The Spiral Labyrinth

by Matthew Hughes

  "Purely academic interest," I said. I had learned how to hide my thoughts from him. The notion had crossed my mind that if I could identify locations where magic was gaining influence, that would also reveal places where it was not. As the new age waxed in influence, I might prefer to spend more time in the remaining islands of rationalism.

  "Perhaps not so academic," he said. "I have been considering the same matter, though on a smaller scale. We know that Turgut Therobar's estate, Wan Water, was a point of seepage from the oncoming age. So was Bristal Baxandall's house."

  "Definitely," I said.

  "The Arlem estate may also have been such a point. That would explain why its owner became so interested in magical paraphernalia in the first place."

  "Indeed." I saw it now. "If we were to plot those three locations on a map, plus the loci of any known thaumaturges and similar dabblers in sympathetic association. . ."

  He finished the thought for us. "I sense that we might find ourselves with a grid whose points of intersection would be places to look for items of interest."

  "And," I said, "persons of interest, potential rivals like Therobar, who might be disposed to do us harm."

  "Yes."

  #

  I examined the map of Old Earth displayed before me on the screen in my workroom and said, "Hmm."

  "Hmm, indeed," said Osk Rievor.

  We had had our assistant plot the locations we had discussed in the air-car on the way home, plus a number of others, such as the site in Barran from which we had passed into the mini-cosmos where Majestrum had imprisoned his enemy, the blue wizard, as well as places where odd and unusual events had lately been reported. When the integrator plotted lines to interlink these several points, a gridwork appeared.

  "Do you know what that reminds me of?" I said inwardly to my other self.

  "Of course," he said, since I was showing my thoughts to him.

  I told our assistant to superimpose another set of lines and interstices over the first. The second matrix represented a schematic of the planet's geomagnetic field. The two grids coincided too closely for mere coincidence. Osk Rievor studied the display for a long moment then said that he wanted control of our body while he sought something in one of his boxes that were stacked beside the bookcase. I acceded, and after a brief flurry of searching he came up with a large, flat volume that he laid on the work table. He flicked through its pages then said, "There."

  "It is much the same arrangement," I said, following the lines on the paper and comparing them to the image that our integrator had hung in the air. I could not read the script of the legend that accompanied the map, it being in some long dead language. "But what does it purport to show?"

  "Ley lines," he said, "lines of occult force. And, according to what I have read, at the points where those lines interconnect, conditions for the practice of sympathetic association are at their most accommodating." He tapped an intersection of two thick lines, one green, the other red. "At this spot, for example, some types of spells gain significantly in their range and effectiveness. Fladell's Fierce Flatulence, for example. Cast it while you are in one of these blank areas, far from a ley line or interstice, and you inflict upon its target a nagging stomach ache and a series of malodorous irruptions that will cause embarrassment if he is in company. Cast it where the red and green meet, and he will swell until he can swell no more."

  "And then?"

  "A fatal embarrassment. He bursts."

  "Hmm," I mused again. "So in the transition from rationalism to magic, geodesic lines become geomantic and integrators become grinnets. What do spaceships become?"

  My inner companion did not know, but he offered some speculations. "Flying carpets are mentioned in the old books. Also, there was what they used to call a whirling teacup, as well as divers species of airborne steeds."

  "Recall the enchantress who attempted to undo Majestrum," I reminded him. She had flown about in a golden bowl carried by a winged dragon. "Is that what our Aberrator will become?"

  "Perhaps," he said. "It raises an interesting point: the Aberrator will be animated by an integrator taken from a Grand Itinerator. That might transmogrify into the draconic equivalent of a farmer's cart horse that had the heart of a king's charger."

  I was studying the old map again. "It would be interesting to put this grid over the present landscape and see where the major lines intersect," I said.

  "And to discover if anyone else has done the same."

  I instructed our assistant to do so. A moment later we were regarding the result. The two earlier grids correlated closely to the third. I had the integrator adjust for tectonic shifts and other factors in the ages since the ancient map had been drawn, and the coincidence became exact.

  "Look," I said, "here is Therobar's estate at the juncture of a heavy black and a medium-density gray line. And Baxandall's house at a medium blue and light green."

  "Then what is here?" he said, pointing to a place where three thick lines converged: black, brown and crimson.

  "Integrator," I said, "is there any structure or habitation there?"

  "Not now," it answered. "The site is deep in the midst of Hember Forest. Formerly a hunting lodge stood there, but it has been unvisited for almost a century."

  "Can you procure an image?"

  A moment later a portion of the screen filled with an image of Hember Forest, seen from high above, then the perspective plummeted until we seemed to be looking down from treetop height. I saw a jumble of moldering logs, some tumbled stone walls and a flagged patio surrounded by tall, dark conifers. The suggestion of a road led in through the big timber, but it was thickly overgrown with bramble and younger trees.

  "Unused," I said.

  "So it would seem," Osk Rievor said.

  "What would be the potential of such a site?"

  Icould sense him feeling for a remote impression of the forces interconnecting there. "Extensive," he said after a moment, "also dangerous. It would not be a good place to try a major spell for the first time."

  "But no one else has found it."

  "Again, so it would seem."

  "You have reason to suspect otherwise?" I said.

  "Not reason, just a recognition that where three great lines meet all bets are doubled, then redoubled, then tripled. If a Baxandall or Therobar has already found it, a masking spell cast there would be difficult to penetrate."

  "Even for one of your intuitive strength?"

  I felt him mentally shrug. "I do not know. I am still measuring that strength against experience."

  Another thought occurred. "Two ley lines meet at the Blik Arlem estate," I said. "Would a masking spell be strengthened there?"

  "Certainly."

  "And might that explain how the mysterious Madame Oole kept her face from being recorded by Tesko Tabanooch, even though he is a skilled surveiller and his equipment was first-rate?"

  "Indeed," he said. "So now we know something more about this woman."

  "And that 'something more' tells us that we may not know nearly enough." I addressed our assistant, asking if anything had come in about Madame Oole. The grinnet had sent queries by way of the hundreds of spaceships that had departed from, or passed by, Old Earth since I had set it to investigate the purchaser of the depleted summoning ring. As each vessel had passed through a whimsy and appeared near some other star system, its integrator would have passed on the query to the local connectivity. A response would have been sent our way via any ships that were bound for Old Earth -- or, more likely, vessels that were just passing through our region while transiting from one whimsy to another, since relatively few travelers found our ancient and careworn world worth a visit.

  "Nothing, as yet," the grinnet said. "But the connectivities from which I have received responses cover less than nine percent of The Spray."

  "Advise us if any news comes," I said, then turned inwardly again to address Osk Rievor. "Persons who disguise themselves when they go out into the world rarely do so for
innocent purposes. At best, they mean to pull some merry prank; all too often, they intend a considerably deeper mischief."

  "Agreed," said my other self. "I feel an urge to visit the Arlem estate and see if she has left any traces."

  "Could we not simply contact the estate's integrator and ask its assistance? It would have simultaneous images from several angles as well as other sense impressions."

  "Perhaps. But the kinds of traces I'm thinking of might not be noticed by an integrator."

  I understood. "You're referring to the after-effects of spellcasting," I said. "Vibrations in the ether, sprinklings of pixie dust?"

  "Something along those lines, yes," he said, ignoring my tone. "And then I think we should go to Hember Forest."

  "And what do you think we will find there?"

  "I don't know. But I believe we will find something."

  "Or something will find us?" I said. Hember was created as a hunting preserve for the upper classes, back when the fashion for blood-soaked field sports had been briefly revived. Some large and well-toothed beasts had been created and set loose in its fastness. One or two of them were said to lurk there still, dreaming of the moment when some errant fool would wander by and allow them to exercise the feral instincts their designers had installed in them.

  "Either way, I sense that we will uncover a mystery," Osk Rievor said.

  Chapter Four

  The following morning, one of Tassa Bornum's technicians came to collect me in the shop's carry-all. As we rumbled down Shiplien Way toward the ramp that connected to a slider that led to the spaceport, I asked him, "How is the Gallivant?"

  The technician was a lean-featured man with a tendency to close one eye when he needed to steer the lumbering vehicle, as if his two orbs offered him conflicting impressions of his surroundings, and he preferred to trust only one of them. He did not reply until we had mounted the incline and positioned ourselves on the slider. Then he cut the engine and said, "We are well satisfied with the installation."

  "Your threshold of satisfaction may differ from mine," I said. "Besides, that does not answer the question."

  He now regarded me from his left eye, then tried the view from his right before saying, "The vessel functions as it should. It lifts, lands, changes course when directed to, all the while maintaining a salubrious environment indoors."

  "But what of its attitude?" I said. "Is it content to be an Aberrator?"

  "Who can assess contentment?" he answered. "Consider my lot as a technician. I calibrate, align and couple, and sometimes the problems are simple, sometimes they tax my skills. There are moments, after I have brought all the systems and components of a spaceship to an optimum interplay, that I sigh with the ample satisfaction of a difficult task well-performed. Yet, on other days, my most mundane duties chafe, my life uncomfortably constricts me like a pair of too-tight pantaloons, and I yearn to leap into a ship like yours and hie off across the illimitable."

  "I was not inquiring as to your contentment, but that of the Gallivant," I said.

  "My point, exactly," the fellow said. "If I cannot accurately judge even my own contentment, based on my own first-hand experience, how could I infer the inner state of a ship's integrator after a quick upsy-downsy and a couple of orbits?"

  I recognized that the discussion was an increasingly unprofitable use of my time and turned my attention to Osk Rievor. I had to awaken him from a doze, he having spent much of the night plowing through his various tomes and librams, seeking to understand the effects of ley lines, and particularly their intersections.

  "What is your sense of the Gallivant?" I said.

  "A minor consideration," he said then withdrew himself, saying that he needed sleep.

  We arrived at Bornum's, and I had to admit that the little Aberrator looked well, standing there on its supports, its paint and brightworks clean and shining. The vessel could not be called sleek or dashing, but whatever it lacked in panache it made up for in simple, clean lines. If I'd had to describe it in one word, I would have said that it looked competent -- and competence is not a quality to be pished at in any device on which one's life and sanity can depend. I felt that I could trust the small ship to take me into the icy, aching void of space and through the irreality of whimsies, and to bring me home again, whole in body and senses.

  I went aboard, and this being my first entry after the installation of a new integrator, was formally greeted in the entrance hatch according to the old custom. I spoke the time-honored phrases in reply, then went into the salon to inspect a display of the ship's various statuses. All its systems seemed in good order and I pronounced myself satisfied with the Gallivant on all points.

  "Very well," said the ship's integrator, "what is required?"

  "One moment," I said, then spoke to my assistant, perched on my shoulder and smoothing its belly fur. "Transfer the agreed fee to Bornum's account." It stopped fidgeting and its face went blank as it contacted the fiduciary pool and performed the task.

  "What is that creature on your shoulder?" said the ship. "I do not find its like in any of my files."

  "It is my personal integrator," I said.

  "I see."

  The voices of integrators are supposed to be neutral, yet I thought to detect an undertone in the ship's two-syllable reply. "You do not approve?" I said.

  "I am sure it is not my place to make judgments," the ship said. "I may, however, have expressed mild surprise."

  "I trust," I said, inserting a warning timbre into my voice, "that there will be no difficulties between you and it."

  "None of my making, I can assure," was its reply.

  "Because, if there are, it will be a short-lived phenomenon."

  "You need have no concerns in that direction."

  "The transfer of funds has been accomplished," said the grinnet. "The Gallivant is now unencumbered."

  "Very good," I said, then to the ship, "How are we provisioned?"

  A new display appeared and the integrator said, "As you may see, the larders are not fully stocked, but there is sufficient food and drink for two weeks. As well, I can always generate ship's bread and recycle water."

  "What about fruit?" said my assistant.

  "What about it?" answered the ship. Again, I thought to hear an undertone.

  "My assistant requires a diet of fruit," I said. "It also favors crackers and vegetable pastes."

  "We have ample supplies of those items, assuming its appetite is not prodigious."

  "It does seem to eat nearly constantly," I said, which earned me a sharp look from the grinnet's golden eyes. "I believe," I said, "that I will let the two of you work out those matters, since a promise of amity and professionalism has been given."

  "Indeed," said the ship's integrator, while my own wrinkled its snout in what I had come to recognize as a frown. I ignored the implications and bid the Gallivant prepare for lift-off. I heard a discreet thrum of energies from the drive compartment; a moment later, the ship announced, "All is in readiness. What is the destination?"

  "We will make an on-world trip," I said, and gave the coordinates for the Blik Arlem estate. The thrumming increased, though only slightly, as the ship's obviators took us smoothly and silently into the upper atmosphere. "Smartly done," I said.

  "Thank you," said the ship. "Given your profession, I thought you would not care for a conspicuous display."

  "Indeed," I said, "the nature of my work often argues for unobtrusive entries and departures. I am glad to have a ship's integrator that takes such matters into account."

  My assistant had descended from my shoulder to take up a position atop the back of one of the large, comfortable chairs grouped companionably in the salon. I thought I heard it mutter something.

  "Did you speak?" I said.

  "It was of no import," it said.

  "I can reproduce and amplify the remark," said the ship, "if you wish."

  The grinnet's mouth dropped open and outrage flared in its eyes.

  "I thi
nk not," I said. "And I remind both of you of the words 'amity and professionalism' and my promise that their absence will be short-lived."

  Silence reigned in the salon. I let it extend for a few moments, then said, "I would like a cup of punge and perhaps a couple of those aniseed wafers I saw in the inventory."

  "And some fruit," put in the grinnet.

  "Yes," I said, "and some fruit."

  The items duly appeared on the sideboard and I handed my assistant a well filled bowl. The punge was rich and perfectly brewed, the biscuits piquant. I noticed that our travel time from Olkney to the Arlem estate was exactly enough for an unhurried snack, but thought it best not to compliment the Gallivant on its judgment, at least not within my assistant's hearing.

  As we set down in the estate's vehicle park the ship spoke. "I am not receiving a response from the house's integrator."

  My assistant swallowed a mouthful of fruit, looked briefly blank, then said, "Nor am I. It has been decanted and removed."

  "That is unusual," I said. "Ship's integrator, sweep the area for any anomalies."

  "How do you define anomalies?" it said.

  The grinnet made a tsking sound and said, "Lurkers in bushes, concealed traps and ha-has, concentrations of energy indicating charged weapons, and other such. Are you not aware that we are a firm of discriminators?"

  The Gallivant began to reply, but I broke in. "Each of you will now consult your internal lexicons for the definitions of 'amity' and 'professionalism' and I will not have to remind you again."

  The grinnet linked its small, befurred fingers and examined them. The ship said, "I have swept the area. There are no anomalies."

  "Very well, but we will proceed with caution." I bade the ship open the hatch and extend the gangway. Moments later, my assistant on my shoulder, I stepped down onto a closely cropped lawn that extended in all directions. In places it was flat, in others it swelled into mounds and small hills, obviously artificial, among which wandered pathways of various widths, each made of a different color of crushed stone. In the spaces between some of the elevations were pools and ponds of clear water, some with bright-blossomed floating plants on their surfaces. Nowhere was the green sward interrupted by a wall nor even so much as a colonnade.