‘I’ve always thought reason sadly overrated,’ remarked Gojam. ‘There are momegs who pay a lot of attention to it, just as there are some who disbelieve in it entirely. I tend to the middle view. Use it when it’s helpful and ignore it when it isn’t.’
‘I merely meant, it would be unpleasant for us if the tide came in while we were out here.’ The Prince sighed, turned to Marianne, gave her a long, burning look and touched her hand. Marianne stroked his in response, her eyes misty. The hand twitched and drew away as Marianne looked down and saw what it was doing.
‘You say “out here” as though there were some “in there” which might be selected instead,’ Gojam commented, uncrossing his third and fourth legs and stretching them over the dashboard of the wagon. ‘So far as I am aware, “out here” is all there is.’
‘Wrong,’ said the horse. ‘It may be all you’ve seen, magnificent sir. All you have become aware of in your peregrinations. All you have intuited or assumed or inferred from the lack of structure around us. Not all, however, that there is. I suggest you gaze toward the horizon, slightly to the left of our present line of travel.’
‘I see it,’ said the Red Dog after a time. ‘A tower.’
‘Towers,’ corrected Blue Dog. ‘Misty, but still quite real.’
‘I wouldn’t have said real,’ murmured Gojam. ‘Evident, perhaps. Or perceivable. Not necessarily real.’
‘A nice philosophical point,’ commented the Prince, perking up a little. ‘Could we direct our travel in the direction of those possibly spiritual and/or ephemeral structures?’
Gojam sighed, flicked the whip, and directed Black Dog slightly to the left at the next branch.
‘Eyes,’ said Marianne again, pointing toward the water. This time there were several pairs of lidded hemispheres blinking at them from the fluctuating surface.
‘They seem interested in our progress but not hostile,’ Gojam remarked. ‘In keeping with the placidity I have always found here.’
‘Wherever here is,’ neighed the horse rudely, mostly to himself.
‘How did you and the—the other momegs become acquainted?’ Marianne asked hastily, giving the horse’s nose an admonitory tap of her fingers.
‘Become acquainted?’ Gojam stared at her with one set of eyes, rapidly blinking the other to convey confusion. ‘I am not aware that we are acquainted.’
‘I only thought – you were kind enough to let them exit through your … your locus.’
‘Through a nexus of which my locus was a part, most accurately. It’s impossible to exit through a locus. A locus doesn’t go anywhere. It merely is. Interminably and dully in most cases. Which is not responsive to your inquiry. Well, I would have done as much for any entity. Known or unknown. Recognizable or strange. Dynamic or static. Your friends approached me politely and I responded in kind. What kind of a universe would it be if we could not do small kindnesses for one another?’
‘I see,’ she murmured. ‘What indeed.’
‘Besides,’ he confessed, compressing one set of lips while sneering with another, ‘I do detest Madame Delubovoska. She has a nasty habit of summoning up momegs on the spur of the moment, without any concern for the inconvenience it may cause, and then splatting them back again whenever it suits her. If she returns them at all, which I have reason to doubt in some cases. A very very close friend of mine, virtually a contiguite, was used twice by Madame and actually burned both times as a dismissal. No lasting damage, of course. We’re virtually indestructible, but we do have feelings.’
‘How awful for him,’ murmured Marianne, feeling faintly guilty without being able to remember why. ‘How awful for you. How many – ah, contiguites do you have?’
‘Oh, twelve. Depending upon the packing, don’t you know. They do insist on shifting it about.’
‘Twelve at my locus, too,’ said the Black Dog. ‘Of course, it’s unstressed space in my neighborhood. Things can get packed a lot tighter than that around singularities, I understand.’
‘Indeed,’ said Gojam, playing idly with the whip. ‘So I’ve been told by some momegs who’ve been there. And a lot looser around discontinuities, if it comes to that—which we all fervently hope it never does.’ He shuddered delicately. ‘No matter how dull the locus, it’s better than no locus at all.’ He sighed, moodily. ‘Are we getting any closer to the whatevers?’
They were getting considerably closer. What had at first appeared to be towers now proved to be lumpish promontories culminating in tall, cylindrical structures that were either unfinished or in a state of ruinous decay.
‘Eyes,’ said Marianne again. This time there were a hundred pairs or more, moving gently along the surface of the water, observing their progress.
‘A veritable metropolis, gentlemen and lady,’ suggested the horse. ‘An urban center. Who knows what delights and surprises may await us.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s made out of mud,’ remarked the Red Dog. ‘Wet mud.’
‘Wettish,’ corrected Black Dog. ‘If it were really wet, it wouldn’t hold shape.’
‘Not necessarily true,’ admonished Gojam. ‘There you go, naughty, naughty, being reasonable again. You have to remember where we are.’
‘Wherever that may be,’ nickered the horse, very quietly, to himself.
‘Wherever it is, we approach,’ said the Black Dog, firmly.
As they drew closer, they could see that the structures were indeed made of mud, tiny dab on tiny dab built up in endless layers, like the nest of a cliff swallow or a mud dauber wasp, the accretion of protracted and focused effort, mud on mud on mud, higher and higher, a mighty mound with little jug-shaped dwellings covering it, the round jug necks peering in all directions. At the top of the great mound a slightly smaller mound began, and on top of that one, another still. Extending high above these three great clumps, like a mud-man with a tall hat, a long cylindrical chimney of mud dabs spiralled lumpishly upward into the mists.
‘Wettish,’ remarked the Black Dog with satisfaction. ‘Damp.’
‘Hail, great travelers,’ called a small voice. ‘Accept the hospitality of the Tower of Petition.’
It took them a little time to locate the speaker. It had crawled out of the water onto the track before them and lay there now, propped high on two front flippers with its eyes bulging toward them, the top of its head reaching approximately to Black Dog’s knees.
‘Hail,’ said Gojam in a kindly voice. ‘Very nice of you, I must say.’
The speaker flipped itself toward the mud hive, found an upward track among the dwellings and scuttled up this slick and obviously well-traveled incline until it was at their eye level. ‘I would invite you in, but there seems to be some disparity in size.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ said the Prince. ‘We may have been trespassing. If so, it was unintentional, and we apologize for any anxiety we may have caused.’
The speaker waved both flippers before its face as though to wave away such an idea. ‘We are honored by your presence. Some of us have been following your progress with deep attention. Even now our philosophers are engaged in colloquy to determine which of the Great Questions should be put to you. Who knows? Your arrival may actually put an end to Construction!’
‘Construction?’ asked Marianne. ‘This construction?’ She gestured upward at the tower. ‘It’s very impressive. We wouldn’t want to … interrupt anything.’ Her eyes dropped to the water level where great numbers of the mud creatures were scuttling up into and upon the building. Many of the mud jugs were already occupied, and serious eyes peered at them from every direction.
‘It would be a blessing,’ the speaker said in a distracted tone. ‘We’ve been building it with conscript labor for sixty generations, and everyone is tired to death of it. Is there anything I can do to increase your comfort? The water is potable. At least, we drink it. If you’d like some scum, I can have some gathered for you. No? We quite understand. Different creatures, different needs. Though until now we had only postula
ted the existence of different creatures. And now! To see – how many kinds of you are there? I count at least four, but perhaps there are subtleties of which I am unaware?’
‘Three basic shapes,’ said the Prince. ‘Four if you distinguish on the basis of size as you seem to be doing. Two basic kinds. Nine entities, each different in some way from the others. I believe there are at least three sexes represented.’
‘Oh, you,’ said Gojam, twinkling.
‘Remarkable,’ twittered the mud creature. ‘Oh, I am incredibly rude. I haven’t given you my designation. I am philosopher’s assistant Puy.’
‘I am Prince Charming,’ said the Prince. ‘This is the Fair Maiden Marianne or Sleeping Beauty Marianne, I forget which. That is Gojam. That is a horse, nameless for the moment, though undoubtedly faithful. The dogs are all momentary gods, as is Gojam, designated by color.’
‘Color?’ asked Puy. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the concept.’
‘Ah, a measure of the creature’s ability to reflect certain wavelengths of light. Unimportant.’
‘They are Rouge, Delphy, Liquorice, Gold, and Silver,’ said Marianne, pointing to each in turn.
‘Delighted,’ said Puy, bowing on his flippers. ‘Utterly delighted. Ah, I believe the council of philosophers is approaching.’
Having made this announcement, Puy peered upward from the edge of the slide. Following his gaze, they saw several rather bulbous mud creatures sliding down the mud track from the top of the structure, braking madly at the turns with their flippers, then thrusting themselves onward on the straightaways, much in the manner of skiers negotiating a challenging run. They had reached the bottom of the chimney shape and were now negotiating tortuous turns among the dwellings. They arrived, rather out of breath, bowed to Puy, who bowed in return, and then took their positions before the visitors, still panting.
‘Honored guests,’ their spokesman peeped. ‘We, the council of philosophers, have determined which of the Great Questions shall be put to you.’
‘Very flattering, I’m sure,’ said Gojam. ‘Is it your expectation we will answer this question or questions?’
The mud creatures stared at them, then at each other, murmuring rapidly.
‘… always thought…’
‘… never considered they might not…’
‘… could always threaten them…’
‘…try persuasion…’
‘We will be happy to try to answer your questions,’ said Marianne in a firm voice, frowning at Gojam.
‘I was only asking,’ said the momeg in a mild voice. ‘Not all creatures really want their questions answered, you know.’
The rapid exchange among the mud peepers went on.
‘Trying to answer just isn’t good enough…’
‘… anything that size ought to know…’
‘… had to come from somewhere…’
‘We have decided to threaten you,’ the speaker went on at the conclusion of this conference. ‘You must answer the questions.’
‘Or?’ asked Prince Charming, curiously.
‘Or we’ll summon the tide,’ the creature answered.
‘It will wash away your entire building,’ the Prince remarked, with what Marianne regarded as commendable calm. ‘Would you really want to do that?’
The conference resumed.
‘… hadn’t thought about…’
‘… sixty generations by my count…’
‘… all to do over again…’
‘Maybe we’ll just ask the questions,’ the speaker said at last, eyes half shut and an expression of pain on its fishlike face.
‘Ask away,’ invited Gojam.
‘We’ve been building this tower for over sixty generations,’ the speaker peeped. ‘Trying to get it high enough to see over the mist. You’ve probably noticed, you can’t see very far.’
‘We had noticed,’ Marianne said.
‘We were trying to answer several of the Great Questions for ourselves, you see. It isn’t that we’re lazy, or lacking in endeavor. We’ve really worked very hard at this. It’s difficult, you know. The mud won’t dry thoroughly. It tends to slide. There’ve been some really bad accidents…’
‘Your question?’ asked Gojam.
‘We need to know two things. Where are we, and is there anyone out there who can help us?’
Gojam frowned and began to speak, then frowned again. When he did speak it was very gently. ‘You’re on a world in the dream zone, which I identify as the Mud Flats.’
There was a long silence, broken at last by Puy. ‘That … that isn’t really helpful to us. I think what the philosophers want an answer to is the second question. Is there anyone out there who can help us?’
Gojam began to shake his head. Prince Charming very firmly took him by the neck and held him still.
‘It would help us if you told us why you wanted to know.’
‘Why … we need to know,’ asserted Puy. ‘There are certain problems we have been unable to solve. We have been unable even to agree on possible solutions. Basic philosophies differ. There is the question of the hatch rate, should it be encouraged or discouraged or should it be a matter of personal choice. There is the question of those among us who prefer not to provide their share of labor. Should they be conscripted against their will, and if not, are the rest of us under any obligation to feed them. There is the question of mechanicals. Some say they are diabolical and against the Will Of Him Who. Others maintain they are quite acceptable. We have come to bites and thrashings over these questions. Blood has been shed. Several of us have suffered quite severe lacerations. If there were someone neutral, someone from outside, who would arbitrate, perhaps give us another point of view…’
Gojam started to speak again, but the Prince held him firmly. ‘You’re saying there is considerable disagreement among you about how to solve your problems?’
The chief philosopher spoke up, nodding vigorously. ‘Indeed. There is no agreement on how things should be handled. None at all. We need…’
‘You need someone who will tell you what to do?’
‘Well…’ They scurried together for another hurried colloquy.
‘… Not tell, precisely…’
‘… still it wouldn’t be a bad idea…’
‘I can answer your question,’ the Prince interrupted them. ‘Yes, there are many worlds and creatures out there. Your next question will be, how do you reach them? Well, you cannot reach them until you have solved your own problems. And, no, we cannot help you with your problems. It is forbidden for us to do so. Each society must solve its own problems before it goes mixing about with other societies. That’s the law. Isn’t that right, Gojam?’
Gojam sulked only for a moment. ‘Perfectly correct, Prince. Exactly what I was going to say.’
‘In return for this information,’ Prince Charming continued, inexorably, ‘we’d like to ask a favor.’
‘Anything,’ breathed the philosophers sadly, banging their faces on their flippers, ‘anything at all.’
‘We have an enemy. A tall person shaped like one of us,’ the Prince indicated Marianne and himself. ‘A female person, if that concept is meaningful. She has a lot of very dark hair – this stuff. She is thinner than this person. She is as tall as I am. She has very fiery – ah, let me see – very intense-looking eyes. She may ask if you have seen us. She would not hesitate to destroy you if she did not get information to her liking.’
‘Say no more,’ breathed Puy. ‘No more. At the first sight of such a one, we will summon the tide.’
‘But your extraordinary building,’ murmured Marianne.
‘Thanks be to all the things that are or may be, we can quit building the damned thing,’ Puy said. ‘It’s been very tiring. You have no idea. It’s virtually destroyed our social system. Blessings on you for bringing us the law. Really.’ He turned and kicked at a bit of mud with his right flipper, watching it with satisfaction as it tumbled into the water and dissolved. All over
the structure, mud creatures were ripping off chunks of building material and dropping them to see the splash.
There seemed nothing further to discuss. Gojam flicked his whip. They moved off into the mist.
‘Is what you said really the law?’ Marianne asked.
‘It is here,’ murmured the Prince. ‘It is now.’
When they had followed the wavering track until they could barely see the towers far behind them, Gojam muttered, ‘Well, enough of this, all right? Where now? Someplace Madame won’t even consider looking for you. I have one or two ideas…’
‘No,’ said Prince Charming. ‘Our encounter with these creatures has brought me to confront the true problem we face. We can run from her for a very long time, but it won’t solve anything. Just as our mud friends have to solve their own problems, so do we.’
Marianne started to say something, then stopped, her tongue checked by that other person who seemed to be sharing her body. That person, in turn, stepped away, as though conscious she had been rude. In their common mind, Marianne could hear the half-humorous, half-hysterical laughter of that other person. ‘After you, Marianne.’
‘I was just going to say we have more problems than one.’ Her voice was stiff and unforgiving, and she glared at the Prince as though it had been his fault, only to feel the glare turn into a wry smile as that other Marianne peered through her eyes.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. ‘There are two of you in there, and I love at least one of you desperately. Since there were no provisions for that emotion in the world we fled from, it is obvious to me that the world from which we fled is not the world in which we belong. Gojam, can you take us through to our own real world?’
The momeg looked disappointed as he quirked his various eyebrows and twitched various parts of extremities. ‘Of course. There’s a likely nexus only a few steps from here. Though you have various real worlds. You, sir, have one. The woman has one. The other woman I sense to be present has another. The other momegs have their loci … well, you take my meaning.’
‘I do,’ Prince Charming mused, still attempting to draw the shreds of his clothing together, compulsively, as though he could find refuge behind or within some whole garment. ‘Our basic problem seems to be Madame Delubovoska. Though I cannot at the moment remember why she is a difficulty for us. Still, it is evident we cannot accomplish anything without dealing with her. Presumably she has a place in the real world. We should, therefore, be returned as near that place as we can be without endangering ourselves. If we have allies anywhere near, then we would like to go to the place our allies dwell.’
The Sheri S. Tepper eBook Collection Page 34
