by Tom Holt
Yippee! Now then—
‘YIPPEE! Now, then.’
The face in the mirror raised a sardonic eyebrow ‘Bad command or file name,’ it said.
No, not that, you idiot. And don’t say that. Don’t say that, either. God, you’re almost as stupid as my Amiga. All right, start again. Tell it — The puppet listened, then carefully enunciated, ‘C colon backslash reality. Excuse me, but what are you doing?’ Huh? Oh, I’m trying to bypass Mirrors and find a way of linking up with my PC back home, assuming my mum hasn’t pulled out the plug or switched the modem off Before I do that, though, I need to rig up some kind of makeshift Protocol. And before you ask, you don’t want to know. Really you don‘t. Ready?
‘Oh yes. This is fun.’
You really think so? Jeez. Get a life, will you!
The puppet looked confused. ‘I thought I already had one,’ it replied.
That’s what all the nerds say. Now, after me. Zed exclamation mark arrow equals backslash—
Seen from a distance, the cottage didn’t seem in the least ominous or threatening — which was odd, Fang couldn’t help thinking. There seemed to be a rule in these parts that if a place was trouble, it had to be marked as such so clearly that the tell-tale signs would be visible from orbit. This was so much an accepted way of life that the estate agents’ particulars tended to read something like highly desirable and sinister isolated hovel, set under looming lead-grey clouds riven by forked lightning, storm-gnarled dead trees at front & rear, creaking doors & floorboards, twisted chimneys, own ravens, would suit first-time wicked stepmother/DIY enthusiast, viewing essential… This place, on the other hand, broadcast cosiness and home-baked muffins; which, in a sinister-plot-twist area, was a clear breach of the planning regulations.
The door was slightly ajar, and as the handsome prince crawled up and put his ear to the crack, he could hear voices — ‘…Absolutely fucking brilliant, like having an unbreakable password. We could do what the hell we want and nobody’d be able to do anything about it.’
Another bit of odd, he reflected; my, Granny, what a deep voice you’ve got. All the better to bullshit you with, my dear. Still; you never knew with these witches.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m going in. It’s probably going to be dangerous, so—’ He took a deep breath. Nobility and generosity of spirit weren’t exactly his cup of tea, and he didn’t feel confident with them. ‘So you just get lost. Piss off. Go do whatever it is you little buggers do. And, um, thanks for your help.’
‘Huh?’
‘You heard.’
The elf grinned so widely that its face should have split. ‘Am I really hearing this? Do my pointy ears deceive me? You’re really letting me go?’
‘Yes. Now scram, before I change my mind.’
‘Certainly not. Wouldn’t miss this for all the mushrooms in Thailand. Besides, you’ll probably need me to save you.’
‘In your dreams. Look, I won’t tell you again.’
‘It’s the handsome prince outfit,’ the elf commented sagely. ‘It’s getting to you. You’re starting to be nice.’
‘Say that again and I’ll splat you. All right, it’s up to you. Follow me.’
He pushed the door open and ducked under the lintel. It was pitch dark inside, and he hadn’t gone three paces when he felt something brush against his leg and there was an ear-splitting crash, as of splintering china. Tea-set, probably.
He swore under his breath. Still, nothing he could do about it now, except possibly run away. ‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Anybody home?’
Overhead, feet clumped on the ceiling, answering his question. The springs of a bed groaned, and a wardrobe door slammed. Two of them, he guessed. At least. He gritted his embarrassingly white toothpaste-ad teeth and climbed the stairs.
‘Hello?’
In the upstairs room there was a little light; a pale smear, seeping through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains. There was somebody or something in the bed — Looked like a wolf.
Correction; it looked like a wolf in the same way a child’s drawing of a tree looks like a tree. Someone dressed as a wolf? But why?
Be that as it may; if whoever it was wanted to be taken for a wolf, it’d be diplomatic to humour them, at least to begin with. ‘Hello,’ he repeated. ‘Are you a wolf?’
‘Woof.’
‘Gosh.’ Dammit, Fang muttered to himself, this is degrading as well as silly. I’m a wolf, this is a human. Except — well, enough said. ‘What small eyes you’ve got!’
‘What? Oh shit. I mean, yes, all the, um, worse for seeing you with.’
‘Really? And what little ears you’ve got!’
‘All the worse for hearing you with.’
‘Psst!’
The figure in the bed started, then leaned its head sideways. Right, Fang said to himself, the other one’s hiding under the bed.
‘What?’
‘Say “my dear”.’
‘What? Oh, right.’ The figure sat up again. ‘All the worse for hearing you with, my dear.’
Fang took a step closer. ‘Come to think of it,’ he said.
‘What small teeth you’ve got. And other things too, but there’s no need to be gratuitously insulting.’ He reached forward and grabbed a handful of curtain, flooding the room with light; quite possibly, the first decent illumination it had ever had. For a split second the whole room seemed to blur, as if the deep shadows in the corners were being panicked into deciding what was in them. ‘Wolf my arse,’ Fang sneered. ‘You’re just a human with a wolfskin rug tucked round you. What’ve you done with the witch?’
As he spoke, he sidestepped; with the result that, when Grimm #1’s head poked out from under the bed, he was ideally placed to slam his boot into it. Which he did.
‘All right,’ he growled, grabbing Grimm #2 by the throat and squeezing, ‘that’ll do. I’m arresting you on charges of witchnapping and impersonating a Wolfpack officer. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and retold in very simple words for the under-fives. Right, what’s going on? Who are you, and what’s with the wolf imitations?’
‘None of your business,’ Grimm #2 replied. ‘Does the expression diplomatic immunity mean anything to you?’
Fang’s brow furrowed. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It’s a coded message for make sure nobody ever finds the bodies. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather co-operate?’
Grimm #2 wilted. ‘It’s all just a silly misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘My brother and I were out walking in the woods and we lost our way and it was getting dark, so we knocked at the door but there was no one here, so we—’
Fang shook his head. ‘Wrong cottage,’ he growled. ‘The Three Bears are over in the south plantation. This is Little Red Riding Hood’s granny’s place. As you well know,’ he added. ‘So explain about the wolf’s disguise, before I get irritable.’
Grimm #2 shrugged. ‘You call at the werewolf’s house, you expect to see a werewolf. What’s to know about that?’
‘Were—’ Fang blinked twice, then made a faint choking sound. ‘Oh, one of those. God almighty, I should have guessed.’ He scowled, and spat.
‘You don’t like werewolves?’
‘Hah! Wolves who dress up in humans’ clothes? Disgusting, I call it…’ He tailed off, and blushed. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘that still doesn’t explain who you are and what you’re doing here.’
‘Ah.’ Grimm #2 grinned feebly. ‘Good question. The truth is, we were just looking for a mirror.’
‘A mirror?’
‘That’s right.’
Fang raised an eyebrow. ‘Not wishing to be personal,’ he said, ‘but with the wolfskin rug and the mob cap and the flowery eiderdown, I think a mirror’s the last thing you need. Just take it from me, you don’t want to see it.’
Grimm #2 blinked twice in rapid succession. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said quickly. ‘Oh well, blow that, then. I think we’ll be going now.’
Fang lo
oked at him narrowly. ‘You’re sure it was just a mirror you were after?’ he said.
Grimm #2 nodded. ‘Oh,’ he added, ‘and there’s a werewolf in that wardrobe over there. We’ll take that one with us as well, I think. I mean, waste not want not, and if we ever happened to find ourselves in a situation where a werewolf might be useful…’
Fang held up a hand. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he said. ‘If by werewolf you mean witch, you can’t have her. She stays.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Grimm #2 objected. ‘I mean, we found her first. And we went to all the trouble of knocking her out—’
‘Just a moment. What do you want her for?’
Grimm #2 was about to reply; then he stopped, and smiled. ‘Come to that,’ he said, ‘what do you want her for? Don’t mind me,’ he added. ‘I’m terribly broad-minded.’
‘I want her to turn me back to my proper shape, if you must know,’ Fang replied awkwardly. ‘You see, I’m not really a handsome prince.’
‘Get away. You certainly had me fooled.’
‘I don’t want to fool anybody,’ Fang snapped. ‘And I most certainly don’t want to be a handsome prince for a moment longer than I have to. Which is why I really need that witch.’
‘Fair enough,’ Grimm #2 said. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, what...?‘
‘A wolf.’
Grimm #2 shrank back a centimetre or so. ‘A wolf?’
‘Yes, a wolf. A big, bad wolf. You got a problem with that?’
‘Me? Good God, no.’ Grimm #2 kept perfectly still and smiled broadly. ‘Nothing but the greatest respect for big, bad wolves. Fine body of, um, predators. On second thoughts, you keep her. Your need is greater, and all that stuff. And now we’ll be—’
‘Stay where you are!’ Fang growled. ‘Nobody’s going anywhere until we’ve got this sorted out. You haven’t told me what you want the witch for.’
‘Haven’t I? Oh gosh, how remiss of me. Well, it’s like this. My brother and I, we… we work for this major pharmaceuticals company, you see, in their research and development department, and we’ve got this amazing new drug we need to test.’
‘Drug?’
‘Medicine, I should have said. Anyway, we want to test it, obviously, and the government won’t let us test it on humans and the anti-vivisectionists won’t let us test it on animals, so we thought…’
Fang bared his teeth. It wasn’t quite the gesture it should have been; the only threat they posed was of being blinded by the sparkling sunlight reflecting off them. Nevertheless, Grimm #2 did a very lifelike impression of a live slug in a salt cellar.
‘You’re lying.’
‘Yes, in a sense I am, rather. Sorry. Would you like to hear the truth now?’
‘Grrr!’
‘I’ll take that as a Yes. The truth is—’ He hesitated. ‘You may have trouble assimilating this,’ he said. ‘It may sound a bit, you know, weird. You won’t mind that, will you?’
‘Get on with it, before I mistake you for a long pink dog-chew.’
‘Right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The truth is, we’re agents of a foreign power — foreign as in from a whole different dimension or reality or whatever — and we’re here to subvert your entire civilisation and culture by gaining control of the Mirrors network. Does that make any sense to you?’
Fang pursed his lips. ‘You’re trying to tell me you’re a little green man, right? Or a bug-eyed monster?’
‘Not in so many words,’ Grimm #2 replied. ‘Although if you prefer to think of it in those terms, I expect it’s an entirely valid viewpoint with a lot to recommend it.’
‘All right,’ Fang said. ‘You’re not green or bug-eyed, but you’re still aliens?’
‘Good word. I like it. Aliens. Yes, we’re aliens.’
‘And you’re here to kidnap a witch and take over the world?’
‘Yes, I suppose you could—’
‘You’re here to take over the world, and you’re frightened of me.’ Fang clicked his tongue. ‘You know, somehow I don’t see myself losing a lot of sleep over any threat you lot might possibly pose. I’ve seen craneflies more dangerous-looking than you two. No, I still don’t believe you. I think you’re just ordinary burglars, and round here we have a traditional way of dealing with burglars that makes Islamic law look like an exercise program. Now—’
‘Hey!’
Fang glanced down. The elf was tugging at his trouser leg.
‘Well?’
The elf looked down at its miniature shoes. ‘Sorry to bother you,’ it said, ‘but we’d appear to have more company.’
‘What? What kind of—?’
A figure appeared in the doorway. It was dark, stocky, menacing…
Short…
‘Howdy,’ it said.
The queen sat down, pulled out a small flat tin box from somewhere inside her gown, and opened it. Inside was a complicated-looking brass machine, quite unlike anything Sis had ever seen before, and next best thing to impossible to describe. However; imagine that a slide-rule fell in love with a sextant, and they had a daughter who eloped with a pair of kitchen scales, and their daughter married the illegitimate grandson of a stirrup-pump…
‘Got it,’ the queen exclaimed, after a few minutes of fiddling with the thing. ‘Unless — confound it, which way’s north?’
Sis shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Can’t you work it out by looking at the sun?’
The queen shook her head. ‘Not here,’ she said. ‘Obviously you haven’t noticed, typically enough, but we don’t have your boring old sequential days and nights here. That sort of thing’s all governed by—’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Sis groaned. ‘Narrative patterns.’
‘Oh, so you do listen sometimes, then. That’s right. Also the seasons, phases of the moon, tides, all that sort of thing. And before you get all scornful and snotty about it, remember who it was who thought feet and inches were a perfectly practicable way of making sense of the world. Wasn’t us.’
‘Before my time,’ Sis replied smugly. ‘So? What’ve you found out?’
The queen twiddled a few more dials, slid the sliding thing up and down the scale a few times, counted to seven on her fingers and grinned. ‘Your brother,’ she said. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Carl,’ Sis replied, after a moment’s panic when she couldn’t quite remember. ‘His name’s Carl — you know, it’s the strangest thing, I can only just remember him. I think. It’s almost—’ She stopped and turned pale, with a very slight greenish tinge. ‘It’s almost as if he wasn’t a real person, just someone out of a story.’
‘Yes!’ The queen thumped her fist in the air. ‘Brilliant! Oh, I’m so relieved to hear you say that.’
Sis stared at her. ‘You are? Why?’
‘Because,’ the queen replied, fiddling wildly with the funny brass thing, ‘it means he’s still alive and still here, and he’s trying to sort things out; which is good,’ she added, ‘because he caused all these problems in the first place, so he’s probably best qualified to get them fixed again. Not,’ she added, ‘that the competition’s exactly fierce. Just out of interest, why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why in hell’s name did he bother? What on earth possessed him to go clowning around with the operating system of a dimension he knew nothing about, without any provocation whatsoever?’
Sis shook her head. ‘It’s one of those nerd things, I suppose. You know — because it’s there, and all that. The same reason why they hack into the Pentagon computers and make people think there’s going to be a nuclear war.’
The queen considered this. ‘You mean good-natured fun? Anything’s possible with your lot, given that you’re all completely random, with no narrative patterns to make sense of anything you do. Must be a really horrid way to live, though.’
‘Never mind all that,’ Sis interrupted. ‘What makes you think he’s all right? And where the hell is he?’
‘Look.’ The quee
n pointed at one of the dials on the Thing. ‘See? It’s reading 3945321.87.’
‘How absolutely fantastic. Ring all the church bells and declare a national holiday.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic, you aren’t very good at it. No, the point is, that’s near as dammit four. Four consecutive versions of reality. What do you call that, then?’
Sis thought for a moment. ‘Dolby?’ she hazarded. ‘I don’t know. It sounds awful.’
‘Oh it is, certainly. But the last time I checked, there were only three. Someone’s set off another one, and that’s the point. There’s the real one, the post cock-up variant, the post cock-up variant modified by someone else who’s trying to run me out of town, and now this one too. Which means,’ she explained, as Sis made a very quiet whimpering noise, ‘there’s now someone else who’s got into the system and is fooling around with it. Someone else who has at least a tiny fragment of an idea how the thing works. Go figure.’
‘You think it’s Carl?’
The queen nodded enthusiastically, her head moving like a tennis ball on a string. ‘I’m sure it is, because you’re having trouble remembering him. You have this strange feeling he’s someone in a story. Which means, God help us all, he’s become part of the system somewhere.’
‘Which means he’s still alive—’
‘Which means,’ the queen said, ‘he’s alive and operational, and he’s using that perverted little brain of his to get into Mirrors. Well,’ she concluded, ‘maybe it’s not exactly optimal, the entire future of this dimension resting in the hands of a recklessly irresponsible adolescent with an anorak and acne—’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Call it intuition. Are you sure it was just a whim on his part? He didn’t get any encouragement from outside before he started all this?’
Sis ransacked her memory, what was left of it after the mice of transdimensional entropic shift had nibbled it threadbare. ‘Well, he kept getting letters from somewhere official, because they had those printed things in the top right-hand corner instead of stamps. And I think he got lots of messages from them through the Internet as well.’