Ashman dipped an eagle quill in a well of oak-gall ink. "By the bird of thy homeland and the tree of the lightning," he intoned, "under their protection and God's, child of this day, be thy true name, known on this earth but to thy parents, thy physician, and thee when thou shaft come of age: Victrix; and may thou bear it in honor and happiness while thy years endure. Amen." He wrote, dusted sand from Galilee across the words, and stood up again. "This one I'll file personally," he said. Yawning. "Okay, that's all."
We repeated our handshake. "I'm sorry you had to deliver her at such an unsanctified hour, I said.
"Nothing we GP's aren't used to," he answered. The sleepiness left him. He regarded me very steadily. "Besides, in this case I expected it."
"I?Huh?"
"I'd heard something about you and your wife already," Ashman said. "I looked up more. Cast a few runes of my own. Maybe you don't know it yourself, but that kid was begotten on the winter solstice. And, quite apart from her unusual heredity, there's something else about her. I can't identify it. But I felt pretty sure she'd be born this night because a full moon was due on Matthewsmas. I'm going to watch her with a great deal of interest, Mr. Matuchek, and I suggest you take extra special care of her .... Good night, now."
XIX
NOTHING SPECTACULAR HAPPENED to us in the following three years. Or so you would have thought; but you are somebody else. For our little circle, it was when the world opened up for our taking and, at the ?same time, buckled beneath our feet.
To start with, Valeria was unexpected. We found out later that Svartalf had been chasing the Brownie again and, in revenge, the Good Folk had turned Ginny's pills to aspirin. Afterward I've wondered if more didn't lie behind the incident than that. The Powers have Their ways of steering us toward situations that will sense Their ends.
At first finny intended to go ahead according to our original plan, as soon as the youngster was far enough along that a babysitter could handle things by day. And she did take her PhD. in Arcana, and had some excellent job offers. But once our daughter was part of our home, well, mama's emancipation kept getting postponed. We weren't about to let any hireling do slobwork on Valeria! Not yet, when she was learning to smile, when she was crawling everywhere around, when her noises of brook and bird were changing into language?later, later.
I quite agreed. But this meant giving up, for a while if not forever, the condition we'd looked forward to: of a smart young couple with a plump double income, doing glamorous things in glamorous places among glamorous people. I did propose trying to take up my Hollywood career again, but would have been astounded if Ginny had been willing to hear word one of that idea. "Do you imagine for half a second," she said, "that I'd want a mediocre player of Silver Chief and Lassie, when I could have a damn good engineer?" Personally, I don't think the pictures I made were that all bad; but on the whole, her answer relieved me.
A newly created B.Sc. doesn't step right into the kind of challenging project he hopes for, especially when he's older than the average graduate. I had to start out with what I could get. By luck?we believed then?that was unexpectedly good.
The Nornwell Scryotronics Corporation was among the new outfits in the booming postwar communications and instrument business. Though small, it was upward bound on an exponential curve. Besides manufacture, it did R & D, and I was invited to work on the latter. This was not simply fascinating in itself, it was a long step toward my ultimate professional goal. Furthermore, an enlightened management encouraged us to study part time for advanced degrees, on salary. That pay wasn't bad, either. And before long, Barney Sturlason was my friend as much as he was my boss.
The chief drawback was that we had to stay in this otherwise dull city and endure its ghastly Upper Midwestern winters. But we rented a comfortable suburban house, which helped. And we had each other, and little Valeria. Those were good years. It's just that nobody else would find an account of them especially thrilling.
That's twice true when you consider what went on meanwhile at large. I suppose mankind has always been going to perdition in a roller coaster and always will be. Still, certain eras remind you of the old Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times!"
Neither Ginny nor I had swallowed the propaganda guff about how peace and happiness would prevail forevermore once the wicked Caliphate had been defeated. We knew what a legacy of wretchedness all wars must leave. Besides, we knew this conflict was more a symptom than a cause of the world's illness. The enemy wouldn't have been able to overrun most of the Eastern Hemisphere and a chunk of the United States if Christendom hadn't been divided against itself. For that matter, the Caliphate was nothing but the secular arm of a Moslem heresy; we had plenty of good Allah allies.
It did seem reasonable, though, to expect that afterward people would have learned their lesson, put their religious quarrels aside, and settled down to reconstruction. In particular, we looked for the Johannine Church to be generally discredited and fade away. True, its adherents had fought the Caliph too, had in fact taken a leading role in the resistance movements in the occupied countries. But wasn't its challenge to the older creeds?to the whole basis of Western Society?what had split and weakened our civilization in the first place? Wasn't its example what had stimulated the rise of the lunatic Caliphist ideology in the Middle East?
I now know better than to expect reasonableness its; human affairs.
Contrary to popular impression, the threat didn't appear suddenly. A few men warned against it from a the beginning. They pointed out how the Johnnies had become dominant in the politics of more than one nation, which thereupon stopped being especially friendly to us, and how in spite of this they were making converts throughout America. But most of us hardly listened. We were too busy repairing war damage, public and personal. We considered those who sounded the alarm to be reactionaries and would-be tyrants (which some, perhaps, were). The Johannine theology might be nuts, we said, but didn't the First Amendment guarantee its right to be preached? The Petrine churches might be in trouble, but wasn't that their problem? And really, in our scientific day and age, to talk about subtle, pervasive dangers in a religious philosophical system . . . a system which emphasized peacefulness almost as strongly as the Quakers, which exalted the commandment to love thy neighbor above every other-well, it just might be that our materialistic secular society and our ritualistic faiths would benefit from a touch of what the Johnnies advocated.
So the movement and its influence grew. And then the activist phase began: and somehow orderly demonstrations were oftener and oftener turning into riots, and wildcat strikes were becoming more and more common over issues that made less and less sense, and student agitation was paralyzing campus after campus, and person after otherwise intelligent person was talking about the need to tear down a hopelessly corrupt order of things so that the Paradise of Love could be built on the ruins . . . and the majority of us, that eternal majority which wants nothing except to be left alone to cultivate its individual gardens, wondered how the country could have started to disintegrate overnight.
Brother, it did not happen overnight. Not even over Walpurgis Night.
XX
I CAME HOME early that June day. Our street was quiet, walled in between big old elms, lawns, and houses basking in sunlight. The few broomsticks in view were ridden by local women, carrying groceries in the saddlebags and an infant or two strapped in the kiddie seat. This was a district populated chiefly by young men on the way up. Such tend to have pretty wives, and in warm weather these tend to wear shorts and halters. The scenery lightened my mood no end.
I'd been full of anger when I left the turbulence around the plant. But here was peace. My roof was in sight. Ginny and Val were beneath it. Barney and I had a plan for dealing with our troubles, come this eventide. The prospect of action cheered me. Mean while, I was home!
I passed into the open garage, dismounted, and racked my Chevvy alongside Ginny's Volksbesen. As came out again, aimed at the front door, a cannonb
all whizzed through the air and hit me. "Daddy! Daddy!"
I hugged my offspring close, curly yellow hair, enormous blue eyes, the whole works. She was wearing her cherub suit, and I had to be careful not to break the wings. Before, when she flew, it had been at the end of a tether secured to a post, and under Ginny's eye. What the deuce was she doing free?
Oh. Svartalf zoomed around the corner of the house on a whisk broom. His back was arched, his tail was raised, and he used bad language. Evidently Ginny had gotten him to supervise. He could control the chit fairly well, no doubt, keep her in the yard and out of trouble . . . until she saw Daddy arrive.
"Okay!" I laughed. "Enough. Let's go in and say boo to Mother."
"Wide piggyback?"
For Val's birthday last fall I'd gotten the stuff for an expensive spell and had Ginny change me. The kid was used to playing with me in my wolf form, I'd thought; but how about a piggyback ride, the pig being fat and white and spotted with flowers? The local small fry were still talking about it. "Sorry, no," I had to tell her. "After that performance of yours, you get the Air Force treatment." And I carried her by her ankles, squealing and wiggling, while I sang,
"Up in the air, junior birdman,
Up in the air, upside down-"
Ginny came into the living room, from the workroom, as we did. Looking behind her, I saw why she'd deputized the supervision of Val's flytime. Washday. A three-year-old goes through a lot of clothes, and we couldn't afford self-cleaning fabrics. She had to animate each garment singly, and make sure they didn't tie themselves in knots or something while they soaped and rinsed and marched around to dry off and so forth. And, since a parade like that is irresistible to a child, she had to get Val elsewhere.
Nonetheless, I wondered if she wasn't being a tad reckless, puffing her familiar in charge. Hitherto, she'd done the laundry when Val was asleep. Svartalf had often shown himself to be reliable in the clutch. But for all the paranatural force in him, he remained a big black tomcat, which meant he was not especially dependable in dull everyday matters . . . Then I thought, What the blazes, since Ginny stopped being a practicing witch, the poor beast hasn't had much excitement; he hasn't even got left a dog or another cat in the whole neighborhood that dares fight him; this assignment was probably welcome; Ginny always knows what she's doing; and?
"?and I'm an idiot for just standing here gawping," I said, and gathered her in. She was dressed like the other wives I'd seen, but if she'd been out there too I wouldn't have seen them.
She responded. She knew how.
"What's a Nidiot?" Val asked from the floor. She pondered the matter. "Well, Daddy's a good Nidiot."
Svartalf switched his tail and looked skeptical.
I relaxed my hold on Ginny a trifle. She ran her fingers through my hair. "Wow, she murmured. "What brought that on, tiger?"
"Daddy's a woof," Val corrected her.
"You can call me tiger today," I said, feeling happier by the minute.
Ginny leered. "Okay, pussycat."
"Wait a bit?"
She shrugged. The red tresses moved along her shoulders. "Well, if you insist, okay, Lame Thief of, the Waingunga."
Val regarded us sternly. "When you fwoo wif you's heads," she directed, "put 'em outside to melt."
The logic of this, and the business of getting the cherub rig off her, took time to unravel. Not until oor offspring was bottoms up on the living-room floor, watching cartoons on the crystal ball, and I was in the kitchen watching Ginny start supper, did we get the chance to talk.
"How come you're home so early?" she asked.
"How'd you like to reactivate the old outfit tonight?" I replied.
"Which?"
"Matuchek and Graylock?no, Matuchek and Matuchek?Troubleshooters Extraordinary, Licensed Confounders of the Ungodly."
She put down her work and gave me a long look. "What are you getting at, Steve?"
"You'll see it on the ball, come news time," I answered. "We aren't simply being picketed any more. They've moved onto the grounds. They're blocking every doorway. Our personnel had to leave by skylight, and rocks got thrown at some of them."
She was surprised and indignant, but kept the coolness she showed to the world outside this house. "You didn't call the police?"
"Sure, we did. I listened in, along with Barney, since Roberts thought a combat veteran might have some useful ideas. We can get police help if we want it. The demonstrators have turned into trespassers; and windows are broken, walls defaced with obscene slogans, that sort of thing. Our legal case is plenty clear. Only the opposition is out for trouble. Trouble for us, as much as possible, but mainly they're after martyrs. They'll resist any attempt to disperse them. Just like the fracas in New York last month. A lot of these characters are students too. Imagine the headlines: Police Brutality Against Idealistic Youths. Peaceful Protesters Set On With Clubs and Geas Casters.
"Remember, this is a gut issue. Nornwell manufactures a lot of police and defense equipment, like witchmark fluorescers and basilisk goggles. We're under contract to develop more kinds. The police and the armed forces serve the Establishment. The Establishment is evil. Therefore Nornwell must be shut down."
"Quod erat demonstrandum about," she sighed."
The chief told us that an official move to break up the invasion would mean bloodshed, which might touch off riots at the University, along Merlin Avenue?Lord knows where it could lead. He asked us to stop work for the rest of the week, to see if this affair won't blow over. We'd probably have to, anyway. Quite a few of our men told their supervisors they're frankly scared to come back, the way things are."
The contained fury sparked in her eyes. "If you knuckle under," she said, "they'll proceed to the next on their list."
"You know it," I said. "We all do. But there is that martyrdom effect. There are those Johnny priests ready to deliver yet another sanctimonious sermon about innocent blood equals the blood of the Lamb. There's a country full of well-intentioned bewildered people who'll wonder if maybe the Petrine churches aren't really on the way out, when the society that grew from them has to use violence against members of the Church of Love. Besides, let's face the fact, darling, violence has never worked against civil disobedience.
"Come back and tell me that after the machine guns have talked," she said.
"Yeah, sure. But who'd want to preserve a government that resorts to massacre? I'd sooner turn Johnny myself. The upshot is, Nornwell can't ask the police to clear its property for it."
Ginny cocked her head at me. "You don't look too miserable about this."
I laughed. "No. Barney and I brooded over the problem for a while and hatched us quite an egg; I'm actually enjoying myself by now, sort of. Life's too tame of late. Which is why I asked if you'd like get in on the fun."
"Tonight?"
"Yes. The sooner the better. I'll give you the details after our young hopeful's gone to bed."
Ginny's own growing smile faded. "I'm not sure I can get a sitter on notice that short. This is final exam week at the high school."
"Well, if you can't, what about Svartalf?" I suggested. "You won't be needing a familiar, and he can see to the elementary things, keep guard, dash next door and yowl a neighbor awake if she gets collywobbles?"
"She might wake up and want us," Ginny objected, not too strongly.
I disposed of that by reminding her we'd bought a sleep watcher for Val, after a brief period when she seemed to have occasional nightmares. The little tin soldier didn't merely stand by her bed, the dream of him stood with his musket at the edge of her dreams, ready to chase away anything scary. I don't believe gadgets can substitute for parental love and presence; but they help a lot.
Ginny agreed. I could see the eagerness build up in her. Though she'd accepted a housewife's role for the time being, no race horse really belongs on a plowing team.
In this fashion did we prepare the way for hell to break loose, literally.
XXI
THE NIGHT FELL M
OONLESS, a slight haze dulling the 1 stars. We left soon after, clad alike in black sweaters and slacks, headlights off. Witch-sight enabled us to make a flight that was safe if illegal, high over the city's constellated windows and lamps until our stick, swung downward again toward the industrial section. It lay still darker and emptier than was normal at this hour. I saw practically no tiny bluish glimmers flit around the bulks of shops and warehouses. The Good Folk were passing up their nocturnal opportunity for revels and curious window-peeking when man wasn't around. That which was going on had frightened them.
It centered on Nornwell's grounds. They shone forth, an uneasy auroral glow in a air. As we neared, the wind that slid past, stroking and whispering to me bore odors-flesh and sweat, incense, an electric acridity of paranatural energies. The hair stood erect along my spine. I was content not be in wolf-shape to get the full impact of that last.
The paved area around the main building was packed close to solid with bodies. So was the garden that made our workers' warm-weather lunches pleasant, nothing remained of it except mud and cigaret stubs. I estimated five hundred persons altogether, blocking any except aerial access. Their mass was not restless, but the movement of individuals created an endless rippling through it, and the talk and footshuffle gave those waves a voice.
Near the sheds, our lot was less crowded. Scattered people there were taking a break from the vigil to fix a snack or flake out in a sleeping bag. They kept a respectful distance from a portable altar at the far end, though from time to time, someone would kneel in its direction.
I whistled, long and low. "That's arrived since I left." Ginny's arms caught tighter around my waist.
A Johannine priest was holding service. Altitude or no, we couldn't mistake his white robe, high-pitched minor-key chanting, spread-eagle stance which he could maintain for hours, the tau crucifix that gleamed tall and gaunt behind the altar, the four talismans?Cup, wand, sword, and Disc?upon it. Two acolytes swung censers whence came the smoke that sweetened and, somehow, chilled the air.
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