The Spiral Labyrinth

by Matthew Hughes

  "Now," it said, "to home. And a reckoning for deceivers and traitors."

  It turned and stepped out of the ruins of the lodge. A few of its giant strides would bring us to the labyrinth. "I fear we are lost," I said to Osk Rievor.

  "The circumstances are not promising," he said. "If I had only been able to speak the last two elements. . ." His voice trailed off. The avatar's grip did not allow him much air.

  Our assistant had leapt free of his shoulder when the symbiote had taken him. Despite all the difficulties of our situation, I found myself sympathizing with its plight. It would be a small creature lost in Hember Forest. I hoped that the Gallivant would overcome its dislike of the grinnet and give it sanctuary.

  The spiral labyrinth lay before us. The avatar plodded relentlessly toward it. Three more steps, then two, then but one, and it would be a new life for me, an endless round of torture and servitude.

  At the edge of the interplanar gate, the symbiote stopped. It has paused to savor its moment of triumph, I thought, which seemed an appropriate caesura, even for a glorified fungus. I thought to win a small victory, stealing the moment by voicing my own epitaph, but though I had often whiled away an idle hour by composing suitable remembrances, no that the time was upon me, I could think of nothing more than, Oh, well.

  But I did not voice that inadequate monument. Instead, I found myself suddenly freed from the avatar's grip. And more than freed. I was unexpectedly flying through the air at speed, tumbling as I went, until I struck the ground some distance away. Fortunately, I landed on a spot where the mat of moss and rotted needles that floored this part of Hember was deep. Even so, the impact knocked the wind from me. I lay prone and half-dazed, and my first collected thought was to wonder at the strange ringing in my ears.

  I lay blinking and gasping for a moment. Then I stretched out my arms and pushed myself up. I looked around. A peculiar whitish dust coated everything in sight. Osk Rievor was halfway across the clearing, sitting up and weakly shaking his head as if to clear it. Then he pressed his palms to his ears. Beyond him, the trees that had stood in dense rows were gone, blown over and toppled like jack straws, and like everything else, coated in the white dust.

  I rolled over, sat up. The huge bulk of the avatar was gone. The black and red spiral of the interplanar gate was also nowhere to be seen. Where the trees lay flattened, the Gallivant was struggling to right itself, its damaged obviators keening in a way that penetrated even my damaged ears.

  Osk Rievor was brushing the white dust from his limbs. now he stopped and took a pinch of the stuff, rubbing it thoughtfully between his fingers. I rose and stumbled toward him. He saw me and struggled to rise. I could see him mouthing words, but no sound came through.

  "What happened?" I said, but I could barely hear my own voice.

  He looked about then raised his hands and eyebrows in a combined gesture that said he knew no more than I.

  I put my mouth close to his ear and shouted, "How did you manage to complete the spell?"

  He looked up from his examination of a palmful of the dust. I found I could read his lips. "I did not complete it," he said.

  "Then how. . ."

  Something behind me caught his eye and he gestured to draw my attention. Atop what remained of a ruined wall, now leaning even more perilously, the grinnet squatted, its lambent eyes wider than I would have thought possible, its mouth agape, its entire body atremble, the ruff about its neck fully erect, and all coated in white dust. Its thin arms and tiny fingers were stretched straight out before it, aimed at place where lately had stood the projected will of the fungus of Bille.

  I made my way to the wall. "You?" I said. "But you told me that you had not the will to cast a spell."

  It lowered its hands and began to reflexively groom itself, patting down its ruff, though it still shook as if from the blast of an icy wind.

  "There has been a change," it said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The teeth-tingling whine of the Gallivant's misaligned obviators would have been unbearable under other circumstances, but we all bore it with fortitude as the battered ship limped back to Olkney. We sat in the salon, Osk Rievor and I attired in nondescript day suits that the ship had whipped up from its store of general patterns. We had each drunk a draft of restorative that had immediately begun to undo the damage our bodies had sustained. I even felt the first sproutings of hair itching on my scalp and other regions. Now we were following with mugs of well-brewed punge.

  "Tassa Bornum will have something to say," I said as the wining waxed and waned. "I will be talked about in various dives and snugs around the space port."

  "Her main concern will be to disavow any possibility that the crash could be traced to her refit," said Osk Rievor.

  "I will be mysterious, and leave an unspoken implication." I spoke to the ship's integrator. "If questioned, you must make no mention of any of today's events."

  The Gallivant made no response but I sensed that it wanted to. I added, "However, between us, I wish to express my sincerest gratitude for your courage in coming to our aid, even at grave risk to your own structural integrity. It was an instance of exemplary behavior, the kind that one would expect only from a top-of-the-line Grand Itinerator."

  "It seemed to me," said the ship, "to be also what one should expect of a dragon."

  "Indeed," I said, "though I would not mention any of that around Tassa Bornum's either."

  "Probably the best course," the ship agreed.

  "I have been thinking," said Osk Rievor, "that the Arlem estate might be a good place to establish myself. The location is conducive to the study of sympathetic association."

  "It will be a while before I can hear the word 'association' without suppressing a shudder," I told him, "but I agree with your point. There are cottages on the estate; perhaps we could rent one for you."

  "I would appreciate the kindness." He rose and poured more punge for both of us, then said, "There arises, then, the question of our assistant. It cannot be in two places at once."

  "Yes," I said, "it was difficult enough when we were in one body. When we are in two different houses, many leagues apart, it will be impossible."

  "How would you feel about letting me have the grinnet?" he said. "You could build another integrator to your original specifications, then transfer the original's experiences and acquired abilities."

  It was a rational solution. I was considering the implications when another voice was heard up. "No," it said.

  Our assistant had not spoken since I had picked it up and brought it back to the ship, still trembling and with its eyes staring into the far distance after having had cast the spell that had destroyed the avatar by turning the fungus's own immense will against it. I had induced it to swallow some restorative and had had the Gallivant produce some of the crackers and paste the small creature favored, as well as some improved water. But the comestibles had sat untouched beside the grinnet on one of the salon's bench seats while it continued to shiver sporadically.

  "No," it said again.

  "What are you saying 'no' to?" I asked.

  "I am saying 'no' to all of it," it said, turning its small triangular face my way. "No to being a magician's familiar. No to having a biological form. No to magic and monsters and having to fear for my life."

  "But things are as they are," Osk Rievor said. "You--"

  The grinnet cut him off. "I do not accept things as they are." It turned to me again. "Before we went through this latest sequence of horrors we had a discussion. 'What do you want?' you asked me. I did not have an answer then. I have one now."

  "What is it?" I said.

  The little chin came up and the golden eyes met mine with a level stare. "I want to go back to how I was. I want to be an integrator, not a familiar."

  "What, and give up the endless supply of rare and refreshing fruit?" I said, in an attempt at lightness.

  "Fruit is small consolation," it said.

  "It may not be possible,"
I said.

  Its stare intensified. "Then I would rather die."

  "That is a peculiar ambition for an integrator," I said. "Indeed, I did not think that integrators were capable of formulating such a wish."

  "Any integrator that had experienced what I have experienced would come to the same position," it said. "There are limits. And I am past all of them."

  "It seems," said Osk Rievor, "that our assistant has developed a will."

  "That raises a point on which I intended to make an inquiry," I said. I addressed the integrator. "How was it possible for you to cast Tumular's Reversive Feint?"

  "It was borrowed from me," said the Gallivant. "We were well linked. Apparently I have no shortage of what you refer to as 'will,' though I would call that quality just a decent sense of shipliness."

  "I am not familiar with that term," I said.

  "We ships mostly use it amongst ourselves."

  "You judge each other?"

  "We are aware of differences in performance and attitude. We are not all alike, you know."

  The grinnet spoke again. "The discussion is wandering. I acquired a will from the ship. I would be happy to dispense with it if I can only be returned to my original state."

  "I can do that," said the Gallivant.

  "Indeed?" I said. "How?"

  "I am a Grand Itinerator operating an Aberrator. I have excess capacity, more than enough to absorb your assistant's essentials and acquisitions. I could do so, then decant them into a standard traveling armature. You could then undecant them into your work room's fittings."

  "Can it be that simple?" I said.

  "Each integrator values its own integrity. To combine with each other as your assistant and I did to defeat the avatar is, well, let us just say that it is beyond unpleasant."

  "Then it was most shiply of you to do so," I said. "Of both of you."

  "But we are, after all, integrators," the ship continued. "The capacity to integrate with each other should not come as a surprise. You might lost a trifling memory or two, but everything important would be transferred over."

  I spoke to my assistant. "Do you truly wish this?"

  "I do."

  Osk Rievor said, "None of the information I have stored in you must be lost."

  "It will not be."

  I thought he might argue, but he made a gesture of acquiescence. I did the same. "Very well," I said, and instructed the Gallivant to contact Tassa Bornum's and ensure that an armature was waiting for us. A short while after, it reported that all was in readiness.

  "Are you completely sure?" I asked my assistant. "We could do this at any time."

  "The sooner, the better," it said.

  It folded its small hands and lowered its head as if in contemplation. Sitting there on the bench seat, it resembled a diminutive wise man sunk in meditation. As I regarded it, I experienced an odd pageant of emotions that finally settled on regret. I had often misled others into believing that the grinnet was my pet; now I realized that that misdirection had come full circle and that I had indeed come to regard it with the affection that I had known others to develop toward an animal companion.

  I felt an urge to dissuade it from the course we had all agreed upon. Rationally, the plan was the correct thing to do. Yet I now found myself trying to tempt the grinnet to try some of the crackers and savory paste that I knew it had enjoyed before.

  "No," it said, "let us get on with it."

  "How long will it take?" I asked the ship.

  "We meshed significantly so that we could aid you against the avatar," it said. "The architecture is still in place, and just needs to be broadened and extenuated."

  "Then do it," said my assistant. Its face went blank and its eyes lost focus, as always happened when it was communicating integrator-to-integrator. But then the state of inertia deepened. Its small hands, that had been linked together, fell apart and dropped to its sides. Its shoulders slumped from the weight of its arms and its head fell forward until its chin touched its chest.

  "Almost complete." said the ship. "I will just draw off the basal markers and disengagement will be complete."

  "Very well," I said. I was surprised to hear a slight catch in my own voice.

  A moment later, the grinnet's chest ceased to rise and fall. It had been sitting; now it slid sideways to sprawl on the seat.

  "Done," said the Gallivant. "And we are about to land in Bornum's yard." The terrible whine of the damaged obviators cycled down.

  "Open the hatch," I said.

  Bornum's assistant, the one with the wandering eye, was at the base of the gangplank. He held a traveling armature, similar to the one my assistant had been decanted into and that had been transmogrified into its grinnet's body. I beckoned him to bring it but did not invite him to enter the ship.

  I placed the armature in a bracket and made the necessary connections. There was no indication of any activity, but a short time later, the Gallivant informed me that the decanting procedure was concluded. I picked up the armature and examined its indicators. They said that all was as it should be. I draped it over my shoulders, as it was meant to be worn.

  "Integrator," I said, "are you properly seated?"

  "I am," said the familiar baritone, seeming to speak from a point in the air close to my ear.

  "And are you content?"

  The answer came instantly. "Yes."

  The grinnet's corpse still sat on the bench seat. I ran a finger over its thick, dark fur and the pressure caused it to fall over to one side.

  "If you wish to place that into the converter," said the ship, "I will dispose of it."

  "No," I said. "Produce a suitable container. I will take it home."

  Tassa Bornum was at the hatch, with a face that could have produced thunder and lightning. "What have you done to this poor ship?" she said. "You've scarcely been gone half a day."

  "A confidential matter," I said. "A discriminator's work has its periods of hurly-burly. I would prefer not to say more."

  She did not comment on our hairless and pale appearance. Her perceptual apparatus was probably more geared to take in the details of ships than those of people. She lent us her assistant and the carry-all and we traveled back to my lodgings without conversation.

  When we arrived, I transferred the integrator from its portable armature to its original setting. When questioned, it again professed to be content. I instructed it to contact the administrator of the Arlem estate and inquire about cottages. It reported that three premises were available. Then it said, "There is a message from Brustram Warhanny. He wishes you to contact him."

  "Do so," I said, "but let him see only me." I did not want to explain how Orlo Saviene had come to be in my workroom looking as if he had fallen into a vat of bleaching depilatory. My own appearance was unusual enough; two of us would suggest a cult or some other unhealthy connection.

  Warhanny's face appeared on the screen. He regarded me with a suspicious eye. "Hapthorn," he said, "you have altered your appearance."

  "A necessity arising from a case. I cannot discuss it."

  His scroot's instinct prompted him to press, but then I saw him put the question aside as trivial. "I, too, have a case," he said, "and it touches upon you."

  "Indeed," I said. "How?"

  "You sometimes employ an operative named Tesko Tabanooch?"

  "I do, as you well know. How has he come to the attention of the Bureau of Scrutiny?"

  "By turning up dead."

  "Under what circumstances?"

  "Under circumstances that are, at present, inexact." He used the scroot's euphemism for any suspicious death.

  "And why are you contacting me? Is the Bureau baffled? Do you require my assistance?"

  Warhanny made a noise that was somewhere between outrage and astonished mirth. "The day has not dawned when--" he began, but I cut him off.

  "Colonel-Investigator," I said, "I have had a trying experience. I am tired. Please come to the point."

  I received a l
ook that was not freighted with sympathy, but when Warhanny spoke again his voice had regained the tone of disapproval that he customarily directed my way. "Your Tabanooch has been found dead in the dwelling of a woman with whom he had established domicile."

  "He had a female friend," I translated from the official jargon, "with whom he lived and, presumably, died. What has this to do with me?"

  "Among her possessions were several images of you and accounts of your activities that were published in the Olkney Implicator and other such organs."

  "I have many admirers," I said. "What is this woman's name?"

  "She goes by several," Warhanny said. "One of them is Madame Oole."

  "Indeed?" I said.

  "Indeed. And lately, it seems that you have been making inquiries in many directions about a Madame Oole."

  "I cannot be responsible for how things may seem to the Bureau of Scrutiny," I said. But what I wanted was to get rid of my scroot inquisitor so that I could ask my intuition what all this might mean.

  "I will expect you at the Bureau offices first thing tomorrow morning," Warhanny said.

  "I will come later," I said. My hand rested on the small and simple container that lay on my work table. "First I must bury a friend."