The Tower of Endless Worlds

by Jonathan Moeller

Wycliffe laughed into the cell phone. “Indeed? Well, you know the environmentalists. Cut down a tree and they scream bloody murder, but if that tree’s going to make stir sticks for their fancy coffee…things change, don’t they?” He laughed again. “Excellent. Six o’clock next Thursday? I look forward to it.” He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket.

  Krastiny gave him an amused look over the chessboard. “Are you courting a woman, Senator?”

  Wycliffe fingered a captured pawn. “Hardly.”

  Krastiny moved his bishop. “A campaign contributor, then?”

  “Nope.” Wycliffe slid his rook three squares, pinning Krastiny’s bishop against his king. “I pay for my campaigns out of my own pocket. A side benefit of our business success, and a useful political tool. When the public discussion turns towards campaign finance, I can trumpet the fact that not one cent of donated or taxpayer money has gone towards my election.”

  Krastiny stared at the chessboard. “Ha! It is simpler in Russia. If Kurkov wants something done, he simply buys the appropriate legislators and tells them what to do.” He snapped his fingers and moved his knight. “So, if you do not take campaign money from these rich businessmen, why bother having dinner with them?”

  Wycliffe drummed his fingers on the table. “They many not give me money, but there’s no law that says they can’t go out and drum up support.” He grinned and moved his remaining knight, causing Krastiny to mutter a curse. “Very useful. And I’ll have you know that was no businessman. That was Senator William Jones, the senior senator from this state. I have plans for him.”

  “You’ll have me in checkmate in four moves,” said Krastiny.

  Wycliffe smiled. “I know.”

  Krastiny nodded. “Unless I do this.” He moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

  “What?” Wycliffe glared at the board. “That’s not…damn it. Damn it.” He tipped over his king. “Very well. Checkmate. Again.”

  Krastiny laughed. “Do not take it hard, Senator. I have met very few Americans who can give me a good match, and you are one of those few. If you had not lost your first knight a half hour ago, things would have been very different.”

  “Small comfort.” Wycliffe walked to the intercom on the wall. “Though if you want a challenge, you should ask Marugon for a game.”

  Krastiny packed away the chess pieces. “He is skilled?”

  Wycliffe called the kitchen and ordered a pair of meals. “Extremely skilled.”

  Krastiny stood. “They have chess on his world, then?”

  “Actually no,” said Wycliffe. “Nothing like it, as far as I know. Marugon came across a reference to the game in a book and challenged me to a match. I beat him once. The next game he checkmated me in five minutes. Now he can do it in three.”

  “Remarkable. You are not unskilled yourself,” said Krastiny.

  Wycliffe rolled his eyes. “Try not to flatter me. But Marugon has an unusual mind. Lunch won’t arrive for a few minutes. Come. I want to show you something.”

  “Shall I summon Kurkov?” said Krastiny.

  “No.” Wycliffe chuckled. “He wouldn’t understand. Besides, he’s most likely hung over.”

  Krastiny scowled. “It will be easy for Bronsky to guard him, since he will not stir until at least noon. If Kurkov lives to forty, I will have documented proof of the existence of miracles.”

  Wycliffe laughed. “This way.”

  He led Krastiny out the door and into a narrow concrete hallway. Florescent lights glared off the walls and ceiling. Steel doors stood at regular intervals along the walls, a faint humming audible through the doors.

  “For a bomb shelter, this is most commodious,” said Krastiny.

  “Indeed,” said Wycliffe. He waved a hand at the pipes running along the ceiling. “I had this place built under warehouse 13A years ago. My private bastion against terrorist attack and nuclear war, with five years’ worth of food, fuel, water, and medical supplies. Of course, I installed a library and an entertainment room and other facilities down here, and since then, it’s become a private retreat of sorts.”

  Wycliffe turned a corner and stopped, his heart skipping a beat. Goth Marson stood before the library door. Wycliffe saw his reflection in the mirrored sunglasses. Krastiny muttered something.

  “Goth,” said Wycliffe. He shoved aside his fear with anger. “Is Lord Marugon in the library?”

  Goth nodded, his massive black beard rustling against his leather jacket.

  “I would see him,” said Wycliffe.

  Goth remained motionless.

  Wycliffe scowled. “Now.”

  Goth stared at him, and Wycliffe felt like a rabbit caught beneath the gaze of a snake. At last Goth stepped aside and grinned. Wycliffe glared at him and pushed the door open. He stepped into the library, waved Krastiny inside, and slammed the door.

  “That Goth Marson is the…leader of the slouching thugs?” said Krastiny.

  “Yes.” Wycliffe squinted into the gloom and fumbled for the light switch.

  “Not surprising,” said Krastiny. “He looks like the worst of the lot. I think you would do well to tell Marugon to send them back, Senator. I would not be surprised if they were less than human…”

  Wycliffe flipped the switch. Light flooded the library, a spacious room about the size of a small house. Books lined all four walls, and reading tables stood throughout the room. Marugon sat at the center table, paging through a book. A great heap of books covered the table and more stood stacked on the floor.

  Krastiny blinked. “Was he reading in the dark?”

  “Most likely,” said Wycliffe. Marugon paid then no heed. “Darkness never seems to trouble him. In fact, my own night vision has increased since I began studying black magic. A side effect, I presume.”

  Krastiny frowned. “He is not reading those books.”

  “Oh?” said Wycliffe.

  “Look. He’s just paging through them.” Krastiny snorted. “Likely he is looking for colorful pictures, no?”

  Wycliffe smiled. “Oh, no, Doctor. He’s reading them. Every word, I assure you. He is able to read with amazing speed, and then remember what he has read. I have never seen anything like it.”

  Krastiny scratched his chin. “I should say so, yes.” Marugon set down the book and picked up another. “How long will he stay?”

  “About a week,” said Wycliffe. “He wants to inspect the weapons.” He scowled. “I think Goth Marson will remain behind, though.”

  “Astonishing.”

  Wycliffe jumped. Marugon looked up from his book, a strange expression on his face. “Oh?”

  “Astonishing,” repeated Marugon. “I was amazed by the power of the guns. But now I have come across something far greater.” He placed the book on the table and spun it around. “Look.”

  Wycliffe peered at the book, a weighty tome on the nuclear arms race between the United States and the Soviet Union. The opened page showed a color picture of a huge white mushroom cloud, lit from within by orange fires. It was a photograph of the hydrogen bomb test the US Army had conducted at Enewetak Atoll in 1954.

  “What about it?” said Wycliffe.

  “Do you know what this is?” said Marugon.

  Wycliffe shrugged. “A mushroom cloud. It’s…um…a side effect produced from the explosion of a nuclear bomb.”

  “A nuclear bomb,” said Marugon, his voice rapt. He flipped through the pages. “Here. August 6th, 1945. Your nation dropped a nuclear bomb on a city called Hiroshima. It killed seventy thousand people. Thousands more died from radiation over the years. The city was utterly leveled.” He shook his head. “To think that such power is contained in an atom, something so small. Even after I came to your world and learned of guns and grenades, I never dreamed of such destructive force.” His dark eyes locked on Wycliffe. “Why did you never tell me of these devices?”

  Wycliffe shrugged. “It never came up.” He felt a twinge of fear.

  Marugon’s gaze didn’t waver. “Elaborate.”

/>   “Those bombs are extremely dangerous,” said Wycliffe. “And damaging. The cost may be more than even you are willing to pay.”

  Marugon waved a hand. “I have the plunder of the High Kingdoms at my disposal. Gold is no object.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Wycliffe. “The damage would be very great. The bomb would destroy everything in a twenty-mile radius, yes. But it would throw up a great cloud of radiation. It would poison the surrounding land for decades, even centuries, depending upon the strength of the bomb.”

  Krastiny cleared his throat. “Lord Marugon. If I may?” Marugon nodded. “Nuclear bombs were built as deterrents. The United States, this nation, was the first to acquire them. So the Soviet Union felt it had to have a bomb, lest the United States gain too great an advantage. And that is why other nations have acquired nuclear bombs.”

  Marugon tapped the book. “I have read of this…what is this phrase? Mutually assured destruction?”

  “Exactly,” said Krastiny. “Nuclear weapons have only been actually used with hostile intent twice…Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as you have read. And no one has used one since, though it has come very close. The price, as Senator Wycliffe said, is too great. A nation acquires nuclear weapons so it never has to use them.” He chuckled. “A dangerous paradox.”

  “They carry other risks,” said Wycliffe. “Though it’s never been completely proven, most scientists feel that an all-out nuclear war would throw so much dust and soot into the air that the sun would be blocked for months. The world would freeze and civilization would perish.”

  “Amazing,” said Marugon. “I said before that your world’s technology held true power. And I see I am right, yes? Your scientists have given you the ability to destroy your world. No spells hold such power.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you are right. A nuclear device may be too dangerous. I could not protect myself.” His lips quirked. “But perhaps…I shall have to give the matter further study.”

  “Besides,” said Wycliffe. “Any nuclear fuel would be extremely difficult to acquire, even for Kurkov’s organization. A nuclear device, a functional bomb, would be much harder to find. The risks would run very high, and the costs in the tens of millions.”

  Marugon closed the book. “But it could be done?”

  Wycliffe bit his lip. The thought of Marugon possessing a nuclear weapon filled him with unease. Nevertheless, he said, “Yes, I believe so. It would take some time. But it could be done.”

  “Good.” Marugon reached for another book. “I shall have ponder it.”

  “What would you need with a nuclear weapon?” said Wycliffe. “It’s not as if you face formidable opposition. Your enemies still fight with swords and lances and bows, even in the obvious fact of the guns’ superiority.”

  Marugon laughed. “Yes. For some reason, they think the guns are hell-forged engines of the black magic.”

  “Then why would you even need a nuclear bomb?” said Wycliffe.

  Marugon was silent for a moment. “A…symbolic gesture, you might say. I plan to drive my enemies until they have but one stronghold…the city of Antarese, perhaps, if all goes according to plan. Then I shall annihilate their last bastion with the bomb. And even the radiation may prove useful.” He snapped his fingers. Gloaming scuttled out from under the table. “The black magic can create useful servants. But I have often wondered if elements from your world, combined with the black magic, could create servants of even greater power.”

  “Something else for you to ponder,” said Wycliffe.

  “Perhaps.” Marugon reached for another book. “I shall speak with you later.”

  Wycliffe sketched a small bow. “Of course.” He turned, opened the door, and stepped back into the hall, Krastiny at his heels. Goth turned his head to watch them, and Wycliffe ignored the hulking man and led Krastiny back to the game room. A pair of plates with sandwiches, chips, and carrot sticks had been placed on the table.

  “That was alarming,” said Wycliffe.

  “I should say so.” Krastiny began to eat his sandwich. “You should do all you can to deter him from trying to obtain a nuclear weapon. The risk to Kurkov’s organization would be very great. Especially after the Twin Towers attacks. The American government is far more vigilant about these sorts of things than it used to be.” He picked up a carrot stick. “It is fortunate that Marugon seems to have a limitless supply of gold. The cost of smuggling weapons to the States has tripled in the last year alone.”

  Wycliffe smiled. “Perhaps I’ll be in a better position to obtain a nuclear device for him if everything goes according to plan.”

  Krastiny raised an eyebrow. “Long-term political ambitions?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Wycliffe. “Yes, indeed. And if Marugon wants a nuclear bomb, what concern is it of mine?” He shook his head. “If he wants to irradiate his world, well, that’s his problem.”

  Krastiny chuckled. “Senator, you are rationalizing.”

  Wycliffe snorted. “I’m a politician. I have it down to a fine art.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Senator?”

  Wycliffe hit the button. “What?”

  “You’re needed in the surveillance room right away.”

  Wycliffe frowned. “Who is this?”

  “Um…Thomson, sir, security supervisor for warehouse 13A.”

  “Of course,” said Wycliffe. “What’s going on?”

  “Sir…I don’t think I should talk about it over the intercom. We need you up here right away.”

  The hair on the back of Wycliffe’s neck rose. “Fine. I’ll be right up.”

  Krastiny wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Problem?”

  “Most likely.” Wycliffe started for the door. “They know better than to bother me for anything minor.”

  Krastiny snorted. “A peaceful lunch is such a rarity.”

  ”I know,” said Wycliffe. He opened the door and jumped half a foot.

  Goth Marson stood in the hallway, looming like a storm cloud.

  “What the hell?” barked Wycliffe.

  “I shall accompany you.”

  “Why? Do you know what’s going on?” said Wycliffe.

  Goth stepped to the side and said nothing.

  “Eloquent, is he not?” said Krastiny.

  Wycliffe tried to regain his dignity. “Fine. Come along. Try not to make any more trouble, hmm?”

  Goth said nothing. Wycliffe headed to the elevator, got inside, and hit the button for the ground floor, Krastiny and Goth with him. The close proximity to Goth made the air on the back of his neck stand up. But at last the elevator reached the ground floor, and Wycliffe walked down a hallway and opened a door.

  He stepped into a room filled with humming machines. Dozens of closed-circuit television monitors ringed the walls, flickering with black and white feed from the security cameras. Thomson, a grim-faced man with a receding hairline and an ample paunch, sat at one of the consoles. An ex-cop with an alimony, Wycliffe found his security skills most useful. A few sessions with the Voice had also improved the man’s loyalty, not to mention his work ethic.

  “Thomson,” said Wycliffe. He stepped over to the console. “What’s the problem?”

  “Senator,” Thomson’s voice trailed off as Goth stepped into the room. “Um…”

  “Never mind him,” said Wycliffe. “What’s so important?”

  Thomson swallowed. “This.” He leveled a meaty finger at one of the monitors.

  Wycliffe squinted. “What? Who the hell is that?”

  The monitor showed a video feed of the door to the Tower in 13A. An emaciated man clad in ragged garments stood on the platform.

  “Where did he come from?” said Wycliffe.

  “Through the door,” said Thomson.

  “What?”

  Thomson spread his hands. “It’s true, Senator. That fellow came through the door. Look.” He flipped a switch, and the monitor loaded archived security footage. Wycliffe watched as the door swung open with the usual shaft of white light. The em
aciated man stepped through the opened door, looked around, and went motionless. The monitor clicked and went back to live feed.

  The man still stood on the platform, staring at nothing.

  Wycliffe shook his head. “You know the procedures, Thomson. Someone or something unauthorized comes through the door, the man on duty in the surveillance room calls in Mr. Marson’s men.”

  “I know, sir,” said Thomson. “But he’s just standing there. Just came in and stood there.”

  “All right.” Wycliffe rubbed his forehead. “You were right to call me. Krastiny, you still have your gun? Good. Come with me.”

  Wycliffe headed through the warehouse doors, striding through the rows of crates, Krastiny and Goth a half-step behind him. The emaciated man stood at the platform railing, staring off into the air. The fellow was gaunt and pale, his ragged clothes a deep crimson. Wycliffe stopped at the base of the platform and stared. The man made no response.

  “Senator,” said Krastiny. “That man is dead.”

  Wycliffe’s frown deepened. “What?”

  “He’s not breathing,” said Krastiny. The knuckles of his gun hand whitened.

  “A walking corpse,” said Wycliffe. “How wonderful. Goth. Do you recognize this…creature, whatever it is?”

  Goth growled. “Perhaps.”

  Wycliffe rolled his eyes. “Helpful.” He closed his eyes, gathered his concentration, and muttered a spell. A deathly chill washed through him, and Wycliffe focused his will on the platform.

  The response staggered him. “Dear God.”

  “What?” said Krastiny.

  “There’s powerful black magic in that thing.” He climbed the stairs, and the dead man turned to face him. “Who are you?”

  The corpse’s lips twitched. “Marugon.” Its voice boomed like a drum.

  Wycliffe folded his arms. “You think you are Marugon?”

  “Marugon.” A hint of irritation entered the deep voice. “Take me to Lord Marugon.”

  “What do you want with Lord Marugon?” said Wycliffe.

  “Take me to Lord Marugon,” said the corpse.

  Wycliffe raised his eyebrows. “Fine.” He turned. “Goth! Make yourself useful. Get Marugon.”

  Goth headed for the elevator.

  “What is that thing?” said Krastiny.

  “I’m…not sure,” said Wycliffe. “There’s mighty black magic within it. Marugon will recognize it.”

  Krastiny looked at his gun and shrugged. “What good would this be against a dead man?” He shoved the weapon back into its holster. “I should have stayed in Russia.”

  Wycliffe frowned. Was Krastiny developing doubts? He had seen a lot in the last few days. Wycliffe didn’t worry about Kurkov’s loyalty. Kurkov would deal with Satan if it meant profit. But Krastiny was a deeper sort of man. Wycliffe hoped he didn’t have to use the Voice. Krastiny had a remarkable mind, and the Voice sometimes had detrimental side effects.

  The double doors swung open, and Goth returned with Marugon. Marugon crossed to Wycliffe’s side, staring at the walking corpse. An expression of thunderous fury crossed his face, and Wycliffe felt the Warlock’s power rise. For a moment Marugon seemed robed in shadow, his eyes bottomless pits into an endless void.

  “Alastarius,” said Marugon, his voice a snarl.

  Goth shifted. “I slew him.”

  Marugon’s lips pulled back. “Yet even in death, he continues to trouble me. Damn him. You killed him too quickly, my friend.”

  “You recognize this thing?” said Wycliffe.

  Marugon climbed the stairs. “Recognize it? I created it.”

  “You did?” said Wycliffe.

  The corpse went to one knee and bowed its head. “Lord Marugon.”

  “This body, Senator Wycliffe, once belonged to a lord of Carlisan. After the city fell and Lithon Scepteris had eluded me, I took this man from the prisoners. I slew him with a spell of power and summoned a spirit from the dark places between the worlds to possess the corpse.”

  Wycliffe could not image the raw magical power it would take to do such a thing. “To what purpose?”

  “To find Lithon Scepteris, of course,” said Marugon. He gestured, and the corpse stood. “Tell me. All of it.” The corpse began to speak in a strange language, like a hissing whisper. Marugon asked questions from time to time in the same language.

  Krastiny climbed to the platform. “What are they saying?” he muttered.

  “I wish I knew,” said Wycliffe.

  “So,” said Marugon at last. His voice was calm, but Wycliffe saw the rage in his face. “It seems your world has unwelcome guests, Senator Wycliffe.”

  Wycliffe stiffened. “You mean there’s been a security breach?”

  “Of a sort,” said Marugon. “Do not trouble yourself. Your complex is secure. But someone has come through one of the other four doors.”

  Wycliffe frowned. “You mean that fellow who was strong enough to resist my Voice?” That incident still worried him. He had sent agents out to find the man, but the fugitive had so far eluded them.

  “Not him,” said Marugon. “A potential problem, certainly, but a minor one.” He shook his head. “No, a child has come through the door, possibly in the company of an old man.” He hissed a question to the corpse, and it answered in the same language. “Sir Liam Mastere, to be precise. I had thought Rembiar would have slain him by now. Damn him. Some others may have survived the journey through the Tower.”

  “I fail to understand, I fear,” said Wycliffe.

  Marugon glared at him. “Very well. I bound this creature to seek out Lithon Scepteris, heir to the throne of Carlisan. He is only infant child, yes…but I wish him dead.” Goth growled. “A rebellion could form with him as its nucleus. An ounce of prevention saves a pound of cure, as the peasants of the High Kingdoms once said.”

  “But why take this prince to Earth?” said Wycliffe. “I doubt he could lead an uprising effectively from another world!”

  Marugon snorted. “A small child cannot lead a revolt. They knew I wanted him dead…no, Sir Liam knew. How did he find out?” Marugon’s eyes went glassy. “Did Alastarius tell him? No, no, impossible. Alastarius Prophesied at the moment of his death. He could not have told Mastere anything.” His eyes cleared. “But it was brilliant. Audacious and daring. I would never have thought to seek Lithon on Earth. Worthy of Sir Liam Mastere. He is a most dangerous foe. He slew three Warlocks with his own hand years ago. No doubt Sir Liam plans to keep the boy safe here until he is of age, and then return with him to Carlisan.”

  “Then we’ll find this boy and his guardian and have them both assassinated,” said Wycliffe.

  Marugon didn’t seem to hear him. “I should have sealed those other four doors. But what good would it have accomplished? I did not come to the Tower to make extra seals. No, I came to break them.” He shook his head again. “Pardon my digressions, Senator Wycliffe. Much is on my mind.”

  “No doubt,” said Wycliffe, “but this problem is easy enough to solve.” He pointed at the open door. “We’ll see where those other four doors open. We should have done it in the first place anyway. Then we’ll investigate. An old man with a child, utterly unfamiliar with American customs, should be fairly easy to track down. Then we’ll send Krastiny and his boys out to settle accounts.” He looked over his shoulder at the little doctor. “An old man and a child should prove no difficulty, should they?”

  Krastiny grinned, that razor light coming back into his eyes. “Hardly, my good Senator.”

  Marugon laughed. “Sir Liam Mastere is far more than just another old man. Even lost and alone on a strange world, he is highly dangerous. Appearances are deceiving. No, we shall settle this matter in a different fashion.”

  Wycliffe grunted. “How?”

  “I myself shall hunt them down,” said Marugon.

  Wycliffe felt a chill crawl down his spine.

  “My creature,” said Marugon, gesturing at the corpse. “It is woven with spells of seeking, and I c
ompelled it to find Lithon Scepteris. It followed him across my world and through the maze of the Tower.” Marugon laughed, and for an instant he seemed swathed in shadows, his eyes bottomless black holes. “It has tracked Lithon Scepteris over thousands of miles and across the worlds, Senator Wycliffe. It will have no difficulty finding the prince in the same city.” He straightened. “And then I shall kill him, and all who travel with him. Sir Liam is brave, but he is a fool. He does not know what he challenges.”

  “Ah.” Wycliffe swallowed. “Just…try not to make too much of a mess.”

  Marugon grinned. It made him look like a mad wolf. “Fear not.” He spun to face the corpse. “I command! Go forth and track down Lithon Scepteris.”

  The corpse shuddered. Wycliffe watched in astonished fear as it crumbled, its shadow bulging and distorting. The corpse withered into dust, but its shadow twisted, folded, and seemed to rip open. An enormous black lion leapt out of the shadow, its mane, claws, and eyes like frozen flame. The ghastly thing was at least as big as a horse. Krastiny fumbled with his gun.

  Marugon threw out his arms, his robes fluttering like dark wings. “Go!”

  The lion’s roar sounded like a demon’s howl. It sprang over the railing, pivoted, and sprinted away. Wycliffe watched as the beast became insubstantial and raced through the wall.

  “Goth Marson!” said Marugon. “Gather the five most powerful of your kin. You will accompany me.” Goth bowed. “Senator Wycliffe. I require a vehicle.”

  Wycliffe nodded. “I’ll have something brought up immediately.” He headed for the intercom, trying to shake his growing worry. Suppose Marugon was seen? Suppose someone spotted the slouching thugs and traced them back here? He looked back at Marugon, tall and grim in his black robes.

  Wycliffe’s concern faded.

  Lord Marugon, last of the Warlocks, would leave no witnesses alive.

  ***

  Chapter 20 - Pursuit

  Anno Domini 2003