The Fanciers & Realizers MEGAPACK

by Phyllis Ann Karr

  “She didn’t growl at you this morning.”

  “I took good care to keep at a comfortable distance this morning.”

  Angela chuckled. “Maybe M. Flier and Miz Ming are in love and trying to cover it up.”

  “If so, they are succeeding to admiration. There remain an abnormal number of immediate antipathies for a group of chance-met strangers.”

  “And you’re afraid it’s a bad omen, and you’re worrying yourself about having brought us into it. Oh, Poe! Dr. Junge and Belladonna were only sparring a bit for the fun of it. They’re both wargaming types. And Mother Frances and Wintersong are only warming up to dialog. You’ll see—they’ll shorten the whole flight by arguing about religion and end up the best of friends. In fact…do you suppose they could be the plants? Those employees NTC puts aboard to keep the rest of us entertained?”

  “I devoutly hope not! I should feel tender about accepting the sacraments from any cleric who would put the Faith to the purposes of a floor show. No, considering the grand entrance made by M. Belladonna the Ribald, I call her a more likely candidate for one of our hired entertainers.”

  “Well, then, Dr. Junge must be the other one! So you see, it’s all right. Dr. Junge and Belladonna will entertain everybody else, and leave us plenty of time to entertain each other.”

  * * * *

  Ariella Rampal Celeste, the Musician of the Spheres, had moved to a couch at the larboard windowall, where she sat in the lotus position. From time to time, as Cygnus gently yawed and veered in its course, sunlight slanted into the lounge, and even though the steelglass filtered out much nourishment, the chlorophyll in Ariella’s veins tingled with the warmth.

  The officials who gave perception tests told her that her vegeton nature was only her fantasy. They said that vegetons really were born of humans like everyone else, not found in gardens, and that in standard reality her blood was red, not green. She nodded and pretended to accept their words. It was simpler than arguing, and what they perceived was unimportant as long as they let her live according to her own perceptions.

  Presently she would return to the cloudship’s promenade deck, where she could enjoy a stronger infusion of sunlight. For now, she indulged tranquil interest in the human companions who bustled around the gold-green lounge.

  The captain, the grafin, and the loud adventuress had returned from the cloud’s upper interior, bringing with them a loud adventurer whose leg leaked crimson blood. They summoned Dr. Caduceus to bandage it. Dr. Caduceus held an ambiguous place. She would take her sleep in the crew’s quarters but her meals with the passengers. Ariella enjoyed traveling in airships, and it always amused her to observe the curious branchings of human hierarchies, in the air as on the earth.

  “That’s right,” said Belladonna, who had the name but not the tranquility of a plant. “Patch him up and then you can lower him to the ground on a good, long rope. Or pitch him overboard and see if he bounces.”

  “Alas! Fair, cruel maid,” said the adventurer. “I’d e’en hoped that thou might’st share thy quarters with me.”

  “You’re a stowaway, Tolliver,” said Captain Denne. “You can count yourself lucky if I decide against clapping you in irons.”

  The man who lived in Oz looked surprised. “You’ve got irons aboard, Cap’n? I thought you were trying to keep the Ozoplane’s weight down.”

  “Irons figuratively speaking, M. Gillikin.”

  Mother Frances suggested, “You can put him aground at New Acropolis when we moor to pick up the M.’s Olympian.”

  “Nay!” cried Tolliver. “Pray soften your hearts, all ye wise philosophers and savants, and let me rest here a while, having come so far to see this very place.”

  “Let him stay,” said Winterset Windsong. “He can share my stateroom.”

  “Or mine,” said M. Gillikin. “He reminds me of Realbad and High Toby, the highway bandits of Oz.”

  Ariella said nothing. M. Tolliver might have had her bed and welcome. She could sleep with equal comfort all night in lotus position in the promenade or the lounge. But her traveling companion the Firebird had gone to nap the morning away and could not be consulted.

  “Thank you, M. Windsong,” said Captain Denne, “but that’s if I decide he can stay. And if I decide it’s safe to let him run around loose.”

  “That dark fellow who looks like the wicked Wizard Wutz,” M. Gillikin persisted. “The new bridegroom. He talked about putting things to votes, didn’t he?”

  “I vote to let M. Tolliver stay,” Winterset Windsong said at once.

  “First,” said Mother Frances, “it is for Captain Denne to declare whether or not this is a matter that we passengers may vote upon.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” Winterset demanded. “It touches our comfort. And nothing else. This man’s certainly not going to murder us all in our sleep.”

  Ariella smiled. How readily images of murder always sprang to human brains and lips, even to those of this Pagan priest, who ought to be more fully aware than most of his kind of the continuous and interconnected cycle of Life. It sometimes seemed as if they, who destroyed plant and animal life so recklessly, considered their own human life somehow outside and above the general chain.

  M. Tolliver said, “You’ll correct me if I’m wrong, gentle folk, but I think there’s a precedent for permitting stowaways to stay aboard your flying islands.”

  “When they aren’t discovered until the ship is over the ocean,” said Captain Denne. Then, untensing a little, “Well, as you say, it concerns passenger comfort more than passenger safety. But it concerns all the passengers, including the three in their staterooms and the two scheduled to board at New Acropolis. I’ll let you vote on it while we’re moored over Ohio. In the final decision, of course, I’ll retain the right to veto, especially if it comes to a slender majority. But I’ll take your voting into account.”

  * * * *

  Corwin was still asleep when the Melon moored at New Acropolis. He didn’t wake even at the ship’s slight tug on its mooring cable, which alerted Angela because any disturbance at all was so unusual.

  She got up, threw on her quilted silk dressing gown, and slid the wall screen open a few centimeters so she could peep out.

  New Acropolis was forty years old, and the M.’s Olympian were its founders. As a child, Angela had read an article about them and their city in Kodak’s Bazaar, the venerable magazine that prided itself on dating from the turn of the century, still being printed on antique presses, and carrying only subject-approved gossip. The article had shown a picture of Juno Olympian laying the right big toe in their just-begun Colossus.

  The Colossus of New Acropolis was finished now, a bronze and steel statue four stories high from big toe to laurel crown, with right arm even higher. The airship mooring post had been incorporated into the torch held by this raised right arm, so that Angela couldn’t get a good view of the statue as a whole, being directly over it. But the Classical buildings radiated out from its feet—the Ohio Parthenon on its artificial hill, the Temple of Zeus, the Grove of the Golden Bough, the Coliseum, Mount Olympus looming at the other end of town ... Every building was supposed to have at least one stone from its antique original, every artificial hill and mountain one boulder or barrowful of dirt from its geographical prototype. The M.’s Olympian must have approved the rumor only on condition that they didn’t have to say whether it was true, because didn’t Greece and Italy have very strict laws about national historical treasures? Besides, Corwin had been saying, ever since their Classical studies in middle college, that he suspected some of the New Acropolis groves and buildings came out of the M. Olympians’ fancy rather than out of historical or even mythical fact.

  Down on the statue’s head, safe within the fencelike crown of bronze laurel leaves, a man in blue tunic and trousers was helping one of the Olympians into a large basket that gleamed like gold in the midday s
unlight. Four thick blue and silver cords rose from its sides, slackly at first, but as Angela watched they went taut and the basket started lifting.

  She hesitated, then gave Corwin a kiss on the forehead. When he still failed to wake, she reclosed the wall screen and dressed quickly in the artificial twilight.

  She just missed being in time. As she began to open the stateroom door, she saw the M.’s Olympian sweeping in from the promenade deck. She held the door ajar, peeking out prudently as the three of them—Juno, Jove, and the blue-suited man who must be the ship’s steward—paused at the stateroom opposite.

  “Here is the VIP Suite, your divine worships,” said the man in the blue suit.

  “I trust it will prove adequate to Our Divine Worships’ comfort,” said Jove Olympian.

  “They have marked the door with a gold thunderbolt and an enameled peacock, my dear,” said Juno. “That does not promise too ill.”

  “Your worships will find chilled ambrosia and nectar on ice,” their escort assured them, “whenever you should care to retire. For the present, if you would deign to step on into the lounge and permit your fellow passengers to pay you their homage? I have been informed by our miserable mortal radiophone that we have a minor judicial problem aboard. It might amuse your worships to preside over the decision.”

  “It will amuse Our Divine Worships to make the decision,” Jove replied, and the Olympians swept on, arm in arm, filling the corridor, with the steward in their wake.

  Angela smiled and slipped out after him, reclosing the Honeymoon Suite door very softly. She saw the M.’s Olympian as a pair of pleasantly pudgy old people with pink skin and white hair, dressed in classical draperies and lots of gold and pearl jewelry. Jove wore a flaming red toga over his ankle-length white tunic, and Juno a verdant green one over hers. Both of them had gold laurel-leaf crowns on their heads. They delighted Angela.

  The Olympians moved two steps into the lounge and stopped, as though posing in the little archway. The steward had barely enough room to sidle respectfully past them and begin introductions. Rather than risk bumping them, Angela hung back. They hadn’t noticed her yet.

  The man in blue announced Their Divinities Juno and Jove Olympian. Captain Denne extended them an official welcome aboard. Miz Ming presented herself to the new arrivals and introduced the blue-suited man, M. Andrew Stewart, to the company in general. As before, all the others introduced themselves: Vasilisa Petrovka the Firebird, Ariella Rampal Celeste the Musician of the Spheres, Belladonna the Ribald, and Ozzie Gillikin. Dr. Junge’s voice sounded faintly amused, but polite. There was also a Dr. Cecily Caduceus, who must be the Melon’s medical officer. Angela couldn’t see her, or very much of the lounge at all, because of the M.’s Olympian blocking her view.

  When the turn came to Mother Frances, she stated her name and then said, “I must warn you, M.’s Olympian, I am a priest of the rival creed. I am also a reality perceiver.”

  “As a reality perceiver, M. Francis Jackson,” Jove replied, “you must recognize the respect which is due money. Therefore, I may graciously refrain from blasting you with one of My thunderbolts.”

  “The rest of us would take your forbearance as a favor, Lord Jove,” said the Pagan priest. “If firing a gun inside a zeppelin might be dangerous, think what damage a loose thunderbolt could do!”

  “And who are you, young mortal?” Juno asked.

  “My name is Winterset Lone-Eagle Windsong, my creed is all-embracing,” he answered diplomatically. Angela could picture him bowing.

  “And I,” said a new voice, “am Master Jeremy Tolliver, prince of high tobymen, casting myself upon your divine worships’ mercy.”

  Jove remarked, “So you are the judicial problem awaiting Our august attention. A thief.”

  “A stowaway,” said Captain Denne. “What we have to decide before we can cast off from New Acropolis is whether to put him aground or let him finish the trip with us.”

  Jove lifted his right hand, palm out and three fingers up. “Let him continue the trip. I want no highway robbers running loose in Our city during Our own absence.”

  Jeremy Tolliver said gracefully, “Your own Mercury, my lord, is patron god of thieves, is he not?”

  “And for that reason cannot be trusted to protect Our honest worshippers from his own protegees when the Father of Gods is not on hand to curb them all,” Jove responded. “Keep this man aboard under Our noses.”

  “With all respect, M. Olympian,” Captain Denne told him, “you can preside, but all the passengers must have an equal vote in the matter.”

  “Our Divinities’ two votes will of course outweigh everyone else’s combined,” said Juno.

  “Sorry, your worship,” the captain replied respectfully-but-firmly. “No Universal Adjusted Suffrage aboard this ship. When we ballot at all, it’s strictly one person, one vote.”

  Jove took a quick step forward, but at that moment Juno finally glanced around and saw Angela.

  “Look, my dear,” said Juno, tugging Jove’s arm.

  He turned and looked at Angela. She smiled and salaamed.

  “Hebe!” Jove exclaimed, smiling back.

  “Angela Garvey Garvey, your worship.” Who was Hebe? Corwin would probably remember. Angela hoped that Hebe wasn’t one of all those women Jove made love to in showers of gold and so on.

  Miz Ming came forward. “No, your divine worship, I am your cupbearer Hebe.”

  “And Ganymede, My cupbearer?” said Juno. “Not M. Stewart, I trust! He would make a passable Neptune or Pluto, but hardly a Ganymede.”

  “Maybe M. Garson will please your divine worship better,” Miz Ming suggested. “He is to be your waiter. You will meet him at luncheon. For now, if you would deign to come and find your thrones ...”

  They moved on into the lounge and took their seats on the central divan. Angela settled down in a chair on the larboard side, between Ozzie and Mother Frances.

  “Very well,” said Jove. “Let the casting of votes begin. I throw in My white rock. Keep him aboard.”

  “Yes, let him remain,” said Juno. “He may amuse Us.”

  “Ground him,” said Belladonna. Jove frowned at her.

  “Let him stay,” said Ozzie.

  “Oh, yes, why not?” said Angela. “We have enough room and plenty of provisions, don’t we?”

  “I vote no,” said Mother Frances. “Not unless he pays for his passage now.”

  “Alas, good Mother, at present I find myself a trifle out of pocket,” said Jeremy, whom Angela saw as very dashing if slightly threadbare. “But if it pleases you, I’ll steal the passage money. Or e’en, if needs must, work my way.”

  “I vote with Mother Frances,” said the Firebird. “No.”

  “And I cast in a white stone,” said Winterset. “Yes.”

  “I vote Nay,” said Dr. Junge, and her dog gave a single yap that sounded like another “Nay” vote.

  Jove frowned again. “They who vote against Us risk Our grave displeasure.”

  “I do not change my vote,” Dr. Junge replied calmly.

  Jeremy put in, “I vote to stay aboard.”

  “In this case, M. Tolliver,” said the captain, “you have no vote. Well, it stands at five Ayes to four Nays, with two votes still not in.”

  “Why do you look at me?” said Ariella Celeste. “It makes no difference to me at all. I wish to abstain.”

  “Still five to four, then,” said the captain. “Where’s M. Poe?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll let me be his proxy,” said Angela.

  Captain Denne shook her head. “Sorry, M. Garvey, I’ll have to hear your husband’s vote from his own mouth. Where is he?”

  Jove frowned more deeply than ever. “Do We understand that there is a puny mortal aboard who dares to absent himself from Our court with neither permission nor pretext?”

  �
��No, here he is now!” cried Angela, jumping up. Corwin had just appeared, fully clothed, in the arched doorway to the lounge.

  “I humble myself on bended knees,” he remarked, though without making the least move to kneel, “and most abjectly beg that Your Divine Majesties will pardon me and lay the blame on your mischievous demigod Morpheus. Upon what momentous issue are we casting our votes?”

  “It’s a stowaway,” Angela explained. “M. Jeremy Tolliver, an old English highwayman, I think. We’re voting whether or not to let him stay aboard. I voted yes, for the excitement.”

  Corwin gazed around until he spotted the newcomer. “Ah, yes, a high tobyman. Which fuddles me a bit, M. Tolliver. How can you explain an airship in your particular world?”

  “Why, sir, ’tis none other than the Flying Island of Laputa! And you, I take it, can be no one else save one of her famous absent-minded savants.”

  “Of course. The Travels of Lemuel Gulliver. I ought to have guessed. Well,” Corwin went on, with a look at the Olympians, “having had the misfortune to anger mighty Jove and gracious Juno, I think I’d best make what amends I can offer by casting my vote with theirs.”

  “Six to four.” Captain Denne seemed to smother a sigh. “All right, I’ll let him stay aboard. He can bunk with M. Gillikin or M. Windsong, and work for M. Lightouch in the galley to defray his passage expenses.”

  “It is well for this airship and for all mortals aboard,” said Jove, “that the decision went according to Our Divine Will.”

  Jeremy Tolliver stood and swept bows to every part of the lounge, beginning with the Olympians’ couch. “My undying thanks to ye all, divinities, wise savants, and fellow travelers! And may my humble endeavours prove to be of the greatest mutual satisfaction to everyone presently aboard this famous Flying Island.”

  Juno seemed to ignore the highwayman completely. She had been staring at Corwin ever since he came in. Now she said, “Ganymede!”