Selected Stories of Philip K. Dick

by Philip K. Dick

  Phineas was staring down at the floor. He glanced up. “What? What was that?”

  “What you thinking about?” Pop wanted to know. “You look worried.” “I'm worried about Shadrach,” Phineas said. “He's getting old. Sitting out there by himself all the time, in the cold weather, with the rainwater running over the floor—it blows something awful in the winter, along the highway—”

  “Then you do think he believes it?” Dan persisted. “You don't think he's getting something out of it?”

  Phineas shook his head absently and did not answer.

  The laughter died down. They all looked at one another.

  That night, as Shadrach was locking up the filling station, a small figure came toward him from the darkness.

  “Hey!” Shadrach called out. “Who are you?”

  An Elf soldier came into the light, blinking. He was dressed in a little gray robe, buckled at the waist with a band of silver. On his feet were little leather boots. He carried a short sword at his side.

  “I have a serious message for you,” the Elf said. “Now, where did I put it?”

  He searched his robe while Shadrach waited. The Elf brought out a tiny scroll and unfastened it, breaking the wax expertly. He handed it to Shadrach.

  “What's it say?” Shadrach asked. He bent over, his eyes close to the vellum. “I don't have my glasses with me. Can't quite make out these little letters.”

  “The Trolls are moving. They've heard that the old king is dead, and they're rising, in all the hills and valleys around. They will try to break the Elf Kingdom into fragments, scatter the Elves—”

  “I see,” Shadrach said. “Before your new king can really get started.”

  “That's right.” The Elf soldier nodded. “This is a crucial moment for the Elves. For centuries, our existence has been precarious. There are so many Trolls, and Elves are very frail and often take sick—”

  “Well, what should I do? Are there any suggestions?”

  “You're supposed to meet with us under the Great Oak tonight. We'll take you into the Elf Kingdom, and you and your staff will plan and map the defense of the Kingdom.”

  “What?” Shadrach looked uncomfortable. “But I haven't eaten dinner. And my gas station—tomorrow is Saturday, and a lot of cars—”

  “But you are King of the Elves,” the soldier said.

  Shadrach put his hand to his chin and rubbed it slowly.

  “That's right,” he replied. “I am, ain't I?”

  The Elf soldier bowed.

  “I wish I'd known this sort of thing was going to happen,” Shadrach said. “I didn't suppose being King of the Elves—”

  He broke off, hoping for an interruption. The Elf soldier watched him calmly, without expression.

  “Maybe you ought to have someone else as your king,” Shadrach decided. “I don't know very much about war and things like that, fighting and all that sort of business.” He paused, shrugged his shoulders.“It's nothing I've ever mixed in. They don't have wars here in Colorado. I mean they don't have wars between human beings.”

  Still the Elf soldier remained silent. “Why was I picked?” Shadrach went on helplessly, twisting his hands.“I don't know anything about it. What made him go and pick me? Why didn't he pick somebody else?”

  “He trusted you,” the Elf said.“You brought him inside your house, out of the rain. He knew that you expected nothing for it, that there was nothing you wanted. He had known few who gave and asked nothing back.”

  “Oh.” Shadrach thought it over. At last he looked up. “But what about my gas station? And my house? And what will they say, Dan Green and Pop down at the store—”

  The Elf soldier moved away, out of the light. “I have to go. It's getting late, and at night the Trolls come out. I don't want to be too far away from the others.”

  “Sure,” Shadrach said.

  “The Trolls are afraid of nothing, now that the old king is dead. They forage everywhere. No one is safe.”

  “Where did you say the meeting is to be? And what time?”

  “At the Great Oak. When the moon sets tonight, just as it leaves the sky.”

  “I'll be there, I guess,” Shadrach said. “I suppose you're right. The King of the Elves can't afford to let his kingdom down when it needs him most.”

  He looked around, but the Elf soldier was already gone.

  Shadrach walked up the highway, his mind full of doubts and wonderings. When he came to the first of the flat stone steps, he stopped.

  “And the old oak tree is on Phineas's farm! What'll Phineas say?”

  But he was the Elf King and the Trolls were moving in the hills. Shadrach stood listening to the rustle of the wind as it moved through the trees beyond the highway, and along the far slopes and hills.

  Trolls? Were there really Trolls there, rising up, bold and confident in the darkness of the night, afraid of nothing, afraid of no one?

  And this business of being Elf King …

  Shadrach went on up the steps, his lips pressed tight. When he reached the top of the stone steps, the last rays of sunlight had already faded. It was night.

  Phineas Judd stared out the window. He swore and shook his head. Then he went quickly to the door and ran out onto the porch. In the cold moonlight a dim figure was walking slowly across the lower field, coming toward the house along the cow trail.

  “Shadrach!” Phineas cried. “What's wrong? What are you doing out this time of night?”

  Shadrach stopped and put his fists stubbornly on his hips.

  “You go back home,” Phineas said. “What's got into you?”

  “I'm sorry, Phineas,” Shadrach answered. “I'm sorry I have to go over your land. But I have to meet somebody at the old oak tree.”

  “At this time of night?”

  Shadrach bowed his head.

  “What's the matter with you, Shadrach? Who in the world you going to meet in the middle of the night on my farm?”

  “I have to meet with the Elves. We're going to plan out the war with the Trolls.”

  “Well, I'll be damned,” Phineas Judd said. He went back inside the house and slammed the door. For a long time he stood thinking. Then he went back out on the porch again. “What did you say you were doing? You don't have to tell me, of course, but I just—”

  “I have to meet the Elves at the old oak tree. We must have a general council of war against the Trolls.”

  “Yes, indeed. The Trolls. Have to watch for the Trolls all the time.”

  “Trolls are everywhere,” Shadrach stated, nodding his head. “I never realized it before. You can't forget them or ignore them. They never forget you. They're always planning, watching you—”

  Phineas gaped at him, speechless.

  “Oh, by the way,” Shadrach said. “I may be gone for some time. It depends on how long this business is going to take. I haven't had much experience in fighting Trolls, so I'm not sure. But I wonder if you'd mind looking after the gas station for me, about twice a day, maybe once in the morning and once at night, to make sure no one's broken in or anything like that.”

  “You're going away?” Phineas came quickly down the stairs. “What's all this about Trolls? Why are you going?”

  Shadrach patiently repeated what he had said.

  “But what for?”

  “Because I'm the Elf King. I have to lead them.”

  There was silence. “I see,” Phineas said, at last. “That's right, you did mention it before, didn't you? But, Shadrach, why don't you come inside for a while and you can tell me about the Trolls and drink some coffee and—”

  “Coffee?” Shadrach looked up at the pale moon above him, the moon and the bleak sky. The world was still and dead and the night was very cold and the moon would not be setting for some time.

  Shadrach shivered.

  “It's a cold night,” Phineas urged. “Too cold to be out. Come on in—”

  “I guess I have a little time,” Shadrach admitted. “A cup of coffee wouldn't do a
ny harm. But I can't stay very long …”

  Shadrach stretched his legs out and sighed. “This coffee sure tastes good, Phineas.”

  Phineas sipped a little and put his cup down. The living room was quiet and warm. It was a very neat little living room with solemn pictures on the walls, gray uninteresting pictures that minded their own business. In the corner was a small reed organ with sheet music carefully arranged on top of it.

  Shadrach noticed the organ and smiled. “You still play, Phineas?”

  “Not much anymore. The bellows don't work right. One of them won't come back up.”

  “I suppose I could fix it sometime. If I'm around, I mean.”

  “That would be fine,” Phineas said. “I was thinking of asking you.”

  “Remember how you used to play ‘Vilia' and Dan Green came up with that lady who worked for Pop during the summer? The one who wanted to open a pottery shop?”

  “I sure do,” Phineas said.

  Presently, Shadrach set down his coffee cup and shifted in his chair.

  “You want more coffee?” Phineas asked quickly. He stood up. “A little more?”

  “Maybe a little. But I have to be going pretty soon.”

  “It's a bad night to be outside.”

  Shadrach looked through the window. It was darker; the moon had almost gone down. The fields were stark. Shadrach shivered. “I wouldn't disagree with you,” he said.

  Phineas turned eagerly. “Look, Shadrach. You go on home where it's warm. You can come out and fight Trolls some other night. There'll always be Trolls. You said so yourself. Plenty of time to do that later, when the weather's better. When it's not so cold.”

  Shadrach rubbed his forehead wearily. “You know, it all seems like some sort of a crazy dream. When did I start talking about Elves and Trolls? When did it all begin?” His voice trailed off. “Thank you for the coffee.” He got slowly to his feet. “It warmed me up a lot. And I appreciated the talk. Like old times, you and me sitting here the way we used to.”

  “Are you going?” Phineas hesitated. “Home?”

  “I think I better. It's late.”

  Phineas got quickly to his feet. He led Shadrach to the door, one arm around his shoulder.

  “All right, Shadrach, you go on home. Take a good hot bath before you go to bed. It'll fix you up. And maybe just a little snort of brandy to warm the blood.”

  Phineas opened the front door and they went slowly down the porch steps, onto the cold, dark ground.

  “Yes, I guess I'll be going,” Shadrach said. “Good night—”

  “You go on home.” Phineas patted him on the arm. “You run along home and take a good hot bath. And then go straight to bed.”

  “That's a good idea. Thank you, Phineas. I appreciate your kindness.” Shadrach looked down at Phineas's hand on his arm. He had not been that close to Phineas for years.

  Shadrach contemplated the hand. He wrinkled his brow, puzzled.

  Phineas's hand was huge and rough and his arms were short. His fingers were blunt; his nails broken and cracked. Almost black, or so it seemed in the moonlight.

  Shadrach looked up at Phineas. “Strange,” he murmured.

  “What's strange, Shadrach?”

  In the moonlight, Phineas's face seemed oddly heavy and brutal. Shadrach had never noticed before how the jaw bulged, what a great protruding jaw it was. The skin was yellow and coarse, like parchment. Behind the glasses, the eyes were like two stones, cold and lifeless. The ears were immense, the hair stringy and matted.

  Odd that he never noticed before. But he had never seen Phineas in the moonlight.

  Shadrach stepped away, studying his old friend. From a few feet off, Phineas Judd seemed unusually short and squat. His legs were slightly bowed. His feet were enormous. And there was something else—

  “What is it?” Phineas demanded, beginning to grow suspicious. “Is there something wrong?”

  Something was completely wrong. And he had never noticed it, not in all the years they had been friends. All around Phineas Judd was an odor, a faint, pungent stench of rot, of decaying flesh, damp and moldy.

  Shadrach glanced slowly about him. “Something wrong?” he echoed. “No, I wouldn't say that.”

  By the side of the house was an old rain barrel, half fallen apart. Shadrach walked over to it.

  “No, Phineas. I wouldn't say there's something wrong.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Me?” Shadrach took hold of one of the barrel staves and pulled it loose. He walked back to Phineas, carrying the barrel stave carefully. “I'm King of the Elves. Who—or what—are you?”

  Phineas roared and attacked with his great murderous shovel hands.

  Shadrach smashed him over the head with the barrel stave. Phineas bellowed with rage and pain.

  At the shattering sound, there was a clatter and from underneath the house came a furious horde of bounding, leaping creatures, dark bent-over things, their bodies heavy and squat, their feet and heads immense. Shadrach took one look at the flood of dark creatures pouring out from Phineas's basement. He knew what they were.

  “Help!” Shadrach shouted. “Trolls! Help!”

  The Trolls were all around him, grabbing hold of him, tugging at him, climbing up him, pummeling his face and body.

  Shadrach fell to with the barrel stave, swung again and again, kicking Trolls with his feet, whacking them with the barrel stave. There seemed to be hundreds of them. More and more poured out from under Phineas's house, a surging black tide of pot-shaped creatures, their great eyes and teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Help!” Shadrach cried again, more feebly now. He was getting winded. His heart labored painfully. A Troll bit his wrist, clinging to his arm. Shadrach flung it away, pulling loose from the horde clutching his trouser legs, the barrel stave rising and falling.

  One of the Trolls caught hold of the stave. A whole group of them helped, wrenching furiously, trying to pull it away. Shadrach hung on desperately. Trolls were all over him, on his shoulders, clinging to his coat, riding his arms, his legs, pulling his hair—

  He heard a high-pitched clarion call from a long way off, the sound of some distant golden trumpet, echoing in the hills.

  The Trolls suddenly stopped attacking. One of them dropped off Shadrach's neck. Another let go of his arm.

  The call came again, this time more loudly.

  “Elves!” a Troll rasped. He turned and moved toward the sound, grinding his teeth and spitting with fury.

  “Elves!”

  The Trolls swarmed forward, a growing wave of gnashing teeth and nails, pushing furiously toward the Elf columns. The Elves broke formation and joined battle, shouting with wild joy in their shrill, piping voices. The tide of Trolls rushed against them, Troll against Elf, shovel nails against golden sword, biting jaw against dagger.

  “Kill the Elves!”

  “Death to the Trolls!”

  “Onward!”

  “Forward!”

  Shadrach fought desperately with the Trolls that were still clinging to him. He was exhausted, panting and gasping for breath. Blindly, he whacked on and on, kicking and jumping, throwing Trolls away from him, through the air and across the ground.

  How long the battle raged, Shadrach never knew. He was lost in a sea of dark bodies, round and evil-smelling, clinging to him, tearing, biting, fastened to his nose and hair and fingers. He fought silently, grimly.

  All around him, the Elf legions clashed with the Troll horde, little groups of struggling warriors on all sides.

  Suddenly Shadrach stopped fighting. He raised his head, looking uncertainly around him. Nothing moved. Everything was silent. The fighting had ceased.

  A few Trolls still clung to his arms and legs. Shadrach whacked one with the barrel stave. It howled and dropped to the ground. He staggered back, struggling with the last Troll, who hung tenaciously to his arm.

  “Now you!” Shadrach gasped. He pried the Troll loose and flung it into the air. The
Troll fell to the ground and scuttled off into the night.

  There was nothing more. No Troll moved anywhere. All was silent across the bleak moon-swept fields.

  Shadrach sank down on a stone. His chest rose and fell painfully. Red specks swam before his eyes. Weakly, he got out his pocket handkerchief and wiped his neck and face. He closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side.

  When he opened his eyes again, the Elves were coming toward him, gathering their legion together again. The Elves were disheveled and bruised. Their golden armor was gashed and torn. Their helmets were bent or missing. Most of their scarlet plumes were gone. Those that still remained were drooping and broken.

  But the battle was over. The war was won. The Troll hordes had been put to flight.

  Shadrach got slowly to his feet. The Elf warriors stood around him in a circle, gazing up at him with silent respect. One of them helped steady him as he put his handkerchief away in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” Shadrach murmured. “Thank you very much.”

  “The Trolls have been defeated,” an Elf stated, still awed by what had happened.

  Shadrach gazed around at the Elves. There were many of them, more than he had ever seen before. All the Elves had turned out for the battle. They were grim-faced, stern with the seriousness of the moment, weary from the terrible struggle.

  “Yes, they're gone, all right,” Shadrach said. He was beginning to get his breath. “That was a close call. I'm glad you fellows came when you did. I was just about finished, fighting them all by myself.”

  “All alone, the King of the Elves held off the entire Troll army,” an Elf announced shrilly.

  “Eh?” Shadrach said, taken aback. Then he smiled. “That's true, I did fight them alone for a while. I did hold off the Trolls all by myself. The whole darn Troll army.”

  “There is more,” an Elf said.

  Shadrach blinked. “More?”

  “Look over here, O King, mightiest of all the Elves. This way. To the right.”

  The Elves led Shadrach over.

  “What is it?” Shadrach murmured, seeing nothing at first. He gazed down, trying to pierce the darkness. “Could we have a torch over here?”

  Some Elves brought little pine torches.

  There, on the frozen ground, lay Phineas Judd, on his back. His eyes were blank and staring, his mouth half open. He did not move. His body was cold and stiff.