The New Death and others (7 page)

Abd al-Katheb was thus sent to the stables to
be the servant of animals, and to labor amid filth. Such was his
rage and humiliation that his serpent's tongue deserted him. Had he
kept his head he could have convinced the grooms and stablehands
that he was the victim of an injustice, or that he voluntarily
lowered himself from humility. Perhaps he could even have proved
that the muck of the stables was purest gold, and gained his
freedom. But instead he was as bitter and hateful in manner as in
reality, and gained no sympathy.

One day, as he was bewailing his fate, he saw
a crone who was a stranger to him.

"O crone," he said, "I see that you have a
cheerful countenance. Have you come to gloat at my misery? Though I
marvel that you have not been gathered up and thrown away, mistaken
for a pile of horse dung." The crone did not respond to his
jibe.

"I smile always, but do not gloat," replied
the crone. "Indeed I have come to prove Harun al-Rashid a liar, and
secure your release."

"Two mighty tasks," the former courtier said
drily, though in truth he thirsted for hope, and the taste of it
was sweet. "Yet how may this poor ostler repay you?"

"In truth you have given me much already,
though you know me not. Therefore I shall take only a small piece
of meat. And since you are poor I shall not take a choice cut, but
one you have scorned. And finally, O Abd al-Katheb, I shall not
take even this if you can tell me my name."

Such was the certainty in the woman's voice
that Abd al-Katheb did not doubt her sincerity, or her power to
deliver what she promised, though he of all people should have
known that the word is not the deed. Therefore he replied

"I accept your bargain. I cannot tell you
your name, since although I know many names, they are those of men
of dignity and power, not toothless and wretched old women." Again
the woman made no response to his insult, but merely continued
smiling.

"This being so, I shall return at sunset,
when the bargain shall be fulfilled." With that, she left Abd
al-Katheb to his work.

Abd al-Katheb was as greedy as he was false,
and to give even a small piece of meat for liberation was against
his nature. Therefore he desired greatly to know the name of his
savior. To this end he put on the mask that he had laid aside, and
all in the stable were greatly pleased by his new attitude of
repentance and good fellowship, as they thought. But although he
subtly guided the conversation towards the subject, none could name
the old woman. This displeased him greatly, despite the great
prospect suddenly before him. For it is the way with all who seek
wealth and power, that it is as if they drink salt water: the more
they attain their desire, the less they are satisfied. Therefore
Abd al-Katheb would have found reason to complain in Paradise.

At last the sun set, and behold! The old
woman was before him, though he did not see her coming despite his
careful watch.

"O Abd al-Katheb," she asked, "have you
guessed my name?"

"Indeed I have not, old woman," he replied.
"But I remind you that the penalty for this failure is merely a
small piece of meat."

"I have not forgotten," said the old woman.
Having spoken, she reached into his chest, and pulled out his
heart. Abd al-Katheb fell dead on the ground. Thus Harun al-Rashid
was made a liar. For the false vizier had not proven that the muck
of the stables was gold, yet he had been released from his
punishment.

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++++

The Warring Gods

The gods Sex and Love fell to fighting.

Every time a man sought Love, Sex would
whisper in his ear, saying

"What kind of man are you? What you really
want is Sex."

Every time a woman sought Sex, Love would
whisper in her ear, saying

"What kind of woman are you? What you really
want is Love."

This must be true. If it is not, and there
are no gods, then we have done this to ourselves.

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The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune

Based on the story of the same name by
Robert E. Howard.

Un-numbered years ago it came to pass

that desolation settled on King Kull.

His throne of gleaming gold seemed tarnished
brass

and soft and subtle silk seemed rough and
dull.

The court wore robes of hemp, their jewels
glass

their praises air that whistled through a
skull.

He rose and sought the wizard Tuzun
Thune

who spoke with demons, who controlled the
dead

who knew the name of every written rune

and how to bring forth gold from common
lead

then trade it for the silver of the moon

and every spell besides, so it was said.

The wizard's house had mirrors for each
wall

for floor and ceiling, every tile and
door

both king and wizard reappeared in all

and Kull felt he would fall into the
floor

and fall again, and infinitely fall

a sailor on a sea without a shore.

"Come gaze into my mirrors and be wise,"

the wizard said. Kull looked as he was
told.

He stared into his own unblinking eyes.

The Kull that met his gaze looked sad and
old.

His lips seemed poised to mutter soothing
lies.

His eyes were wary and his manner cold.

Kull looked into another and he saw

himself. "Look closer, Kull," said Tuzun
Thune.

This Kull was younger than the other, or

less weighted down with restlessness and
gloom

as if he had a kingdom to explore;

a happy land beyond the mirrored room.

No feature differed from his own and yet

Kull saw a glimmer in the other's eye

of treasures to be won and friends unmet

shine like a star new-risen in the sky

while Kull felt like a fish caught in a
net

whose future is to fight in vain and
die.

Kull sat and stared till sunset and he
came

next morning and he sat and stared
again.

His mirrored image always looked the
same

yet more and more they seemed two different
men.

Kull thought he almost knew the other's
name.

He waited like a prisoner condemned.

Kull's stallion stamped, unridden in its
stall.

The business of the palace went undone.

In noble mansion and in humble hall

a hundred voices muttered. Kull heard
none.

No voice cried louder than the mirror's
call

till all things seemed unreal to him but
one.

The mirror's glass, Kull thought, was like a
mist

that showed not half as much as it
concealed.

Beyond it, everything that could exist

yet out of this, just one room was
revealed.

He groaned with longing, hands balled into
fists

his arms outstretched in agonized
appeal.

He felt that he could almost understand.

The road that led beyond was almost
clear.

He touched the glass and felt a living
hand--

but jumped as something whistled by his
ear.

Kull shrieked in horror, fell, and tried to
stand:

His mirror-self was shattered by a
spear.

Kull's soldiers raised him from the floor.
They killed

the wizard and they left him where he
lay.

His dried and withered carcass lies there
still

reflected twenty thousand times. They
say

that death is weaker than the wizard's
will

and his reflections walk on ill-starred
days.

Kull lost himself in ordinary lusts.

His golden throne no longer tarnished
brass

he ruled, and killed, and acted as kings
must

and only in his darkest hours asked

had he been saved from death or was he
just

a shadow-king reflected in a glass?

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The Adventure of
the Murdered Philanthropist

The winter of 18__ was a dark time for
London. The city was racked by the murderous rivalry between two
groups of gangsta tailors (the famous Creased Coast / Vest Coast
feud); the serial rhymer Jack the Rapper terrified all
(particularly sucker MCs); and supporters of Irish Home Rule
undermined the morale of our army, by following them around
giggling at the phrase 'pith helmets'.

The incident that I remember best from that
ill-starred year is the murder of the well-known philanthropist,
Sir Benjamin Evolent. Sir Benjamin had been found lying in his den.
His clothes were soaked in water, although it had not been raining.
He had traces of dirt under his fingernails. His skin was flushed,
as if he had been standing next to a fire, yet no fire was lit in
the fireplace. The cause of death was given as asphyxiation, yet an
autopsy showed no evidence of choking or smothering.

My friend, the famous
consulting detective, had been called in by the police when their
own enquiries proved fruitless. Indeed, they were hard-pressed to
even conceive how such a man could have enemies. It was Sir
Benjamin who had founded the Evolent Scholarships, by which orphan
boys were fed in return for beating up the Irish. He had done much
to mitigate two great evils; hungry orphans, and unbeaten Irishmen.
He also made large contributions to the RSPCA(
1
).

My friend had never failed to uncover the
guilty party. He had exposed the secrets even of the mysterious
ninjas (although he been attacked by them, and suffered a ninjury).
But on this occasion, several weeks of investigation had borne no
fruit. Sir Benjamin also had a great fondness and sympathy for
members of the Jewish race, and often let members of that group
stay at his home, whether they wanted to or not. It might be
thought that he had suffered some mishap at their hands. But they,
as superstitious in London as in the deep jungles of their tropical
homeland, were terrified of Sir Benjamin.

Thus it was that I was in a somewhat
pessimistic mood as I made my way to my friend's rooms. I found
him, as I often did, in a chemically-induced stupor.

"Good evening Doctor. What's on?" he said,
and laughed like a drain for several minutes.

"Yes. Very droll," said I. "Gad man--can you
at least close your robe?"

"The human body is a thing of beauty," he
replied.

"Not in all cases," I said,
shielding my gaze from 'the Baker Street Irregular', which I had
seen only once before(
2
).

When my friend had composed himself, we took
a coach to a new Viennese restaurant, Freud's, which promised 'food
just like Mother used to make'.

"Forgive my over-indulgence,"
said my friend, as he thrust Freud's house special, a huge
throbbing sausage, into his mouth, "but this case has me at my
wit's end. In addition, the pornographer William Anonymous, who I
apprehended recently(
3
), has escaped
prosecution. He was able to show that his product was not
pornography, but erotica."

"What exactly is the difference?" I
asked.

"Erotica has better-quality paper. Finally,
this incident in the Khyber Pass has depressed me greatly." He
referred, of course, to the then-recent massacre of the British
army in Afghanistan.

"Well," I said, "at least after this no one
will attempt to conquer Afghanistan again."

"Indeed. In any case, I have made an
appointment for us to visit the inventor, Mr Vernon Wells."

"The developer of steampunk?" I asked.

"The same."

Mr Wells had been, under the stage-name
Spinning Johnny, the leader of the musical group the Sex Pistons.
His
Monarchy in the UK
had been the talk of London,
eclipsing even the popular soprano Lady Stephanie of Gagashire.
Critics had described his long-playing record
Never Mind the
Balkans Here's The British Empire
as "shamelessly sycophantic
towards the wealthy and privileged" and "full of pea-brained
jingoism". But despite their praise it had failed, and he now
concentrated on scientific invention.

Mr Wells had no servants, having selflessly
donated them for scientific research, and so answered the door
himself. I found my way blocked by a small pig.

"Lol! Soz!" said Mr Wells, pushing the pig
out of the way. He was unfortunately given to
'telegraph-speak'.

"Good evening Wells. What news from the
frontiers of science?" asked my friend.

"Great things! We are on the verge of
producing a food made entirely from effluent and industrial waste!"
he replied.

"Remarkable! How soon?"

"Very close, sir. Indeed my colleague Mister
McDonald intends to open his first restaurant this year. But no
doubt you have come about this terrible murder?"

"Quite so," said I.

"I have just the thing! Right...get away you
stupid pigs...here." Wells held up a thing of wood and brass. It
was about the size of a small dog, but looked much like an
oversized spider. "This device," said he "is my Search Engine. I
enter a code, signifying the thing I desire found, into the device.
When I wind it up, the Engine will leave this workshop and go forth
into the world. When it returns, the parchment will contain
directions to find that which I desire."

While we waited, Mister Wells offered us a
light snack of treacoil tarts, custard steams and model-Tea, and
discoursed upon the latest discoveries.

"Great things are being done in the science
of Psychology," he said. "For example, a new process from America
called advertising."