Out of This World

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  It would change her entire perception of the world—and she’d already done that once, when Stan had come home drunk that night, and beaten her, and then left her for that bitch in Florida. She didn’t want to do it again. Last time she’d had to learn that the world was not going to look after her, that she couldn’t have everything she wanted, that bad things could happen even to her—what would she have to learn this time? That she couldn’t trust anything at all, not even the sky overhead?

  She wanted to find some nice, rational explanation, like movie publicity stunts or escaped lunatics.

  She didn’t think she would.

  But at least, if she could really take a look at this other world of Raven’s, she would know, just as she had known when Stan knocked her down with his fist, when he swore at her and kicked her.

  Better to know, and have it over with.

  * * * *

  The matter of taking a look through the portal was discussed further. The pizza was eaten, and several liters of Pepsi were consumed. And finally, around seven, Pel and Nancy herded everyone down the stairs to the basement. Pel had his old Instamatic in one pocket.

  Rachel was staring around wide-eyed at all the funny clothes the different people were wearing.

  Raven went down first, to lead the way; he crossed quickly to the appropriate area of blank wall and stood there, waiting.

  Stoddard followed immediately, and stood a little to one side.

  The crew of the Ruthless came next, and at Raven’s direction lined up against one wall, out of the way. Cahn and Prossie brought up the rear. As Pel watched them descend he heard Soorn’s voice, carrying by some fluke of acoustics, as he told one of the others, “I guess it’s just as well we’re trying this; I don’t know if I could ever get used to any world where people eat that ‘Pete Sah’ stuff.”

  “I kind of liked it,” someone replied—Mervyn, perhaps? Pel was unsure.

  “It tasted okay, but it’s so gooey—and what were all those things on top?”

  Pel laughed involuntarily, and the conversation stopped abruptly.

  Susan descended next, with Amy close behind. Ted followed, and Squire Donald immediately after. That left Valadrakul and the Browns at the head of the stairs.

  “Go on,” Pel told the wizard.

  Valadrakul bowed to Nancy. “After you, my lady.”

  “I need to check the locks,” she replied.

  “We’re only going to be gone for a minute,” Pel protested.

  “I don’t care,” Nancy said. “If we’re leaving the house I want it locked up.”

  Pel opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.

  “All right,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  The others all waited patiently while she turned and made sure that yes, the deadbolt was thrown on the front door, and the bar was in place on the sliding door in the family room. The empty pizza boxes, stacked on the family room coffee table, caught her eye. “Maybe I should clean those up,” she said uncertainly.

  “They can wait,” Pel said. “We’ll be right back.

  She looked around, hesitating. Pel started to speak, but she yielded before he could say a word.

  “Oh, all right,” she said. She took Rachel’s hand and descended the steps.

  Valadrakul followed, and Pel came last of all.

  As he came down the steps he looked around at the crowd. It seemed somehow more surreal seeing all those people in the basement than it had in the family room; after all, the family room had been used for parties on occasion, and guests there weren’t unusual, but the basement was strictly Pel’s territory, where nobody else ever ventured.

  Or at least, it had been until now.

  Now, though, there were eight men in purple uniforms lined up in front of the water heater and related plumbing; there were two well-dressed women and Pel’s lawyer over by the gas furnace; and there were four medieval weirdos and two more people in purple uniforms milling about near the boxes of Christmas lights and old baby clothes.

  Stoddard stepped forward, slid a palm along the concrete wall; Pel watched as his fingers seemed to sink in at one point.

  Then the man-at-arms thrust his entire arm into what still looked like solid concrete. He stepped forward, and vanished into the wall.

  “Come on,” Squire Donald cried, with a wave of his arm. Then he, too, stepped forward and disappeared.

  “All right, men,” Cahn said. “You saw how it works. Drummond, take the point.”

  “Yes, sir.” Drummond marched across the dusty floor and, with only the briefest hesitation, strode into the wall.

  Pel watched, marveling. It looked unreal, like something from a movie— but at the same time, it wasn’t quite like any movie he’d ever seen. No special effects were that good.

  Uneasily, Peabody followed Drummond; then went Cartwright, Lampert, and Smith. Smith had his arms curled around in front of himself, and Pel wasn’t sure whether he was hiding something, or simply making a protective gesture.

  Soorn was next; he stopped and turned to Cahn.

  “Captain,” he said, “I don’t like this.”

  “Oh, get on with it,” Mervyn said, shoving Soorn forward; Soorn lost his balance, put out a hand to catch himself, and toppled through the wall into invisibility.

  Mervyn snorted derisively, and followed. Godwin went next.

  “Now you, Thorpe,” Cahn said.

  Prossie obeyed.

  Cahn himself went next.

  “Ready, ladies?” Ted said. He bounded across the basement in mockery of a ballet dancer, and leapt through.

  At the last instant, as he vanished, Pel thought he saw surprise on the attorney’s face. He frowned; Ted had been acting very odd ever since he first met Raven, and Pel didn’t like it at all.

  Amy and Susan looked at each other nervously.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Susan said. “You saw them vanish; they’re gone now. You can go upstairs and go home and get the ship hauled away and forget any of it ever happened.”

  Raven started to answer, and Valadrakul held up a restraining hand.

  “No,” Amy said. She drew a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Thanks, Susan, but I want to see. I want to get it over with. I want to know whether it’s real or not. I think it’d drive me crazy if I didn’t.” She threw back her shoulders and marched across the basement, but then she stopped before the wall and reached out tentatively.

  Her fingers vanished, and she snatched them back.

  They reappeared.

  “It’s cold!” she said, startled, reaching out again. “And there’s nothing there! I mean, nothing solid. It’s just like putting your fingers in front of an air conditioner.” Her hand vanished, sinking into the wall up to the wrist.

  “Our land’s but newly freed of winter,” Raven remarked. “Spring comes late this year.”

  Amy threw him a glance, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

  She disappeared.

  Susan’s expression was plainly unhappy. She tugged at the strap of her purse, a big black leather bag that hung from her shoulder, and then looked around at the handful of people remaining.

  “You could wait in the car,” Nancy suggested.

  Susan shook her head, and without another word stepped into the wall.

  Nancy looked at Pel. Rachel pressed up against her mother’s side.

  “What if we can’t get back?” she asked.

  “Oh, mistress,” Raven said, “fear not! Let me show you.” He stepped forward and vanished into the wall.

  And, seconds later, he stepped back out, reappearing as suddenly and inexplicably as he had gone.

  “See you?” he said. “’Tis nothing!”

  Abruptly Amy reappeared—or rather, her head and shoulders did, thrusting out of the wall, reminding Pel uncomfortably of a mounted hunting trophy.

  “Hi,” she said, relieved. “Just making sure it really worked both ways.”

  “Certes, it does,” Raven said.

&
nbsp; “What’s it like?” Nancy called.

  Amy had vanished again too quickly to answer.

  Rachel giggled, her fear vanished as completely as Captain Cahn’s crew. “They look silly,” she said.

  “All right,” Nancy said. “Let’s go see for ourselves, then.”

  “Carry me?” Rachel asked, arms raised.

  Nancy bent down and picked her up, and carried her through the portal.

  Pel gestured to Raven and Valadrakul. “After you,” he said.

  Valadrakul bowed and stepped through; Raven hesitated.

  “You’ll come?” he asked. “You’ll come, and see my homeland? You’ll lend your advice? I value your opinion, friend Pel.”

  Pel grimaced. “What opinion?” he said. “I’m just going to take a quick look and come right back.”

  Raven frowned, then quickly recovered his composure. “As you wish,” he said.

  He stepped through, leaving Pel alone in the basement.

  Pel took a deep breath, gathered his nerve, and walked up to the wall. He put out his hand.

  As Amy had said, he felt nothing but cool air as his fingers vanished into the wall. He closed his eyes, unable to bring himself to advance with them open, and then took another step.

  Coldness swept over him; a shiver ran through his body, starting at the shoulder and sliding down through his spine and into his knees. His eyes snapped open.

  For a moment he saw nothing but darkness, felt nothing but the chill, and terror began to grow, weedlike, somewhere in the base of his skull.

  Then the door opened, and wan sunlight spilled in, illuminating the inside of the hut.

  He was in a hut, a small one, with no light, no windows—only the door. It seemed quite solid, quite real—and it was definitely no part of his basement. It smelled of wood and earth.

  Pel let his breath out, and it puffed into visibility in the cold air. Nancy was outside, she and Rachel were standing there, facing away, but Nancy was looking back nervously, watching for Pel.

  Raven was in the hut, holding the door open.

  The others were all there, scattered about outside; he could hear their voices, and he glimpsed them through the doorway. Pel stepped forward.

  The movement felt oddly wrong; the air seemed preternaturally thick, as if he were wading through a foot of water. He looked down, but there was no water, only the hard-packed dirt floor beneath his feet.

  The smell of black loam, sawn wood, and pine sap, carried on the sharp, cold air, reached him and swept images of long-ago winter mornings into his mind, mornings when he had gone walking in the woods, or watched his father cut a point on a Christmas tree before fitting it into the inverted cone of the green steel holder. He turned his head to see where the smell came from, and for the first time really noticed the shed around him, and its contents.

  On either side, logs were stacked neatly, almost to the low, slanting rafters. Behind him stood a simple wall of rough-hewn planks, with no door nor other opening visible, and he realized he had stepped through it.

  He thrust out a hand; it vanished into the wall, up to the wrist, as if the planks were not there.

  Reassured that the portal was still there, that he could return home whenever he wanted, he turned his attention elsewhere.

  He was one of three people in the woodshed; Raven was another, but the third he did not recognize. He could not see her clearly in the gloom, but she was just below medium height—no more than five foot four, he was sure—with long, dark hair and wearing heavy robes. She was not thin, he was sure of that, but he thought part of her bulk came from her thick garments. One oversized sleeve caught the light from the door, where he could get a good, clear look at it; it was dull red, and appeared to be wool.

  “Hi,” he said, giving her a little wave with one hand, and smiling in her general direction. “I’m Pel Brown.”

  “I am Elani,” she said, speaking with an odd, musical accent, completely unlike Raven’s nasal twang.

  “Shall we have a look at my world, friend Pel?” Raven asked, with a gesture at the door.

  Pel nodded. He turned away from Elani, and together the two men stepped out of the woodshed into the world.

  Behind them, Elani began mumbling something Pel could not make out.

  * * * *

  It hadn’t been any forty-eight hours, but Carrie had no intention of sticking to silly limitation like that when it came to her own lost cousin. She settled on her bed and reached out with her mind, reached in that inexplicable direction that led around the corners of reality into the “Earth” universe. She shaped her thoughts to fit Prossie’s familiar patterns, and searched down through the nameless irreality for Prossie’s thoughts.

  She couldn’t find them.

  Prossie wasn’t in that jail any more.

  Carrie could sense a sort of after-image that she knew was the general vicinity of the jail, perceptible because she had seen it through Prossie’s thoughts earlier—but it was dead and empty. No telepath was there, not even one of the pitiful “psychics” of Earth, like that Ray Aldridge or that little girl, Angela. There were guards, and prisoners, but they were all Earth people, all telepathically dead; she could barely sense that they existed, and certainly couldn’t communicate with them, in either direction.

  Prossie wasn’t there.

  Well, that was good, wasn’t it? She’d been released, then.

  Or killed. Maybe Prossie had been wrong about the Earth people and their soft-hearted rules. Carrie began searching, casting a telepathic net farther afield, wider and thinner, hoping for some touch.

  For a moment she thought she felt Prossie’s presence, but before she could home in on it, it was gone. She pushed on, minute after minute. Sweat began to sheen her forehead; her hands and jaw trembled.

  Prossie wasn’t there.

  She found Carleton Miletti and passed him by; she found Oram Blaisdell, and Angela Thompson, and Ray Aldridge.

  She didn’t find Prossie.

  Miletti and Blaisdell and Aldridge didn’t notice the contact, but little Angela sat up in bed and shouted, “Mr. Nobody!”

  “Hush,” Carrie told her. “Hush!”

  “What is it, Mr. Nobody? Is something wrong?”

  “Not really, Angie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “You didn’t bother me. Whatcha doing?”

  Carrie sighed. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

  “Who?”

  “Her name is Proserpine Thorpe.”

  “I’ll go ask my mommy!”

  Before Carrie could protest, Angie was out of bed and scampering down the stairs, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Margaret met her at the bottom step, relieved to see that Angie was intact—no visible blood, nothing torn, no broken toys or furniture in sight. “What is it, Angie?” she asked, kneeling so that she could meet her daughter face to face.

  “It’s Mr. Nobody,” Angie explained. “He’s lookin’ for someone.”

  Carrie winced slightly. Why was Angie always so certain the voice in her head was a man?

  Margaret Thompson sighed. “Is that all?”

  Somewhat cowed, Angie said, “That’s all.”

  “I thought Mr. Nobody was gone,” Margaret said.

  “He was. He came back.”

  Angie’s mother considered that.

  She didn’t really understand Mr. Nobody. She had never had an invisible playmate as a child; she’d heard about them, read about them in the parenting books, but the whole idea didn’t really make much sense to her. And Angie was so utterly certain that Mr. Nobody was real. Her conversations with him didn’t seem like anything a three-year-old should be able to invent.

  Angie had never claimed to see Mr. Nobody, or to know where he was; she only heard him. That didn’t fit what the books described for imaginary companions.

  Was it possible that someone really was communicating with Angie somehow?

  “All right, then, who’s Mr. Nobody looking
for?” she asked.

  For the first time Angie hesitated. Then she said, “Basurpathork.”

  “Who?” Margaret blinked. She had been expecting a more recognizable name than that.

  “Someone named Basurpathork.”

  Margaret sighed again. A name like that settled it; Angie was just making it up. “I don’t know any Ba... Pa... anyone by that name. Now, you go back to bed and tell Mr. Nobody to let you sleep, and in the morning I’ll ask around.”

  Chastened, Angie said, “All right, Mommy.” She turned and made her way slowly back to bed.

  And on her own bed, Carrie was fighting back tears. She had only been searching for a few minutes, really, perhaps twenty in all, but that was enough. She was certain. Prossie was not on Earth. And she wasn’t back in the Empire, or she’d have made contact herself.

  Carrie knew then that her cousin Proserpine, her childhood playmate, was dead. She had to be. What other explanation could there be?

  And dying in that hostile other universe, where her mind could not speak, she had died in telepathic silence, in the sort of loneliness that ordinary people lived with every day, but which telepaths contemplated only with dread.

  Cut off by that hideous silence, her family hadn’t even heard the death-cry.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hey,” Pel said as he emerged, “it’s daylight!”

  “Aye,” Raven said. “’Tis an hour or so past dawn, here.”

  “But it’s after seven!”

  “Not here, it isn’t,” Captain Cahn told him.

  Pel turned, startled.

  Cahn and Valadrakul were standing to one side; to the other side, he realized, were Stoddard, Donald, Susan, and Amy.

  “The others went on ahead,” Susan told him. “Your little girl was pretty excited.”

  “Oh,” Pel said. “Thanks.”

  He looked around.

  He was standing in a small clearing of bare black dirt. Behind him stood the woodshed. In the center of the clearing was a great flat-topped stump—the tree that had once grown there must have been huge.

  Ahead and to the left was a cabin, built of rough-hewn logs and chinked with something greyish; there were no windows on the near side, but a fieldstone chimney bisected it, and to the left of the chimney a brown drape of soft leather hung from a gray wood bar. From the way the drape hung and what he could see below its lower edge, Pel guessed it covered a door.