A Game of Universe (35 page)

My hopes, my ambitions, my imagination—these he seared in a flash, and tossed away like garbage.

“Not much left to play with,” he remarked, “but it was fun while it lasted. And you’ve been such a good sport. Too bad it has to end now.”

He obliterated the parts of my brain that made me breathe, the parts that controlled the involuntary muscle contractions, the dilation of blood vessels, and the thousand other mundane operations required to live. They fell silent.

“I’ll be seeing you shortly, my protégé in the darker infernal regions. We’ll get to do this over and over and over and over and over. Won’t that be fun?”

I thought—

—but there was nothing to think. The only thing that remained was guilt and sorrow.

I was dying. In moments, my soul would be in Hell, tortured forever.

In my guilt, however, one memory remained, one that Erybus overlooked. I couldn’t even
hope
it would work, because hope was gone. The shame of my Master’s death was there, whole and absolutely clear thanks to Necatane and our journey into my past.

Concealed in that memory, buried under a heap of shame, was the mnemonic construct I had long ago stolen from my Master. It rewound time, seven seconds.

I let the magic uncoil.

Erybus’s game stopped. The universe came to a standstill.

23

T
he universe ended.

Then, it rotated backwards along its celestial spinning path. Seven seconds it retreated, slowed to a halt … then spun forward once more into proper time.

Abaris’s magic worked. I had seven seconds to relive. His memory faded. The guilt remained.

I returned to the world of light.

The battle of wills, the dragon’s tortures, and the destruction of my ego—it had taken less than seven seconds. From the traces of knowledge that lingered in my memory, I knew time was a personal experience. My struggle with Erybus might have taken only an instant. Hell must be like that: a moment stretched forever. To be stuck in one place, with the same thoughts, never going anywhere, and never changing.

These seven seconds would change though. Of that I was certain.

Inside the pentagram, I stood. Mike was on the other side of the pedestal. He advanced. “That was my ticket off of Hades,” he spat, “my one chance. You blew my one chance off that rock!”

“It was an accident,” I stammered. “Please Mike, I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Sure you meant to do it,” he whispered, hate dripping from his words. “You’re evil, and that’s why I gotta
punish
you.”

The odor of peaches was suddenly in the air. The borrowing ritual swam up from unconscious depths. It strained to be released, even though I hadn’t keyed a single mnemonic. I wrestled with it. There was no magic left to reverse time and save me now. If I released it again, I knew what awaited me. And I’d die before I let the dragon inside my mind a second time.

With great care, I swallowed the mnemonic lore even as it started to uncoil. I willed my panic to dissipate. The urge to release it faded.

Mike took two steps closer to the Grail. The glow from it tinged his face an unnatural blue. “Why didn’t you get Dad when you heard me scream my head off?”

I had frozen, standing before my father’s door, paralyzed with terror. Would he have beaten me for interrupting him? Did he know what Rebux planned to do to us?

“You were a little coward then,” Mike hissed, “and you still are. Running away. Why don’t you go upstairs to your room and hide?”

Hide. That was a good idea: to disappear, to curl up in a ball and forget everything.

His words are tricks,
said the psychologist.
He weaves a maze of illusion and memory. Do not fall into his trap.

“Don’t listen to them!” Mike screamed and shook his fist in my face. “They’re not real. Didn’t you know? Abaris sure, Omar sure, even Aaron, because there was magic to steal from their minds. That’s the only part of the borrowing ritual you ever really learned. The rest you made up.”

“What?”

He inched closer. “It started with the guy in the sewer. You shot him. Only the details got twisted in your mind because you couldn’t stomach the killing. Too much blood on your hands already, I guess. You reinvented what happened, kept him alive so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty. The same thing happened with Medea. Only you took it a step further with her. She does all your murdering for you. The psychologist, he’s there to console you; Celeste, to keep you company on those lonely nights; and the gambler, so you’d have some fun. You’re a sick boy, Germain.”

They’re not real? Were they parts of me? Fractured? Or was this another lie?

Worry about it later.
Fifty-five said.
Take him out
—
quick.

Indecision. It stopped me twenty years ago, froze me outside the cellar door, but I was not a little boy anymore. This creature wasn’t Mike, or Erybus, or Abaris, or a dragon. All his words were trickery and every guise false. I had to kill him before he muddled my thoughts again. The pistol was useless. Erybus shrugged off the wounds, changed his shape like others slipped out of a sweater. Hand to hand combat was absurd. If only I had a handful of holy water, or a cross, or a wooden stake to thrust through his vampire heart—my eyes locked on the glowing chalice—or a Holy Grail!

I threw the pistol in Mike’s face, and snatched the Grail off the pedestal, dumping its rancid split-pea soup contents onto the floor. The wood steamed where the gunk landed. I hefted the stone chalice. It was heavy, almost possessed a gravity of its own, solid and unbreakable—the perfect blunt object.

Mike brought both his arms up to protect himself. “No Germain! Forget what happened. That’s all in the past. We’re brothers. I’m the only one you have left.”

“You lie!” I hammered the cup at his head. There was magic between us. It slowed my arm and made my skin crawl. The Grail grew heavy; it penetrated whatever sorcerous defense he had. It connected with the left side of his skull.

There was a crack. He reeled back, stunned. His right arm fell limp to his side. Where the Grail hit him, a black spot appeared, not a purple-black bruise, but a scorch mark, smoldering char. The same cup Christ’s lips touched, the same cup that
Parzival quested for, and the same cup that Osrick cursed his one true love with, burned this monster.

I didn’t stop.

“You bastard!” I hit him again with all the strength in my one arm. He slumped to the floor, face up, head smoking, and blood splattered across the floor.

“You’re not Mike,” I cried, “you’re something from Hell.” I struck again at his head, then once more, and a third time, and a fourth.

What remained of his head was outlined in a bloody halo, spreading slowly over the inlaid wood, patterns of cherry and teak, swirls of ebony. The scent of fermented peaches was thick in the air. I waited and watched—afraid he’d turn into a dragon. But he didn’t. He remained my brother, twice murdered by me.

Another of Erybus’s tricks?

“Very clever,” I told the corpse, “make me think I killed Mike again. Make me lose my mind. Well, it won’t work!” I kicked him, and hoped he’d get up so I could pound him with the Grail. It struck me as hilarious, so I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks.

Perhaps,
the psychologist whispered,
it would be wise if another took control.

Listen to the egghead,
Fifty-five urged.
Get a grip. We’ve got to leave. How long do you think it’s going to take before someone notices their boss is dead? This place must be under surveillance.

I stopped laughing and examined the body. It was Mike, or at least something that had Mike’s face.

That will buy us some time,
Fifty-five said.
But I’ll bet his DNA hasn’t changed. They’ll figure out what happened soon enough. Stuff the Grail into the bag and go.

Yes, the Grail. With it I could still heal Lily, drink from it, and consummate our marriage. For the others it was too late—Mike down in the cellar, that was an accident, and Abaris, a single misunderstood word, what did Necatane call it? Catastrophic minutiae? Quilp died for his greed, and Virginia, my lovely Virginia—that was your fault Setebos.

More than a fair trade for our princess,
Celeste coolly replied.

Osrick lent me a portion of his legendary strength; he gave me a shoulder to lean on. We threw the cloth that covered the Grail over Mike, then together we whispered a silent prayer, addressed to whom, I was uncertain. “I am sorry, Mike, but you had it coming, then and now.”

The Grail went back inside the bag. There was no blood on it. It passed unscathed through every trial; not a crack, not a blemish, not a speck of grime stained the lustrous blue stone. I had bludgeoned a man to death with it, Quilp’s body was crushed while he held it, and Osrick shattered his world around it. It still looked fresh and radiant and full of wonder. I hated it.

Back into the private elevator. I rejoined my chrome escorts.

“Nice night for a stroll, huh boys?”

Neither of them answered, although one of the cyborgs cracked her face to smile at me. A short ride together, then they remanded me over to the custody of the receptionist in the lobby.

“Did all go well, sir?” the receptionist inquired. “Is there anything the management can do for or get for you? Anything?”

“Everything is perfect,” I lied. “Do you have a smoke?”

She removed a gold case from her jacket, opened it, and selected a slim black stick, which she stuck in her mouth. I picked up a lighter from the counter and stroked its side once. A flame sprang forth. I was careful to hold it with my thumb tucked under my index finger, and curled my fingernails into the palm of my hand. Even an amateur could see the dried blood beneath them.

She took a puff and handed it to me. “We are here to serve, Mister Germain.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Up to the top floor, I went. My princess awaited.

Don’t be so cheerful,
Fifty-five said.
Get your girlfriend and get us out of here.

I dismissed the rented bodyguards outside the suite and let myself in. In the foyer were boxes: hatboxes, long flat dress boxes, shoeboxes, and jewelry cases. A trail of lids and tissue paper and liquid foam led through the parlor and into the bedroom. Within, I heard Lily singing. Flowers were here too, expensive grand arrangements that belonged at someone’s funeral—African violets, apricot-colored charisma roses, cherry blossoms, and of course, lilies. Their perfume was overwhelming, thick in the air, and enticing.

On the coffee table was the bill. Tallied on the crisp disposable was a fortune. Every dress an original, the jewels were real, and I never imagined it would cost so much to import fresh flowers from Earth. I couldn’t blame Lily, though. She didn’t even have a bouquet of flowers at our wedding. Besides, I had stuck her in this pleasure suite to keep her busy.

Lily emerged from the bedroom, cradling an eggshell porcelain bowl of water and floating orchids. She wore a pleated silk skirt, the silver belt she had worn since our wedding, a transparent white top, and a diamond necklace to match the sparkles in her eyes. The diamonds were large, a string of them, four or five carats each.

Her joy dimmed, however, at the sight of me.

Something is dreadfully wrong,
the psychologist warned me.

“So,” she said, and set the bowl down. Half the water sloshed out. “You return. Do you have the Grail, or did you deceive me about that, too?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do.” She disappeared into the bedroom, and returned with a disposable—thrust it into my hand.

There were two sites active on the display. The top layer was the genealogy of a monarchy, going all the way back to Earth, before the first and second expansions. Branches of this tree extended to the present, the Florentine Emperor, and his cousin, the Duke of the Melbourne cluster. One of the smaller boughs ended rather abruptly, the royal family of Kenobrac. That one she outlined in red.

She knows you lied,
Celeste said.
She knows she’s still a princess and you’re a nothing.

Fifty-five hissed,
You should have listened to me when you had the chance to ice her.

She feels betrayed,
the psychologist confirmed.

Osrick was thinking too; part of my mind circled like a cat trying to settle down, but I didn’t have time for the lovesick knight now. I had to find out how much trouble I was in.

The bottom layer was an open node to the offices of Kell, Hermann, and Schutzer, Solicitation Services. Volumes of legal-speak filled my eyes on marriages, joint custody of properties and monies, cases to back every conceivable position and contingency, even how estates were divided after a divorce or the death of a spouse.

“Let me explain.”

“No,” she said and stiffened. “Men of Earth have nothing but lies on their tongues. I will be generous to you Germain, for you did find the Grail for me, and you did vanquish the ghost of Osrick, noble deeds which I shall reward with your life. Go. But leave the Cup of Regulus.”

“We’re married,” I pointed out.

“That can be dissolved in a variety of manners,” she replied. “Again, we ask you to leave us, before we change our mind.”

She spoke to me using the royal “we.” A bad sign. “But I know how to cure your plague.”

That got her attention. She issued no additional threats, so I explained, “One sip from the Grail is proof against disease. If I drink from it, we may touch without ill effect. We can consummate our marriage and break Osrick’s curse the way he intended it to be broken.”

Osrick demanded my attention. I ignored him.

“If that is true,” Lilian said thoughtfully, “then it follows that imbibing the entire contents would cure our curse entirely. Is that not true?”

“I cannot say. The Grail is the source of your curse. Osrick may have designed it so only his way, my way, can unravel your misfortune.”

A moment passed while she considered this.

“No. We will never let you touch us. Not after what you put us through. You took our heritage. You made us believe there was no royalty left in this new world, and that we were as common as you, as common as a thief. We will not forgive that.” She took a careful long look into my eyes, then, “Once, I thought I might have loved you, Germain, but no longer.”

I took a step back. She was a replica of her mother, hard eyes without warmth, and a face that held no emotion, an ice queen.

“Now,” she declared before I went any farther, “I will relieve you of the Cup of Regulus.”

I opened the bag and pulled the Grail out. “This is what you want?”

Eighty-four deaths I suffered for this hunk of stone. I lost Virginia, and I got dragged halfway to hell and back, so I could hand it over to her? I think not.

“Go ahead,” I said, “if you want it so bad, try to take it.”

“You have great courage, Germain, and we admire that. It is the reason we have tolerated such behavior for so long, but our patience is exhausted. You are given a final warning. Leave the Cup of Regulus and go. We shall not pursue the matter as we did with the other thief.”

“No.”

The runes of her belt flickered a nacreous green, and the air surrounding her shimmered as it had when the Bren erected their wall of magic to protect their castle. The creatures of mist appeared too, a fog that condensed from nothing, flowed across the floor, and encircled me, blocking my escape. I recalled what they did to human flesh.