by Mike Resnick
‘Your optimism is heartwarming.”
“Just get it, John Justin Mallory,” said the Sandman, turning to leave.
“Wait a minute!” said Mallory. “Assuming that God drops everything else and I get the thing, how do we contact you?”
“I will know when you have succeeded,” answered the Sandman. “I will contact you to effect the trade.”
He closed the door behind him. Mallory looked out the window, but fog obscured his vision. All he could hear was the clop-clop-clop of a horse’s hooves as it trudged down the street, pulling its wagonload of dreams at the behest of its Oriental master.
The Grundy’s castle seemed to rise right out of the middle of Central Park. It was a huge Gothic Baptist structure, replete with spires and turrets, hundreds of feet long on each side. A single drawbridge lay across a moat that seemed alive with the kind of things that haunted children’s nightmares. The stone walls glistened in the light rain.
“Well, I guess this is it,” said Mallory, hoping desperately that he was mistaken.
His companion stared at the moat. “I’m hungry.”
A hideous sea creature surfaced, glared at them, bared its enormous teeth, and then vanished beneath the water.
“So is he" said Mallory.
“What good is water if you can’t catch some fish in it?” asked Felina.
“This particular water has probably got some inhabitants who are wondering what good is land if you can’t catch some cat people on it.”
“If we’re not going fishing, why are you just standing here?” asked Felina.
“I’m casing the joint.”
“I thought you were trying to work up the courage to go in,” said Felina.
“That, too,” admitted Mallory.
“It won’t be so bad, John Justin,” said Felina. “There’s probably nothing but goblins and gorgons and minotaurs and medusas and maybe some yetis.” She paused thoughtfully. “At least, until we get to the dangerous parts.”
“Thanks,” said Mallory sardonically. “I feel all better now.”
“I knew you would,” replied Felina. “I have that effect on people. Scratch my back.”
“Be quiet.”
“Scratching cat people’s backs is one of the very best things human people do,” continued Felina. “You’ll feel much better if you just reach over and scratch between my shoulder blades.”
Mallory ignored her and continued looking at the castle. Not much had changed since he had started looking five minutes earlier: it still appeared impregnable. “Well,” he said finally, “let’s get started.”
“We’re going fishing now?”
Mallory took a couple of tentative steps across the drawbridge. “We’re going into the castle now. If you smell or sense anything approaching us, let me know.” “Anything?”
“Anything dangerous.”
“Oh,” said Felina. Suddenly she smiled. “There are four moat monsters swimming toward us right now.” “They’re in the water. We’re up here.”
Felina nodded her head agreeably. “Probably only two of them can reach us.”
Mallory increased his pace. Ominous swirls in the water below implied that the creatures had adjusted their routes and were tracking him. He reached the end of the drawbridge and uttered a sigh of relief. He looked around for Felina, who was nowhere to be seen.
“Who goes there?” demanded a deep, gruff voice.
“John Justin Mallory,” replied the detective. “And a friend. We’re here to see the Grundy.”
This was met by a peal of laughter. “Mallory? To see the Grundy?” Another laugh. “Don’t you know you’re his greatest enemy, Mallory?”
“Just tell him I’m here and that I’ve got a proposition for him.”
“Oh, I’d dearly love to tell him you’re here,” the voice assured him. “But I’m under orders to kill anyone who crosses the moat.”
The owner of the voice stepped forward, and Mallory saw that it was a broad, muscular, green-skinned troll, no more than four feet tall, holding a wicked-looking battle axe.
“Just give him my message,” said Mallory. “He’ll want to see me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” said the troll. “You’re the ugliest human I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He raised the axe over his head. “Prepare to die!”
“My friend won’t like that.”
“Hah!” said the troll. “I don’t see any friend!”
At that moment Felina, who had been walking along the chain that supported the drawbridge from overhead, dropped lightly to the ground. “Felina,” said Mallory, “take that thing away from him before I lose my temper.”
“Wait a minute!” said the troll, backing up a step. “She’s the friend you were referring to?”
“That’s right.”
“But that’s unfair! Trolls are afraid of cat people! Everyone knows that!”
“Too bad,” said Mallory, as Felina, the moonlight glinting off her claws, slowly approached the troll.
“This is against the rules of engagement!” whined the troll. “There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to fight cat people! I’m issuing a formal complaint to the union steward first thing in the morning!”
“If you live that long,” said Mallory.
“What are you talking about?” shrieked the troll. “Of course I’ll live that long! You wouldn’t make me face her now that you know how terrified I am!”
“Why not?”
“What kind of a fiend are you, Mallory? Surely you can’t be enjoying this situation! Where’s your heart?” “Between my lungs and my spleen, last time I looked,” said Mallory. “Now, are you going to let us pass?”
“The Grundy says no one can enter.”
“The Grundy doesn’t have to fight my friend. You do.”
“You’re giving me a terrible headache!” whined the troll.
“Looks like you’re between a rock and a hard place,” said Mallory without sympathy.
What rock?” shrieked the troll. “I’m between the Grundy and a cat person!”
“Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”
“Oh my God!” said the troll, looking fearfully into the shadows. ‘You’ve got five more cat people with you?” “One’s enough,” said Mallory as Felina took another step toward the troll, a hungry grin on her catlike face.
“Help!” screamed the troll. “Somebody! Anybody! I’m being threatened by a small puppy!”
“A small puppy?” repeated Mallory, puzzled.
“Well, they might not come if I said I was being threatened by something formidable,” explained the troll.
“If they’re all like you, I don’t think they’re going to be much help.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, Mallory!” said the troll. “I’m not afraid of detectives. I’ll be busy disemboweling you with my axe while my comrades are turning your pet into a tennis racket.”
“I don’t think they string rackets with catgut any more,” said Mallory.
“They do at the Grundy’s castle,” was the reply.
And then, suddenly, two leprechauns and an emaciated elf appeared beside the troll.
“It took you long enough to get here!” complained the troll.
“They were re-running an old Ann Rutherford movie,” replied the elf. “We had to wait for the commercial.” He surveyed the situation. “Now, what do you want us to do?” “Kill the cat person while I take care of Mallory.” Felina turned to them and hissed.
“Uh . . . I’ve got nothing against cat people,” said the taller leprechaun. “How about you, Merv?”
“Not a thing,” said the smaller leprechaun, staring hypnotically at Felina’s glistening claws. “Some of my best friends are cat people.”
“Are they really?” asked the elf.
“Well, they would be if I ever took the trouble to get to know them,” said Merv. He turned to the troll. “I have a better plan. You kill the cat woman and the detective. We’ll set fire to the
ir funeral pyre.”
“I can’t. Trolls have an instinctive fear of cat people.” “Yeah?” replied Merv. “Well, leprechauns have an instinctive fear of dying. So there.”
They all turned to the elf. “How about you?”
“I’m not afraid of either of them,” said the elf.
“Good,” said Merv. “You kill them.”
“I’d love to,” said the elf. “But I’m just an accountant. You want my roommate. He specializes in maiming and pillaging.”
“So get him down here!” demanded the troll.
“I wish I could, but he ran off to California and joined a cult that worships rutabagas.” The elf grimaced. “I think they eat them, too. Raw.”
“I’d like to spend all night listening to you explain why none of you are going to stop us from entering,” said Mallory. “But since none of you are going to stop us from entering . . .”
He took a step forward. The troll, the leprechauns and the elf practically fell over each other while retreating. “Come on, Felina.”
“Don’t I get to kill even one of them?” she asked unhappily.
“Maybe later.”
The troll looked down at his wrist. “Hey, my shift’s almost over!” He turned to Felina. “You can kill the next troll on duty. I give you my blessing.”
“How do you know it’s over?” asked Merv. ‘You’re not even wearing a watch.”
“I lost it in a strip poker game three years ago,” answered the troll, “but if I had one, I’m sure it would say that my shift’s over.” And with that he turned and headed to the interior of the castle at breakneck speed.
“Some security team,” snorted Mallory contemptuously-
“So we’re not the Pretorian guard,” replied the elf. “You’re not Sherlock Holmes, either.”
He raced off into the darkness, accompanied by the two leprechauns, before Mallory could reply.
Mallory looked into the interior of the castle. It seemed empty and foreboding.
“Felina, can you smell anyone?” he asked.
There was no response.
He turned, and saw Feline lying on her belly, reaching a clawed hand into the water, trying to snare a fish.
“Get up!” he yelled, rushing over to her and lifting her to her feet.
“You’re mean to me,” sniffed Felina.
“Not as mean as he would have been,” said the detective, pointing to a moat monster that surfaced exactly where her hand had been.
She stared at the monster, then at Mallory, then back at the monster, which was just disappearing beneath the surface.
“I forgive you,” she said. “This one time.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” said Mallory. “Now, can you sense anyone else?”
“Just the Grundy.”
“He’s here now?” said Mallory.
“Kind of.”
“Does he know we’re here?”
She nodded her head. “He’s the Grundy,” she said, as if that explained everything. “He wants to see you.”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled. “Cat people know things that human people can never know.”
“Do they know enough not to get eaten by moat monsters while I go speak to the Grundy?” asked Mallory. “Probably.”
“I haven’t got time to argue,” said Mallory. “I can always handcuff you to the castle gate.”
She leaped to the chain that held the drawbridge. “You’d have to catch me first.”
“I don’t want to catch you. Just see to it that no one else does, either.”
He turned and entered the castle. He looked around, trying to figure out what to do next, when a liveried goblin approached him.
“Please follow me, Mr. Mallory,” said the goblin with a thick Cockney accent.
“You know me?”
‘You was expected.”
Mallory followed him up a flight of stone stairs and down a long corridor that displayed with various torture devices.
“Interesting decor,” he remarked.
“The master likes it well enough.”
“I assume they’re just for show.”
“When they ain’t in use,” answered the goblin.
They came to a large pentagonal room, and the goblin came to a stop.
“I’ll leave you here, Mr. Mallory, sir,” he said. “Just walk right in and make yourself to home.” He paused. “Oh—and don’t go feedin’ the pets.”
He turned and began walking back the way they had come, and Mallory entered the room. There was a huge bed against the back wall, covered with sheets of red satin. On a nightstand embossed with gargoyles was the amber egg he sought. There were four windows, all barred. A golden bookcase held various grimoires and books of spells, all leatherbound and embossed.
There were six spherical cages suspended from the high ceiling by golden chains. Inside one was a gremlin, in another was a small sphinx. A third held a small nude gold-skinned woman, no more than three feet tall but in perfect proportion, who was weeping copiously. A winged warrior in medieval armor was in a fourth. The final two held creatures Mallory had never seen, except perhaps during those nightmares that visited him when he’d mixed too many drinks in his youth.
“What do you think of my pets, John Justin Mallory?” said a deep voice.
Mallory looked around but couldn’t see anything Then, suddenly, the Grundy materialized in the middle of the room. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, with two prominent horns protruding from his hairless head. His eyes were a burning yellow, his nose sharp and aquiline, his teeth white and gleaming, his skin a bright red. His shirt and pants were crushed velvet, his cloak satin, his collar and cuffs made of the fur of some white polar animal. He wore gleaming black gloves and boots, and he had two mystic rubies suspended from his neck on a golden chain. When he exhaled, small clouds of vapor emanated from his mouth and nostrils.
“They’re impressive,” admitted Mallory.
“Perhaps you would like to join them,” suggested the Grundy ominously.
“I’ll take a raincheck.”
“You still don’t fear me,” noted the demon, frowning in puzzlement. “Why not? You know what damage I can do.”
“I know you’re a rational creature,” responded Mallory. “Perhaps the only one in this Manhattan besides me. You know I wouldn’t come here without a reason, and I know you won’t kill me without a reason.”
“Ah, but I have a reason,” said the Grundy. “It is my nature to kill, to bring chaos out of order, to destroy that which is beautiful.”
“No one ever called me beautiful before.”
“I was generalizing.”
“I know. But you’re not going to kill me before you hear me out.”
“No, I’m not, though I’m not quite sure why.” The Grundy stared at him. “You are the first man ever to willingly enter my domicile.”
“It wasn’t all that difficult,” replied Mallory. “On a 10 scale, I give your security team a minus 3.”
“They’re here only to make a commotion.”
“I beg your pardon?”
‘You don’t really think that / need protection?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“They’re here to make noise. I heard them all the way over in Queens.”
“I thought you just controlled Manhattan.”
“I control all the five boroughs.” The Grundy pointed to a wicked-looking shears hanging on the wall over his bed. “It used to be Kings before I became annoyed with my last surrogate.”
“Remind me never to become your surrogate.”
“It seems unlikely. We are mortal enemies, after all.” “I’m not here as your enemy,” said Mallory. “At least, not this time.”
“Of course you are,” said the Grundy. “You’re here on an errand for the Chinese Sandman.”
“You’re pretty good, I’ll give you that,” said Mallory. “I wasn’t sure you’d know about him.”
“I know everything that goes on in my domain.” “Then you know I’m not here to steal anything on his behalf.”
“Only because you know you can’t,” said the Grundy.
He held his hand out, and the amber egg seemed to leap to it from the nightstand. “This is why you’re here, is it not?”
“Indirectly.”
“Explain.”
“Actually, I’m here as a supplicant,” said Mallory.
The Grundy laughed a harsh, grating laugh as blue vapor almost obscured his features. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Why not?” said Mallory. “You run New York City as surely as Tammany Hall ran it in my Manhattan a century ago. I live in New York City. I’m here to file a complaint about the Chinese Sandman.”
“You, who have opposed and hindered me in the past, dare to ask for my intervention!” bellowed the Grundy, and the volume of his voice made all his caged beings tremble with fear.
“He’s poaching on your territory.”
“I do not steal dreams.”
“So you’re telling me that it’s okay for anyone to steal from your subjects, as long as they steal things you don’t want?”
The Grundy stared at him for a long moment. “There may be something to what you say.”
“He’s made my partner miserable,” continued Mallory. “I thought making people miserable was your function.” “It’s possible,” mused the Grundy. “Not likely, but possible.”
“It’s more than possible,” said Mallory. “He’s out there right now, stealing dreams.”
The Grundy shook his head irritably. ‘You do not understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s possible that he’s in the employ of my Opponent.”
“I thought your Opponent worked for Good, just as you work for Evil.”
“That is because you never listen to me. Good and Evil are relative terms; what is Good one century may be Evil in another.” He paused. “My Opponent represents Order; I represent Chaos.”
“How does stealing a sweet old lady’s only romantic dream lead to order?” asked Mallory.
“Dreams are irrational. I realize that it gave her comfort, but it was not an orderly comfort.”
“That seems like an awfully convoluted chain of reasoning.”
