The Second Reginald Bretnor Megapack

by Reginald Bretnor

  She held it out to him, and he accepted it.

  “Und now, if you chust vait, I translate so eferybody knows vot you are saying.”

  Swiftly, she outlined what she had learned about the Jekemsyg. Zongtur began rumbling. She translated. “He says you vill get tired, shtanding here. He says vhy don’dt ve all go back inside his house, vhich iss a spaceship, und haff some vine, und ve meet his vife?”

  The Fräulein and her lover, staring open-mouthed, were hesitant. “Are—are you sure it’s safe?” Dr. Rumpler asked. “Even—even if they’re not Minotaurs at all but, as you say, creatures from some other world, still they are enormous, and—and did you see those teeth?”

  Mama Schimmelhorn scoffed. “Papa has been inside since yesterday,” she said.

  “Ja,” put in Papa Schimmelhorn, “und Frau Xorxan iss a goot cook und very nice to me. They are goot people, chust like us Shviss.”

  Again, Zongtur rumbled.

  “He says,” translated Mama Schimmelhorn, “dot now Papa has fixed der shpace-drife, he und his vife vill leafe for Jekem maybe this efening oder tomorrow morning, und they vould like to haff you as der guests chust vunce before they go. He says it iss to thank you for so many years of der hospitality und sacrifices.”

  The Fräulein looked up at the Doktor. “Oh, my Gottfried!” she cried out to him. “My love! My dear, dearest love! This is my duty as the Princess—our duty now. I’m sure they are completely law-abiding, for Frau Schimmelhorn vouches for them. And if anything did happen—well, it would happen to both of us. We would die together!” She turned to Mama Schimmelhorn. “Tell him we would be honored,” she declared.

  Ordering Sarpedon Mavronides to stay behind and guard the door, she moved bravely forward, Dr. Rumpler holding her hand protectively.

  The small procession retraced the steps Papa Schimmelhorn and Zongtur had followed the day before. Once again, Xorxan came forward and was introduced. Once again, the frightening music was turned completely off. Once more, having returned Mama Schimmelhorn’s umbrella, Zongtur donned his jumpsuit. Xorxan served wine. They chatted. Gradually, they relaxed. Gottfried Rumpler began to wonder about the possibilities of a profitable trade developing between Earth and Jekem; and the Fräulein’s quick mind started speculating on the changes the departure of the Minotaur would bring to Little Palaeon, and the best ways to handle them.

  Would it be possible, she asked, for the people of the island to witness the departure? They would hold a splendid ceremony. It would start a completely new tradition.

  Zongtur replied that they had no objection, just as long as it did not delay them. “In fact,” he said to Papa Schimmelhorn, “I don’t see how they can possibly miss seeing us take off—not when we burst through all that stone and rubble over us.”

  Mama Schimmelhorn was kept busy translating. On the few occasions when her husband tried to help her, she invariably corrected him, and after a while he gave it up, only exchanging a few asides occasionally with Zongtur or Xorxan.

  All in all, they got along beautifully, though the Doktor could not conceal his disappointment when Zongtur told him, as tactfully as possible, that at least for the next few millennia trade and cultural contacts between Earth and Jekem would be inadvisable, the peoples of Earth—present company of course excepted—being, well, too retarded. Finally, Zongtur presented Dr. Rumpler with a recording of his latest symphony (which no instrument on Earth could play), and gave the Fräulein a portable device which, he assured her, would set up the sort of anti-wiggly field that had protected Little Palaeon over the years, and showed her exactly how to use it. Xorxan gave Papa Schimmelhorn a holograph of the three of them, taken the night before, which showed the little goatskin skirt quite startlingly, and which Mama Schimmelhorn confiscated immediately on their return. Then the two Jekemsyg escorted them back the way they’d come, again terrifying poor Mavronides, who had never dreamed that the Labyrinth contained more than one Minotaur.

  At the door, Papa Schimmelhorn fortunately remembered about Humphrey. “Almost I forget,” he said to Zongtur, “mein lidtle friend….”

  “Bring him here in about an hour,” Zongtur told him. “We’ll be happy to take him with us. I’ll be here at the door.”

  They said good-bye. They locked the door behind them. As they climbed into the station wagon, much to the relief of poor Ismail, the Fräulein hung back for a quick word with Mavronides. “Listen carefully, Sarpedon!” she whispered. “A great event is about to happen here on Little Palaeon. Our Minotaur, the demigod who has protected us for all these years, will soon return to his own domain. From there, he will continue to watch over us. There will be certain changes in the sacrifices, but our rites and ceremonies will continue unaltered. However, Little Palaeon will no longer be shut off from the outer world as it has been. We will admit carefully selected visitors. And Sarpedon, tell the people also that the Minotaur, in his unfathomable wisdom, has decided to take our great Prince August with him, together with this old woman who is related to him. Is that all clear?”

  “It is clear, Highness,” Mavronides replied dutifully.

  “Then tell them to assemble around the Mound of the Labyrinth after dark has fallen, to keep vigil until he takes leave of us. Tell them there will be singing and dancing, food and drink. He does not want us to be saddened by his going, but instead to celebrate him loyally. You understand?”

  “I understand, Highness. I shall arrange everything.”

  She joined the others in the station wagon. “Frau Schimmelhorn,” she said softly, “when we reach the castle I would like a word or two with you in private, before you go to freshen up or anything.”

  The station wagon rolled into the castle courtyard, and as soon as it had stopped and they had all dismounted, Mama Schimmelhorn ordered her husband to go up to his turret, put on his trousers, and get back down where she could keep an eye on him. Then she followed the Fräulein into a small private drawing room, where she was graciously shown to a Louis XIV couch.

  The Fräulein sat down next to her. Gently, she put a hand on the stiff black material of her dress; gently, she touched Mama Schimmelhorn’s hand with her own. “Frau Schimmelhorn,” she said, “you are a woman of wisdom and experience. I have concealed nothing from you, and you have been kindly and forgiving. Now there is one more favor I must ask of you.” She blushed. “You will understand that under the—the circumstances, my people here on Little Palaeon will wonder what happened to their Prince. I have instructed Sarpedon Mavronides to tell them that he is leaving with the Minotaur, that he is being taken to the domain of the gods as a reward for his heroism.”

  Mama Schimmelhorn covered the Fräulein’s hand with hers. “Don’dt vorry, Prinzessin Philippa,” she said. “Ve vomen are more sinned against than sinning, I alvays say. I know you are a goot Shviss girl, und shmart. Right avay after supper, Papa und I und Gustav-Adolf fly avay in der helicopter. But chust you vait till I get der old goat back to New Hafen! Ha!”

  The Fräulein thanked her, promising that someday she would visit her, and for several minutes they exchanged pleasantries; then they returned to the courtyard just as Papa Schimmelhorn, now in his best denims, reentered it.

  Gottfried Rumpler was waiting for them there, looking as though he’d been clobbered squarely between the eyes.

  “Gottfried! My love, my adored!” Anxiously the Fräulein ran to him. “What is wrong?”

  He mopped his brow. Without a word, he handed her a sheet of paper.

  She looked at it. “It is a radiogram!” she whispered. “From—from Moscow! B-but we know no one there.”

  “Read it, dear Philippa,” said Dr. Rumpler dismally. “It is addressed to you.”

  I HAVE ARRIVED IN TRIUMPH! (she read aloud). MY GOOD FRIENDS BROUGHT ME HERE THIS MORNING.

  AT LAST I AND MY GREAT INVENTION ARE APPRECIATED. THEY WILL MAKE
ME AN ACADEMICIAN! I WILL HAVE A DACHA AND A LIMOUSINE! DOWN WITH SWISS IMPERIALISM! LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

  It was signed, GASPAR GANSFLEISCH.

  The Fräulein dropped the paper. For an instant, her eyes darted desperately, as though hoping for some last-minute rescue. “Do you realize what this means?” she moaned.

  “Only too well, too well!” replied the Doktor.

  “Vot iss?” asked Papa Schimmelhorn, coming up to them. “Vot happens to Meister Gassi?”

  “Yesterday evening, while everyone was searching for you,” said Gottfried Rumpler, “a helicopter landed here. The servant girl who heard it said it stayed for a long time. We were searching too, in our own helicopter, and we did not hear it over the sound of our engines and our rotors. When we returned, Gaspar Gansfleisch had disappeared. So had your gold-making machine.” He picked up the radiogram and handed it to Papa Schimmelhorn. “Read that!”

  Papa Schimmelhorn read it twice, his lips moving. Then he threw it down again and roared with laughter. “Ach! Ach!” he bellowed. “Meister Gassi could nodt sell his soul to der Defil, so he has defecated to die Russians! Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!” Red-faced, convulsed with merriment, he held his splitting sides. “Ach, predty soon inshtead of der hot place, I think maybe he gets inside a cold vun!”

  Gottfried Rumpler seized him by the shoulders and tried to shake him. “My God, man! Are you mad? Don’t you understand what this means? Your machine works. It turns lead into gold!”

  “Don’t you realize?” the Fräulein added hysterically. “He has given them the power to buy the world! To shatter all the world’s economies! Don’t you see? We’re doomed!”

  “Nein, nein!” said Papa Schimmelhorn, trying hard to stop laughing. “Vunce, lidtle Phil—vunce, Fräulein Prinzessin, I try to tell you. Remember? Alvays I put der dial at only tvelve? Vhy? Because iss vun or two adjustments I haff nodt made. I do nodt know how to make die explanations, but if it iss turned too high, der ray gets vider—first chust a lidtle, then a lidtle more, then a lot. Vhen ve go to maybe fifty, ve shtop making gold, und der ray is vide I think vun hundred oder two hundred feet. Vhen ve turn to eighty, it iss a mile almost—und now der machine vorks differently. Now it”—again he burst out laughing—“now for a vhile it makes gold into lead! Und then—then it melts! I think Meister Gassi und die Russians are so greedy they find out der hard vay.”

  “Let us pray,” said Gottfried Rumpler, “that you are right.”

  “Don’dt vorry,” said Papa Schimmelhorn.

  “Anyvay,” put in Mama Schimmelhorn, “der gold machine iss gone forefer. So now ve lose der money for der shteeple!”

  “Certainly not,” the Fräulein told her. “Herr Schimmelhorn built the machine, and it worked. The fact that we failed to guard it was not his fault. Gottfried and I would have no business reputation if we did not keep our promises. The money shall be released to your account.” She turned to Dr. Rumpler. “Dear Gottfried, I feel that what Herr Schimmelhorn has said is true—the traitor Gansfleisch and his Russian masters will never profit by his treachery! As for the machine, we do not need it, you and I. We are Swiss bankers—we can turn anything into gold! Besides, there’s Little Palaeon—now that the Minotaur is gone, there will be the tourist trade to consider.”

  XII.

  Hot Line from Moscow

  Fräulein von Hohenheim apologized to Mama Schimmelhorn for not inviting her to dinner, pleading the ceremonies that had to be so hastily arranged, and Mama Schimmelhorn patted her hand and told her not to worry—she understood. They exchanged farewell good wishes, during which Papa Schimmelhorn was pointedly ignored except by Dr. Rumpler, who shook his hand in some embarrassment, complimented him on his pioneering alchemy, and said that he expected a photo of the steeple when completed. Then the Schimmelhorns repaired to the turret to do their packing and to give Humphrey a report on the happenings of the day.

  Papa Schimmelhorn brought him out of his compartment and seated him again on his little chair; and he was not at all surprised when Mama Schimmelhorn greeted him by name. He gave the homunculus, who looked very tired and worried, a thimbleful of his honeyed brandy to cheer him up. Then, with frequent corrections and emendations from his wife, he reported the doings of the previous day.

  Humphrey listened in wonderment, crying out occasionally that neither Ariel nor twisted Caliban could tell him of such wonders. “No, only you, sweet Master Schimmelhorn, could so inflame my hopes!” he finally cried. “Oh, tell me—tell me truly! This Minotaur—this Jekemite whom you have succored from his age-long shipwreck—does he indeed make plans to soar again into the empyrean? To cruise the vasty realms between the stars? Those realms from which I came, where I was free?”

  “Ja, ja! This efening he vill leafe, und so right avay I take you in der jar up to der mound, because he says he vill take you vith him.”

  Anxiously, poor Humphrey pleaded with him to say again that it was true, and when he was assured that indeed it was, he was so overcome that for some moments he fell to weeping. Mama Schimmelhorn patted him on the head, consoling him.

  “Soon you vill be inside der spaceship,” she promised him, “but Papa does nodt take you there. Papa”—she glared at her husband—“vill shtay right here inside der turret, vhere iss no naked vomen, und do der packing. I myself vill take you to der Jekemsyg.”

  “Pray, do not be too harsh with him, dear gentle lady!” begged Humphrey. “He is full of vital spirits, and truly noble in his beneficence!” He dried his eyes with an infinitesimal handkerchief, and blew his nose. “But still it matters not who takes me there. It is enough to think that soon this wretched husk, this artificial body that’s held me in its terrible toils so many years, will wither, crumble, and scatter to the fair winds of space. Aye, ’twill vanish like next-day’s dandelions! Good Master Schimmelhorn, I owe it all to you! How, how can I reward you?”

  Papa Schimmelhorn was on the point of asking him to repeat the formula for the love potion, which he had inconveniently forgotten. However, he caught his wife’s eye in time. “You haff already done enough, lidtle Herr Humphrey. If it has not been for you—” He caught Mama Schimmelhorn’s eye again, and broke off. “Don’dt vorry. It iss all right.”

  While he and Humphrey said good-bye with many expressions of regret, affection, and esteem, Mama Schimmelhorn phoned the Fräulein, told her that she had a final present for the Jekemsyg, and asked to borrow Ismail and the station wagon for the run up to the mound. Then Humphrey made his farewells to her and to Gustav-Adolf, who obligingly rubbed against him, purring. “And now, good friends,” he said, “once more you can return me to that jar, that now no longer loathsome jar. Forever, farewell!”

  Mama Schimmelhorn obeyed him; she made sure the stopper was in tightly; she placed the jar in Papa Schimmelhorn’s carpetbag together with the flask of honeyed brandy. “Get all your shtuff togeder,” she commanded. “I come right back.”

  She picked up the carpetbag, and a moment later the door closed behind her.

  Papa Schimmelhorn was depressed. He felt that he had lost a friend and ally. Even Gustav-Adolf looked at him askance, muttering sullenly in Cat. Nor was he completely comforted when, a few minutes later, Sarpedon Mavronides knocked on the door to say good-bye to him, to wish him well, and to present him with a memento of his short reign over Little Palaeon, one of the huge conchs that had brayed at his investiture and at the various ceremonies in which he had taken part.

  “One must accept the ups and downs of life with philosophy,” Mavronides declared. “Throughout history, men have risen suddenly and then as suddenly have been cast down.” He quoted solemnly from Grecian tragedy about the fall of princes. “You must not blame Her Highness, who is infallible and therefore blameless.”

  “Of course nodt, Herr Zorba,” said Papa Schimmelhorn. “It vas nodt her fault.” Ruefully, he recalled the nights in the Princess
’s bedroom. “I had a goot time vhile it lasted.”

  Mavronides departed, having promised to come and visit in New Haven if the tourist business permitted it; and Papa Schimmelhorn busied himself getting his things together until his wife came back, which she did just in time for dinner.

  The servant girls who brought it set the table, and waited on them silently and courteously. It was a meal over which great pains had been taken, and Mama Schimmelhorn tipped the girls a Swiss franc each. But she never said a word while they were eating, and Papa Schimmelhorn was relieved, just as they were finishing, to hear the helicopter drop down into the courtyard.

  * * * *

  The trip back to New Haven was not a happy one for him. All the way, on Gottfried Rumpler’s jet, which—with Herr Grundtli—had been waiting for them on Crete, he did not dare to say a word to the pretty pussycat now serving as its stewardess. That night, Mama Schimmelhorn and Gustav-Adolf had a cabin to themselves, and the next day they sat stiffly across the aisle from him, telling Herr Grundtli about Papa’s sins and failings.

  Therefore it was with considerable relief that, when their airport cab finally brought them to their door, and after he had lugged their bags up the front stoop and into the living room, he found Little Anton awaiting them. Neither he nor Mama Schimmelhorn was in the least surprised that Little Anton had burgled his way in, for they were thoroughly familiar with the talents that had made him so successful as, among other things, a smuggler. Mama Schimmelhorn was delighted. She had been disappointed when he had been unable to accompany her on her mission, and—as she mistakenly believed him to be an upright, religiously inclined young man—she looked forward eagerly to having him as an audience. She insisted that he stay with them for at least a day or two.

  Little Anton told her that he would happily stay to dinner, which he insisted on having sent in from a Chinese restaurant, but that any longer visit would have to be postponed until he returned from Montreal, where he was bound that very night on business for Pêng-Plantagenet. He promised he’d be back very shortly.