Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  He was getting the message. “How long?"

  "They will return in time for the hull repair."

  "But suppose—"

  "Please.” She pressed herself to him, all softness and desire.

  What could he do? Bijou had been mistress to a king; she knew how to make a man respond. “Make sure they are,” Patches said at last. “This job is not yet done."

  Throe, Ennui, and Jamais departed, knowing that Bijou—and Patches—would cover for them. There would be no record of their absence. But they would indeed have to be back within three days. They were tired, and had not had enough sleep, but this was the real portion of their mission.

  They dressed anonymously and departed the city. Then they made their way back to the lake. There was a cabin beside it that the Black Glamor had evidently traded for, because it was well stocked and unoccupied. They entered it and slept until nightfall.

  After darkness, somewhat better rested, they donned what Jamais called wet-suits made of waterproof canvas, and packs of supplies. Then they swam out into the dark lake, pushing a float that supported a stone in the shape of a ring. They took hold of the stone and hauled it off the float.

  They barely had time to take breaths before the stone dropped toward the bottom, hauling them down with it. The darkness had been partial at the surface, because of the lights of sundry activities around the lake, but below it became absolute.

  They landed in sloping muck. Stay with me, the Black Glamor's thought came.

  They held on to the stone ring, because otherwise they would have floated back toward the surface, and slogged in the direction he indicated with his mind. They came to an indentation in the slope, and that became a cave, and inside the cave, suddenly, there was air. Just in time; their limits were near. The plunge and walk had taken only a minute or so, but seemed far longer. Throe could not remember when he had done more underwater swimming; it was not his idea of fun.

  Now Jamais produced light. It was the illusion of a lamp, but it made real light; his Air Chroma magic was manifesting. Actually his Glamor magic, because this was still in the nonChroma zone around the city. But there was no one else to see or to guess the secret.

  They waded out of the water and found themselves in a passage that led away, curving down. It seemed that this was an air trap, and the way was clear despite going down below the lake itself. Throe was amazed; he had never suspected a place like this, so close to the capital city. Which was perhaps the point: it was secret because no one had thought even to look for it.

  "There is no physical danger here,” Jamais said. “But there will be a challenge that each of us must meet individually. The two of you will succeed by being yourselves. I will be halted. But you know your objective."

  "The loom,” Ennui said.

  "Now it comes."

  They rounded the continuing curve and came upon a lighted chamber of considerable size. There within it rested a huge orange female sphinx.

  Throe was astonished. What was such a creature doing here? There did not seem to be access for anything of that size. Could it be an illusion?

  Greeting.

  They halted. The mental voice hardly seemed to be illusory. The appearance was realistic too; the face was regally human female, and so were the enormous breasts

  Jamais did not speak, so Throe did. “Acknowledged."

  Introduction: call me Orange.

  "I am Throe. This is my companion Ennui. And Jamais Vu, of the Air Chroma."

  I am the present guardian of this repository. You may pass only if you successfully answer my riddle.

  "Riddle?” Throe asked somewhat stupidly. He still wasn't sure that this encounter was real. In fact this entire mission was somewhere between odd and weird.

  What is better than the alternative?

  What could they do but try to answer? It would be impossible to pass such a creature without its acquiescence. Sphinxes had physical and mental powers that dwarfed those of ordinary human beings.

  So what was better than the alternative? Jamais had said they could prevail by being themselves. So rather than search for a clever response, he gave an honest one: “Old age.” For of course the alternative to that was early death.

  Accepted. Pass, Throe Human.

  Accepted? Just like that? Throe didn't argue. He stepped on past the sphinx and stood at the other side of the chamber.

  The Sphinx oriented an eye on Ennui and repeated the question.

  "Love,” she said immediately.

  Accepted.

  Ennui came to join Throe. “But you gave a different answer,” he protested.

  "I gave the right answer for me."

  And that had been acceptable. It made sense in retrospect.

  Orange oriented on Jamais, with the same question.

  "Knowledge."

  Not Accepted.

  Throe was startled. “But that's the best answer of all!” he protested. “I wish I had thought of it. What could be worse than ignorance?"

  "I don't understand either,” Ennui said.

  You may each ask a question of me, related to this matter, the sphinx thought. If I do not answer any, your third member may pass. The eye oriented on Throe.

  So they had a second chance! “What is the most common answer?” Throe asked.

  Life.

  "That's really the same as mine. The alternative to life is death."

  The eye fixed on Ennui. “Why do you do this?” she asked.

  It is the most expedient way to verify the quality of the applicant.

  "But I don't see how our answers make the two of us worthy, and the third one unworthy."

  Orange ignored her. The eye went to Jamais. “What was your answer?” he asked.

  What is the alternative?

  Throe clapped the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Of course! How can you give a relevant answer when you don't know the specifics of the question? I missed that."

  "So did I,” Ennui said. “I interpreted it in my own scheme instead of being objective."

  Throe addressed the sphinx directly. “The two of us gave emotional answers, wanting life or love, while Jamais gave a rational answer. The same goes for our questions. We wanted to know how others answered, or why you try to balk us. Only Jamais saw through to the essence: the answer you gave would be the one you most favor. Surely he is more deserving of passage than we are."

  Mortals are most concerned with survival and reproduction. Immortals are concerned with neither. The two of you are revealed as mortals. The third is immortal.

  They all looked at Jamais, but he merely stood there as if unconcerned.

  Which Glamor are you?

  And there it was. The sphinx had caught on.

  "Black,” Jamais said, manifesting without bothering to reverse his cloak.

  We shall have an interesting dialogue.

  "Surely so.” The Black Glamor glanced at the two mortal humans. “Perhaps the challenge should be rephrased. It is not who is allowed to pass, but who is chosen for companionship."

  "But you are the one who knows the real nature of our mission,” Throe said. “We are here merely to assist you."

  "I can not complete the mission,” the Black Glamor said. “You can. Orange recognizes that."

  "But what if we foul it up?” Ennui asked.

  The Black Glamor seemed to smile. “Try not to do that.” He turned to the sphinx. “You suspected?"

  You were testing me.

  "True. No one can find a Glamor who does not wish to be found. Not even another Glamor. Certainly not an alien creature. So I gave hints."

  You are unable to go there anyway.

  "Affirmation. So a visit with a sufficiently intellectual entity has alternative appeal."

  It has been some time since I have met with an intellectual challenge.

  The Black Glamor shook his head. “Intellect is not what sets Glamors apart. We can have long experience and memory, and we have magic powers, but are no smarter than we wer
e as mortals. Sphinxes have larger capacities."

  Capacity without experience and memory is useless.

  Throe took Ennui's elbow and drew her on along the dimly illuminated passage. Obviously sphinx and Glamor were enjoying each other's company.

  "This frightens me,” Ennui confided. “I feel so inadequate to the occasion."

  "As you did when you first met Havoc,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “That was a crazy situation. We were all in this huge chamber, and every few minutes acid would wash across the floor, dissolving anyone who didn't make it to a pedestal—but there weren't enough pedestals. Havoc wanted to make an alliance with someone who was familiar with the city, but that barbarian man terrified me. I made him exchange an oath of friendship, so I'd be safe from him."

  "That was a smart move."

  "I think that was the smartest move I ever made! But it wasn't smart, it was sheer dumb luck. I didn't know he was going to be king. He saved me from the acid, and then, well, I guess he was stuck with the friendship. So he made me his clerk, and then I met you."

  "Havoc doesn't see it that way. He trusts you beyond all others."

  She laughed, embarrassed. “Negation! He trusts Gale, and the Lady Aspect, and Symbol, and you. He really doesn't need me any more, but he won't renege on his oath. I worry about being in his way."

  "Gale is his beloved. But you really introduced him to the Lady Aspect."

  "Negation!"

  "He says that when he slept on the floor of the Lady Aspect's apartment, you persuaded her to accept him. In that manner you brought him perhaps his most useful ally. She feels similarly about you, because he saved her in much the way he saved you. And me. Without you it wouldn't have happened."

  "I was just—there. I'm nothing. You know that, Throe."

  "Correction: you were nothing, at least in terms of power. Now you are the linchpin of the kingdom."

  "Stop it, Throe! You are embarrassing me."

  "Your humility becomes you. But the rest of us trust you, because you are worthy of it."

  "That's part of what's weird about it. I wasn't anything special in competence or trustworthiness, but once I was locked into that oath of friendship with Havoc, I had to try to live up to it the way he saw it. It's a higher standard than I ever had, and it makes me a better and a happier person. So whatever it is you see in me, it's mostly a reflection of Havoc."

  He nodded. “We all have become reflections of Havoc, and all profited thereby. Symbol perhaps most of all."

  "She loves him."

  "And we don't?"

  "You know what I mean. She's utterly gone. If he clasped her, they could fall into boiling water and she wouldn't notice."

  "When you gave me your feet, that hurt as bad as boiling water. And you thought you were losing them."

  "Well, I love you."

  "Have I made my point?"

  She turned to him. “You were making a point?"

  He hauled her in and kissed her. “That point."

  After a moment they separated. “I suppose we agree that Havoc changed our lives,” she said, “and not just because he became king."

  "There is something about him. I don't think we have fathomed the whole of it yet."

  "Agreement."

  The passage opened into another chamber. This contained a huge apparatus Throe didn't recognize at first. It had wooden planks connected in various ways, and treadles at the bottom, and what appeared to be little pulleys at the top. Around it were piled colorful skeins of thread.

  "A loom!” Ennui exclaimed.

  "The loom,” Throe agreed, belatedly fathoming the nature of the thing. “But it's huge!"

  "Looms are.” She approached it, studying it from angles. “This must be the most fabulous loom on the planet! I have never seen such an elaborate construction."

  "How are we going to take this to Triumph City? It must weigh more than the sphinx."

  "I have remarkably little notion. Maybe it has to be used here."

  "The Black Glamor said we were to fetch it. That suggests transporting."

  "Agreement.” She continued to contemplate it raptly.

  "Could we take it apart?"

  "We might,” she said. “But I'm not sure we could ever put it back together. Looms may be simple in concept, but this one is not simple in detail. I think it is best not touched."

  "It must be touched if it is to be used."

  "Affirmation. I meant not to molest it."

  "I believe we have a problem."

  "There must be a way."

  They contemplated the loom. “The objects we have to fetch have all been small enough to carry in the mouth. I somehow thought this one would be similar."

  She smiled briefly. “A loom? You would have to have a very big mouth."

  "They also seem to be magic.” He remembered the yellow star Gale had gotten, that had protected them from being blown apart in the eruption. Phenomenally magic!

  "This looks ordinary in that respect, and of course it's here in a nonChroma section. But it's not an artifact, it's something to process them."

  "Can a non-magic apparatus handle magic things?"

  "It must be possible, because you folk fetched the magic ones, and you aren't magic."

  "We simply carried them. We did not work with them. This is supposed to change the objects into threads that can be woven. I don't see how it can do that."

  "Bafflement,” she agreed. “But it must be able to. If we can get it to the city."

  Throe thought to test the loom's heft. He reached for its nearest support—and could not touch it. His hand was invisibly balked. “I think it is after all magic."

  "Maybe we're addressing it the wrong way."

  "What would be the right way to address a loom?"

  "Weaving.” She went to one of the skeins and drew out a length of yellow yarn.

  "You can actually use this machine?"

  "I think so. I have done a good deal of weaving in my day. This is a much more sophisticated loom than any I have had experience with, but I can use one facet of it to do something simple."

  Throe wasn't sure what this would accomplish, but since he had no better idea, he let it be. He watched her take a number of strands and cleverly affix them to catches high and low, forming parallel lines. She had no difficulty touching the loom, which hinted that she was on the right track. She worked a treadle with her feet, and another set of catches came forth. She strung more strands between these. “This is the warp,” she said, satisfied. “Now for the weft."

  She took more strands and put them across, between the two vertical lattices. She had a bobbin she flung back and forth, making the vertical networks pass between each other to catch the horizontal threads and hold them in place, woven.

  She glanced at him. “You haven't seen a loom in action before?"

  "I blush to say I have not. It was—” He lacked a decent excuse.

  "It was woman's work,” she finished for him. “I never saw men training with clubs, either."

  "Man's work,” he agreed, grateful for her understanding. “Why are you weaving with the same color strands, when you could so readily alternate them?"

  "This is the background. I'm doing a very simple pattern. This loom goes well beyond my fondest capabilities, but this is only a demonstration piece."

  "As it is, it's more complicated than I could ever manage."

  "Yellow on yellow? Even a man could learn that.” She smiled. “Would you find me some red yarn, please?"

  He looked among the skeins, and found a red one. He brought it to her. She took it and this time did some actual hand weaving, passing it before portions of the growing mat, and behind others. It formed a short red line, two dots, and another line in the middle of the yellow background.

  Throe considered it. “I don't recognize that picture."

  "Men are slow about such things.” She continued the work, passing the red thread carefully back and forth. The left ends of the two lin
es became vertical lines, while the two center dots separated into diverging rising sets of lines.

  "You are sure you know where you're going?"

  "I am never certain,” she replied complacently.

  Only when the central pattern was half as tall as it was wide did he suddenly catch on. “Love! It spells LOVE!"

  "It isn't as if I haven't used the word before."

  "Affirmation,” he agreed.

  She completed the word and put more yellow strands across the top. She had a woven plaque with her message. “Now the question is what to do with it."

  "Take it with you,” he suggested.

  "I shall.” She reached for the loom, to start the process of removing her small tapestry—and suddenly it changed. The loom shrank alarmingly, becoming so small that she held it in her hand. She stood there, mouth open.

  "What did you do?” Throe asked, astonished.

  "I just touched it. I didn't mean to break it."

  "You didn't break it. You miniaturized it. Look—it's all there—including your pattern."

  She looked, seeing the tiny tapestry, still with its LOVE message, now barely discernible. “Amazement!"

  "Now you can transport it!” he said. “You showed you understood it, and it responded to you."

  "I was referring to my tapestry, not the loom itself."

  "I think you weren't quite clear about that. The device is magic, not interpretive."

  "But this is nonChroma,” she protested.

  "It's a magic artifact. Evidently it doesn't need a Chroma. Like the Glamors."

  "Awe."

  "Agreement. Put it in your mouth so you can't lose it, and we'll return to the others."

  "But suppose it changes back, while it's—in there?"

  "I doubt it will. But if it make you feel easier, I'll carry it."

  "Do.” She held it out to him.

  But when he tried to take it, he could not. His hand balked, as it had before. “Apparently not. It is yours. You tamed it."

  "I suppose it is, for now.” She nerved herself visibly and put it into her mouth.

  "I am curious. Can I kiss you?"

  "You may, of course. You don't have to ask."

  He embraced her and put his face to hers. And balked. He could not put mouth on mouth. “That's what I thought. I may, but I can't. It won't let me that close."