He turned to the Djinni. "I may want my second wish when I'm finished here."
The Djinni inclined his head. "Very good, effendi. And how might I spend my time in the interval?"
"I don't know. Become a tree or something."
"As you wish, Master." He pressed his palms together.
"Bullshit," Jack said quickly. "You know damn well that wasn't a wish. I don't give a fuck what you do."
The Djinni said, "It is a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shade." And then, with a slight smile, "I don't care what anybody says." Jack laughed but the Djinni had already become a young maple tree.
3.
AS JACK WALKED UP the leaf-strewn steps to the plain wooden door, he thought how maybe it wasn't too late. He could use wish two to return to Suleiman International, then three to gain temporary access to the Undeniable Voice, and use that to persuade ibn Hakeem to grant him an army of Djinn. But Archie had already told him there were things even the Djinn couldn't fight, so what difference would numbers make?
He knocked on the door. A dry precise voice with a slight French accent said, "Come in, Jack." Shade took a breath, turned the knob, and stepped inside. Once again he realized he'd had no idea what to expect, either of its interior or its famous occupant. And once again, it all appeared so ordinary—a comfortable living room with a fireplace and well-worn leather easy chairs, simple lamps, an oak table and chairs, a cabinet with glass doors showing wine and liquor glasses of various sizes, and alongside it two shelves with wine bottles, most without labels. An iPad lay face down on a side table. It was the only intrusion of the modern world. Here and there were small glimpses of luxury. A Persian rug of subtle reds and golds lay between the easy chairs. There were two paintings on the walls, Rembrandt's old Jewish couple and Caravaggio's gamblers. Jack assumed they were the originals, and that the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, and the Kimball Museum in Fort Worth, were proudly displaying fakes.
As for the Old Man himself, he stood around five foot ten inches, thin, wearing jeans and an old-fashioned red and black flannel shirt. His high brow and aquiline nose and thin lips struck Jack as very Gallic, perhaps even aristo. He was clean-shaven, and wore his silver hair short and parted on the left. His skin had that look of thin, almost transparent leather that could sometimes be seen in the very old and very rich. His left ring finger displayed a wide gold band with some sigil Jack couldn't place. Is this what he really looks like ? thought Jack. Alone in his house ? Does this house even exist ?
No one knew the actual age of the Old Man of the Woods, but everyone who knew the title also knew what he was—the Grand Master of the Society of the Morning, an ancient order of gangster sorcerers. In their present configuration they began in France in the eighteenth century, and were said to have gained a foothold in the Americas via Benjamin Franklin, though many believed them to have been much older, possibly as old, or even older, than the Travelers themselves, which would make them very old indeed. Jack had no opinion. He only knew that the Travelers Aid Society, and even COLE, were frightened of them. They were said to exert influence, or raw power, at every level, from the demon nano-worlds all the way up to the High Orders of Angelic Light.
Jack knew all this but he knew something else as well. The Old Man of the Woods owed him. When Jack saved the Queen of Eyes he also blocked an attempted coup against the leader of the Society. "Jack," the Old Man said, "it's good to finally meet you." He offered his hand, and Jack knew he had no choice but to shake it. The handshake was firm and dry. It reminded Jack of an ancient parchment he'd once dug up in the Negev Desert.
The Old Man waved Jack to one of the leather chairs. "Would you like a drink?"
"Sure," Jack said.
"Perhaps whiskey. You look like you could use some warming up."
Jack thought of his frigid ride in the Djinni's pocket. Did the Old Man know about that? Probably. "Sounds good," he said.
The Old Man took two tumblers from the cabinet and a dark green bottle from one of the shelves. "Do you want water, or ice? I recommend straight, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Straight is fine," Jack said. The Old Man poured Jack's tumbler a third full and handed it to him. For just an instant Jack hesitated—what was the old story? Never eat or drink anything in the Land of the Dead?—and then took a sip. The taste was dark and smoky, and seemed to permeate his body all at once.
The Old Man smiled. "I assure you, Jack, the people who distill that for me are quite alive. Do you like it?"
"It's amazing."
"Good. Then I will send a case to your hotel. Perhaps Mrs. Yao will like it as well."
Jack stared at him. "She knows nothing of this. Of any of it."
The Old Man waved a hand. "Of course. I simply thought you might wish to share it with her. And the remarkable Ms. Hounstra."
Jack thought of how Carolien had begged him not to do this. He leaned forward in his chair. "Let's stop the bullshit," he said. "I appreciate your hospitality, it's great, but I came here to ask for some serious help."
The old Man sipped his whiskey. "Of course," he said. "And I will offer any assistance I can. And not just because of the debt I owe you. This creature endangers all of us. These things that we do, you and I, they are very different but they depend on the world remaining stable. And more, ignorant. Unaware of itself."
"So you know what's happened."
"Not everything. Tell me about the host, please."
"Host?"
"The human who wears the ring."
"Right. The ring is the key." Jack told him about Carol Acker and her desire for a soul retrieval. "Was it fake?" he asked. "Was she playing me the whole time?"
"No, no. I see I must explain about the host." He sipped his drink, then set it down to lean forward slightly. To Jack it felt like something had shifted in the room, a subtle mass moving toward him. "The creature came to life long ago, before humanity, quite possibly one of the First Incursions. For millennia it fed on whatever wretched creatures stumbled before it. I suspect it always felt there was some lack in its existence, though of course there is no way to know. I doubt that even your Peter Midnight could have traveled back that far, if he were foolish enough to wish to do so." Jack nodded. Peter Midnight was from the eighteenth century but he was said to have mastered moving through time. Though he was buried in that unmarked grave, Jack always half expected to meet him. Is a time traveler ever really dead?
The Old Man went on, "Then the Powers seeded awareness and culture into the world. As always with our benevolent Friends, their good intentions brought unwelcome side effects. For now the creature discovered something new and wonderful. Group suffering. As humanity became conscious, so did the enemy."
Enemy ? thought Jack, Isn't that you ? But all he said was, "Let's cut to the important part. What stopped it? What will stop it now?"
"No one knows precisely who, or what, imprisoned it. It is possible that the Travelers came into being for just this purpose."
Jack did his best not to react. No one really knew the origin of the Travelers, though most believed that the Powers (or a Power) imbued a few early humans with knowledge and ability, and the desire for more. He said, "So the Travelers did it?"
"Rather an alliance. The neo-Travelers, certain Powers, and quite possibly the White Ravens." Now Jack's eyebrows went up. The White Ravens very rarely ventured from their own world, usually content to interact with this one through their dark children. The Old Man said, "It would make sense, for the Ravens control the winds."
"And so the whirlwind cage."
"Precisely. First trap it, then imprison it in the wall. Only—it found an escape hatch. Somehow it managed to break off a piece of its own prison, the wall, and send that into the world. The wall contained onyx—another indication that the Ravens were involved—and so the black stone became the link."
"Was it always a ring?"
"No, no, that is a relatively modern configuration, an adaptation, we might say, to cultural adornments
." Jack knew that by "modern" he meant the last five thousand years or so. The Old Man said, "In one form or another, the link attached itself to a possible host. This human would know nothing of this, only an intense experience of something missing. Almost all have simply died, and then the link found its way to someone else. Did your Carol Acker say where she got the ring?"
"A thrift shop."
"Yes, that would work. Anonymous, unassuming."
"So let me see if I get this," Jack said. "The link—the ring, or whatever—goes from one host to another and each one dies with no harm done. Except every now and then some asshole decides to help one of them resolve that awful feeling of something missing. Is that it?"
"Yes."
"So now it's up to me, the current asshole, to destroy it."
"That cannot be done. What you can accomplish is to reimprison it. And soon, before it becomes so strong that we have another Haarlindam. Or worse. But you cannot do this yourself. It is already too strong."
"So you're offering to help me?"
"Yes."
Jack leaned forward. "And then what—at some future time you show up and remind me that I owe you?"
The Old Man shook his head. "No, no, I am already in your debt. Besides, having this creature loose in the world doesn't suit me any more than it suits you."
"Okay then. Where do we start?"
"I can offer you two things. A tool, and firepower." He opened a small drawer in the end table next to the couch and took out a lump of black rock. As he handed it to Jack he said, "Like the ring, it comes from the cave wall. This will help you transport Ms. Acker to the cave, and then to separate her from the parasite and force it back into its prison."
"Just like that, huh?"
"No. You will have assistance. Frank? Benny?"
The door at the back of the room opened, and two men stepped into the room. Had they been waiting on the other side, or had the Old Man used their names as a summoning spell? Didn't matter, Jack decided. They were white, and both around six feet tall, but there the resemblance ended. One was thin and handsome, with curly black hair, and dressed in high-end jeans and a navy blazer over a pale red polo shirt. The other was stocky and muscular, with wide shoulders, a face that was broad and hard, a nose that had been broken more than once, and brown hair thinning on top. He wore old jeans, heavy shoes, and a leather jacket over a dark T-shirt. The Old Man said, "These are the Pope brothers." He extended a bony finger, first toward the thin one, then the other. "Frank, Benny."
Frank Pope nodded and said, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Shade." His brother—if in fact, that was true—said nothing, only nodded. Frank added, "My brother doesn't talk much, but he's quite useful, especially in a fight."
Jack said, "Frank Pope, Benny Pope, are you guys named after—"
"Actually," said Frank, "I'm afraid it's kind of the other way around."
Jack glanced at the Old Man, who allowed himself a momentary smile. "Sure," Jack said, "I guess it figures. So they're, what, backup?"
"Don't underestimate them," the Old Man said.
"I won't. When do we start? How do we find her?"
"I'm afraid that won't be a problem." The Old Man reached for his iPad and opened it to show Jack the screen. The sound was off, but a streaming banner on the bottom read "Breaking News: Brutal Attack on New Hampshire Town—No Claim of Responsibility—Mysterious Message—'Warming Up, Jack.'"
The shaking was back. Jack tried to control it, but it only got worse. Fuck it , he thought. He said, "The Queen told me three days."
"And she was right," the Old Man said. He set down the iPad. "This is just a practice session."
"So what, I go there—with your Pope boys—and we take her on? How do we know she'll still be there?"
Softly, the Old Man said, "Because she's proud of her work, Jack. She wants you to see. You are her rescuer, after all."
Jack clenched his fists to keep from hitting him. Or trying to. "All right," he said. "I guess this is our shot. How do we get there?"
The Old Man smiled for a moment, then said, "I'll take care of that."
"I should have realized," Jack said. Then, "I have to go outside for a moment."
"If you're going outside to ask Archie for increased strength that'd probably be a good idea."
"Christ," Jack said, "is there anything you don't know?"
"In my woods? Please. Do you think your Djinni is the only entity disguised as a tree? Perhaps I myself am a tree and you are talking to a puppet. Perhaps, unlike Archie, I have always been a tree. Perhaps that is the true meaning of the Old Man of the Woods."
Jack stepped out without answering.
Outside, it had gotten dark, and Jack swayed with a moment's vertigo. How much time had passed? He remembered the Sun in the sky as he'd approached the porch. Was it even the same day? It had to be. Why would the Old Man offer to help him, then speed up time so Carol Acker, or the thing inside her, would reach full power before Jack could get there?
In the dark, it was hard to tell the trees apart, so that Jack finally had to say, "Archie. Show yourself, please. And that's not a wish, it's a request."
The Djinni's voice came from the left. "And my pleasure to grant it, effendi."
Jack turned to face him. The Djinni stood motionless, with his hands clasped loosely in front of him. A quarter Moon had risen, which it was well into the evening, and there was just enough light to show Archie's hair stirred slightly by a breeze. Jack said, "The Old Man knows you're here. Knows you were a tree."
"Of course. These are his woods, after all."
"Yeah, kind of what he said. Look, is there a way you can block him hearing what we say?"
"I believe so, yes."
"And can we do that without it being an official wish?"
The Djinni smiled. "Perhaps I myself do not wish to be overheard."
Jack smiled back. "Thanks, Archie."
Archie's face became serious. "But please understand, effendi, there is a limit to how many favors I may grant. I remain under contract, after all, to Suleiman International, and the terms do not just govern the clients."
"Don't worry," Jack said. "I'll need my second wish soon enough. I'll even tell you what it is. Power. It's what the Old Man thinks I came out here for, but I'd rather wait until I really need it. So when I say 'Now,' I want you to give me energy to resist whatever Carol Acker throws at me. Agreed?"
"Of course. But if all you wanted was to adjust the timing, why close off our conversation?"
"Because that's not the reason. I need to ask you something. Can you tell if the Old Man is lying? Does he really want to stop Carol, or is he playing me? I don't know if you realize it, but he's done this thing with time. Speeded it up." The Djinni nodded. "So I need to know, is he actually going to help?"
The Djinni closed his eyes and bent his head forward. When he looked up again slight stress lines had formed around his mouth and eyes. With what seemed a conscious effort he smoothed them away. He said, "It is—difficult to venture too deeply into such a convoluted mind. There are—traps. If you will, effendi, tell me, please, how much time has passed since you asked me that question?"
"Only a few seconds," Jack said.
"Ah. Thank you. Let me say that as far as I can discern, the Old Man did not lie to you. He does indeed wish to help you. He does wish to see the creature returned to its confinement. Only—and I cannot be certain about this—he may wish to delay that confinement until the last possible moment. Exactly why I could not say."
"And that moment would be?"
"Shortly before it reaches full power. Sometime in the next several hours."
Jack made a noise. "Okay. Thanks. And the Pope brothers?"
"They are sincere. They wish to follow their Master's orders and do not seek to understand his motives."
"All right, then," Jack said. "I guess that's as good as I'm going to get." He started to head for the porch but turned and said, "Oh, and as long as you grant my second wish at the
moment I need it, you're free to do what you like for now. Roam the world, see the sights."
The Djinni smiled. "That would be most pleasant."
Once again, Jack stopped himself before going inside. "Oh, and Archie?"
"Yes, effendi?"
"Thank you. And call me Jack. If that doesn't break your contract."
"You are most welcome, Jack."
Inside, the Old Man stared at Jack for a few seconds before he said, "Very well, then. Are you ready?"
"That thing you did with time," Jack said. "Speed it up. Why did you do that?"
When the Old Man didn't answer, Frank said to his boss, "What's he talking about?"
Jack told him, "We had a whole day left to stop Carol—that thing—before it reached full power. But your Chief accelerated time while we were chatting, so now it's down to the wire." He stared at the Old Man. "Right?"
The Old Man sighed. "There would have been no point in sending you too soon. The creature simply would have gone dormant, hidden away inside Ms. Acker. You would have thought yourselves victorious while merely teaching it to be cautious."
Frank and Benny looked at each other, then Frank said, "We could have just killed her. The Acker woman."
"You do not understand," the Old Man said. "Once it's out it's out. If you'd killed Ms. Acker it would have jumped into someone else. Perhaps Mr. Shade. They have a bond, after all." Before Jack could say anything, the Old Man went on, "It needs to fully expose itself, to be almost ready. Only then can you return it to its prison." He looked at Jack. "That is what Margarita Mariq meant by three days. Not a time frame, but the moment at which to act. That was the reason for Haarlindam. The Dutch Travelers and their allies knew they had to allow it to reveal itself before they could send it back to the cave."
Frank said, "What the fuck is Haarlindam?"
The Old Man shook his head. "Of no importance. You had best be going. I pushed time to bring you to the correct moment, but if you delay.…"
Jack said, "Where is she?"
"I just showed you. Willowtown, New Hampshire, is the name, I believe."
"She hasn't left."
Fantasy & Science Fiction - JanFeb 2017 Page 6
