by Sue Perry
"Step to the viewer, seeker."
I had to assume this meant one of the tables with glowing parchment. "Which one?"
"Any. Knowledge shares equally from all."
Unless you restrict it, I didn't say. Snarky, yes; foolish, no.
Up close, the parchment glowed like albino abalone shell. It had a nape like peach fuzz and the direction of grain continuously shifted as pattern flowed. I watched the flow of pattern long enough to feel duped. A viewer with nothing to view. Perhaps this was their way of saying uck–fay off–fay.
"I don't speak parchment pattern," I said finally.
This generated a rom–com soundtrack, over which a mellifluous voice told me something I already knew, then something I didn't.
"You lack in patience, seeker. We assemble knowledge from a vast archive and that takes time."
Words appeared on the parchment, soon joined by holographic pictures and videos that were so lifelike they seemed to exist in a tiny reality within the viewer. Some images looked professional, as though from a news report; others reminded me of the first Framekeeps hearing that I had attended, when we watched memories from the minds of diverse witnesses.
The tiny reality included Frames and beings beyond my wildest imaginings, so alien that I couldn't describe what I was watching, but I understood that I was seeing the Frames long ago, before Maelstrom and before his mentor, Pandemonium. Back in that time, books were special, reading was ubiquitous, and in many Frames, communities were built around public gathering places called reading circles.
I wasn't permitted to view Pandemonium's rise to power nor her subjugation of books. In the scenes I viewed, books were beloved objects, then, out of view, Pandemonium converted them into beings and somehow made them sentient, animate—and deadly.
Of all the terrible images I viewed that day, the one that most haunts me featured a family of blue–furred humanoids with three young children. The children finished a rowdy play session then rested, paging through well–thumbed books. Suddenly they gasped—the books flew from their hands! The books collided in mid–air then flapped in wobbly arcs that reminded me of the first time my books flew. The children cheered and called for their parents.
The parents came running when the cheers turned to screams. During a collision, books shed volumes of text and the text sliced the youngest child into bits. As the surviving children wailed and pointed, the parents couldn't comprehend what the mound of pulp and blue fur could mean. The surviving children pointed to a corner near the ceiling, where the three books hovered, shedding text with each nervous flap of their covers. Below the books, each shower of text sliced a pile of stuffed animals into tinier bits. The parents pulled the children out of the room and slammed the door. One of the books flapped over to the remains of the dead child, studied it from various angles, then smashed itself into a wall, shedding all of its text at once.
A quartet of blue–furred beings in uniforms entered the room, carrying flaming torches and a glittering metal net. The book that had smashed itself into the wall hurled itself at a torch and was incinerated. The other books flew into the net without any resistance to capture.
In Frame after Frame, books could suddenly fly and shed text that caused unwitting destruction. As with the blue–furred family's books, in these early days, books seemed confused and sought imprisonment willingly. More than one book incinerated itself.
Bonfires raged. Beings dragged nets, bulging with books, toward the flames and few of the books tried to escape. As the books burned, the beings sobbed. The bookcase had described it truly: a tragic and terrible time.
Remaining books disappeared from all the Frames, and rumors spread that Pandemonium and her apprentice Maelstrom trained the books in hidden camps. Time elapsed, and then began the War for the Free Frames. Books reappeared in the first battle, flying in precision squadrons, shedding text on command, shedding text to kill.
I'd heard about that war from Anya and Anwyl. The side of wrong had seemed invincible, until Maelstrom made a power grab that broke Pandemonium's concentration and led to Pandemonium's capture in a collapsed Frame. Maelstrom continued waging war and producing killer books, with three disciples, Warty Sebaceous Cysts. Eventually, Maelstrom was caught in a collapsed Frame all his own. The Cysts went to prison for a stretch of years and as soon as they got out, they set in motion their plan to free Maelstrom.
That was about the time that Anya and Anwyl showed up in my office and took me to the Watts Towers...
The parchment pattern flowed and shifted. No more material to view. What I had viewed was helpful but not sufficient. I needed to see the in–between. I knew the after and had just learned the before. How did it happen? How did Pandemonium and later Maelstrom convert books to killers?
I wiped my tears from the parchment and as I headed for the entryway, the bookcases said, "Safe Travels, seeker." The tones were gentle supportive trills. Were the keepers of the Halls of Shared Knowledge also book sympathizers? Maybe that was the lever that would let me pry more information out of them. I would make no more demands now but I could lay groundwork for my next visit.
"Thank you for sharing that knowledge. I come from a Neutral Frame." This provoked a chase scene soundtrack. When it subsided, I continued, "In my Frame, books remain inanimate to this day and we appreciate their many fine qualities. I wish that other Frames could know books as they once were and truly are."
Silence. I'd made an impression—but what kind?
"Farewell, seeker. Before you depart this Frame, you will find it informative and uplifting to observe activities at the river, where the Trees of Knowledge are harvested."
That was downright friendly. "Thanks, I appreciate the suggestion." I was at the entryway before I released the question that kept beating its wings inside my skull. "Does any Frame have a cure for multiple sclerosis?"
"Multiple sclerosis? That is a condition of Neutrals." The tone was disdainful.
"I see. Never mind and thanks anyway." I didn't point out that half the Frames are Neutral. The tone made clear that, to the bookcases, Neutrals were like worms. I mean worms as we see them back home, lowly and disgusting, because we don't see worms truly—few of us have had the privilege of meeting worms as the powerful healers they really are.
Lining the Hudson River banks were trees I didn't recognize, solid and broad like oaks, twisted over the water like Monterey cypress. These were the Trees of Knowledge, and I would eventually learn that they absorb and store information from the ground, water, and air.
A tree limb hit the river with an echoing crash. The river rushed it forward until the limb caught in netting that stretched across the river. Netting crossed the river every few hundred feet. Other nets held other branches. Water churned through the netting and the branches disintegrated into the glowing pieces that made up the Halls of Shared Knowledge.
On both river banks, what seemed to be picnickers were work crews, with beings of all kinds. They carried tree stones from the river banks to big wheeled carts. Some of the pieces were fetched by dog–like creatures which bounded on three, four, or six legs. When I'd touched the wall at the Halls of Shared Knowledge, I'd had a rush of awareness—what must the workers feel as they gathered those pieces?
As I watched, a decision formed itself and a plan coalesced. I was full of grand plans lately. If only I had foreseen what they would take from me.
36. I DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE YOU
I pounded on my bathroom door. "Five minutes to show time." Always wanted to say that.
"What's the rush?" Jenn's voice was muffled through the door.
"Surprise you. Can't explain. Must show."
"Whatever it is, it took your nouns." She emerged naked except for her necklace and lipstick, rummaged in her suitcase, and was dressed the fastest I'd ever witnessed. Jenn likes surprises.
We were out the door before she gave in to her curiosity. "Give me some clues. Animal, veggie, or mineral?"
"All three. You know that case I told you abo
ut?"
"The aliens from other dimensions." Hers was a voice most often heard by dentists, discussing that old filling. She stopped in my apartment doorway. "That's my surprise, bitch?"
"Hernandez is working the same case, with Anwyl. I don't want you excluded from our conversations."
"You played the H card. That's manipulative." She locked my door behind her. "Why is this so important to you?"
"Come and find out." I held out my hand. "I'm not being girlfriend, you have to hold my hand or I can't take you. Also, I can't talk for a while—I need to concentrate."
She shot me a look full of ice daggers, but she took my hand.
We arrived in the hallway in Frivolous Bedlam and, as the first part of our grand tour of the Frames, I stumbled us back into my apartment, to collapse, panting, on the couch. Traveling with a living being was still a horrendous energy drain, although Jenn was much easier to transport than Kelly Joe.
"Is my surprise over yet?" Jenn's voice was so weak that her question transmitted as attitude more than words. She looked around like the room was part of a bad magic show. "Your furniture looks different."
"We're in another Frame now. My apartments are similar in both Frames. Outside, things are wa–a–a–ay different here. Let me know when you're ready to explore."
"Let's go," she said, in a get–it–over–with voice.
As we strolled my neighborhood in Frivolous Bedlam, I re–lived the marvels of my first visit. The engulfing noise. The chattering buildings with doors that slammed for emphasis. The streets filled with grazing vehicles and playful food carts. Jenn took it all in, without visible reaction.
A pretzel cart popped a wheelie at the head of a gang of food carts. "Hey! Cat Shaver! I've still got your pretzel with the bite marks! Can I get a bite from your friend?"
I thought this would charm Jenn. Instead, robotically, she followed my instructions to imprint her teeth on a fresh soft pretzel. I dangled her pretzel next to mine on the cart's umbrella awning. The gang of food carts cheered, then trailed us as we set out again. Jenn walked backwards, here and there, to watch the food carts. But mostly as we proceeded she stared at me, like this was a movie and I was its screen.
"What did we take and how are we sharing a trip?" she whispered.
"As impossible as it seems, this is a real place, my favorite place, a Frame called Frivolous Bedlam."
"Can we visit Saturn next? I've always wanted to see Saturn."
"I don't know how to get to Saturn. That would be cool though, huh?"
Behind us, laughter spread through the blocks as the buildings shared a joke. "Hernandez has Traveled to other Frames, too. Ask him if I'm making this up."
"Sweetie, I love this. I don't have to believe you."
"Yes! You do! How can you not believe this when all your senses are –" I cut off before I made her as angry as I was.
Jenn's voice was cold. "None of this is possible so it's a trick. I don't have to understand the trick to know that. I want to stop, please."
We stared each other down, then broke at the same moment and hugged.
"Soon. First there's something I need you to see." I led her to the A–B–C–D subway station on 125th Street. The station housed a holographic 3D map of the Connector system.
I popped open the map alcove and the Connector map hovered above us. Jenn's quick intake of breath told me she was suitably dazzled. I spun the map and tried to keep my voice from sounding like a planetarium narrator. "This is a map of all the Connectors in this part of the universe. Beings Travel from Frame to Frame by walking through Connectors. There are other ways to Travel, too—we got here today using another method I learned recently. But walking by Connector is the most basic method." I zoomed in, flew along one Connector. "Every place you see a break, a gap in the Connector, that's a Frame."
I zoomed in and out, awestruck by the countless number of gaps, the boggling infinity of the Frames. "You can look from any angle." I reoriented the view, became transfixed by the swirling knotted patterns of Connectors, a mandala of Celtic knots.
"Let me try." Jenn swirled and spun around the Connectors like a tobogganist. "This is fucking fuckable! You are something!" She was adoring but not believing.
"If you go this far," I pointed to the outskirts of the map, "you get to the far Frames and if you go far enough, you engage a fourth dimension of time. I don't understand that too well yet. My point is that there's more than our little piece of reality, Jenn. So so much much more. When a being dies in the Frames, they say, 'he went beyond the far Frames'. Maybe even death has a Connector. In the Frames, anything is possible, somewhere, so maybe –"
She interrupted me with a hug. "I love you, Nica. Thanks for taking me on your trip." It's what she used to say when we were teens and somebody gave her a psychedelic.
I set aside my latest effort to convince Jenn of the Frames' reality and hugged her back. I took her hand and got us back to Ma'Urth, where we sank into the back seat of a cab and rode home to the Julian in weary comfortable silence. At the least, my stories about the Frames no longer provoked anger. This might be progress. Maybe I had planted a seed and maybe it would grow to shelter her.
Back home, Jenn sprawled on the couch with Dizzy and worked on her breathing. "It's like missionary position and I'm fucking Godzilla." She breathed some more. "When we come down, how hard will I crash?" She stumbled toward the kitchen. "I need water. Do you want anything?"
Grab me a bottle of credibility tonic. "Since you're up, unlatch the bathroom window. I think Hernandez is on the fire escape."
"Now you have ESP, too?"
"No, but last time Leon stared out the kitchen window like that, Hernandez was outside."
She looked out the window, clucked praise to Leon, and headed for the bathroom.
The bathroom window latch clicked, fabric rustled, a male then a female voice murmured. I couldn't hear the words but the subtext made me blush.
Jenn, followed by Hernandez, came into the front room. They sat on the couch, Dizzy between them, and each rested a hand on the cat.
Hernandez looked worn. "You look beat," I greeted him.
"I am. I'm back for a few because Anwyl says I'll recoup faster at home."
At the mention of Anwyl, Jenn shoved away from Dizzy and Hernandez, into her corner of the couch. "Nica took me to another Frame that was louder than a raccoon orgy and showed me a 3D map of the universe." She sounded confrontational.
"Did she." Hernandez looked at me. I blinked at him.
"She says you've been to other dimen—Frames, too. And seen that map, too."
He spoke with measured syllables. "I think you're talking about a Connector map. I've seen that map once. I'd like to get more time with one. Lot to learn there." The warmth of his trust filled me. He couldn't see why I had done this, but he assumed that I'd had a good reason.
"Motherfucking horseshit." Jenn stomped over to my desk, snapped my laptop open, pounded the keyboard, announced accusingly, "Tomorrow's the last day for that found art exhibit on east 22nd. Will you come with me or are you too busy saving the universe?"
"Tomorrow I'm meeting with another client and don't know how long we'll need." I avoided apology; that would really piss Jenn off.
Hernandez said, "I could go later in the day. Got a few things in the morning. I could use a lookout for those things. You available?"
"A lookout. That's so horseshit." Jenn waited for reaction from Hernandez, got none. "Cops and robbers." No reaction. "Pirates and Indians. A lookout. Is that really what you said?"
"It is." Hernandez would be the last fish in any pond. He never rises to any bait.
Unfed, Jenn's anger shrank. "I won't get filthy on your stakeout thing?"
"Lookout thing. Only if you want to."
"Okay, I'll be your lookout, you'll be my art snob."
"Deal." Hernandez gave a big smile.
Jenn made his smile grow. "Date."
That night, we had a slumber party, sensu stricto: t
he three of us conked out where we sprawled and slumbered in the same room.
In the wee dark hours, I forced myself awake. I'd just had a nightmare—one I'd had before, back in Los Angeles. In the dream, the sky looked like bruises and I was menaced by large scary versions of Mathead and Scabman, edged in red like burning coals. I hate dreams that linger with irrational bad feeling. In life, Mathead and Scabman weren't menacing. Just mean, gross, and persistent.
Slumber parties are good tonic for nightmares. I listened to my pals breathe and soon returned to sleep.
The next morning, I awoke to the smell of Hernandez brewing coffee and I went to sit in the lawn chair on the fire escape, where I was pleased to learn that nothing was still new. When Jenn finished with the bathroom, the three of us went out for wakeup chow. We talked about nothing and joked about everything. It was a lovely dose of normal, the last the three of us would enjoy together.
37. THE IMPULSES OF THEIR MASTERS
I arrived at Grand Central just in time for the riot. Or my presence incited the riot. I was at Grand Central because I intended to go to Flushing, to become more familiar with the neighborhood around the Lobotomist meeting house before I took Lilah out there.
Grand Central was crowded as always but no longer crushed with morning commuters. I love Grand Central Terminal, the lofty ceilings that echo with decades of conversation. But I hate that netherworld passage to the subway, squashed between indifferent tile floors and fluorescent ceilings as low as a Neanderthal's brow.
I was in the Neanderthal passage when my lanyard began to stab me and shouts echoed in the terminal behind me. The cries got louder, closer, and more numerous. I backed away from the subway turnstile entrance—whatever was coming, I didn't want it to trap me by the tracks—and I pressed myself on the far side of a squat pillar. People filled the passage, gushed around the pillars—fleeing the terminal, it seemed. I waited, every muscle tensed, ready to jump in any direction.
Nothing followed in pursuit. Gradually, the panicked mob thinned and the space filled with groans from people who had been slammed against walls, pillars, turnstiles. I left my pillar and went from one to another of the groaners. No one near me were seriously hurt, but from the subway tracks came terrible shrieks.