The Mammoth Book of 20th Century SF II

by David G. Hartwell

  The king let out a peal of laughter.

  “What for, Collins? Everything is turning out for the best. Why are you so nervous? Fetch a chair and sit down! Aren’t there any chairs here?”

  “But certainly Your Majesty will explain . . .”

  “All in good time, Collins, all in good time. Not now. Let us first take a look at this doll. It seems to be an old piece, doesn’t it, perhaps thousands of years old, but still in quite good shape. I believe it even can dance. It has probably made a long trip, we should say a very long trip, but it is still fully intact. Hard to believe what can fit into this little head, if one only knows how to go about filling it properly!” He held the small metal head of the doll between thumb and forefinger and smiled pensively.

  “But, Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What does this all mean?”

  “Be patient, Collins, be patient. You will find out. There are just twenty minutes left. In the meantime, let us watch the review of your troops. Then we will tell you a story, a very ordinary story, but we think it will interest you nevertheless. We would wager on it.”

  “I am breathless with anticipation, Your Majesty.”

  Meanwhile, the king continued to greet with a gracious wave of the hand the guards who appeared and disappeared, as if he were holding an audience. The men gave the minister a questioning look, which he answered with a regretful shrug of his shoulders and a resigned sigh. His Majesty continued to play with the doll and seemed to be in unusually high spirits, as if all this was great fun.

  Now it was Collins’s turn to become nervous. He found that he had torn the temporal strip in his hand to shreds. The king said to his minister, as if he too had noticed this, “That doesn’t matter, Collins. We don’t need it anymore. In a quarter of an hour the stream of dots will stop anyway.”

  “Well, that’s that, Collins. Your guards can’t penetrate the mirror anymore.”

  The mirror was not blank. It continued to flicker, but no one stepped out from it. The minister stared in astonishment first at the instrument, then at His Majesty.

  “Surprises you, doesn’t it?” laughed the king.

  “Indeed it does,” admitted Collins. “But how is it possible?”

  “Let us not anticipate.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes. But it has always been my task to anticipate.”

  “You are right. Very well, then let us begin.” The king settled comfortably into his throne and cleared his throat. “Collins, you are a clever man.”

  “Your Majesty honors me.”

  “But you have made several mistakes.”

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but what mistakes?”

  “First of all, you shouldn’t have taken your eyes off the mirror for one single instant, for then you would have noticed that it wasn’t blank for the entire ten seconds. Not that there was anything you could have done, but you might have gained some information which would have led you to make certain further considerations. And at times you were damned close to having the answer. You almost beat us in our little game.”

  “Perhaps, Your Majesty. It is not clear to me – what could I have done?”

  “You should have thought out the problem more carefully. Fortunately for us, you didn’t. You could for instance have given more consideration to the meaning of this seal and the intervention of WHITE.”

  “I considered the seal a protection of important timeline intersections, where a fracture could have devastating consequences.”

  “All of which is true, Collins. And WHITE has to intervene, because sometimes time fissures spread underneath the seals, as a result of imprudent operations, and make repairs necessary, in order to guarantee the safety of the future, our universe, and thereby the very existence of WHITE itself.”

  “I understand, but why didn’t WHITE seal off the entire timeline and cut off all operations of the patrol?”

  “A good question. Why not? Think hard, Collins. You have a good head on your shoulders.”

  “Of course. Your Majesty is right. That would mean cutting off all time travel, which would in turn mean no invention of time travel, as there could be no experiments, and then the existence of WHITE would be impossible.”

  “Very good! Therefore, WHITE interferes only when its existence is at stake.”

  “But what about my mistakes, Your Majesty?”

  “Without this future power, which we call WHITE, the course of our planet would speedily deteriorate into a state of hopeless confusion. WHITE was actually your opponent, Collins, but you were always looking for an opponent elsewhere. And you didn’t know where to look.”

  “At times I suspected it, but I thought it more probable that certain political-interest groups in the empire, perhaps operating from a base in the future, were giving us trouble. But Your Majesty spoke of several mistakes.”

  “That is all part of the story which we are about to tell you. You must pay especially close attention to it for reasons which will also be made clear. But we want to anticipate a bit. You were hunting down this dollmaker – ”

  “Indeed.”

  “ – And at times you made life difficult for him.”

  “As Your Majesty commanded.”

  “Hmm,” smiled the king.

  “Although without much success, I must admit, because WHITE intervened with a seal.”

  “Why didn’t you study the past history of this person more closely, at the very time and place in which it occurred?”

  “We didn’t think it necessary. We already knew something of the man, though it was second- and third-hand information. The question didn’t seem to be worth going into more thoroughly. It was my opinion that we had already spent too much time on him. What we had found out about him didn’t seem to be helpful enough . . .”

  “Then you know that this man was born in 1594, first learned the blacksmith’s trade, then became apprenticed to a watchmaker, and afterward traveled about for five years as a journeyman. During this time war broke out and he was captured by recruiting officers and forced to serve in the army; he spent the next two years with a band of men who had joined Tilly’s troops . . .”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, and settled down in the town which is now our Operations Base 7; he acquired money somehow, bought himself a cottage, set up a workshop, and devoted himself entirely to his hobby of making watches and mechanical toys. He became a respected citizen of the town but refused all public offices which were offered to him; he escaped the snares of all the spinsters in the neighborhood, having decided upon a bachelor life in order to have his evenings free to pore over blueprints and tinker with mechanical instruments. He engaged a housekeeper who cooked and cleaned the house but was not allowed into the workshop. The watchmaker became more and more withdrawn, hardly leaving his house. Finally he became mentally deranged and in 1650 hung himself. As Your Majesty can see, we know quite a bit about him, but nothing which appears noteworthy to me.”

  “Nothing noteworthy. You are quite right, Collins. But do you also know that this man was killed in action, near Heidelberg in the year 1621? Tilly’s crowd murdered and plundered its way through the countryside. He was killed either by farmers or by one of his fellow cutthroats, who probably fought with him over his booty or some woman.”

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon?”

  “You heard correctly, Collins. The man whom you supposedly investigated so carefully was no longer alive at the time Operations Base 7 was established.”

  “That would have been an inexcusable error. But how does Your Majesty know this?”

  “More about that later. And your third error was that you failed to have photographs taken of this man in order to examine him more closely. You would perhaps have had quite a surprise. But you and your people had eyes only for the mechanical toys. Fortunately.”

  There was a crafty smile on the king’s face.

  “I considered his appearance fully irrelevant in this case, especially as I could never rid myself of the feeling that we were
on the wrong track and had wasted much too much time on the man.”

  “So you yourself have never seen this Weisslinger.”

  “No, Your Majesty. Why should I have seen him?”

  The king shook his head in disapproval. Collins felt more and more uncertain.

  “What a pity. Weisslinger is an extremely interesting man. You should have become acquainted with him; you would certainly have learned a great deal from him. He had much to tell, for he had been through much in his life. Perhaps you would have noticed that he wore an ingenious mask, though it was no more ingenious than masks could be in that age. You know us well, Collins, and you have a good head on your shoulders.”

  “I am beginning to doubt that seriously, Your Majesty.”

  “Now, now, Collins. It is never too late. Perhaps you will yet meet him.”

  “How is that possible, Your Majesty? I don’t understand . . .”

  “Patience, patience! Wait until you have heard our story. Then you will have to admit that you let yourself be checkmated too easily.”

  “By Your Majesty’s leave, I am burning with eagerness to hear the story, for I see more and more clearly that I accomplished my task much more poorly than I had originally thought.”

  “Indeed you did, Collins. You played miserably and recklessly.”

  “I most humbly beg Your Majesty’s pardon.”

  “On the other hand, you were pitted against no mean opponent. But everything in its turn. BLACK had the victory as good as in its pocket – the situation was grim. Then it was WHITE’s turn, WHITE would have to be damned tricky . . . But where shall we begin? Ah yes, on the day when . . . Now pay strict attention! One evening . . .”

  It was evening. The night watchman had just sung out the eleventh hour and had gone down the street, when a carriage drawn by two magnificent horses rounded the corner, rumbled over the cobblestones of the market square, and pulled up in front of the Red Ox Inn, directly across from the house of the dollmaker Weisslinger. The dollmaker went to his window and opened the shutters a tiny crack. He peered out in order to inspect the travelers who were arriving so late at night. He saw two men alight from the vehicle and converse with the proprietor of the Red Ox, who had come out to greet the distinguished guests and escort them into the house. The strangers apparently did not intend to enter and partake of his board and lodging, as they involved him in a conversation on the doorstep. They had a number of questions and seemed to be looking for someone in the town, for the innkeeper nodded his head several times and pointed to Weisslinger’s house across the street. The strangers’ eyes followed the innkeeper’s finger, they carefully surveyed the market square and the neighborhood. Then they took leave of the innkeeper, pressing a gold coin into his hand, and strode toward Weisslinger’s house.

  “Aha,” said the dollmaker knowingly to himself, and cautiously closed the shutters. “The time has come.”

  He quickly cleared away his mechanical instruments, drew forth several large drawings, and spread them out upon table and workbench. Then he sat down and waited. As he heard the knock on his door he hesitated, then went to the window and spoke quietly out into the darkness: “Who is there?”

  “We beg your forgiveness, Master, for disturbing you at this late hour. The roads are bad and we have made very slow progress. On our travels we heard of a famous watchmaker in this area by the name of Weisslinger. Are you this man?”

  “I am Weisslinger, but you honor me, I am certainly not famous. Come in.”

  Their thick accents indicated that they were foreigners. Weisslinger unbolted the door.

  “Please forgive us for disturbing you. But we have little time and must speak with you.”

  “Come in, gentlemen. You aren’t disturbing me at all, I was still up and working. Please excuse the disorderly room. I seldom clean it up and my housekeeper isn’t allowed to come in here, she is too careless and always breaks something. Please take a seat. What brings you to this town?”

  “We heard of your fame as a maker of highly ingenious dolls.”

  “That is not my main occupation. By trade I am actually a smith, and I have learned the watchmaker’s arts as well. It is true that I have spent much of my – well – spare time making small mechanical toys such as music boxes and dancing dolls – although, I must admit, with little success, due to my insufficient craftsmanship. Please forgive me, gentlemen, I am neglecting my duties as host. But I never expect visitors and have nothing in the house to offer you. I can recommend the Red Ox across the road. You will certainly be pleased with the service there. I often have my meals there myself. The food is good and the wine cellar even better.”

  “That is not necessary. We have already had our evening meal.”

  Weisslinger took a closer look at the strangers. Their clothing was simple but elegant: black capes of fine material, close-fitting, well-cut trousers, and low boots fashioned of supple leather. They were examining the room which served both as living room and workshop. They seemed to be particularly interested in his machines, tools, and measuring instruments, which hung on the wall or lay on the workbench; it was not difficult to read from the disappointment on their faces that they had expected more.

  “Would you be so kind as to demonstrate one of your models for us?” asked one of the men, trying without success to hide his discontent.

  “Of course,” answered Weisslinger. He carefully put away his drawings and cleared the workbench, then placed upon it one of his carved music boxes. He wound it up and let it play, then wound up a second and a third music box; the tinny tones of their simple melodies made an odd jingle-jangle. He then took up a small dancing doll with movable limbs, wound it up, and placed it on the bench with the music boxes. The springs whirred, and the doll made stiff, jerky pirouettes on the tabletop.

  The gentlemen did not seem to take great interest in the demonstration; they continued to look about the room, glanced at each other and shrugged their shoulders, but pretended to be extremely interested whenever Weisslinger gave them a questioning look. Then one gentleman’s eyes fell upon a grandfather clock which was standing in a corner of the room. It was an extraordinary piece with painted face, beautiful case carved out of valuable dark wood, decorated porcelain weights suspended from delicate chains, and a finely chased pendulum on which the astronomic tables and the allegorical figures of the horoscope were engraved.

  “Is this clock also a work of yours?”

  “Yes, sir. Does it please you?”

  “It is a beautiful piece, but it doesn’t keep accurate time.”

  “This is a curious point. You may find it hard to believe, but the clock is not supposed to keep accurate time.”

  “How can that be?”

  “It is a long story, which I am afraid would bore you.”

  “Not at all!”

  “Very well, if you really want to hear it. Please be seated. One day a man came to see me, a Polish count who had spent a good part of his life in Seville and Zaragoza. He was returning to his home in Poland; on his travels he had heard of me and sought me out. He inspected my clocks and toys, my tools and measuring instruments as well, and seemed to know quite a bit about the craft, as I could judge from his questions. But he denied having any extensive knowledge about such things. In any case, he was apparently satisfied with what he saw and commissioned me to build a clock for him. Nothing simpler, I thought to myself, but I was soon to change my mind. In fact, this man showed me very detailed drawings according to which the clock was to be constructed; these he had bought for a high price from a Jew in Seville. At first everything seemed simple, but I soon ran into difficulties. The more closely I investigated the drawings, the more complicated the works appeared, and I began to doubt seriously that this instrument which I was to build would function at all. The drawings were accompanied by instructions written in Arabic. The count, who could not read Arabic, had had the text translated into Spanish; this he had translated into his mother tongue and had scrawled along the margins o
f the old parchment documents. We spent several days trying to translate this text into German, but neither of us was capable of making enough sense out of these descriptions so that they might serve me as instructions, which they were obviously intended to be. They were more confusing than the drawings themselves, especially as they were worded in a figurative language which spoke of flowers, fragrant perfumes, and unknown spices, of strange oceans and distant lands, angels and demons, when there should have been nothing but metals and weights, screws and springs, coils and tractive forces, balances and swings of the pendulum. I was utterly bewildered and wanted to refuse the commission, but the count promised me a princely sum for my efforts, even if they should fail. In addition, he placed at my disposal a considerable percentage of this sum in cash, with which I was to procure the necessary materials and tools. I still hesitated, then he raised the sum, imploring me to at least try it. Finally I gave in and set to work. It took me weeks in these troubled times to gather the materials, as only the best would do. I had the face of the clock drawn up according to specifications; it was to be divided into sixteen hours, as if it were to measure some foreign time. I canvassed the countryside to find a cabinetmaker who could build and ornament the case according to the instructions; then we both traveled about selecting and buying the different types of wood out of which he was to construct the case – all of this in wartime, when we never knew at night if we were to see the sun the next morning. But God, all praise be His, held His shielding hand over me and my work, and in spite of all the difficulties the clock eventually took its present form, as it stands before you. It cost me three years’ work. When it was finally finished, the clock actually ran, which was the last thing I expected. But the way it ran! According to the drawings, the clock was to have five hands, each of which was to trace its circle with varying speed and direction. The clock could tell the most improbable intervals and constellations of the heavenly bodies, but not the hours of the day. This must have been the invention of some insane infidel who wanted to measure the ages his damned soul would have to spend in Purgatory. It is the unchristian work of the devil which measures the eternity of Hell. Every chime of the evening bell sends its hands spinning in a different direction . . . But I see that my story bores you, gentlemen. Please pardon my prattling on so. I don’t have visitors often.”