The Fantasy MEGAPACK ®

by Lester Del Rey

  Loto was a good showman; the skulls went into the lane of light, so that attention was focused on them and his fingers, which held two small hammers shaped at the ends like teeth. The rest of him was shrouded in shadow, except for the thin white oval of his face. Harry twisted in his seat and caught at Ann’s shoulder.

  “Third skull from the end!” His breath came whistling between his teeth, harsh against her ear. “Notice the bulge over the eye sockets. If it didn’t belong to Dean Mallory, I’ll eat it!”

  Ann looked, and sickness swept over her as something in her head snapped. She remembered noticing—long ago, it seemed—how Mallory’s brow bulged out, and now she saw the same on the skull. So that was what he wanted! And now, under his command of the night, shrouded in forgetfulness, she had brought another.

  “Harry!” She fought down her qualms and forced out the words. “Now I remember. We’ve—”

  “Hush, he’s starting. I’ve got to think this out.” His arm on her shoulder held her down, and the weakness that had engulfed her kept her from throwing it aside. She turned her eyes numbly to the stage, and the first of Loto’s music clamped her down completely, leaving only numbness and fear. Loto was swaying back and forth in the semidarkness behind the skulls, tapping out the notes as on a xylophone. Mostly they were in a minor key, but interwoven with majors in a fashion both fascinating and horrible. This piece was worse than the others she had heard; it should never have been written, but it fitted the instrument, and there was a frightful personality to each individual note that seemed to rouse the audience to a frenzy. Loto ran down to a long wail and began developing a rising crescendo, going higher and higher, until the air seemed to shriek under the torture of the impact.

  Suddenly he stopped with one hammer in the air above his head, needing still one savage higher note to complete it; but the last skull was missing. The chain which should have held it dangled there, but there was only a screw and a small shred of bone left. A sigh welled up from the audience, and Loto turned to face them, his hammer still in the air. Slowly his feral eyes swung over the rows of seats, lingering just a moment on each, while he seemed to study.

  Ann shuddered, knowing what was to come and powerless to stop it as the eyes swung slowly over the seats and toward them. Harry was staring toward the stage, too tense to notice her efforts to attract his attention. Then Loto’s eyes found them and lingered, swept sideways, up and down, and came back to Harry. He nodded, lowered his hammer softly, and strode firmly down the steps into the orchestra pit, while the whole audience swung to keep their eyes on him.

  Then her hand slid over the beads on her bag and sudden hope shocked her back to control. It would not be this time! Not this man! She dug her fingers into Harry’s arm, tightening her grip until he jerked around. “Quick, before he reaches you. If I help now, will you help me later?”

  “Of course,” he answered, still studying Loto from the corner of his eyes. “But I can take care of Loto. I’m armed.”

  She shook her head urgently. “No, you mustn’t. The others had guns and knives. Here, take my bag—here! Breathe some of the balsam needle dust into your nose like snuff and throw the rest toward Loto. Meet me the same place tomorrow night…Now, quickly!”

  Would he never take it! His hand hovered halfway between the useless gun and the bag while his eyes shuttled uncertainly to her, back to Loto, and then to the purse. But some of her sincerity must have impressed him, for he finally reached out impulsively and opened the bag. Loto was at the row in which they sat as he breathed in on the dust and tossed a handful toward the advancing figure.

  There was a strangled sound as it spread out in the musty air, and all the blurred outlines wavered. Ann felt something catch at her breath and go stinging down into her lungs. She crumpled down and lost consciousness with a tired little sigh of satisfaction; tonight there would be no headless corpse in Lefferts Park.

  With the contrariness of nature, there was a glorious moon the next night, but Ann was in no mood to appreciate it. He had not appeared, and she wondered why, unless the effects of the night before were still on him. Surely he must have seen that it was her bag the balsam dust came from, and he was not the forgiving kind. But she was too tired to care much.

  What had Harry thought, and would he keep his appointment? Once, years before, there had been another—but that was past. The Apollo was only a weed-grown basement tonight, but she gave it a wide berth; there was no way of telling where he might be hiding. Then a faint smell of smoke reached her, and she half smiled and quickened her pace a little. Harry had remembered.

  “Hiss! Annie, lass.” It was Madame Olga’s voice, and Ann stopped lo let the hobbling figure catch up with her. “Och, now, I’ve been chasing you all over the place, I have. I’ve almost run my legs off my poor old body, dearie.”

  Half annoyed, Ann waited until the old crone caught her breath.

  “What is it, Mother Brian?”

  “Hee! I’m a fool, dearie—a fool, no less—poking my nose where it’s no business a-being. But I looked in on you last night, and a rare sight it was, seeing him get the surprise he did. A-standing there on them old stones, making noises fit for the Old One, while the two of you sat like ones bewitched on the dirty old wall. Though I’m sorry you learned of the things he’d have you do; ‘twas ever my thought that you’d best never find that out.”

  She thrust a dirty paper sack into Ann’s hands. “Your young man forgot them, and O’Halloran—the dumb mick—never saw a thing but the lad asleeping in the ruins. Most smart and proper was the tongue-lashing he gave the boy, too. Hee! You’ll find your bag, your bullet…which’ll fit; I tried it…and his gun there in the bag. I was after them as soon as the sun upped in the early morning.”

  “Thank you, Mother Brian. You’re kind.” The girl fiddled uncomfortably with the sack, and stared out toward the source of the smoke. Madame Olga cackled.

  “All right, be off with you, dearie, since you’re wanting the sight of him. But keep the two ears of you open. I had the cards out this day, and I read things in them that’ll surprise you, mayhap.”

  She chuckled again and made off quickly before Ann could ask what the surprises were. But the girl wasted no time in wondering. Tucking the bag under her arm, she moved forward toward Harry’s fire, hastily inserting the cartridge Madame Olga had made into the gun. Unless her plans went wrong, another morning should find release for her. Then, as she neared the fire, she caught the rich voice of O’Halloran and saw two bulky figures beside that of the reporter. Moving soundlessly, she slid into the shelter of a tangle of scrub growth and waited.

  “Kept thinking I’d heard the name,” O’Halloran was saying, “though where you heard it, devil knows. But sure enough, this morning it come to me. Used to be a girl by that name poking around here, looking for something; claimed she was busy about historical research or something. But that was twenty, twenty-five years ago, and never a word has been heard of her since; disappeared all of a sudden, like she came. Little, dark, queer thing she was.”

  Harry nodded vaguely. “Probably not the person I’m thinking of, though it fits…I still think the center of what’s going on here is the Apollo.”

  “Might be. I grew up hereabouts, lad, and there was ever men—strong, God-fearing men they was, too—who’d have devil a thing to do with the place, even in broad daylight. Sure, being a kid, I wanted to see for myself, what with the skating rink and all that, but I was never allowed it. Well, don’t be dreaming again this night, lad. Come on, MacDougall, we belong outside.”

  “Aye.” They lumbered off, flashing their lights about nervously.

  Ann waited a few minutes more, while Harry glanced at his watch and fidgeted on the rough stone seat, then slipped out of her concealment and was beside him before he realized his waiting was over.

  “So I didn’t dream up this date, then?�
� For a man of almost thirty, the embarrassment on his face was almost too boyish, but Ann decided it was charming in a way. He suffered from another acute case of fidgets before he went on. “Look, Ann, I feel like a heel for going to sleep on you last night. Darn fool stunt, and I can’t even remember what happened.”

  “Sleep?”

  “Yeah. Right after I finished the nis yarn, I guess…wasn’t it? Ugh, and what nightmares I had. Walking around in my sleep and letting O’Halloran find me in the ex-Apollo!” He grimaced sheepishly. “If I hadn’t found your footprints around here, I’d have thought the whole thing was imagination. When did you leave?”

  The temptation to continue the pretense of his sleeping was almost overpowering, but cold logic choked back the impulse, even as she started to follow it. He was still somewhere near, and there no time for small talk. “After you threw the dust,” she answered, holding out the automatic to him. “Here, Mo…Madame Olga found this and sent it to you.”

  “After I—” He disregarded the gun, his face freezing into a tight in mask of suspicion. “That’s ridiculous! I looked over the Apollo as soon as O’Halloran woke me, and it’s in ruins. What’s the game?”

  “Only the truth, Harry. Would I remember your dreams—the dust, the carillon, how you were unable to see the audience clearly? You saw the Apollo through my eyes, and I’m…But you promised to help me.”

  He nodded reluctantly, only partially convinced. “If it’s true, I did. But—hell, what is it you want?”

  Ann held out the gun again, trembling a little, now that the moment had actually come. The carefully rehearsed explanation she had planned in advance left her now and she stumbled for words. And from across the park, a quavering shriek keened out, warning her there was no time to waste.

  “Well?” Chapman’s voice was impatient.

  “There’s a silver bullet in it now,” she began, and hesitated. Then, because she could find no other way, she blurted it out in a rush. This acting as a lure under temporary forgetfulness must stop, and there was no other escape. “I want you to use it on me, Harry! It…oh, I can’t explain it, but you must. You promised!”

  Blankness crowded the grimness and suspicion from his face, only to vanish abruptly. He grabbed her shoulder and began shaking it, shouting at her. “Ann, are you crazy? Of all the damned nonsense! Put up that gun. And if you try to use it yourself, I’ll spank you—soundly!”

  So she had failed; the human taboos she had almost forgotten were stronger than his promise. But it had seemed so right, so obvious to her! Wearily she slipped from him and back toward the tangled hinterland. “All right. I can’t use it anyway; that’s part of his commands. Good night, Harry!”

  “Wait. No you don’t!” One of his arms caught her as she turned and swung her back. “You’re going to explain this mess before you go. And whose commands are you talking about?”

  Her futile struggles against him were cut short as a voice oozed out of the shadows behind them. Still dressed in his clown’s clothing, Loto slipped out from a clump of weeds. “I believe,” he said unctuously, “that I am the one she refers to. I’m her master, even when she tries to disobey me.” He was rubbing his hooked fingers over the edge of a curved saber and there was a sickly grin on his chalky face. “Ah, what a lovely skull shape, man-thing. I admire it.”

  Ann saw Harry tense for a spring as Loto lifted the heavy blade and knew he would never make it. Up went the blade, twisting a little, curved in the air, and started down! Then the scream that had been stuck in her throat ripped out, and she felt one of her hands, still clutching the gun, go up to knock against the blade, just as Harry began his leap. But the saber continued down. She heard it thwack as it struck and saw Harry crumple into a heap. Loto moved forward.

  “Stop!” Her throat was frozen shut so that the word was only a whisper, but Loto heard it and paused.

  His voice was filled with furious arrogance. “You dare! One side, wench! You’ve been useful, but this is too much for my patience. Drop that harmless toy and leave me!”

  “The harmless toy,” she warned him quietly, “is loaded with a silver bullet.”

  Loto checked himself. “Silver! You fool, you little fool! If you dared to use it, you couldn’t go back to your place without me, and the morning would find you here. You know what that means?”

  “Death, I suppose, when the sunlight touches me.”

  “Death!” He wrenched the word out and started forward again. “And an unpleasant one, I assure you. Give me that gun.”

  As he reached for it, her fingers seemed to contract of their own volition, and the automatic coughed once. Disbelief flickered over Loto’s face. He threw out one arm, easing slowly to the ground, his eyes boring into her. “You…you love the man; I should have known.”

  Blood was trickling from his mouth, and he coughed his throat clear, forcing himself half erect. “Then, Ann Muller, I give back your womanhood before I…die. I revoke the curse. And the man-thing…is stunned…no more. You—” Something that was either a smile or a sneer slit his thin mouth and was replaced by horror as he pitched forward limply.

  Ann stumbled back into the shadow of a tree. The curse was gone, as Loto had said—she had felt the change as he spoke; but the picture of him softening under the shadow of death was too much for her to grasp.

  “Harry!” she called, wondering fearfully whether the last words had been truthful.

  They had. Harry was coming toward her as she turned, rubbing his temples. “It’s all right, Ann. Only the flat of the blade, thanks to you. I came to just as you shot and heard the rest.”

  “Then you know?”

  “Hush, it doesn’t matter now. We’ll forget all this nightmare.” Faintly in the darkness, she saw his eyes smiling down at her, and a glow swept up and enveloped her like a soft wind. “But O’Halloran must have heard the shot and he can’t find you here—too hard to explain. Know someplace to hide?”

  ‘“There’s an old hidden tunnel near the Apollo.”

  “Good. I’ll tell O’Halloran I shot the maniac and phone the paper. Then…” His lips brushed light across her forehead and he turned her around and pushed her gently away. “When it’s safe, I’ll find you. Now, off with you.”

  Somehow her feet found their way through the tangle, but her thoughts were dancing on ahead, no longer bothered by Loto’s strange reversal of manner or the quick telescoping of events. Ahead, the Apollo loomed up, its naked ruins now nothing but a monument to a dead past, and behind the wind brought the faint sound of excited voices. She stopped beside the old oak, caressing its wrinkled bark, then turned toward the tunnel, slowly, as the emotions denied her so long pulsed hotly through her. So intent on them was she that she almost tripped over a dim-burning lantern before she noticed Madame Olga squatting in the tunnel.

  “Mother Brian—”

  “I know, dearie.” The seeress rose slowly to her feet, her eyes on the rotten door that covered the entrance. “I heard, and ‘twas a good thing to see him a-dying, may the Old One carry his foul soul away!”

  “Shh!” Ann couldn’t hate him now, not with the curse so newly gone from her. “Mother Brian, I’m a woman again. A woman!”

  “That I know, too, and the words you’ve been hearing from the boy. But did the lad see your face—did he that, Annie child?”

  “I don’t suppose so; we were in the shadows. But what’s wrong with that?” In the old woman’s eyes there was a glint of tears before they dropped again, and something that sent a cold lance of fear down her back. Ann clutched at the bent shoulders. “Mother Brian, is there—? There’s nothing wrong? There can’t be!”

  For answer, the crooked old fingers groped in a dirty bag and came out with a broken mirror. “When you’ve done with it, I’ll be waiting at the other end,” Madame Olga said gently. “Don’t be waiting too long.”<
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  She went hobbling off hastily and Ann raised the mirror, studying it with dawning comprehension. There had been no kindness in Loto’s last gesture! Even dying, he had planned that time, held in abeyance during the years his trickery had held her, should finally catch up with her. And Harry! But he was young enough to forget, though he might wonder for a time.

  The cracked mirror slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor, its work finished. Then, with a low moan, she turned slowly down the tunnel, away from all she wanted in life. For the face in the mirror had been that of a woman of fifty, without even a trace of youthfulness to match her unchanged emotions.

  THE LAST GUARDIAN OF RU ISHTL, by John Gregory Betancourt

  Originally published in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Autumn 1989.

  “True,’’ said the merchant Elder Shad, “my son Keit is of age to marry.’’

  “And so is my daughter,’’ said his sometime rival, Arnan Hebbi. Hebbi smiled, and hid his smile by taking a sip of wine. A servant hurried to refill his goblet. “Indeed, I have great plans for Salahar. Her marriage must forge a great new trade alliance.’’

  Elder Shad nodded. “I had thought the same myself for Keit.’’

  “Then we’re agreed.’’

  “Now, about the dowry…’

  * * * *

  Salahar Hebbi closed the spy-hole and smiled a haughty smile. Keit Shad was finally hers alone. It had taken her father long enough to arrange it…not that there had ever been any doubt. She always got what she wanted, in the end.

  She went at once to her father’s huge study. Ledgers covered two of the walls from floor to ceiling. Desks held more ledgers, plus scrolls, reams of paper, and more books than she cared to think about, all of which detailed her father’s vast business dealings.