Future Indefinite

by Dave Duncan

  “Then we walk home. They’ll be all right. I think it’s time to go and have a word with our esteemed Liberator.” Jumbo sprang nimbly to his feet and held out a hand to aid her. All over the cave, people were rising to stretch their legs. The darkness seemed to move in as bodies blocked the firelight.

  “I don’t see him now,” she said.

  “I know where he went. Come on. If we get separated, I’ll meet you underneath that molar, all righty?” Gesturing at a prominent stalactite, Jumbo took her hand and set off confidently across the cavern floor. His strong left arm cleared a way through the milling throng while he growled peremptory apologies. It seemed odd that he should be so little concerned for the safety of the livestock he had left to graze unattended outside the cave. Until this evening he had fussed over them as if they were prize racehorses. Still, he must know what he was doing. All the way from Olympus, he had been a competent guide and an enjoyable companion.

  She was about to meet Edward. That was why she had come. Would he feel she was meddling? That had been a danger all along. Now there was something new. Now she had seen a blind man given back his sight and a feverish, whimpering baby come suddenly to life and start laughing. Faith healing might explain the man, but not the baby, and she wasn’t sure how far she believed in faith healing anyway. Had anyone else staged those miracles, she would have been sure that they had been faked, the “invalids” being accomplices planted ahead of time in the audience.

  Edward wouldn’t do that. If he had worked miracles, then they had been genuine miracles. Magic, of course—Miss Pimm could use magic and the rules of the parallel worlds would give Edward on Nextdoor the powers Miss Pimm had on Earth. All the same, it was disturbing to see the cousin she had known all her life, her foster brother, deliberately playing Jesus. There could be no doubt that that was what he was doing. Although she thought of herself as a Christian, she liked to believe she was tolerant and broad-minded. His performance made her uneasy, but it could hardly be blasphemous in a world where Christianity did not exist—or could it? She must not jump to conclusions. Doubtless he would explain his reasons to her. Even if he wouldn’t, she would trust him and not ask.

  She felt a vicarious pride at the numbers he had collected. My cousin the messiah…

  She followed Jumbo through the crowd, weaving between clusters of people, heading for the depths of the cave. Soon their way was blocked by a wall of rubble and megalithic blocks and frozen rivers of stalagmites. The ominous irregularities overhead showed where masses of stone had fallen off and crashed to the ground. This cave was old. The odds of another fall happening just as she was passing underneath were remote—remote but still hard to ignore. There was almost no light here, far from the arch and the fires. She had never suffered from claustrophobia before, so why start now? It was only virtuality making her skin crawl, wasn’t it?

  As she neared the foot of the rockfall, she heard voices raised in argument. Suddenly Jumbo halted, listening. In front of a wall of cyclopean boulders, three figures in gowns were confronting two men, one of whom bore a round shield and a dangerous-looking spear. Even without understanding the words, it was obvious to Alice that the three were demanding and the two were refusing. The subject of their disputation seemed to be access to an ominous dark notch.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Jumbo said, “Sh!” In a moment, though, the three turned away and headed back to the main gathering, muttering angrily. The two stayed where they were.

  “It appears,” Jumbo said quietly, “that our reverend friend does not wish to be disturbed. Those monk-chappies were priests—Tion’s I think. Let’s see if we can do any better.”

  He led her forward again, passing the three grumbling clerics, heading for the two gatekeepers.

  “They don’t look much like a welcoming committee,” she murmured.

  “Just keeping the riffraff out. I’m sure they’ll recognize a lady when they see one.”

  Alice did not feel much like a lady. The last few days had done nothing for her coiffeur or complexion; she was still bundled in heavy, waterlogged furs, smelling strongly of wet sheep. The guards did not spring smartly to attention at the sight of her.

  Jumbo drawled an explanation as he went by—tried to go by. He stopped at the sharp end of the spear. His tone changed, but still displayed the blithe arrogance of stranger-hood.

  The spear did not waver. The other guard growled a response.

  Jumbo tried again, in yet another voice. That one worked no better. He was obviously taken aback by this failure of charisma.

  “You’re not wearing the old school tie,” Alice suggested and gave her knuckles a mental rap for tactlessness.

  Jumbo shot her an acid glance. “I’m tempted to turn them both into pumpkins.”

  “An intemperate response…Can you?”

  “Not until midnight.” He launched into a longer, quieter speech. That one at least produced a civil reply. It even had hints of regret in it, but it was still clearly a refusal.

  Then a third man drifted in out of the darkness. He was short and very blond, and at first glance Alice thought he was just a boy. Then she noted that he, too, bore a shield on his back. He had no spear, but he was obviously in charge.

  Jumbo began again, and this time Alice heard her own name and others: “Ursula,” “Captain,” and “Jumbo.” He was having to beg, and he would not like that. Something he said impressed the blond boy, who snapped out an order, and the guard who did not have a shield turned and disappeared into the opening between the two great rocks.

  That was progress. It left four people standing in near darkness: two very vigilant and suspicious guards, one toe-tapping, heel-cooling, icily furious Jumbo, and one Alice trying not to let her amusement show.

  “Where are we trying to get to, anyway?” she asked.

  “Hrnnph! There’s an inner cave here behind this rockfall. I’ve slept there many times. Travelers prefer it, because it’s cosy. Tends to be warm in winter and cool in summer. Obviously that’s where Exeter’s hiding out.”

  Jumbo fell silent again. Minutes dragged by. In the outer cave, the pilgrims had begun singing. The tonality was strange, but the beat was rousing enough—possibly the Valian equivalent of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Had Edward taught them the Fallow school song yet?

  “There are other ways over, this junk heap,” Jumbo growled.

  “Patience!” she said soothingly. “He’s a celebrity, remember. He can’t let himself be pestered all the time.”

  Light flickered. Out of the canyon emerged a flaming torch carried by a woman. She came to a halt and raised it to inspect the supplicants.

  “Evening, Jumbo. And good evening to you, Miss Prescott. I’m Ursula Newton.”

  “Charmed,” Alice replied, blinking against the light. “Actually, I’m Mrs. Pearson now.” Why the devil should that matter here? “But still Edward’s cousin, of course.”

  At that point, Jumbo should have spoken, or Mrs. Newton should have offered to lead the visitors to the holy of holies. Instead, she just stood and looked hard at each of them in turn. Alice felt twinges of apprehension. She had come so far. What could be wrong now?

  “Is Captain Smedley with you?” she asked.

  “No, he’s on his way back to Olympus.” Ursula Newton was a solid, powerful-looking woman, wearing a thick woolen robe of Valian cut. Her hair was unusually short and her manner definitely suspicious. “Forgive me if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Dammit all, Ursula!” Jumbo said. “What’s got into you?”

  “Prudence.” She turned her watchful gaze on Alice. “Who was Bujja, Mrs. Pearson?”

  “Who?” Merciful heavens! “Edward’s nursemaid at Nyagatha.”

  “And Spots?”

  “That was a leopard cub we tried to domesticate once, without much—”

  “Wrong answer!”

  For a moment Alice just stared at the woman, quite unable to believe this was happening
. Then she said, “Oh! It was also Julian Smedley, when he was national acne champion.”

  Ursula relaxed visibly. Her smile was not exactly winsome, though. “Thank you. The Liberator has to be extremely careful, you see, and news of your arrival here was a surprise.”

  Jumbo laughed. “Oh, he’s ‘the Liberator’ now, is he? Have you changed sides, Ursula, darling?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not really. I still think he made a serious mistake in launching this crusade. Now he’s done so, I believe it must be carried forward as well as possible. And you?”

  “Much the same. We didn’t come to try and talk him out of it, whatever you may have told Exeter. We have some interesting news for him.”

  “Then Mrs. Pearson can pass it on. He prefers not to meet with you, Jumbo.”

  “I quite understand.” Spoken like a gentleman, but even in the flickering light of the torch, Jumbo’s flush showed. “Give him my regards, won’t you?” He turned and stalked away before Alice could think of anything to say. How awful!

  Ursula gestured for Alice to follow. Holding the torch overhead, she led the way up a steep, narrow trench. The rocks pressed closer, looming, threatening. Alice could feel them all around her and overhanging, grinning at her—claustrophobic! The floor was steep and uneven.

  “I apologize for that inquisition,” Ursula said over her shoulder. “The Chamber has been sending human time bombs after him. Your presence here was so unexpected that I insisted he take some precautions.”

  And Jumbo’s presence was definitely unwelcome. Alice would have to have a word with Edward about that, and build some bridges. “Quite all right. Understandable. What exactly are human time bombs? I presume they don’t have fuses dangling from their ears?”

  “Not so easy, I’m afraid. They’re people enslaved by mana to kill the Liberator. If it’s any comfort to you, I can’t detect any sorcery on you—nor on Jumbo, for that matter—but that doesn’t mean much. Only a very clumsy curse would be detectable.”

  “Well, I assure you that I truly am his cousin. Fresh from England. I’m here on holiday, surprising as that may seem.”

  Mrs. Newton uttered a loud snort of laughter. “You have strange tastes in vacation spots! We have to squeeze through here. Watch your footing.” She held the torch higher to illuminate the gap. Then the path led steeply downward, and Alice had to hold back to avoid the heat of the flames ahead of her.

  Her guide stopped and turned around. “Almost there,” she said quietly. “One final request, Mrs. Pearson—please do not go close to your cousin. His bodyguards have been warned to block anyone who tries to touch him. They might not be overly gentle.”

  Alice was becoming very tired of this nonsense. “Is it necessary for a human time bomb to touch him to kill him?”

  “Probably not, but that would be by far the easiest way to set up the sorcery. It is how Zath always primes his reapers. You might not even be aware that such a curse had been laid on you.” Ursula Newton was obviously quite serious, despite the unbelievable words she was speaking. “You would be given an irresistible compulsion to touch him and then complete some deadly ritual, although whatever it was might seem quite harmless to you.”

  “I shall be extremely careful to keep my hands to myself, then.”

  “That would be advisable. Follow me, please.”

  As Jumbo had promised, the air was appreciably warmer here. Summer lingered on, deep in the bowels of the hill, and yet the virtuality seemed even stronger. Then a faint glimmer of light showed ahead, and Alice found herself stepping down into a hollow that could almost count as a separate cave. Obviously it was a well-frequented campsite, its floor littered with old chips of wood and bark. In the center was a fireplace of blackened stones, surrounded by a circle of low rocks for sitting. Beyond that, in turn, lay heaps of frondy leaves for bedding and a miscellaneous clutter of gourds and logs.

  Half a dozen people were grouped around the twinkling fire, their faces dancing in and out of the dark like ghosts. Edward was on the far side, speaking softly while the others listened—the king and his court. He looked weary but not as weary as might have been expected for an actor resting after such a performance.

  Her arrival made them all scramble to their feet, but she had eyes only for the tall man in the prophet’s robe. Yes, she wanted to run to him and hug him, but she did not think there was anything sinister in that urge, just normal affection for her only living relative after a long separation. She sensed the others’ hair-trigger vigilance, watching to see if she would try it.

  “Alice!”

  “Edward! It’s wonderful to see you!”

  “And you. Er…won’t you sit down?”

  She moved to the closest seat, a flat rock upholstered with a scrap of fur. After a moment, everyone else sat down also, all except Ursula Newton.

  Nobody spoke. Edward was just staring at Alice as if she were a ghost, the Holy Grail, or King George himself, and she was similarly tongue-tied. There were so many things to say that they could not even begin. She sensed an invisible wall of distrust between them.

  Norfolk seemed very far away now.

  She found her voice first. “I’m not here on business, Edward. Just on holiday. I’m not carrying any banners. Funny—you haven’t changed a bit!” The beard was not all that bad at close quarters, hardly more than a heavy stubble. With a patriarchal bush like Tennyson’s, he would look like a character in a school nativity play.

  Behind her, Ursula coughed harshly. “Well, I’ll leave you to have a private chat, shall I?” The guards, three men and one woman, would not understand English. She must have left, then, but Alice did not turn to see.

  “Sorry about the cloak and dagger,” Edward said. “Ursula.

  “It’s a good idea. I don’t mind.”

  “You’re thinner. Keeping well?”

  “Splendid, thank you.” Under the circumstances, this was an absurdly banal conversation. It was wonderful to see him again. There was an extraordinary pain in her throat. “And you?”

  He smiled wistfully across the fire at her. “I’m ever so homesick! Tell me about England.”

  45

  The Free had begun yet another hymn. Eleal did not know the lyrics to this one either, and she was not in a mood to sing the praises of the Undivided anyway. She was still struggling to accept the idea that the gods she had always believed in might be imposters. The fire was burning low, but she was not cold now. She was hungry, and the supplies in her pack had run out. A shield-bearer had come around promising that the food would appear shortly, so meanwhile she must just huddle in miserable solitude amid a crowd of tunelessly chanting believers, wrestling with her faith and her conscience.

  Old Piol squeezed himself onto the rock beside her. She glanced sideways at him, unsure whether she wanted his company.

  He smiled—not the smile of the naive dreamer Piol Poet but that of the other Piol Poet, the genius who knew the human heart and could lay it bare in a carillon of silver words. “Talk it out,” he said. “The first thing to do with problems is to list them in order of worrisomeness.”

  “They’re all worrisome.” And some she couldn’t tell even to Piol. “Who is D’ward? What is he—human or god?”

  “You told the crowd that he almost died once. If you believe that, then you must believe that he’s human.”

  “Well, he was human then,” she admitted. “But in those days he didn’t go around performing miracles…at least, not like he’s doing now.”

  Piol nodded, cannily waiting for her next problem.

  She said, “I can’t believe both him and the Pentatheon, can I?”

  “Not both, no.”

  “But Tion heals cripples too!”

  “D’ward calls that sorcery.”

  “And Tion would call what he does sorcery. Their words cancel out.”

  Piol rubbed an eyebrow. “Then look for other evidence.”

  That was obvious, but she had not thought of it quite that way. What w
as he hinting at? “Which of them do you believe?”

  Piol was not to be trapped. He grinned, gap-toothed. “Tell you later. I won’t make up your mind for you.”

  She pulled a face at him. “Their words cancel out and their miracles cancel out. What else is there to consider? Well? What other evidence is there?”

  He probably wouldn’t have given her a straight answer, and he was saved from having to reply at all, because a shield-bearer came by the fire with a bag, soliciting money. He didn’t speak, because most people were singing. A few found coins for him, most just shook their heads sadly to show they had nothing to offer. Eleal declined too. She carried a fortune around her waist, but she was not about to expose it to so many curious eyes in this cave. The shield-bearer flashed her a smile and went on by.

  He had reminded her of another problem: D’ward was worried by the weather. He needed money to clothe and feed his followers. She had money. Could she force herself to give away so much, even to D’ward?

  Piol was waiting. “What will you do tomorrow, Eleal? You can be an actor now, a great actor. Frankly, you always had more talent for acting than for singing. Will you stay with the Liberator or set off to seek your fortune?”

  “That’s the whole problem, you silly old goose! What I believe doesn’t really matter—I can take years to decide that. What I need to know is what to do!”

  “Good! You’re getting closer.”

  She debated wringing his scrawny old neck—affectionately, of course. “You? What will you do?”

  “Me? Oh, I shall join the Free. Whether I believe D’ward or not, what he’s doing is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I shall follow him to Tharg and witness the fulfilment or failure of the prophecy.” Piol sighed and clasped her hand in his cold fingers. “But I am an old man, with few years left to me. In your place I might not make that choice, because it may be very dangerous. If I am spared, I shall try to write an account of it all.” After a moment, he chuckled. “Maybe when I have done that, I shall know what I really believe, mm?”