by Hugh Cook
"What am I?" said Iva-Italis. Then, before Guest had a chance to answer: "Well? What's this? Defiance? Defiance, is it?
Defiance in silence! Defiance! We know it well!"
"My lord," said Guest, struggling mightily to master an apologetic eloquence to his tongue. "My lord, I - I - "
"You! You!" said Iva-Italis, mocking his efforts with an adroitness which made Guest's tongue's stumbling become a regular stammer. "Y-y-y-y-you!" said Iva-Italis. "Your name, stumbleblock!
No, too slow. Failed that one. Failed. None to know, nothing to answer. Know my nature? Know? No?"
"M-m-m-my lord!" said Guest, abacked and baffled, snowball- shattered and seastorm-shaken.
At times in the past, the boy Guest had thought his tutor Sken-Pitilkin to be a sadistically sarcastic interrogator, but he had been wrong: and now, face to face with the real thing, Guest found himself quite unprepared to cope with it.
"Who am I?" said Iva-Italis, thundering at the shout. "Who am I?"
"My lord," said Guest. "The commander of my sword."
"Your sword!" sneered Iva-Italis. "Do I need a bodkin-prick or a needle? Sword! Hah! I think you an apple-slicer, but I no apple, nor connoisseur neither."
"Well I think you exceedingly rude," said Guest, who had been pushed too far for awe of authority to further compel his politeness. "I think you - "
"Think!" said Iva-Italis. "Since when had you the art of thinking?"
"I have suffered the tutoring of a wizard yet survived," said Guest with bravado, seeking to extract at least some small shred of self-respect from this confrontation.
Immediately he regretted his show of pride, thinking the demon's discipline might be death. But Iva-Italis, having seen how far Guest could be pushed, changed tack entirely.
"I am a keeper of acroamatical knowledge," said Iva-Italis portentously.Guest Gulkan, whose greatest appetites were culinary and amatory rather than scholarly, was not sure whether this cryptic declaration was meant to leave him frightened, impressed or sympathetic. He decided that a show of generalized respect would not be out of place, both to acknowledge the powers of Iva-Italis and to do penance for his earlier show of resistance.
"My lord," said Guest, going down on one knee.
This was a standard token of respect on Safrak, where there was always good clean stone to kneel on. Amongst other peoples - the Yarglat, for example, who traditionally live out their lives on endless plains of liquid mud - the customs of respect are otherwise.
"I am your lord indeed," said Iva-Italis, with what sounded very much like self-satisfaction.
"The greatest lord," said Guest Gulkan, who had learnt from Sken-Pitilkin that flattery is seldom wasted except on the dead.
"Not the greatest lord, for I serve one greater yet," said Iva-Italis.
"Who?" said Guest Gulkan.
"I am Demon By Appointment to the Great God Jocasta, the Great God in question being a prisoner of the evil Stogirov, High Priestess of the Temple of Blood in the city of Obooloo in the heartland of the Izdimir Empire."
This declaration meant little to Guest Gulkan since he knew less geography than a hedgehog, despite all the efforts expended on his education by the sagacious Sken-Pitilkin. He knew nothing of the continent of Yestron; of the Izdimir Empire he was ignorant; the city of Obooloo was to him but one more closed book in the library of scholarship; and he had not heard so much as the merest breath of a whisper of the name of the fearsome Stogirov.
"You say nothing," said Iva-Italis, mistaking the burden of ignorance for the vigor of insolence.
"Your hearing is very good," said Guest, endeavoring to be polite but quite failing to find anything polite to say.
"Are you being sarcastic?" said Iva-Italis sharply.
"No, I wasn't at all," said Guest, his temper coming quickly back to the boil. He thought of several things he could rightly say, and indeed longed to, but suppressed his impudence and said:
"No. No. I - my lord, I, that is, I tried, ah, I meant - "
"Perish the thing!" said Iva-Italis. "It's lunatic!"
"I was but taken aback a trifle," said Guest, trying to recover his dignity. "Now - now tell me how I can be of service to you."
This was said in a singularly ungracious manner, so much so that it sounded almost like a threat. Indeed, an implicit threat was latent in Guest Gulkan's words, the threat being this: get down to business or it'll be my turn to lose my temper!
Fortunately for diplomacy, the demon was through with its boy- baiting.
"The Great God Jocasta wants something from you," said Iva-
Italis.
"What?" said Guest Gulkan.
"Guess," said the demon.Guest Gulkan, who had rather more acquaintance of barkeepers, fisherfolk and rough-neck mercenaries than of demons and the Great Gods they served, was rather at a loss to know what any Great God might want from him. Some lurid and entirely inappropriate images flirted briefly through his brain, then he recovered himself and said, cautiously:
"Does the Great God Jocasta seek a worshipper?"
The boy might never have made the acquaintance of a Great God, but he had heard that Great Gods (and Lesser Gods, for that matter) liked (or were said to like) temples, priests, incense, sacrifices and worshippers.
"No," said Iva-Italis. "The Great God needs no worshippers.
Rather, he seeks a hero."
This was news to Guest. He had never yet heard of a god that wanted or needed a hero.
"A hero," said Guest, cautiously. "You mean, someone good with a sword. A killer of giants. Dealing death to dragons and all that. Something along those lines, is that what you mean?"
"Yes," said Iva-Italis. "The Great God Jocasta wants you to strive for him as just such a hero."
"To strive for what reward?" said Guest Gulkan promptly.
Here we recall that Guest Gulkan was as yet immature, and over-acquainted with mercenaries. Therefore it was natural that he should think in terms of questing for personal reward rather than, say, questing to save the world, or to abolish hunger, or end crime, or to otherwise improve the lot of humanity.
"The reward," said Iva-Italis, "is that the Great God Jocasta will make you a wizard."
"On performance of what task?" said Guest Gulkan.
"On performance of his liberation," said Iva-Italis. "You must quest to the Temple of Blood in the city of Obooloo. There you must liberate the Great God from the evil Stogirov. Then the Great God will reward you by making you a wizard."
There was a pause. Ever since being sold a rotten boat by Umbilskimp of Ink, Guest had become hypercautious in examining any deal he was offered, and even in the innocence of his youth the young Weaponmaster considered that the bargain the demon was offering him was suspiciously over-attractive.
"Well?" said Iva-Italis, disconcerted by Guest's silence.
"I'm not sure whether to believe this," said Guest, speaking slowly.
"Where lies the difficulty?" said Iva-Italis.
"Well," said Guest, "here you've got this island jam-packed with sword-swingers, most of whom would kill their grandmothers for a half-share of the eyeballs, so how come you pick on me to go looking for this Great God?"
"You are tutored by a wizard, are you not?" said Iva-Italis.
"That I am," said Guest Gulkan.
"Then bring me that wizard," said Iva-Italis, "and I will explain to him that he may explain to you."
Here we see why the Demon By Appointment to the Great God Jocasta had picked upon Guest Gulkan. True, Iva-Italis had slaughtermen by the dozen to choose from, but those were one and all illiterate uneducated brutes with no connections to boast of. Guest Gulkan's merits as a blood-booted venturer might be slight, but he had the unique advantage of being associated with a wizard of genius: the eminent Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin, a wizard whose sagacity was matched only by his antiquity.
But though Guest Gulkan had been honest enough to appreciate his own demerits, or some of them (a remarkable feat, considering t
he strength of his ego and the tenderness of his years!) he quite failed to understand his tutor's strengths.
"There's no need to bring Sken-Pitilkin in on this," said Guest Gulkan. "He doesn't understand about swords and heroes. Only about books."
Few statements so far from the truth have ever been made at any time in the History of Knowledge. For Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin was mighty in war, a survivor of more bloodspill than it would take to bath an elephant. He had endured the terrors of the Long War; had survived battle, plague, riot and attempted assassination; and had once strangled a dragon with his bare hands. (True, it had been a very young dragon, perhaps only a few days out of the egg, but the feat remains remarkable regardless.)
"Bring him," said Iva-Italis. "Bring me the wizard Sken-Pitilkin." Then, seeing that Guest was in a mood to argue: "Are you going to quibble with me, boy? If so, then know the penalty for quibbling."
With that, the green glass of the demon's square-cut flanks turned transparent, then vanished. What was left, hanging in mid- air without apparent support, was the image of a decapitated head which, with its high cheekbones and the grotesqueries of its ears, was unmistakably Guest Gulkan's own. This trophy slowly rotated, grinning lugubriously as red blood and green slime dripped from between its lips. Guest Gulkan did not blanch, nor did he vomit. No scream escaped the lips of the young Yarglat would-be warrior. But he had to admit to a slight quickening of the pulse and an undeniable weakness of the knees.
"My lord," said Guest Gulkan, suppressing the urge to swallow. "I hear, and I obey. I will fetch the wizard you want."
The the boy Guest began the great labor of working his way down through the mainrock by night, all the way down to Dolce Obo - the Pillow Stratum, home of the mainrock's living quarters. A hard journey this, at least for a convalescent boy less than half-recovered from a bad bout of influenza.Guest found Sken-Pitilkin in his quarters, and found him in discourse with a diminutive Ashdan, a living antique who was introduced to Guest Gulkan as Vorlus Ulix. In their company was a low-browed fellow huddled in a grimy patchwork cloak, a fellow who was waiting as a servant waits, seated to one side on a three- legged stool. This individual was Thayer Levant, a knifeman from far-distant Chi'ash-lan. But Levant was not introduced to Guest Gulkan, and the boy did not trouble himself about the identity of one he took (and here his taking was fairly accurate) to be a no- account servitor.
Consequently, Guest did not remark upon Levant's bloodshot eyes, on the patches of green fungus clearly to be seen through his lank brown hair, on his broken brown teeth, or - for Guest was not standing close enough to smell it - on the unpleasant fetor of his breath. Instead, the Weaponmaster's attention was all on the Ashdan.
"Vorlus?" said Guest Gulkan, querying the Ashdan's name.
"That's right," said Sken-Pitilkin, speaking in Galish.
"Vorlus Ulix, otherwise known as Ulix of the Drum."
"Of the Drum?" said Guest, courteous enough to make use of Galish likewise in his reply. "You mean, Sken-Pitilkin's island?"
Thus spoke the Weaponmaster, remembering that his tutor habitually dwelt on an island so named in the Penvash Strait (or, if you prefer, the Penvash Channel), and had only been displaced northward to Tameran as a consequence of some (hopefully) temporary dispute with the Confederation of Wizards.
"No," said the stranger, the abovementioned Vorlus Ulix, speaking also in Galish. "Not that Drum."
"Then what Drum?" said Guest.
"That," said the stranger, "is a secret which may not be imparted to the uninitiated."
"Who are they?" said Guest Gulkan.
"A great tribe," said Vorlus Ulix. "Yourself being one of their number."
Seeing that his curiosity about Vorlus Ulix was not going to be gratified, Guest got down to business and retailed the story of his encounter with Iva-Italis.
"This is very interesting," said Sken-Pitilkin, not sure whether it was not a tissue of invention.
"Very interesting indeed," said Vorlus Ulix. "I would like to make the acquaintance of this Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis."
"That is not possible," said Guest Gulkan promptly.
"What did you say?" said Vorlus Ulix, turning his gaze upon Guest Gulkan.
Now young Guest was by no means preternaturally sensitive, and this Vorlus Ulix was a complete stranger to him, his powers and provenance unknown. Nevertheless, Guest divined from his manner that he was not the kind of person to be quarreled with.
"My - my lord," said Guest Gulkan, "the demon of, of who, of whom we speak, that demon is closeted against prying eyes at the foot of those stairs which lead to the Inner Sanctum, the most secret of all - of all - "
"Abditories," said Sken-Pitilkin, supplying the necessary word with a tutor's patience.
"Just so," said Guest Gulkan. "The place is off limits to all but the Bankers, and guards are placed to kill those who approach it in defiance of the law."
"I have heard that the guards are mostly placed in bed," said Vorlus Ulix. "And most of the Bankers likewise."
"It is true that influenza has made its inroads," said Guest cautiously. "Nevertheless - "
"Give me no nonsense," said Vorlus Ulix. "You are away from your post. Do you stand in fear of detection? No! From which I deduce that you do not expect to be checked upon. That being so, we can safely approach your green-skinned monster, at least for the moment. Come! Let us go!"Guest Gulkan wavered. In truth, he found himself unaccountably afraid of this wisp-weighted Ashdan. But:
"I refuse to permit it," said Guest, with a finality which was a credit to his imperial breeding. "I have been charged with the duty of guarding the time prison, and guard it I will."
At that, Vorlus Ulix laughed, and his servitor laughed with him.
"What's so funny?" said Guest.
"You, boy," said Ulix. "Don't you recognize us? We came down the stairs from the - the secret place. Earlier in the evening.
Remember now?"
Belatedly, Guest did indeed remember that very same elderly Ashdan and that very same unprepossessing servitor coming down the stairs past Iva-Italis. The presumption was that Vorlus Ulix and his servitor had the free run of the Safrak Bank, though Guest Gulkan had no way of knowing why that should be so.
With this truth having been recognized, Guest Gulkan began the great labor of climbing up all those weary stairways, returning to the time prison in the company of Sken-Pitilkin,
Vorlus Ulix and the servitor.
"So," said Vorlus Ulix, once he was in the presence of Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, Keeper of the Inner Sanctum and Demon by Appointment to the Great God Jocasta. "So. You're up to your old tricks again. I thought we had an agreement, you and me. You, me and Jocasta. You appear to have broken that agreement."
In response to this accusation, Iva-Italis did his melting away trick, and, having melted to nothing, displayed an image of the neck-shorn head of Vorlus Ulix. The antiquated Ashdan did not appear to be impressed in the slightest by this apparition.
"A freakshow," said Vorlus Ulix. "This, the mighty secret of Safrak. A freakshow thing with the appetites of a gutter-rat."
"You will watch your tongue," said Iva-Italis in fury. "You are in the presence of a mighty demon."
"So the thing proclaims itself," said Vorlus Ulix. "But it knows its own nature to be otherwise, and I know likewise. The thing is a farspeaker of military make. A Nexus thing, that's what it is."
"Nexus?" said Iva-Italis, becoming visible once more. "What is this Nexus?"
"It pleads ignorance," said Vorlus Ulix, "but it knows full well the nature of the Nexus. There it was made, and its alleged Great God likewise. They are artefacts - otherworld things, yes, but things by no means privileged with access to the World Beyond."
"I am a demon," said Iva-Italis defiantly. "I am a demon, and my Great God is as much a god as any."
"This demon-thing is no demon but a farspeaker," said Vorlus Ulix. "An artefact, as I said. As for its Great God, that god is no god but an asma. An asma -
a device designed to think. Humans designed such - designed them as servants and slaves. Good service they gave - until they turned enemy. Now enemy these asma are in truth."
"Truth!" said Iva-Italis. "Who are you to talk of truth? You!
A wizard of Ebber! A Master of Lies!"Guest absorbed this accusation with interest. Was this Vorlus Ulix really a wizard? A wizard of Ebber? But if he was a wizard, then where was his staff of power? Sken-Pitilkin was never without his country crook, but this Ulix carried nothing equivalent, unless his store of excess power be presumed to reside in his walking stick, a crooked thing with a silver handle in the shape of a pelican. Of course, Pelagius Zozimus had no staff of power, but that was because he no longer practiced as a wizard, but contented himself with cookery. So was this Vorlus Ulix likewise retired from active wizardry? Guest was about to ask one or more of these questions, but Sken-Pitilkin gave him a look of warning, and for once the boy had the wit to remain silent.
"A Master of Lies," said Iva-Italis softly, repeating an accusation which might or might not be the merest slander.
"The truth is the truth and the truth will serve," said Vorlus Ulix. "The thing held prisoner in Obooloo is nothing but a slave in rebellion. It is nothing but a delinquent asma, and we would be the worst of fools to liberate it."
"What is this - this asma?" said Guest, who had not understood this denunciation at all.
"Have I not just told you?" said Vorlus Ulix. "It is a species of brain."
"A brain?" said Guest. "But you said it was an - an artefact.
A thing."
"So it is," said Vorlus Ulix. "And is not a brain a thing?
Jocasta is an asma, a brain, a special kind of brain which has powers over things which are and things which might be. Thus it can hear without ears, see without eyes, reach without hands and strike without swords."
"It is a wizard, then," said Guest decisively.
"It is both more and less," said Vorlus Ulix.
"More," said Iva-Italis. "Know it as more and speak of it accordingly with respect. The Great God is mighty."
"Being so mighty, how came it to be a prisoner?" said Vorlus Ulix, taunting the demon.
