The Goddess Gambit

by B Michael Stevens

  "Andrew here has seen more in his few days than most before the Storm saw in a lifetime," Lazarus countered.

  "Hmm." Reuben nodded. "Yes, I believe that to be true." Then, turning back to Lazarus, he said, "Of course I plan on proving what I claim. You have the payment?" The albino cocked his bald, conical head to one side and peered with amusement at Lazarus with his beady pink eyes.

  "Of course. But not in here." Lazarus glanced around at the scowling and armed patrons. "The Hammered Wombat is not the safest place in the Shanty for such transactions. Besides, I want to see her first."

  "Fair enough. But you’d better not try anything funny. I have friends in low places," the albino warned. "Come then, let's go."

  "Go where?" Andrew asked so quickly his question sounded like the gulp of a drowning man.

  "To my private dwelling, of course. You didn't actually think I would bring the girl here, did you? To a place like this?"

  Now Andrew did gulp, and his face paled almost enough to match the stranger’s. Lazarus stepped in front of the boy, sheltering him from Reuben's countenance.

  "Lead the way. We want this business over and done before dawn breaks."

  The three men slipped through the streets of the slum in muted silence, Lazarus having made it abundantly clear he was not pleased by nor willing to entertain Reuben's rough cackles, humor, or attempts at conversation. The night had grown long, and by the time the albino stopped and asked for his payment, the streets were as quiet and abandoned as the grave of the world beyond Home.

  "We go no further till I get mine," Reuben demanded, his pink eyes seeming to glow. There were no stars this night, but the hanging clouds that threatened snow reflected the lights of the Zigg and the surrounding slums, which gave an almost moon-like ambient glow to the sky.

  Lazarus hesitated and studied his surroundings more closely. A hill of trash, a flat square structure, a wrecked pre-Storm aeroplane, and pathways between all three.

  "Don't be coy. We aren't in the Wombat anymore. No one here has any intention of stealing, unless of course you intend to rob me?"

  "Of course not!" Lazarus feigned offense, then: "Very well. Andrew, pay the man."

  Andrew pulled back the folds of his poncho and held them up by pinching them in his armpit, while his free hand wrestled with a zippered pouch that was fastened about his waist.

  Reuben's face lit up with amusement. "Lazarus, you old scoundrel. Made the boy carry the goods, eh? No wonder the lad was sweating bullets all night."

  Lazarus glowered at the accusation. "It wasn't like that," he said, though it was, in fact, like that.

  "Do you know what the Ministry does to someone if they catch them with this stuff? You were the patsy, boy. That is just too delicious!" Reuben taunted, rubbing his hands together in anticipatory glee. Andrew paused and stared at Lazarus, hurt on his face.

  "Don't listen to him, boy," Lazarus ordered, but somehow, he knew it was too late. The boy would never trust him the same anymore. He could see it in the freckled kid's green eyes.

  Swallowing indignation, the kid broke away his tormented gaze and fished a handful of bound papers from his pouch. As soon as he handed them over to the albino, Lazarus saw his shoulders drop two inches. The weight of the contraband was gone, but the hurt of betrayal remained.

  Lazarus curled his lip up in disgust at the sounds Reuben began to make. He sounds like a rutting animal in his last thrusts, he thought. The albino unfolded the bound papers and tenderly caressed the topmost sheet of glossy paper, cooing as he did. Even standing opposite of him, Lazarus could make out the words on the sheet. TIME, it read.

  "You got your payment. Real, authentic, pre-Storm writings. Now, put those away before someone sympathetic to the Ministry sees them, and show us the girl you told me of," Lazarus ordered briskly. Being in the presence of illegal, pre-Storm writing, especially writing accompanied by ancient pictures, pictures that showed the true world before the Storm always scared him. The freak had called him out correctly; Lazarus had brought the boy along for the sole purpose of carrying the documents. If a Scrubber had happened to molest them this night, Lazarus would not have been the one caught with the taboo pages.

  "Yes, yes. Of course. Of course," Reuben mumbled and tucked the magazines inside his faded work jumper. "Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."

  "What was that?" Lazarus asked, not catching Reuben's whispered words.

  "Oh, nothing. Right this way," he answered and began walking towards the ruined aeroplane.

  A ramp, which Lazarus quickly realized used to be a wing belonging to the fallen plane, led from the street up to a door in the fuselage-turned-dwelling. Reuben made a gesture with his pointy white head and began walking up the snapped-off wing. Lazarus and Andrew followed. Having spent more time than he would ever admit to looking at pre-Storm picture books like the TIME magazines they had just paid the albino with, Lazarus knew what the tubular home used to be, and he was also astute and observant enough to know that the door had been modified, so that it could be locked and opened from the outside. A prudent measure, though in the Shanty, depending on who or what one was dealing with, a locked aluminum door wouldn't go far in keeping out a he or it that wanted in, if they wanted in bad enough.

  Having reached the top of the wing-ramp, Reuben placed his hand inside a small alcove and began to fumble about. A second later the door popped open a half inch. Grabbing its lip, Reuben swung it wide open and invited his guests in. Upon passing into the gutted-out plane, the wrinkles on Lazarus's forehead multiplied and deepened.

  The airplane was gutted, he had expected that. Sections of it were partitioned off by hanging curtains; he might have expected that. But the decor… The decor was unlike anything he could have guessed.

  "Lazarus? Is this all...?" Andrew muttered, awe in his voice.

  "Yes, lad, it is," Reuben said before Lazarus could reply.

  All over the interior of the fuselage hung nearly a hundred different illegal pre-Storm antiques. Upon closer examination, after his initial shock wore off, Lazarus realized they were all similar, related to each other in a thematic kind of way.

  "What… what is the meaning of all this?" Lazarus asked breathlessly.

  "This," Reuben announced, "is what I call the Salty Catfish Travel Agency." Reuben, clearly more than a casual enthusiast, spread his arms wide and gestured at the mélange of sights before them: posters of impossibly gorgeous islands of white and beige sand, dotted with alien-looking trees, surrounded by water of the richest blue color any of them had ever seen or even dreamt of, bluer even than a clear sky in the height of summer. Bright pink and yellow plastic flowers, sewn together into rings and strings hung here and there, dangling like fruit from invisible trees. Reuben strolled past his company and gave something sitting on a nearby shelf a flick of his middle finger. The act drew Lazarus's attention, and he observed a small statue of a human woman with bronze skin, wearing a skirt of green grass as well as a ring of flowers practically identical to the ones that decorated the albino's home. The statue’s over-sized head was bobbing up and down rhythmically, and her hips were swaying side to side. Dozens and dozens more examples of unusual and ancient paraphernalia filled every square inch of the interior surfaces. Some pictures overlapped. Lazarus felt as if he has been picked up and dropped into one of the very picture books he had paid Reuben with. His jaw was slack, his senses overwhelmed.

  "And now you understand why I wanted the payment I did. I am a connoisseur, a collector, a curator. May the Lady help you if I ever find the location of your precious Vault." He leaned in as he spoke this last bit and gave Lazarus and Andrew an exaggerated wink for emphasis. "And, as I'm sure you know, there is more than enough here to get a body scrubbed ten times over. So now we should have a little trust, no?" Lazarus stared at him, unsure of what to say. Andrew nodded vigorously. "I chose to bring you here so your fretful little reptile brains could rest easy. You see? I have much to lose also."

  "Very wel
l," Lazarus said softly, but firmly, "let's get down to business then."

  "Of course, of course!" Reuben bowed his too-small cone-head and began shuffling towards the back of the plane. "I will be right back." He disappeared behind a long, decorated curtain, a story in pictures printed on it: An aeroplane, shorter and fatter than the one they were presently in, landing on a sea of blue, a smoking mountain in the background, and a lounging woman, her appearance practically matching the dancing statue in the foreground. A second later, Reuben returned, towing a small girl behind him, her skin as bronze as that of the bobbling statue, her hair as black. She wasn't dressed in grass and flowers, however, but a simple garb of tanned animal skins, and her feet were clad in a pair of primitive sandals made from thin rope bound together by invisible threads or perhaps even glue.

  Her russet face was smeared with dirt and wore a look of confusion that had given way to resignation. Her tiny hand was in the albino's grip, but she followed him without having to be forced.

  "Here we are!" Reuben announced. "Wyntr, these are the men I told you about."

  "Little girl," Lazarus said, approaching her and taking one knee to see her eye to eye, "is it true what this... this man says? Do you know the location of the Morning Star? Do you know where to find that which my Lady seeks?"

  The little girl shifted uncomfortably and fidgeted with the skins she wore. Warily, as if looking for assurance or instruction, she looked up to the albino with her large, innocent brown eyes.

  "Go on now. Be a good girl and show them," Reuben said gently and nodded at her, releasing her hand at the same time.

  Suddenly, with jerking violence, the girl stiffened, threw her head back and spread her arms out to her sides. Lazarus and Andrew both started at the unexpected movement, but before they could exclaim a word, the little girl began to both levitate and glow. A deep hum emanated from the very air around the girl, growing in volume and intensity, knocking many of the illegal knick-knacks over.

  "She shapes Strange!" Andrew blurted out, his wavering index finger pointed at the glowing girl.

  Lazarus fell over backward onto his rump and gaped at the sight. The light seemed to be coming from under the child's skin and cast the Salty Catfish Travel Agency in a warm amber hue. The droning continued and reached a crescendo. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The child fell at the speed of gravity back to the floor of the plane, landing perfectly on her feet, her arms dropping to her sides as she did. Lazarus inhaled sharply and began to ask about what had happened, but before the first syllable was out, the girl flung her arms wide open again, and, opening her mouth and eyes, let loose three streams of the amber light. Lazarus heard Andrew gasp but didn't break his attention away from the girl. She began to turn slowly in place, pivoting perfectly in one spot, the beams of light issuing forth from her like searchlights in the fog. It was then that Lazarus noticed the pictures on the walls.

  These were not the pictures from the posters, no. This was far more immersive. If Lazarus had thought before that the decor made him feel dropped into a pre-Storm picture book, it was only because he had yet to experience the child's Strange. The interior walls of Reuben's dwelling seemed to be gone, along with the dark slum beyond. In their place, all around him, was the image of a bright, lush world, a misty jungle awash in brilliant light that diffused here and there through the oppressive moisture in the air, creating dozens of tiny, sparkling rainbows. The trees, dripping in tangled vines, reached up to the heavens nearly as high as the sky-bridges that passed over the Shanty. Birdsong and the chattering of a multitude of unseen insects filled the air as loudly as the Strange droning had a moment earlier. Lazarus quickly found that he could smell spicy sweetness that hadn't been there before, and his body began to sweat; for he could also feel the heat of this foreign land.

  "Has she transported us?" Andrew asked, almost panicked.

  "No lad, look," Lazarus explained as he pointed at a gap in the tall trees. There was blue sky there, yes, but if one looked close enough, one could see the ghost-like image of the aeroplane's interior, complete with tropical island posters. "This a hologram of sorts. Albeit, a Strange one."

  The projected images around them began to blur and shift. It quickly became clear that Wyntr was taking them on a kind of journey. The point of view zipped past, around and under the colossal trees, revealing a vista of rolling hills beyond the copse, carpeted in the same green of the foliage around them, making the land look like bread left out in the damp, only to have bright mold grow over every inch of it.

  "She is taking us somewhere," Lazarus said aloud.

  The speed at which they 'traveled,' meaning the speed at which the images moved, increased dramatically. The point of view moved like a bird, flying over the land and then rapidly descending through the canopy of trees, focusing on one of the hills in particular. Lazarus noted it was the largest of all in the valley shown to them. Now beyond the trees, they entered a world of misty dark once again, where only narrow beams of sunlight, like the ones shooting out of the girl's mouth and eyes, penetrated and touched down on the soft, mossy ground. For only a short spell, they moved among the trees, then the images slowed to a halt so suddenly Lazarus nearly lost his balance there on the floor of the aeroplane.

  Before them, superimposed on and over the walls of Reuben's home, was the image of a cave entrance. Despite the humidity and heat the Strange brought, Lazarus felt a chill run up his spine. Something beckoned from beyond the dark maw of the cave. Something ancient and powerful. He believed he knew what it was, but he had to see it for himself.

  "Show me," he said weakly, more of a request than an order.

  As if hearing him and registering his command, the projected images again began to move; slowly, this time, they entered the cave. Lazarus felt the sudden drop in temperature and shivered. The chorus of birdsong was replaced by the pinging drip, drip, drip of calcite-infused water, falling from the ceiling in random patterns. Onward and deeper they went, traversing and twisting their way into the very heart of the mountain. For a brief moment, they plunged underwater, only to come back to the surface a minute later. Dizzyingly, the images on the wall turned in place. As the point of view rotated, the dark of the cave slowly gave way to a shining wall of Strange light. The glowing wall filled the entire span of the cave, from uneven floor to jagged ceiling. Lazarus stared, awestruck by its beauty, transfixed by the almost alive-seeming sigils that danced and morphed across its surface.

  "The Morning Star..." Lazarus mouthed the words, but they came out silent.

  Then, in a flash, Wyntr stopped turning, stopped glowing, and the Strange images disappeared. Lazarus reached out his hand, trying to grasp it, trying to steal a piece of it away, but his fingers closed on empty air, beyond which lay the bizarre antiques of Reuben's home.

  "It's true then? All the legends are true?" Andrew asked.

  "Yes..." Lazarus answered dreamily, then he shook his head side to side, pulling himself back to the here and now. Turning to the boy, he ordered, "Go. Quickly. Bring Miller, tell him it is legitimate. I will wait here and protect the child."

  Andrew stared at him, mouth hanging open. The lad was apparently stunned by the weight of the responsibility just handed to him.

  "Go, I said! Now!" Lazarus barked and pointed to the wall, implying outside. The fierceness of the old man's commands either inspired or terrified the young member of the Underground Resistance—Lazarus couldn't tell which, but it mattered not—for it seemed to make the kid move with the urgency Lazarus expected.

  Without so much as a word, Andrew looked side to side, finding his bearings then once having located the door they’d come in from, exited the plane and disappeared into the night. May the Lady bless your steps with sureness and swiftness. Lazarus watched the kid go, closed the door behind him, and then turned to the foreign girl.

  "Where is this place? Can you show me how to get there?" Lazarus asked, his tone as passionate and demanding as a drunken lover. The girl, expr
essionless, merely nodded and beckoned the old man to come closer to her. Lazarus did, once again kneeling. She reached out a single, thin, tiny digit from her delicate hand and touched his forehead, and then, with the other arm, pointed to one of the double-paned porthole-style windows. Not quite understanding why, Lazarus nevertheless rose to his feet and approached the window. He bent slightly at the waist and peered outside, expecting to see only the dark Shanty beyond. The slum was there, but in the far distance, rising like a pillar to heaven on the horizon, stood a golden pillar of bright light. Lazarus blinked incredulously, not believing what his eyes were telling him was there. The pillar of light remained. It looked to be as far off as the place where the sun went when it sank. What lies beyond the Far Rough? Lazarus wondered, his mind reeling, images from the contraband magazines flashing before his mind's eye. He tore himself away from the window and looked at Wyntr sharply.

  "This light? Does this light show where the Morning Star is? Does it come from the place you showed me?" Lazarus practically screamed his questions. In the same, almost bored manner as before, Wyntr nodded.

  Lazarus exhaled as if he had been punched in the gut. His knees felt watery, and he clutched a nearby shelf for support, knocking down another one of Reuben's hula girls.

  Reuben! Where is Reuben?

  In all the excitement and dazzling displays of Strange he had witnessed, Lazarus hadn’t realized that Reuben wasn't in the cabin anymore. He called out for his host. No reply. Regaining his legs, he dashed to the back of the plane where the albino had produced the girl. Pulling aside the picture curtain, Lazarus hissed when he spied nothing but an empty bedchamber.

  "Reuben, you snake! Where are you?"

  Wyntr looked at Lazarus, her expressionless face now painted with worry and apprehension. Lazarus moved to console her but stopped mid-step when his ears detected a noise that didn’t belong: a low, canine growling came from just the other side of the aeroplane home's door. No! Dear Lady! Andrew! Lazarus froze, paralyzed, hoping against all hope that his ears had betrayed him. Then he heard the door make the same scuffling noises it had made when Reuben had first opened it. Lazarus's eyes widened with dawning horror as another throaty growl came from outside. Just as he moved to snatch Wyntr up into his arms and flee, the door ripped open and bright lights poured in.