The Dark Lady

by Mike Resnick

  The only course open to me in my situation is ritual suicide, and yet that is the one act explicitly denied me by your insistence that I fulfill the contract between the House of Crsthionn and the Claiborne Galleries. Thus, cast out and isolated from all that I hold dear, I must make my way alone among this almost incomprehensible race in whose company I have been thrust.

  Strangest of all is the Dark Lady. In a universe that seems progressively less logical to me, she is the least logical facet of all. I call her human, but in truth she is neither human nor non-human, neither real nor ethereal, neither presence nor manifestation. She is of this time, and yet she lived eight millennia ago. Nor is she a reincarnation, for reincarnations are born and live and die; they do not vanish from an enclosed environment in the vacuum of space.

  I have seen her, have met and spoken to her, and still my questions about her continue to mount: Why does she appear when and where she does? What is she? Who is she? What made her beckon her lover to his death? What was her connection to an obscure botanist who lived on distant Earth six thousand years ago? Why do men believe that she haunts a spacemen's graveyard on Peloran VII? What was her relationship to a circus performer who was crippled in a fall from a trapeze three centuries ago?

  And what am I to say when Reuben Venzia discovers that I have returned from my mission and offers to exchange information about the Dark Lady with me? If I tell him the truth, he will assume that I am lying; if I do not tell him the truth, I will actually be lying. In either case, I will dishonor the House of Crsthionn. And if I refuse to speak to him after Tai Chong has ordered me to, I will still bring dishonor to the House.

  I require ethical guidance, and yet I am forbidden to speak to you, so I shall have to depend upon Tai Chong, who accepts stolen paintings and reveals confidences, to supply me with it. With all contact with my own race forbidden to me, she is the only female I know other than the Dark Lady, and I do not know where to find the Dark Lady. Therefore, Tai Chong will have to serve the function of my Pattern Mother until I fulfill my obligation to the Claiborne Galleries and perform the ritual.

  Please believe that I am sorry for the pain I have caused. I truly never intended to

  A burst of cold air swept over me, and as I put my stylus down, Heath reentered the room. He stamped his feet until most of the snow had fallen off them, then removed his gloves and blew heavily onto his hands.

  “It's really starting to come down,” he announced, walking over to me. “I think I'll enjoy the rest of my day's supply of majesty and grandeur through the window, with a drink in my hand.” His gaze fell on the letter I had been writing. “May I?”

  “If you wish,” I said.

  He picked up the letter and stared at it. “What the hell is this? I can't read a word of it.”

  “It is a letter to my Pattern Mother.”

  “That's the strangest script I've ever seen,” he said. “It looks more like a graphics design.”

  “I have written to her in the Bjornn language, in the Dialect of Regret.”

  He handed it back to me. “I thought you'd done another drawing of the Dark Lady.”

  “I am not a good enough artist,” I said. “Perhaps someday in the future I will be able to create a rendering worthy of its subject.”

  “Of course, to do that, you'd probably have to have another look at her, wouldn't you?” asked Heath thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps,” I agreed. “Although her face was quite memorable. When I close my eyes and remember, I can still see its every detail.”

  “So can I,” acknowledged Heath. “But memory can be deceptive. I think you'd be better able to create your portrait if you saw her again.”

  “Friend Valentine,” I said wearily, “I will not help you to steal Malcolm Abercrombie's art collection.”

  “Have I suggested it?” he asked innocently.

  “Many times.”

  “You're a very distrusting fellow, Leonardo.”

  At that instant there was a series of three high-pitched mechanical whines.

  “What was that?” I asked, startled.

  Heath frowned. “The security system. Someone's approaching the front door.”

  “Who can it be?”

  “Who knows?” said Heath. “I ordered some supplies for the kitchen, but I can't imagine they'd be making deliveries in this weather.”

  “We are totally isolated here,” I said. “What if it is a thief?”

  Heath chuckled. “Then we'll invite him in and swap stories.”

  “Should you not have a weapon at the ready?” I suggested.

  “I thought you were the one who abhorred violence,” he said, amused.

  As I paled to the Hue of Humiliation, I was grateful that my Pattern Mother could not see me, and I realized that her decision was the proper one: I had indeed become contaminated beyond any possibility of exculpation.

  “You are quite right, Friend Valentine,” I said, stammering in my embarrassment. “It was an immoral suggestion, and I apologize for making it.”

  “I'll forgive you for making it,” he said, pulling a small hand weapon out of his coat pocket, “if you'll forgive me for accepting it.”

  “You never told me that you owned a weapon,” I said.

  “You never asked me,” he replied with a smile. “And if it will make you feel any better, I've never fired it. I don't even know if it works.”

  Two chimes sounded.

  “Well, at least he isn't trying to gain entrance surreptitiously,” commented Heath. “Open.”

  The door slid into a wall, and Reuben Venzia, covered with snow, his mustache a sheet of frost, entered the room.

  “You,” he said, staring directly at me, “are one goddamned difficult alien to find!”

  14.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded Heath.

  “Don't worry, Mr. Heath,” said Venzia. “I haven't told anyone else where you are.”

  Suddenly he was looking down the barrel of Heath's weapon.

  “Nobody on Graustark knows my real name,” said Heath. “I think you'd better tell me who you are and how you found me.”

  “I'm Reuben Venzia, Tai Chong told me where to find you, and I'm freezing my ass off. If you're not going to shoot me, let me get in out of the cold.”

  “This is the man you've told me about?” asked Heath.

  “Yes, Friend Valentine.”

  “All right,” said Heath, lowering his weapon. “You can come in.”

  Venzia entered the room, and as the door slid shut behind him he tossed his outer garments onto a nearby chair, cupped his hands in front of his face, and blew onto them.

  “I've got a package for you from Tai Chong,” he said to me, “but it's out in the snowcart. I'll get it for you when the weather lets up.”

  “You can't get a snowcart up this mountain,” said Heath, suddenly suspicious again.

  “I know,” responded Venzia. “I left it about a mile and a half down the road.”

  “Why did you ride one at all?” asked Heath. “The village is only two miles away.”

  “Because no one told me what the approach to this damned place was like!” snapped Venzia. “Have you got anything hot to drink?”

  “Just coffee,” replied Heath.

  “Can you put a shot of rum in it?”

  “I might, if you'll tell me what you're doing here.”

  “Looking for Leonardo,” said Venzia.

  “He, too, is interested in the Dark Lady,” I explained to Heath.

  “So you've discovered her name,” said Venzia.

  “If that is her name,” replied Heath before I could answer.

  “It's one of them, anyway,” said Venzia. “What about my coffee?”

  Heath walked to the nearby kitchen area, poured a cup, and added a shot of liquor to it. “You're not exactly the most gracious guest I've ever had, Mr. Venzia.”

  “I'm freezing to death five thousand light-years from home,” shot back Venzia. “Let me warm up and get
my breath back and I'll find my manners again.”

  “Fair enough,” said Heath, handing him the coffee. “In the meantime, perhaps you might tell us exactly why you're five thousand light-years from home.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” asked Venzia, walking over to a large, tufted chair.

  “Certainly not,” replied Heath. “I'd be gravely disappointed if your explanation for all this privation you've undergone was so brief that you could tell it to us while you were standing.”

  “I wish Tai Chong had told me how goddamned cold it was here before I left,” muttered Venzia with a shudder. He took a sip of his coffee, and warmed his hands on the cup.

  “Are you feeling any better now?” asked Heath after a brief interval.

  Venzia nodded. “I'll be all right in another minute.”

  “At which time I expect you to tell us exactly what you're doing here,” said Heath.

  “I'm here to see Leonardo,” replied Venzia. “I have to speak to him alone.”

  “Nobody keeps secrets from me in my own house,” said Heath adamantly. “Whatever you have to say can be said to both of us.”

  “Who are you?” asked Venzia suspiciously.

  “Valentine Heath, as you well know.”

  “But who is Valentine Heath?” continued Venzia. “All I know is your name and the fact that you don't want anyone to know you're on Graustark. Why should I be willing to say anything in front of you?”

  “Because I am a man of many talents, as well as a myriad of far-ranging interests, not the least of which is the Dark Lady.”

  “What do you have to do with the Dark Lady?” asked Venzia, eyeing him curiously.

  “My interest in her is purely financial,” responded Heath.

  Venzia looked surprised. “Financial?” he repeated. “How the hell can it be financial?”

  Heath smiled. “You asked a question. I answered it. Now I think it's my turn. What is your interest in the Dark Lady?”

  “That's for Leonardo's ears alone,” said Venzia.

  “I must remind you once more that you are a guest in my house,” said Heath, “and an uninvited one at that. If you continue to abuse my hospitality, I may have to turn you back out into the cold.”

  Venzia seemed to be weighing his alternatives. Finally he nodded his assent.

  “A wise decision,” commented Heath. “I think I'll fix myself a drink before we begin.”

  “I'll have one too,” said Venzia.

  “You're not through with your coffee yet.”

  “I will be before you're done,” answered Venzia, taking a large swallow and placing the near-empty cup down on a table.

  Heath shrugged. “As you wish.” He pulled out two glasses and began mixing a blue-tinted concoction. “You still haven't answered my question, Mr. Venzia. What is your interest in the Dark Lady?”

  “Simply stated, I want to meet her,” said Venzia.

  “State it in a more complex way, if you please,” said Heath.

  “I've got to speak to her,” replied Venzia. “She possesses certain information that I must have.”

  “What information?” asked Heath.

  “You asked a question, I answered it,” said Venzia stubbornly. “Now it's your turn.”

  Heath finished mixing the drinks, handed one to Venzia, and took his seat again.

  “We could go on all night without accomplishing anything if we continue like this,” he said. “Therefore, I'm going to be perfectly frank with you, and I will expect you to respond in kind.”

  “Fair enough,” agreed Venzia.

  Heath took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward. “I am, due to circumstances totally beyond my control, a professional opportunist.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” demanded Venzia.

  “It means that I take advantage of opportunities wherever I chance to find them. Leonardo considers me a thief, but that is a very limiting definition.”

  “Are you saying you're not a thief?” asked Venzia, confused.

  “I most certainly am a thief, among other things,” replied Heath. “I rank among the very finest, I assure you. In fact, Leonardo and I are currently considering the most practical means of separating Malcolm Abercrombie from his collection.”

  “That is not true!” I interjected.

  “Are you indeed?” asked Venzia, ignoring my statement.

  Heath nodded. “I realize that Abercrombie has no items of any significant value, but nonetheless... ”

  “Oh, I wouldn't say that,” replied Venzia. “He's got a Skarlos, a Perkins, and three or four Ngonis, a Santini... ”

  “Does he really?” said Heath with an innocent smile. “I must have been misinformed.”

  “Get to the point,” said Venzia.

  “The point, Mr. Venzia, is that I am aware of Mr. Abercrombie's obsession with the Dark Lady. It is my intention to deliver her to him, in exchange for certain financial considerations yet to be negotiated.”

  “Lots of luck,” said Venzia.

  “You don't think Abercrombie will pay for her company?” asked Heath.

  “Getting him to pay should be easy. Finding her is the tricky part.”

  “We found her once. I'm sure we can do it again.”

  Venzia practically jumped out of his chair. “You've actually seen her? In the flesh?”

  Heath nodded. “We had her aboard my ship.”

  “Where is she now?” demanded Venzia intently.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where did she disembark?”

  “You're going to have a difficult time believing this,” said Heath, “but she simply vanished while we were enroute from Acheron to Far London.”

  Venzia slumped back, dejected. “Then I've missed her again.”

  “You believe me?” asked Heath, surprised.

  “Why shouldn't I?” responded Venzia glumly. “Were you lying?”

  “No,” said Heath. “But if Leonardo hadn't been along, I wouldn't believe me.”

  Venzia was silent for a long moment. Then he finished his drink in a single gulp.

  “Shit!” he muttered.

  “You're not surprised that she was able to teleport herself off the ship,” said Heath, his face alive with interest. “Why?”

  “Nothing that she can do would surprise me,” said Venzia.

  “I've told you what you wanted to know, Mr. Venzia,” said Heath. “Now it's your turn.”

  Venzia stared searchingly into each of our faces in turn, then sighed again and nodded his head.

  “All right,” he assented. “Our interests don't coincide.”

  “I want her, you want her,” said Heath. “I'd say they were the same.”

  “All I want to do is speak with her,” said Venzia. “You want to kidnap her and sell her to Abercrombie.”

  “I just want to introduce her to him,” Heath corrected him. “I am not, after all, a practitioner of white slavery.”

  “Define it any way you like. It makes no difference.” Venzia allowed himself the luxury of a tiny smile. “If I were a betting man, Mr. Heath, I would wager everything I owned that you'll never get the two of them together unless she wants to meet him. You still don't have any idea of what you're dealing with.”

  “What am I dealing with?”

  “If I told you outright, you wouldn't believe me.”

  “Perhaps not, but why don't you tell me and let me make up my own mind?”

  Venzia shook his head. “No. For it to make any sense, I'd better begin at the beginning.” He took a deep breath, and then continued. “Six years ago I had some business to transact on Pyrex III. Have either of you ever heard of it?”

  “Never,” said Heath.

  “Yes,” I said. “There was a major insurrection there against the Oligarchy.”

  “Right,” said Venzia. “It wasn't the native population: I don't think to this day that the Kaarn even understand what the Oligarchy is, or would give a damn if they knew. All they want to do is s
it in the sun and create those ridiculous eleven-syllable poems of theirs. But the human colonists were another matter: They thought the Oligarchy was exacting too high a tax on their trade, and they finally declared independence.”

  “What does all this have to do with the Dark Lady?” asked Heath.

  “I'm coming to that,” replied Venzia. “I happened to be on Pyrex III when they revolted. There was no way they were ever going to win— the Navy arrived three days later and decimated them— but it was pretty bloody while it lasted. Like most of the other off-worlders, I claimed asylum in one of the embassies and decided to wait it out.” His facial muscles began twitching at the memory. “I was in the Sirius V embassy when a bomb hit it. I could feel the structure starting to go, but I thought I had time to help a rescue team move a couple of wounded people out through a window. We'd gotten the first one out, and were just moving the second when the building collapsed and I was buried under a couple of tons of rubble.” He paused briefly as he recalled the incident. “I don't know how long I remained unconscious. I remember waking up and trying to dig my way out, and realizing that both of my arms were broken. I could barely breathe, and I began choking on my own blood. I could hear rescue workers calling my name as they dug through the ruins, but I was too weak to answer them. Finally there came a point when I knew I had breathed my last breath and would be dead in another second.” He paused again, staring off into space as he must have stared into the darkness on that long-gone day. “And then I saw her.”

  “Her?” repeated Heath. “You mean the Dark Lady?”

  Venzia nodded. “She was standing there, her arms reaching out, beckoning to me. I tried to get up, but I couldn't move.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Heath.

  “I woke up in the hospital,” said Venzia, his face still a mask of conflicting emotions. “They must have reached me a minute or two later. They tell me that I wasn't breathing, but that I still had a pulse, and that the paramedics got me going again. I don't remember any of it. All I remember is the Dark Lady, reaching out her hands to me, calling me to join her.”