14
Rumpelstiltskin and the Widow
1. Description and Deception
At this point, Illiance lightly reached up and touched Menelaus on the elbow, saying “Available time happens to be diminishing, Lance-Corporal Beta Anubis. Perhaps a more useful line of inquiry would be to ask him for a description of Menelaus Montrose.”
Menelaus frowned down at him. “Are you expecting to recognize him based on what someone says he looks like when you are cracking open Tombs? What makes you think this Mount Woes is at this site?”
Illiance said, “We believe there are eighty-nine sites worldwide. An examination of the defenses and architecture, taken in context with the surrounding data, allows us to deduce the pattern of goals of the Tomb Architects. Mentor Ull has run a calculation assuming there is but one master Architect, the Judge of Ages. From this model, we can deduce his means and methods, create a model of his general intellectual and emotive environment, organize all the data into personality modes and neurolinguistic speech-act sets, and use a negative information contrivance to deduce retroactively his behavioral strategies and inflexibilities, extrapolating forward again to his current reality, which will include his physical location.”
“Unless he decided to stop somewhere for a cup of coffee, or to take a bath.”
“While it is true that a sufficiently complete model will also make allowances for fuzzy logic semivariables, such as spontaneous impulses, it was thought best to obtain a physical description of his person, should he be standing among us even now.”
“That is a creepy thought. If he is standing among us, have you made out your last will and testament?”
“The question is fascinating on several levels, for it presupposes a moral obligation among survivors to follow the anachronistic wishes of a person who, being dead on a neural hence also linguistic level, can neither be informed nor express pleasure nor displeasure touching how and whether those wishes are carried out: it also presupposes individual determination of property, which is an awkward concept, even antisocial. And yet this fascinating discussion, being not of the highest priority, is best regarded as a future event, or a subjunctive one.”
“I am not sure what you said.”
“My will is to discover the Judge of Ages. Please obtain a description.”
Menelaus spoke into the microphone in Spanish. He listened carefully for a moment.
The voice in Spanish said to Menelaus, “Of course I know him. I stood within arm’s reach of him, and the fame of my bloodline comes from him! He is a gaunt and ungainly like a puppet made of sticks. His hair is red, his eyes pale blue, his face is all bone, his chin sticks out, and his nose is like a great hook used to open a crate. There are scars on his hands, and his right arm is bigger than his left. He is the ugliest man alive.”
Menelaus nodded, and turned, and said in High Iatric to Illiance, “The Scholar Rada Lwa says the Judge is el mulato, a swarthy man, not too tall, with some gray hair above his ears. He is silent and grim, but very handsome. He wears robes the color of blood, and artificial hair to his shoulder, much like the hair the Scholars are wont to wear. No man can look in his eyes: and an aura of majesty and terror surrounds him. He carries a brace of pistols, and many knives hidden on his person, and a metal whip hidden in his sash.”
Illiance briefly lost his normally serene expression. “This is a statistically unlikely development! There is little chance that two men from two different millennia coordinated a deceptive story. The description matches with an usual degree of correlation the elements revealed by Kine Larz! Ask him if the Judge of Ages has small hands—that is an element Kine Larz mentioned.”
Menelaus again spoke the fluid language into the microphone, saying, “I am Menelaus Montrose now before you. My hands are on the controls of the coffin you are in. If you betray me, or tell any living soul who I am, I will release chemicals to castrate and lobotomize you, leaving you with just enough intelligence that you will forever remember how smart you once were and what purpose your limp and withered manhood once served. Are you going to do what Grampa says? I have readouts of your neural activity and blood pressure and galvanic skin response, so if you lie, it will be your last clear thought.”
The voice spoke in a cold and defiant tone. “First Ancestor, if you would deter falsehoods, you mutinous traitor, choke on your own! You are honor-bound never to harm one who falls into your coffins. I cannot and shall not be deterred! Once you shamed me—across the aeons I have waited, and will spend my life gladly, exactly, merely for the opportunity to do you hurt, howsoever small!”
Menelaus nodded sagely and turned to Illiance, saying, “He says he has hands like a surgeon, with fine and tapering fingers.”
Illiance was so pleased that he actually hopped like a little boy and clapped his hands. It was a somehow disquieting sight. “Mentor Ull will no doubt be pleased with this clear and definitive information! The testimony of Kine Larz is substantiated to a degree that no further need remains to delay an attempt on the Tomb doors.”
But Aanwen said in Intertextual, “A cautious reconsideration may at this point be strongly advisable, Invigilator Illiance. While the relict word-forms are unknown, a mathematical analysis of the syllable number and pitch and other nonverbal channels of information indicate Rada Lwa’s message-volume cannot map onto the volume uttered by the man pretending to be a Chimera. Also voice rhythm and intensity are disproportionate for the subject matter: this was a signifier of emotional distress inappropriate to a discussion of the size of someone’s hands. A deceptive mistranslation is the likeliest explanation.”
Illiance turned toward Menelaus and said in Iatric, “What else did Scholar Rada Lwa happen to say?”
Menelaus said, “He is complaining of pain as the thaw process nears completion, and requests a dose of morphine or some other heavy sedative. I think he is a little upset because of the pain that is creeping up on him. You and me had a deal, Illiance! Tell the Widow Aanwen, please, to anesthetize the patient. I am not going to question a man in pain.”
Aanwen said in Intertextual, “There happen to be none of the neurological or endocrinal signs displayed on my medical feeds consistent with the relict experiencing pain. Again, a deception is being practiced.”
At that moment, the voice from the coffin began speaking in loud, harsh, wrathful tones.
Illiance said, “What does he say?”
With a jerk of his arm, Menelaus yanked the microphone out of its jack. Silence fell. Menelaus said, “He is excitable, because he thinks I am torturing him. He does not realize I am a fellow prisoner, and so he evinces undue hostility.”
Illiance said, “If so, why did you disconnect the voice channel so suddenly?”
“Ah! As a Chimera, am honor-bound to avenge any threats uttered against me in a fashion of horrific violence. But if I beat up a pasty-ass albino bookworm in a coffin, weak from torture, all the cool Chimerae will laugh at me. So I had to make sure I did not hear anything he was about to say.”
Illiance turned and looked up, regarding Menelaus with a composed, calm, yet thoughtful expression. Menelaus tried not very successfully to arrange an innocent look on his lank features. Neither man spoke.
2. A Sport
Eventually, Illiance broke the silence. “Would you regard us as friends?”
Menelaus shrugged, a gesture that made his robes clatter. “‘Sokay with me if ’sokay with you.”
Illiance blinked. “Cogent meaning fails to be conveyed, perhaps due to dialect or idiosyncrasy of speech. I will ask again. Do you aver the mutual moral obligations that surround friendship to obtain between us, Lance-Corporal Beta Sterling Anubis?”
“And I am a Corporal Anubis now. I was promoted.”
“Congratulations.”
“And I can extend what you call a mutual moral obligation only to some degree to a man holding me prisoner. But that is not what friendship is. Friendship is liking someone, sticking by him, come hellfire or plague. And I l
ike you. Sort of. What brought this question on?”
“I cannot be so in error in my calculations. You clearly understand our speech, and yet you act as if you do not, nor can I determine the pattern nor point of this behavior. You are not a Chimera, but somehow the Chimerae take you for one. This is a paradox, since the Chimera are well known for their race pride, and their deadly intent toward any who claim a genetic heritage above proper privilege and rank. I deliberately drew back the Followers and left the Chimerae free to kill you when you went by stealth to the dig site, but the Chimerae did not carry through as expected. But neither could a Chimera of ordinary intelligence be deceived on this point.”
Menelaus said, “That is easily explained. I am a Chimera from a period when the Eugenics Board attempted several novel experiments, including mixing surviving dawn-age gene groups into the bloodlines. It was thought that by taking the strains from several famous ancient mathematicians, we could breed for someone able to understand the lost and ancient sciences of the Giants. My family was one of those academic breeds. There were some irregularities in my cocktail, so I don’t look much like a normal Chimera. Genetically, I am a sport or mutant.”
Illiance nodded. “That is certainly a clever explanation, and it fits many of the facts in the pattern of data. I am impressed with the workmanship of the falsehood.”
“Thanks.”
“I suppose you can also explain away the appearance of intermittent acts of genius on your part by saying this is due to the presence of ancient genework from these dawn-men mathematicians, who were much advanced in intelligence?”
Menelaus drew himself up, “Why, Preceptor Illiance! Are you suggesting that, after Preceptor Yndech commanded me to eschew deception, I would do anything else?”
“I am Invigilator Illiance now. I was demoted.”
“Not if you go tell Ull you have proof that Larz wasn’t lying, and that Rada Lwa confirms his story.”
“Who are you?”
“Who do you think I could be? An ugly Nymph? A hairless Hormagaunt? A big Locust? A small Giant? No, strike that last suggestion. I cannot be from before the Chimera Age, can I? Not if I know enough to pass for one.”
Aanwen said in singsong Intertextual, “I theorize that this is one of the servants of the Judge of Ages.”
3. Lack of Caution
Aanwen continued: “He is Tomb Guardian, a Maltese Knight, and his purpose is to preserve the integrity of the Tombs.”
Illiance answered: “Unlikely. His coffin was found among the others, indiscriminate, and in the stratum expected for interments of circa A.D. 5290. Were he a Knight Hospitalier, where is his equine and equipage?”
Aanwen: “Note that he became violent when and only when the coffin equipment was being used to torment a relict: note the correlative that a Hospitalier would have a moral obligation to protect all clients. This theory accounts for his skill at empty-handed combat, and also for his abnormal proficiency in cryotechnology.”
Illiance tilted his ear as if listening, but did not take his eyes from Menelaus. “I am perturbed at your lack of caution. He understands our speech, and he controls the coffin weapons, and has already shown an ability to defeat our personal aggressive attempts. Your words, if selected with less than perfect caution, will cause him to attack us—is that not so, Sterlingas Anupsu-phalangetor?”
Menelaus stared at him blankly. “Come again? Did you say my name?”
Aanwen said. “Draw your weapon when I draw mine. Aim for his eyes, and I will aim for his lower legs. The beams will be undiffused by the tent material.”
Illiance did not reach for his pistol, but instead he closed his eyes and drew in a breath through his nose and breathed out through his mouth, a long, slow breath. He did this a second and a third time. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and limpid as deep pools reflecting a windless summer sky.
Aanwen said, “Fear not! We are in no immediate danger. You have not perceived the mental fixtures that limit his actions. He will continue to pretend not to understand us no matter what we say. Psychologically, he cannot be a Chimera, since I uttered an unretaliated threat. Recall his blood pressure change when he discovered I was a revenant. As of that moment, I became protected by the same mental fixture or honor code that requires him to protect the albino.”
Illiance said dryly, “But by the same token, he is aware of our mental fixtures that require we fire only in self-defense. A Chimera who perceived the inadequacy of your threat might also condescend to ignore it. And, because you have told him, he is also now aware that the internal sensitives of the tent material he wears continue to broadcast his medical data to us.”
She said, “How can you be so blind? That is not a Chimera! Observe the antics of this man and compare them to the known genetic behavior markers of the Chimerae. Where is his Caste-based xenophobia? He does not have the cooperation code in his biohardware, neither in its original late-era Witch form, nor in its later perverted Chimera-era form. And there is no evidence of a second animal spliced into him. This implies he has accomplished an unprecedented level of deception, both on us and on other relicts in the camp. We don’t know who or what he is. This indicates a danger. In order to simplify the variables of a complex problem, we must eliminate the anomaly source: all the recent unexpected events, disappearances and mal-behavior among the Followers can be back-analyzed to a single source. Him! We must open fire.”
Illiance turned toward her, putting his hand on his pistol grip, and said, “Will the pistol emulator comprehend his deception to be a form of trespass for which violent retaliation is permitted?”
Aanwen did not answer, for she was staring at Montrose’s face. Illiance, seeing the direction of the gaze, snapped his head around.
The lanky face of the redhead was flushed with astonishment, mouth hanging open, as if someone had struck him in the gut. But oddest of all were his eyes, which seemed to blaze with a superhuman magnetism, but also seemed to open like two, deep, pallid tunnels into interior infinities. He was staring at the pistol in Aanwen’s hand.
Illiance found he could not meet that gaze; Aanwen also flinched, blinking.
Almost at the same moment, as if realizing he had lost control of his expression, Menelaus drew his hood closely about his features with an abrupt snap, and he turned his back to the puzzled Aanwen and Illiance.
Illiance said, “Again, I would be grateful for your wisdom.”
She said, “The mission is endangered. Summon Followers. He will kill us, they will kill him, and the remainder of our order will continue, without undue perturbation to the flow of events.”
Illiance shook his head. “While insightful, the proposal lacks several attractive prospects.”
Aanwen said, “What matter our two lives? The Bell is coming. Summon the Followers, Docent Illiance! Or I will.”
Illiance said, “With respect, you shall not. You have not seen clearly. You reason like a Locust, weighing one life against another. This is inelegant. Sometimes the simplest solution truly is best.”
And, without a further word or sign, Illiance turned and glided smoothly and without hurry out of the chamber, and the cobra pattern of gemstones glinted on the shoulders and back of his long blue coat as he moved away.
4. Simple Solution
Both Aanwen and Menelaus stared in astonishment after the retreating back of Illiance for a moment. Then the smooth slope of the curving corridor hid him from view.
Menelaus looked down at her just as she looked up at him, as if they both were surprised to catch themselves staring. He met her eyes, and smiled and shrugged.
He turned, stepped closer to the coffin, and reached out with both hands, touching several control points. The alert lights on the coffin housing winked to a new configuration.
Aanwen said in Iatric, “You are familiar with how to operate the coffin machinery?”
“Yes, ma’am. More ’n I’d like to be. I’ve seen so many coffins in my life, it makes me sick.”
> “I hope you will recover your health in due time. This coffin before us itself is slightly damaged, but I notice you reshunted the compositional of a soporific compound you have introduced into the albino into a holding tube and flushed the main cache: this is not the normal procedure, but it bypassed a broken feeder tube, whose existence you must have deduced from an anomaly in the back-pressure. You also adjusted the dose correctly for his body mass and type and hypoallergenic spectrum. I wonder at this display of casual expertise on your part, you being a soldier.”
Menelaus said, “More of a schoolteacher than a soldier, really. I have slumbered and thawed many times, and as part of my payment to the Tomb officers, I served as an apprentice to them, scrubbing floors, doing routine maintenance, and so on. Some simple coffin repair … basic medical nanotechnology … troubleshooting … You know … a fellow picks these things up.…” Menelaus made a vague gesture in the air. “I am going to tranquilize him, throw him over my shoulder, and walk back to the camp, on account of there is no place else in this world I can go. You got the answers you wanted, I got my albino, we both walk out happy. How does that set with you? Any reason why your dogs will prevent me from going through the gate if I am going in?”
“Who are you, really?”
“Rumpelstiltskin. I know Nymph sciences that can make it so you can fall in love again, and mate and marry, and bring forth a firstborn child. Think about that child. If you set your dogs on me, well, I lose my life and you never get to give that child his. If I passed away, I’d rather have my wife wed again, find some sort of happiness. Wouldn’t your husband have said the same? So think about him too.”
“You are married? This is not a Chimerical custom.”
The Hermetic Millennia Page 46
