He poured himself another cup of coffee, and poured some more in my cup, even though I didn't ask. I felt I had to try another sip, since he had poured for me. I stirred in five little plastic containers of cream, to make it as white as possible, and endless spoonfuls of sugar. Bleh. Who invented this stuff?
I looked at him, and said in an accusing voice, "You stopped because you saw my hair, didn't you? Had I been a man, you would have kept going."
Now it was his turn to goggle at me. "What? Yew think it rude to be polite?"
"Maybe I don't like being condescended to."
"Well, hn! When yoor done eating up, I can give yer a lift back and putcha in the snow, if yew like." He snorted and laughed, pleased at his own wit.
Then he put his fork down and pointed his finger toward my face, very rudely, I thought: "Lookee here, life is more cruel to women than it is to men, and there is no use saying it's not! Here yew are, a woman stood up at the altar, or one who says she is, and yoor telling me women and men got dealt the same hand of cards?"
I felt I had to stand up for my sex: "The equality between men and women requires that they be treated the same."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know what kind of men you know, but the ones I know always feel a little hurt when yew give 'em a hand. Y'know? I'm not saying it's right or wrong, I'm just saying women make it easier for yew to help them. And being pretty as a Sunday morning doesn't hurt matters either.
"Besides, no girl ever tried to hijack my load. You think it don't happen, but it does. In Liverpool, I was once.
"But, listen here! Don't turn down help when someone reaches out his hand, hn? It's the only thing that keeps human beings alive on the Earth, and I am right about that!"
He picked up his fork and stabbed it back into the pile of pancakes. He chewed for a moment, and then spoke with his mouth full, mumbling. I had never seen someone talk with food in their mouth before, and I stared in amazement. But I suppose there was no Mrs. Wren in his life to slap him with a ruler for bad table manners.
This is what he said: "Little missy, I stopped when yew fell, 'cause I hear'd a cry, a high cry, and I thought yew were holding a baby in yoor arms. And yew fell down."
He swallowed a bit; then he continued: "Maybe I shouldna stopped for a woman with a baby on Christmas Day, issat what yew think? But I hear'd the cry and I stopped. Didn't expect it was yer pet screeching."
We ate in silence for a while. I felt a bit like a wretch. This man was the only person who had rescued me with whom I had argued. (How many times had I been rescued… ? Just the Grendel menace: once by Boggin, once by Telegonus, once by the eagle… was there one I had forgotten? Romus had rescued me from Erichtho…)
I started to apologize, but he waved my words away, and changed the subject. Sam said, "What can yew do with your magic powers? Talk to the departed, tip tables, tell fortunes, that sort of thing?"
I said, "Well, maybe I can show you…"
I looked into the fourth dimension again. I saw two things at once. The rooms of the little restaurant were laid out like a blueprint. I could see Jerry in the back room. He was on the telephone, saying, "Yes, Constable, I am not very likely to be mistaken! It is one of the five strange children from the Branshead estate. How is it possible I could not know one of them? The ones who never get any older…"
At the same time, I saw the moral strand running to me jerk, and flicker with light. This time, I used one of the other senses to look at the first sense, and sought its internal nature. Magic. I was seeing a magic spell. A finding spell.
I jumped to my feet. I pulled and pushed on the higher parts of my body, but it was mostly still numb. I could not deploy my wings or move into hyperspace.
Sam dropped his fork. "Um. Don't get excited———Is, ah, is everything… ?"
"Sam!" I leaned across the table and kissed him.
He looked, at once, startled, pleased, surprised, and worried. "Hold on…"
"Thanks for saving me! You're my second rescuer today, fourth one this week. I must run. I have enemies. Bad, bad people. Actually, um, gods. Old gods from the pagan days. They are beyond your strength. Don't follow me!"
I stepped toward the door and he grabbed at my arm. My "pet bird" snapped at his fingers with the razor-edged bolt-cutters of his beak, but I yanked the bird back with one hand before he drew blood.
The snapping bird made Sam flinch, and I was away.
Even had Sam been faster than me in the sprint (which I doubt), he was not faster than me in the steeplechase. I leaped from table to table in a straight line toward the door, and cleared one or two chairs in my way with a good takeoff, slightly wobbly landing. I lost the bearskin rug behind me during one jump.
The little bell tinkled, and I was out the door.
On the street, Waterside Street. Still deserted. Maybe everyone was at church; I could hear bells tolling solemnly in the distance. Which way? Would any direct tion do? Away from the docks, though: I might have to come back here, and it would not do to lead any pursuit that direction.
I turned and sprinted up Main Street, which was more or less straight, heading toward the hill where the church and the courthouse were. I tucked the bird under my arm like a ball.
And Sam came pounding down the street after me. He still had a napkin tucked in his collar, and was carrying a fork in one fist He had left his coat behind. His form was not bad, for an old guy. Maybe he did rugby when he was younger.
Up the street About one hundred yards ahead of me was a carriage circle, with a circle of grass in the middle, and a pillar bearing the names of local townsmen who died in the Great War. They had put a statue of an angel up recently; at least I did not remember seeing it there before, tall atop the pillar. They had painted it for Christmas, blue and white. I was still at least a quarter mile from the church…
Wait a minute. Why was I going toward the church? If that was where all the townspeople were, (a) I might be putting them in danger, (b) they might call the coppers on me, just as Jerry had done. This was the worst direction of all to be going.
I stopped at the carriage circle, blowing puffs of white and looking left and right. There were lanes running north and south.
The angel on the pillar turned his head, spread his peacock-blue wings, raised his bow. There was an arrow in the string.
"Phaethusa, Helion's daughter, I make it fated that you will be struck by this shaft if you do not surrender to me. I am Corus. I am the North by Northwest Wind, a humble god, perhaps, for only one-sixteenth part of the infinite sky is mine; but I am great enough to wound you."
I stood with one hand on my knee, bird in the other, blowing white puffs. I shook my head. "No. No, thanks. I'm sick and tired of surrendering."
He said, "Do you toy with me, Chaoticist?"
"Lord Mavors said you can't kill us! How are you going to stop me if you don't risk killing me!"
"I make it fated that you shall not die when my arrow strikes. With such a fate, I may strike your eye with no fear the shaft will enter your brain-pan, or hit your thigh, hand, bosom, marring and maiming, as I will."
I straightened up, and held up the wounded eagle in both hands. "Look out! I've got a magic bird… this bird will save me! And I am not a monster or anything. I'm just a girl with a monster's powers, and I've never done anything wrong, so I don't want you to shoot me."
Sam came trotting into the carriage circle, slowed down, and walked up. His mouth and eyes were wide.
"Hey! Are yew an angel? Don't point that thing at the girl here. She's touched in the head!"
Corus said, "Creature of Prometheus, go, and I will spare you. I make it fated that when you wake after you have slept, this will fade like a strange dream. If you speak of it this day, you will not be believed, even by those that love you…"
"Is my wife up there with yew all? Second wife, Annie, I mean…"
"Go!"
He turned the arrow toward Sam.
Sam set his jaw and looked stubborn.
&n
bsp; I said, "Um, Sam, maybe you should…"
The bowstring sang.
I jumped in front of Sam and threw out my arms. The eagle, released, flapped and jumped in front of me.
The eagle moved faster than was possible, as if he were trying to bat the speeding arrow out of midair with his wing. The arrow passed through the one wing, lost all velocity, turned sideways, and slapped against me before it clattered to the pavement.
The eagle screamed, loud, shrill, and piercing. There was an answering scream from far away. I am not an expert on bird screams, but I am pretty sure that second scream was one I had heard earlier today.
The eagle flapped to the ground and began poking at his newly rewounded wing.
Corus looked down, frowning. Then he put his foot to the bowstaff, bent, and unstrung his bow. "I release you," he said.
"What?" Had I heard that right?
Coras spoke quietly, his eyes downcast, "Little softhearted girl with the powers of a monster, who steps in front of our cattle, the frail and foolish mortal men, go and be free. On one condition, I release you."
"What's the condition?"
"That you tell no one of my dereliction."
"I want to be able to tell my friends."
"Only on their oath likewise, not to reveal this act."
"Won't Boggin just hear what you are saying now? He can hear the wind."
"I am the wind."
"I will agree… But! But I have one condition…"
That made him smile. He put his hands atop the bow-staff and leaned on it. "You are just as bold as brass, aren't you, little foe of all creation?"
"You have to tell me why. Why you are doing it?"
Coras frowned again.
Sam pointed upward with his fork, and said to me, "Yew know him, do yew?"
Coras glowered at Sam and waved his hand. "I make it fated that you will sleep before I speak this word."
Sam sat down on the cobblestones, blinked, slumped slowly over, snoring. His fork clattered to the pavement with a tiny tinkle.
"You didn't hurt him, did you? Is he going to be all right?"
The eagle twisted around his head and squawked at me angrily. Well, maybe the bird had a point. He had been hit with an arrow, and I was fretting over a sleeping guy. I picked up the bird and brought out another handkerchief to wrap around him.
There was another small tinkling noise when I did that, and something bright lay on the pavement. I put one slippered foot casually atop it.
Coras said, "I do not prey on the cattle of Mulciber. This world is his. I make it fated that this man shall be found by kind strangers, who will see to his care. I accept your final condition, O monster who pities even such low creatures as this man. Here is my reason: Thelxiepia begged me, that if by chance I were the first one to find you, that I be slow to carry out my duties. She is the finest, most beautiful, and most ill-used of women. I wanted to use the bounty Boreas placed on your head to buy her freedom, and I did not hear her plea, although my heart was torn. She said you would not destroy the world, and I did not believe she knew whereof she spoke. Now I know that she is also wise, and kind, and good…"
I said, "Oh my gosh! You are the one! At the party! You and Miss Daw. The Lady said someone was going to fall in love at that party! True love! She said it would be true love."
His grin was like the summer sun breaking through clouds, and his face lit up with happiness and embarrassment. He turned his head away, and put his hand on his mouth to still his involuntary smile.
Corus spoke again without turning his head. "I have fulfilled my condition, and now I lay my fate upon you: should my brother or any who might tell him of my treason to him, learn of it from you, your suffering and pain will be greater than mine, and last nine times the span of time."
He turned his back to me and spread his wings. "Your companions, who also seek you, await you in the harbor. Warn them that each time Nausicaa calls her silvery ship, or bids it sail, Mestor's lodestone is drawn.
"Do not mistake this act of mine for kindness. You and your kin I hold in hatred and contempt, for your life is the death of the earth and sky; and you wounded my great brother Boreas, who now lies in his sickbed, caught in dreams with no waking, for he is under attack by Morpheus the Lord of Night."
I said softly, "I am sorry for that. I like Boreas, even though he was so mean to me."
He did not turn his head, but he snorted. Perhaps he was amused at the idea of the softhearted monster, as he called me. He said in a gentler tone: "And do not envy me my true love. The Lady Cyprian did not warn me how it would stain my honor, sever my kinship, and make all my roads as hard as iron swords to cross. Yet I regret nothing."
And he stepped from the pillar and rose into the sky.
When he was gone, I moved my slipper and looked down.
The ring of Gyges lay under my toe.
1.
The church bells rang again, and down the street, the tall doors opened. A little crowd began to form on the stairs of the church, little figures in the distance in their best formal clothes.
I misted the "fate" Corus had put upon Sam, that someone would find and help him. I would have called out, but I feared they would call the police on me.
Bird in hand, I walked quickly down Main Street. No one was following. When the slope cut off the view of the church behind me, I ran.
I had the ring in my fist as I ran, but I was too wary of the unknown to put it on my finger.
How had it come to be in my pocket? At a guess, when Grendel came out of the Kissing Well with me freezing to death in his arms, he stepped over to his little buried shed, saw it was too small to get me inside, but grabbed up his cloak and fire-making tools. And took the time to take off the ring, wrap it in a hankie, and put it in his trunk? Maybe. He had that trunk open because he was getting a gag out for yours truly; he was terrified that I would make a noise and call down the vengeance of Boreas on his head.
But the fact that I had it seemed like a coincidence.
From Corns, it was clear that arranging coincidences was the especial province of the Olympians. But why? Maybe it had a tracking device in it, or the magical equivalent to one. Even so, several clues implied the Olympian power could only work on someone who broke a law, went back on a promise, or was indebted. I had not stolen this ring. Did that make it safe to use?
I came out onto Waterside Street.
I heard Vanity's voice before I saw them, a cheery voice ringing with relief and joy: "Oh! Look! It worked! There she is!"
I turned my head, and there they were. Quentin had his huge black cape on over his school uniform, a staff of white wood in his hand; Victor was wearing a brand-new buff-colored jacket that fell to his knees, with a chain-mail jerkin dangling and clinking underneath; Vanity was dressed in a plush red winter coat with white mink fur trim about the hood and wrists, with matching gloves, with little black booties below. It was an outfit I had never seen before. She looked like a glamour model doing a "Santa's little elf" theme.
I ran up and threw my arms—one arm, anyway— around the smiling Vanity and gave her the biggest hug circumstances allowed. She flinched and giggled when the huge bird of prey fluttered his wings across her head.
We were standing, of all places, right in front of Jerry's Fine Cafe. Victor had his back to me and was helping a police constable sit down on the bench that was there. A second police constable was already seated, slumped over the bench arm, ear on his shoulder, eyes closed and mouth open. There was a teardrop of drool dangling from his lip. I would have thought he was dead, but dead men don't snore so loudly.
Quentin's eyes were also closed. He had his left hand held out at shoulder level, with rosary beads twined through his fingers. A cross was hanging from it, like the bob of a pendulum. The pendulum was not swinging. The rosary was motionless, suspended at the apex of its arc or swing, and the cross was pointed at me.
Quentin relaxed and muttered, " Ave et vale. Abi!" Whereupon, the rosary
in his hand also relaxed. He opened his eyes, casually looping the rosary around his hand to tuck it into an inner pocket, and he said,
"I was looking for Colin, that time ."
I said, "I sensed someone looking for me. Was that you?" And without waiting for an answer, I held up the bird. "This is Colin, I think."
Vanity stepped away and blinked at the bloody eagle. "Colin was taller, last time I saw him, wasn't he?"
Quentin said, "Found this on the bed of the sea, when I was dowsing for you. Like attracts to like. You wouldn't believe how often Victor went diving for you."
He handed me my lucky cap.
I was angry with Victor, of course.
If he had been thoughtful enough to be the one to return my aviatrix cap to me, I would have had the perfect excuse to kiss him. But he didn't. How rude.
Victor straightened up. "I have stimulated the narcoleptic reflex in their brains, but they are not actually asleep. That would require brainwave alterations to delta states, which are controlled by more complex sections of the medulla oblongata. In the meanwhile, they can hear us, so we should not discuss anything in front of them we do not want the enemy to know."
I said, "The gods erase the memories of people who learn about them; it just happened to a guy who helped me. Funny guy, real nice to me. Thelxiepia told me gods kill people who find out too much."
Victor nodded, looking entirely unsurprised by this news, and said to the sleeping policemen: "Your planet is being secretly controlled by a group of entities who need or enjoy the admiration and worship of human beings. They control a highly advanced technology which can affect thought processes. If you reveal what you have overheard to anyone, you run the risk of being destroyed by them. Nevertheless, you may wish to take that risk in order to organize a resistance to them, if you find that their rulership is unacceptable to you."
To me, Victor said, "Let us go back before more people come. These officers were sent for you."
I said, "Back?"
Fugitives of Chaos Page 20
