by Неизвестный
" Why are you doing this?"
A sly look totally unlike Reinhardt came and went on the handsome face of the man confronting her. He smiled, and the smile took on evil qualities.
" My dearest, I want all of Dicca to share what I possess."
Inyx repressed a shudder. Since coming to this place len- Larrotti had paraded men and women through this tiny room. All had made love to her- raped her. And in each she had seen Reinhardt. What had they seen? Len- Larrotti' s magics provided illusion, for a price. He grew rich off others' obsessions and guilty desires.
" What of the Lord of the Twistings?" she asked.
" You jump from topic to topic, my dear. What of the Lord? The election is soon, only days away."
" What does he do?"
" He rules, of course. What an odd question. Now, come with me. I will show you the new quarters I have prepared for you. Fine ones they are, too."
" Fine magics?" she asked, her temper flaring. Inyx realized that len- Larrotti stiffened, although the Reinhardt facade he adopted barely moved.
" You will like the new quarters," he said, voice flat and cold.
She allowed him to lead her away from the room where she' d been imprisoned. The new one hardly suited Inyx more. It had a bed in it, no better than the one she left behind. There was also a large window facing Lossal Boulevard. She went to the window and touched fingertips against it. Pressing her slightly feverish cheek onto coolness brought a moment of mental clarity.
The bloated slug of a man holding her magically bound smiled ominously. She' d be used in even more degrading fashion. And she' d do it. Fight as she would, the hold of Reinhardt' s memory was stronger than her will.
" The first customers come. Enjoy, dearest, enjoy, and they will also!" Laughter filled the room in which she was on display, like an animal in a zoo cage.
" Show me what they see," she said in a listless voice. For another two days she' d been locked up in len- Larrotti' s picturewindow room, her every intimate moment on display to anyone passing by outside. She' d lost track of the men who' d used her in that time. She fought but it did no good. They all were Reinhardt. All.
" You know there is only me," said the man. She had learned to distinguish between Luister len- Larrotti as Reinhardt and his whoremongering customers, who also appeared to her as her dead husband.
" Show me."
Out of cruelty, he did. A small group gathered outside the window to peer in at her. She closed her eyes and then opened them. The man nearest saw her in a tawdry corset, net stockings, and high spiked heels. The man next to him saw her as a plain country girl, barely fourteen- a lost love. The one in the back of the crowd viewed her magically altered appearance as male, burly, rough. Inyx began to cry softly.
Out of stark hunger, she had been eating small bits of the food len- Larrotti brought her. The effects of the drug wore off quickly enough because little entered her bloodstream. But the paucity of food also made her progressively weaker and less able to resist the drug' s insidious shape- changing effects. Immediately after she ate, the man would come to her while the image of Reinhardt burned brightly in her mind.
Once, when len- Larrotti lay beside her, sated, she had whispered, " Why do you use me? Why me?"
" Reality is hard enough to change," he muttered, more asleep than awake. " You require very little altering in illusion. You are so close to perfection, only small magics give them what they want."
She watched heavy eyelids lower. Reinhardt. Inyx had reached out to caress. Her fingers found flabby throat, squeezed down on multiple chins. Reinhardt. She killed her own husband. The woman hesitated, then her resolve hardened. But it came too late. A convulsive jerk had allowed the man to break her grip and rise. She sat in bed, staring in dumb horror at her hands, as if they had betrayed her.
Luister len- Larrotti left, only to admit a steady string of patrons, all of whom looked exactly like lost Reinhardt. The magics strengthened against her, and she never again had the opportunity to kill her tormentor.
Inyx sat and watched, sometimes wondering what those outside saw, other times not caring. For all the traffic, not once did a grey- clad soldier stop and gawk. Their rules must prohibit use of Fine Rooms, she guessed. Whether that was a mercy or not, she couldn' t say. It might be better having them discover her and then execute her rather than continue providing cheap sexual thrills for len- Larrotti and his customers.
Inyx sat and concentrated, forcing her will down, ever down inside her. The point where she concentrated burned with fiery need. She fanned the flames, nurtured them, let them rise only to deny them. Not enough. She had triumphed over worse. Reinhardt was dead. Luister lenLarrotti imprisoned her. She hated Luister len- Larrotti. Reinhardt had died. Her husband no longer existed, except in her own mind. Inyx worked, moulded, changed, savored, hoarded.
Another man entered the room. Inyx continued to concentrate. She felt len- Larrotti' s magics flowing like warm water in a stream, filling the room, threatening to drown her. The woman didn' t resist; she went with the flow, moved with it, then began angling to one side. She saw Reinhardt waiting for her by the bed; superimposed over his muscular body she saw a middle- aged, paunchy man. Inyx resisted more. The illusion of Reinhardt wavered.
" I' ve always wanted to make love to a jungle goddess," the man said. " On your hands and knees. Go sniffing for jungle spoor. Let me stalk you through the jungle."
Inyx did as she was told. Like an animal, she raced around the room, the man joyously pursuing. The illusion faded. As the man caught her, she turned and delivered one silent, swift blow to his neck. He made a small choking noise, then sank onto the bed.
" Oh, Reinhardt," she cooed, in case her captor watched or listened, " you are as much a man as ever. No, more than ever!"
She searched her victim, finding nothing. Cursing softly at this failure, she pulled out a piece of steel supporting the mattress. Using this, she forced the door lock. Inyx felt the flood of magic around her abate slightly. However len- Larrotti focused his spells, that room was the center. The further away from it she got, the less she' d feel the pull.
Stumbling, crying in frustration, knowing the truth and perversely wanting Reinhardt all the more, she reached the door leading to Lossal Boulevard. Trembling hands undid the first bolt. Inyx worked frantically to open the second.
" My dearest Inyx, you aren' t leaving me, are you? How could you, after all these years apart? I need you so much."
She looked back over her shoulder. Reinhardt stood there. The look of hurt and betrayal on his face caused her to break down and sob uncontrollably. With her failure to escape came a tiny morsel of success: she again had Reinhardt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
" The grey- clads do not follow us. How odd," said Krek. The spider bounced up and down, craning his almost nonexistent neck back in the direction they' d, come. " It has been a goodly four days since I so soundly ran them off. They normally show more persistence. My scare job must have been better than I thought."
With typical arachnid perversity, Krek had neglected to mention Lan' s role in routing the soldiers. But the man didn' t care. Not being disturbed by Claybore' s men, for whatever reason, suited him fine. If Krek wanted to take all the credit for that, let him. And Lan didn' t know for sure but that the spider was right. The soldiers had bolted when they' d seen how ferocious an opponent Krek could be.
He touched the cylinder he' d recovered from the slain captain. It aimed easily, just like pointing a wand. The tiny button on the side triggered the death beam. Lan had tried it out on a lightning- blasted tree. A new bolt of fire had reduced the charred tree to smouldering embers. Obviously a more potent weapon than his sword- and fasteracting than his relatively weak fire spells. Lan still felt uneasy with the weapon.
A sword rested solidly in the hand. It swung easily and cut true. And spells conjured up provided a sense of control he didn' t get from the death tube.
" Any indication of how much farther it is
to Dicca?" he asked the spider.
Krek stopped, dug talons into the dry earth, and stood shivering. Lan waited while his friend " listened" by sensing faint vibrations in the ground. Krek finally straightened and shook his head.
" Nothing. But then, we see very little ground traffic. Aerial forms of travel abound." Even as he spoke, a V- shaped flight of howlers rocketed across the sky. Crossing from horizon to horizon took only seconds.
" Most of those things," Lan said with distaste, indicating the howlers, " are too small for more than two people. They must have larger versions or the roads would be packed with travellers. The more advanced a world, the more it requires communication of both goods and ideas."
" How profound," said Krek. Lan Martak glanced sharply at him, wondering if the spider intended that as sarcasm. He couldn' t tell. " Inyx travelling in one of the fluttercraft puts her days ahead of us."
" We' re making good time. Did you detect any others along this road?"
" Something massive rumbles in this direction."
" Might be a troop carrier. Let' s get off the road and wait for a while."
" Nonsense, friend Lan Martak," Krek said tartly. " We need to press on. No handful of soldiers can drive us off this fine road."
" You want to face a hundred soldiers capable of setting your legs on fire and never getting within a hundred feet of you?" He tapped the death tube hanging at his belt.
" Well," vacillated the spider, " perhaps it is time to enjoy an afternoon' s relaxation."
" It' s only about ten in the morning," pointed out Lan, smiling.
" So we are doing it early." The spider hopped to the side of the road and soon found an area where he crouched down and blended into the landscape. From twenty feet away he looked like nothing more than a brown rock with a few wiry roots prying their way up and under. Lan took a post closer to the road. Again he admired Krek' s talents for sensing vibration. Living on a web and depending on the proper interpretation of the slightest of twitches had its advantages. A heavy truck rolled along the road.
" No soldiers," he said to Krek. " Looks like produce for the city markets."
The truck rumbled on by. Lan exchanged a quick glance with Krek, then ran after the vehicle. An agile leap brought him into the back to lie amid stacks of fragrant vegetables. He wiped off a long, green stalk of crisp celery and began to eat. The truck lurched sideways, then regained its course. Lan glanced up. The heavy canvas stretched over metal support rods sagged ominously. He smiled to himself. Krek had decided to enjoy the air outside and crouched on the roof.
In a short while, the gentle rolling motion of the truck put Lan to sleep.
" You, what are you doing back there?" demanded the driver. Lan opened one bleary eye and stared at the man. Behind him stretched loading bays, many filled with trucks similar to this one.
" Just catching up on my sleep. Many thanks for the use of your celery." Lan vaulted out and glanced up. Krek perched on the edge of the roof, peering at him.
The driver followed Lan' s gaze, saw Krek, then turned back to the human.
" Get out of here."
" My friend, too?" Lan asked, indicating Krek.
" Your friend, too."
This took Lan by surprise. Most people reacted strongly to the sight of an eight- foot- tall spider, especially one preparing to spring on their heads. The driver didn' t even cringe.
Krek said amiably, " Thank you for the ride, sir. It was most pleasant."
The driver scowled and pushed Lan aside to begin unloading. Lan nodded to Krek to leave.
Outside the shipping area, Lan said, " Odd he didn' t comment on you."
" Yes, it is odd," agreed Krek. " One does not often see a Webmaster this far from the mountains."
Lan shook his head and started walking. After a half- hour he assured himself this was Dicca. It had taken only ten seconds to convince him that an election was imminent. Posters flared, shimmered, and changed form before his eyes, giving animated testimonials for the candidates. He even stopped to listen to one candidate haranguing a small crowd outside his headquarters.
" The current Lord of the Twistings is cheating you, yes, cheating you!" the man screamed. " He fails to give you the utter finest. Can he do this?" A small circus of bizarre creatures appeared out of thin air and began to perform.
" Can' t see in the back!" called out one of the spectators on the fringe of the crowd.
" You can' t see what the Lord gives you, either. But remember this well, Jonrod the Flash will give it to you!"
The tiny animals grew in size, expanding, exploding until the smallest was as large as Krek. The crowd stood and watched the illusory antics while Lan watched the crowd. The man in the rear who had complained about not seeing edged around and talked quietly with Jonrod. Money changed hands. Lan shook his head. The man had been a shill, asking the proper questions on cue. Jonrod hurried back to the front of the crowd just as his images faded.
" That isn' t all I can give you. I promise first- rate images every single day. What other candidate goes that far? None, none but Jonrod the Flash."
" Let' s go," Lan said to Krek. " Politics bores me. It' s always the same, no matter the world. Promise the sky, deliver dirt."
" I find the illusions amusing," said the spider. " Somewhat insubstantial, but amusing."
" You' re seeing them differently than I am. I' d swear they were real if I didn' t know better. Maybe the truck driver thought you were an illusion and that' s why he didn' t react."
" An illusion? I, Krek of the Crags? Absurd."
They walked along the street, hardly aware of the difference between reality and image. Lan marvelled that Dicca could survive in this fashion. Jonrod the Flash promised free illusions- in return for voting for him. Others offered fine illusions for sale. One of these stores Lan entered.
" Good sir, how may I aid you?" asked the oily clerk from behind a large desk.
" You sell illusions. I' d like to see what you have in stock."
" In stock?" the clerk parroted, as if Lan had committed a major faux pas. " Illusorium Unlimited tailors illusions. We cater exclusively to the: best of clientele."
" I understand. I' m able to conjure a bit myself." Lan stepped back and chanted his minor fire spell. Fat blue sparks leaped from finger to finger, then jetted upward in pyrotechnic magnificence. He' d known this spell for many years, having been taught it when he was barely in his teens.
" I see," said the clerk dryly, obviously unimpressed. " That one, the one behind you, that' s a more difficult illusion."
Lan turned to see Krek hunkered down behind him. He smiled and said, " That? That' s nothing."
" Well, perhaps we can do business. I' m not adverse to trading illusions. I have a market for one such as that. Knokno over in the park is always looking for: oddities."
" Oddities?" bellowed Krek. " Who are you calling an oddity?"
Lan motioned the arachnid back.
" Nicely done," said the clerk. " Would you be interested in trading for, say, a forty- foot alligator? No? Here' s one that will make you the life of any party."
Lan involuntarily stepped back. A chasm opened in front of him, a large panther pacing at the bottom of the pit.
" Yes, that' d be a million laughs at one of my parties," Lan said. " Really, I' m more interested in one of those." He pointed to a grey- clad soldier marching along the street.
" That' s no illusion," said the clerk, his mood shifting. " I wish it were."
" Oh?" Lan felt he skirted the verge of information.
" The Lord of the Twistings says it amuses him allowing them to keep the peace. A spitting nuisance, I say." The man pressed one soft white hand to his lips. " I' m sorry. I shouldn' t have used such profanity."
" Which of the candidates for Lord of the Twistings opposes the soldiers?"
" None openly. I understand Jonrod is unwilling to allow them to continue on if he is elected, but then Jonrod is adversely inclined toward a
nyone supporting the law, if you catch the meaning."
" He and the law are on uneasy terms."
" Exactly." Shifting back into his sales pitch, the clerk asked, " Which do you like, the panther pit or the alligator? I' ll trade either for the spider."
" Do you rent?" Lan asked facetiously. The clerk stiffened.
" If you' re looking for Fine Rooms, I suggest down south on Lossal, past the markets."
" Fine Rooms?"
" Brothels, low- born."
The clerk' s tone left no room for misinterpreting the fact that he desired Lan and his " illusion" out of the store. Lan quickly left, Krek trailing along behind.
" Oddity, indeed," sniffed Krek. " What an odious little man that was."
" It sounds as if Diccans mix magic with their sex," observed Lan. " That was what I took him to mean about ' Fine Rooms.' "
" Imagine comparing me to something like that." The spider sniffed and stalked off, leaving Lan to stare in amazement at a gelatinous cube wobbling down the center of the street. Krek had something there. Being compared with such an amorphous blob would damage one' s ego. He hurried to follow the spider.
" This is the damnedest place I' ve ever seen. I can hardly keep illusion and reality separate."
" It is not that difficult, friend Lan Martak," said the spider. " The illusions waver slightly and always appear slightly translucent. It is quite simple."
" To your eyes, not to mine." He' d found Lossal Boulevard, more out of curiosity than anything else, and seen the signs for Fine Rooms. While the proprietors of most shops selling hard commodities refused to talk openly about the Fine Rooms, Lan learned that all of Lossal was abuzz with a scheme one of them ran.
" A diorama," said one man in low, conspiratorial tones. " Luister len- Larrotti exchanges sex with the woman- or man- of your choice in whatever setting you desire. A most difficult illusion. And he charges for it."
" Where is this len- Larrotti?" Lan asked.
" Oh, good sir, you should avoid a place like that. Luister lenLarrotti will rob you, if he can."