The New Death and others (6 page)

The Ziggurat gave forth an outraged shriek,
as the straining tongues failed to embrace the scholar. Conwy heard
a droning like a cloud of wasps, and felt sharp pains in his head,
as if crows pecked at his mind. He yearned to rise and run from the
hideous ululation. Yet he stayed steadfast, worming his way along
the roof until he was beyond the tongues' reach. Only then did he
stand. He stepped from one roof to another. At last he found
himself before the Owls of Yib.

---

Conwy stood among a menagerie (if such a word
may be used for a meeting of free creatures) of all the inhabitants
of the roofs. Through the curling smoke he saw imps and gargoyles
pointedly ignoring each other. A white baboon watched him with
pink, unblinking eyes. Ravens and sparrows proved their
intelligence with animated speech in the tones of men and women.
Creatures who had no human name, since they had never been seen by
humans, nor ever seen one, stared at Conwy as he at them. Talking
magpies, notorious holders of grudges, thieves of any shining
thing, and quick to believe that any passer-by seeks to steal their
stolen hoard, muttered indignantly to themselves. The escaped
familiars of a dozen warlocks, a bogeyman, and a school of
air-sharks, all congregated in peace, if not in friendship, bound
by the custom that there could be no violence, and that all would
be heard. Finally Conwy saw the Owls of Yib themselves. There were
three of them, sitting on a carpet that had been laid outside the
miniature mansion.

"You may approach," an owl said, adjusting
its spectacles. Conwy did so, and bowed.

"Feathered ones," he said, "I have from birth
been the plaything of the moon. Yet my responses to her promptings
have ever been incomplete and done with an ill will. I am like a
lone and outlying planet, too distant to feel the warmth of the
sun, too close to escape. I am like a dog which will not allow
itself to be petted, but which cannot break its leash. Therefore I
beseech thee, work your arts upon me, so that I heed not the
moon."

The owls sat for a time in meditation. Then
one opened its beak to answer. But before the owl could speak a
gargoyle stepped forward, pushing Conwy to one side. It was the
very same gargoyle that had spoken to him previously. The gargoyle
bowed, so low that its horns scraped two lines into the stone
before its hooves.

"O wise ones, is it fit," the gargoyle asked
the owls, "that we, who meet amidst fragrant clouds of jasmine and
honeysuckle, should receive one who stinks of unearthly slime, as
if he had burst from the womb of yon monstrosity, the Ziggurat of
Tongues?"

"All shall be received," the owl replied
evenly.

The gargoyle's face twisted with anger. Since
it was normally twisted in the exact opposite way, for a moment the
gargoyle looked beautiful and serene.

"Sages unparalleled!" the gargoyle cried in a
shocked tone, "he has crawled before the unclean thing, on his
belly as the serpents which slither! Shall he stand among clouds
offered to the gods, and shall the highest wisdom be poured on
him?"

"All shall be received," said a second owl,
as tranquil as the first.

"Mere repetition of a generally sound
principle is no substitute for careful consideration of the
circumstances of a particular case!" the gargoyle cried
angrily.

The third owl opened its beak.

"All shall be received," was its only
response.

"O gargoyle," asked an imp, "do you suspect
this stranger of being a creation of the Ziggurat? Can you not
detect the scent of true animals under that of star-stuff?" The
gargoyle, who like all his kind could smell the difference between
one stone and another, but had almost no sense for the odors of
flesh, glared and said nothing.

"Or mayhap you feel that the wingless things
of earth should be bound to earth?" drawled another imp. Fearing to
insult the various unwinged creatures present, the gargoyle ground
his teeth together in silence.

"No doubt," a third imp yawned, "he simply
feels, as he says, that the stench of the man desecrates this
solemn meeting. Theological issues aside, we must have a care for
the delicacy of his sensitive nostrils."

This insult to his ability to bear hardship,
combined with a second reference to the dullness of his senses,
stung the gargoyle almost beyond bearing. But he dug his claws into
his hands, and counted slowly to three, higher mathematics being
unknown among his kind.

"O gargoyle," Conwy said, "Before your might
I am as a lowly dog..." He realised that the gargoyle would be
unlikely to know what a dog was. "That is, as a lowly
pigeon..."

But Conwy never finished his speech. This
reference to pigeons, who are hated by gargoyles for reasons too
vulgar to elucidate, was enough to drive out the creature's reason.
The gargoyle sprang for Conwy's throat, claws outstretched to rend
flesh. Conwy slashed with his machete. The blade struck home, but
steel was no use against stone. Quick as a cat the gargoyle drew a
red wound in Conwy's neck.

Conwy fell to his knees. For a moment there
was silence.

"Now I am exiled!" the gargoyle cried. He
opened his wings. While his body was cracked, covered in moss and
worn by weather, his wings were as delicate as a fine lady's fan.
The gargoyle jumped into the air, and was lost in the smoke.
Whether he ever repented of its murderous act, or regretted only
the punishment, no one knows, for he was never seen again.

"I am wounded unto death," Conwy whispered,
and none were surprised, since his clothes were soaked red. "Yet
still I defy thee, O Moon. The tides of my blood rose and fell at
thy direction. My veins were as the strings of a puppet. But the
strings are cut. The puppeteer moves her hands in vain. I shall
dance no more." He lay on his side as if to sleep, and was
still.

The Owls of Yib said nothing. Pitying him,
they did not mention that the temperament imposed on him by the
moon was one of bravery and defiance.

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++++

The Doom That Was Laid Upon
Fame

"O infamous Fame!" thundered the blind
goddess Justice from her throne, "All the gods proclaim that you
are a disgrace to the heavens. You raise up the unworthy, and cause
the virtuous to debase themselves, and even those you take up you
cast aside."

"Right. What's your point?" replied Fame
"Also, honey, those sunglasses really don't do anything for you."
Justice frowned.

"Given your obvious lack of repentance, I
pronounce this doom upon you: None may seek you unless they hath
not lowered themselves to please you, and none may seek you unless
they are not corrupted by you. Thus speaks Justice."

Outside the court of the gods, Fame shared a
cigarette with her friend Death, and bemoaned her lot. The two
goddesses were very close. Those suitors who failed to win Fame
often ended up with Death. Sometimes this made Fame jealous, which
is why many only find Fame after Death.

"Why hath Destiny scorned me?" Fame
wailed.

"Because you never invite me to the Oscars,"
said Destiny, who happened to be walking by.

"Yeah, that'll happen honey," Fame muttered.
"Nothing gets the party started like a woman in a toga telling you
when you're going to get divorced." Death grinned at Fame's joke.
But then Death always grinned. It was strange, Fame thought, that
Death was not more popular. She was so cheerful, and so fond of
children.

"I know someone who might be able to help,"
said Death.

"Really? Who?"

"You know how Pestilence and War and Famine
and I are the Four Riders of the Apocalypse? Well he's the fifth.
His name is Lawyers."

"I've never heard of him."

"No, any time anyone mentions him he sues
them for libel. By the way--I'm invited to the Oscars right?"

"Sweetie, of course you are."

"Thanks babe." Death made a note on her
diePad. "I think I might have a chance with that Charlie
Sheen."

"Well Ms Fame," said the oily, snake-like
creature, "I'm afraid Justice is within her rights to place a doom
on you."

"Can't I just...overcome it with the power of
love or something?"

"I'm afraid not. Ever since
Satan v.
Faust
they've been a lot more careful not to leave that kind of
loophole."

"But there must be something you can do."

"Well...there is one thing. But..."

"Please, I'm desperate. The fate of the world
is at stake. A whole generation of actors might end up becoming
social workers or firefighters or something. And if not the actors,
think of all the little people who depend on them--the sycophants,
the gossip-mongers, the people who bribe the gossip-mongers..."

"OK," the fifth Rider sighed. "It says you
can't have anyone seek you 'unless they hath not lowered themselves
to please you, and are not corrupted by you'. Now, there are some
people who are already as low and corrupt as it's possible for a
human being to be. I think you could argue that, if you made such
people famous, they wouldn't be lowering themselves and you
wouldn't corrupt them. So technically you'd be within the terms of
the doom. But why would you want-"

"Darling that's brilliant!" cried Fame.

And that is why we have reality
television.

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++++

Weary Love

Love lost her shit and went to bed

so Commerce took her calls instead.

"Is that Love?" asked a lonely Ms.

and Commerce answered "Yes, it is."

"Unloved, I sink into despair."

"OK, your basic problem's hair.

You need to pluck and wax and dye

and bleach and shave to get a guy

and once that's done you'll need to be

booked in to have some surgery

in case you find your bosoms falling.

Oh, and Botox. Thanks for calling."

Commerce smirked and rubbed her hands.

The second call was from a man.

Divorced and sad and forty-five

he said he'd gone through several wives.

"Am I the problem?" "Yes you are

unless you buy a bigger car."

She told the woman after that

"You'll die alone because you're fat."

From that day on Love has not stirred.

Some say that Commerce strangled her.

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++++

Fame's Beloved

The goddess Fame looked over the Earth one
day, to see who loved her best. She found a boy of fifteen who sat
in class and dreamed of her. Many did the same, but this boy had an
ardor that pleased Fame. Therefore she chose him as her champion on
Earth.

Fame did not trust her fellow goddesses.
Hunger, in Fame's opinion, had a wantonness which came from low
self-esteem. Many had sent Hunger away in the past, many cursed
her, many thought her a bad memory. Yet Hunger returned to them
all. Death was worse. Poor grinning, empty-headed Death would take
anyone.

Really, she felt sorry for them. Hunger wore
the same rags until they were falling apart. Contentment seemed
happy to wear any old thing. As for Love...well, Love had the
excuse of her blindness. Fame was not surprised that Hunger and
Death pursued mortals rather than the other way round, or that for
every one that sought Contentment or Love a thousand sought
Fame.

Fame watched the boy as he grew to a man. In
the night she came to him and lay with him, and she was so high of
hair and straight of teeth that every woman he saw he judged
against her, and every one he found wanting. Thus Love and
Contentment had no chance to steal him. She sent away those friends
who would mislead him, and sent him new friends who served her and
worshiped her.

He continued to court her ardently, and
little by little she allowed him to approach her. Finally, she
showed him that she loved him. He appeared on a talk-show, and got
more attention than any other guest. More than the orange-skinned
supermodel; more than the actor who was so good at portraying the
little guy that he need never worry about being one; more even than
the guest who did nothing in particular but was famous for it.
After the show someone stopped him on the street.

"You're that guy from that show!" they said.
At that moment he felt Fame's guiding hand in his.

Soon after that she got bored with him, and
let Death have him.

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The Name of the Helper

There was once a vizier of Baghdad who had
such mastery of deception, and flattery, and insinuation, and all
the false arts of the tongue, that he was called Abd al-Katheb, or
Servant of Falsehood.

Baghdad was ruled by the Caliph Musa al-Hadi.
The Caliph was a wicked man, who attempted to poison his own
mother, and committed many other outrages. Ever was Abd al-Katheb
at his side, whispering cunning and odious sophistries to calm the
conscience of his master. For this service the unrighteous courtier
was greatly rewarded, and his wealth was piled as high as his
infamy.

At last al-Hadi was smothered to death by the
women of his harem, and his virtuous younger brother Harun
al-Rashid became Caliph. The new Caliph spoke thus:

"O Abd al-Katheb, it is well-known that your
master, my late brother, was greatly influenced in his wickedness
by your counsel. Many say that your life should be forfeit. Yet you
served only as commanded. Further, Musa al-Hadi has died for his
crimes, and it is not just that a debt already paid should be paid
twice over. You are wont to boast that your words are so honeyed
that you could prove a stone to be the moon, or a beggar's scabs to
be rubies. I decree, therefore, that you shall toil in the palace
stables, to be released only when you can prove the muck thereof to
be purest gold."