by Lyndon Hardy
Three or four others dressed like the first huddled about their leader, each one holding high a small cage of gold that contained some small white-furred rodent contentedly munching away on greens. The neck of each man was bowed under the weight of at least a score of chains. On every chain hung small trinkets; some were mere gauze bags tied with ribbon, others intricately veined leaves pressed flat on slabs of slate.
“Why, you carry no plenuma,” the black-headed one continued as the two vessels drew quite close, “no plenum chambers at all.” He reached for a monocle of colored glass hanging from a chain about his own neck and quickly cocked it into his eye. “By the rush of entropy, it is in spontaneous discharge from all four of you—spontaneous discharge, as if you had been building pressure for a lifetime and using none of it until now.”
He waved over his shoulder to the center of the ship. “All right, I withdraw my words. I am most certainly impressed, more certainly than I have ever been before.” He paused and intertwined his fingers across his expansive girth, rocking back and forth silently as if enjoying a secret joke. “But mark you,” he said after a moment, “I am not so awed as to forgo absorbing the flux for myself. And if you do not have plenum chambers, let us find out how good are your wards against the sucking chambers of Jelilac, the most fortunate.”
A man much smaller than Jelilac suddenly vaulted over the gunwale of the larger ship and, with hardly a glance to see where he was going, landed firmly in the dory between Phoebe and Nimbia. He carried what looked like a bowl of soapy water in one hand and a large pipe in the other. Without spilling a drop or hesitating to catch his balance, he adroitly settled into a squatting position and submerged the pipe into the bowl.
Kestrel noticed that he had as many chains about his neck as the rest, perhaps even more. All along the arms and legs of his silken tunic were embroidered tiny leaves of clover, and each of his fingers was wrapped in bows of red ribbon.
“Luck begets luck.” The newcomer noticed Kestrel’s stare. “It is the third tenet.” Then, without further comment, he began to blow on his pipe, causing a bubble to form in its bowl. His first few puffs on the pipe seemed easy, and the glassy surface expanded with rapid jumps. But when the bubble had reached the size of a fist, Kestrel noticed that the veins in the pipeman’s neck began to stand out and his cheeks redden from the effort to force air down the stem of the pipe. It reminded him of the sport of the fey, but it was somehow different, and he suspected the effort served a practical utility.
As Kestrel watched, the surface of the bubble began to darken and take on what looked like a tough, leathery texture, far less elastic than any balloon. By the time the pipeman had finished, he had created a sphere perhaps the size of a person’s head with a dark opalescent surface that light just barely shone through.
The piper dropped his grip on the pipestem. With a grunt, he removed the bubble from where it still adhered to the bowl. Then he quickly stretched out his arms and touched the orb to the hem of Phoebe’s cape. There was a sudden spark of light that jumped from the draping material into the interior of the sphere. For an instant Kestrel saw what looked like a churning maelstrom of dense red smoke within the confines of the globe; but as the light vanished, the image faded away.
Phoebe immediately stumbled. Kestrel reached out just in time to break her fall on the hard planking of the small boat. “Just exactly what do you think you are doing,” he shouted angrily at the piper. “What is that thing, anyway?”
The piper looked at Phoebe’s sprawled form on the deck and then hefted the sphere at his side. “I suppose it does seem a bit uncivil,” he said. “Certainly for this exchange, you deserve at least the most basic of talismans in return.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and offered Phoebe a necklace like one of the many he wore about his neck. What looked like the preserved foot of a small animal dangled from the lower end.
“Only good for simple accidents, I admit,” he said. “But then Jelilac covets each dram. It is the way of all who wish to live more than the briefest of moments in the realm of the aleators.”
Kestrel grimaced. Understanding the language was almost too good to have happened. Without it, perhaps things would have proceeded more slowly and given him time to size up better the situation they were in. He reached out to grab the offered talisman but the piper easily whisked it out of his reach. With a deft and fluid motion, he flung it over Phoebe’s head, where it settled in a perfect position about her neck. “For the lady,” the piper said. “And watch your manners, or Milligan might decide that you end up with nothing at all.”
Kestrel reached out a second time for the piper’s leg, but the little man was too swift. As Kestrel’s hand closed on air, Milligan had touched the globe to Nimbia’s tunic, and a brilliant arc jumped to it as before. Nimbia teetered, but Astron was slightly quicker than Kestrel had been. Not hesitating to avoid contact, he steadied the queen so that she did not fall.
“Hmmm,” Milligan said. “Perhaps it would be better to give this one a chance at food and drink. If you concentrated on subsistence alone and depended on the others for protection, you might get enough to share.” Again he reached into his pocket and withdrew another pendant necklace, this one an ebony lump of wood carved in intricate whirls.
Kestrel lunged out at Milligan from behind, but the little man quickly turned and held the sphere chest high to absorb the force of the rush. The spark that jumped from Kestrel’s outstretched hand sent a stab of pain up his arm. He felt a sudden tugging sensation all over his body and then a rushing away of some essence that he could not quite identify. A wave of discomfort swept over his senses; in a weakened stupor, he sagged to the bottom of the dory.
With clouded vision, Kestrel watched the sparks dance from Astron’s body as it had the others. Only dimly was he aware of a leather thong that pierced a small heavy stone being placed over his slumping head. Offering only the most feeble of protests, he let himself be hoisted by a crane up to the deck of the larger ship. He clutched his hands to a growling stomach, suddenly quite aware that he had not eaten for what seemed like a very long time.
“Your contributions have mellowed Jelilac’s temper,” Kestrel heard Milligan say some hours later. He shook his head and willed himself to focus on the little man standing before him. He felt a second talisman being hung about his neck and then a third. Looking to both sides, he saw Phoebe and the others rousing as well. They had been piled in a tumble about the single mast of the sloop.
“Ordinarily, with ones so destitute as you, the only choices he would offer would be trials with long odds indeed,” Milligan continued. “But the idiocy of such a great concentration and not even the slightest of wards has him most amused. As it is, he needs to refine a rather mundane procedure before landfall at the casino. Surely at least one of you four will survive.”
Kestrel staggered to his feet and looked about quickly. Except for the helmsman and Milligan, none of the crew were above deck. The dory in which they had arrived was battened to the port gunwale and a long ladder lay at its side. The glassy calm sea looked the same, although the other ships were no longer visible. Off the port bow in the distance was a sliver of brown above the horizon that indicated the first signs of land.
“We are travellers from afar,” Kestrel said, “and understand little of what you speak.” He ran his tongue across the dry roof of his mouth. “But decency anywhere would demand that you offer at least some food and drink.”
“Offer subsistence, offer it freely from one to another.” Milligan threw back his head and laughed. He waved his arm in a wide, flat circle out to the horizon. “Do your eyes not see the vast expanse of waste—salt water every where and only tiny pinpoints of land. There is no food to offer to another. Even one such as I has had occasions of hunger, despite all that I carry about my neck.”
Kestrel started to respond, but the doorway leading below deck suddenly slammed open, and two seamen appeared, carrying a long table between them. “Ah, spinpins,”
Milligan said. “Jelilac is feeling mellow indeed. He must think that crown is certain to be his.”
Kestrel looked more closely at the table as it was positioned crosswise on the deck just in front of the mast where he stood. On one end was a simple maze, a box of wooden partitions divided into compartments, each the height of a hand. Doorways were cut in many of the walls connecting the confinements together; some were empty, but in most were standing geometric arrays of tiny bowling pins. A single doorway pierced the perimeter. Near it lay an intricately carved spintop and a pile of string.
A third seaman appeared from below deck, carrying a small vertical frame on which, near the top, was hung a blade of shining metal. At the bottom were two sheets of wood paneling between which the sharp edge apparently dropped. The panels were plain and unadorned, except for a hole about the size of a finger that had been drilled through them both. The seaman positioned the apparatus near the spintop and clamped it to the table. He ran a string from a hinged release mechanism for the blade and tied it about one of the pins standing in the maze.
“The principle is quite simple,” Milligan said as he moved to the ladder at the side of the dory. Struggling with its long length for a moment, he thrust it into a vertical position and twisted its orientation with a flip, so that the topmost rung fell against the mast.
“Even the simplest child knows that one’s luck decreases by walking under a ladder,” Milligan said. “The effect can be reversed only by quickly retracing one’s steps the other way.”
“We have such a tale from whence we come,” Kestrel said. “But it is the nonsense of ancient crones, nothing more.”
Milligan frowned and was silent for a long moment. “Minions of the crazed Byron,” he muttered while he clutched at the talismans about his neck. “Minions of Byron, and not one, but four.” His eyes narrowed and he looked at Kestrel keenly. “No, that cannot be. You are attempting some sort of a deception to free yourselves from your plight. No fatalists could have accumulated such auras as yours. You struggle for the crown, just as does Jelilac and the rest.”
Kestrel frowned in turn. Very little of what Milligan was saying made any sense. He looked down at Astron as the demon stirred and struggled to sit. Kestrel wished that he were fully alert. Some of his deductive observations would be quite useful about now.
“Anyway, the reversal raises an interesting question,” Milligan continued. “It is one that Jelilac stumbled on to, the kind of insight that makes him a true contender to be archon over us all. The throne has been vacant since Sigmund’s luck suddenly turned sour. Soon we will all assemble to judge which aleator now possesses the greatest power.” Milligan looked down at his chest and stroked three of his talismans. “Although, under the right circumstances, who is to say what will happen in the casino where the die is cast? Yes, who is to say which is the most deserving, the most faithful to the tenets of our creed?”
For a moment, Milligan stopped speaking, his eyes burning with secret thoughts. Kestrel looked back over the bow at the land steadily growing on the horizon. He eyed the two battens that held the dory and scanned the deck for signs of any other useful gear. With so few crewmen on deck, the right circumstances were the ones he was interested in as well. He began to think more clearly. Perhaps it was best to keep Milligan engaged in conversation until the others were fully alert. Then they just might manage an escape from whatever Jelilac had in store for them.
Kestrel glanced at the ladder and then back at the table. The construction for both was rather crude and unvarnished. He could see that more than one type of wood was used in each. On the other hand, perhaps such a risk was not even necessary. A fire on deck could serve just as well. That was a possibility worth exploring before attempting the longer odds of an escape.
“What do you have carved of anvilwood?” He smiled innocently. “I am a collector and most interested in any small figurines that you have to show.”
Milligan broke out of his reverie. “Anvilwood?” He laughed. “There is none here on Jelilac’s barge, to be sure. You must indeed be from an islet far away. Every aleator who has stopped sucking his thumb is taught to avoid such a luck drainer whenever he chances upon it.” He stopped and laughed again. “It would just be the perversity of luck that such as you would be desirous of finding some. Throughout the realm, prisoners convicted of the worst crimes are sent to uproot the trees when they are discovered and hack the branches to bits. For others, the risks in touching are just too great. The only piece that I know of is at the casino for the trials to be archon. And even that Jelilac and the others will strive to destroy, if given half the chance.”
Kestrel frowned. They would have to get away after all—and then, from the sound of it, journey to one very special place. He looked up at the ladder. Perhaps it could serve another use. They would need oars, even if they managed to drop the dory over the side. He glanced back at Milligan. The little man seemed to enjoy talking. For the moment it probably was best to keep him occupied.
Kestrel fingered the three talismans hanging about his neck. “This one looks something like a match stick.” He held it out to Milligan. “Where we come from, it is a mark of great honor, since only a few we call wizards have the capability to build a flame. I suppose that here such skill is also a great rarity. No one such as yourself could hope to accomplish such a feat.”
Milligan cocked his head to one side. “If it were not for the aura you possessed, I would agree with Jelilac and judge you most insane,” he said. “Of course I can light a fire. Why, so could any child. It is not a question of ease, but one of law. On all corners of the great sea, a flame is prohibited under penalty of death.”
Kestrel frowned, but Milligan continued. “The second tenet states that the entropy of luck always increases. There is no way it can be avoided. Each transfer from one to another, even each use that dilutes it back to the ether—all such transferals reduce its potency. The last thing that anyone would want is a flame that completely disorders its fine crystalline structure and renders it useless.
“Why, even an archon could become a pauper, if he approached too close to a fire. Without his luck to guard him, all of his great displays of state on the islands would be washed away by the next giant wave that sweeps across our sea. Even if he possessed the strange book of figures that Myra is reputed to have found, his ships would start to wander aimlessly, missing all of their ports. In the time of a single sigh, he would find that he had come to possess nothing, neither food for his next meal nor even clothing to ward off the chill. And each and every one who but an instant before stooped in the deepest of bows would shun his misfortune, casting him aside and letting him wander to his death, unheralded and alone.
“No, the object of us all is to find ways to increase our luck, to concentrate it into tighter and tighter confines that enhance its potency. It is the only way to survive, to move ahead, and to strive for the mantle of the archon. The fatalists cannot be right. Things should not be left to the will of the cosmos. Outcomes are determined by men with luck; he who has the greatest will certainly emerge the winner.”
“I would think that skill or wit would somehow be important as well,” Kestrel said. Cautiously, he placed one hand on the ladder and looked at the rungs. Perhaps, if the sidebeams were ripped apart they would serve well enough. He smiled inwardly and looked at Astron. It was something the demon probably would have thought of, and yet it came to him first.
“In the dim past, skill and wit did determine the outcome of many events,” Milligan answered. “We contested by might of arms and clever strategies of state. But then, as our legends record it, wise archon Williard with overwhelming odds was defeated by a force a tenth his size when his horse stepped into the only squirrel hole on the field of battle. An errant arrow hit his second in command in the throat, and, without a leader, the army stumbled into a mire.
“Luck triumphed over all else; and from that day to this, everyone who strives for power concentrates on increasing his own
luck and dissipating that of others. Skill and talent mean little to one who can select a marked token from a bowl of thousands with but a single thrust of his hand.”
“Then what need do you have of this experimentation?” Kestrel asked. He placed his hand firmly on each of the ladder’s sidebeams and strained outward while smiling in Milligan’s direction. “If starting a fire is of no use, then whatever else of value can we be to you?”
“The means for accumulating and dissipating luck are not written in stone monuments for all to see,” Milligan said. “It is only by centuries of trial and error that the methods that we use have come to light. Doubtless many more efficient techniques yet remain to be discovered.” He waved his hand in a wide circle. “Luck is all about us, albeit at very low pressure. Certain actions seem to compress it into smaller volumes and increase its potency to alter events.
“As I have said, when one walks under a ladder, a portion of whatever one possesses leaks out into the ether. Immediately reversing direction prevents the loss before it can transpire.” Milligan paused and ran his tongue over his lips. “But what if one circled back and walked under the ladder again in the second direction, the one that prevented the loss. Perhaps then the vector of transaction would remained fixed in a positive direction, each circuit under the ladder increasing one’s luck, rather than dissipating it away.
“That then is the test. The first of you, I care not which, will walk once under the ladder and then spin the top through the maze. He will be what we call the control. The second will walk once and then immediately reverse before taking the test. The third, after reversing direction, will continue around the mast and back under the overhang a dozen times more. The last will not reverse directions at all but rotate the dozen times in the same sense as the first.”
“What will the spinning top prove?” Kestrel asked while he slid his arms up the ladder to feel another rung.
