Max Quick

by Mark Jeffrey

  Max, Casey, and Ian found themselves in a giant cylindrical room. They were pulled away from the transporter platform. A few moments later, Mafdet appeared in a small flash of white light.

  Now Max noticed a crude iron chair. It stood out in stark contrast to the serene, exotic materials that made up the rest of the ship. Several nasty-looking devices were attached to it for obvious use on its occupant, like a dentist’s chair.

  Or a torture chair, Max thought, his stomach churning with fear.

  An oval gemstone—shaped like a great eyeball—was positioned in front of the chair. It was storm-cloud black, smoky and ominous. Max found that when he caught a glimpse of this dark gem out of his peripheral vision, he felt a sickening vertigo. Something about it suggested a void, a hole in the fabric of reality.

  “I have a disease . . . ,” said a voice from somewhere above them. “A foul sickness that riddles my body.”

  Max looked up. He could make out a shadowed silhouette against the soft light above. The figure strolled on a terrace that wound around the cylindrical wall of the chamber, his voice echoing off the cavernous walls.

  “This plague that assails me, this canker that I have endured now for several hundred years . . . this enemy that consumes a little piece of me every day . . . it has a name.”

  The man stepped forward so that his face could be seen in the light. Johnny Siren.

  “It is called age,” he continued. “And it is unacceptable.”

  Max took an involuntary step backward. There was no hiding from Siren this time—not in this room, not in this place. There was nowhere to run—no doors, no exits of any kind.

  “Hello, Max Quick,” Siren said. This caught Max off guard—how had Siren discovered his name?

  “Johnny Siren,” Max answered grimly. “See? I know your name as well.”

  Siren gave a tight grin. “Ah, I see you know one of my names, but do you know the others?”

  “Jonathan Roseblood Cyranus,” Ian said.

  Siren’s gaze swung toward him. “And Ian Keating . . .” Ian’s eyebrows shot up; he was apparently baffled as to how Siren knew his name as well. “That is quite correct. ‘Siren’ is the Americanized version of my ancestral name, Cyranus. Between us Europeans—a bit gauche that they don’t learn to enunciate more clearly, hmm?”

  His gaze came to rest on Casey next and he said, “And you, Casey . . . what was your last name again? Cole? Or was it something else?” Siren laughed uproariously. “I certainly know you. We shall have to catch up later on, you and I.”

  Max turned a quizzical gaze to Casey, who was frozen in terror. What was that all about?

  Just then, two kids stepped out of the shadows. Ace and Sasha Fwa. Max noticed both now had marks burned on their left hands: a black sun surrounded by lightning bolts. They were both dressed in simple tunics.

  “Heya, Ace,” Max whispered, leaning closer. “Nice threads.”

  Surprisingly, Ace did not respond. He and Sasha remained slack. They kept their gaze focused on nothing.

  With a start, Max realized that they were terrified, too, and the depth of their fear shocked him to the core. To see Ace like this . . . what had been done to them?

  There was a low chuckle from Mafdet. “They are slaves now of the House of Jadeth. They have been trained, and they do not speak unless their masters tell them to. And they certainly do not speak to other slaves.” Mafdet leered mysteriously.

  Max answered, “I’m not a slave.”

  Mafdet looked amused and cocked an eyebrow. “No?” He clapped his hands twice. Ace and Sasha immediately left the room. Mafdet gave Max a look that seemed to say, Soon, you too will be coming and going to the clap of my hands.

  But Max’s mind was elsewhere. This explained how Siren knew their names: he’d gotten them out of Sasha and Ace. But what about Casey? What had he meant by I certainly know you?

  Siren addressed Max directly. “You have been inside my Book and you have seen that whatever is written on its pages must eventually come to pass: Destiny cannot be altered.

  “That is why I was forced to let you go when we met at the museum. I had seen you in the Book; thus, I knew that at some point in the future, you would enter it—that you had to enter it. Sadly, I was powerless to harm you until that particular destiny had been fulfilled. Had I made the attempt, the universe would have prevented me in some manner—quite probably in a way that would have resulted in harm to myself. Perhaps I would have had a heart attack, or been struck by an automobile. The universe always prevents paradoxes from occurring.

  “But I should inform you . . . you are not shown on any more pages of my Book. So I am no longer bound by that restriction.”

  Max stared at Siren, his heart pushing a mud of fear through his veins. Ian seemed to be on the brink of panic, and Casey looked stunned.

  “But you, Ian . . . ,” Siren said. “You are another matter. You are shown once more in my Book. There is an event that has yet to come to pass. You are destined to become a meal for a pack of wolves sometime in the near future.”

  Siren grinned like a wolf. Ian turned white.

  “Not if I don’t go back in the Book, I’m not. And I don’t have to. I have free will!” Ian replied.

  Siren spoke very slowly now, as if he were instructing a student. “There is free will, yes. But it is simultaneously true that your destiny is already written in the Book. This is not a contradiction!”

  Ian had the sickening feeling that Siren was telling the truth. He was going to die.

  “In fact, those very clothes are the ones in shreds and tatters in the illustration. The tyranny of the page is absolute: There’s nothing I could do to save you—even if I wanted to. But why should I?”

  Ian returned Siren’s gaze blankly.

  “You stole from me!” Siren exploded. “One of my precious Books, right out of my own house! That took some cheek. Did you really think I would allow you to get away with that?”

  Siren held up the Book and tapped it with one white, deeply scarred fingertip. “But I recovered it when I picked up that gang of yours. The one with the colorful name—‘Serpents and Mermaids’—your invention, I am told? Well, I am proud to say we finally have all of the members in custody. And I have Max to thank for it!”

  That stung Max. Me?

  “When you tripped the nam-shub in Texas, we detected it and we knew then that someone was loose in the Time-stop. We went looking. And, quite by accident, we stumbled upon the Serpents and Mermaids.”

  Max’s heart sank. No! All those kids, captured, made slaves . . . That was his fault?

  Siren turned to Ian. “I suppose I should thank you as well. The Book you stole from me—”

  “But it’s not really ‘your Book,’ is it?” Ian blurted out. “You stole it from somebody else, didn’t you?”

  Siren snarled. He seemed like he was about to order something particularly vicious done to Ian, but his precious tyranny of the page stayed his hand.

  “I acquired the Book long ago. The creation of such a Book is an art beyond my comprehension even still. But I do understand much. Shall I teach you? Why not, since you, Ian, are to die anyway?”

  Ian gulped.

  “The Book itself actually does nothing. No power resides within it. Rather, the words it contains are what matter. Words are a tool to shape consciousness. And this is how Word-magic actually works—it isn’t magic at all!

  “You’ve seen for yourself firsthand the power of words to summon into being simulacra. And you have seen that pages always, always show the truth. There is nothing you or anyone else can do about this. Or have you not figured this out yet?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve figured out,” Ian fired back, his voice shaking. “You’re up to something you’re not supposed to be. You’re hiding us from somebody—probably Jadeth. What do you think about that?”

  Siren suddenly looked uncomfortable. Ian had clearly hit a nerve. Good for you, Ian! Max thought.

  Siren’s lip c
urled up and then he said, “Well . . . what I think about that is that I should be getting on with whatever it is I’m up to, don’t you think? Mafdet. Nephthys. If you would please . . .”

  They moved to grab Max.

  Max made a quick turn on one foot. This should have sent him whooshing, but instead, he only stumbled.

  What the—?

  Oh no. Pocket-powers didn’t work inside of a Sky Chamber.

  Mafdet and Nephthys grabbed Max and hauled him over to the iron chair.

  But just then, Max was gripped by a mad impulse. He screwed up his courage, half not believing what he was about to do, but knowing he had nothing to lose.

  Max barked in the most commanding, confident voice he could muster: “You will release me immediately!”

  To his utter shock, Mafdet and Nephthys complied.

  Their clammy, gold-clad hands let go. They backed away, eyes full of new fear, clearly unsure of what to do next.

  Max stood as tall and as proud as he could. “You may treat humans in this fashion, but not one of our own kind.”

  That did it. Mafdet glanced at Siren, looking for guidance.

  Max turned squarely at Siren, his heart pounding. “You believe I have lost my memory. That is false! It has long been restored. I have my own reasons for this charade which do not concern you.”

  A spark of fear flicked unmistakably across Siren’s face.

  Ian stared at Max as though he were mental. What was he doing? Or worse: Was it possible that Max really was a double agent?

  “But now, you exposed me to these two . . . slaves.” Max nodded toward Ian and Casey and spat the words for best effect. “I am very displeased.”

  Mafdet and Nephthys were clearly terrified now. And when Siren spoke, he chose his words very carefully.

  “Our apologies, my lord. We did not know.”

  Siren considered Max. He wasn’t completely buying this yet. But it was clear that Siren was terrified of a Max with his memory intact. Even the small chance that Max might not be bluffing was enough to make him cower.

  Max found this fascinating. Siren feared him. Why?

  “How long has your memory been restored, my lord?” Siren asked in the most submissive way possible.

  Max’s heart thudded like a jackhammer. He suspects I’m lying. He’s trying to trip me up . . . Max scrambled for something, anything that might spook Siren. Suddenly he had an idea:

  “Ever since I had a little visit with Mr. E!”

  Siren blinked in surprise at the name, a visible bolt of fear shooting through him. Apparently, that was a plausible explanation. Max grinned inwardly.

  “Not that it is your place to ask me such questions,” Max said, anxious to stop further inquiries that could trip him up. “Tell me, Siren: What exactly were you about to do to me?” Max let ice seep into his gaze. He looked pointedly toward the iron chair.

  Now Siren was in a difficult position. He had clearly been about to do something nasty to Max.

  Several long moments passed as Siren stood mute, with one finger tapping his lip, as though considering his answer.

  Max realized he had to act. “I asked you a question, Siren.”

  Siren’s demeanor changed. “That is true. And I did not answer. Frankly, I expected to be groveling on my knees by now. Then I would have known you were telling the truth. But since I am not . . . you are not.”

  A shot of fear chewed through Max. But he had already thought of his next move, just in case this happened. He whirled and shouted, “Mafdet! Nephthys! Bring him to me. NOW!”

  Both centurions were conflicted, but they seemed to be more afraid of Max at the moment than Siren. They gingerly stepped toward the platform in preparation for a hasty escape.

  “Don’t be fools!” Siren hissed in frustration. “He’s pretending! We’d all be dead already if he weren’t!”

  Dead? Max thought. What did that mean?

  Would I really have killed the three of them? Am I really that cruel?

  These thoughts must have shown on his face—and betrayed him. Mafdet detected mercy, which he thought of as weakness, and he drew himself to his full menacing height.

  “Thou little whelp!” Mafdet snarled, enraged that he had been fooled. “Thou shalt beg for death before thine end.” And with that, Mafdet put Max in a headlock and lifted him off the ground. He dragged Max over to the iron chair. Nephthys snapped metal cuffs around Max’s wrists, his ankles, his neck, and his head.

  Siren emerged nearby. He leaned down and whispered, “I’m going to enjoy this very much.”

  The chair physically immobilized Max’s head and he could not look away from the gemstone. The sensation of vertigo, of the gem being a hole in reality, was stronger than ever.

  “Don’t you even have any kind of heart at all?” Casey yelled at Siren, her voice quivering.

  Siren leaned toward her and said, “A heart? Yes, little Casey, once I did have a heart. Believe me, more heart than you could know. But time is the thief, always the thief. And a heart is a distraction I simply can no longer afford.”

  Siren approached the eye-shaped gem. He ran his spindly fingers over it. “This gem, Max, is quite special. It is named the Singular Eye. It lets me gaze into the minds of others as easily as if I were gazing into my own.”

  Max started. Was Siren going to try and read his mind?

  “You see, deep down, at the very root of our being, the consciousness of every single person is bound together. Primitives call this the soul vine. The Singular Eye takes advantage of this. It is a singularity in the dimension of thought.

  “I can extract any secret from your mind, no matter how hard you might try to withhold it from me. It’s been very, very useful over the years—as you might imagine.”

  Suddenly Siren thrust his face behind the jewel. For a long eerie moment, nothing happened.

  Then, the Singular Eye opened.

  The jewel filled with something indescribable and terrifying and a doorway into another dimension suddenly blew free.

  The black gem became the whole universe for Max. It howled into his being with the force of a hurricane. It flooded his body out to the very ends of his toes and his fingertips. His eyeballs felt like they were driven into the back of his skull by the sheer force of the concussion now pounding him.

  Max heard himself scream.

  The Singular Eye hung in front of him, suddenly patched into his soul and as familiar as his own flesh. And behind it all was Siren. His thoughts and Max’s had become one. He could feel Siren’s greed, his thirst, his single-minded obsession.

  Curiously, Max could also sense a dark smudge in his own mind. He knew that without the Singular Eye he would have never even been aware of it. And Siren was groping in that blackness, panicking now. Max could feel it. Siren kept trying to meld with the smudge, and was rebuffed with each attempt.

  “Where is the Pendant? Where is it hidden?” Siren blurted out loud, spittle flying from his lips.

  Max struggled to answer. He wanted to answer, wanted to tell him more than anything in the world. He wanted it to be over.

  But he didn’t know.

  “The Pendant! Where is it? I need it! Tell me where it is!”

  Max’s throat constricted. The desire to reveal the location of the Pendant was overwhelming. He would have given anything, anything at all, just to tell Siren where it was. His mouth tried to form words, his jaw clenched as he tried to speak.

  But no words came. He could say nothing because his conscious mind simply didn’t know.

  Then it was over.

  The Singular Eye closed and Max’s racked body collapsed in the chair. He panted feverishly, soaked in sweat and seeing stars.

  Siren seethed with rage. This had not gone how he had planned. Something was preventing the Eye from working properly on Max. He cursed and slammed the jewel in frustration.

  A moment later, Siren simply said, “Let him out.”

  Mafdet looked up questioningly.

 
“His amnesia. It’s protecting him, keeping whatever he knows locked up. The answer is in his head, but you can’t use one of these on him; it won’t work. It’s like his mind has been . . . encrypted.” Siren pondered for a moment. “Yes . . . that’s it. Cryptomnesia. An ancient Niburian mentalist technique to lock knowledge in the mind. Not even the Singular Eye can penetrate it.”

  Mafdet reluctantly undid Max’s restraints.

  Siren let out a heavy sigh and said, “Lock them up below . . . I need time to think.”

  Chapter 16

  Ace, Again

  Hey, Ian,” Max said into the darkness.

  The trio had been locked inside someone’s quarters. It was as though Sky Chambers didn’t have a brig, and this was the best Siren could come up with.

  “Yeah,” Ian replied.

  “Nice to be in jail with you again.”

  “Ha. Same to you,” Ian replied.

  They sat in silence for another moment, and then Ian said, “You know . . . I’m getting pretty scared, you guys.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here,” Casey said.

  “No, not that,” Ian replied, shifting around in the dark. “I’m talking about the Book. I had totally forgotten about the wolves, until Siren reminded me. I’m not feeling well.” Ian’s mouth went dry as he spoke. The more he thought about it, the more afraid he got. It was getting worse by the minute.

  “Don’t say that!” Casey said. “You don’t know anything for sure.”

  But Ian couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  He was going to die. And soon.

  “Hey, Case,” Max said a few minutes later.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “What is it with you and Siren? What did he mean when he said you and he would catch up later? And why are you so spooked by him?”

  Max heard Casey fidget in the dark.

  “C’mon, Casey. Tell me.”

  “He just scares me, that’s all,” Casey said in a voice that sounded very much like a lie.

  “And that’s it?” Max pressed.

  “That’s it,” she replied.

  “That’s really, really it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore!” Casey said and turned away.