The apparition was partially dispersed, but still had voice.
“Son of a bitch! It’ll take a thousand years to restart those furnaces! If they start at all! We might have to replace them!”
“Easy installments, no payments till spring.”
“Okay, pal, we got your name, and we know where you live. You think you’re big stuff? Well, think again. This won’t be the last time this abyss gapes before you.”
“Abyssinia.”
The infernal specter vanished. Faint smoke rose from the pit, carrying a smell like a four-mile-wide kitty-litter box.
Tweel staggered to his feet. He came to the edge of the abyss and looked down. “They’re gone. They’re really gone.” He looked up. “You did it, John. You pissed on the flames of Hell. It was epic. Homeric!”
“Have any more wine?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
City at the End of Time
A gargantuan caterpillar-like machine had arrived and disgorged from its hatches hundreds of lesser machines: robots, drones, and automatons of every description. Big and small, they converged on the Sidewise Voyager, invading its interior, crawling on the hull, attaching probes and contacts, and generally taking its measure. Then, having reached a consensus on what was ailing the craft, the visitors set about trying to fix it. Tool attachments spun on the ends of mechanical arms, and busy sounds came from within and underneath the crippled ship. The area around the Voyager swarmed with antlike metallic workers engaged in countless auxiliary tasks, moving to the music of beeping diagnostic instruments.
Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw had wakened to Goofus’s barking and the sounds of the commotion. Fascinated, they watched the goings-on.
The Ablomabel had returned also. Antenna up, the dying being monitored the progress of the robot work force.
“They are saying there is chance of success,” the sea-creature said.
“Encouraging,” Gene said. “Have they ever worked on anything like the Voyager before?”
“All machines are alike in certain respects, perhaps,” the Ablomabel said. “Being that they are of the same class.”
“If you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. Well, as far as road service goes, these guys sure beat most service stations. They look very organized. What do they do when they’re not helping strangers from another dimension?”
“They do not do much,” the Ablomabel said. “The time is long past when they were needed. Now, just maintenance every few centuries.”
The work continued. An occasional flash lit up the undercarriage of the ship.
To pass the time, the Ablomabel related the story of his life, describing the seagoing civilization of which he was the last representative. He outlined the history of his race and its cultural, social, and technical development, and tried to fill his visitors in on the last days of the breakup of that culture and its eventual lapse into a moribund state. He also tried to give them some idea of the history and fate of other varieties of intelligent life on the planet. At one time there were thousands, if not tens of thousands, of different but peacefully coexisting races and subraces — all, it seems, the product of technologies that abetted the proliferation of artificial and semiartificial life forms. This glorious pluralism was in the past, however. Now the world was depopulated, almost lifeless.
The trouble for Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw (and perhaps for Goofus, for he seemed to find the narration interesting as well) was that most of the Ablomabel’s story was hard to understand in detail.
“… it was then that the Yvlem decreed the laws of Nyah Lyeh, and the Weem protested, yet they were not so much uncooperative as shifting paradigms in the manner of Gel Minap-Tev, yet they eventually achieved Yow-Negarah. At the same time, factions within the Humenathylathuiopuhthem demurred, wishing to curry favor with the Yvlem, yet not wanting to assume the onus of Slagg-Gefeen.…”
At the end of it, the Ablomabel heaved a sigh, and fell silent.
“That was interesting,” Linda said. “Thank you, Ablomabel.”
“I am only too happy to have obliged,” replied the Ablomabel, whose English had improved markedly in just the last half-hour.
“Is there any chance that your race can get reestablished some way?” Linda asked.
“I am afraid that the reproductive machines of the Hblutmen are not capable of being re-vohmed easily, and the task is beyond my poor powers.”
“What about the machines helping?”
“Ah, but their doing so would precipitate an ethicophilosophical quincunx. Such a step would invoke the Imperative of Nexial Periphrasis, if I am transliterating correctly.”
“Oh. Uh-huh. I see.”
They all waited silently, watching the sea roll in and roll out under the huge red sun.
At last the machines made their report.
“They say that the craft is now functioning,” the Ablomabel announced, relaying the message. “They estimate the chances of further malfunction to be within the parameters of acceptable risk.”
“Meaning it’s damned dangerous,” Gene said. “But that’s okay. We’ll be going now.”
“Oh, Ablomabel,” Linda said.
“Yes,” the Ablomabel returned, “sadness is in my primary pumping unit as well.”
“But we can’t just leave you here. You helped us. You saved our lives.”
“What else could an intelligent being have done under the circumstances?”
“A lot of nasty, heartless stuff. But you didn’t. You helped.”
“Only too happy. Only too happy,” was all the Ablomabel could say.
Linda hugged the creature’s massive head.
“Goodbye, Ablomabel.”
“Goodbye, Linda Barclay. Goodbye, Gene Ferraro, Snowclaw, and Goofus. May you live to see the cosmos reborn in the coming time of the holy Bunya Vree-Gel.”
“You too,” Gene said. “So long. Thank the machines for us.”
“They, also, are glad to have been of service.” They left the Ablomabel to his long, peaceful dying at the edge of the sea.
The lights on the control panel were all green. The craft hummed reassuringly.
Gene snapped switches, pressed buttons. The lights on the panel reconfigured. The engines began to whine and whir.
The flickering montage began again. Thousands of universes flashed momentarily into being, then were gone. Gene darkened the viewport somewhat to make the flickering less hard on the eyes.
Time passed inside the tiny craft. Goofus stood watch while Snowclaw slept snoringly. Gene and Linda played tic-tac-toe on the computer screen, then chess, then Nintendo Super Mario Brothers (Jeremy’s doing).
“This is fun,” Gene said, “but that music can drive you nuts.”
“Watch out for those crawly things. They’re … whoops! You’re dead.”
“Damn it. You know —”
Goofus began to howl.
“Goof? What’s the matter?”
A high-pitched beeping sounded.
“Hey, that’s the alarm!” Gene yelled. “The locater spell.”
Outside, the flickering had stopped. Below was a green, forested world.
“She’s in this universe,” Linda said.
“Yeah, but where is the question.”
Goofus was barking excitedly, thrusting his head between Linda’s and Gene’s shoulders.
“Hey, Goof? Take it easy, okay?”
Goofus seemed to want to jump through the viewport.
“I guess we’re on the right track,” Gene said.
The craft cruised at an altitude of about a hundred meters, following a winding stream below. Here and there, verdant early summer wheat fields showed evidence of intelligent and probably human habitation.
Goofus turned his head to the right and barked. Gene banked the craft accordingly and came about to the new heading.
“See anything?” Gene asked.
“No. Wait a minute! There are some guys … There she is! Gene, I see her! Uh-oh.”
“W
hat?”
“She may be in trouble. Gene, land quick.”
“Okay, but I’m not good at this.”
Gene sent the Voyager into a power dive and leveled off at the last moment. The craft settled gently in the middle of a clearing.
“Hey, not bad for a tenderfoot pilot.”
“Let’s get to her quick!”
With difficulty, they all spilled out of the craft.
“Which way?” Gene said. “I lost my bearings.”
“Follow Goofus!”
“Oh, yeah.”
Goofus led them a merry chase through woods, down an incline and up a hill, following a beaten path. Eventually Goofus lost his pursuers and disappeared into the brush.
“Gene, hurry!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
They came out of the woods onto a rutted road, where they beheld a strange sight. Goofus was trying to chew the sword arm off a chain-mailed knight. The man was writhing on the ground near a naked Melanie, who just sat there watching. Nearby, two other knights lay bloodily dead, while a third man, sword in hand, stood idly by, observing the scene with detached curiosity.
Linda dragged Goofus off his victim. The man groaned, holding his mangled arm.
“Phasers on stun,” Gene said, pointing his futuristic weapon at the man. The gun went voomp and the man fell over unconscious. A green cross was emblazoned on the white tunic that covered his suit of mail.
“Just for insurance until we find out what’s going on,” Gene said. “Shoot first and ask Christians later is my motto.”
Linda brought Melanie her clothes.
“Hi, there!” Gene said to the man who was watching. “There’s a Federation law against interference, but, hey, screw it!”
“He saved my life,” Melanie said, pulling on tights. “Or tried to, anyway. And he doesn’t know me from Adam.”
“Is that why he’s eavesdropping?”
“Melanie, what happened?” Linda said.
“Oh, these are the days when knights were bold, I guess. They were going to rape me and this one tried to kill me. Who’s the dog belong to?”
“That’s Goofus, and he found you,” Linda said.
“Thanks, Goofus.”
“Whoorrrrff!”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Melanie said.
“You thought! My God, I was sick with worry. You were my responsibility.”
“I guess stepping into that aspect was dumb, huh?”
“You couldn’t have known, and I should have kept my eye on you till you did know.”
“Hey, this guy’s head is split like a melon,” Snowclaw said.
“I did that,” Melanie said soberly.
“You?” Linda was amazed.
“Never in a million years did I think I could ever kill anyone. But I did.”
“Well, you did a pretty good job,” Snowclaw assured her.
“I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life.”
Decent again, Melanie went up to the stranger who had come back for her.
“You didn’t have to come back. You risked your life for me.”
He had no trouble understanding. “Aye. I’ve been known to do stupider things.” He sheathed his sword. “But all’s well that ends well. I’ll trust your friends to take you home. I’ll not ask what far country you or they come from. ’Tis all been passing strange.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Be well, girl. And don’t leave home again without a husband or some man to look after you.”
He turned and walked back up the hill. Melanie watched him go. Then she called out to him. “What’s your name?”
“I’m called Baldor. Baldor of the clan Cayrn. Fare thee well, pretty maid!”
Linda found Gene pointing his gun at a tree. He fiddled with the setting and aimed again.
“Gene,” Linda said, “what are you up to?”
“I gotta see what ‘vaporize’ does.”
“Don’t destroy a tree just to —”
A plume of wispy smoke wafted out of the barrel of the weapon. It billowed into a faint cloud and dissipated quickly.
“What the shit is this nonsense?”
“You wanted vapor, you got vapor,” Linda said, laughing.
“Probably hair spray. Or deodorant.” He holstered his weapon. “Let’s beam the hell offa this jerkwater planet.”
“Right, Captain.”
“We need an ending, here. Where’s Gene Roddenberry when you need him?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Castle Perilous — Apothecary
In rumpled evening suit with black tie undone and hanging, the King of the Realms Perilous came walking in, holding an ice bag to his head.
“Ramon!”
No answer. He bellowed again, wincing. “Ramon!”
Ramon the apothecary came out of the back room. “What’s the big emergency? — Oh. Your Majesty. What can I do for you?”
“You can shoot me or give me something for this headache. It’s killing me.”
“Can’t you whip up a spell?”
“If I had any pharmaceutical spells handy I’d whip one up, but as you can see, I’m dying. Besides, what I’m hung over with, magic can’t touch. Now, can you get cracking?”
Ramon raised his pale eyebrows. “Well, you don’t have to shout.”
“Move, Ramon.”
“Yes, Your Kingship.” Ramon went back into his cubicle. There he rattled bottles and retorts, put pestle into mortar and pestled something, then poured something which bubbled and fizzed. He came out carrying a beaker of fizzing, bubbling stuff.
“Drink this off,” he said.
The king took it and downed it.
“Gods, that’s awful.”
“It’ll work.”
The king gave back the beaker. “Thanks, Ramon. See you later.”
“I’ll put it on your bill.”
“Yeah.”
He held the ice to his head all the way up to the castle’s Administrative Offices.
He came through the door to find his secretary typing away. The secretary jumped to his feet.
“Sire, you’re back! There are a hundred matters …”
“Just the important stuff, Tremaine. I’m dyin’.”
“What’s amiss, Sire?”
The king went through to his office. “My frigging head, that’s what. What have you got?”
“We must review the case of the Advocate General against Lord Arl. That is the most important. Then there is …”
“Wait a minute.”
The king took a seat at his desk. Behind him, a cinquefoil window opened onto an aerial aspect of a huge modern city.
“First things first. Draft a letter of commendation to Tyrene and his detectives. They did a good job of basic legwork. And, let’s see … oh, yeah. Thaxton.”
“He cracked the case, Sire.”
“So I was told. I was suspicious of Arl, but I wasn’t sure, because when I scanned the scene of the crime I couldn’t see a thing. I knew magic was afoot, but I wasn’t sure Arl was up to it. Anyway, Thaxton really surprised me. Let’s give him a peerage.”
“What? I mean, Sire, we can’t —”
“Why not? Make him a duke.”
“Duke?”
“Duke.”
“Duke of what?”
“Duke … duke … Duke of Earl.”
Tremaine sputtered, “Duke … Duke —?”
“Duke of Earl,” the king repeated.
“Sire, I really don’t think we have a slot available for a duke.”
“No? Okay. Forget the peerage, just give him a fancy title. Uh … make him a lord.”
“Very good, Sire.”
The king swiveled around to look out the window. “Gods, my head. Leave me alone for a minute.” He watched the clot of traffic on the streets below. “Oh, Tremaine?”
At the door, Tremaine said, “Sire?”
“Dorcas’s boy C
lare? He’s back. Send him down to the stables for six months. Punishment detail.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Half a year of shoveling shit ought to straighten that foul ball out. Uhhh, my head.”
“Very good, Sire.”
Tremaine shut the door, silently mouthing, “Duke of Earl?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gaming Room
The whole gang was on hand, talking, laughing, gaming.
The windows opened to the castle’s “real” world, and mullioned glass doors led out to a balcony that provided a spectacular view of the Plains of Baranthe, now steeped in the light of a full moon.
Thaxton and Dalton were playing chess. So were Gene and Goofus. The chess pieces were big enough for Goofus to get a good but delicate grip on them with his teeth.
Gene castled. Goofus moved his queen’s bishop up for a daring gambit.
M. DuQuesne looked on with amazement. “That is one intelligent animal.”
“I dunno about that,” Gene said. “He’s only beat me once.”
Dalton looked up at his partner. “You suspected Arl from the very first, didn’t you?”
“Yes. The first thing he said when he saw the body was, ‘What do you know of this?’ Not ‘What happened?’ or ‘How did he die?’ Subtle difference, there, and at first I thought I might be imaginin’ things, but I got the feeling he knew more than he was telling.”
“Remarkable. I wonder what his fate will be.”
“The rope, I suspect.”
“You think?”
“If they don’t give him a bloody medal. Oren was a monster. No one’s going to be mournin’ the blighter.”
“Still, murder is murder.”
“And murder will out. ‘Out, damned spot’ and all that sort of rot. And a bit of ‘O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.’”
“I must say, you’ve a cheery outlook on this sort of thing.”
“Oh, well, it was a bit of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh. Actually, old boy, I owe it all to you.”
“Eh? How’s that?”
“Well, if it hadn’t been for Dorcas Bagby, I wouldn’t have found Baldor of the Cairn next to her in the B’s.”
“Message for Mr. Thaxton!”
A young page rushed to Thaxton had handed him a wax-sealed envelope.
Castle Murders Page 23
