Time's Dark Laughter Part 20

He looked at her curiously. "Are you sincere?"

"You're our emissary. We're one and all as sincere as you'll be when you speak with her."

"When should I go?"

"Go this afternoon. Rest first." She held her palm to his cheek a moment, then stood and walked away. She spent a little time talking to Isis behind a rise, fussing affectionately with the Cat as she spoke. Josh slumped back against a tree, exhausted. He felt very childlike: vulnerable, malleable, caught in a web of unknown design; near tears. He sighed. Then he pulled the quill from his boot and wrapped himself hi the comfort of his oldest habitual activity: he opened his journal and set down the record.

Paula sat hi the cradle of Aba's wing. With her index finger she languidly traced lines along its metacarpal struts, around its leathern folds.

He read to her from an ancient, half-disintegrated book: Only the lonely can e'er defy / Time's bottomless thirst and roving eye.

"That's beautiful," she answered. She was pale as a white rose petal.

He closed the book. "Lonely no more," he intoned. "Nor I." She smiled a secret smile and rolled on top of him. They kissed. "What'll happen to us now?" she whispered.

"Fly north with me. I'll buy a harem to husband for my sustenance; and love only you."

She looked at him deeply, searchingly. He pulled her mouth down to his mouth, pressed their bodies together so tightly they seemed to fuse, wrapped his great wings around them both. And within each other, they flew.

Ollie, like everyone else, was uncertain what to do. Josh was safe, Rose seemed to be getting herself sorted out. The Queen was dead, the Vampires leaving. Ollie felt at loose ends; it appeared to be time to move on. He wanted a new adventure, a new corner of the universe to explore. No more to be learned here, no more challenge; no more views from the brink.

He was taking a short walk, wondering whether to head north into the Terrarium or east into the desert, whether to leave in the morning or wait a couple days, when he quite unexpectedly came upon Aba and Paula, blissfully lying together between two trees. The sight enraged him. He could not say why, precisely, but undoubtedly it had something to do with their happiness and togetherness against his lonely apartness, with Aba's Vampireness against Paula's Humanness, and probably, finally, with Ollie's growing liking of Aba-despite his own good judgment and his many oaths that he would never like a Vampire. With this new affection, the terrifying sense that the entire emotional structure he had erected to protect himself was being eroded so enraged him that he kicked Aba viciously in the leg, and swore, "Get up, you filthy beast! d.a.m.n your blood, I can't stand looking at you any more."

The pain seared through Aba's calf, and he reflexively jumped up and unfurled his wings. The wingtip caught Ollie on the cheek, carving a deep gash and knocking the boy over. When he saw what he had done, Aba was horrified. He pulled his wings in and extended his arm to help Ollie up. Ollie was wild, though-unappeasable, blind; mad, really. In a flash, his dagger was out: he sliced the Vampire's palm.

Aba cried out; Paula ran over, her face mottled with fear and anger. Aba squeezed his bleeding hand into a fist. Ollie touched the wound on his cheek, looked at the blood on his fingers, smiled. "You have first blood, it would seem. I will have last."

"Get out of here!" screamed Paula. As she yelled, she kicked Ollie in the groin, doubling him over.

Others came running, attracted by the shouts. Ollie grinned through his pain. "He's chosen the tune and place," he whispered to Paula, referring to Aba.

"You're not Human," she spat at Ollie. "You think you're so superior because you've suffered-well, suffer this . . ." She directed a blow at his neck, but he caught her arm instantly, and with almost inhuman speed, punched her in the solar plexus. She went down, breathless, unconscious. Ollie stood facing Aba. Half the camp surrounded them now. Jasmine stepped forward.

"What's going on?" the Neuroman asked quietly.

"A duel," said Ollie. "Here and now. Barehanded." He threw his dagger into the dirt.

Aba shook his head. "I will not fight," he said.

"You have no choice." Ollie smiled maliciously. His blood was up now, and suddenly he hated the Vampire more than anything he had ever known. This Vampire was his hate. "You have no choice," he repeated. "You drew first blood."

"It was an accident," Aba protested slowly. "My wing struck you as I stood. I didn't intend-"

"I challenged him, and he cut me, and I cut him back," Ollie insisted. "He chose here and now. I choose the weapons: bare hands."

"Why did you challenge him?" Jasmine asked.

"What difference?" Ollie rasped. "I hate his foul Vampire breath."

From somewhere in the crowd, a Book yelled out, "That's the Word!" And a few in the back muttered slogans.

Ollie was encouraged. He said, "The beast was taking advantage of the girl. She's lost her letters. I found it intol- erable, and I challenged him and he answered the challenge. There's nothing else for it but to duel."

The crowd formed a circle in a clearing, and bodily carried the duelists into it. Paula lay gasping on the ground. Josh remained asleep, exhausted from the night before. Beauty had Rose out for a ride. Most of the Pluggers were in-circuit. The Books who ringed the antagonists were keen for the fight, and the air was electric with antic.i.p.ation.

Jasmine stepped into the circle. "You're sure you want to do this?" she asked them both.

"We have no choice," Ollie said, staring hard at the Vampire.

"I will not fight," Aba insisted.

"Then die," cried the boy, and lunged forward, locking his thumbs around Aba's throat.

Everyone shouted as the two of them rolled in the dirt. Jasmine backed off, reluctantly obeying the code of the duel.

Aba was turning blue as the onlookers cheered-venting all the months of tension in the sickening spectacle. Ollie's hands were gripping the Vampire's neck tightly, his legs squeezing the creature's waist in a vice lock, when suddenly he stopped-realizing with an even greater fury that Aba wasn't fighting: he was rolling limply, pa.s.sively, in Ollie's grasp; on the verge of death.

Ollie stood up. "Fight, d.a.m.n you!" he hissed.

Aba lay there, breathing heavily, shaking his head. He felt dizzy with pain and anoxia, but he had vowed not to fight back. He had already hurt these people too much, he felt, to inflict any more pain now. He was the very personification of all their dreads, real and imagined, and they were right to hate him; and even if it meant his death now, he would not abridge that right. He would shed no more Human blood against their will. And this, above all, he believed: he would never again sacrifice Human life to his pa.s.sion; and if he died on this spot, he would not spill this Human's blood.

He looked at Ollie now, reeling above him. He spoke softly, for the boy's grip had bruised his larynx. "I will not fight."

Ollie kicked him in the belly, but he only grunted and shook his head again. There were a few more shouts from the crowd, but most had become quiet, suddenly disturbed by the evident disparity in Humanity being displayed before them. Unable to control himself, Ollie pounced on the downed Vampire and began beating him in the face. Aba didn't lift a hand to protect himself. By the time he lost consciousness, some of the spectators began drifting away, too uncomfortable to watch further.

Jasmine couldn't stand it any longer. She ran into the circle and pulled Ollie off the stuporous creature, and in a voice filled with disgust said, "Stop! Stop this sick show!"

Suddenly Ollie turned on Jasmine-as if, once started thrashing, he couldn't stop-and, tears in his eyes, tore her to the ground, hit her a few times, snapping the cap off the valve at the back of her head. She lashed back at him with her hands for a moment-cutting his nose, and inadvertently tearing the ruby from his chest, sewn there so long before. The jewel lay in the dust, and left on Ollie's chest a ragged, bleeding scar. He didn't tangle with Jasmine long, though. He jumped up, and fled through the woods towards the desert.

Several ounces of Hemolube oozed out the valve in Jasmine's skull before she was able to reach back and recap it. Then she just sat where she was and composed herself. At last she stood and walked over to Aba, who was trying to sit up. Paula stumbled over now, too, finally able to move again; and the two women helped the bleeding Vampire to the nearby stream. The rest of the audience withdrew into the trees, variously hushed and ashamed.

Fleur, Elspeth, and Osi sat in an access room under the humming power station. They spoke hi whispers, though no one else was around.

"She is unpredictable, and powerful beyond measure ..." Fleur began.

"No longer committed to the ideals which the Queen, orong olo glia, embodied," Elspeth added.

"... Capricious, I would venture to say insane," Fleur went on. "Elspeth spoke with her yesterday-she had the attention span of a two-year-old. And she was trying to make it rain inside the castle."

They paused, looked around the great room. Giant machines buzzed an ancient drone, blinked their lights. Osi wondered what private jokes they winked about.

"We must kill her," Fleur intoned.

"And engineer a new Queen?" asked Osi.

"If we can. First, though, we must kill this one."

Easier said than done, thought Osi. She's the master of us all: she's decimated our harems, burned our city, made nightmares of our dreams-and still she controls us. We think we can return to what was, but we cannot; we can only tumble in these waves and hope we won't be broken on the sand. He said: "We would be wise to leave, like the others. We'll never be a power in this city again."

"We will; we will," croaked Elspeth. "But we must act quickly-and together. Nuliento gor"

Osi nodded. "All right. I'll help you. Come to me this evening and we'll discuss a plan." He walked out before they could reply.

So, thought Osi, I league now with mutant machine-men against deranged children. Blood of my blood, what have we come to?

He was troubled as he walked back up smoking corridors to his suite, for his feelings about the child were complex- too complex even for his own introspective nature to piece together. On the one hand, she was destroying the City- that much was certain. Buildings crumbling to ruin, animals fleeing or going berserk-it was worse than the Ice Madness. And with this distintegration, all of his dreams were dissolving: dreams of the New World, where everything had a place, a place by design instead of rude chance. It made his fists clench to think of all their work gone, gone . . . He hated this child.

Flames leapt out at him from an open door, burning the fine hair on his arm before he could jump away. The floor beneath him rumbled with the vibrations of a distant, muted explosion. Yes, he hated her.

And yet ... And yet, he felt drawn to her. Drawn to her power. To her insanity? he wondered. In her presence he felt dizzy, heady, almost helpless. In her absence he felt anger and frustration. Strong emotions, about such a small, new creature.

He reached his quarters and lay on the bed. He had a headache. He rang the crystal bell on the bedstand, but no one came: half his harem had left. Run away, or just disappeared. The rest came back only to sleep-otherwise they roamed the halls, explored regions of the castle previously forbidden them.

Vera walked in, eating an apple. "You call?" she asked petulantly. She was his most trusted Human, and even she was acting odd.

"You took your time," Osi snapped. "Bring your neck over here."

Vera hesitated. "Say you love me first."

Osi roared, jumped up, and pinned her against the wall. She gasped, then swooned as the Vampire clamped down on her neck, pulling her head back by the hair.

When Osi finished, he dropped the unconscious Human in the corner and stormed into his study. A fresh canvas waited upright in the easel; unopened paints sat on the table beside it. Deliberately, Osi tried to calm himself. With careful, precise strokes, he began to paint.

Maybe he should just leave, after all-take a few of his best and find a nice, quiet cave in the jungle to inhabit. This had really gone beyond the pale, down here. And yet . . . something here wanted him to stay. Perhaps he would stay . . . for just a little while.

With an angry snarl, he threw down his paintbrush and quit the room. "Vera . . ." he began apologetically. But Vera was gone. He hissed softly and headed for the harem quarters.

Ugo scratched the glossy scar on his cheek. "And you? What will you do?"

"I stay," rasped Ninjus. "There is power in the child. This is where the power lies, and by Quark's Charm, I will lie with it!"

Ugo smiled. "It's a dangerous bed."

"Be off if you're not up to it," Ninjus barked. "I want no cubs in my den."

Ugo growled uncontrollably a moment, then quieted himself. "There are plots already against the child. She will be well pleased with those who stand by her to thwart such activity."

Now it was Ninjus who smiled. "She'll be well pleased, and we will be well rewarded. She tears down now to build up later. I will be with her at the foundation, to set the cornerstone."

"And I to slit the throat of every wight that tries to stop her!" Ugo actually drooled a bit, over the scarred edge of his mouth, so excited was he with visions of new blood and wild death.

"That's the stuff," rumbled Ninjus. "We will prevail."

The two new allies huddled together, and began to draw up plans for defending the child.

Josh, Beauty, and Isis walked slowly into the Queen's chamber. Isis immediately ran up to the throne and jumped up beside the child. The others approached with more decorum.

"Who are you?" The child looked at Beauty.

Josh said, "This is my closest of all friends, Beauty, of the race Centauri."

"Welcome, then," the child nodded. She looked very like she had the day before; only now, the feathers that sprouted along the backs of her arms were longer, and she kept her tail wrapped around her left leg. Also, she spoke only words today; no telepathy.

Beauty bared his neck.

Josh began: "We come because-"

"I know why you come," the child-Queen dismissed his speech with a ruffling of her head feathers. "You come because you're frightened-you want to talk about the weather last night. Why is that the only thing anyone can ask me about today? And what's in that beaker?"

Josh put down the bottle and cups he had been carrying in his sack. "Wine. It's an old Scribal ritual-a Human ritual, actually-to drink among friends."

"We are not friends yet."

"No." Beauty spoke for the first time. "Friends must be equals. You hold too much over us to be our friend."

"And why should I want to be your friend?"

"If you need to ask, then it is you who are not wanted."

The feathers on her arms stood straight up, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with tiny explosions of light Josh quickly intervened. "We don't mean to provoke you. Like you said, we're only scared-of the weather."

The child's feathers smoothed, her eyes dimmed. She extended a hand and coolly stroked Isis, who lay alert, but still, beside her. "I told you once: I will not hurt you. You have nothing to fear."

"Can you tell us-"

"Last night I was experimenting with the atmosphere. With electrical and gravitational fields, with matter and energy conversions. I was testing and flexing some of my muscles-no, I was stretching. Can you tell me what it is you do when you stretch?"

"No, but-"

"No, but you do it just the same, and feel better for it. So it was with me last night. Only I was stretching my mind."

Josh smiled. "There's not yet a word for what you were doing last night."

"Then I make new words. I am my father's daughter, after all-child of a Scribe."

"What else are you?" Beauty asked quietly.

She considered the question, weighing many answers. "I am . . . curious. About everything. Everything is new- but also old. Do you understand?"

Josh nodded, Beauty waited, Isis licked her tail.

"I saw two Vampire guards playing something called a game, today," the child went on. "Throwing bones. What is a game?"

"They throw bones to see how they land. How they land depends on chance and skill. How they land determines who wins the game." Beauty kept his tone factual, observing the child's response.

"I don't understand 'chance.' "

"Then let's play a game," Josh suggested. "Here." He gathered ten splinters of wood from the floor near a shattered window frame, and dropped them in a small pile before the child. "This is pick-up-sticks. How they fell depended on chance. Now each of us must try to lift one stick off the pile without disturbing the others." Gingerly, he lifted away a precarious stick; no others moved. Delicately, he pulled another through the center. Once more- He jarred a support, and three splinters settled. Josh laughed. "Your turn," he said to Beauty.