They tried anyway. “Where are you taking us!” Ace demanded as his rubber soles slipped and slid forward. Rough as it was, the floor still felt slick and slimy.
“Wait and see. The suspense is all part of the fun you didn’t pay for.”
He had them about halfway to the tunnel when they heard someone shouting above them. The ceiling muffled it, so the only words they could make out were, “...
admittance in the name of the—” and then there was a big clank and the chute poured somebody else down into the tub of feathers.
The guy who had the twins turned back around with them to watch. Another floater in devil costume had sprouted up from somewhere to stand grinning down at the tub. After a few seconds, he reached in and hauled out the new victim, dripping feathers.
“Hey!” said Zoe. “I think it’s Jeff. I know him by the tunic.”
It was a gold tunic with linked blue circles all over it, pretty hard to miss even half covered with feathers. The only other thing Jeff needed was his “Jesus Saves” picket sign. Using his left hand to wipe feathers out of his face, he looked his demon straight in the eye, lifted his right arm, and started to say, “I command you in the name of—”
“Watch your tongue, huh!” the demon cut him off. “None of that kind of language down here.”
The twins’ demon added, “A. Speak when you’re spoken to. B. We give all the commands down here.”
Jeff twisted around to face the twins’ demon, threw both his arms straight out from his sides with the hands palm up, and said quickly: “Then I put us three in the care of the Name you fear!”
“Oh, Sky!” the second demon said, smacking a long red patch over Jeff’s mouth.
The twins’ demon asked glumly, “By ‘us three,’ I guess you meant you and this pair of buzzard droppings?”
Jeff couldn’t talk because of the red patch stuck like tape over his mouth, and he couldn’t use Sign Language because his demon was handcuffing his wrists behind his back. He glared at the twins’ demon and nodded.
“Heavenly Hosts!” the twins’ demon swore. “That gums that.”
“You should’ve gotten them out of here before this…this angel dropped in,” the other demon agreed, making “angel” sound worse than “buzzard droppings.”
“Hey!” Zoe demanded. “Does this mean you’ve got to let us go?”
“Not on your sweet bippies,” their demon snapped back. “It just means I’ve gotta put you in one of the easy rooms instead of where you belong.”
The second demon suggested, “We’re still out of targets in the Nimrod Shooting Gallery.”
To the twins’ surprise, Jeff sort of relaxed and looked relieved.
Their demon said, “I guess that’ll have to do. Bringing yours along?”
“My idea, wasn’t it?”
* * * *
The Nimrod Shooting Gallery turned out to be a big, long room with murals of deserts, blue sky, and ancient buildings covering three walls. The fourth wall, the one with the door, was made of stone boulders and covered with racks of bows and arrows. The far half of the room was barred like a jail cell.
The demons swung one bar out, shoved their prisoners through the opening—it was still a tight squeeze for a grown man like Jeff—and replaced the bar. Then they said, “Chow, pincushions, have fun!” and left, slamming the door behind them.
Ace and Zoe hurried to the bar that had swung out. It looked exactly like all the others, but Zoe had kept her eyes on it, and Ace had counted the bars while it was open.
Looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor, they knew they were right, because semicircular hairlines showed where the tracks were. But hard as they pushed and strained, they couldn’t budge it.
“Must…be ... locked,” Ace panted.
“Yeah,” Zoe agreed, “but how?”
They turned around and looked at the grownup, who was sitting on the bottom step of a fake ziggurat built smack against the wall, watching them. But he couldn’t answer Zoe’s question, because he was still gagged and his hands were still cuffed behind him.
Ace suggested, “Can’t you wiggle through your arms and get your hands in front?” That would be something.
Jeff shut his eyes, looked insulted, and shook his head.
“Okay, okay, forget I asked,” said Ace. Adults and their dignity!
Zoe went over and worked away with one of her few unbroken fingernails until she had a corner of Jeff’s gag bent back enough to get a grip on. Then she tried pulling. All it did was stretch Jeff’s cheek. The rest of the tape stayed stuck tight, and Jeff scrunched his eyelids shut tighter, like he was in pain.
“Here,” said Ace, “let me try.”
“Okay, muscleman,” said Zoe, letting go and moving back. “Try it and see for yourself.”
Ace got a good grip on the corner of the tape patch, bunched his muscles, and gave a terrific yank. Nothing happened except that Jeff made a noise that might have been a yell if he could have opened his mouth, got up, and stood with his back to the wall, shaking his head at the twins.
“Okay, okay,” Ace told his sister. “Why’d you want to get it off, anyway? We’d just have caught a lecture.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Zoe.
Jeff shut his eyes again and snorted a sigh of disgust. Maybe he was wondering why he’d tried to keep them from coming in here, or why he’d come in after them. Deep down in his secret conscience, Ace had to admit to himself that he couldn’t blame Jeff for wishing he’d never tried to help a couple of daredevil kids like them.
“Yeah,” said Zoe, looking through the bars at the bows and arrows on the far wall, “but if this is an ‘easy’ room, he didn’t do us a whole lot of good, did he?”
It could be scary how the twins’ thoughts seemed to run together sometimes.
So then they waited. And waited. All they had to do, besides looking across the room at the bows and arrows, was walk around the barred space, climb up and down the fake ziggurat looking for hiding places—there weren’t any worth a hoot—and every few minutes have another grunting try at the one bar they knew could be swung out, they just didn’t know how. And every so often brush more of the feathers off their clothes. Jeff alternately watched them, took a stroll around the cell, shook himself a little like a dog to try and get the feathers off, and leaned or sat against the wall with his head angled back and his eyes closed. The room felt like a desert must feel in the middle of a sunny afternoon.
“I think my watch’s stopped,” Ace said at last.
“So’s mine,” said Zoe. “Hey, Jeff, what about yours?”
Without even opening his eyes, Jeff nodded. Although there wasn’t any way he could have seen his watch for himself, his nod was so definite that the twins didn’t bother to ask for a look at his wrist.
Instead, Ace decided, “Naw, it’s just because time goes so slow when you’re in this kind of a spot.”
Ace was wrong. Their watches really had stopped, though it took them a little while longer to be sure of it.
Another time, Zoe remarked, “At least getting a lecture would have been something to do.”
“Yeah,” Ace agreed. “Let’s have another go at his gag.”
Jeff gave them a hard stare and walked to the other end of the cell.
At long last, the door clicked. They all jerked around to look at it, the twins discovering that suspense was only fun in screenshows, and in real life there were some feelings even worse than boredom.
A new demon came in, followed by the other picket who had chased the twins. Zoe grabbed a quick glance at Jeff, but whatever he was feeling didn’t show at all.
“Well?” the demon said wearily. “Does this lot satisfy you?”
From the free side of the room, Jazzy looked them over slowly and carefully, taking so long that finally Ace said, “Boo!”
<
br /> At that, the “Not Our Satan” picket grinned. But then right away she yawned. Eventually she nodded and said, “Yes, these look like the best you’ve shown me so far.”
“Hmpf,” said the demon in a “whatever turns you on” kind of tone.
“At least they haven’t been used yet,” Jazzy added. “Just untie the big one’s hands and take off his gag.” She slipped the demon a green ten-tridollar bill.
The demon put the money in a neck pouch in his costume, and shook his head. “Not advisable, lady. I understand that one has a blessed quick tongue.”
“Oh, poof! What harm can he do me with it? ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words—’”
“You’d be surprised, lady. I hear he’s done plenty already.”
“Mmm? Sounds interesting. Oh, well,” Jazzy went on, “do you have any objection to untying his hands? If I can’t hear him yelp, I’d at least like to see him jump around with all his limbs free.” She slipped the demon another bill.
“Mpf,” said the demon. “Different people, different preferences. Okay, you, come on over and put your hands between the bars here.”
Jeff hesitated, eying Jazzy, who was calmly testing bows.
“Hey!” said the demon. “Make it snappy. Do you want us to heat the floor under you?”
Jeff went over, gave the guy in the demon suit a defiant frown with his eyes and brows, and turned around to get his hands uncuffed. Thinking about Uncle Crackerjack’s theory that the Hellmouth Park management sometimes slipped scabs in with the real pickets, Ace watched Jazzy. She kept right on testing bows, taking each one down in turn, twanging its string, putting it back and going on to the next one. Zoe looked around once more for any kind of shelter, but there wasn’t any except the angles of the ziggurat steps, and the only way they’d work at all was if the archer stood still near one wall or the other.
Jeff stepped away from the bars, rubbing his wrists.
“Fine,” Jazzy told the demon. “Now if you’ll clear out—”
“Say, lady, getting to watch is one of the perks of my job.”
“And taking my pleasure in private is one of the joys of my life.” She gave him a dazzling smile and an orange thirty-tridol bill.
“Well, okay,” he grumbled, pocketing it and clearing out.
After the door had clicked shut behind him, Jazzy went on testing bows till she came to the end of the rack. Then she put the last bow back, picked out three arrows, and brought them over to the bars. Wondering if she was going to throw them like darts or something, the twins retreated to what little shelter they could squeeze from the far edge of the ziggurat. They still had a good view…too good.
“Oh, look at the dear little goats!” said Jazzy.
Jeff stepped up to the bars again, facing out this time, and put his right hand on the bar that opened. He must have counted, too.
“Well, you holy idiot!” said Jazzy. “Sometimes you’ve got to play along their way for a while if you want to get anywhere.”
He used Sign Language to tell her that if he hadn’t gotten in when he did, the twins would be in an even worse spot than they were.
“Yes,” she said, “and besides that, you got in free. It’s certainly cost me enough, between entrance fee and liberal bribes. I had to let him show me eight rooms before we finally came to yours.” She shook her head sadly. “What a lot of poor, masochistic saps! Mostly your kind of people, by the way.”
He asked her in angry Sign Language how she knew that.
“Because my kind of people aren’t masochists!” she replied with a laugh.
He signed that neither were his.
“Have it your way. I hope you’re going to defray my expenses once we’re out of here.”
He nodded and gave the bar a couple of impatient taps.
“Yes, yes, I hear you.” Jazzy took off her necklace, which had a pentagram with one point down and two points up, and wrapped the chain around the feather ends of her three arrows, fastening them together with the pentagram dangling down. She put the arrow points between the bars and pointed to the cross Jeff wore around his neck.
He put his hand up to cover it protectively and frowned a little.
“Oh, quit it with the old token resistance,” said Jazzy. “Do you think I like this any better than you do? But we both know it’s got to be done in cooperation, and, after all, we’ve got more in common than any of us likes to confess.”
He signed for her to name one thing.
“We none of us have any use for these Hellmouth weirdoes,” she replied. “And how often do we have to keep going over the same ground, you and I?”
With obvious reluctance, he took off his cross and wrapped it by the chain around the three arrowtips.
“In or out?” asked Jazzy.
Zoe, seeing what she meant, answered for Jeff. “It swings out.”
Jazzy wove the arrows like a lever between the bars. She and Jeff each took hold of the arrows with one hand on either end, and started straining.
The bar budged just enough to show that it was the right one. Then it stuck fast.
“Looks like we need more power this time,” said Jazzy. “All right, little baby goats, get over here and let’s hope you’ve got the right kind of power.”
Ace started to ask who she thought she was calling “little baby goats,” but Zoe poked him in the solar plexus and muttered, “Later, big boy. First things first.”
They went over and, following Jazzy’s instructions, each of them put one hand on one of Jeff’s elbows and reached through the bars to put the other hand on one of Jazzy’s elbows. There wouldn’t have been enough room on the arrow lever for all their hands, but the way they stood, they made a tight little circle.
“A-O.K.,” said Jazzy. “Now, on the count of three. One…two ... THREE!”
The twins felt a surge of tingling energy spring up through their feet and down through their heads at the same time, and out through their hands into the grownups’ arms. In the same instant, the grownups made one huge effort, and the bar jerked out of alignment.
“Wow!” said Ace. “What was that?”
“Like electricity,” Zoe suggested, “only it felt good.”
“Invigorating, isn’t it?” said Jazzy. “Now, shhh. Can’t rest on our laurels yet.”
Getting the bar the rest of the way out still took a lot of pressure, but by keeping up a steady, even strain they did it in…by Ace’s count…three seconds.
Finishing their escape turned out to be easy as kindergarten. The adults put their neck charms back on, then Jeff took Zoe’s arm and Jazzy took Ace’s, Jazzy opened the door so carefully that it didn’t make any noise, and they all slipped through eight or nine corridors and up a dozen flights of stairs. Two or three times they passed demons taking other people somewhere, but Jeff walked behind Jazzy and kept his head down to hide his gag, and since they walked like they knew where they were going and had every right to go there, the demons didn’t pay any attention to them.
The twins never thought about trying to break away and do more exploring on their own, not even when Jazzy and Jeff halted them at a round door that somehow glowed black, and waited there for two or three minutes.
Eventually the door opened and four adults came out with three kids. Jeff and Jazzy pulled the twins aside for this group, then took them through the door into one of the ear elevators.
They rode it down and got out at the bottom like any paying customers who had finished taking their turn around the amusement-park rides. Halfway back to the walkway, Jeff’s gag loosened. He pulled it off and dropped it on the cinders.
“Litterbug,” Jazzy teased him in an undertone.
“Shake off the very dust,” he replied.
“Hey,” said Ace, “how’d you guys know what to do back there?”
“Oh,” Jazzy repli
ed, “we had to help each other figure it out a few years ago. We had more in common with you two little grimps than you might have guessed, back when we were young and silly.”
Zoe asked, “Where was he going to take us at first, anyway?”
“Believe me,” said Jeff, “you don’t want to know. Say, I think we could all use a drink. The autoserve has very good milk.”
“Yuk,” the twins said in unison.
Jazzy said, “Oh, let them have whatever they choose.”
They chose some cola from the autoserve—it tasted pretty darn…blessed good—and decided to believe Jeff about not wanting to know.
* * * *
Ideally, a tridollar sign should be an “S” with three vertical lines drawn through it.
BLOOD GROTTO
or, Walpurgisnacht for a Young Vampire
As my late husband would say, “Friday the 13th came on a Tuesday the month” of August, 2013. On that day, discovering that my file copy of “The Blue Thread Killer” was missing its first page, I went on a search through my holograph notebooks and discovered, not only the first draft of the story in question, but a Clement Czarny story I had no recollection of ever typing up before. Of course, I’d had no recollection of writing it, either; but the draft is definitely in my notebook and my handwriting, dated 12-28-89 to 1-10-90.
It was a toss-up whether to put “Blood Grotto” here or with the other Clement Czarny stories. But the others rather surprise me in seeming, to their author anyway, perhaps the most purely domestic short stories I have ever written. In that section, “Blood Grotto” would be an odd one out. Nevertheless, like the rest of the Clement Czarny short stories, with the single exception of “A Cold Stake,” it would work almost equally well in either version of the R.S.A. and, indeed, The Deathguards, my fanciers-free novel of Clement’s collegiate adventure, contains allusions to essentially the same episode described in “Blood Grotto.”
The Fanciers & Realizers MEGAPACK Page 100
