“You are insubordinate!”
“Never was subordinate, Daimon. Take care. I’ll be sending the ticket along.”
“Can I trust you?”
“You have been for a long time. Front row?”
“I…” A dry chuckle. “Sure, why not. I’ll figure out a disguise.”
“That’s the spirit, Daimon. Go on out there, be the serpent in their Eden.”
“Ouch!”
“Arigato. Glad you appreciate my jokes. I’ve been waiting to use that one for a long time.”
“You’ll miss your shuttle, Drum.’ “Later, then.”
* * *
Once Drum was on the suborbital, he keyed into his mail. There were ten calls, all from Link Crain. Checking, he saw that they had come at prompt ten-minute intervals. The message was essentially the same.
“Drum: Can you drop everything and help me with a crisis? If so, come to the following virt coordinates. Consider yourself hired for triple your normal fee, expenses, and whatever else you want. Link.”
Considering, Drum sent a brief message to Link’s account: “Coming—ETA 30 MIN. Drum.”
As soon as the shuttle touched down, he went to a reliable transfer station, arranged for a long-term couch, and tabbed in the coordinates Link had given him. He drifted up through grey fog into a rose garden. Alice Hazzard—rather than Link Crain—slouched next to a peppermint-striped variety, methodically pulling the petals off a flower.
When he solidified, she leapt to her feet and ran over to him. Her embrace startled him as Link avoided physical contact of all kinds.
“Drum, thank you for coming! We can’t talk here—too public. Come with me.”
Link glanced around the apparently deserted garden, raised a bushy eyebrow, and followed Alice. She was already well ahead of him.
“Where are we headed.” he called, “through the looking-glass or down the rabbit hole? Just a matter of academic curiosity.”
She slowed to let him catch up.
“Behind the North Wind,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear, “and now you have your first secret.”
Drum blinked, but Alice was off and away before he could ask anything more. He hurried, knowing Alice—or at least Link—well enough to be certain that he would get no further answers until they had arrived wherever it was that they were going. His agile mind was at work, though, considering the implications of Lydia Hazzard’s disappearance into Virtu prior to Alice’s birth, birthday celebrations, and Alice’s mood. When they arrived at the cottage in the orchard and he was filled in on Ambry’s disappearance, he had almost come to expect the information.
When Alice finished her narration, Lydia took over, explaining what she and Ambry had learned during their visit to the Donnerjack Institute. For once, Alice kept her questions until the end of the tale.
“Are you saying that my father is or was a god?”
“I’m saving that Ambry apparently is intertwined into more legends than he realized,” Lydia answered. “Sid didn’t say that Ambry was a god—more like a legend incarnate.”
Drum chuckled. “A virgin gives birth after tarrying with a god. It has a certain resonance. Of course, most of those kids were boys, weren’t they? Looks like you ladies fell down on the job.”
Lydia gaped and Alice kicked him in the shin.
“Drum! You’re mean!”
He just grinned and soon Lydia was laughing with him. Alice stared at the two adults as if they were crazy.
“I’m sorry, Alice, dear,” Lydia managed between gasps. “It must he the stress, but Drum is right. The entire situation is almost too much to believe.”
“While you stand there giggling,” Alice said woodenly, “Ambry is still in trouble.”
“Captive,” Drum corrected, “which is distinctly different. It means that he is in no immediate physical danger.”
“Until the legions of Skyga march,” Lydia said.
“Which—if my guess is correct,” Drum continued, “will not he for some time yet. If Alice would stop scowling at me and put on her Link hat, she’ll realize that we have a pretty good indication of when Skyga will need his legions.”
“For the Elishite Celebration.”
“Precisely. We had hypothesized that the Hierophant of the Church of Elish had to have some backing in Virtu. Skyga fits the bill: powerful, influential, and, especially if he envisions himself as a primal deity kept out of his rightful domain, quite likely to benefit from a crossover.”
“So we have time.” Alice relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry I kicked you.”
Drum rolled up the cuff of his pants, revealing a length of pale, hairy calf.
“No bruises, kid. You’re going to need to calm down, though. This isn’t like breaking into other people’s offices to read their files.”
“Alice! You didn’t!”
“Can we discuss that later, Mom?” Alice said quickly. “Okay, I’m calm, Drum. Any thoughts where we should start looking? Virtu’s a big place.”
“Where’s the local equivalent of Mount Olympus or Valhalla or wherever the gods hang their hats when they’re at home?”
Alice and Lydia both shook their heads, but the ants still scavenging remnants of the picnic spelled out: “Mount Meru.”
“Mount Mem,” Drum read. “Great! Any idea how to get there?”
The ants scattered then reformed to spell: “Sorry. Don’t move.”
“I doubt we’re going to find this place on any of the usual directories,” Drum said, “and I’m a bit nervous about asking questions of just anyone.”
“We could ask Sid or that associate of his at the Donnerjack Institute—Paracelsus,” Lydia suggested.
“Good idea,” Drum said, “but I’m a bit hesitant. You said that these aions worshiped the gods on Meru—and that they respected Ambry for his role as the Piper. I’m not certain how they would feel about us mucking about their theology.”
“The ants are getting busy again,” Alice said. “Lots more this time.”
“Get Virginia Tallent, Markon’s site,” the genius loci wrote. “VSD.”
“I don’t understand,” Lydia said.
“VSD, that’s the Virtu Survey Department,” Alice said.
“Believe it or not, I’ve actually heard of her,” Drum added. “Daimon had me check her out back when we started on the Elshies. For a while, he was considering trying to locate the Hierophant. Tallent has a reputation as one of the best VSD scouts. She’s Veritean, but spends almost all her time in virt.”
“And we have an address for her,” Alice said. “I wonder if there is any particular reason that the Lady of the North Wind suggested her?”
The ants milled, finally settling on: “Markon in danger from Meru.”
“And so Virginia Tallent will want to help us?” Alice asked.
“Tallent Markon’s friend,” the ants agreed.
“Can you get us transport there?” Drum asked.
In response a strong wind began to blow first around Alice, then around Drum. Lydia, although standing close to her daughter, was untouched.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes,’ ” Alice said, giving her mother a quick hug.
“Luck, Alice! Be careful. I don’t consider switching you for Ambry a reasonable trade.”
“How about Drum?” Alice giggled.
The wind blew them away before Lydia could answer, but when Alice looked back she could see that Dr. Hazzard was smiling.
* * *
The wind set them gently down in the center of a forested grove. Unlike the Land Behind the North Wind, this site had a somewhat tropical feel to it, an impression not at all diminished when a slim brown-skinned woman clad in a saronglike garment emerged from the shelter of a red-flowered vine. Her long brown hair was loose and her feet were bare, but the Chaos Factor gun she held in one hand and the steady menace in her pale blue eyes made quite clear that she was no harmless primitive.
“Virginia Tallent?” Alice said quickly, holding her hands palms out so that th
e other woman could see she was unarmed. “We’ve come for your help.”
“You know who I am,” the woman said, her pistol unwavering, “but I don’t know who you are.”
“Fin Alice Hazzard—also known as Lincoln Crain. This is my partner, Desmond Drum.”
“Lincoln Crain… I think I’ve encountered that name.”
“I write articles for the newsies.”
“Then that’s probably where I’ve heard of you. This is a restricted area of a private site. How did you know to find me here?”
“The Land Behind the North Wind… its genius loci sent us. She’s a friend of my father. This is dreadfully complicated, ma’am, and your pistol is making me very nervous.”
“There are two dire-cats standing behind you who would probably make you more so.” For the first time, Virginia Tallent smiled. She stuck her CF pistol in the sash around her waist. “You want me, not Markon?”
“That’s right. Can I just tell you my story? It’s pretty incredible.”
Virginia Tallent glanced across the grove. At its farthest edge, enveloped in muddy green light, was a long box.
“I’ve had a few incredible things happen myself, lately. I’m in a listening mood. Give me your tale, Alice.”
And so, with minimal assistance from Drum, Alice told Virginia about the kidnapping of Wolfer Martin D’Ambry—the Phantom Piper of Skyga. She left nothing out, not Ambry’s multiple identities, not Skyga’s manifestation, not even her and Drum’s theory that all of this was connected to the Church of Elish’s upcoming Celebration.
Virginia Tallent had the gift of listening, a gift honed in her work for the VSD, and later as she dwelt with Markon and listened to the genius loci’s complicated tales. She listened now, and the occasional stirring of the brush or bubbling of the stream told her (although not Alice or Drum) that Markon was listening as well.
“I can tell you why the Lady Behind the North Wind decided to help you. It’s not merely that Ambry was her friend—it was Skyga’s invasion of her site. The older genius loci are very conscious of their rights and Skyga played havoc with the proprieties.”
“And can you help us find Mount Meru so we can free my father?” Alice asked.
Virginia Tallent nodded slowly.
“Yes, I can, and moreover, I will. As the Lady noted, I am a friend of Markon and one of the Highest on Meru has trapped him into a pact that will mean his death.”
“I don’t understand.”
Briefly, Virginia explained about Earthma’s assault, about the bargain she had offered Markon, about the side effects.
“I faced her down once and Markon grew stronger for a time. Lately, he’s been weakening again. I think Earthma’s bastard is drawing on his power. Yesterday, I saw the moire.”
“The moire. Ambry used that word, too. What does it mean?”
“It is a warping, a fading, a shimmering. In Virtu it means the end of a proge’s life. I believe that this moire was an omen that Earthma’s child will slay Markon. If the real Lord of the Lost had marked him, the end would have already come. He does not toy with his subjects—at least, so Markon told me.”
“Pardon, ma’am,” Drum said, “but you didn’t seem at all surprised by the more outrageous elements of Alice’s story.”
“Because I was not—or perhaps I should say that they were not outrageous to me. Markon has told me about the theology of Virtu. I had already heard of the Piper, the Master, and the One Who Waits. That he had offspring, or that his daughter would wish to rescue him rather than having him remain a pawn in a divine game, did not surprise me at all.”
“Can you guide us to Meru?”
Virginia frowned. “Yes and no. I do not know the way myself, but according to Markon, there is a train…”
ELEVEN
Tearing the head from a petite arboreal simian with large pleading eyes, Sayjak playfully squirted the blood fountaining from the neck over Ocro. Ocro howled with coarse amusement, never stopping his own enthusiastic rape of a somewhat bovine herd creature. Later, the memory would add piquancy to dinner.
Their taking of this territory could hardly be dignified with the word “battle.” The area had been designed after a particularly saccharine children’s entertainment series, furnished with gamboling lambkins, frolicking calflets, and chubby fuzzy-bears. Until the arrival of Sayjak’s People, the spreading forests and brightly flowered meadows had been filled with the music of myriad birds and the chattering of the adorable monklings.
Little children had run over hill and dale, learning kindness, caring, and sharing. After witnessing, even briefly, the incursion of Sayjak’s clan, most would be visiting their psychologists for weeks to come.
In a dream, Big Betsy had directed Sayjak to bring his People here, providing the key that would unlock the interface protecting the site. Sayjak grew hard at the memory of that dream, but he decided he would have come here without the bribe of screwing his dream-girl—this place was fun!
The young of the People enjoyed the warm and cuddly inhabitants as much as the human children had—although in a different fashion.
Sayjak interrupted a group playing tug of war with a squealing lambkin.
“You,” he said to a terrified youngling, “go get Dortak, Bilgad, the other leaders. Say Sayjak wants them now.”
The little one scampered off, leaving Sayjak at the center of a circle of awed, admiring eyes. Embarrassed, he grabbed the lambkin, which had been trying to limp away. Grasping it firmly by forelegs and hindlegs, he tugged.
“Christmas cracker,” he guffawed.
Leaving the young to finish dismembering their toy, he knuckled over to join his subordinates.
“This good place, Sayjak,” one said.
The others muttered rapid agreement. Sayjak had been known to beat the snot—and occasionally the life—out of any who didn’t agree with his plans. At first this had been necessary; for instance, when they had first fought in coordination with Muggle’s phants. Lately, even the meanest tumbled over each other in their haste to praise him.
“Is good place. Healthy for young. Lots of food. You think this only reason I bring you here?”
Most looked at their feet. Otlag, still the most intelligent of his subordinates, pursed his lips and blew a thoughtful spit bubble.
“Great Sayjak always have more than one thought.”
Sayjak slapped the ground. “That true. Each of you pick from your bands two of your strongest. Come back with me. We go to other place. Take things away. Come back here. Got?”
Heads nodded. Sayjak knew that most didn’t understand. If he was to probe his plan, he would be forced to admit that he didn’t fully understand. Big Betsy had told him to come here, take this site, and use it as a base to raid another.
“Even your mighty warriors would have difficulty getting in through the normal access points,” she had said. “But you’ll just go in the back door. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
Here she wriggled her hindquarters so provocatively that Sayjak had almost forgotten to listen, but he had dragged his attention back. Big Betsy wanted them to acquire an arsenal of weapons more powerful than machetes—weapons like those the eeksies and the bounties used: CF prods, pistols, rifles.
The idea amused him greatly, although he wondered, in some small corner of his mind, what Big Betsy intended for the People to attack. What was so big that brute force and the sharp cutting sticks that had served them thus far would not serve?
The wondering slipped his mind, as most things did. Sayjak knew power, glory, and immortality lay in action, never in thought. Listening to Big Betsy had made him more famous even than Karak. He certainly would continue to follow her suggestions.
* * *
Not in this reality nor any other had there ever been a creation like the Brass Babboon. With Jay Donnerjack in the cab, his father’s cap snugged on his head, Death’s dog and monkey crouched beside him, the train howled its way through virtual settings, upsetting numerous a
ions and troubling those from the Verite who sought to hold onto the illusion that Virtu existed solely for their amusement and convenience.
Unknown to the passengers on the train (or to the train itself, who would not have cared even if it knew), that illusion was steadily fraying. From site after site, reports were coming in of unrequested manifestations. Emaciated vampire sprites invaded a Golf and Eastern board meeting, terrifying the staid members and leaving behind graffiti in a language no one could translate. The Happy Land of Molly Meeper had been invaded by lewd, carnivorous proges with a more than passing resemblance to great apes.
In DinoDiznee, the dinosaurs suddenly turned on each other (and any who got in their way), destroying the basic site, driving the genius loci to nonfunctionality, and losing the parent corporation millions in revenue. Some reported that at least a score of the larger dinosaurs were seen to vanish through the interface. No further reports of their whereabouts were given, so this last was dismissed as rumor. Cancellations of virtual vacations arrived by the score, jamming travel agents’ terminals.
The only virtual sites that had increased their traffic were those connected to the Church of Elish. As more than one visitor was heard to say, “They seem to know more about Virtu. It wouldn’t hurt to be in their camp if things happen.” What those things were was usually left undefined, but it was generally understood to mean the promised crossover of the gods and the wonders and annexation that would follow.
Those speeding through the realities aboard the Brass Babboon knew nothing of this, but they would not have been surprised if they did. Although they did not possess the entire picture, they knew enough to realize that Bad Things were pending for the status quo. What did surprise them was when a signal post manifested along the freshly laid track, flag out.
“Someone’s waiting for a train, Jay,” the Brass Babboon reported. “I can’t think of anyone doing that in all the years I’ve been running the rails. Want me to stop?”
Jay considered. “Sure, might be that the Lord of the Lost has some last-minute information for us. If it’s someone wanting to play train robbers, I doubt they could give you any trouble, B.B.”
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