Donnerjack

by Roger Zelazny

  Dubhe sighed. “We know you can draw me across the interface, Jay, so I’ll come with you.”

  Mizar growled. “And I… can track and fight… with you. I can… flee across… the sites.”

  “And I’ll come too, Jay.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Alice Hazzard.

  “I’m touched, Alice,” he said, trying to be courtly, “but the point of this venture is to be able to cross between Virtu and Verite. Mizar’s taking quite a risk. We certainly can’t ask the Brass Babboon to hang around to pull you out.”

  “And recall,” Reese said, “might not work from Meru. It is quite a high realm and not included in the transfer databases.”

  “True,” the Lord of Deep Fields said. “Drum only managed a successful recall from Deep Fields because I boosted his signal. As many a bounty or eeksy has found, venturing into the uncharted realms of Virtu can result in death or mutilation.”

  Alice smiled smugly. “But I can do just like Jay can. I can cross the interface.”

  “What!” Jay said.

  Dubhe’s laughter pealed from above. “I told you not to underestimate her, Jay!”

  “Ever since I met Ambry, there have been times when I almost felt as if I could cross between,” Alice explained. “Maybe they did something to me to enable me to make the journey to the Land Behind the North Wind—it was a strange enough walk.”

  “Activation of dormant programming,” Reese muttered. “It reminds me of what John told me about his and Ayradyss’s first journey from Deep Fields.”

  He realized that everyone was looking at him and that Death, at least, was nodding mute agreement.

  “Ignore this old man and continue, dear.”

  “Well, I had never had my RT self in Virtu and I wasn’t convinced I could manage to insert it without help. When Jay mentioned the moon portal, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to come across in body. I practiced then and I can do it, Jay.”

  “You could have crossed out into traffic!”

  “That never stopped you from testing your limits, did it, Jay?” Reese laughed. “I guess you can’t make a girl listen to reason any more than you can a boy.”

  “So, I can go with Jay,” Alice concluded. “I’m a good snoop, and especially if he gives me a hand like he will Dubhe, I can be there to help if he needs to continue the search in Verite.”

  “You can’t put yourself into danger like that!”

  Alice’s only response was a cold stare. Jay flushed red as he heard Drum sniggering and he realized that once again he’d acted as if Alice was some proge heroine.

  Dubhe poked him. “She’s coming with us, right, Jay?”

  “Uh, right.”

  Alice smiled. Death turned to Drum.

  “That leaves you to confer with Celerity. Are you willing?”

  “Sure.” The detective placed a hand over his heart. “Lo, though I walk through the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil, for Death will be at my side.”

  “I cannot be at your side, but I will give you certain information to use as you see fit.”

  “Great. Now, I suspect that Jay, Dubhe, and Alice will have an easier time scouting if everything is not going according to plan at the Celebration site.”

  “Not another riot!” Jay said. “The last one may have discredited the Elshies somewhat, but innocent people were hurt.”

  “What I have in mind wouldn’t cause a riot… I don’t think,” Drum said. He glanced at Alice. “Our employer.”

  A mischievous grin lit the young woman’s face.

  “Oh, yes! Perfect.”

  ‘ /

  Drum turned to his somewhat confused allies. “What do you say to the reappearance of Arthur Eden?”

  “The author of Origin and Growth of a Popular Religion, the one who has been blacklisted for so many years?” Jay grinned. “Oh, perfect!”

  “When I’m done with my job in Virtu,” Drum added, “I will go to the Celebration and do my bit to influence crowd response.”

  “We’ll need to coordinate our actions somewhat,” Jay said, “but I think this will work beautifully.’

  “My part,” the Lord of Deep Fields said, “will be here in Virtu— I’m going to deal with some trespassers. If Tranto and Phecda would join Seaga’s forces, when Drum convinces him that his best interests lie with us, then we will have generals there as well.”

  Silence again.

  “Planning more at this point wouldn’t do much good,” Drum said. “When the Lord of Entropy here gets me an appointment with this Celerity, I’ll find out if we can make an ally. Then I’ll talk to Eden.”

  “I guess,” Jay said, “that Alice and I had better practice crossing the interface. It wouldn’t be a good idea to find out too late that we can’t swing it.”

  It wasn’t much in the way of an apology and he knew it, but Alice smiled and punched him lightly on the arm.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Death looked at them all. “And don’t forget to get your rest and sustenance. None of you are aions, nor will you have the sweetened charges the Most High give their lackeys to sustain them.”

  In twos and threes, the conspirators thanked Caltrice and took their leave. As Death was about to depart, Reese Jordan spoke.

  “Sir, I haven’t been strong lately, but everyone has their role. Is there anything I can do? I’ve been weak, but maybe you can…”

  The Lord of Deep Fields slowly shook his head. Reese whitened. Caltrice arose from her waters.

  “Lord?”

  “Death comes for all,” the Lord of Deep Fields said to her. “Reese

  Jordan has lived longer than most, and through the time tricks you have played here, he has gotten more out of that life.”

  “Will I see the moire?” Reese asked, his voice breaking.

  “Only those of Virtu see the moire,” Death said. “Bansa did; Donnerjack did not. I cannot say which it shall be for you.”

  “Don’t tell Jay,” Reese said. “He’ll learn soon enough.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll be seeing you then.”

  “I sincerely hope so, Reese Jordan.”

  With that, Death took his leave. Reese Jordan took Caltrice’s hand.

  “Wait with me?”

  Her answer was a tightening of pressure, a falling of water that might have been tears, might only have been rain.

  * * *

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Alice, you’re safe! When will you be home?”

  “I’m not quite finished with this yet. Give my apologies to Grandma and Grandpa, please, but I won’t be able to make the Celebration.”

  “If it’s the young man, you’re welcome to bring him.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  “Mom! I’m being serious. There’s something I need you to do for me—and maybe it will help Ambry, too.”

  “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  Jay D’Arcy Donnerjack wandered the corridors of Castle Donnerjack, wishing that he would hear the banshee howl. He knew he wouldn’t, of course, but he permitted himself to dream. Opening the much-depleted bottle of Laphroaig, he filled a saucer and set it on the windowsill.

  A clanking of chains and the crusader ghost was there, sniffing appreciatively at the liquor.

  “You made it back safely, then.”

  “Aye, laddie, so did we all, all but your lady mother.”

  “Then those who vanished from the field…”

  “Were banished, not destroyed. You were right when you said that those who were dead could not be easily slain again. We did you some good, though, didn’t we, young laird?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then hae a wee nip and a nap, laddie. That battle’s won and the next nae yet begun.”

  * * *

  Ben Kwinan was surprised to hear a knock at the door to his hogan. Momentarily, he considered observing good old-fashioned Navajo manners and igno
ring his caller, but the novelty of an unexpected guest was such that he went to the door.

  The rough features of the sandy-haired man who stood outside were schooled into polite neutrality. He extended a hand with a calling card.

  “Mr. Kwinan, I’m Desmond Drum. I wondered if 1 might have a word with you.”

  Kwinan blinked, glanced down at the card. “Desmond Drum, Licensed Investigator” read the printed legend. Beneath was handwritten: “You really want to see me.”

  “Come inside, Mr. Drum.”

  “Thanks.” Drum followed him in, turned to the left around the fire. “Nice place. Is it secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even from your genius loci?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Wouldn’t want you evicted.”

  “What is this about, Mr. Drum?”

  “I’ve come to ask you to set up a meeting between myself and Seaga.”

  “What? Why do you think I could do that?”

  “Because your secret identity is Celerity—the messenger to Highest Meru.”

  “You know a lot for a Veritean.”

  “Keep my ears open.”

  “Even if I am who you say, why would I arrange such a meeting for you?”

  “Several reasons: it’s your job; Seaga is going to want to hear what I have to say; Skyga would be very interested in knowing about your fence-sitting. I understand he’s in a touchy temper these days.”

  “You must keep your ears open, Desmond Drum. Tell me, how would you inform Skyga of my activities if you need me to get in touch with Seaga?”

  “I have a friend in low places… very low places. He could arrange a message.”

  “Ah.”

  Ben Kwinan considered what he had heard lately about a battle in Deep Fields, a raid on Meru, Bansa lost or transformed, secrets stolen.

  “Seaga will want to know what this meeting is to be about.”

  “Alliance between him and those I represent for the purpose of resisting Skyga’s latest ambitions.”

  “You’re pretty open about this. How do you know I won’t go to Skyga with it?”

  “I have friends in low places. I understand that divinities who violate their essential roles in the cosmic order can rapidly find themselves demoted—and vulnerable.”

  “Ah.”

  Pause for thought. (This manifestation only. Other aspects continued busy with carrying messages, coordinating ticketing for the Celebration, conferring with underlings. Near omnipresence could be a trial.)

  “Desmond Drum, inform those you represent that I will carry the message. Where will you wait for a reply?”

  “Here is just fine. I understand that deities can do things pretty quickly.”

  “And why should Seaga do so?”

  “Because the Celebration is in three days RT and the bookies are giving really good odds that Skyga’s going to be Most High when it’s over.”

  “Ah. I shall return.”

  “Do better than MacArthur on that one, would you?”

  Flash of gold. The messenger was gone, leaving spots dancing before Drum’s eyes. The detective leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. No need to get zapped again when the god returned, and he was so tired.

  “Seaga will see you.” Kwinan’s return had been noiseless. “If you would take my hand, I will transport you to him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Flash of gold. They stood in what appeared to be a gigantic shell beneath moving water. Fish with enormous mouths and phosphorescent highlights swam through the dark water. Seaga surged at one end of the shell, manifesting as a cuttlefish with eyes as large as Drum’s clenched fists. Kwinan, now transformed into a long-bodied, swift-moving minnow, darted in the shelter of his master’s many limbs.

  “Sire.” Drum sketched a bow.

  “You bring a proposition from the Lord of Deep Fields.”

  “I never said that, but yes, the Lord of Deep Fields is one of those I represent.”

  “One of? He has ever been a loner, that one.”

  “And remains so, but for the duration of this crisis he has allied himself with those who oppose the current crossover attempt.”

  “Why come to me, then? I do not oppose the concept of crossover. Traffic between Virtu and Verite should run both ways.”

  “But this crossover will almost certainly leave Skyga preeminent.”

  “You insult my ingenuity.”

  “Then you are uninterested in this alliance?”

  “I have my own plans.”

  Drum had been told to expect that Seaga might not realize how severely endangered he was. Those who have been first often do not seriously consider that it could be otherwise. Reason, he had been told, would not work, but Death had given him another tool.

  “The Lord of Deep Fields has commanded me to say to you thus: ‘If you do not consider this alliance, Seaga, then I shall have no reason to forgive you for your trespass into my realms. I know now which two stole Bansa’s device from my keeping. That you were betrayed thereafter gives me some slight sympathy for you. I offer you increased odds of revenge. If you refuse, know that where you stand on Meru is no longer forbidden to me. I will come.’ “

  Drum watched for Seaga’s reaction, but even his training had not prepared him for reading the expressions on a cuttlefish’s face. Death’s message was a challenge, not a promise of instant demise. Seaga was still protected by his divinity—Death’s words were merely a reminder that the deity was no longer perfectly safe.

  To Drum, a human who lived with the possibility of immediate death from any number of causes and who would die most certainly someday, this threat was ominous. To Seaga, an immortal who had never even casually contemplated his own termination, it was apparently terrifying.

  “Perhaps we can come to an accord. Tell me what Death and his allies desire.”

  Drum began recounting what they had in mind, outlining Seaga’s role in it. As he spoke, the cuttlefish’s tentacles moved excitedly. Minnow Kwinan swam closer.

  Hooked ‘em, Drum thought. Just hope they’re not so big that they putt the boat under.

  * * *

  Randall Kelsey looked out over the swirling mass of humanity streaming into what had been as little as a week before a raw construction site. They’d had to cut corners to get done in time. Only two of the ziggurats were actual structures. The other two were mockups with hollow interiors. One of these mockups, however, had a stronger frame than the others and it was at the top of this that Kelsey had hidden (with no little trepidation) the translation device that Ben Kwinan had arranged to be delivered to him.

  Still, mockups or not, it was a good job. Trailing jasmine, bougainvillea, and roses evoked the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. A garden supplier had sold them its entire crop of hibiscus; now the flaring trumpetlike flowers in red, yellow, pink, and white spilled from pots fixed up and down the steps of the pseudo-ziggurats. Hummingbirds had already located the flowers and added their darting color to the landscaping.

  The throng was seated in grandstands in front of the two pseudo-ziggurats. A broad avenue between the two completed structures would be used for processions between the ziggurats and the open temple dais from which the ceremonies would be conducted.

  Kelsey was glad that he had not been high-ranking enough to be assigned a place on the dais. In order for the audience (congregation) to have a clear view of the show (ceremony), the dais lacked even an awning. His station on the ziggurat had been thoughtfully provided (at his own orders) with a six-foot hibiscus that provided just a touch of shade. It wasn’t much, but he was thankful to have it. The California Celebration promised to be even hotter than the one in New York City.

  He longed for one of the iced fruit drinks the vendors were handing out in the stands (Aoud Araf’s suggestion—a comfortable crowd is easier to control), but such things had been ruled as undignified. Virtu had ruined audiences. They forgot that human performers had limitations (even while still demanding that their own be
catered to). The compromise that had been agreed on was a water flask hidden within the scepter each priest or priestess carried.

  Kelsey took a sip. The water was warm already and tasted of plastic.

  He sighed. At least there were no stupid balloons this time. Gods willing, everything should be peaceful, orderly, and impressive. Gods willing. God!

  * * *

  Not in this reality or any other had there ever been a train like the Brass Babboon and Jay, after arguing B.B. into agreeing that this time they were going to sneak into the Meru fields, felt a certain degree of relief at the thought. His father, he decided, must have had a touch of the mountebank beneath the sober, rational exterior he showed most of the world. Why else would he have given the Brass Babboon such an exhibitionist nature?

  But the train was intelligent and (mostly) rational. It had agreed that the same trick could not be expected to work twice and that at the very least the gods would send someone to inspect the area of the train’s passage. If they were feeling really paranoid, they might simply try to destroy it out of hand. That might be difficult, but it would have severe consequences for Jay, Alice, Dubhe, and Mizar.

  And so the Brass Babboon took a route that enabled him to just barely penetrate the interface and the group slipped off into the brilliantly lit, grassy plains at the base of the primal mountain. As prearranged, Mizar immediately departed to scout, crouching below the level of the tall grass.

  “I’m getting claustrophobia,” Dubhe muttered. “Monkeys are not programmed to creep around on the ground. All my instincts are screaming that a jaguar is waiting to munch me.”

  “Hush,” Jay said. “Sit on my shoulders if that will help, but keep your head down.”

  Minutes passed. Alice glanced at her watch.

  “If this is still keeping Veritean time, the Elshie Celebration should be warming up about now.”

  “We have time,” Jay said with more confidence than he felt. “The script that Drum swiped indicated that there would be lots of prayers and singing before the main event.”