Juxtaposition Part 25

That left it up to the Brown Adept, who would be unable to reach him-and what could she do if she did? She was a child who would have no magic in this frame, a.s.suming she could cross the curtain. Best to establish no false hopes. If help was on the way, it would succeed or fail regardless of his concern.

He was good at mining. Under his direction, the remote controlled machinery operated efficiently. In two hours he had extracted half a gram of Protonite from the ore, a full day's quota. Whether Citizen or serf. Adept or slave, he intended to do his best-though this sort of mining would soon have to stop, if the frames were to be saved. Ironic, his effort here!

Then the gate opened. An apparition stood there-the tallest, thinnest, ugliest android he had ever seen. Except that it wasn't an android, but a man. No, not exactly a man- Stile's spinning mental gears finally made an improbable connection. "The troll!" he exdaimed. "Trool the troll-in Proton-frame!"

"I must rescue thee from confinement three times," Trool said.

Stile nodded. "This is the third, for me and mine. More than amply hast thou fulfilled the prophecy. Sincerely do I thank thee, Trool." There was no point in adhering to Proton language; the troll would only be confused.

"It is not done yet," the troll said.

"Thou hast done enough," Stile said. "Thou hast freed me" Trool shrugged and stooped to pick Sheen up. He shambled through the door, carrying her, and Stile followed.

Trolls had a way with subterranean regions. Trool took them down into the depths of the mines, pa.s.sing locks and checkpoints without challenge, until they were in the lowest crude tunnels. Here there were only machines, the forward end of the remote-control chain. Here, too, was the Protonite ore, the stuff of Proton's fortune and misfortune.

"How are things doing in Phaze at the moment?" Stile inquired.

"The hosts are ma.s.sing as for war," Trool replied. "All are with thee except the Adepts, the goblins, and scattered monsters."

"All?" Stile asked, amazed. "Even the tribes of the demons?"

"Thou hast made many friends. Adept, especially among the snow-monsters and fire-spirits." Ah-his favor for Freezetooth was paying a dividend!

"All I have done is the appropriate thing at the appropriate time." Basically, Stile liked the various creatures of Phaze and liked making friends. "Yet I doubt that the harpies, or dragons, or thine own kind-"

"The trolls are with thee." Trool made a grimacing smile. "I did see to that, lest they call me traitor for helping thee. The harpies and dragons know no loyalty save to their own kind, unless compelled by geis. They take no sides."

Trool was surprisingly well informed. He seemed, under that ugliness, to be a fairly smart and caring person. Stile had a.s.sumed all trolls to be ignorant predators; he had been too narrow.

Suddenly they were at the curtain; Stile saw the scintillation across the tunnel. They stepped through. Sheen woke. "Who are you?" she demanded, finding herself in the troll's arms.

"Thou hast no power pack," Stile protested. "How canst thou animate?"

She checked herself. "It's true. I must be in Phaze. In golem-state."

Stile nodded, his surprise shifting to comprehension. Of course she needed no scientific mechanism here! Nonetheless, he conjured her a replacement power cell so that she would not be confined to Phaze. "Thou art a creature of both frames now."

The troll led the way on up through the tunnel toward the surface. They followed. Stile could have taken them out by a spell, but preferred to acquaint himself with the locale of the tunnel in case he should need it again. Also, he did not want to attract the baleful attention of the enemy Adepts by using magic unnecessarily. Probably he should not have risked conjuring Sheen's power cell at this time; he kept forgetting.

They neared the surface. Trool paused. "There is yet day," he said. "Needs must I remain below." For he lacked his voluminous clothing, having had to discard it in order to masquerade as an android.

"By all means," Stile said. "Thou hast served us well, and fain would I call thee friend. We shall leave thee with our grat.i.tude."

"It behooves not the like of thee to bestow friendship on the like of me," Trool said, gruffly pleased. He put his gnarled hands to the large flat rock that blocked the exit. "Beyond this point it curves to the surface." He heaved. Suddenly the roof caved in. Trool leaped back, shoving the other two clear.

"Someone has tampered-" Sunlight shone brilliantly down from above, angling in from the new hole in the ceiling to bathe the troll. "Sabotage!" Sheen exclaimed. "It would have crushed one of us-"

"Surely," Stile agreed. "The trap was meant for me."

"Look at Trool!" she cried, horrified.

Stile looked. The troll had been instantly destroyed by the light. He was now a figure of stone-a grotesque statue.

Suddenly it made a terrible land of sense. Stile remembered how Serrilryan the wereb.i.t.c.h had been fated to see the sidhe three times before she died; she had seen them the third time, then died. Trool had been fated to help Stile three times; he had done that, and had now been terminated.

"d.a.m.n it, this time I'm going to fight fate," Stile said angrily.

CHAPTER 11 - Xanadu.

Clef was in the palace of the Oracle, playing the Platinum Flute. The perfect melody suffused the premises, more lovely than any tangible thing could be. He halted when Stile's party arrived.

"I have another prophecy for thee," he said to Stile. "Thou wilt be betrayed for thine own good by a young seeming woman thou dost trust."

"Too late on that," Stile said. "Merle betrayed me three hours ago."

Clef was embarra.s.sed. "Sorry; I understood it was scheduled for a few hours hence. The Oracle must have slipped a cog." He looked at Sheen. "I thought thou wast a creature of Proton," he said, surprised.

"I am," she agreed. "Now I am a creature of Phaze too, a golem." She indicated the statue she supported. "This is Trool the troll, who sacrificed himself to save us. Stile says you may-thou mayest be able to-" She paused. "But doesn't the juxtaposition suffer when thou dost stop play ing?"

"Marginally. It's a long process; inertia maintains the movement for brief interludes. Otherwise I could not take a breath. In any event, what you hear is not the juxtaposition theme; that is only part of it, a single-note exercise that reaches into the deeper firmament. It is not continuous; rather I must play it at the key intervals." Clef considered the statue. "Thou dost wish the troll's soul piped to Heaven?"

"Nay, not yet," Stile said. "Canst thou pipe him back to life?"

Clef stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I fear not. Stile. There is a monstrous difference between directing traffic-that is, routing a soul to Heaven-and revivifying the dead. I can send the soul back into the body-but that in itself will not change stone or flesh. You need a different kind of magic for that. Perhaps there is a suitable spell in the book of magic. You did fetch that?"

"The book of magic!" Stile exclaimed, stricken. "I forgot all about it!"

"Merle has it," Sheen said. "She deactivated me-and now the book is gone."

"Is that why she betrayed me?" Stile asked. 'To get that book?"

"I doubt she knew of it," Sheen said. "She said nothing about it to me. I just happened to be carrying it."

"She surely has some inkling now, though. She has access to the curtain, to Phaze; she can use those spells to become an instant Adept. We've got to get the book back before she does that!"

"For the sake of Phaze as well as for the troll," Sheen agreed.

"I'll surely find her at the Citizens' business meeting." Stile frowned, worried. "I don't have much time for that either; I've got to move." His hope of studying the spells of the book before the Proton crisis came had been dashed; whatever preparations he might have made were moot.

"I'll go with thee," Sheen said.

"But first thou must marshal thy troops," Clef said.

"The time is nigh."

"Oh, yes, the troops. I did alert the various creatures of Phaze, and all but the dragons, harpies, and goblins are with us. Has the Oracle finally condescended to inform us exactly how such troops are to be employed?"

"Only that thou must dispose them as for battle."

"Dispose them where? Against whom?"

Clef shrugged, embarra.s.sed. "I know not"

"That is not a phenomenal help."

"Thou knowest that prophecies work out regardless of comprehension,"

"Look, if I miss that Citizens' business meeting, I'm finished in Proton. I have scarcely an hour as it is. Can't the Phaze side wait at least until I've recovered the book of magic?"

"The Oracle says the troops must be disposed first."

"d.a.m.n!" Stile swore. "Send my coldest regards to that inscrutable machine. I'll do what I can."

"I shall keep thy friend the troll statue safe for thy return with the book."

"Thanks," Stile said gruffly. He played a bar of music on the harmonica, took Sheen by the hand, and spelled them to the Brown Demesnes.

They popped in at the main receiving hall. The child Adept was waiting. "Oh, I'm so glad thou art back. Blue!" she exclaimed. "And thou too. Lady Machine. Dost thou like being a golem?"

"It's wonderful. Lady Adept," Sheen agreed.

The child's mouth went round with astonishment. Then she giggled. "I guess thou meanest me. n.o.body ever called me Lady before, 'cause I'm just a girl."

"That's more than I'll ever be," Sheen said.

Stile had to interrupt. He had very little time. "Brown, a troll rescued me from confinement, but he got turned to stone by the sun. Can you animate stone?"

"Oh, sure, some. But you know, it doesn't change the substance. He'd be awful heavy if thou didst not spell him back to flesh, and he'd crack when struck hard. I work with wood because it is strong and light, and the Lady Machine was preformed, so she was okay. But a stone troll-"

"I see the problem. I think I could turn him to wood, but I'm not sure about flesh."

"Perhaps with the aid of the book of magic," Sheen reminded him.

"Of course. That should do it."

"Thou couldst just about create a troll from scratch," Sheen pointed out. "Make a figure, enchant it to flesh, have the Brown Adept animate it, and Clef could pipe a soul into it."

"If we had a soul," Stile agreed. "That's the one thing magic can't generate."

"I know," she said sadly.

"My golems and the wolves have spread the word among all the creatures of Phaze," Brown said. "All but the goblins and monsters have joined. But they know not what to do now."

"I wish I could tell them," Stile said. "I am the victim of a prophecy. I don't know where to tell them to go."

"Well, maybe thou canst improvise," Brown suggested.

"The troops will dissipate if not encouraged."

"So the Oracle seems to think, though I hardly have time to-"

"Which means we must hurry," Sheen said, enjoying this.

"And I thought Citizenship was uncomplicated!" Stile worked out several travel-spells, and they were off. First stop was the werewolves. Kurrelgyre was there, but the Pack had been depleted by the wolves and b.i.t.c.hes a.s.signed to accompany the wooden golems. Kurrelgyre shifted immediately to man-form to shake Stile's hand. "But this b.i.t.c.h-I know her not," he said, looking at Sheen. "Unless-could it be?"

"This is the robot-golem Sheen, my Proton fiancee," Stile said. "Thy suggestion was good; the Brown Adept animated her."

"At least conjure her fitting apparel," the werewolf said. "She is too luscious a morsel to go naked hereabouts."

Clothing! Stile had forgotten all about that for Sheen. Quickly he conjured her a pretty dress and slippers, as befitted a Lady of Phaze.

"But I can not wear clothing!" she protested. "I'm a serf!"

"Not here," Stile a.s.sured her. "In this frame all people wear clothes." He eyed her appraisingly. "They do befit thee."

"We are ready for action," Kurrelgyre said eagerly.

"But where is it? Whom do we fight?"

"I know not," Stile admitted. "The prophecy decrees it; that is all."

The werewolf sighed. "Prophecies are oft subject to misinterpretation. I had hoped this would be not that type."

Stile agreed. "The animalheads are prophesied to lose half their number. I fear this will be typical. I presume much of the damage will be done by enchantments hurled by the enemy Adepts, and by the ravages of their minions. But the other creatures of Phaze will be on thy side-the unicorns, elves, ogres, and such. Do thou gather thy wolves and be ready for action at any time. I know no more. I am but a chip afloat on a stormy sea, doing what I must do without much personal volition." Sheen smiled knowingly. This was a concept a robot was in a position to understand.

"Surely the enemy will seek to destroy thee," the wolf said.

"The enemy Adepts have been trying! I hope to jump around swiftly in a random pattern, avoiding them until I return to Proton."

"I fear for thee, friend. I have a few wolves left who can guard thee-" "Nay, I'd best travel light. Just be ready with thy Pack when I need thee!"

"Aye, I shall, and the other wolf packs too." They shook hands.

Stile spelled himself and Sheen to the next stop: the ogres. These ones certainly were ready for action. Each huge creature was armed with a monstrous club and seemed capable of smashing boulders with single blows. This was a truly impressive army. There were perhaps four hundred fighting creatures in view.

As quickly as possible. Stile explained to the ogre leader that the moment for action was just about at hand. "But we don't know exactly where trouble will begin," he said. "Only that it will be terrible, horrible, violent, and b.l.o.o.d.y." Slow smiles cracked the ogres' brute faces. They were eager for this sort of fun. Stile knew he had struck the right note.

"Just remember," he cautioned them. "All the organized creatures of Phaze will be on thy side, except the Goblins. So don't attack elves or giants or werewolves-"

"Awww," the leader grumbled. But he had it straight. No unauthorized bloodshed.

Stile spelled on to the vampires, where he consulted with his friend Vodlevile, who was no chief but whom Stile trusted. The flock promised to be alert. So it went, touching bases with the animalheads, snow demons, giants, trolls, and Little Folk. He did not go to the Platinum Elves, fearing an Adept trap there; instead he met with the gnomes of the Purple Mountains. These Little Folk were akin to the goblins of the White Mountains, but had elected to join the compatible elves. It was as, if the more pleasant climate made them nicer creatures. The gnome males were ugly, but the females, the gnomides, were quite pretty little misses, each holding a fine bright diamond. These were, indeed, the workers of precious stones, and their wares were even more valuable than those of the Platinum Mound Folk. They quickly agreed to pa.s.s the word among the elven tribes.