Omega Point (12 page)

  "Er," said Lucas.

  "I'm stumped," said Bear.

  "The answer," said Richards, "is man. As a child, he crawls. As an adult, he walks erect. As an older man he requires a stick."

  "Oh, get him!" said the big lion. "Someone knows his classical mythology, doesn't he?"

  "Yeah," said Richards. "I was lucky enough to get an education. Now let us in, you cut-rate sphinxes."

  The smell was getting stronger. Bear was drooling and Lucas was dancing from foot to foot with a strange look in his eyes. Richards' stomach rumbled, which took him by surprise, and he found that his mouth was watering.

  "Cut-rate, are we? Don't think you're coming through," said the big lion. "Let me tell you something, little man, less impressive than the offspring of Typhon and Echidna we may be to your eyes, but we still have big teeth." He bared them, and rumbled.

  The smaller lion assumed the pose once again. "One of us always tells the truth, one of us always lies…"

  "I got the riddle right," said Richards.

  "Not so clever now, eh, old chap? We, I'm afraid, have full control over riddling rights round here. As you're such a blessed smart-arse you can answer three riddles. One for the each of you."

  Clarence waited patiently for Tarquin to finish. A nod from the large lion set off his litany once more. "One path leads to certain death, the other to salvation…"

  "And pork?" asked Bear, eagerly.

  "And pork," sighed the lion. "How do you find out which way to go?"

  "Sheesh, you're awful!" said Richards. "Everyone knows the answer to these. They're rubbish!"

  Lucas and Bear looked at each other guiltily.

  "Wooooo!" said the lion. "Catty! Go on then, mastermind, what's the answer?"

  Richards shook his head.

  "Answer," purred the lion.

  Richards pulled a face, but answered anyway. "I'd ask one of you, 'What would the other one of you say if I asked him the way to salvation?'"

  "More," said the lion warily.

  "If I asked that question of the liar he would tell me the opposite of what his fellow actually would say, as he always lies. If I asked the truthful one, he would tell me the truth, which is to say, the liar's lie. Both would indicate the road of instant death, so I'd naturally take the other. For fuck's sake, this really is schoolboy stuff."

  "Alright!" growled the bigger lion. "Clarence! Another."

  "Are you just going to ask us questions until we get one wrong, and then eat us?" said Richards. "Because that's a big waste of time for everyone."

  "That is the general idea, yes," said Tarquin.

  "Thought as much." Bear strode forwards. Crossed paws barred his way, claws popping from their sheaths.

  "Not so fast," warned Clarence with a silky growl. "You have two choices. We can ask you lots of annoying questions until you fail and we eat you." It had a most disagreeable manner. "Or we can just eat you."

  Bear rolled his eyes. "I've had enough of this!" He grasped Clarence by the scruff of the neck and pitched the lion like a hay bale into the darkness.

  "Bounddddeerrrrrrr!" came a faint cry, and the lion was no more.

  Bear turned to eyeball Tarquin. "I'll give you a riddle: What shouldn't you do to Bear?" He wagged his paw inches from Tarquin's face, beans rattling madly. "The answer? Don't piss Bear off, especially when there's meat involved." Tarquin sneered but wisely turned back to stone. "I thought so. C'mon, boys! It's dinner time!" He marched on, Lucas scampering after, Richards reluctantly following. Pl'anna's Gridsig sang loud then faded to nothing, intensifying again as they drew closer to the pavilion, as did the smell of roasted meat, and Richards' hunger.

  Up, the path went, round the conical hill. Their feet were eager on the steps. Bear led the way as the strengthening smell of pork began to drive him wild. Lucas was muttering to himself and licking his lips. Richards tried to clear his mind, but the need to eat the meat was overpowering, and it disgusted him.

  At the top the pavilion stood proudly. What looked grand from a distance was a sorry sight close in. Flaking gold and red, grey wood showed where the colour had failed, four storeys of cracked timber posts, ornate carvings rounded thick by generations of careless paint, a small courtyard of worn stones in front of it. The pavilion door gave a hefty shudder and creaked open. A midget emerged, tiny by the huge portal. It was heavily made up, and wore a velveteen dress and a lady's red satin cloak, although it was plain that he was a man. A turban of green satin sat on his head, an enormous ostrich feather topping that tripling his height, a heavy globular brooch holding it in place. As he approached, mincing and fussing, his pearls and earrings chinked and jangled, the clack of tiny high heels loud on the flags in the night.

  Richards stopped dead. From the dwarf, the music of Pl'anna's Gridsig rang loud, its normal purity encumbered by harsh notes of corruption and parasitic rewrites. Little, flighty, wise Pollyanna, fond of shopping, fashion and inscrutable pronouncements, turned into this parody. Anger at k52 boiled in Richards.

  "Greetings!" said the little transvestite in an effeminate voice. "Welcome to the Dragon Tower!" A waft of winey breath overlaid with stale perfume and staler sweat greeted them.

  The dwarf waddled over to where the three of them stood. "All is ready, my lords!" he squeaked, his voice a wavering contralto. He bowed, his ostrich feather tickling Richards' nose. Stretching itself to his full height of a nearly a whole metre, the dwarf piped proudly, "I am Bodrick, son of Makkar the Strong, son of Gelndar Dragon Smasher, of the line of Trakmore the Mighty Right Arm." He looked a little sheepish and hesitated before coming to some decision. "But people usually call me Linda, Mrs Linda Circus. It is the name I prefer. This way, gentlefolk," he said brightly. "Your banquet awaits!" He glanced up at Richards and a flicker of recognition passed over his face. Then it was gone. Circus slipped a tiny hand into Richards'. It was dry and soft as kid leather, and his grip was firm for one so small. Richards tried to marshal his thoughts, but they were buried under an avalanche of maddening hunger. Lucas and Bear appeared entranced.

  Inside the tower was a single tall room, balconies lining the walls in place of upper storeys, leaving plenty of space for carvings of whip-thin dragons, of which there were many. The yard-thick rope of the pylon mounted on the roof ran through a hole in the ceiling, passing down through the centre of the room to disappear through a double trapdoor in the floor by way of another round hole. Clustered round the rope were long, shining chains of steel and brass, many tipped with barbed hooks whose ornate inlay did not disguise their wicked edges. Hidden behind heavy drapes was a bank of levers, their oily utility at odds with the room's luxury. Cushions of silk and low couches lined the walls. Exquisite carpets carpeted the floor. All was rich, but worn.

  The chains and the cushions and the grandeur, all this was lost on Richards. His stomach spasmed painfully. His eyes were fixed on a hollow circular table around the rope, laden with food of every conceivable variety. Fruits, meats, pies and shortbreads, desserts and tottering trifles, salads, loaves, fish and fowl, wine and beer. The centrepiece was three large pigs, roasted whole and presented on golden platters with which one could have bought a small asteroid. The pigs' flesh was crisp and brown, glazed with honey and shiny juices. It was expertly carved. Richards could only just see the lines where the knives had parted the flesh, and he knew that it would come away from the carcass with the greatest of ease.

  A struggle mounted itself in his mind. "This is wrong," he tried to say, but his voice was weak, and Bear and Lucas paid no attention. They ran forward to help themselves to piles of steaming meat, while Richards exerted all his will to prevent himself following suit.

  "Well, this is very nice," he said, saliva threatening to choke him, and he wondered if this was how it felt to drown.

  "Why do you not join your friends? Eat, eat! All is prepared."

  "I'm not hungry, Pollyanna," said Richards.

  Circus did not react, and the Gridsig faded a little in Richards' mind. "You are not eating, my lord?" he said, suspicion creeping under his cracked foundation. "Come now, you must be famished." He giggled. "All we creatures here know the pains of humanity. How is my lord finding the sensation of hunger?"

  "What?" said Richards, but Circus smiled and fetched for him an apple. He cradled it in both hands, as if it were the most precious thing in all creation. The brooch on Circus's turban opened up to reveal an unblinking eye. It swivelled slowly and fixed itself morosely on Richards' face. "Or perhaps a drink? Shazam!" said the dwarf, or something very like it, and a goblet of bubbling black liquid appeared in Richards' hand. A smile creased the make-up caked onto Circus's stubble. "Drink!"

  "I'm not thirsty," said Richards. He fought his hand as it raised the goblet to his lips. With a cry, he threw it aside.

  "Oh, no need to be, my lord. If it is not to your tastes, cast it away! Why not? There is so much more to feast upon in the tower of Linda! Come, come! This way, sit with your friends, find something you like –" he leaned in close, his odour enveloping Richards "– and eat." He guided Richards by the hand onto a big cushion. "Of course you are hungry," said Circus. "Of course."

  Circus waved a piece of meat in front of Richards' face. It repulsed him, the thought of eating another creature's flesh, but he could not help himself; it smelled delicious, and his stomach called for it with a voice all of pain. He allowed Circus to push the meat into his mouth. It tasted unlike anything he had ever sensed. Juices ran down his chin.

  "There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it? I will retire to my chamber. If you require anything, my lords, please ring!" Circus indicated the silver bells on the table in front of the travellers, and shuffled out of the room backwards, bowing repeatedly as he went.

  "Dig in!" said Bear, his fur matted with fat.

  "Maybe I'm not so down on my luck after all," said Lucas, stuffing a piece of pork into his mouth from Bear's plate.

  "I'll drink to that!" said Bear, round a mouthful of pig, waving a goblet carelessly in the air.

  Richards said nothing, his face contorted, sinews standing out on his neck as he struggled not to swallow.

  Bear chewed slowly, his paws moving from his mouth. "Are you OK?"

  With a titanic effort, Richards spat out the meat. Biting out his own tongue would have been easier.

  "Spit it out!" he gasped. The stomach pangs were crippling, the urge to stuff the food into his face overpowering.

  "Bear," said Lucas, "is your nose OK?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, it looks sort of… flatter," said Lucas.

  "Stop eating, both of you," said Richards.

  "No, it's not," said Bear.

  "Yes. Yes, it is, Bear! Noticeably so. Here, look in this." Lucas swept a pile of sweetmeats from a silver tray and held it up to Bear's face.

  "Bloody hell!" said Bear, reaching up to feel at it. "It is too." He gave an experimental sniff. His eyes widened in panic. "It doesn't smell right!"

  "What do you think it could be, Richards?" said Lucas. His skin was becoming a ruddy pink.

  "Oh, no, oh, no." Richards shoved himself back from the table, attempting to put distance between himself and the food. "Too late! The meat, it's invasive… invasive code…"

  "What? What is he gabbling about? Tell me, man, tell me!" said Lucas.

  "It's… magic!" said Richards. "Magic!"

  "Your nose… your nose…" said Bear.

  "Is it getting flatter too?"

  "No!" shouted Bear. "It's turning into a pig's snout!"

  Lucas held a hand up to his nose, a hand that was rapidly morphing into a trotter. "Oh, dear, so it is. I don't think I can… oink. I'm sorry. I mean oink! Oink! Oh, dear. This is worse than the hiccups. Excuse me." Lucas dropped to his hands and knees, his flesh writhing.

  Richards crawled away from the table, fighting the urge to drag himself back to the feast. Bear jumped to his feet. "Damn!" he shouted. "Damn, damn, damn!" Large bare patches were appearing as his fur fell out in clumps. His ears had become hairless and floppy, and one paw had changed to the pointed fingers and nails of a pig's foot. "Goldilocks' knickers! It's the bloody food. I should have known! I should have known! I knew it didn't smell right! Damn! Curse my hairy hide for being so greedy. Curse those bloody squirrels!"

  "Oink!" snorted Lucas.

  "Oh, no," wailed Bear, "my tail's gone curly."

  At that moment Circus made a grand entrance. He swept in, head held so high that Richards could almost see it over the pile of figs between them.

  "Ha ha! Greedy, greedy, my lords. Your true natures are revealed by your gluttony." Lightning played around the eye in his turban, the pupil of which had reduced to a tiny black point.

  "Circus… Circe! You turned them into pigs," groaned Richards. "More classics."

  "As you will be too, my friend. The transformation will not be complete until every inhabitant of the world is dead and the Flower King dispersed! When these creatures are no more, that will be that, and I, I will be a beautiful woman, as I always have wanted to be."

  "But Pl'anna, you are a woman!" shouted Richards.

  Circus's face creased in confusion. "I…"

  "Circus, you monstrous pipsqueak!" came a voice from above. Richards managed to look up, and found if he didn't look at the food he was able to think more clearly. Tarquin paced tensely round the balcony, an expression of savage rage across his face. "Idiot dwarf! Louse! Freak!"

  "How dare you! How dare you!" screeched Circus. "Never call me that again!"