by Lionel Fenn
"What do we do when we get Glorian and the duck?" Tag asked nervously.
"I don't know. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"You're going home?" Ivy said in shocked amazement.
"Who said anything about going home?"
"You're staying?" she said delightedly.
Whale suggested further discussion of their plans, but Gideon was too apprehensive. He gestured Vorden and Bela over, the latter still protesting how absolutely furious Illklor would be if his ceremonial repast wasn't ready on time, not to mention the absolute temper Houte Illklor would be in when he discovered that his master chef had decided to go for a walk in the middle of the busiest day of the century; when he was once again apprised of his options in return for leading the group to the dungeons, he decided that Houte was putting on a little weight anyway and didn't know a pacch pie from a footh-patty, and what was an hour or so when he had finally been reunited with his long-lost father?
Whale then gathered them about and muttered a few words over their heads—a spell, he explained, to render them invisible for the trek across the boulevard to the next way down.
Gideon held out his hands, his arms, checked his legs and still saw them. But trust had to begin somewhere, and he was in no position to argue. With a nod, then, and a tight smile, he led them into Umbrel.
—|—
"Hey!" a pasty-faced man grumbled when he collided with Gideon. "Watch where you're going, huh?"
A pair of miniature dwarves danced mockingly around Red until a well-placed hoof sent one of them tumbling into a cart.
Two men standing outside a bar whistled at Ivy, one of them making a gesture so obscene that Gideon was too angrily embarrassed to do anything about it. Ivy wasn't. The man doubled up.
"Invisible, huh?" Gideon muttered as they shouldered their way toward a black-rimmed arch beyond the next intersection.
"It's been a long time," Whale apologized.
Gideon didn't doubt it. Nor did he doubt any longer Ivy's story that something dreadful had happened to the armorer as a result of his conflict with the Wamchu. He could only hope that the man's obvious nervousness wasn't going to hinder his ability to help once the going got rough.
Which it did when they reached the arch and saw the variety of elevators they had to choose from. There were extraordinarily long lines, many of them with animals as noisy as the people they mingled with, and when one of the doors hissed open they were able to see the stairs on the other side leading in both directions. The only one that had no line at all was at the back, and its door was red, and flanking the red door were two sullen garks.
"Three guesses," Gideon said sourly. He turned to Whale, who was smiling inanely in a vain attempt to seem like just one of the crowd. "How do you fight them?"
"Not terribly simple, I'm afraid," came the whispered answer. "You have to neutralize the wings, the claws, the beaks, the hind legs, and the eyes."
"One at a time, or all together?"
Whale started to answer, then checked himself with a laugh. "I see. A joke to dissipate the stress, yes? My goodness, you heroes are clever, aren't you?"
With a growl not unlike Red's, he led them along the far wall, edging behind the elevator lines until they had reached the corner. The garks seemed to pay them no heed, but there was no question that however they communicated with the master of this place, it wouldn't be long before they added slavemaster and goods together and came up with Gideon.
Time, he thought then; there's no time anymore.
"All right, let's go."
Before the others could stop him, he strolled boldly across the mosaic floor, reached around one of the guardian garks, and pressed the summons button. The guard made no move to stop him. The doors opened. He stiffened his spine and took a step forward. The gark on his left whistled low and harshly, a sound soon strangled into silence when Red came up on its blind side and pressed it firmly between his bulk and the wall. The second gark turned slowly, its wings beginning to spread, the rusty sound sending the rest of the hall into abrupt, shocked, and fearful silence. Gideon wasted no time. He dashed into the stairwell, the others behind him, and could only listen as Red lured the second one in after him, then butted it until the doors closed and sliced the thing in half.
There was no opposition on the next landing.
Nor on the third level.
But the doors wouldn't open until Red used his ramhorns to splinter them. A race, then, down a dingy corridor barely wide enough for two of them abreast. The air was stale, the footing treacherous, and at the first turning they stopped and listened.
To wails of agony, screams of pain, cruel laughter that signaled a torturer's heaven.
Bela asked if he could just draw them a map.
Vorden slapped his shoulder and ordered him to lead them on and make no mistakes, or his mother would have no children.
Gideon's throat dried and filled with sand; swallowing helped not at all, and he was sure his hand was palsied when he waved them on, noting how the floor dipped downward, minute after minute, as the screams grew louder, then faded, then grew again as they made their way past iron-banded doors behind which they heard grunts and groans and beggings for mercy. He looked in none; he did his best to ignore the vile odors that crept like invisible fog from the tiny barred openings and the cracks in the walls; he brushed aside a silent suggestion from Ivy that they begin testing each cell to see which held their goal. He knew none of them did. For someone as important as Glorian and her possession, nothing but the best would do, and though he granted the Wamchu a great deal of bastardy and nastiness, there was also a sense of style about him.
No. No ordinary cell would do for the means to conquer the world.
He was right.
Almost an hour later, most of it spent hidden in niches and shadows from patrolling Moglars with garks on leashes, they came to a door made of gleaming brass. It faced the corridor like a dull embossed sun, and it was flanked by two of the same ugly dogs he had seen in Rayn.
Bela nodded at the entrance. "She's in there, the little bitch. Do you know she thinks she knows how to make a desh mousse? She couldn't boil water in a volcano. Why, only last week—"
Vorden silenced him with a snarl.
Bela looked hurt and crushed his chef's cap in his hands.
"I don't like it," Gideon said.
"It is awfully tacky, isn't it," Bela said.
"I mean the lack of guards. It doesn't make sense."
"He is a confident man," Whale said. "I truly don't think he expected us to get this far."
Red edged his way to the front, and the dogs yelped, whined, and took off.
"It's a trap," Ivy said when Gideon reached for the polished latch.
"Of course it is," he told her. "But do we have a choice?"
"Why the hell," she said, "do you keep asking stupid questions?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
If this is a cell, Gideon thought as the doors closed silently behind them, I'm going to rob a bank.
The room, and it was massive, was an entrapped rainbow of elegant silks billowing from the ceiling, polished satins billowing from the walls, fringed and intricately designed Oriental carpets strewn thickly across the floor, and deft combinations of Edwardian and Victorian furniture, solid and dark and carved with grape leaves, cherubs, and mythical creatures; the scent of freshly picked roses filled their nostrils, exotic perfumes smoked from gold censers hanging from silver chains, platters of fruits added the touch of an orchard, and the music of dexterous harpists was soft and inviting and psychologically relaxing.
On the lefthand side was a tall archway hung with glittering pearls on strands of silver; on the right a dais upon which stood a four-poster, its closed draperies a deep wine velvet.
Red sat on his haunches and scratched behind one ear.
Gideon and the others rushed across to the bed, flung aside the coverings, and stared.
It was Glorian, in her long white dress, her
dark hair disheveled on the five brocade pillows set beneath her head. Her hands were folded modestly across her stomach, and on her feet were silken emerald slippers whose toes curled up and back toward her shins.
"It's her!" Tag exclaimed in delight.
"Wonderful," said Ivy, plucking at the velveteen coverlet with a moue of disgust.
Glorian's eyelids fluttered.
Gideon held his breath.
Her eyelids opened, and she gasped.
"Good god," she sputtered, "is it you?"
"No, it's the tooth fairy," Ivy snarled. "C'mon, Glorian, move yourself, huh?"
She sat up by degrees, dazed by the sight of her friends crowded around the bed. "Oh my heavens, it really is you. It really, really is." She clasped her hands to a grateful bosom and smiled beatifically.
"Glorian, please, we're running out of time," Gideon told her urgently. "Hurry and get up. We have to get out of here before the guards find out."
Glorian nodded vigorously, leapt from the bed, and embraced Whale, weeping; then she thrust herself away and embraced Tag, weeping; then she thrust herself away and shook Ivy's hand; then she stood in front of Gideon and said, "I knew you were a hero." And she punched him in the stomach.
He stumbled back, blinking, then slammed Ivy back with one arm to prevent her from tearing out the other woman's throat. "What the hell?"
"Do you know what time it is?" Glorian demanded. "Do you have any idea how long I've been in this miserable, rotten place waiting for you to rescue me? Some hero. My god, have you any idea of the danger?"
He gulped for air and nodded.
"Well, thank heavens for that."
"Gideon!" Ivy called from the beaded curtain. "Here it is!"
With a ragged smile, he left Glorian to explain to the others what had happened since she'd been taken from the Kori forest, and ran through the curtain. And stopped.
"Fascinating, isn't it," Ivy said.
"I almost didn't believe it," he admitted.
The adjoining room was bare save for a huge silver-and-gold table in its center, gently bathed by well-aimed streams of golden light originating somewhere in the high reaches of the ceiling. On the table was a round golden cage nearly eight feet high and eight feet in diameter, its bars spiraled, its top a filigree representation of all things bright and beautiful, however abstract they may be; and in the cage was one of the largest ducks he had ever seen.
A white duck.
It was real.
With a look to Ivy, he approached the cage cautiously, staring, peering, finally reaching out to tap a finger on one of the delicate bars. The bird, which had been sleeping with one wing wrapped around its head, stirred. He tapped again. It shook itself and rose onto its great webbed feet, waddled about to shake the stiffness off, then leaned its long slender neck toward Gideon's face.
"Hey, fella," Gideon said with a grin. "Don't panic now. We're gonna take you out of here."
"For god's sake, let's go!" Glorian said anxiously from the archway.
But the others, having come so far and through so much, pushed her aside and came in to examine what they had been after all this time. The duck, sensing that it was the center of attention, preened a little and did its best to look marginally aloof.
"This is it, huh?" Tag said, shrugging his disappointment at not finding something a little more majestic.
"Gideon," Whale said in a breathless voice, "we don't have much time."
"Right," Ivy said. "Let's beat it with the bird before we get killed."
Gideon walked slowly around the table, examining the cage until he found a large door. A tentative tug; it seemed locked. The duck, meanwhile, followed him closely, every so often turning its head to stare at his face. Gideon smiled. The duck closed one eye.
"Bela," he said without taking his gaze off the bird, "how can we get out of here in a hurry?"
There was no answer.
"Damnit, Bela—" He looked over his shoulder and saw Vorden shrugging toward the door—his son was gone, slipped out while the others were greeting Glorian.
The duck quacked.
Gideon looked back.
The duck pressed its face as close to the bars as it could.
Crazy, Gideon thought; but damnit, I know this thing.
The duck reared back, opened its bill, closed it.
Gideon wiped a hard hand over his face. This whole thing was getting to him, no question about it. He knew a lot of people, to be sure, but a duck wasn't one of them. Yet there was something odd about this bird, some...
And the duck said, "Giddy, for god's sake, is that you?"
—|—
Almost a full minute passed in silence.
Gideon gripped the edge of the table with both hands, stared at the bird staring back at him, and closed his eyes tightly. Opened them and glared at the ceiling for several seconds before releasing a harsh breath.
"Hello?" the duck said.
He rose slowly to his full height. Another look at the duck, and he stepped around the table as if afraid that if he moved too fast, he would keel over.
The duck waddled hurriedly after him. "Giddy? Giddy, don't just stand there, say something!"
He swallowed hard and turned to face the others. When they saw the rage in his face, they fell back a step; when they saw him take his bat by the middle in his left hand and raise it almost over his head, they took another step back; when his right hand formed a fist nearly as large as the weapon he held, Tag tried a smile.
"It is not funny," he said, his voice so deep it began to reverberate in the room and set the silks to swinging gently. His eyes were narrowed, and Ivy could have sworn she saw the hint of a tear welling in one. "If this is your idea of a joke..."
"Not mine," Whale said quickly.
"Gideon, for crying out loud," Glorian said impatiently. "We haven't the time..." The scolding trailed off when his face darkened and a muscle began to tic at the side of his neck.
"Gideon Sunday, for Christ's sake!" said the duck.
Gideon whirled and stared. "It can't be."
"Who said so?"
"But you're dead!"
"I might as well be. Of all the colors, this thing had to be white. Damn, you know how I hate to wear white."
"Who's dead?" Ivy asked.
Gideon dropped to his knees beside the table. "My sister," he whispered, and reached a finger between the bars to stroke the duck's feathers. "She died... a long time ago."
"But what does that..." Ivy turned to Glorian, who lifted an eyebrow in a beats me gesture.
"It isn't funny," Gideon said. "It isn't funny at all."
"Gideon," the duck said, "it's me."
He looked at the feathers, at the feet, at the bill, at the eyes, at the lines, at the tail.
"You're a duck."
"Tell me something I don't already know."
"No," he said, frowning. "You tell me." He leaned forward and whispered something in what he hoped was the general area of the bird's ear. The duck closed one eye, lifted its gaze to the ceiling, and snapped its bill once.
"Three hundred and seventy-two yards, against the Rams. No touchdowns, and you still ought to be ashamed of yourself. Sacked five times. Third rib from the bottom."
"My god, it's Tuesday," he said, staggering to his feet and back until Ivy caught him.
"Look," Glorian said, "I am not sure what the day of the week has to do with anything, but we aren't going to see the rest of today if we don't get the hell out of here now."
"It's not a day of the week," Gideon said weakly.
"Today? It most certainly is."
"It's my sister."
They broke into unison protest, broke off instantly, and stared at the duck.
"Tuesday?" Ivy said in a small voice.
"Tuesday," the duck confirmed. "My mother had a thing about an actress of the time."
Gideon began to grin.
"Tuesday?" Ivy said in a small voice, almost laughing.
"You want to
make something of it," the duck said, "just come a little closer."
"I'll be damned," Gideon said.
"She... she told me her name was Monica Freeman," Glorian protested in a struggle for belief, and more than a little peeved that she'd been lied to by a duck.
"That was her stage name. Her real name is Tuesday."
The brass door suddenly rang with harsh pounding.
Glorian looked wildly about her and shook her head violently when Whale asked if there was any other way out of this cell. Ivy immediately grabbed Vorden's arm and dragged him to the other room, Tag running puzzledly behind—their weapons were drawn and at the ready when the door began to split apart.
"Tuesday?" Gideon said, shaking his head to clear it of the fog that had enveloped his thinking. "I don't get it. I accept it, but I'll be damned if I get it. What about the car? The accident?"
"It happened," the duck said with a nervous eye toward the tumult in the next room. "But when I hit the bottom of the river, everything went white. I thought I was dead. Then I opened my eyes and saw that woman over there standing over me."
"A Bridge," he said, the answer clear at last.
"Smashed it to hell, I think," Tuesday said.
"Wamchu," Glorian explained.
And could explain no further. Suddenly, the doors shattered and the cell was filled with screaming Moglars, squawking garks, and two snarling ugly dogs that hung back by the threshold to cover the rear.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Gideon grabbed one of the bars and tried to run with the cage, but his arm was nearly yanked from its socket when the cage wouldn't move. He looked down while the duck quacked its panic and saw that the bottom had been securely fastened to the table. Quickly, he raced around to the door, pulled on it, pulled harder, and snapped its flimsy lock. He fumbled it open and reached in. The duck cowered for the moment, cocked a head to listen to the battle raging in the front room, and flung itself into his keeping.
With his sister tucked under his left arm and his bat firm in his right hand, he swung around the table... and stopped.
There was silence in the front.
There were people and things facing him.