The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  The Mong seated himself across from us.

  “Now tell me, what does this Freeman brother propose to accomplish by coining to my ocean den?”

  “He intends to recover the lost Freeman fortune: four million dollars and a claim to the ghagstic resources of this region.”

  “What means would he employ to accomplish his purpose?”

  “Any fair means,” I said, groping. “If there are no laws here, he would appeal to your sense of justice.”

  The cackling laugh was like nutshells crunching under a boot.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded. My face grew hot. “I suppose you’ve committed so many murders you’ve forgotten there is such a thing as justice. Is that it?”

  The cackling old man quieted, rubbed his watery eyes, and drew his chair closer. Loonza crowded back against the stone railing as if repelled.

  He spoke slowly, looking out toward the glowing light of the vast stone ceiling.

  “The Freeman brothers might well consider the rare value of my experiment here.” He waved his hand loosely toward the shoretown below. “Look what I have built.”

  “You built it out of the Freeman fortune.”

  “Yes.” He nodded at me so innocently that I thought, even the water hornets would have been impressed by his show of virtue. “Yes, I stole the money from my stepbrother, and after

  I had appropriately coated him with ghagstic so that his descendants would always be able to see him and pay him honors, I used his money to build this colony far away from the hard civilization of the earth. Young man, I assume that you yourself are one of the Freeman brothers . . . Otherwise you would not be interested. I don’t know how you’ve managed to seep through the barriers and find me, or what means you have used to gain the friendship of this lovely girl—but you’re here, and I’ll answer your questions—if you’ll answer mine. Tell me, have you found my ocean den something to despise? Do the people here seem to be unhappy?”

  It was a double-edged question. I couldn’t answer it in a word. I replied that one couldn’t help despising the inhuman methods that were used on strangers.

  “Ah, but that’s only a necessary evil to protect the original population. We cannot be overrun by strangers. They would soon demoralize us. And as you can see, the select population is highly contented, industrious, and peace loving. Isn’t it so?”

  He turned the question to Loonza. She answered yes with the naiveté of a child. Yes, everything here was indeed quite beautiful.

  “There,” said the Mong. “Now, young man, suppose your great-grandfather had retained control of his fortune. What would have happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “I’ll tell you. The industrialists of the earth would have been in a frenzy to seize control of the ghagstic supply. Your noble ancestor would have gone to the courts to retain his monopoly. The lawyers would have lined up for a battle. The manufacturers would have cut each others’ throats trying to corner the market on new products. These tons of nature’s materials would have been twisted into all manner of gadgets, most of which the human race has never needed and will never really need. Salesmen would have been whipped into a froth to go out and sell the useless stuff to people who didn’t want it in the first place, and the radioorators would have barked until they were blue in the face to make gullible consumers think they couldn’t be happy without ghagstic. Laws would have been fought over to regulate the trade and establish tariffs on incoming materials—and a few million dollars would have been spent lobbying at Washington to promote the laws, or fight the laws, or make sure the laws were cut in some fanciful pattern to please other commercial interests that might contribute to the next campaign fund. Tell me, son, who would have been happier if I had left the fortune in the hands of your great-grandfather?”

  I looked at Loonza. Her eyes were wide and she was shaking her head slowly. “What is he talking about?”

  “About the earth.”

  “Are all of those dreadful things on the earth?”

  “They only sound dreadful,” I said. “It’s all a, matter of what you’re used to.”

  “I thought the earth was a beautiful place where people admired the moon.”

  “Not many people have time for that,” I said.

  Loonza looked down over the ledge, down the perpendicular wall of rock to the red waters below. She said, “It’s pretty down there. I wonder if the water is ever quiet enough that you can see your reflection from here.”

  The old man gave a low sinister laugh. He knew—just as I knew—that Loonza, in her innocence, had clinched the whole point of his argument. Here life was simple, beautiful, undisturbed by the hundreds of thousands of artificial troubles that the people of my earth had conjured up for their own distress and suffering.

  “This ocean den is a rendezvous,” said my great-stepuncle. “It’s an experiment which proves that people of the earth can live peaceably and happily, if they can only escape their heritage of man-made troubles. I have built this world out of the silver lining of my black robe of crime. In life these people are happy. In death—ah, they are nevertheless beautiful as ornaments for my palace.”

  He folded his arms and his evil smile rested upon me triumphantly. The only thing I could answer—and it was a woefully weak answer—was: “You’ve built it out of the Freeman fortune.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “I have a plan,” the old man said slowly. “It has been in my mind for a long time. For many years, in fact, I have known that sooner or later some ambitious young Freeman would find his way into my world and demand that I make restitution for my so-called evil deeds. Now that you have come, I shall explain my plan. But first, I should have witnesses. Zober!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The aged Montgomery touched a cord. A tinkling musical note echoed through the stone columns and a moment later the Paint-Face Zober came out to the balcony. He bowed slightly and took the place that the Mong indicated.

  If Loonza had looked sharp, she would have observed that this particular Paint-Face was interested in her. But in this ocean den, the guards with painted faces were socially unapproachable, it seemed. Once they had donned the paint, they became anonymous, losing their identity except as servants of the government. This man Zober, however, possessed a magnetic quality. In his presence I felt that the air was charged with too much electricity. I couldn’t help wondering what he would look like if he removed his disguise.

  I observed his hands, his feet, his crisp mud-plastered hair. As David had once mentioned, he did not possess the grafted web-structure between-his fingers, but wore trim webbed gloves that were doubtless removable.

  I whispered to Loonza, “An interesting fellow, this Zober.”

  She shook her head. “He watches me too close. I can’t figure him out.”

  “Haven’t you known him all your life?”

  “Only in recent months. They say that he swam in from the sea. But one never knows about the Paint-Faces.” In a lower whisper she added, “One forgets their families, and their age, and everything except how severe they are.” The old man cleared his throat and our off-side conversation ceased. He looked to Zober. “Where is Propsander?”

  Zober, amazingly silent, gestured toward the sea. Then the old man remembered that the magician had gone on an errand. There were only the four of us in this tower-top palace.

  “We won’t wait for Propsander,” the old man said. “There are three, of you to listen. How long will you live? No one knows. But one you will surely live long enough to pass my words on when the time comes. Listen closely.” His sleeves flapped in rhythm with his low spoken words.

  “Many years ago I borrowed—stole, if you prefer—four million dollars from my step brother. I took possession of this region which he claimed. When

  I die—”

  He turned to me and gave his white hair an arrogant toss.

  “Don’t look so anxious, young man. I’m only a hu
ndred and ten years old. I’ll live another twenty years. Maybe forty, if I’m still enjoying myself. As long as there are new specimens for my art collections—er—but as I started to say—when I die, any living descendants of the Freeman family will be entitled to equal shares of a four million dollar consignment of ghagstic. Does that make you happy, young man?”

  He turned on me so sharply that Zober couldn’t fail to know I was not a Paint-Face. Painted though I was, I was an imposter. He must have guessed that I was a Freeman—and I knew that my trick would soon bring trouble down on my head. The Paint-Faces down at the gate would soon hear that a visitor had beat their death trap! Yes, Zober was staring through me. He gulped hard.

  I wondered what his voice would sound like.

  “In addition,” said the old man, “if there is any Freeman who is willing to remain in this realm, the ocean den with all of its valuable resources will fall to him. He will own it, and govern the people, and use the riches as he sees fit. There. Do all of you understand?”

  The little old man gave a catlike lurch, and his glittering eyes fastened themselves upon someone who was approaching through the farther room. In spite of his age, W.W. Montgomery possessed the alert senses of a hunted animal.

  “Excuse me,” he said, recovering his dignity. “Visitors.”

  He plodded off through the rooms toward the rear entrance. Loonza and I followed cautiously for a few steps; then the mirror gave us the picture. The withered little old Mong was receiving guests, after a fashion. They were forcing their way in with pistols.

  Uncle Willard and David!

  We heard the old man’s crackling words of surprise. We heard David’s hardboiled grumble. Uncle Willard was trying to temper the meeting with a show of manners: the guns were only for their own protection, he was saying, and please don’t misunderstand! But it was David’s ruthless manner that predominated. David growled:

  “We are the rightful heirs to the Freeman fortune. If you are the high mogul of this joint, we can get right down to business.”

  Loonza whispered, “Whooo! He’s mad. He’s madder than when I took him to the fountain to help him get rid of the water hornets.”

  I replied that David had never been noted for his sweet disposition, and she needn’t expect any appreciation for her act of kindness at this late date.

  “Will he know you?” Loonza whispered. “If he sees you with me, he’ll know you, in spite of your paint.”

  I shook my head. David was sure he had got rid of me, otherwise he and his father would never have barged in on the powers-that-be with such a cocksure announcement.

  My great-stepuncle was polite. What a pleasant surprise to have visitors from the outside world. They must come right in and tell him all about themselves.

  “Yes, I am the Mong of this Crimson Sea,” he crackled slowly, with wonderful dignity and modesty. His sleeves of blue and gray waved gracefully as he motioned them in. “Walk softly, please. My water hornets may be sleeping . . . No, no, I’m mistaken. They are wide awake. Ah, they’re taking quite an interest in you.”

  The bowl of pets was worth watching. Those lively black spikes were all lunging at once in the direction of the three men, and Loonza whispered, “There’s enough evil to choke them!”

  We moved back into the balcony, for the Mong and his guests were coming in our direction.

  “Our time is limited,” David was saying sharply. “We’re short on patience too.”

  “You’ll have to pardon my son for coming right to the point,” Uncle Willard said, “but he needs to get back to the earth as soon as possible. So if you’ll just fork over, we’ll take possession at once.”

  “Ver-r-ry interesting!” The old man drew out his words, not being in the least rushed or overwhelmed. He didn’t know how rash a person David was. Did he realize that that black ugly pistol was in dangerous hands? He nodded slowly, trudging along through the arch and out onto the balcony. “So you two are the only living heirs to the Freeman fortune?”

  “Right,” said David. He gave us a quick glance. The sight of me made no impression. His gaze rested for a moment on Loonza, however, as if wondering whether she would make trouble for him. He turned his back, then, as they came to the stone railing.

  “Just be seated,” said the Mong. “I’ll call Propsander. He handles all of my business.”

  “What the hell does he have to do with it?” David snarled.

  Uncle Willard joined in. “You’re the boss here. Let’s get down to business.”

  The little old man gave an easy gesture. “Calm yourselves, gentlemen. If you are the rightful heirs, you’ll have no objection to a routine check-up. My magician, Propsander, has the means of verifying the truth of any man’s statement.”

  David groaned. “Ugh. Lie detectors, huh? Well, you’ll not catch us up with any of that stuff.”

  “You mean you won’t submit to a test?”

  Uncle Willard moderated the tension, though he was plenty tense himself; you could tell, by the way his shoulders tightened whenever anyone spoke. “Of course we’ll submit to any reasonable test. Anything you say within reason.” While the Mong spoke through a tube, evidently calling down to the guards or Propsander somewhere a hundred and twenty feet below, we could hear David grouching about the danger of death traps. Then he fell silent, noticing that Loonza an’d I were still back of him listening.

  “He’s afraid,” I whispered to her. “that you’ll ask him about a certain missing party named George Freeman.” A few minutes later the footsteps in the rear room announced the arrival of Propsander. He entered briskly, perspiring and impatient, wanting to know why he had been called.

  “Don’t think I haven’t got to the bottom of the trouble, Boss,” he said huskily. “I brought the trouble back with me so you can see it for yourself.” His glance passed over the rest of us lightly. He was too intent on a purpose of his own to be disturbed about us. He called back, “Come in, Paint-Faces! Bring that young headache back to the balcony.”

  Two Paint-Faces marched in, bringing with them a small, timid prisoner—Bud!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Loonza’s hands went to her lips.

  Bud saw her in a flash. He gulped and his eyes jumped, and I thought he’d blurt something on the instant that would damn us all. Of course he recognized me! In another minute he’d give away my identity, I thought. I cast about for any convenient exit.

  The only exit within easy reach was the rail, and I didn’t care to try a one hundred and twenty foot high dive on an empty stomach—or any kind of stomach—which is probably the way I would land. I settled back in the corner. Loonza gave my hand a warning touch, and we waited silently to see what was going to happen.

  The husky magician was now taking in the scene with an air of sizing up more trouble than he had bargained for.

  “It looks like you have company, your honor,” he said to the Mong with a strained air of respect. “Invaders, huh?”

  Then Bud broke the ice, right smack in the middle. His webbed hand shot out at Uncle Walter and he cried, “There’s the man that beat me.”

  “Huh?” Propsander gave a quick turn of his bullet-shaped head. “Slugged you, did he?”

  “He sure did. Both of ’em did. They questioned me and then they began fighting me.”

  “It’s a lie!” David snapped. “A damned lie!”

  “It’s the truth, and I’ve got bruises to show for it. And you’d have killed me, too, if it hadn’t been for George. But George, he—”

  The boy broke off with a snap of his teeth. His eyes gave the slightest flick in my direction and then he turned into a brave little statue and wouldn’t say another word. He was on his toes, that kid, protecting me that way.

  Then both David and Uncle Willard were talking fast, making all sorts of excuses but not making much sense, as far as their audience was concerned. The two guards stood back looking as puzzled as possible through the stripes of paint that hid their real faces. The Mong and the mag
ician turned from one to the other and presently silenced all talk. David grumbled to a stop, still twisting the gun in his nervous fingers.

  The old man wanted to hear more of the small boy’s version, so the magician opened up with questions.

  “Tell us, lad, do you really know these men?”

  “Sure. I’ve watched them since the day they came. They caught me to ask me questions. Then later, after the beating, I went back and listened to them outside their cave.”

  “Tell us what you know about them.”

  “They came with George Freeman on his business trip. Then they saw their chance to have George killed. They sent him over the walk.”

  “Lies!” David shouted, on his toes, flourishing his pistol.

  “Shut up!”

  “Lies, I tell you!”

  Propsander took two steps toward David with his arm thrust forward. “If they’re lies, shut up and listen. I can tell you in a minute what’s lies and what isn’t. Now, go on, boy.”

  “They sent him over the purple walk so they’d be the only descendants left. After he was out of the way, they went on with their plans to come up here and claim everything. If you don’t come through, they’re going after a load of ghagstic under the Black Ledge.”

  “Interesting,” said Propsander, turning to David and Uncle Willard. “But it won’t take long to prove it’s all a lie. Little boys always have good imaginations. Come with me, all of you.” It wasn’t that easy. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Willard, David would have shot down the magician and Bud then and there. He was so angry he was purple. But Uncle Willard calmed him, and they marched ahead, and the rest of us followed.

  Now we were walking into a part of the tower palace that I hadn’t seen before, but wouldn’t have missed for the world. It was the most luxurious—white tile walls and a private swimming pool.

  “Into the water, gentlemen!” Propsander ordered.