Night & Demons (6 page)

Black silk hangings concealed the walls. Though benches full of equipment filled much of the interior, the floor was incongruously covered in Turkish rugs—runners a meter wide and four meters long—except for a patch of bare concrete around a floor drain in an outside corner.

“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Jones!” said the wispy little man who’d been bent over a circuit board when they entered. He bustled toward them, raising his glasses to his forehead.
“
I’d meant to leave the door open but I forgot completely. Oh, Iphigenia, you must think I’m the greatest fool on Earth!”

“What I think is that you’re the sweetest person I know, Wally,” the girl said, patting his bald head. He blushed crimson. “But just a little absentminded, perhaps.”

“Mr. Jones is going to help me advertise for a volunteer,” Wally said to the girl. “I don’t see how we can get anybody, and we really
must
have someone, you know.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jones,” Genie said, offering her hand with mock formality.

“Ah, Howard, please,” Howard said. “Ah, I have a position with Strangeco. A very lowly one at present.”

“That’s what my father likes in employees,” Genie said in a half-joking tone. “Lowliness. My stepfather, I should say. Mother buried two husbands, but Robert buried her.”

Howard shook her hand, aware that he was learning things about the Wizard of Fast Food that the tabloids would pay good money for. Remembering the uneasiness he’d felt while walking through the mansion, he also realized that the money he’d get for invading Strange’s privacy couldn’t possibly be good enough.

An area twenty feet square in the center of the lab was empty of equipment. Across it, beyond Wally as Howard faced him, was what looked like an irregular, razor-thin sheet of glass on which bright images flickered. If that was really the flat-plate computer display it looked like, it was more advanced than anything Howard had heard of on the market.

“Well, Mr. Popple . . .” Howard said. If the conversation continued in the direction Genie was taking it, Howard would learn things he didn’t think he’d be safe knowing. “If you could tell me just what you need from me?”

“Oh, please call me Wally,” the little man said, taking Howard’s hand and leading him toward the thin display. “You see, this piece of mica is a, well, a window you could call it.”

Wally glanced over his shoulder, then averted his eyes with another bright blush. As he’d obviously hoped, Genie was following them.

“I noticed that shadows seemed to move in it,” Wally said, peering intently at what indeed was a piece of mica rather than a high-tech construction. Hair-fine wires from a buss at the back touched the sheet’s ragged circumference at perhaps a hundred places. “That was six years ago. By modulating the current to each sheet separately—it’s not one crystal, you know, it’s a series of sheets like a stack of paper and there’s a dielectric between each pair—I was able to sharpen the images to, well, what you see now.”

Howard eyed the display. A group of brightly dressed people walked through a formal garden. The women wore dresses whose long trains were held by page boys, and the men were in tights and tunics with puffed sleeves. They carried swords as well, long-bladed rapiers with jeweled hilts.

“How do you generate the images, Wally?” Howard said.
“
This isn’t fed from a broadcast signal, is it?”

“They aren’t generated at all,” Genie said. “They’re real. Show Howard how you can move the point of view, Wally.”

Obediently the little man stepped to the computer terminal on the bench beside the slab of mica. On the monitor was a graph with about thirty bars in each of two superimposed rows.

Wally touched keys, watching the mica. A bar shrank or increased at each stroke, and the picture shifted with the jerking clarity of a rotated kaleidoscope.

“Hey!” said Howard as what he thought was a lion turned and raised its feathered head. Its hooked beak opened and the long forked tongue vibrated in a cry which the mica didn’t transmit. “That’s a chimera!”

“I thought so at first,” said Genie, “but they’re supposed to be part goat, too.”

“I don’t think it’s anything that has a name in our world,” Wally said, making further small adjustments. “Of course the people seem to be, well, normal.”

“Not normal where I come from!” Howard said. Except maybe in his dreams. “And what do you mean about
our
world? Where’s that?”

He pointed. The image tumbled into a scene of vividly dressed gallants fencing while a semicircle of women and other men watched. The duelists were good,
damned
good, and they didn’t have buttons on their swords.

“Robert thinks it’s fairyland,” Genie said. Her tone was neutral, but Howard heard emotion just beneath the surface of the words. “He thinks Wally’s a wizard. Robert also thinks he’s a wizard himself.”

“Your father has been very generous in supporting my researches, Iphigenia,” the little man said, glancing toward but not quite at Genie. “I wish I could convince him that these effects are ordinary science—”

He paused and added self-consciously, “Ordinary physics, at any rate. I’m afraid my researches have been too empirical to qualify as proper science. But the underlying laws are physical, not magic.”

The mica showed the dim interior of a great hall, the sort of place that Howard had imagined the Strange Mansion might be. A troupe of acrobats capered on the rush-strewn flagstones, executing remarkable jumps while juggling lighted torches.

Splendid men and gorgeous women watched from tables around the margins of the hall, and over the balcony railings peered children and soberly dressed servants. At the center of the high table was a grave, bearded man wearing a crown. He held a crystal staff in which violet sparks danced.

Beside the king, occasionally rubbing its scaly head on the back of his carved throne, was a dragon the size of a rhinoceros. It didn’t look exactly unfriendly, but its eyes had the trick of constantly scanning in every direction.

“I . . .” said Howard. “Wally, this is wonderful, just completely amazing, but I don’t understand what you want me for. You’ve already succeeded!”

The image shifted again. Instead of answering, Wally gazed with rapt attention at the new scene. A spring shot from a wooded hillside to splash over rocks into a pool twenty feet below. Butterflies hovered in the flowery glade; in the surrounding forest were vine-woven bowers.

“Wally built the window on his own,” Genie said in a low voice.
“
What Robert is interested in is opening a door into . . . that.”

She nodded toward the mica. A couple, hand in hand, walked toward the pool. The man knelt, dipped a silver goblet into the limpid water, and offered it to the lovely woman at his side. She sipped, then returned the cup for him to drink in turn.

Wally shuddered as though he’d been dropped into the pool. He tapped his keyboard several times at random, blurring the image into a curtain of electronic snow.

He turned to Howard and said, speaking very quickly to focus his mind somewhere other than where it wanted to go, “Mr. Strange felt that if we could see the other place, we could enter it. A person could enter it. He’s correct—I sent a rabbit through the portal last week—but I don’t think anyone will be willing to go when they realize how dangerous it is. That’s why I need you to help me write the advertisement for the volunteer, Mr. Jones.”

This was going to work better if the little guy was relaxed . . . which probably wouldn’t happen as long as Genie Strange was in the same room,
that
was obvious, but Howard at least had to try to calm him down.

“Howard, Wally,” Howard said, patting Wally on the shoulder. “Please call me Howard. Now, what’s dangerous about the trip? Do you wind up wearing a fly’s head if things go wrong?”

“No, it wasn’t that, Mister—ah, Howard,” Wally said, pursing his lips. “The problem occurred later.”

He adjusted the values on his display again, bringing the image of the royal entertainment back onto the mica. A young girl danced on the back of a horse which curveted slowly, its hooves striking occasional sparks from the flagstones. It was pretty ordinary-looking except for the straight horn in the center of its forehead.

Seeing that Wally wasn’t going to say more, Howard raised an eyebrow to Genie. She shrugged and said, “I didn’t see it myself—Robert won’t let me in here while the tests are going on. But all that really happened is that the rabbit hopped out, perfectly all right, and a lizard ate it. The same thing could have happened anywhere.”

“The lizard stared at the poor rabbit and drew it straight into its jaws, step by step,” Wally said without looking at the others.
“
It knew it was doomed but it went anyway. I’ve never in my life seen anything so horrible.”

Then you don’t watch the TV news a lot
, Howard thought. Aloud he said, “It was a basilisk, you mean? Not just a lizard?”

“It was a lizard,” Wally insisted stubbornly.
“
But it wasn’t a lizard from, well, this world. It was horrible, and there are any number of other horrible things over there. It’s really too dangerous to send somebody into that world, but that’s the only way we can get . . . things.”

“Well, an assault rifle ought to take care of any basilisks that come by,” Howard said reasonably. “Or dragons either, which is more to the point. Basilisks aren’t supposed to be big enough to eat people.”

He sighed.
“
I hate to say this, Wally, but science always seems to win out over romance. I
really
hate to say it.”

“But that’s just what I mean, Howard,” Wally said despairingly.
“
I had a leash on the bunny so I could pull it back, but it didn’t pass through the portal. The leash was still lying on the floor when the bunny disappeared. The volunteer won’t be able to take a gun or even clothes, and I really don’t believe he’ll be able to bring the scepter back for Mr. Strange.”

“Robert thinks that purple scepter gives the fairy king his power,” Genie said, her hands clasped behind her back as if to underscore the restraint in her voice. “Robert wants someone to go through Wally’s portal and steal the scepter.”

With absolutely no feeling she added, “Robert sacrificed a black hen the night Wally sent the rabbit through. He did it over the drain there—”

She nodded toward the bare concrete.

“—but you can still smell the blood caught in the pipe. Can’t you?”

“Now, Iphigenia,” Wally said, blushing again. “Your father has his ways, but he’s been very generous with me.”

Howard’s nose wrinkled. He’d noticed a faint musty odor, but the room was so ripe with the smells of electronics working—ozone, hot insulation, and flux—that he hadn’t given any thought to it. He still wasn’t sure that what he smelled was rotting blood rather than mildew or wet wool, but now that Genie’d spoken he wouldn’t be able to get the other notion out of his mind.

“Wally, you’re a genius!” the girl said so forcefully as to sound hostile. “You could go anywhere and find somebody to fund your work! I only wish you had.”

Wally turned and looked her in the face for the first time. “Thank you for saying that, Iphigenia,” he said, “but it isn’t true. I went many places after I first saw what the mica could do, and they all sent me away. Your father thinks I’m a magician and he’s wrong; but he doesn’t call me crazy or a charlatan.”

A door—the door that the light had led Howard to—opened. Robert Strange, identifiable from the rare photos that appeared in news features but much craggier and
harsher
in person, stepped through. He wore a long-sleeved black robe embroidered with symbols Howard didn’t recognize, and through the sash at his waist he’d thrust a curved dagger of Arab style. Hilt and scabbard both were silver but decorated with runes filled with black niello.

“Who are you?” Strange demanded, his eyes fixed on Howard. His voice was like scales scraping on stone, and his black pupils had a reptilian glitter.

The news photographs hadn’t shown the long scar down Strange’s left cheekbone. There were many ways he could’ve been cut, but only one reason Howard could imagine that a man with Strange’s money wouldn’t have had the scar removed by plastic surgery: pride. It was a schlaeger scar, a vestige of the stylized duels with heavy sabers that still went on secretly at the old German universities. The purpose of a schlaeger bout wasn’t to defeat one’s foe but rather to get the scar as proof of courage and disregard for the laws which banned the practice.

Mind you, Howard was pretty sure that Strange’s opponent had left his share of blood on the hall’s floor as well.

“He’s a—” said Genie before either Howard or Wally could speak.

“Iphigenia, go to your quarters at once,” Strange said in the same rustling tone as before. He didn’t speak loudly, but his voice cut through the buzz of electronics as surely as a mower would the flowery meadow that Howard thought of when entering the room. “You disturb Master Popple. I’ve warned you about this.”

“But there’s nobody else to
talk
to!” Genie said. Though she complained, she walked quickly toward the door of her suite.

Strange returned his attention to Howard. “I said,” he repeated, “who are you?”

“Mr. Strange, I asked M—that is, Howard to help me—” Wally said.

“I’m the volunteer you requested for your experiment, sir,” Howard said without the least suggestion of a quaver in his voice. “Wally here—Mr. Popple—noted that the agent won’t be able to carry a gun into the other realm, so my skill with a rapier is crucial.”

“You know how to use a sword?” Strange snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Howard said, standing very straight and keeping his eyes on the tycoon’s, hoping that would make him look open and honest. Even though Howard was telling the truth about the fencing, Strange’s whole tone and manner made it seem that everything he was being told was a lie.

Besides considering that Strange might have him shot as a spy, there was the possibility that the Wizard of Fast Food would demand Howard duel him to prove his skill. Beating Strange would be dangerous—rich men were self-willed and explosive if they didn’t get what they wanted. Losing to Strange might be even worse, especially since Howard didn’t imagine he’d have buttons on his swords any more than the folk on the other side of the mica window did.