He shook his head. “I just want to make sure it’s not too deadly. If there’s one thing I don’t seem to be short of, it’s people who want me dead.”
“It’s fine, Eddie. Dig in and enjoy it.”
“You can tell just by looking at it?”
She smiled. “No. But Rofocale has already checked out the chef, the staff, and the kitchen.”
“Just since we entered?”
“Since you suggested it as we left his building.”
Raven sighed. “It’s nice to have friends, even if they are demons from Hell.”
“One demon, Eddie,” she replied. “I am not in that category.”
“Are there any other Mistresses of Illusions?” he asked.
“Not for the last . . .” She seemed to be doing the math in her head, then shrugged and smiled. “Not in a very long time.”
He wanted to ask how her predecessor had died, but was afraid to have her tell him on the assumption that his enemies were probably her enemies as well.
Suddenly she leaned over and kissed him.
“What was that for?” he asked.
She smiled. “I admire your restraint. Now dig in before your food gets cold.”
He took a mouthful, decided he liked it, and took another. Finally he nodded his head. “It’s good,” he said.
“I told you it was,” replied Lisa. “You can trust me, Eddie. In fact, I’m the only person you can trust.”
“Including Rofocale?” he asked.
“He’s not a person,” she answered. “And you can trust him until I tell you that you can’t.”
“Which will be in the far distant future, I hope?”
“I hope so, too,” she said. “We’ll see.”
“So what’s next?” asked Raven.
“Dessert.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “I mean, do I become Pinocchio, or perhaps King Kong, or maybe one of the animals Noah didn’t have room for on the Ark?”
“I truly don’t know, Eddie,” she said. “But whatever it is, I’ll be there beside you, and we’ll find a way to overcome it.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you and Rofocale just told me what all this is leading up to?”
An expression crossed her face that he had never seen before—apprehension? Concern? Terror?
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry I asked.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry I can’t answer.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he asked.
“In this case there’s less difference between the two than I think you can imagine.”
The waitress came by to pick up their plates and take their dessert order. They waited in silence, finished their desserts in silence, and walked out the door in silence after Raven paid the bill.
“I’m sorry you’re mad at me,” said Lisa as they began walking down the sidewalk.
“I’m not mad,” said Raven.
“But you haven’t spoken in ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”
A self-deprecating smile crossed his face. “I’m afraid to ask anything.”
“I do not look forward to half a century of wedded silence,” said Lisa.
Raven smiled. “That’s the most encouraging thing I’ve heard in days.”
She stared at him with a puzzled frown.
“That we’re going to be married and live another fifty years,” he explained.
“Then make sure you take care of yourself in the coming days and weeks.”
“Not to worry,” said Raven. “I don’t plan to leave an almost-widow behind.” They passed a small theater. “Assuming we survive, I wonder if they’ll make a play out of it?”
“Why should they?” she asked.
“It’s no more far-fetched than half the shows on Broadway,” he answered. “As strange as the last few weeks have been, are they any weirder than good and bad witches, or singing bloodthirsty barbers, or bitter, mutilated men living in the depths of an opera house? How much stranger can Rofocale be?”
“I consider that a healthy attitude,” said Lisa. “Ridiculous, but healthy.”
He chuckled. “If we live through this, maybe we’ll become the next Burns and Allen and make everyone else laugh at this idiocy.”
“That’ll certainly draw anyone over the age of seventy-five or eighty,” she said.
He stopped and stared at her. “But you know who they were. How old are you?”
“As old as my nose, and a little older than my teeth.”
“That was a legitimate question.”
“I’m an old-time radio fan, Eddie. There are still some of us around . . . or how did you know about Burns and Allen?”
“Touché,” he said with a wry grin.
Suddenly he felt a wind on his face. He stopped and turned to face the source of it.
“What is it, Eddie?”
He shrugged. “Just a window fan. Powerful one, though.”
“Colorful, too,” said Lisa.
He looked at it. Suddenly it began slowing down, and he watched in fascination as the colors—a different primary color on each blade—became more distinct.
“Pretty,” commented Lisa.
“Fascinating!” said Raven.
“Come on, Eddie.”
“In a minute,” he said, staring at the blades.
“It’s just a fan, Eddie.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t think so . . .” said Raven.
16
“Oh, shit!” muttered Raven as he adjusted himself on the large and very uncomfortable saddle.
“You’re surprised?” said his companion.
Raven sighed deeply. “Shouldn’t I be, Sancho?” he said. “That’s a windmill, I’m astride the ugliest horse I’ve ever seen, you seem to be a guy, and I’m Don Quixote, all set to grab my sword or my lance and charge the damned windmill.”
“Calm down, Eddie,” said Lisa, reaching over and laying what she hoped was a calming hand on his arm. “We know you’re not Don Quixote, and we know you’re not about to mistake a windmill for Matagoger.”
He frowned. “Matagoger?” he repeated.
“An ogre.” Suddenly she smiled. “Not to worry. Don Quixote never fought it in the book either.”
“I read the book in school but wasn’t really into it,” he admitted. “But I did see the musical, Man of La Mancha. Why aren’t you Aldonza or Dulcinea, whichever she really was?”
“Because I think you need a full-time guide and companion,” she replied. “And not to worry, I’ll look like a short, mustachioed, pudgy man to anyone we encounter.”
“If you’re the Mistress of Illusions, why not just remain the beautiful woman you are and tinker with their minds?”
“How do you know I didn’t tinker with yours instead?” she asked with an amused smile.
“Because you’re a woman back in Manhattan, and in Camelot and Sherwood Forest and everywhere else I’ve seen you. And if my mind isn’t the only one you tinkered with, I would anticipate every man we come across making a play for you.”
“Well, it’s good to see your brain’s still working,” she said.
“So what happens now?” asked Raven.
“Now we overcome whatever obstacles the Enemy throws in our way, and then return to Manhattan if we can.”
“If we can?” he repeated, frowning.
“Nothing’s as simple as it seems, Eddie,” she said. “Not for you.”
“You mentioned the Enemy,” said Raven. “Who is he?”
“What makes you think it’s a he?”
“Okay, who is he, she, or it?”
“The Enemy.”
“You’re driving me crazy!” he growled.
“Trust me, you’ll know everything you need to know when
you finally do need it.”
“And this is another test?”
She grimaced and shook her head. “You’re not testing for a role or a position, Eddie. What you are was inevitable from the start. What’s happening now is that you’re being prepared for what lies ahead.”
“With Munchkins and white hunters and a crazy old man who goes to war with windmills?”
“When you were a Munchkin,” she said, “you learned how to function in a new body, how to manipulate events so you could meet the Wizard, and even how to manipulate him. When you were Alan Quatermain you learned how to stand up to a charging carnivore that was larger than you and wanted nothing more than to kill and eat you, and how to survive in a very unfamiliar and dangerous landscape. When you were Robin Hood, you learned how to escape from bondage with no weapons or tools. When you were . . .”
“Okay, I get the picture,” said Raven. “So do I wait for some new threat now?”
“You mean, stand out here in the sun, roasting in that rusty armor you’re wearing?” she responded. “You can if you want, but I think it would make more sense to find the nearest village and get some food and drink.” She paused, then smiled. “Unless you want to stand out here in the open. I think we can be reasonably sure the windmill won’t attack you.”
He sighed deeply. “Okay, let’s be going.” He tapped his ugly, underweight steed with the flat of his sword. “Come on, Secretariat.”
“His name’s Rocinante,” said Lisa.
“Just as well,” replied Raven. “Somehow he didn’t strike me as a Triple Crown winner.” He grimaced. “I have a feeling he’d have trouble outrunning a crippled turtle.”
“He’ll get you where you want to go,” she said. “Or would you rather walk miles across this barren landscape in your armor during the heat of the day?”
“Bear with me,” he said apologetically. “I’ve only been Don Quixote for maybe ninety seconds. I’m still adjusting to who and where—and what—I am.”
“I know, Eddie,” she said. “It’s just that you are being tested, and it’ll be difficult enough without doubting—or, worse yet, denigrating—who you are.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Raven. He looked across the bleak, barren landscape. “Okay, who attacks me next, and with what?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, Eddie,” she said. “Remember, this is all preparation. Telling you would be like giving you the answers to an exam.”
“And if I flunk the exam, I assume you have half a dozen replacements picked out?”
“No, Eddie,” she said. “We don’t.”
“And if I decide to play hooky or drop out, then what?”
Then that’s the end of everything.
He stared at her. “Your voice lost an octave or two.”
“I didn’t say anything, Eddie,” replied Lisa.
“But—”
“That was Rofocale, Eddie.”
“He’s listening?” said Raven, frowning.
“Yes.”
“And watching, too?”
“Are you surprised?” asked Lisa.
Raven considered it, and decided that he was annoyed as all hell, but not the least bit surprised now that he thought about it.
He grimaced again. “Still adjusting,” he muttered.
They rode in silence across the flat, dusty landscape, and within about twenty minutes came to a small wooded area surrounding a small pond. There was a ramshackle building in among the trees, and he turned to Lisa. “A bar?”
“Better still,” she said. “An inn, in case we don’t want to travel all through the night. And I’d hardly call it a restaurant, but we can get a meal there as long as we’re not too fussy.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Kind of.”
He stared at her, was about to ask what she meant, decided whatever she answered would just confuse him, and went back to riding in silence.
The horses sensed the water and headed directly toward it. When they reached it, Raven and Lisa dismounted while they drank, then led them to a small fenced area where they unsaddled and released them.
“One question,” said Raven as he and Lisa turned and began approaching the inn.
“What is it?”
“Will you look and sound like Sancho Panza to everyone in the inn, or like Lisa?”
And as the words left his mouth, she became almost a blur in front of him for a second or two, and when she came back into focus she was a short, pudgy, mustachioed man in some need of a shave and a haircut.
“Better?” she asked in a voice that seemed to fit her appearance.
“Not better at all,” he replied with a smile. “But certainly safer. Though I’m almost sorry I reminded you.”
She smiled. “I’ve looked like this to everyone but you since we got here,” she answered.
“Son of a bitch!” he muttered. “Am I ever going to learn the ground rules to this idiotic game?”
“It’s not a game, Eddie,” she said. “And you have two choices: learn them or die.”
“I’m trying.”
She lay a gnarled, hairy hand on his. “I know.”
He sighed, then grimaced. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go in and get something to drink.”
“You’re not hungry?”
“Let me see the condition of the food first,” he replied, and they both chuckled.
They walked up to the front door, and he reached out to open it for her, but she pulled his hand back and opened it herself. “I’m your squire,” she whispered.
He walked into the room, which consisted of a bar, three or four tables, and a door leading to what he assumed was the kitchen.
“A table for my master, the great Don Quixote!” hollered Lisa.
He wanted to signal her not to call any attention to themselves, but decided she knew the protocol a lot better than he did. Still, he did remember more than a decade after having to read the book in school that Don Quixote was a figure of ridicule, so he prepared himself for everything from insults to a challenge to a duel to the death.
“Ah!” said the bartender in amused tones. “A knight errant and his lackey!”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” growled Raven.
“Or what?” demanded the bartender.
“Or it won’t be in your head for long,” said Raven. “Now I want a table for my squire and myself.”
“Take whatever you want, O Great Knight,” said the bartender, clearly amused by Raven’s appearance. “Miguel!” he called to a man sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the room. “Grab the great knight’s squire and lead him to a proper table.”
“Don’t you lay a hand on her!” snapped Raven.
“And then do the same for the blind knight.”
“Blind?” demanded Raven. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mighty few women serve as squires,” said the bartender with a chuckle, “and even fewer sport a bushy black mustache.”
“I misspoke,” said Raven.
“Then he’s not a girl?” said Miguel with a chuckle.
“Whatever he is, keep your hands to yourself or spend the next thirty years wishing you had.”
“Bold talk for a madman in rusted armor,” said Miguel.
“Don’t put it to the test,” said Raven. “I’ve had a rough week.”
Miguel grinned, offered a deep bow, and led the way to a table near a large window.
“That’ll do,” said Raven. “Now scram.”
Miguel frowned. “What is ‘scram’?”
“Go away.”
Miguel seemed to be considering taking a swing at Raven, decided not to harass a paying customer, and walked back to his own table.
Raven was about to pull out a chair for Lisa when he felt her hand o
n his wrist.
“Allow me, my master,” she said, pulling the chair for him.
He grimaced, nodded his thanks, and sat down. A moment later she sat down next to him.
“Well, Brave and Noble Knight, what’ll it be?” asked the bartender.
“I’d really like some coffee,” said Raven softly to Lisa, “but I can’t ask for it, can I?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she whispered.
“Well?” demanded the bartender.
“What do you recommend?” asked Raven.
“I recommend spending your money and getting drunk beyond belief!” replied the bartender with a laugh.
“Okay,” said Raven. “A glass of your best.”
“My best what?” was the reply. “Stout, ale, wine?”
“Stout,” said Raven promptly. He turned to Lisa, and lowered his voice. “It sounded closest to beer.”
She smiled.
The drink arrived, Raven took a taste, made a face, and put it down on the table.
“Well?” said the bartender?
“It’s wet, anyway,” replied Raven with a shrug.
“You gonna pay for it, or do I have to joust you for it?”
Lisa immediately tossed a couple of coins on the table. The bartender picked them up, bit into each of them, nodded his approval, put them in his pocket, and went back to the bar.
“I’m glad one of us had some money,” said Raven. He paused. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait,” she replied.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m part of the test, Eddie,” she answered. “Not its creator.” She looked off to her left. “Maybe this guy can help.”
A small man—smaller even than Lisa—shambled across the room to them. He was dressed in rags and had a chain collar clasped around his throat.
“He looks familiar,” said Raven.
“You’re kidding!” said Lisa.
“No, I mean it.”
The man stopped at their table and stared at Raven. “I heard your man say that you were the famous knight-errant Don Quixote.”
Raven simply stared at him.
“Well, are you?”
“If I’m that famous, why don’t you recognize me without asking?” said Raven.
The Mistress of Illusions Page 12
