Enigmatic Pilot_ A Tall Tale Too True Part 18

They fed themselves with what decent food they could find and then began hauling the goods they hoped to take with them. It was frustrating that many things would not fit with the coffin in position on the wagon, which, of course, needed to remain easy to unload. They could have managed everything if they had chosen to take the coffin and bury it first and then return to load their things, but no one in the family thought this was a good idea. Better to be seen by as few people as possible. Two trips would increase their vulnerability.

By the time they were ready to depart, it was close to midnight. In one sense this was good, because it meant fewer people would be abroad. However, it would also make their errand more suspicious if they encountered anyone-and, as Lloyd had learned the other night, anyone who was out at that time was far more likely to be a threat. But there was nothing to be done about that now.

Once more the Sitt.u.r.ds found themselves stealing away, hoping to avoid the detection of prying eyes. The difference this time was that all three were united in alertness, the bond of family stronger for the trials they had survived.

They were on the southwestern side of the town, so extricating themselves from the community was somewhat easier, given that this was the direction they were heading in. Nevertheless, they had intended to leave at first light, with full supplies and the best maps they could acquire. As it was, they had a compa.s.s, one of the large-scale maps used by the mail riders, a small duck gun, and a waxing moon swathed in clouds. With any luck, thought Hephaestus, the clouds will hold until we clear town and then break and give us some help.

The road was still muddy, but the Clutters' emaciated horses seemed relieved to have made their escape from the funeral parlor and found an effort their sorry frames would not have indicated they could deliver. Their pace was slow, because the Sitt.u.r.ds wanted to make as little noise as possible without at the same time appearing to be sneaking. Their senses were sharp and their breathing was shallow. They saw a man snoring drunk beside a hogshead, which gave Hephaestus a p.r.i.c.k of conscience, because he realized that this was what he must have looked like often in the past.

The dwindling aroma of a savory stew drifted out of a makeshift boardinghouse, so unlike the fare they had been inflicted with at the Clutters'. The whole sordid scene pa.s.sed through their minds again, but pa.s.sed through Lloyd's the fastest. He was ruminating on the music box he had plundered. He could not imagine not having taken it-it was too tempting a prize not to want to examine further, even though it was empty. And that was the thing that troubled him, although he could not say why. Did having something of the enemy's-if that was indeed what the Vardogers were-strengthen their position or weaken it? He did not like to think he carried with him something that might endanger his family further.

The frail horses hauling the overloaded wagon squished along in the hardening mud as the clouds thinned and the moon broke through. By the time they were past the edge of the town proper, they had counted just two figures they knew had seen them. One was an Indian smoking a long store-bought pipe, leaning up against his dozing horse as if there were nothing more natural than using your horse as a pillow-as at home as he would have been a hundred miles away in prairie gra.s.s.

Lloyd wished that he understood more about the Indians and their ways. He had known things about those closer to home in Zanesville, like King Billy, but in the family's travels since, he seemed to have been cut off from any close contact. He had seen many, but they were more like parts of the landscape. Even by moonlight, it frustrated him not to be able to intuit more about the man. How far away did he live? What was his tribe, his language, the magic he believed in? Lloyd had already come to understand something that eludes or deceives many: everyone believes in a kind of magic, though it may go by other names. "I hope my life has more to do with Indians," he told himself as they creaked past.

The other denizen of Independence to confront them was a dog, which at first made them all wary, because they were afraid it would bark and call notice to them. There was also not far in the back of all their minds the image of the black savage that had shredded the Spaniard's dog in the street. But this dog seemed to be normal. Curious but not vicious. Scruffy, of no particular breed, it began to tag along behind them, tempting Hephaestus to load the duck gun.

Lloyd observed his father's annoyance and said, "It's all right, Farruh. Maybe he needs to leave town, too."

The lame man sent out more energy through his arms into the reins. His son was right again. They had much more to worry about than stray dogs. And what were they if not stray dogs themselves? "You can't blame a critter for wanting company," Hephaestus told himself, his eyes ferreting through the moon shadows, hoping for some sign of the mail track on the outskirts.

They were a long time finding it, and then getting far enough down it to think of veering off-someplace they could get the wagon to so as to bury the remains of the Clutters in as much privacy as they could manage. Along the way they pa.s.sed a couple of buckboards and simple farm wagons with canvas sh.e.l.ls trying to be houses large enough to contain a ragtag of families and animals. It gave them all a little hope that their designs were no more foolish than many folk's, torn between old lives and new. They also pa.s.sed a large Spanish camp under some chestnuts. Here the fires were still burning-the scent of food and scheming. "Spaniards never seem to sleep," Lloyd said to himself. "Perhaps I should become a Spaniard."

Finally, they found themselves far enough away from Independence to consign the remains of the Clutters to earth and to heaven-if such in-between beings were allowed into heaven. There was a grove of trees off the track, which was becoming less a road and more tall gra.s.s with a seam running through. As far into the grove as they dared to venture, and as close in as they could get with the wagon and the now exhausted horses, they set about the strenuous task of digging a grave deep enough to hide the coffin.

All three Sitt.u.r.ds pitched in. The heavy rain that had softened the earth made the back-aching work somewhat easier, but not much. It was a good hour of team excavation before an acceptable depth was achieved. At some point, they each recalled poor old Tip back in Ohio-and the Time Ark. Rapture's heart wandered further back in time to the stillborn body of Lodema, while Lloyd thought of his cove of wind charms and the slave cemetery across the river from St. Louis, where Sch.e.l.ling had taken him to meet Mother Tongue. Hephaestus remembered vague flashes of his drunken sprees in the shantylands, and how he had once pa.s.sed out in a graveyard, and very well might have remained if not for the grace of chance and the love of his family. It struck them all that every camp is made amid graves. It is just unknown who lies buried.

It was with this welter of woe and anxiety that they at last completed their morbid mission. The horses were refreshed from the respite-slightly. To be able to push on past sunrise seemed hard. That would leave them still too close to Independence for comfort. Not being able to talk above a whisper and share concerns made the anxiety grow. A damp mist was beginning to rise, which was unsettling to see and unpleasant to feel, and the shambling gait of the horses seemed to herald some imminent breakdown, when around a stand of broken trees and heavy bracken they heard a sound that brought their hearts up into their mouths. It was not an animal sound, like a wild pig or a coyote. It was not a human sound, but it made the duck gun they were carrying seem as useful as a feather duster.

"E' Gawd love!" Rapture exclaimed, too loud for the male Sitt.u.r.ds' liking, for out of the patchy mist the beast noise rose as if in response. It was followed by the yelp of a dog-the mutt that had tagged along with them must have slunk out ahead of them, as dogs liked to do, Lloyd reasoned. Now the poor wayfarer had flushed some savage creature out of the underbrush and was about to become a meal. Or was something lying in wait for them?

All their mutual fears forced them to freeze. The moon swam out from behind what was left of the clouds, and the sky above the low road fog sharpened into cold clarity-the intensification of the light revealing the silhouette of something like a man, and something a little too much like a bear for their liking. The thing seemed to recognize its greater visibility and made a gesture that demonstrated a fierce desire both for confrontation and for greater camouflage.

Both inclinations were thwarted in a strangely comic fashion when the creature rushed forward, to be dragged back and to fall with a thump, as if it had run to the end of a length of chain. The next thing, which to Lloyd's and Rapture's minds at least, was the most unexpected of all was that a familiar voice rose out of the darkness. "Hey there, Senator," it said. "Don't fret now. I knew they were comin' for the last half hour."

It was Fast f.a.n.n.y Ockleman, the gunwoman they had met on the main street earlier in town. The unmistakable ramrod shadow strode up out of the gloom about ten paces away from where the creature had appeared, and which now had returned to an upright but crouched position, making a low, threatening sound that was somewhere between an ursine growl and some kind of protective chant.

In the moonlight, Lloyd could see that she had one of her newfangled guns drawn, but she approached with no hint of alarm and seemed to step through the thigh-high mist to meet them with the grace of an Indian, just as casually as she had greeted the outnumbered situation with Joshua Breed and his hooligans. I wonder if anything scares her, Lloyd thought, before turning his mind to what she was doing out in the wild, awake and alert, at such a time of night.

"You folks'll have to be right quieter if you expect to get where you're goin', and travelin' at this hour is for those who have to or know how. I take it you have to."

"Who...is that?" Hephaestus gasped, almost dropping the reins.

The weary horses had snapped awake at the first hint of the creature's presence. Perhaps if there had been a breeze they would have known about the brute long before. In any case, they were nervous and distraught now.

"Tid be now a long tale tru," Rapture muttered, not wanting even to think about the incident back in town.

"I am the best shadow you'll meet in these parts tonight," Fast f.a.n.n.y replied. Nearby, Lloyd thought that he could make out a group of shelters tucked away, hidden by both branch and mist.

"We weren't wanting to meet any shadows a'tall," the elder Sitt.u.r.d replied.

"Best not to venture by moonshine then," the woman answered.

"What's that...animal?" Lloyd called, unable to help himself.

"Hush there, boy," f.a.n.n.y returned. "Other folks are trying to sleep, and you don't want to be stirring up Senator again. I'll be to sunup getting him peaceful and he'll be a sack of possums all day on the trail. Now follow me, with a lid on your questions. I can give you a place to bunk for a bit, and come a brighter hour you can make a better plan than the one you got."

"You know this woman?" Hephaestus demanded.

"Aye that," Rapture a.s.sented, not wanting to say more.

"And you trust...her?"

"Yes," Lloyd answered decisively, still curious about the tethered creature, which was quite obviously of the same mind regarding them.

Hephaestus took stock. They had just fled civilization, well before their preparations were complete, to embark on the most difficult leg of their entire journey, having witnessed some kind of nightmare magic that had beset their hosts, then buried the evidence of the atrocity in an unmarked grave on the edge of what was to them real wilderness, with the possible charge of murder hanging over their heads, and maybe even more serious trouble awaiting them if anything like what his son had hinted about was true. In this mix of moonlight and mist, the idea of following a total stranger-a woman who looked like a man and who wielded a kind of gun that he had never seen before, and had some kind of monster animal, no less-seemed if not reasonable to him, then at least possible and maybe even advisable.

f.a.n.n.y led them around the stand of trees to two wagons, one of them large and of odd design, and several improvised structures, which Lloyd recognized as Indian-style tepees made of animal hides supported by wooden frames. The rest of the camp, whoever they were, seemed to be asleep, except for a short, stocky man who had been leaning against a wagon wheel with a large cudgel on his knees. He got to his feet when f.a.n.n.y gave a tight whistle.

"Who's this now?" he whispered.

"At first light," f.a.n.n.y replied, as if to say no more would be said until then.

She ushered the Ohioans into a squat tepee pitched in the lee of the larger wagon and ducked her head in when the family had straggled through the slit.

"I'll unhitch your horses and give them some feed. We don't have much for our own, let alone yourn. But they'll get some rest. We rise early and we'll be on the trudge earlier than usual. I reckon you should do the same. But take a load off now. Whatever called you out on the move at such an hour won't have an easy time making worry for you for a few hours at least. Now, no questions till birdsong. Get as much shut-eye as you can."

Suddenly, the hardened woman was gone, and the Sitt.u.r.ds were left in deeper bewonderment than ever, but more than a little grateful not to have been attacked by the beast or waylaid by dark men with even darker designs. All three were bone-f.a.gged and brain-sore, and still coming to terms with the crazed events of the day. Lloyd felt particularly bleary, since he had not slept more than an hour the previous night owing to his encounter with the Quists and the Bushrod Rangers.

Something in the performance with the Eye had drained him, he felt, and perhaps had also energized him in some new way, which he considered might account for the spell that had overcome him when caning Josh Breed. He had no explanation for the women in white. Then the shock of finding the Clutters, and all the questions their grisly situation called forth! It was all such a jumble, and yet he sensed that just to the edge of his mind's sight was an explanation that brought it all together. The hint of it toyed with him for a while, as he lay clutching his bag of precious items on the hard bedroll in the skin-smelling tepee that kept the night damp at bay.

For a few moments he listened to his parents' emphatic whispering, trying to clear his head-trying to feel the protective presence of Lodema and to imagine where his beloved Hattie was, hoping she was out of danger and knowing that almost certainly she was not. It was in this anxious, exhausted, wondering state that a dream began to enfold him.

He had the idea that he was hunting for Hattie, trapped inside a giant music box. The inside of the box was like an empty theater he had peered into in St. Louis. Hattie was hidden somewhere within, but he could not find her; she was being held prisoner by a man like Junius Rutherford with mechanical crab-claw hands. Then into the darkness of the empty seats there came a weird wind that brought with it a cloud of what looked like fireflies, luminous tiny insects that were so beautiful to behold that he wanted to reach out and touch them. But when he did they burned his hand like cinders. He swatted at them, trying to escape, and when he readjusted his eyes he saw that on every empty chair there now burned a sleek candle with even flames rising from them like the voting hands of some dire and unanimous congress. A door opened, and he saw a figure he took to be Hattie dragged from the theater and out into the light. He raced after them, feeling the scorching flecks of the insects against his face, hearing the hissing of the candles, like a religious chant.

He knew that he was still inside the music box, but it was much larger than he had first thought. The door of the theater opened into the street of a town, a ghost town lit by unknown means, like the lights he had seen in Mother Tongue's grotto. Dead people were walking about as if in a trance. Skeletons and mechanical men and women, like a vast fair of haunted machines. There were folk dressed in historic costumes and all manner of fantastic creatures from out of fairy tales, while women in hoopskirts with the same porcelain mask for faces paraded past in silence.

In the dark of the windows he ran by, he glimpsed things like torture chambers-people getting their limbs removed, human bodies with the heads of other animals, pits full of reptiles with the faces of children. On and on he ran, trying to catch the man who had Hattie-or was it his sister?

Gradually, the light began to change, and he saw that the music box that he thought was a theater and then a town was like another kind of theater yet again. There were living people watching, pointing, ogling the sights-as if the entire maze he was lost in was but one huge medicine show. The people were in costumes of a type he had never seen before. Bright artificial colors, ridiculous shoes. Many of the women were baring obscene amounts of flesh, and everyone seemed obese. The more frantically he explored, the more disgusted he became, for he came to see and smell the overpowering aromas and quant.i.ties of the nauseous, tempting food they were devouring. Gorging like maniacs.

In the labyrinth of the automata ghost town, there were islands and lagoons where machine men dressed as pirates fought with swords and fired cannons. Somnolent blank princesses sang to birds and squirrels, whose mouths opened on hinges in perfect time. He saw riverboats like the kind he had ridden on, filled with talking dolls. All the living people were laughing at these distractions, stuffing food into their mouths as if they had never eaten before. The horror of it almost made him forget why he was there, what he was chasing-for in some unspoken way he understood that it was the mechanical creatures and the fantasies unfolding all around that were driving the living people mad with gluttony. Everywhere he turned, there were more frightening visions.

The giant music-box theater, which had turned out to be inside a town, which was really a bigger theater, revealed itself to be a city, swirling and swarming with bloated people in insane colors with masks like clock faces. Hunkered in doorways, like beggars, were rodent forms and filthy derelicts with the tails of lizards. There were trains that whisked by as if they ran on light, and carriages without horses or oxen that looked like eggs or beetles. In the sky overhead were flying machines like those he had envisaged, but inside them were just more people eating and drinking. The women wore next to nothing, and yet street-corner preachers set fire to random pa.s.sersby. Bodies and baubles hung from the street lanterns-a murder and a sale of some kind were transacted on every corner. And, all the time, Lloyd told himself, "The oddest thing of all is that I know I am still inside the music box."

Still, knowing this did not help him find Hattie. Then he peered out beyond the festering false-face emporia and saw something that held his eye. It was, in fact, something like the Eye. Only in the shape of an enormous building, like a cathedral. Limestone and metallic green, it towered in the distance. Until he saw that it was not a citadel of some kind, nor was it human-made. It trembled rhythmically, like some deep music. It was laced with lightning and rainbows as dark as the skin of the fish he remembered catching in the Licking River back in his other life. Hovering on the horizon like an omen and a promise, he saw in its inverted pyramid shape the complexity of the Amba.s.sadors' master symbol. It was a tornado-heaped and spiraling chaos that somehow retained its form. And at the base, in the gorgeous crisis that anch.o.r.ed it to the earth, was a door-and in the doorway was a girl. Then the shadow of a jeweled claw reached out to him Then the shadow of a jeweled claw reached out to him. He turned to run and headed for one of the riverboats, for they were most familiar to him. He chose the one that seemed most authentic-and to his astonishment he found himself confronted by his old comrade, St. Ives. The gambler appeared lost in reverie, smoking a cigar and staring down at the water.

CHAPTER 9.

A Bend in Another River EVERYTHING WAS JUST AS BEFORE-THE NIGHT S ST. IVES TOLD HIM the story about the hand. "You wonder about it, don't you, boy?" St. Ives asked, and tapped an ash. "How I came by the hand-and how I came to lose my own." the story about the hand. "You wonder about it, don't you, boy?" St. Ives asked, and tapped an ash. "How I came by the hand-and how I came to lose my own."

"Y-yes," Lloyd found himself saying. "There's no hiding there's a story behind it." Yet there was something different about this scene. Indefinably different Indefinably different. Was the boat moving?

"Well put, lad." The gambler nodded. "And well spoken. Like a gentleman. But I fear if I tell you the truth you will think me mad. Still, you have been an excellent partner. I believe you deserve my trust and may reward me with your discretion." St. Ives lowered his voice and glanced around to see if any other pa.s.sengers or crew were within earshot. He had not been wearing a hat the night before, but now he was-and a very stylish hat, too.

"A little over ten years ago I used to be the secretary to a very rich man in the East. He valued my memory and my head for calculations. That may be hard for you to imagine, given your skills, but I took the bait. Phronesis Larkshead, or so he called himself then. But that was not his real name, I am sure. Owner of the Enigma Formulary and Gun Works in Delaware. An inventor, a wire-puller. A formidable figure.

"He had the tinge of some sort of acid burn on his face and wore a flat-brimmed hat pulled down low, with a veil, which he claimed offered protection from all his 'substances.' He always kept his skin covered as much as possible in a dark suit without b.u.t.tons. I used to fancy that his body was riddled with unnatural signs and scars. My initial belief was that one of his experiments had backfired on him. He was forever fiddling with new combinations of chemicals-schemes for weaponry. And other things. Weirder things. He was far, far ahead of his time, was Mr. Larkshead. He had designed and built a mechanical manservant. A sort of butler named Zadoc. What it was powered by I do not know, he would not reveal it-but it was not steam. The device had an almost blank, bland face, but I suspected he had other faces baking. How the thing could see or navigate I have no idea. This was the first of many things I wish I had not discovered, but my fascination got the better of me. His estate was like nothing you can imagine. He called it the Villa of the Enigmas."

"Go on..." Lloyd said, feeling the hairs on his neck rise. This was like what had happened before-but not the same. Not the same.

"Well...I know this will sound like utter flapdoodle, but he had a colony of live ants from the jungles of South America in a great gla.s.s nest. I could not guess why or how he came by them, but I know that he spent a good deal of money keeping them alive in the northern climate...and that, as outrageous as it sounds, he had some notion of communicating with them. I could see that he was at work on a grand scheme. There was a whole wing of the estate I was never allowed to enter-and, frankly, I had no wish to, given what was in evidence around me."

"How did you really really come to work for someone such as that?" Lloyd asked. "Such a person would need no hired head for figures." He had not thought to say that before. But it struck him now. "Indeed," the gambler smirked. "I wanted to think then that it was because of my abilities. Now I know I was a fool. I believe I was one of his test subjects, without knowing it." come to work for someone such as that?" Lloyd asked. "Such a person would need no hired head for figures." He had not thought to say that before. But it struck him now. "Indeed," the gambler smirked. "I wanted to think then that it was because of my abilities. Now I know I was a fool. I believe I was one of his test subjects, without knowing it."

"Test subjects?" the boy queried.

"Aye. I believe I was lured to the estate with the offer of employment, but I think I was given drugs-some kind of powerful narcotic that did not disrupt all perception but yet was responsible for visions. I cannot explain the things I saw elsewise. I witnessed a meeting. Whatever they were, or are, I suspect it is the real force behind his company and his wealth-behind a great deal of other things, too. Things we would do well not to know about."

"That sounds like something far better to know about than not," Lloyd replied.

"Just the kind of young-headed notion that got me into the mess," St. Ives lamented. "What I saw was a group...of people, if you like. Who all looked like him. I can't explain it. There were twelve of them in total! Yet they did not seem like individuals. They seemed as one. They had a kind of diagram they conjured out of the air-a mosaic-like puzzle-and they were engaged in some type of ceremony or strategy-planning session. I swear I have never told anyone else this!"

"Where were you hiding while you were watching?" Lloyd wanted to know.

"Well, this may be the most miraculous part!" the gambler whispered. "I saw the whole thing through a bewitched gla.s.s cube I found in the library. I had seen the cube before, but it had always been clear and empty. I had a.s.sumed it was just some type of mirror made into an art object. There were so many peculiar artifacts about the place, I gave it no special thought, until that day when it came alive. As the scene unfolded, I could not but conclude that Larkshead and the others were a.s.sembled in the forbidden wing of the mansion and that I was somehow eavesdropping on them. The images could not have been inside inside the cube. It was some kind of window." the cube. It was some kind of window."

"An interesting deduction," Lloyd said, his mind churning like the river, which was flowing now. "What did you witness?"

"Oh, my young friend...I hesitate to tell you. They took off their hats and veils. They were not men-or women, either. They were...I know not what. Creatures. Ghosts. Their apparent bodies were but masks, camouflage. Their true forms were hideous and impalpable. As absurd as they appeared, there was a malevolence about them...as if their forms were punishment. I felt that malignance radiated through the cube. Their resentment, their envy. Their relentless hunger for other shapes. But I felt that they were still somehow human. Not demons, not inhabitants from some distant star. They were-"

"Shadows of the mind...from out of time," Lloyd said, as a nightjar sounded in the distance. "Please tell me all that happened next-and I must know everything everything that happened." that happened."

The gambler dropped his smoldering cigar into the river but had regained his composure when he stared at the boy again in the pale light.

"I grew...so hypnotized by what I was observing...I did not hear that repugnant Zadoc sneak up behind me. The machine subdued me with some kind of sedative delivered by a needle...and I was brought before that unholy tribunal...awake but unable to resist or escape. Oh, Lord..."

"As painful as it is to recall," Lloyd said, squeezing the mechanical hand, "you must tell me everything that transpired. Please."

"They reinstated their body cloaking," the gambler answered, staring down at his boots. "I could not stand to look at them without it, and they seemed to understand this. I could not understand their words, but I gathered that my witnessing their congregation had not been intended. It was some mistake. The cube was fetched. Zadoc was disabled. Things beyond my reckoning were transpiring in that secluded wing of the mansion."

"Be as precise as you can," the boy pleaded.

"I could not look upon their mosaic puzzle and see it clear and whole, but it was certain they could. It wavered and vibrated like something that was alive. It was like a cyclone...a labyrinth."

"What happened then? What were you allowed to see-and why?" Lloyd asked with growing impatience.

"What I saw was like some jumble of alchemist's dens, a brewery and an insane asylum. I do not know how to put the rest...machines I have never known. I have the frightening idea-" I saw was like some jumble of alchemist's dens, a brewery and an insane asylum. I do not know how to put the rest...machines I have never known. I have the frightening idea-"

"You think they were making people-or what resembled people," the boy filled in. "You believe you saw a man, with multiples of himself, who was not a man but not female, either, for those gathered were revolting jelly-like forms that you nonetheless regard as human, who were nurturing the growth of some kind of tissue as both a means of concealing themselves to normal eyes and cultivating others-beings who would be taken for people if you pa.s.sed them in the street but that were not people the way we like to think of them."

"Exactly!" St. Ives exclaimed, catching himself. "This is the strangest thing of all! That you should know! How is it possible? Have you-"

"No," Lloyd answered. "We have seen some of the same magic-lantern pictures. But it was no magic-lantern image that took your hand."

At this the gambler broke down weeping, although he made an effort to stifle himself. "Too right, my young friend! I was experimented on like a dumb animal! I was made to...to...oh!"

"Tell me," Lloyd commanded.

"I...was introduced to a...woman...an auburn-haired beauty with eyes like sapphires. She was lovely. They wanted me to...to mate with her. They wanted to watch. It was so unthinkable! Because I knew-that they had made made her. Why I was chosen I have no idea." her. Why I was chosen I have no idea."

"That may be the most hopeful thing so far," Lloyd remarked.

"Hopeful! Of what?" the gambler moaned.

"Their technology of survival lags behind their technology of manipulation," the boy replied, gazing out over the flattening water. "If they have to employ animal methods of reproduction, and yet can project images by stealth over distances, that shows they have vulnerabilities. Somehow they need to maintain form, human flesh. It's not sufficient to their purposes to influence and direct-they need to manufacture new vehicles, and any manufacturing process is a continual one. They have not perfected theirs. As monstrous as they may seem to you, they are engineers-and that is something I understand. They still have problems to solve, whatever their religion. That is the hope."

"You scare me, Lloyd. Not like they do-but still...the student has become the teacher," the gambler gasped.

"We teach each other," the boy responded. "And some fears are good if they lead to the truth. Now finish your story."

"I was allowed to enjoy the beauty...and then...they seized me," the gambler said, wincing. "Their forms were flesh and blood enough for that. I felt them searching my mind. They wanted to know what they looked like to me in their other guise. Then they performed surgeries, Lloyd...they took my hand...and gave me this artificial claw."

"How did you escape?" the boy asked.

"The most unthinkable part of the whole story!" St. Ives coughed. "Zadoc, the mechanical thing, reactivated. He-it-released me while they were in another chamber one afternoon...perhaps vivisecting some other poor victim, like a rabbit. I was torn. I was bandaged. But I fled, as fast and as far as I could in that state. I owe my life to the mercy of a machine!"

"Machines that have mercy are hard to think of as machines," Lloyd replied. "The question is, did you escape or were you allowed to escape?"

"I have wondered that myself ever since," St. Ives rasped, still blinking. "But...are you not horrified by all that I have told you?"

"I see hope in what you have said-as well as horror," Lloyd replied. "It may be that what happened to you had been planned. Still, it somehow sounds that it did not go quite according to their plan. If things can go against their desires in the heart of their control, that rea.s.sures me. And I think it a very encouraging sign that they are worried about physical survival."

"You, young sir"-the gambler shrugged, and then could not control a crest of emotion-"are the son I've never had. Always raising the ante. And then some."

"You taught me what an ante was," Lloyd replied.

"Friends always?" St. Ives said, offering up his mechanical hand once more.

"Partners," Lloyd answered, squeezing down on the metal digits. "This is the biggest mystery of all. Why do you think they gave it to you?"

"Who can say?" the gambler grumbled, a storm of anger and grief filling his eyes. "I would not rule out pure cruelty as their motive. I sensed it in them. Some conspiracy of hatred. A mania. What does your intuition say?"