World Enough, and Time

by James Kahn

  Beauty watched for the shore. Land meant Rose, the end of the journey. It invigorated him to be so near. He was glad to be rid of the city, glad to be in balance with nature again, glad to be forging on in good company. The sea was not his most favorite place to be, but for Beauty, for the moment, all was right with the world.

  He loosed arrow at a tuna swimming too near the surface, and when it bobbed up wriggling, Beauty pulled it out of the water, the shaft through its head. He cut it into morsels; and the crew feasted.

  Isis had never felt so sick. She was sun-dried, now, at least; but too nauseous even to think about anything as once-wonderful as tuna. She hoped they would land soon. Even alley food was better than this. She watched her beautiful Joshua, peacefully asleep at the bow. How good to be with him again, in spite of this watery hell.

  She watched Jasmine sleeping too; the Neuroman did not sleep restfully, but tossed and grunted, as if wrestling with the sleep-creatures. Isis felt sad for the troubled Neuroman, whom she liked greatly without knowing why. She walked queasily across the boat, sat beside Jasmine’s head; and quietly, methodically, unhurriedly, began to lick the Neuroman’s face.

  Sum-Thin stood by the sail. Life was strange, was it not. Jasmine had brought her to Ma’gas’, left her there, returned a century later to take her away. She felt herself to be riding life on a slow, ineffable tide, just as she rode this little ship. Winds, currents, swells. Ma’gas’ had become a doldrum, from which she’d been snatched by a flashflood. What was to come? she wondered. Undercurrents, typhoons, maelstroms, becalmings. How little one could do with sail and tiller against the whims of the deep.

  They had done with eating; all were awake. The day was strong, the sea unfathomable. The little ship bobbed tiny as a lost thought.

  Yet they were together. All of them felt this, acknowledged it tacitly, to themselves, to each other. For a time they felt buoyed on the impenetrable calm of their unity, and it was of no consequence that they were but an infinitesimal speck in the belly of the raging universe. They were an organism. They were huge in their togetherness.

  The thunderclouds returned. The sea rolled the shaky boat over swollen waves that never quite broke.

  Sum-Thin tried to steer them toward the shore, but made little headway in the tricky wind. They began shipping water.

  Josh and Beauty bailed. Sum-Thin hauled sail, while Jasmine sat tiller. Isis stared cold and awful into the waiting deep. For the better part of an hour, they coped with the angry sea, second-guessing wind changes, constantly reorienting the prow into the waves; bracing against imminent destruction. They were all so absorbed, in fact, not a single one noticed the massive ship until it was almost upon them.

  And a strange ship it was.

  Hundreds of palm logs, lashed side to side and end to end, stretched out eighty yards in the long plane, fifty yards wide. It was a raft the size of a field.

  A solitary mainsail rose from the center of the raft. Dozens of small accessory sails sprouted up every ten feet along her perimeter; dozens of sailors ran frantically from one canvas to another, raising some, lowering some—all at the direction of an insane-looking dwarf who stood on an elevated platform beside the tall central mast.

  As the great vessel drew near, its crew members threw lines across Sum-Thin’s junk, and rapidly pulled the small craft to; then kept pulling until the junk was hauled up onto the giant raft. Josh, Jasmine, Beauty, Isis, and Sum-Thin were immediately seized, their weapons confiscated. They were tied together and bound to the single mainsail near the raised platform upon which the dwarf captain stood.

  The capsized junk lay askew on the raft, and Josh watched in wonder as a group of sailors began pulling excitedly on a long vine that dangled from the back of the junk into the sea. For at the end of fifty yards of vine was the hooded woman: bedraggled, waterlogged, Jasmine’s blade still in her chest—hanging on in tow since the night of the fire.

  She was apparently still alive, and all the crew seemed quite overjoyed to see her. Some of them rushed her to a small cabin at the opposite side of the mainsail from where Josh was bound. The others pushed the junk back into the ocean, where it quickly floundered and sank.

  Finally the strange captain began shouting orders again, and the crew ran around taking down and putting up sail, until slowly the lumbering raft began to turn in the wind, and head back over the high seas whence it had come.

  They reached Venice the next morning. It was an opulent city, shimmering with glass structures and statuary that glinted in the reflected light of a thousand canals. The city was, in fact, composed of hundreds of small islands, separated by canals ranging in width from several feet to several hundred. The sun illuminated all the buildings not only from above, but indirectly as well, its rays bouncing off the water. Venice had long been known as the City of Light.

  The prisoners were taken off the great raft and marched to the Ducal Palace. Hundreds of citizens paused in their activities to gawk at the little procession—Josh and his fellows, bound in rope, surrounded by guards, led by the frightening dwarf with the goat-like face. The inhabitants of the place seemed not much different from the creatures of any city, though they tended to be perhaps a bit more humanoid. Children played with balls, creatures milled and tinkered, old men swept the streets. It seemed a cheerful place to Joshua, particularly after the ordeal behind them.

  The streets themselves twisted and wound along the canals and over them; between buildings, under bridges, and spiraling down to the water that lapped at the very skirts of the city. Finally the small entourage came to a great enclosed square, located near the middle of the largest of the many islands. They stopped at the entry gates while a guard unbolted the locks. The doors swung majestically open: and there stood the glimmering palace.

  It was a work of love and vision. Occupying virtually half the entire island upon which it rested, it rose hundreds of feet, like a single raw gem thrust out of the ocean. It was built of specially fired, impervious, rose-colored glass bricks. Some were lucent, some opaque. Real jewels studded the facade—diamonds, pearls, garnets—and the dome was gold-leafed lapis lazuli, with a huge crystal trident atop it, pointing to the sky. Its sheer radiance made it difficult to see. Josh shaded his eyes, staring in awe.

  The captives were ushered into the main anteroom and made to stand, shivering from their wet journey, at the center of the chilly quartz floor. They were left without guide or guard, but there was quite obviously no place for them to go. No one spoke. Lack of food, sleep, and warmth over the past days had robbed them of vigor. Now they waited, suspicious and tired.

  After some time a page brought them soup in a large pot, from which they all drank. Sunlight flowed through the glass walls, warming the room with morning glow. Clatter and noise resounded through the building from within and without. Beauty lay down to nap. Jasmine assumed the lotus posture and went into a trance. Josh stared above them, through the glass ceiling, to the shadows of people moving in the rooms overhead. A waterclock at the end of the room poured the minutes away. Noon approached.

  With a small flurry, a small courtier emerged from the far door, stood at attention, and made a loud announcement: “What it is! What it is! All rejoice to the face of the Doge!” Whereupon he bowed and exited.

  Immediately thereafter, another figure came through the door and advanced toward the prisoners. He was a wide man, wearing a red and gold gown, a jeweled pointed hat, and a harried expression.

  “I am the Doge of Venice,” he said. “You’ve come at a most inopportune time. Today is a celebration day, I’m afraid—the Marriage of Venice to the Sea. I’m performing the ceremony, of course, so I won’t be able to spend much time converting you.” He stopped short, looked stern, then added: “Are you heathens or pagans?”

  Jasmine, who was now standing behind Sum-Thin, muttered under her breath into the other’s ear: “Lord spare me from pompous monks.”

  The Doge looked up sharply. “Your remark is in poor taste—but it is
not possible to mock me: I’m a believer. But no matter. Your conversion will be short and ecstatic or short and painful. In any event, you will all convert. Come with me.” He turned on his heels and walked to the far door; and after a moment’s hesitation, the others followed.

  They followed him up flight after flight of winding quartz staircase. At the top they passed finally through a crystal door, into a room without ceiling, with floor of clearest glass. Placed carefully around the room were instruments of torture.

  “This is the Conversion Room,” said the Doge without malice. “Open above and below, for the Sun and Neptune himself to assist with the conversion.”

  Jasmine was about to grab the Doge—take him hostage on the spot and effect an escape—when suddenly several armed guards entered, each one holding a weapon on the prisoners. The captain of guards strode forward and whispered into the Doge’s ear.

  “Oh, I see,” said the Doge. His look became more stern. “In Ma’gas’ you attacked one of our priests and I am told she died a few minutes ago.” Before anyone could answer the charge, he went on. “Here all men are sailors. She is dead, now—our disciple, the Priest of Hoods. She is with the water now.”

  Joshua’s eyes darted around the room, seeking escape. Beauty pawed the floor. Jasmine wondered if she could possibly throttle this meddlesome priest just to rid the world of him before she was tortured to death. Sum-Thin hoped she would be given the opportunity to give some mild resistance and then convert with fervor. Isis scratched a flea out of her ear.

  The Doge hung his head a silent moment. “You must not further delay the ceremony, however. You will spend the night in the tombs close to the water. You shall drown at dawn, to join your ancestors in the sea. The Priest of Hoods will convert you on the other side.” Saying which, he turned and whisked out of the room.

  Immediately, the guards collared the captives and took them back outside, then down several more flights of winding stone steps, beneath the castle, within the substance of the island. They were waded, ankle-deep, through a series of murky grottoes, coming finally to a large damp cave. A two-foot hole in the high ceiling let in light from the outside. Here the prisoners were left, cuffed, and chained to steel rings in the cave wall; here they sat, contemplating the events which had led them to this abrupt and unsatisfactory conclusion.

  “I can’t believe she was hanging on that rope in the water all that time, with your blade still in her chest. It’s unbelievable,” Josh shook his head.

  “The water nourishes these people,” Jasmine answered. “She did better being dragged by our boat than she would’ve on the shore.”

  Sum-Thin agreed. “They are possessed, these water-people. The cry we heard on the water the second night—it was the hooded one signaling her legions. That’s how they knew to find us.”

  “This is leisure talk,” snapped Beauty. “You would all do better to chatter us out of this foul cave.” He pulled at his chain. It held fast to the rock. He feared the BASS, and held little hope for their chances of escape.

  “He’s right,” agreed Joshua. “We’ve got to get out of here …”

  “What? You’ve no interest in joining your ancestors beneath the sea?” jibed Jasmine. “In being converted by the late, wet Priest of Hoods?”

  “It is better, perhaps, than conversion in the glass room with Neptune watching,” Sum-Thin commented.

  They spent the next ten minutes pulling at their chains, testing the fastenings, smashing the clasps against the floor—all to no avail. Beauty reared and battered the links repeatedly, but only succeeded in cracking his hoof. Disconsolately they sat, trying to ponder a way out. Their frustration was made ever worse by the fact that their weapons lay only fifty feet away—well out of reach, but well within eye-shot; for the BASS believed in burying their enemies as heroes, fully armed and ready to battle the demons of the sea.

  “The guards at the cave mouth will hear …”

  “I’m counting on it,” Jasmine continued. “One of us will lie face down in the water, as if injured. When the guards come in to examine the situation, whoever’s free will have to overpower them and get the key.” She tried to sound much more cocky than she actually felt, to give them hope. In fact, she wasn’t even certain the bomb would work and if it did, whether it was strong enough to blow the chain out of the wall.

  “What if the guards have left?”

  “Then one of us has until high tide to save the others.”

  They kept blowing. Gradually the black powder looked more and more light gray, as the moisture slowly evaporated. After an hour it had stopped changing color. The waterline was marking the hairs on Isis’ neck, as she strained against her iron collar. Her eyes were desperate; trapped.

  Delicately, Jasmine folded a V in the middle of the paper, and poured the ground-up teeth into the Scribe-tube. The Hemolube overflowed the lip of the tube, dripped down the side. Jasmine recapped it, punctured the thin top with a sliver of jutting rock, and stuck a long strip of paper into the dripping hole. The paper was soon saturated with gritty Hemolube.

  She held the cocktail high. “Who’ll it be?”

  Sum-Thin bowed low. “You, my dear, and only you.”

  The others concurred immediately. Jasmine wedged the device into the link that was hammered into the rock, then ran the paper wick along the chain. “Everybody down,” she whispered. When they were all submerged as well as possible, she began striking the iron chain with the last bit of Dragon tooth, directly over the wick. Each time she struck, sparks jumped from the flinty tooth. On the fifth knock, the wick flamed. The fire jumped instantly down and engulfed the tindered casing. Jasmine just had time to plunge under the water as the inside of the tube ignited and the bomb went off.

  The explosion wasn’t particularly big, but the acoustics of the cave made it echo for many seconds.

  Jasmine hurriedly stood up and, with almost overwhelming relief, saw she was free. In a matter of seconds she loosely hooked the last link of the chain back in place, so it appeared as if she were still shackled.

  None of her fellows moved. They’d forgotten to appoint anyone to be the apparent victim; and so rather than ruin the plan, they’d all independently decided to float face down in the rising tide. Only Isis remained afoot, her head up, chin barely above water level.

  Almost immediately, Jasmine heard the guards sloshing up the half-flooded grotto to investigate the noise. She decided to play along with her pals, and lay spread-eagled on a boulder, her eyes slits, her cuffed right arm tense.

  There were two of them. They clearly didn’t know what to make of the scene, but were suspicious enough to stop short of the dead-floating bodies.

  “A clap of thunder, and now they be dead,” said one. “We’d best take the bodies back out for proper inspection …”

  “Best do nothing of the kind,” rasped the other. “It were Poseidon’s own yell we heard, callin’ this scum down to their eternal judgment, and I ain’t about …”

  Josh, finally out of air, chose this moment to stick his head up.

  “Hey, look there!” yelled the first guard, and waded over to the Scribe. As he bent down to grab Joshua’s hair, Jasmine jumped up, took two long, clumsy steps, and whipped her chain around the neck of the other guard. At the same moment, Josh pulled the first guard down into the water and beat his head against the stone, knocking him senseless. Jasmine snapped her chain with a powerful jerk: the second guard hit the wall and lay still.

  Quickly, Jasmine searched both bodies until she found the key to the shackles. She went directly to free Isis, whose nose alone could be seen above the water. The poor Cat crawled forlornly to the highest place she could find, where she sat shivering and retching.

  Jasmine rapidly unlatched all the padlocks, liberating the hunters. They collected their assortment of knives, bows, and sabers, and waded swiftly up the cave tunnel to the mouth of the catacomb. Here they paused a moment: to breathe the fresh sea air, the smell of freedom and hope; to weigh the fra
ternity of the moment, before anything else had time to go awry. Then, once again, the hunt was on.

  Cautiously, the little band made its way out into the sunlight. The ocean spread away to the west, vast and thoughtful. To the east, broken steps led back up the main island.

  “I know these islands some,” Jasmine intoned. “This used to be part of the mainland before the Great Quake and the Ice Change. L.A., Malibu, Santa Monica, Venice. It’s all veined with canals and deltas now, and rebuilt, of course, but the basic layout of the city is unchanged, I think. If we can just get oriented, I might be able to get us to—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Josh, squinting back in time. “I know this place too—if it’s the same place as old maps I used to read in the Scribrary back home … Yes, look, it is, I know that street!” He ran, crouching, up the turning stone steps, from the outlet of the tombs where the others stood, to the edge of a crumbling brick street that angled down and off into the city. At the point where the street disintegrated entirely—falling away onto the rubble and steps that led back to the catacombs—stood a sign. A street sign. Joshua read the black marks on the thin white-painted metal: SUNSET BOULEVARD.

  Jasmine ran up the steps to join him. “South of here,” she whispered, “should be a large pier. We’re likely to find whatever size ship we need, to pirate.”

  Josh nodded. “Or we could parallel this street directly east. There must be docks on the other side of the island, as well, facing homeward.”

  It was a deserted area, and Jasmine motioned the others to join them. Soon they were all gathered at the end of the street. After a brief discussion, they decided to head south, toward what Jasmine called the “Santa Monica Pier”: they’d have to sail around the islands to get finally back home, but it avoided having to sneak through the busy afternoon city. So off they went.

  Their plan went sour almost immediately. Over the next rise, not two hundred yards distant, a collection of fishermen sat congesting the beach, blocking access as they repaired their nets. Josh and the others were forced to turn east—into the island.