Adventures Of Myhr Part 26

I'd have been bored (not to mention hungry) standing around waiting onit , though. Might as well have a snack.

My morning wanderings around Rumpock confirmed that this world not only lacked pizza, but was woefully behind on the concept of delivery food, period. If it turned out we were stuck here permanently I planned to correct that lack and make lots of money. I could go into partnership with Clem since he was a friendly sort and had a good kitchen all set up. I could be "Myhr the Singing Pizza Cat, Your Order in Thirty Minutes or It's Free." Hmm. That might not be too cost-effective in a horse-and-wagon society. Have to come up with a different promotion ploy.

From the size of the measuring cups this place had a different system than Earth; good thing I never bothered to learn imperial or metric. I went by eyeball calculation and the feel of the dough. Shankey knew a thing or three about baking ovens-maybe from that cook girlfriend of his-and got a fire going for me. Man, back home I'd have had to pay extra for the taste that would come out of this kitchen and said as much to them. Though there were only two in my audience, I felt compelled to have a running patter going about pizza parlors back home as I mixed, rolled, and tossed. It kept Filima distracted. She actually smiled when I began spinning the dough overhead like a juggler.

I spread it out on a close cousin to a cookie sheet, poured on wolf apple smash spiked with salt, vinegar, and a touch of garlic, then loaded on toppings like sliced sausage, mushrooms, and cheese. Oh, for some pepperoni.

"It'll be great," I said in response to their horrified looks. Apparently no one had ever combined these items into a single dish before. I was the first ever to do so on this world and for many brave minutes felt a little like Neil Armstrong. My audience maintained the face-making shtick until I got another round of beer for the table.

"What's going to happen to me?" Filima asked.

I didn't think her question had anything to do with how her digestion would react to the pizza. "In relation to . . . ?" "When the town finds out what I've done. What Botello did."

"They won't," said Shankey.

"They could," she countered. "We all scry on each other unless we think to put up protections. I'm sure someone might know already."

"I doubt it," I said. "Botello had that spot shielded up the wahzoo or someone would have sensed it. The kind of power he was working down there would have been astrally noticed by someone long before you walked in on him. He had it locked tight."

Shankey agreed. "If anyone had found out, he would have stepped forward by now and spoken to the overduke."

"Unless it's that idiot Cadmus." Filima made a derisivehumph sound. "He and Botello talked magic all the time, though I'm sure as often as not he came over to ogle me."

"You think Lord Cadmus knows anything that could help us?"

She shrugged, her eyes dull from the beer. "He's the honorable sort who would have stepped forward by now. He'd want to help out against the h.e.l.l-river. Even he's not that dim-except where I'm concerned. He'd keep quiet if he thought it would further his suit, I'm sure. I'm certain he scrys on me all the time. I put up protections, but he could find a way around them. b.l.o.o.d.y puppy love."

"But"-Shankey shot a warning glance at me-"what if he's really in love with you?"

"I don't want to think about that. Poor Botello's not cold in his tomb yet."

Poor Botello???

Shankey was equally scandalized. "My lady, Lord Botello tried to feed you to ademon !"

"Which hasnothing to do with me not wanting to get involved with another man until I'm d.a.m.ned good and ready!"

That would be about twenty years from now to judge by her tone. Standing behind Filima, I made a throat-cutting gesture at Shankey, who caught the message and nodded. He'd apparently dealt with enough women to understand when to shut up.

"Wooo, that's sure smelling good," I said, to change the subject. I peered into the depths of the baking oven. The crust was just starting to brown, the shredded cheese to melt. "Not long now."

Filima took a swig of beer. "Takes longer to put it together than to cook," she observed.

"And less time to eat it, which is why I made it triple-huge."

"We won't finish all that."

"No problem. Cold pizza's just as tasty. Ask any college kid who's pulled an all-nighter." If and when Terrin completed his code-breaking he'd want a sizable chunk of the feast too. And speak of the devil, he sauntered in. There wasn't a speck of dust on him. He looked almost normal.

"Wa.s.sup?"

"Sausage pizza," I said.

"Coolies." He sat at the table next to Filima. If she'd just look atme with that kind of antic.i.p.ation.

"Well?" she demanded, eyebrows and voice rising.

He shrugged. "You want the bad news first? Or thebad news first?"

"That's supposed to be good news/bad news," I pointed out.

"Not this time. Got any beer left?"

"Didyou find out what Botello was doing?" she asked, eyebrows and voice going higher.

"Yeah, and it ain't good from any angle."

"You broke the code?"

He curled his lip in disgust. "Code? You callthat a code? More like shorthand notes. I didn't bother."

"But how did you-?"

"I just held the stuff for awhile and felt up the vibes he left behind. He might as well have put it in Times Square in lights. You guys are in deep kimchee."

"Terrin . . ." I handed him a flagon of beer. "You're scaring the lady."

"That's awright, she can take it. But one thing-that little tiff in the bas.e.m.e.nt ain't nothing compared to what's coming."

The offhand way he said it pounded the point home. We stared at each other for a bad moment. They went pale and so did I-under the fur. It felt the way pale should feel, anyway. "Well, go on."

He slugged back the beer, all of it, and cut loose with a monumental belch. I swear the walls shook.

"That's better." He leaned forward. "Okay, it's like this: Botello's studies got him into opening portals between planes. Myhr and I do that all the time when we travel, it's no big deal because I know what I'm doing."

I stifled a snort.

He heard. "Iknow what I'm doing," he repeated. "Your guy thought he knew, but didn't really. Most beginners are like that. All they see are the special effects, they don't get the wherefores of the underlying work behind them and only groove to the flash and dazzle. Lazy twits."

"The scrying mirror was a portal? Into h.e.l.l?"

"Give the cat a kewpie doll. Botello had enough personal power to open one and probably thought he could control whatever came through it. He was working in a fast and dirty way, not how you'resupposed to. All those jars and liquids and junk were part of his conjuring. Amateur stuff. No real wizard who knows his noodles has to bother. It's a matter of power, will, intent, and some d.a.m.ned brutal training-years of it, which he didn't bother with-you get those four working smooth and you don't need silly things like props."

"Okay we get that, and that Botello was opening portals better left shut. Why?"

"Oh,pul-ease ! For power, of course."

"Power." I felt a bit of a let-down. "That's it?"

"Pretty much. Of course, what he was after was a mash of Panavision, Technicolor, Cinemascope, Omnimax with Dolby Digital sound with subwoofers only elephants can hear kind of power."

I got what he was saying, even if Filima and Shankey were lost. "Serious s.h.i.t kind of power."

"The most serious, s.h.i.ttiest kind, yes."

"Magic power?" asked Shankey, visibly floundering at what to him must have been a string of incomprehensible gabble-words. He was mostly right.

Terrin lifted his flagon for a refill. "Yuppers. Only kind worth having. There's just a few little problems: to get that high a degree you have togive something in return. The Multiverse is strict on checks and balances. Make it rain in one field, another one goes dry-those are the rules; you deal with them.

Botello the do-it-yourselfer on a roll decided he was above that. He started small, like a guy who only snorts c.o.ke on the weekends, thought he was in control, and the demons he dealt with let him keep on thinking it. Then when he was thoroughly addicted to what they fed him, they kept upping the dose."

"And getting what in return?" I asked, topping off his flagon.

"Knowledge about this side of Reality. Anything they can use that might break down the barriers. They want to be here because h.e.l.l is h.e.l.l. The more they find out about this side the more they want it, but hate it at the same time. The way other countries look at America. They want the mod-cons decadence-cheap fast food, blue jeans, and flush toilets-but since they can't get them, they gouge tourist wallets and blow up emba.s.sies. Copy for the evening news."

I looked at Filima. "You get that?"

She shook her head. "Botello found a way of bringing demons into this side of Reality? And they want to be here?"

"So far, they only managed it for short periods in his downstairs Black Room," said Terrin. "c.r.a.ppy as that place was, it'sstill better than h.e.l.l. If that was all he showed them of this side they'd want it. Want it bad. Beer?"

I remembered the flagon in my hand and gave it over. "So if they got the idea that his room was just a small part of something better . . ."

"Then they'd want itreal bad. They'd feed him up, offer him a sweetheart of a power deal, all he has to do is fix it so they can drop in for casual visits. That's what they'd tell him, anyhow, and he'd believe them because he'd want to believe. The way things are set up with the planes, demons aren't allowed to docrossings on their own. They have to be brought in under very specific conditions. The Powers That Be getvery honked off with those who make the attempt themselves sothey must have been paying attention to Botello's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around. That's how you ended up being the defender of all Reality, girl." He smirked at Filima.

"All Reality?" She seemed unconvinced.

"Pretty much. I wouldn't sweat it. Sooner or later everyone gets a turn and most don't even know it.

Usually it's something subtle like holding a door for someone at the right place and time. Or not holding a door. That's going on all over so no one really notices. But-if something major is getting the balance out of whack more force is needed than a b.u.t.terfly doing a wing-rumba in a rain forest. So this time they sent in a p.i.s.sed-off, ignored wife swinging a cold-iron mallet like Hank Aaron on speed. Congratulate your fine self, girl. You saved the world. For a little while. I figure we got a couple of hours yet."

"Hours?" she squeaked. It was a cute squeak, but didn't suit her.

"Hours." I said evenly. "Then what happens?"

"Something bad."

"Define that, please."

He peered past me at the oven. "Hey, get that pizza out before it burns. I'm starvin'!"

The Overduke's Black Room in the Palace Cadmus's contribution of magic energy helped Botello feel much better, but still notquite satisfied. He required a lot more power, not only to initiate what was to come, but to withstand the aftermath. Once he opened the Door Between the demons might not discern friend from food unless he had sufficient protections around himself.

In a few hours that wouldn't be a problem. The remaining Talents of Rumpock would come to the palace, singly, in pairs, in groups, all with the expectation of resolving the business with the h.e.l.l-river.

There'd be a resolution, just not one they'd like.

Filima would be in their number. Should he sc.r.a.pe her out first or let her watch it happen to the others?

Either way had its own appeal. Either would teach her not to interrupt his workings. "We need to talk. . . ." indeed. b.l.o.o.d.y woman.

He began pacing around the room, wonderful new possibilities giving him a surfeit of nervous energy.

Wonderful feeling.

Perhaps . . . he could send an escort to fetch her to the palace. The h.e.l.l-river would drain away her small store of powers as she pa.s.sed through it, but it might be worth the sacrifice to have a private chat with her. He could ignore the curfew. He was the overduke after all; he could order anything he liked and people would jump to it. Lovely advantage, that.

Turning too sharply, he bashed into the overduke's table, nearly sending the reversed scrying mirror off its edge. Botello caught it only just in time, fumbling badly. If only he weren't so d.a.m.ned blind. It was liketrying to see through overly thick, fogged gla.s.s. He'd have to find a way of correcting the fault, or see to it that his own body was manifested anew. There was no question of reinhabiting his old one. What shape it was in after two weeks of rotting away in the Darmo family tomb he didn't want to consider. While he was about it he could fix his manifestation at a much younger physical age, trulyfix it. Imagine being perpetually twenty. He could be taller, too. And cure that lifelong nagging ingrown toenail trouble . . .

But later. First things first.

He checked his trousers. Well, Anton's trousers. Contents thereof.

Goodgawds .

Apparently there weresome compensations for being half blind.

Same Palace. The Dungeon Cadmus decided that his situation-confinement in one of the overduke's dungeon cells-though bad, could be worse. The place was small, but thus far free of hungry rodents and obnoxious crawly bugs.

He'd had a good meal, even if he couldn't remember eating, so it would be hours yet before risking his digestion to the vagaries of prison food.

The delightful Velma had believed his story about Anton being possessed by Botello. She was a brainy, practical sort and would pool resources with that squinty gentleman doctor fellow. Between them they'd eventually come up with something helpful to their problems.

Captain Rockbush was out of the old school, meaning that prisoners were treated with a certain degree of respect no matter what their accused crime. He'd follow the letter of his orders and be polite . . . right up to the point where Cadmus ascended the scaffold.

Cadmus shied away from that one. It was one thing to run swinging into a duel to the death, quite another to coldly consider the idea of being executed. He was fairly certain Botello would have that uppermost in mind, only it wasn't likely to be a formal execution. He'd send some lackey down with a knife or garrote. Or see to it himself.

But Captain Rockbush wouldn't allow that onhis watch. Being old school he would require no end of proper paperwork, even from Anton, which could take days. Botello couldn't hide behind the overduke's face for that long without someone noticing.

Sigh of relief. Cadmus was safe for the moment. Things could indeed be much worse.

So . . . now what? He frowned at the drab walls. He'd not been here long enough to justify scratching marks on them as had past incarcerates. Besides, he really didn't care to leave a written record that yet another member of the Burkus clan had ended up in jail. The family reputation was spotty enough. He'd really hoped to redeem it by marrying the divine Filima, fathering some lovely children, and raising them up smarter than he'd been raised. First and foremost: he'd keep them away from Burkus family history lest they take all those bad ends as a model instead of a lesson.

"Cadmus!" The fierce whisper jarring him from his somewhat dented dreams had come from Velma. She'd changed from her fragile evening dress into a very flattering riding-type costume, all high boots and trousers. She might not have been born a d.u.c.h.ess, but certainly possessed the good taste inherent to the cla.s.s. With a better figure. No wonder Anton adored her. Cadmus got up from the plank bed upon which he'd been reclining and executed a superbly ironic bow to acknowledge his fallen circ.u.mstance. "Dear lady, how nice to see you again. So kind of you to brighten my lonely incarceration with the warmth of your presence."

"Oh, will you leave off the fancy talk, we're not at court now."

"One must keep up appearances, good for morale, y'see."

She came close to the bars of his cell. They were new bars and hadn't had time to rust yet. Not that this dungeon was damp. As dungeons go it was rather decent. "Were you serious that you knew a way of getting Anton back from h.e.l.l?"

Cadmus looked past her. Captain Rockbush stood a few paces away by a big slab of a door, his deadpan gaze well over their heads. It was an illusion of privacy only; Rockbush could hear everything, of course, giving no indication of what he thought of the proceedings. Cadmus supposed that so long as he and Velma didn't talk of escape there was no cause to worry.

"Yes, actually," he said, pleased she'd followed up on what he'd shouted over his shoulder when Rockbush and his man had dragged him off. "I had a positively brilliant thought on that."