Fantasy & Science Fiction - JanFeb 2017

by Spilogale Inc.

  A long shuddering breath ran through Jack, and then he said, "A woman named Carol Acker—or some thing inside her—has just slaughtered her cousin and his wife in Teaneck. She might go for her own family next. We have to protect them."

  Carolien said, "Do you know where they are?"

  Jack got up and retrieved the check from the table. As he'd figured, it was from a joint account with her husband and displayed their address. "Here's the husband," he said, as he sat down again. He added, "Carolien, it was her cousin who gave her my card. The one she just killed."

  Carolien was wearing a navy pea jacket over paint-spattered overalls. She took a cell phone from her jacket pocket and speed-dialed a number. "Sam," she said, "I need you and Dean to go check on someone." When she'd given them the information—and added that they should protect themselves—she hung up and focused again on Jack. "Now," she said. "Everything."

  Carolien was Dutch, six feet tall, one hundred sixty-five pounds, with long blond hair, and the whitest skin Jack had ever seen. He found it hard to look at her without thinking of milk, or vanilla ices, or some other ridiculous food cliché. Maybe it was because that was how most of the males, and some of the females, from NYTAS talked about her, as a wondrous meal they'd like to devour. Jack knew that part of their hostility to him came from the fact that Carolien had turned them all down and chosen him. He and Carolien were still more friends than lovers, a relationship that suited both of them, Carolien most of all.

  It was only as he talked about it that Jack realized how little he understood. "What was that thing ?" he said. "Was it really a lost part of a suburban housewife who'd always been too nice all her life? And what was holding it prisoner?"

  "It may be," Carolien said, "that this is something much older than Mrs. Acker."

  "Then what's her connection to it?"

  Carolien closed her eyes and let her head drop, something Jack had seen her do just before she came up with some link no one else would have found. Sometimes she would sit like this for a long time, hours even, but now it lasted only ten or fifteen seconds. When she opened them again she said, " Schatje —(Dutch for "little treasure," or sweetheart)—tell me again, please, when you saw this thingetje on the stone wall, what did it look like?"

  "Like some kind of beast surrounded by coils of wind."

  "Ah," she said, and reached for his laptop. "Password?" she asked.

  Jack looked down and mumbled, "Carolien." She laughed and began to type.

  A minute or so later, she turned the screen around and held it up to him. "Is this it?" she said.

  Jack found himself staring at what looked like a cave painting of some kind, like those in Lascaux or Altamira. Only, where those were mostly realistic images of bulls and horses, this showed a demon or monster, upright like a man, yet wild and ferocious, with long claws and teeth, and arms that looked like it was trying to break free of the world. Or the lines that swirled around it like a cage. "Yes," Jack said, "that's it. What is this?"

  She set down the computer but didn't close it. "The pre-historians call it 'the Whirlwind Enigma.' It is strange for them because it seems wrong in so many ways. This, you know, is how they understand things. By making categories."

  "Carolien," Jack said, "we have no time for this. I need to know what I'm facing. What I've done."

  "No," she said firmly. "We cannot simply rush ahead. We must understand."

  Jack looked down, nodded. Carolien didn't need to say that rushing ahead, his rushing, had killed Jerry and Marjorie Acker. And they were probably only the start.

  "First," Carolien said, "the painting, if indeed that is what it is, is sixty-five thousand years old. Much older than any other complex cave art. The paintings in Le Chauvet are only thirty-five thousand. Second, all the caves with advanced paintings have many examples. Here there is only one. And the cave is very hard to reach, so much so that it was only discovered ten years ago. Third, the great cave art shows almost all animals, and with great realism. Here we see a monster. Fourth ." Her voice was rising. "The paints. There is the usual ochre and other mineral pigments, but also something else. And that something is very toxic. The scientist who scraped a sample used gloves, of course, but a very little bit fell onto his arm. In the next hour his skin began to itch, and then an hour later he collapsed, and two hours after that he was dead."

  Jack waited a second to make sure she was done, then said, "And this Enigma thing—you think it's a picture of what I brought back to Carol Acker?"

  She shook her head. "No, schatje . Not a picture."

  "Fuck," Jack half-whispered. She was right, of course. Not a painting. The thing itself, imprisoned in that wall for sixty-five thousand years.

  Softly now, Caroline said, "Do you know Johannes Ludann's theory of cave paintings?" Jack nodded. Ludann was a Danish Traveler who became obsessed with cave art. Instead of the usual academic belief that they were magical attempts to benefit hunting or fertility, Ludann claimed they were trapped hostile Powers that had preyed upon humanity until it figured out how to imprison them. In 1987, Johannes Ludann disappeared after declaring that he would "find clear proof and bring it back."

  Jack said, "So you think this thing, this fucking Enigma, is what Ludann was talking about?"

  Carolien nodded. "Possibly. Look." She grabbed the laptop and ran her fingers over the keyboard. Then she turned it around so he could see the screen where a news article declared Mysterious Cave Painting Vanishes from Rock Wall. Scientists Stunned, Angry. She said, "I saw this just before you called me. It was how I knew."

  "Christ," Jack said. "Are you telling me this—this thing —was trapped in that wall, and I fucking released it?"

  Carolien said, "Yes, that is possible."

  Jack discovered his nails were digging into his palms. He spread his fingers, breathed deeply, then said, "But what does this have to do with Carol Acker? She was just some bored housewife."

  "Who knows?" Carolien said. "Maybe that creature reached out to her. Maybe it searched the world until it found what it needed, a possible vessel.…" Her voice trailed off.

  Jack said, "And a Traveler who didn't think to ask questions."

  "No," Carolien said sharply. "To worry about such things will only waste time." Her accent always became stronger when she was being stern. "There is a more important question."

  "I know," Jack said. "What does she do next? And how do I stop her?'"

  Jack's phone buzzed. He'd set it on the table after calling Carolien, and now it vibrated toward him. He reached across the table for it. "What the hell?" he said, when he saw the display. "Margaret Strand," it read. Now he looked up at Carolien, somehow more amazed by this than everything else that had happened. He said, "It's the Queen of Eyes!"

  Carolien, too, looked startled before she quickly said, "Then you had best answer it, yes?"

  Jack touched the connect button. "Margaret?" he said, then put it on speaker.

  A strong yet distant voice said, "This is Margarita Mariq Nliana Hand." Jack nodded. "Margaret" was her everyday name. She was in her aspect now, her power. The Queen of Eyes was the holder of all oracular power in the world, an office that had passed from mother to daughter for far longer than anyone knew. Some time ago Jack Shade had brought the Queen back after an assassination attempt, and he knew she liked him, but still, the Queen rarely spoke directly, let alone called someone on the phone.

  "I am honored," Jack said.

  "You have asked, and I shall answer." Asked ? Jack thought, then realized he'd spoken aloud his question about what happened next and how to stop her. Did she hear everyone's questions, all over the world? She said, "And you must listen."

  Jack sat up straighter, as if she could see him. "I'm ready," he said.

  "You have two days, Jack Shade. There were three, but the first is gone." Jack sucked in a breath, thinking of all those hours stuck in his chair. The Queen said, "Two days before it truly begins. Then it will be too late. Haarlindam, 1132 ." Before Jack could say an
ything, she hung up.

  "Wait!" Jack said. "What about Carol Acker? Damn!" He hit the callback button. After a few rings a pleasant voice said, "Hi. This is the voicemail for Margaret Strand. I'm sorry I'm not—"

  It was only after he put down the phone that Jack saw Carolien's reaction to the Queen's message. She was sitting forward on her chair, her back a straight line, her mouth half open, her eyes fixed on the phone. Jack got up to squat before her and take her hands. She didn't seem to notice. "Carolien," he said softly, "what is it?"

  She looked at him, almost surprised, as if she'd forgotten where she was. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, swore softly, " Godverdamme. " Then louder, "Haarlindam!"

  "What?" Jack said. "What is Haarlindam?"

  "A very old Nederlandse city. Every Dutch Traveler knows of it."

  "I'm sorry, Carolien, I've never heard of it. And what does—"

  "Ah, but you won't have, dear Jack. This is something the Nederlands Reisen Associatie keeps very much to itself. In the year 1132—" She stopped and crossed herself, something Jack had never seen her do. "—the Travelers and the Powers joined together, and they—what is the word, oh yes, obliterated , they obliterated the city of Haarlindam, and everything and every person within it."

  "Jesus," Jack said, "Why? What the hell was going on there?"

  "No one knows. The Travelers of 1132 time-sealed it."

  "Shit," Jack said. A time-seal was a kind of bubble, a force field to use the modern expression, that prevented any information from a place or an event from leaking out to the future, or even the past. "Does anyone have a clue?"

  "Only that something verschrikkelijk —terrible—had become free in Haarlindam, and no one could stop it. In this case, some small details, stories perhaps, escaped the seal. Preserved, maybe, by the sealers. Bodies, and body pieces, strung like decorations for Carnaval . Lines and lines of black poles with human heads on top. Heads that could see, and hear, and smell. And of course, scream." She gripped Jack's arm now. It always surprised him how such soft hands could be so strong. She said, "Jack, if this thing you brought back to your client, your Carol Acker, is anything at all the same as what happened in Haarlindam, and we have only two days, we must stop it. Before . Before it completes its so-called warming-up."

  Jack took a breath. "I did it, I'll stop it."

  She shook her head. "No, no, no. Not alone. Even you will need help this time."

  "Where do we go? The Queen has obviously said all she's willing to say."

  Carolien smiled slightly, just for a moment, but it thrilled Jack to see she could do it. "Where else? We are Travelers, ja ? Then we must go to NYTAS."

  "Oh, great," Jack said. "Arthur!"

  * * *

  THE NEW YORK Travelers' Aid Society had existed, under various names, from long before there was a New York, or a Nieuw Amsterdam, for that matter. Carolien had once traced it back to an alliance of the Mannahasset and Wampanoag Indians, but it went back much further than that. Under the current Chief, however, an erstwhile surgeon named Arthur Canton, it had become something of a showcase—for Canton himself. He'd moved the Chief's office to a former ceremonial chamber and made sure that all group actions, communications, and requests for the help of NYTAS's vast resources must go through him. He assisted those he liked, and blocked those he didn't. Canton liked Carolien; everyone did. Jack, on the other hand—Canton considered Jack arrogant, selfish, a loner who never helped the group and thought himself above everyone else. All true, of course, which made it that much harder for Jack to plead for help.

  They found the Chief at his great ebony desk inlaid with gold and silver to show the Planetary Palaces and diamond arrows to chart the pathways between them. Canton wore a charcoal suit with a black tie containing bits of light that represented some constellation or other. His chiseled features and lush hair always made Jack suspect he'd cast some George Clooney glamour over himself, and if they ever saw the real Arthur he'd have a sloping forehead, a rat nose, and a receding chin.

  Canton sat with the air of someone who expected a summons from the White House at any moment. The real White House, of course, not the showpiece in Washington. He said, "Carolien, it's lovely to see you as always. Your unruly pet, on the other hand—"

  "Enough," Carolien said. "We know you dislike Jack, of course you do. Everyone does." Jack struggled not to stare at her.

  Canton smiled. "Except you, apparently."

  "I vacillate," Carolien said, and then, before Canton could answer, "Arthur, believe me, please. We come with something so important we must set aside any personal matters." She looked at Jack. "Tell him."

  Jack described Carol Acker's "soul retrieval," condensing his struggles in the different worlds and going straight to what happened afterward, especially the slaughter of the man who'd given Jack's card to his cousin Carol. Then he told Arthur about the telephone call from the Queen of Eyes, and let Carolien explain about Haarlindam. He could see it hurt her to do this, reveal a Dutch Travelers' secret to Arthur Canton, but she did it anyway.

  For what felt like a long time, Arthur stared at Jack through narrowed eyes, while the fingers of his left hand drummed slowly on the tabletop. "So," he said finally, "we seem to be driving down an old road. Mr. Lone Wolf Shade, who has no use for his colleagues until he needs something, has once again—how shall I say this—Oh right, fucked up. And now he expects NYTAS to save him. Ah, but this time he brings his mommy to plead for him."

  "Arthur, please," Carolien said, "this is not about Jack."

  "No? I got an interesting call just before you arrived. From Dean Margolis and Sam Harwin. They were not terribly pleased to discover they'd been used as Jack Shade's errand boys."

  "Jack did not do that," Carolien said, "it was me. We needed to know if Mr. Acker was safe."

  "Well good news, then. He's fine, apparently. But his wife did leave a message. Just in case someone showed up. A message for a certain Jack Shade. She wanted you to know that she's, quote, 'just warming up.' And now the message has been delivered." He inclined his head and rotated his hand in mock servitude.

  "God damn it," Jack said, "can't you see that—"

  Canton waved a hand and Jack's mouth locked so he couldn't speak. The position of Chief carried certain powers, which probably was why Canton rarely left the building. To Carolien, he said, "I've made my decision, Carolien. You may go now. And take your dog with you before he soils the floor."

  Carolien looked about to try again, but Jack took her arm and led her out. When they had left the building, Carolien let loose a stream of Dutch that Jack figured would burn his ears if he knew what it meant.

  It didn't matter, Jack knew. He looked around at the street. NYTAS was on Madison Avenue and the passersby were mostly office workers and executives, well-off shoppers, people on their way to appointments with clients, lovers, or therapists. The sun had come out but the air had turned chilly, and some held their light jackets tightly against their bodies. Haarlindam , he thought. What if she chose New York this time? He looked at a man who'd just bought a hot dog from a cart and was happily taking his first bite. For an instant, Jack saw the man turned inside out, his body parts strewn across the Art Deco relief of an angel on the building behind him.

  Jack took out his phone and began to dial. Carolien asked whom he was calling, and he said, "COLE."

  COLE stood for the Committee of Linear Explanation, and no Traveler liked to call them, though every Traveler knew their number. When an action spilled over to the outside world COLE stepped in to clean things up, to restore Non-Travelers' trust in their limited reality. Jack had only ever called them once, the night his daughter's poltergeist killed her mother and then his daughter had left the world entirely, pulled into the dead zone of the Forest of Souls.

  The phone rang once, and then a woman's voice said, "You have reached the offices of COLE. All our agents our occupied right now, but if you stay on the line—"

  "Fuck!" Jack said,
and almost threw the phone at NYTAS's oak door. Instead, he just put it back in his pocket, and told Carolien, "I have to go do something and it has to be alone." She started to speak but he said, "There's no time. I need you to head back to your place and monitor the news, track any activity that might tell us what she's doing, where she is. The Queen said two days, but she's already started. Warming up. Will you do that for me?"

  She nodded. "Call me," she said.

  "When I can." Jack stepped into the street and raised his arm. Instantly, a taxi pulled to the curb and the cabbie ordered the confused couple in back to get out. When they tried to protest, he yelled, "Emergency! No charge, okay?" Jack took their place the moment they stepped out. The ability to command taxis was one of Jack's favorite perks of being a New York Traveler, but now all he cared about was getting where he needed to go. "The Public Library," he said. "And I'll pay their fare as well as mine."

  The scene on the Library steps might have been summer, with people sitting on the cold stone, or the small slat chairs on the sidewalk, some reading but most talking, eating street food, playing games or texting on their phones. Two young women in tight jeans and sweaters and wearing clunky Ugg boots leaned against one of the stone lions, talking intensely about some boyfriend, while in front of the other lion a young white guy was doing card tricks to impress a couple of middle-aged marks.

  Okay , Jack thought, where to start ? He gestured at the two women. Both of them gasped, then laughed with delight. "Mr. Kewpie!" one of them said, and patted the lion's mane, which had become soft and silky. "What are you doing here, little one? So far from home! Did you follow me? Who let you out?" She began to pull on the stone head, which didn't move but let out a low growl. "Come on, sweetie," she said. "When did you get so heavy?"