by W.S. Lacey
There was a short, low tunnel and, as he walked down it, the floor rose back up behind him, trapping him there. He came out the end into a lofty chamber and there got a lump in his throat as he considered that what he saw of himself might have been a ‘maybe future’ and that his ‘actually future’ was about to come to an end. On one end of the chamber, going from wall to wall and almost the whole way to the ceiling, was a sphinx. This in and of itself was not frightening. It was a different matter when its massive stone head dropped to look at him in a passive, detached way and he saw, very vividly, that nearly everyone else who had entered had died messily.
It had the face and neck of a woman and the body of a lion, its huge paws draped over a pedestal made of the same dark polished stone as its body. Its eyes were dispassionate, blank. North faltered and backed up.
“Oh! I’ll just go back the way I came.” He bumped into the wall behind him. “I can’t go back, can I?” The sphinx stirred ever so slightly and spoke.
“If you wish to pass, you must first answer three questions.”
“Three? I thought it was one riddle.” The sphinx waited. “Different sphinx, different rules I suppose. What happens if I’m wrong?”
“You will die.”
“That’s the same, then. I don’t get any choice in the matter?” The sphinx was silent. The chamber had the still feeling of a church or a grand old library. “I’m ready.” The sphinx fixed its pupil-less eyes on him.
“Who are you?”
“I’m not sure I follow. There are quite a few ways one could answer that question and I really don’t want to die.” Although the sphinx remained stony faced, something in its posture told North that it had not been hewn and animated to go around being fair to people. “I suppose my name would do,” North said hesitantly.
“Well?”
“My name is Roger North.”
He waited tensely as the seconds dragged by.
“Second, why do you seek the heart of the world?”
“I beg your pardon?” The sphinx looked severe.
“Why do you seek entry?”
“I don’t, I just fell here and I’m trying to get out.”
“Don’t be smart or I’ll eat you,” it said. “Where did you come from?”
“I came through a door and fell through the earth. I’m from- well- a place where things are normal.” North felt the inadequacy of his explanation and was gratified to see that he would not be killed for it just yet. The sphinx rumbled.
“Normally,” it said, “I kill people on the second question. Occasionally they’ll have some noble purpose and they get killed on the third question. I’ve spent æons thinking of things to ask for the third question and most of them, I’ll have you know, are devilishly difficult.” North waited nervously. “Of course, your complete lack of intent makes things a bit difficult and, seeing as you came through the Door, I’m supposed to let you in now.
“Know this,” the sphinx said, “even the ones who answered three questions and went through were subsumed by the heart of the world- utterly destroyed. If you didn’t come through the Door, you’ll die just like the rest.” North was overawed.
“What is it? The heart of the world, I mean.” The sphinx said nothing but leaned forward and opened its mouth. “Hold on!” North protested. The sphinx’s mouth gaped wider and wider as its jaw dropped improbably low. When its mouth was wide enough for a man to stand upright inside, it stopped.
North felt silly and also relieved. With a last nervous look at the sphinx, he clambered up and walked through its mouth. He was so fascinated by what he saw ahead that he stopped paying attention to anything else. As such, it came as a surprise when the sphinx shut its jaws behind him.
“I really wish that would stop happening,” he said.
#
North stood on a precipice looking out into a cosmos, a starry firmament of infinite scope. Lights flickered and flashed in the bodies of far off nebulae like lightning hidden in the depths of mountainous thunderheads. The ghosts of distant novae crossed unthinkable gulfs, blooming, shining intensely, and fading away before his eyes, far removed from the stellar deaths that created them. As North stood, an insignificant speck in the midst of this, he found himself wishing that he had brought his umbrella. He sat on the ledge and dangled his feet, feeling giddy every time he looked down- or up, or any direction for that matter. The view he had would have looked much the same to someone who didn’t have his marvelous eye; what had been and what would be were the same, stretching on beyond even his sight.
To pass the time, he leaned back and tried to find shapes in the brilliant clouds of dust and gas. He had found a harp and a man o’ war when he saw something that looked like a person, uncannily so. He tilted his head a bit and squinted. The next thing he knew, he was immersed in roaring flame, flying through the air in a turbulent wind that battered him and stole his breath.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Spender and North sat in the middle of the henge and planned.
“We can’t very well go back,” Spender said. “Even if neither of us dropped through the earth, I don’t like our chances against the Thing.” Some Tyrian had dropped a bundle of food and they laid it out between them and made a respectable picnic. North tore a hunk of bread in half and looked at it critically.
“What do you think?”
“It’s probably safe to eat. I’d imagine it was meant to be some kind of offering.”
“I meant about what we should do.”
“Oh. The high priest said that the king had enchanted the desert and that he had some treasure out there. Apparently he’s the ruler of all this,” he waved his hand around vaguely, “but no one seems to want to talk about him. They say that he’s great, noble, and needs to be conquered and overthrown.”
“That’s a bit thick,” North said. “I suppose this king is the man to find, then.” Simon the Chronicler, who had crept back in the middle of the night, was perched on a toppled monolith. He had been avidly listening to Spender and North (who were unsure whether it was best to greet him or politely ignore him) and jotting notes onto a scrap of paper. When North said that the king was ‘the man to find’, he wrote very fast indeed with his tongue sticking out slightly. Looking up, he called out.
“You’re going to see the king?”
“Yes,” Spender said. The chronicler had scrambled down and stood by the altar, looking pleased.
“I would be careful if I were you,” he said. “The King isn’t the same as you or I. Not only that, he has luck on his side.” He waited and looked exasperated after a moment, as if he had made a joke that they hadn’t understood. “The King has surrounded himself with the Felicitous Guard. They are the absolute luckiest men there are. Things just work out for them, sometimes in the most far fetched ways imaginable. Anyone who takes up arms against them, anyone who tries to attack the King, meets with uncommon bad luck. I don’t think they’ve ever been bested.” Spender and North blinked. Simon continued.
“You may ask how the Felicitous Guard exists; I’ll tell you. The King went all over and grabbed everybody old enough to walk, whether they liked it or not, and started weeding out all but the most fortunate. He had all these tests that had nothing to do with skill or strength or anything like that. First, he took them all to a grove of trees where he blindfolded them and made them run at full tilt the whole way through. Those that didn’t get knocked silly by trees made it through to the next test.
“You don’t often hear about the later tests, mostly because they were absurdly dangerous and those who failed didn’t leave with a few bruises or half the number of eyes they started with.” He cleared his throat and looked at North. “Sorry.”
“Suppose we were determined to see the king anyway; which way would we go?” Spender asked. Simon, who had sat down across from them and helped himself to the bread, brushed off a few crumbs and began counting the stones in the henge. He stopped with his finger pointing away from the city.
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“That way,” he said. “There’s a road at the bottom of the hill. If you follow it the whole way, you’ll reach the sea where, if you’re lucky, you’ll catch the boat. They’ll take you to the King. I still wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why, exactly?” North asked. Spender had the distinct impression that he was looking past the frayed rag over his eye and deep into Simon the Chronicler’s life. The chronicler may have felt something of this as he got to his feet and began walking back towards the monolith.
“He might very well kill you,” he said. “Goodbye King Balth; your deathless army is a bit smaller than expected but it will have to do. Follow the road.” And with that, he slipped behind the monolith and was gone. They waited to see if he would return. After a moment, North broke the silence.
“What a strange person.”
#
It was a splendid day they found themselves in as they traipsed along the road. Birds were singing and the air was fresh and wonderful in a way that only seems to happen on days when one has no obligations. As they walked, Spender told North about the sometimes woods and the Thing and the peculiar people of Tyre. As one might expect, North already knew a good deal about what had happened.
“And she didn’t speak a word of English?”
“She didn’t. The chronicler was the only one who could understand her. It was strange, no one thought that there was anything wrong with sacrificing her.”
“This is not,” North said, “an altogether tame and pleasant place.” They walked through a moment of disquiet and came to a field of tall rippling grass. The path ended quite suddenly at the edge of the field and they stopped short. Spender roamed back and forth in a lost and undecided manner. Behind lay the path, lined with milkweed and clusters of Queen Anne’s lace that nodded their heads in the breeze; ahead, a sea of burnished grass that rose and fell as wave after wave swept across its gold tipped surface.
“Terrific,” he said, “the path’s gone.” North plucked a blade of grass and stripped it into pieces. He looked back down the path.
“I don’t think we should turn back. Nothing for it but to press on.” They started into the field, waist deep in grass, and soon found themselves adrift. Before long, the grass was up to their shoulders and they could hear rustling and scurrying off to one side. North had several unpleasant thoughts about snakes and Spender had one or two about going in circles and never getting out of the tall grass. The grass rose over their heads and, for a while, they pushed blindly through the dry whispering thicket. Finally, North pulled his rag up and had a look around.
“There’s the sea!” he said cheerfully.
“Where?” Without further warning, they pushed through the last of the grass and tumbled down a steep sandy embankment.
“Here it is,” North said, shaking the sand out of his clothes. A pale sliver of beach dotted with bleached stones and shells clung to the base of the high crumbling dunes and seemed in danger of being claimed by the tide. The sea surged and fell back, its waters gleaming wetly like mountains of knapped flint. On a far off spit of land, a crooked pier meandered out to the side of a ship. Even at a distance, they could see that it had its bowsprit on the wrong end. They went off down the beach, each privately thinking that a backwards bowsprit was not so very strange, all things considered, and each grateful that things had, for the moment, begun to go as expected. They passed a neat pile of baggage on the shore and, upon traversing the pier (which swayed in an alarming fashion), were hallooed from the ship.
#
The Captain was a friendly and pleasant man, despite being very fatuous, and agreed to take them as close to the King as possible.
“I’m afraid I can’t take you any further than the shore,” he said, “because, contrary to its appearance, the ship doesn’t do at all well on land. That was a hard learned lesson, make no mistake. I talked to another captain once who said who said that there was a trick involving portage-”
“Pottage?” An old man sat by the rail, his beard down to his knees.
“Portage!” the Captain bellowed good-naturedly at him.
“Let me get my bowl.” The old man rummaged around fruitlessly.
“I’m afraid we won’t be of much help to you,” Spender said. “We don’t know how to sail.”
“Oh don’t worry,” the Captain smiled sunnily, “neither do we. The Navigator knows enough to get by. He’s standing up there in the whatsit.” They went to the helm and the Captain conferred with the Navigator, a tired grey man in his shirtsleeves. The Captain patted his shoulder after a minute and returned to Spender and North. “He tells me that we cast off some time ago and are going at a great clip in an unknown direction.” They looked back and saw that the land had receded, the misplaced bowsprit pointing to the ship’s wake.
“Did you say an unknown direction?” North asked.
“I told him that if he continued to be such an exceptionally good navigator, I would be sure to buy him some maps and charts. They really do like that sort of thing, you know. I’ll take you to meet the others.” The ‘others’ were two men sitting around an overturned barrel. One (who the Captain could not properly introduce because he had forgotten his own name) sat with flushed cheeks, ensconced in a heavy woolen overcoat, and mournfully asked them if they had seen his baggage. The other was introduced to them as Mr. Half Past. “I’m afraid he only speaks in inanities now,” the Captain said.
“I beg your pardon?” North said.
“One day he began making substantially less sense. It came of being jostled or mauled or something like that. There’s nothing to be done about it but he bears it admirably.”
“Pennies and never do,” Mr. Half Past said.
“Very much so,” said the Captain.
#
After sundown Spender and North sat by the mizzenmast, watched by an enormous owl that sat amidships. The Captain had told them not to mind it but its great yellow eyes were very difficult to ignore. (There are enormous owls and then there are enormous owls. This one was as tall as Spender and had eyes like unblinking dinner plates.)
“Do you know,” North said suddenly, “I borrowed Babbage’s tennis racket before we left. I hope he’s not too much put out.”
“William or Lawrence?”
“Lawrence.”
“I don’t think he will be. You couldn’t have known.” Just then, Half Past and Nameless hove into view.
“Hullo,” Nameless said, “we’re just taking a turn about the decks. Very nice evening.” Spender and North hastened to agree. “The Captain says you’re going to see the King.”
“Bears’ eggs and those are better off caged, yes?” Mr. Half Past said.
“I heard he lives in an impenetrable fortress- or was it a magic tent?”
“Candle ends,” Half Past said in a helpful manner.
“I saw the King once,” Nameless said.
“Did you?” Spender said.
“A picture of him anyway. I saw it mostly side on. The frame was very nice.” He glanced over at the owl and dropped his voice. “Do be careful of the King; I wouldn’t seek him out for anything.” The moon had risen and spilled its ghostly light out over the water. The ship’s timbers groaned and Mr. Half Past fiddled with his watch chain.
“What brings you onboard the ship?” North asked.
“Half Past and I are going hunting.”
“Hunting for what?”
“I shouldn’t like to say.” Nameless and Half Past nodded, said their ‘good evenings’ and went forward, leaving Spender and North to sit on the darkened aft decks and listen to the unquiet waters. The owl ruffled its feathers and fixed them with an even look. Spender frowned.
“Did he say bears’ eggs?”
“Yes he did.”
Chapter Seven
The next day, just after breakfast, Spender was leaning against the rail when he saw a massive shadow on the water. He thought, at first, that it was a cloud but the sky was
clear and aggressively blue. Just then, a great gray flank humped out of the sea, water streaming down its sides. As Spender’s jaw dropped ever so slightly it submerged, sending spray onto the deck and his trousers. He ran to the helm, slipping as he went, and communicated his excitement and dismay to the Navigator.
“What is it?”
“Sea monster,” the Navigator said matter-of-factly.
“What should we do?”
“Nothing we can do. Sea monster does what it will.”
“Could we drive it off somehow- discourage it?”
“Sea monster does what it will.” The gray appendage heaved out of the water and thumped down. The ship yawed wildly and the Navigator sniffed. North staggered out onto the deck.
“What is that thing?”
“Sea monster,” the Navigator said patiently.
“It’s gigantic!” Spender climbed up the rigging a ways and watched as the shadow (larger by far than he had originally thought) passed under the ship. He shouted down to the Navigator.
“What will we do if it attacks?”
“Drown, most likely,” the Navigator called back. North had gone to the side and was looking over, his rag hung around his neck.
“It’s going to be alright,” he said, “it’s going to move on.” He turned out to be right, of course. After a few more splashes, the sea monster’s shadow faded away, leaving the ship bobbing like a toy boat in a bath. The Captain and Nameless were both ill and asked to be let off the ship. (They were told to have a lie down until they reached port.)
After the Navigator made sure the Captain was well tucked in, he carried on as helmsman. Spender stood by and watched the storm clouds on the horizon.
“They’ll not cross our path,” the Navigator said. “The storm is moving alongside us.” Spender ‘Aha’d’ appropriately and made to rejoin North back aft. “Captain says you’re looking to see the King.” Spender caught up short.