Glory nodded and sipped her tea. Her fangs were extruded.
“Mind telling me what the hell you’re talking about?” I asked.
“Alf, you’re doubtless the most dangerous man on Earth—for centuries in either direction, at that—and you don’t even know it.”
“Well, how about enlightening me on the matter?”
“No, timing is almost everything in matters of this sort. And there’s your timing and there’s our timing. And neither has run its course. So we wait and you stew. Just remember that we could have done you harm before now, but we didn’t.”
I nodded.
“I guess that’s the best deal I get.”
“The only deal,” she said.
“My, this sounds intriguin’,” said Mother Shipton; and, fair being fair, I got an idea just then. “And it’s just occurred to me,” she went on, “that if we spilled a few drops of that brandy into the tea it might be ever so much more excitin’.”
Mentally, I tried to recall myself in the mirror for advice. My image appeared in my mind, staring back at me. “Drop your teacup,” it said.
I did. Mother Shipton shrieked and her eyes grew moist. Glory said, “Alf, how could you? Little things like that are so dear back here.”
“I’m sorry. It just slipped.”
Glory stood. “I’ll be right back,” she said, “with a replacement.”
“‘Tis not necess—”
Glory was gone. Less than half a minute later she reappeared with a party streamer in her hair and a mug from the Black Place’s kitchen in her hand. She passed it to me and I poured myself a refill. “You can drop it all you want,” she said.
“It’s virtually indestructible.”
I nodded and we both thanked her. While she was away I’d had time to give Mother Shipton an instruction.
We drank our tea and ate our biscuits. The rain rained and leaked in. Wet thoughts in a gone world.
SIX · MACAVITY’S SMILE
When we wished in we were whisked out, which disconcerted me sufficiently that I applied fingertip pressure to La Shipton’s wrist as a signal to put my instruction on hold.
In a moment, the scene was recognizable, though it was hardly the parlor of the Luogo Nero. At a table beneath a tree in front of a house the Hatter and the March Hare were having tea, a dormant Dormouse between them, a little blond-haired girl at table’s end to their right, Adam across from the Hatter and chatting.
On seeing the direction of his companions’ gazes, Adam rose, turning, smiling, nodding toward us. Behind him, the Hatter also got to his feet—tall, familiar—and when he doffed his old-fashioned hat to the ladies his shock of white hair completed the picture.
“My associate, Medusa, whom you just met in passing,” Adam said, “is accompanied by Miz Ursula Shipton, a prospective client, and my other associate, Alfred Noir. Friends, permit me to introduce Sir Professor Doctor Bertrand Russell.”
“Let us dispense with Teutonic preambling,” the man said, showing us a smile. “Happy to meet you, all of you. Adam has not only dealt with the problem I brought him, but has shown me a good time in answer to a secret wish, and handed me a thorny dilemma involving ideals and practicalities.” He turned toward Adam once more. “I say, no matter how you try to keep it out it may still find its way in,” he said.
“But that argues against your pacifistic principles,” Adam responded, “to say that it must develop such a capacity merely from a series of contacts with things human.”
“As the days dwindle down and I continue to regard the world about me, probably in worse shape than I found it,” the other answered, “I fear that this—this capacity—could be real, though I shall argue against it to my final breath. I am just saying, Don’t take the chance.”
Adam leaned over and picked up a rod, which I saw to be more than his height in length when he held it upright. It was colored in swirls like a candy cane, and when he thumped it the ground shook, as if he were striking it with a sledgehammer.
“‘Be cheerful, sir’” said he, ‘“our revels now are ended.’”
The March Hare took out his watch and looked at it. Then he dipped it into his tea and looked at it again. He rose and turned and entered the house, to be followed moments later by Alice and the yawning Dormouse.
“‘These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air,” he continued, “‘and, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind.’”
The house, the tree, the table and all its ware, yea, the sky itself, had faded as he spoke, leaving us in Adam’s parlor. Lord Russell nodded. “‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on/” he said, “‘and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’ But will you break your staff, sir? Will you break your staff?”
In response, Adam raised the rod up over his head, hands far out near its ends, and for a moment I thought he was simply holding it there. Then his back began to broaden and I realized that he was exerting enormous pressure upon the thing. His jacket split down the middle and moments later his shirt tore, too, revealing cables of alien musculature beneath his bronze hide, as the bar yielded and bent. With a twist he had it into an S-shape. Then with additional pressure it became a figure 8.
“I’m not sure about that answer, Adam,” Lord Russell stated, “but thank you for your help as well as your courtesy.” Then he, too, was gone.
Adam moved a few paces and leaned the bent rod against the wall. Rising, he seemed to notice the condition of his garments and he grinned at me. Then he faded, except for the grin, which lingered a while.
“How’d he do that?” I asked Glory.
“You mean the fabric of his vision? Left the door to the multi-purpose room open,” she said. “It’ll spill out if you do that when the mechanism’s activated.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said, picking up the gaudy figure 8 and satisfying myself that it was real steel. “And the cat’s last trick, as in ‘Fade to smile’?”
“He was just playing with a side effect of the place,” she explained. “Here, inside, the singularity allows you to teleport from place to place. We almost never use it, though. It’s easier to walk across the room and pick up a book than to focus the concentration, the will, and the image of place to teleport twenty feet after it. He has a flair for the dramatic, though.”
“I’ve noticed. Still, how’d he manage the lingering smile part?”
“Practice. He’s got great control. He’s very good at everything he does.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
And he was suddenly with us once more, standing on the other side of the sofa. He had on a fresh white shirt with his slacks. “Yet are there other revels to attend,” he remarked.
“I hope you took sufficient rest,” Glory stated.
“Indeed I did, and my youth is renewed like the eagle,” he replied.
“Whatever did Lord Russell want to trade?” I asked.
“Halitosis,” he answered. “You see, he has a young girlfriend and she recently told him he has bad breath. He tried every sort of mouthwash he could locate, and when none of them did the trick he grew desperate. Then he remembered something Alfred North Whitehead had once told him about this place, and he decided to give us a try.”
“And you took his breath away in return for a mad party?”
“I got him to throw in a philosopher’s advice, too.”
“About life, of course. Always nice to collect a few more opinions.”
“About the Iddroid,” he said. “He’s not sure that our bowdlerization of the Library of Congress will do much good. He thinks that the capacity we are trying to avoid may be built right into that primitive collective unconscious Gomi brought us—which surprised me. It seems to go against much of his general thinking. Still, I’d asked him to sp
eculate as wildly as he would, and he may have found the nature of the project somewhat overwhelming.”
He moved around to the front of the sofa.
“It did seem as if you’d shaken him somewhat,” I said as he advanced, and I brushed against Ursula Shipton, giving her her cue.
She uttered a cry, rushed forward, and struck him twice, which took considerable courage after she’d seen what he could do to a steel rod. But she was a game lady.
Then she shrieked again and collapsed, rolling back slightly in my direction. I had followed her and I stooped immediately and raised her in my arms. I bore her to the sofa.
As I did, she whispered, “His is the power of the cat. I’ve seen him, like at the Last Judgment. He has all of humanity in a box and he’s pushing it into the flames. Maybe he really is the Dev—”
“I arranged a little demonstration,” I said loudly, “in return for the one you provided me. Scrying by aggression. Go ahead and tell the gentleman something of your vision.”
“Nine lives,” she said, “and eight hunters to cut their number. The best is yet to be but closes fast. Soon will be the time when you may not land on your feet.”
Adam ran a hand through his hair and smiled.
“Rocky,” he said. “Yes, you’ve got it all right.” He moved near, leaned and touched her brow. “Let me know when you’re up to it and I’ll run you through my mall.”
“Mall?” she said, eyes widening as she sat up. “I’m ready already.”
He took her hand and they headed for the Hellhole.
“… And a good time was had by all,” I said. “Excuse me, Glory. Nature summons.”
I made my way to the John fast, closed the door behind me, and stood there visualizing myself at the small room’s other end. I summoned my will and desire. Then suddenly I was there. I could do it, too. I teleported back, then back again. I would have to master this, get it down to a reflex, the way Adam had it. I could see that I would have to visit the John often, to practice.
I considered my reflection in the mirror. “Any further instructions?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Just hang in there. Timing is everything.”
I returned to the parlor to discover Glory in conversation with Ashton Ash, no longer an IT, who now wore Levi’s, expensive sneakers, a black Italian sport shirt, and a light leather jacket. Sunglasses hung at his belt in an embossed case. He smiled when he saw me.
“I was just saying that I’ve given it a trial run and it works fine,” he told me. “I was wondering whether you people might help me to meet some nice girls now— perhaps ones who’ve been clients themselves. Thought we might be a little more sympathetic toward each other. Old school tie sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to find a lady on your own,” Glory said. “We just haven’t the facilities to add that to our services.”
“But nice girls are hard—”
Just then Adam emerged from the Hellhole with Ursula Shipton, who had disposed of her rags and now wore a black jump-suit and red sandals. Her hair—washed, cut, styled—was indeed blonde, with a red coral clip in it on the left side. She carried a small black sequined purse and a loose-knit red cardigan. Her now-scoured complexion was lovely. I had almost not recognized her save for the cheekbones and the eyes. She looked even younger than I’d guessed her to be.
“Who?” Ash asked, nodding in her direction.
“A client, like yourself. No, not like yourself,” I said.
“Is she married?” he whispered.
“Widowed,” I said. “Would you like an introduction?”
“Please.”
“Now the money I gave you should last about a week,” Adam was saying. “If it doesn’t, just come back here whenever you need more. As a matter of fact, it would probably be a good idea for you to check in here every day, anyhow. That way we can deal with your questions as they arise. I wish I could spare the personnel to escort—”
I cleared my throat.
“Ursula Shipton,” I said, “I would like to introduce Mr. Ashton Ash.”
He reached forward and took her hand, bowed slightly and raised it to his lips. “I overheard somewhat of your instructions,” he said, “and I would be happy to serve as your escort for so long as you choose—starting, perhaps, with lunch.”
“Why, thank you,” she said, glancing at Adam and at me, “Mr. Ash.”
“Just Ash,” he said.
“In that case, there are several things you ought to know,” I told him. “The lady is from the sixteenth century. This is the distant future to her.”
“I understand,” he said, “being from a different period myself, even if it is only sixty years down the line.”
“Do you know contemporary Rome well enough to show her around?” Adam asked.
“Oh yes. I used your establishment as a Tube stop for some time,” he said, “before I got up nerve to consult you on my problem. I’d slink out and explore. And I usually hit this period. I could show her the future version as well as the present one if—”
“I’ve already seen the future version,” she said. “In fact, I’ve already seen this one. I prefer this one and will probably want to live and conduct my affairs here. I would like to see some of the things close-up, of course.”
Adam nodded. Ash conducted her to the door. “I’ll give you that close-up view,” he said.
“And I’ll protect you while you’re about it,” she told him. “I’ll point out the bad neighborhoods as we come to them.”
Ash gave me a puzzled look and I smiled and nodded. “She’s got a very good left,” I explained.
When they were gone Adam laughed. “We could open a dating service, you know,” he said. “I can think of some very interesting matches from different eras—”
“Forget it,” Glory said. “Do favors, but stick to essentials.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“What did it take to get her looking that way?” I asked.
“Mostly soap and water,” he replied, “and a once through the hair, face, and body parlor—for nothing she couldn’t have gotten downtown. And a run by the instant garments unit.”
“Cheap date,” I said. “You’re knocking off that list nicely. What kind of body you going to use for the Iddroid?”
“Cagliostro suggested one of the standard android models,” he replied. “With everything it will have going for it, though, it should be able to modify itself easily, even beyond the physical.”
“It does sound dangerous.”
“To be bold is to incur risk.”
“What are you going to do with the thing once you’ve got it?”
“I have major plans, but I’ll have to discuss them with Cagliostro.”
“I thought you were doing this for him—because it’s a snappy project.”
“True. But I’d anticipated it. I just didn’t have the formula myself. He walked in with it at the right time.”
“What if he doesn’t like your ideas?”
“He is a reasonable man.”
“Let us hope.”
“And now, about that long-term memory for you. I say it’s time. What do you think?”
“Agree,” I said. “You’ve had me curious for so long that I’m ready to give it a shot. Proust, you say? You’ve got stuff there from that whole crowd?”
“Oh yes. I gave Charlus—the real Charlus, that is, the Comte de Montesquiou-Ferensac—the temporary orientation for his affair with Sarah Bernhardt, though afterwards he said he’d never do anything like that again. A very demanding woman. Later, Montesquieu wanted some piety. Did you know that he also served Huysmans as the model for Des Esseintes in A Rebours? Robert Montesquieu was a man of no particular talent who thus managed a double literary achievement of sorts, and a minor theatrical one. I—”
I was distracted by the appearance of a woman in the foyer at his back. And not just any woman, but one of the loveliest I’d ever seen. She was tall and lithe
, with skin the color of dark smoke. She had a mane of natural-looking white hair with black streaks which fell halfway down her back. Her ears were pointed and silver hoops hung in them. Her nails were black and also pointed, her chin small, brow wide. She had on a black cloak over an inches-wide spiral of black material which covered her strategically and seemed to spiral about her at the same time. The cloak’s clasp and the anklet above her left foot were of silver. She fixed Glory with her yellow eyes and raised a finger to her lips. Glory nodded slightly. I shivered when she met my gaze and repeated the gesture.
Then she moved, without making a sound, advancing upon Adam’s back.
“… And Robert Haas, the original for Swann,” Adam was saying. “He was the nicest guy in the crowd—”
Suddenly the lady vanished. For a moment, I thought she knew the mini-teleportation trick. Then I realized that she had dropped to all fours. She arched her back, and then she lowered it, crouching.
Then she pounced. But even as she did, he was turning, smiling. He caught her in his arms and was borne over backwards by her. Moments later, they were rolling all over the floor making sounds like alley cats.
I moved nearer to Glory and looked at her. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“The lady is Prandha Rhadi—‘Prandy’ for short,” she explained. “She’s his old girlfriend. They’ve had this on-and-off thing down the centuries.” She crossed to the niche and threw the Switch. “Hate to have a customer come in just now.” Adam and Prandy were both on all fours now and seemed at this point to be spitting at each other.
“Are they just being emotional, or would all these sounds happen to be their language?” I asked.
“Both,” she replied. “Really, I thought we’d seen the last of her around World War One.”
“You don’t approve?”
“Of course I approve. It’s hard to meet a cat girl around here. It’s just that he’s always so sad when they break up.”
“Maybe they won’t break up this time.”
“We’ll see.”
She made a gesture toward the stairway with her eyes. It seemed a good idea and I followed her. At my back there was a rapid exchange of slow, half-growled, half-hissed sounds. Before I reached the top of the stair these were punctuated by several higher-pitched exclamations or statements.
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