"Surgery?"
"Got this here tumor on my butt," he confided. Like some old people, he was not at all reticent to discuss intimate details of physiology with strangers. He seemed not to question her presence at all. "It's a nuisance, but it's benign. Just a pain in the rump." He laughed. "All those years I talked about that sort of thing, and now I've really got it! Good, deep cushion takes care of it, but my son, he worries, says I got to have it out, and that means surgery and the lab and all, which is a real pain in the assets, just to prove what I already know. My son needs that money for his family; I don't want him throwing it away to doctors for what I don't need anyway." He squinted at her. "Do I know you?"
"No," Niobe said. "I—"
"Got an accent, don't you! You're Irish! You ever been by to kiss the Blarney Stone? Have a seat; you don't have any boil on your bottom, do you?"
"Uh, no," Niobe said, taking the deck chair he offered. Henry, true to his word, had a chair with a fluffy cushion on it. He eased himself onto it, wincing. Evidently the tumor was more painful than he cared to admit.
"Well, what can I do for you, cutie?" he asked.
"It's about the United Nations," she said cautiously. "There's a rumor that there's going to be trouble, and—"
"I told you, I don't care about the UN. Just a bunch of lefties soaking up our tax dollars, if you ask me. We'd be better off out of it, and tell them to get off our land and go to Russia or somewhere."
He's a candidate, all right! Atropos thought.
"But the United Nations is perhaps the major force for peace in the world," Niobe protested. "It represents a forum for dialogue between most of the nations, so that they can talk problems out instead of going to war. It would be disaster if that forum were eliminated."
Henry shrugged. "As far as I can see, they mostly talk about how terrible America is. While they take our money."
He's got a point, Atropos thought.
"That's a necessary freedom of speech," Niobe said. "Words will not hurt this country, but bombs will. It is far better to—"
He nodded. "That's right, isn't it! You know about bombs, over there! I can tell you, I wouldn't live in Ireland today if you paid me to!"
"Well, it's really not like that," Niobe said defensively. "We don't see the violence, we only read about it in the newspapers. The same as you read about crime in the big cities. The countryside is as peaceful and pretty as any in the world."
He nodded again. "You care about your land. I like that. But you know, if they have bombs going off over there, how come they aren't talking in the UN? I mean the IRS and—"
"The IRA," Niobe said.
"What's the difference? Over here they call it the IRS, and it does to your wallet what those bombers over there do to your buildings. I wish they'd all get lost!"
She saw her opportunity. "You don't like bombers?"
"I don't like bombers," he agreed emphatically. "Except for maybe the UN building. Maybe that could use a bomb!"
Aha! Atropos thought.
"You can't mean that. Henry!" Niobe protested. "If the UN were bombed, it could trigger another world war!"
Henry considered. "Could be. And we can't afford another war, that's for sure. Couldn't afford the last one, when it comes to that. You know why inflation's so bad? Because we're still trying to pay off the last war! But still, it's tempting. If we could have maybe a false alarm, just to make the UN move out—"
"Like a stink bomb?" Niobe asked.
He laughed so hard he winced from the motion of his posterior. "Sure! That'd be great! Make that bad smell literal!"
Niobe experienced mixed emotions. On the one hand she was relieved to have confirmation of his guilt, for it solved her problem of research. On the other, she hated to do what she knew she would have to do: have Atropos cut his thread short. Now that she had talked with Henry Clogg, she liked him; he was at least an honest man. It would be a shame to terminate his life so abruptly.
It is not certain, Clotho warned. Many people will not do what they say.
Niobe grasped at that straw. "Henry, if someone were to come and give you a stink bomb that you could sneak into the UN complex when you go there, so that after you leave it would mess up everything and get the United States of America expelled from—"
"Hey, wait a minute!" he said. "Why would anyone do that? A bomb that strong would cost a lot of money!"
"Yes. But let's say Satan hoped to promote discord in the world, so he brought you a—"
Henry scowled. "Satan? Listen, cutie, I'm a God-fearing man, no matter what I say about going to Hell! I wouldn't touch the Devil with a ten-foot spell!"
"Well, he wouldn't give you his identity, of course. He might come in the form of a businessman, offering to pay you enough money to cover your surgery and not be a burden to your son, if you will just take a package to the UN complex, hide it from the guards, and leave it there where it won't be noticed, in a closet or somewhere."
He stared ahead, pondering. "Satan, eh? If he wants to be rid of the UN, I'm not sure I do!"
"Well, as I said, he wouldn't say he was—"
"What do I want, taking money from strangers?" he demanded righteously. "Lug a big suitcase around on the tour? I don't need any part of that!"
"You mean you wouldn't stink-bomb the UN if you had the chance?"
"Not now that I've thought about it! When you really get down to it, stink bombs are kid stuff, not that funny. And I sure wouldn't do it for tainted money! If the Devil wants it done, let him get someone else to do his dirty work! Me, I want to go to Heaven when I kick off, even if I won't find most of my friends there."
Niobe felt mixed relief and regret again, this time reversed. Henry Clogg was not the one after all, and she was glad she had not decided to cut the thread of an innocent man. But it meant they would have to interview the others, and that the job had not yet been done.
"Say—you want some sherry?" Henry asked.
"Well, no, I—"
"I don't get much company these days," he said. "It'll be good to share it. My wife, bless her soul, she liked it. It's been three years now—" His face turned sad.
"I'll have some sherry," Niobe agreed.
He eased himself to his feet and went indoors to fetch the bottle and glasses. He's a good ol' geezer, Atropos thought approvingly. Reminds me some of my old man, before he died, except mine liked moonshine.
"I normally don't drink—" Niobe murmured.
Sherry isn't drinking, woman! Atropos thought firmly. It's socializing.
I don't think the other interviews will be this easy, Clotho thought.
Niobe just nodded.
Henry returned with the sherry. Niobe sipped the golden wine, satisfied for the moment to relax. It was nice being company, however extemporaneously. This was the way she should have been with Cedric, instead of drinking too much. Alcohol was an evil only when abused—as with so many pleasures.
"My son's already bought me a ticket for the carpet to New York," Henry remarked. "That gripes me some. See, I was a carpet salesman, when I worked. We had some pretty fancy models, too. You know how those automobile companies always say a carpet's no good in the rain? Don't you believe it! We have models with canopies; no way you'd get wet on one of those. Could even close it in tight and pressurize the cabin for high flying. And magic doesn't pollute the air the way gasoline does."
She listened, and nodded agreement. She was sorry when the sherry was finished, and she had to go.
"Come again sometime!" Henry told her cheerfully.
"I will," she promised. She intended to do that, when she had time free.
They returned to the Abode and considered. "One down, three to go," Atropos said. "Who do we tackle next?"
"Well, we have a young black woman, an Oriental martial artist, and the Satanist."
"Let's take care of the easy one first," Atropos said. "That's mine—the black girl."
"But let's rest first," Clotho said. "We want to be fresh so we d
on't make mistakes."
The others agreed. Also, there were some routine threads to spin, place, and cut; there was no point in letting the job get behind.
They worked on the threads; then all three slept.
Next morning. New York area time, Atropos assumed the body and made her first solo trip along the thread down to the realm of the mortals. The girl was at home, flirting with two boys. She was about fifteen, the boys older.
Atropos burst in upon them like a scourge from Purgatory. "What's these boys doing here, girl?" she demanded, glaring about. The girl looked stricken, and the boys abashed. "You're not 'sposed to have company at home alone, you know that! If your grandmaw knew—"
"Grandma's dead," the girl said defensively.
"She'd roll over twice in her grave!" Atropos continued without pause. "And if your maw knew—"
The girl gave a little squeal of terror.
"She'd have your li'l black hide hung out on the line to cool!" Atropos said, fixing her with a deadly stare.
"Ain't that right, girl!"
The girl nodded, unwillingly. Atropos whirled on the boys. "Now scat!" She took a menacing step toward them. The two banged into each other in their haste to exit. "And if I see you two out here again, I'll take the cane to you myself!" she called after their fleeing forms.
How did you know they weren't supposed to be here? Niobe thought. We didn't read that in the thread!
"I know boys," Atropos muttered. "And I know girls. Moment I saw their faces, I knew what they were up to." She smiled privately. "Same thing I was up to, at that age. Made me a grandma sooner than I needed."
She turned back to the girl, who was trying to recover her poise. "Who are you?" the girl demanded. "You ain't my ma! You can't tell me what to do!"
"I'm a friend of your grandmaw, girl," Atropos said. "She can't rest easy till she knows you're going straight, so I'm checking you now. I can tell you, I don't much like what I'm seeing! You going hog-wild here—why aren't you in school?"
"I'm in second shift!" the girl protested. "It don't start for two hours."
Atropos rolled her eyes skyward. "Lord, I don't know if I can do the job in two hours." Then she fixed on the girl again. "You're in big trouble, child!"
"Listen, old woman, you got no business coming in here like you owned the place! I can do anything I want. Leave me alone!"
Atnapos sighed. "I see we're going to have to do it the hard way. I'm going to have to enchant you."
"You don't have no magic!" the girl said. "You can't—"
Atropos caught her by the arm and flung a thread upward with her free hand. She was getting the hang of thread manipulation very quickly. "I don't like backtalk, girl!" She slid up the thread, carrying the girl with her.
The girl screamed as they passed through the wall and sailed into the sky. "Let me go! Let me go!"
Atropos glanced down. The rooftops were already receding below. "You sure, girl? If I let you go now, you'll drop like a stone."
The girl considered that and was quiet. Atropos slid on up to the cloudbank that defined Purgatory, then paused. "Now I want you to come clean with me, girl. If you lie to me, I'll drop you right out of this cloud!"
The girl was daunted. "What are you?" she demanded.
"Just someone interested in what's right. Now talk, or I'll turn into a big spider and eat you."
Still the girl resisted. "You can't!"
Atropos assumed the arachnid form, man-sized. The girl screamed and tried to scramble through the cloud substance. Atropos changed back, "Change your mind, girl?"
"I din't mean nothing wrong!" the girl babbled. "I din't even know what it was! This guy tells me here, just sniff this, it'll make you feel good, so I sniffed it, and in a little bit I felt like I was floating right off the floor!" She looked down nervously. "Only not like this!"
"Don't sniff anything like that again!" Atropos told her sternly. "That stuff 1I be the death of you!"
"I won't!" the girl promised. The vision of the huge spider had finally convinced her that Atropos meant business.
"How are you doing in school?"
"Well, you know how it is—"
"Sure I know, girl! You've got better things to do than study, right? Figure you'll just slide through, then make it in the big world on sex appeal? Girl, you'll lock yourself in the ghetto all your life, same as your maw, same as your grandmaw! Same as me! You want to be dependent on a man for everything you need? It'll cost you, girl! A man always takes his payment in kind. You want to make it on your own, then you can look about and see what you want from a man. Then you can put your own price on it, and that's not money. What're you doing in school?"
"Not enough," the girl admitted.
"They take you on any field trips?"
The girl brightened. "Sure—there's this New York trip coming up. We're going there in a bus, see the sights—"
"Something I've got to tell you about that, girl. This man may come, maybe offer you money or something to sniff, just to take something to the UN building. Know what you tell him?"
Wordlessly, the girl shook her head.
"You tell him to go to Hell!" Atropos cried. "You don't take a thing to New York! You just go and learn all you can, so you can write up a good paper on it when you get home."
"That's all? Just tell him—?"
"That's all. That, and do your homework. You haven't—?"
"Not yet," the girl agreed faintly.
"Well, we've still got an hour. I'll help you this time, but after this you do it on your own, get your grades up, you hear? No more lip to your teachers! So your grandmaw won't roll over."
Again the girl shook her head, offering no resistance.
Atropos took her back down the thread and into the house. They got out the homework and discussed it. Atropos was not conversant with the technical material, but Niobe and Clotho thought the answers at her, so she could tutor the girl competently. It was a fine collaborative effort. By the time the girl left for school, they were satisfied that not only had they eliminated her as a potential carrier for the stink bomb, they had set her on a much better course of life than she would have followed otherwise. "The world needs more aggressive grandmothers," Atropos remarked as they returned to the Abode. The other two could only agree.
Chapter 12 - BLOOD
As they considered the next case, they had misgivings. The thread of the Oriental man showed him to be age thirty, and a significant force within his culture. They could not simply cut his thread; that would lead to serious complications in the Tapestry, not as bad as those stemming from the stink bomb, but still well worth avoiding. They would have to talk him out of it—and Niobe was learning to read the threads well enough, now, to know that this would not be easy.
For one thing, there was a kink in the thread that indicated something of extreme significance had touched it. That was surely Satan, making his offer. If the man had accepted, how could they stop him without cutting his thread?
Clotho assumed the body. "I will try," she said simply. She pointed the distaff, extended the thread, and slid down it to the man's location. Again, it was morning, in the state of New Jersey, and he was at his place of business. This was a dojo, or martial arts establishment.
We should have guessed, Niobe thought. His name is Samurai.
"Which means Warrior," Clotho murmured. "A pretentious title!"
She opened the door and entered. There was a desk inside with a girl in a gi, or martial arts uniform. "You wish to join for the course?" she inquired politely.
"No," Clotho said. "I wish to speak to Samurai."
The girl smiled. "The Master does not sign up students. But in class he will give you the same attention he does all students, and if you have talent you may be able to enroll in an advanced class and receive special instruction." She eyed Clotho appraisingly. "Of course that is more expensive and requires special dedication."
"I don't wish to be a student," Clotho insisted. "I have more personal
business with the man."
The girl studied her again. Suddenly Niobe was aware of the appearance of their youngest Aspect. She was well dressed—clothing in the Abode was of the highest quality, fashioned of genuine silk, and fitted with magical perfection—and was an extremely well-formed woman to begin with. She was a person to be noticed more than passingly. "I will inquire," the girl said and touched a button.
In a moment she received an answer. She glanced up. "Take the hall to the left, through the curtain. Oh—and remove your shoes before you enter the office. He's very fussy about that."
"Thank you." Clotho walked down the hall, then paused to remove her dainty shoes before pushing through the curtain of thin bamboo.
The office was like a Japanese garden, with decorative plants and Oriental statuary all around, and a broad mat covering the floor. At the far side, seated on a slightly elevated dais, was a handsome man in a resplendent gi, almost a robe.
Clotho stood bemused at the entrance. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she breathed. "I have never been to Japan, but—"
"Come forward," the man said. "Do not be afraid of the tatami."
She stepped with her stocking feet onto the mat, which was soft but firm. "Samurai, I want to talk to you about—"
"Wait," he said peremptorily, and she paused in place. "Turn about, woman."
Clotho hesitated, then turned around.
The man got up, seeming to flow effortlessly to his feet. He strode to a curtained closet in one wall, moving like a lithe panther. He brought out a folded kimono. "Don this."
"What?"
"I want you properly garbed," he said. "Go to the changing chamber there." He gestured at a door. "Put this on. Then we shall talk."
"Samurai, I don't know what you think I'm here for—"
"Not for classes," he said. "Not for business. So you mean to be a geisha."
"A geisha!" she exclaimed indignantly.
What's a geisha? Atropos asked.
A Japanese entertainment-girl, high-class, Niobe replied.
Oh, so that's what they call them, over there! We call them whores.
It's not the same—Niobe started, but then external events interrupted them.
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