A Farce To Be Reckoned With

by Roger Zelazny

  Morning found him above Switzerland, and he pumped for more altitude as the Alps came into sight.

  Next came the familiar Great St. Bernard Pass; soon after that he was flying over northern Italy. The air was noticeably warmer, even at Azzie's altitude.

  Italy! Azzie loved it here. Italy was his favorite country, and the Renaissance, at which he had just arrived, his favorite time. He considered himself a sort of Renaissance demon. He flew over vineyards and tilled fields, little hills and sparkling rivers.

  Azzie turned toward the east and, adjusting the set of his wings for the heavier air rising off the land, flew until land and sea seemed to interpenetrate in a great marsh that stretched green and gray below him and combined at last with the Adriatic. And here he came to the outskirts of Venice.

  The final yellow rays of the setting sun illuminated the noble old city, glinting off the waters of the canals.

  In the oncoming gloom of evening he could just make out the gondolas, each with a lantern suspended from a pole in its rear, making their way back and forth over the Grand Canal.

  Chapter 4

  Back in York, old Meg the servant was cleaning up the inn when Peter Westfall arrived for his morning pail of ale.

  "Master Peter," Meg said, "did you lose something last night? I found this where you gentlemen were sitting."

  She handed him a little bag made of either deerskin or a very fine chamois. There was something inside.

  "Oh, yes," Westfall said. He fumbled in his purse and found a farthing. "Here, have a pail of beer for your trouble."

  Westfall pulled out a chair and sat down. He untied the silver cord that knotted the throat of the bag, eased in two fingers, and carefully withdrew the smooth yellow stone he found inside. Engraved on it was a sign that could be recognized as the Hebrew letter, aleph.

  Westfall knew it had to be a talisman or charm — an object of power. This was the sort of thing that a master magician would possess. With it, various conjuring powers would be his; he could call one or more spirits out of the deep, depending on how the talisman was tuned. Westfall had always wanted a talisman, for without it, his magic had always been quite ineffectual. He suspected that it had been dropped by the spooky young fellow he had talked with after the Noah play the previous night.

  That gave him momentary pause. He stopped and thought. This, after all, was not his talisman. The owner would be likely to return for something so unusual and valuable. If he did, Westfall would of course return it immediately.

  He started to put the talisman back into its soft case, then stopped. It could do no harm if he played with it until its owner returned. Surely that would be unobjectionable.

  Westfall was all alone in his upper chamber. He turned to the talisman. "All right, let's get to work," he said. "I don't know which magical incantations to use, but if you're a genuine charmed object, a mere indication should be enough. Fetch me a spirit here to do my bidding and be quick about it."

  Before his eyes the little stone talisman seemed to heave and sigh. The black sign on its side changed color, first becoming golden, then deepest red. It began to vibrate as if it had a small but powerful demon inside. A sort of high-pitched hum emanated from it.

  The light in the chamber dimmed as if the talisman were stealing power from the sun. A whorl of dust rose from the floor and began to rotate in a counterclockwise direction. There were deep sounds apparently coming from the air, like unto the bellowing of impossibly large cattle. A cloud of green smoke filled the room, setting Westfall to coughing. While he caught his breath he watched the smoke dispel, revealing a young woman with lustrous black hair and an expression of pert beauty. She was wearing a long full skirt with many pleats, and a red silk blouse with dragons embroidered on it in thread of gold.

  She had on little high-heeled shoes, and a variety of tasteful jewelry. Right now she was very angry indeed.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Ylith demanded. For it was Ylith whom the talisman had captured, probably because Azzie's last thoughts had been of her. The talisman must have picked up the impression.

  "Why, I conjured you," Westfall said. "You are a spirit, and you must do my bidding. Right?" he added hopefully.

  "Wrong," Ylith said. "I am an angel or a witch, not a mere spirit, and I am not bound to your talisman. I suggest that you recalibrate and try again."

  "Oh, sorry," Westfall said, but as he spoke Ylith disappeared. Westfall said to the talisman, "Do be more careful this time. Fetch me the spirit you're supposed to. Do it!"

  The talisman quivered as if it felt bad about being reprimanded. A musical note came from it, and then another. The light in the chamber dimmed again, then returned to full brilliance. There was a puff of smoke, and from it stepped a man wearing a complicated suit of dark satin and a conical hat. From his shoulders flowed a navy blue satin cloak embroidered all over with magical signs in gold thread. The man had a mustache and beard, and he looked entirely out of sorts.

  "I am Peter Westfall," Westfall said. "I have conjured you by the power of this talisman." Westfall held it up.

  The bearded gentleman said, "You conjured me? What are you talking about? Let me see that!" He looked closely at the talisman. "Originally Egyptian, but familiar somehow. Unless I miss my guess this is one of the original series with which King Solomon bound a larger collection of spirits back quite some time ago. I thought all of these had been retired. Where did you get this?"

  "Never mind," Westfall said. "I have it. That's the important thing, and you must obey me."

  "I must, must I? We'll just see about that!" The man suddenly doubled in size and moved threateningly toward Westfall. Westfall seized the talisman and squeezed it; Hermes let out a shriek and stepped back.

  "Take it easy!" he said. "You don't have to get rough."

  "This charm gives me power over you!"

  "Oh, I suppose it does," the other responded. "But damn it, this is ridiculous! I'm a former Greek god and a supreme magician — Hermes Trismegistus, by name."

  "Well, you've come a cropper this time, Hermes," Westfall said.

  "That seems to be the case," Hermes said. "Who are you? Not a magician, that I'm sure of." He looked around. "And no king, because this is certainly no palace. You're some sort of commoner, aren't you?"

  "I am a grain merchant," Westfall said.

  "And how did you come by this amulet?"

  "None of your business."

  "Probably found it in your granny's attic!"

  "It doesn't matter where I got it!" Westfall's fist tightened convulsively over the amulet.

  "Take it easy!" Hermes said, wincing. "All right, that's better." Hermes took a deep breath and performed a small incantation to calm himself down. This was no time for rage, no matter how justified. This stupid mortal did indeed have power over him because of this ancient amulet. How had he gotten it? The fellow must have stolen it, because he obviously knew little or nothing about the Art.

  "Master Westfall," Hermes said, "I acknowledge your power over me. I do indeed have to obey you.

  Tell me what it is you want, and let us waste no further time."

  "That's more like it," Westfall said. "First I want a sack of gold coins, fine minted and capable of being spent where and how I please. English, Spanish, or French coins will do nicely, but no Italian ones—they always clip the edges. I also want an Old English sheepdog, a pedigreed one like the King has. That'll do for a start, but I'll have more requests after that."

  "As many as I want!" Westfall cried. "Because I've got the amulet!" He flourished it, and Hermes winced with pain.

  "Not so hard! I'll get your stuff! Give me a day or two!" And so saying, Hermes disappeared.

  Hermes had no difficulty putting together the items Westfall wanted. He kept bags and bags of gold coin in a cave under the Rhine, in the care of dwarfs who had been out of work since Gotterdammerung. The Old English sheepdog was no great trouble, either — Hermes easily kidnapped one from a kennel near Spottiswode. T
hen he returned to Westfall's chamber in York.

  Chapter 5

  Good dog. Now go lie in the corner," Westfall said. The half-grown Old English sheepdog looked at him and barked.

  "He's not very well trained," Westfall said.

  "Hey, you didn't say anything about him being trained," Hermes replied. "He's got a pedigree as long as your arm."

  "He's a good-looking dog," Westfall acknowledged, "and the gold pieces are satisfactory." He had a mess of them in a small stout leather bag at his feet.

  "I'm glad you're satisfied," Hermes said. "Now if you will just tell this amulet that you release me and that I am no longer in your power, we can each of us get on with our own business."

  "Not so fast!" Westfall said. "I still have a number of wishes I want you to grant."

  "But I'm busy!" Hermes complained.

  "You must be patient. I'll need you around for a while longer, my dear Trismegistus, and if you do what I ask, after that I'll consider releasing you."

  "That's not fair!" Hermes said. "I'm willing to grant you a wish or two out of respect for your ill-gotten talisman, but you're taking advantage of the situation."

  "Magic is there to take advantage of people with," Westfall said.

  "Don't press your luck," Hermes said. "You don't know what you're playing around with here."

  "Enough of this talk," Westfall said. "Listen carefully, Hermes. Earlier, before I conjured you, the talisman gave me somebody else. A woman. A very beautiful woman. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

  Hermes Trismegistus closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he opened his eyes again.

  "My sense of postcognition tells me you conjured up one of God's angels, a former witch named Ylith."

  "How did you know that?" Westfall asked.

  "Second sight is one of my attributes," Hermes said. "If you'll release me, I'll teach you the way of it."

  "Never mind. What I want is for you to bring that lady —Ylith, you called her? I want you to bring her to me."

  "I don't care if she wants to or not," Westfall said. "The sight of her has inflamed my imagination. I want her."

  "Ylith is going to love this," Hermes remarked aside. He knew she was a strong-minded lady who had been fighting for feminine spiritual equality in the cosmos long before the concept was even conceived of on Earth.

  "She will have to get used to me," Westfall said. "I intend to possess that lady in all the ways a man may possess a maid."

  "I can't make her agree to that," Hermes said. "There's a limit to my powers; they stop at having any influence over the feminine psyche."

  "You don't have to make her agree to anything," Westfall said. "I'll do that myself. You merely have to put her in my power."

  Hermes thought for a while, then said, "Westfall, I have to be frank with you. Possession of magic has overborne your good sense. This thing with Ylith is not a good idea. You're meddling with something here you don't want to get anywhere near."

  "Be silent! Do as I say!" His eyes were wide and shining.

  "Have it your own way," Hermes said, and he conjured himself out of there, marveling at the unerring way humans had of getting themselves into trouble. And he was beginning to see the glimmering of a plan that might bring benefit to himself and the other Olympians who were now cooped up in the unreal world known as Afterglow. But first he was going to have to procure Ylith for Westfall, and that might prove more than a little difficult.

  Chapter 6

  Hermes took himself to one of his favorite places, an old shrine on the Aegean island of Delos that had been dedicated to his worship for some thousands of years. Here he sat down and, looking over the wine-dark sea, considered his situation.

  Although he was one of the original twelve Olympians, Hermes hadn't suffered the fate of the other gods when the entire Greek thing collapsed shortly after the death of Alexander the Great and the birth of superstitious rationalism in Byzantium. The other gods hadn't been able to fit into the new world that came into being with Hellenistic times, and when the new religion came along, they hadn't stood a chance.

  Their worshipers all abandoned them; they were declared not to exist, and were forced to lead a shadowy existence in the realm called Afterglow. Afterglow was a dreary place, almost exactly like the ancient Greek underworld. Hermes was glad he didn't have to live there.

  Hermes was held over from the ancient Greek world because of his long association with magic. From early times he had been active in the conjuring arts, and a body of lore had sprung up that was attributed to his inspiration. The Corpus Hermeticum, ascribed to Cornelius Agrippa and others, had become the soul of Renaissance magic; Hermes was its presiding deity.

  He had proven useful to mankind in other ways, too.

  He was basically a friendly god, more approachable than most. Over the years he had entered into discussions with many human magicians, all of whom had conjured him with respect. But this was the first time anyone had ever conjured him by force, causing him to obey whether he wanted to or not. He didn't like it. Trouble was, he didn't know quite what to do about it.

  He was brooding over this, sitting under a great oak tree and looking out to sea, when he heard a soft, whispering sound. He listened more carefully. A voice was saying to him, "My boy, what seems to be the trouble?"

  Hermes said, "Zeus, is that you?"

  "Yes, it's me," Zeus said, "but only as a ghostly essence. The real me is in Afterglow, where all the rest of us were banished. All except you, of course."

  "It wasn't my fault they carried me over as Hermes Trismegistus," Hermes said.

  "No one is blaming you, my son. Just stating a fact."

  "I don't understand how you can be here at all," Hermes said. "Even as a ghostly essence."

  "I have a special dispensation. I can manifest my essence wherever oak trees flourish, and that's not bad, given the circumstances I'm in nowadays and the prevalence of oaks. Something seems to be troubling you. What is it, Hermes? You can tell your old dad."

  Hermes hesitated. He didn't trust Zeus. None of the Olympians did. They remembered what he had done to Cronus, his father — castrated the poor old bugger and thrown his parts into the sea. They knew that Zeus feared the same fate, and so they tended to make sure no one was in a position to do that to him.

  Even the thought of it made him touchy, and if he was treacherous and inconstant, it was because he thought that was the safest way to keep his cojones. Hermes knew all this, but he also knew that Zeus was a good person to talk to. "Father Zeus, a human has gotten control of me."

  "Indeed? How could that have happened?"

  "Remember those seals that King Solomon bound some of the fellows with? Well, they haven't all been retired."

  Hermes told him the story, adding at the end, "So what can I do?"

  Zeus rustled his leaves and said, "This human pretty well has you right now. Play along, but watch what goes on. When something happens that you can use, then you must act immediately and drastically."

  "I know all this," Hermes said. "Why are you stating the obvious?"

  "Because I know your scruples, my son. You've gone along with these new people and their complicated ideas about the old gods. You've been taken in by their big talk. You think it's all very profound, this magic stuff of theirs. Well, let me just tell you, it's all a matter of power, that's all magic is, and power is nine tenths a matter of trickery."

  "All right, enough already," Hermes said. "How am I supposed to get hold of this witch woman for Westfall?"

  "Of course, a spirit catcher! What will I do with it?"

  "You're the great magician. Figure it out for yourself."

  Some time later, Hermes appeared in the graveyard in York, disguised as an eccentric old gentleman.

  Under his arm was a parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He walked up to Ylith and said in an altered voice, "Miss Ylith? Your friend asked that I give you this."

  "Azzie left a present for me?" Ylith said.
"How nice!" She stripped away the wrapping and opened the box without thinking. In the lid was a mirror, a sparkly, hazy, multicolored mirror of a type she remembered seeing in Babylonia and in Egypt, a magic mirror, a soul catcher, damn it, someone had pulled that old trick on her! Quickly she averted her eyes, but it was too late; her soul, flying out of her mouth at that instant like a tiny transparent butterfly, was caught by the mirror and pulled in, and in that moment Ylith's body collapsed. Hermes caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. Then he closed the cover of the box with a decisive snap. When he had Pandora's box safely secured with a woven golden cord, he gave a pair of lunching workmen a coin to pick up the body and transport it across town to Westfall's chambers. "Careful, there! Don't damage it!" The workmen seemed a bit puzzled and not at all sure they were doing the right thing until Hermes told them he was a doctor who could revive the unfortunate lady, who obviously had suffered a shock brought about by baleful zodiacal influences.

  Hearing so plausible and scientific an explanation, none of the workmen inquired any further. After all, they were just following doctor's orders.

  Chapter 7

  Westfall wondered what was taking Hermes so long, but he decided it might not be so easy a matter to take a woman away from the world, just like that. He wondered at himself; it wasn't his usual way of doing things. Had some supernatural creature established an influence over him and indicated to him by subtle means that he should ask for the woman? He wasn't sure, but he sensed the operation here of something abnormal, something beyond the laws of magic, something that worked in its own way and revealed itself or not as it saw fit.

  The long afternoon passed; Westfall found a bit of cheese in his pantry, and a heel of bread. He moistened the bread with some of last night's soup, heated over a little stove he kept in a corner. A draft of wine washed it down, and then he dozed in his armchair. It was a peaceful time until a sound as of the air splitting apart came to his ears. He sprang to his feet, crying, "Have you brought the woman?"