we all have to die someday, sir," Quentin said. Azzie stared at him, because the lad had the effrontery of a demon and the sangfroid of a saint. Could Azzie do any less?

  "All right, kid," he said. "You've talked me into it. Everybody! Pick up your candlesticks and take your places on the stage that has been set up in front of the bar!"

  "You're going through with it!" Aretino cried joyfully. "I am very thankful, sir. For what ending would I have had otherwise for the play I intend to write from this material?"

  "You've got something to write about now," Azzie said. "Is the orchestra in the pit?"

  They were, still cheerful because Aretino had paid them triple their usual wage to hang around waiting for Azzie, and because the city was so flooded that there were no other musical performances planned.

  The orchestra struck up a tune. Azzie waved his hand. The ceremony began.

  Chapter 4

  The ceremony was all pomp and circumstance such as demons and Renaissance people loved.

  Unfortunately there was no visible audience; this had to be a private affair. But it was all very impressive, there in the otherwise deserted inn, with the rain hammering overhead.

  The pilgrims marched through the room, all dressed in their holiday best. They bore their candlesticks, which they retrieved from Aretino. They marched down the aisle and mounted to the stage. Azzie, master of ceremonies now, introduced each one, and made a short complimentary speech about him or her.

  Eerie things began happening. There was a strange popping of curtains. The wind took on an uncanny moan. A pungent, unearthly smell suffused the space. Most prominent was a wind that sounded like a tormented soul trying to get in.

  "It's not the wind," Azzie said.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  But Azzie refused to elaborate. He knew a visitation when he heard one. He had presided at too many to be deceived now, when an unearthly chill seemed to settle on the building, and curious thumping noises came from all over.

  Azzie only hoped this new force, whatever it was, would hold off making an appearance for a while. It seemed to be having difficulty finding its way. And the Hell of it was, Azzie didn't even know who or what was hunting for him. It was an unusual situation, a demon being haunted by what seemed to be a ghost. Azzie got an idea of what lay ahead then, the vast chasms of unreason that threatened now to engulf those fragile edifices, logic and causality. With just the tiniest movement, it seemed, those things might cease to be.

  After the speeches came a short, tasteful interlude that featured singing by the local boys' choir, an all-Europe- class group that Aretino had booked for this occasion. Some thought St. Gregory himself was putting in a ghostly appearance, for a tall thin shape had begun to materialize near the door. But whatever it was hadn't quite got it right; it faded out before it could fully materialize itself, and the ceremony was able to continue.

  Next, the contestants massed their candlesticks on the altar and lit them. Azzie made a short speech congratulating his contestants, driving home the premise of his play by pointing out that they had done well by simply going about their natural pursuits. They had won good fortune through no great effort, and that good fortune was by no means the concomitant of good character and good action. On the contrary, good luck was a neutral quality that could happen to anyone. "As proof of that," Azzie said, "here stand my contestants, all of whom have earned golden rewards this evening by nothing more taxing than being themselves in all their imperfections."

  Throughout all of this Aretino sat in a front-row pew and was busy scribbling notes. He was already planning out the play he would weave from this material. It was all very well for Azzie to think it was sufficient to stage a sort of divine comedy, but that was not the way of art. The really good stuff was contrived, not improvised, and that was what Aretino planned to do with it.

  Aretino was so busy writing that he didn't realize the ceremony was over until the pilgrims were all around him, pounding him on the back and asking if he'd liked their speeches. Aretino curbed his natural acerbity and declared that they all had done well.

  "And now," Azzie said, "it's time to get out of here. You won't need your candlesticks any longer. Just pile them in the corner there and I'll call up a minor miracle to get them back to Limbo. Aretino, are you ready to lead these people to safety?"

  "Indeed I am," Aretino said. "If it's possible to get off this island, I'll find a way. Are you not going to accompany us?"

  "I intend to," Azzie said, "but I may be delayed along the way by circumstances beyond my control. If that should happen, you know what to do, Pietro. Get these people to safety!"

  "And what of you?"

  Azzie, Aretino, and the little troop of pilgrims went forth into the stormy night of the doom that was falling upon Venice.

  Chapter 5

  They left the inn and hurried out into the storm. The streets were filled with people trying to flee the city; the water was now waist high and still rising. Aretino had bro
ught along plenty of bribe money, but he could find no available boatmen to bribe. The various stations along the Grand Canal had been abandoned hours ago.

  "I don't know what to do," Aretino told Azzie. "Every boat in the city seems to be destroyed or already booked."

  "There's still a way of getting the contestants to safety," Azzie said. "It will no doubt result in another anomaly for which I'll be held to blame, but we'll try it anyway. We need to find Charon. His boat is always around places like this where there are so many dead and dying. He's a connoisseur of large-scale tragedies."

  "The actual Charon from the Greek myths is here?"

  "Certainly. Somehow he's been able to continue ferrying people all through the Christian era. That's an anomaly too, but one they can't blame on me."

  "Will he take living people? I thought Charon's boat was only for the other kind."

  "I know him pretty well. We've done business together. I think he'll make an exception, this being an emergency of the sort he likes."

  "Where do we find him?"

  Azzie led them in the right direction. Aretino wanted to know what the big hurry was to get the pilgrims off. "Is the situation really so bad?" he asked.

  "Yes, it is. The fall of Venice is only the beginning; it heralds the collapse of the entire universe. Both the Copernican and the Ptolemaic models are in difficulty, and the signs of anomaly shock are everywhere.

  Already the streets are full of prodigies and miracles. Business has come to a standstill, and even love has been forced to put itself on hold."

  "I don't understand," Aretino said. "What is this anomaly explosion? What is going to happen? How will this catastrophe reveal itself? By what signs will it be known?"

  "You will know it beyond doubt," Azzie said. "There will be a sudden discontinuity in the action of life.