Bearing an Hourglass (9 page)

“I am.”

“And you get your kicks from stealing innocent babies?”

Thanatos’ dark hood turned toward Orlene, then toward the crib, and finally back to face Norton. He drew back one sleeve to expose a heavy black watch. One skeletal finger touched that timepiece. “Come with me a few minutes, mortal, and we shall talk.”

Norton experienced a chilling awe of this somber figure. He had not believed in the so-called Incarnations, despite the ghost’s assurances, except possibly as mock
presentations. Now conviction was growing. Thanatos was no joke; neither was he callous or indifferent.

They walked out of the room. Orlene did not move. She stood by the crib, her thin arms extended in a futile gesture of protection. Her face was drawn, her hair dull, with only her eyes still large and beautiful. She did not even breathe. Time seemed to have halted.

Outside the apartment, in the hall, a gallant pale horse stood. Somehow this did not seem surprising. Norton got up behind Thanatos on the horse. Then the horse leaped.

They passed through the levels of the city as if these were holograph images. Halls, apartments, service areas—all shot past like so many segments of a cutaway dollhouse as the horse sailed up. In a moment they reached the park at the surface. The animal’s gleaming hooves landed without jarring, and now they were riding through the forest.

They came to a glade where the sun angled warmly down, and the horse halted and the two riders dismounted. The horse fell to grazing while Thanatos and Norton sat on a fallen log and talked. Somehow it no longer seemed strange to be talking with a skeleton in a cloak.

“I wish to explain about the baby,” Thanatos said. “He is not innocent, odd as that may appear to you. He is in balance. Do you comprehend the term?”

“Balance? Not the way you must intend it. Do you weigh him?”

Perhaps the skull-face smiled; it was hard to tell, through the fleshless grin it always had. “In my fashion. I have devices with which to measure souls, determining whether the accumulated evil overbalances the good. If the balance favors good, that soul is sent to Heaven; if evil, Hell. A person really does determine the nature of his afterlife by the nature of his life, by exercising his free will. But some souls are in perfect balance between good and evil at the time of the client’s demise, and these must remain in Purgatory.”

“You mean there really are places called Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory? I thought they were mere constructs of human imagination.”

“That, too,” Thanatos agreed. “They are not precisely places so much as states of being. They exist for our culture, as do the several Incarnations, for here there is sufficient belief in them. In other cultures, other frameworks exist. I have very few clients in those cultures where other beliefs obtain.”

“But
I
never believed in Heaven, Hell, or Incarnations!” Norton said.

“Not consciously, perhaps. Do you believe in Good, Evil, and personal choice?”

Telling point! “The baby—how can there be evil on his soul? He has not harmed anyone. In fact, he’s a victim of circumstances manipulated by others.”

“True. Gaea is very sorry about that; she had not been paying full attention, so her gift to Gawain was flawed. By the time she discovered that, it was too late for her to correct it. Ge must obey Ge’s laws, too.”

“Gaea—Ge—you mean Mother Nature?”

“The Green Earth-Mother, yes. She is extremely powerful, but also extremely busy. She thought it a simple favor to one who was trying to do better in death than he had done in life, and she did not look deeply. Even Incarnations make errors—and such errors can be worse than those of mortals.”

“This error destroyed a man’s line!” Norton cried.

“Gawain will be given a second chance,” Thanatos said. “Gaea has interceded with Clotho for that. This is her manner of apology.”

“The baby will be cured?”

“No. That case is lost. Gawain will have the opportunity to remarry, more successfully.”

Norton felt another chill. “Remarry? He’s going to divorce Orlene?”

“No.”

“She’ll bear another baby for him? But why, then, should he remarry?”

“Orlene will have no other baby. This is the major portion of this first baby’s accumulation of evil—responsibility for his mother’s untimely demise.”

“His mother’s demise!” Norton repeated, shocked.

“I regret to inform you of this. But it will be easier for you if you understand. You bear no share of the guilt for this disaster. The blame is the baby’s.”

“But the baby has done nothing!”

“The baby is about to die. That destroys the mother.”

“But the baby didn’t choose to die!”

“In this case, I regret, the sin of the father is visited on the son. Had Gaea not interfered, the baby would have been healthy. You are of excellent genetic stock.”

“Oh, certainly,” Norton agreed. “My family has always been healthy. But still—this transferal of guilt—
I
was the one who sired the baby! I had a dream—had I not—”

“I do not profess to agree with every aspect of the system,” Thanatos said gently. “I only assure you that it is so. You are blameless, in the case of the son and the case of the mother. You must understand that, while the fate of the baby is in doubt, that of the mother is not; she will proceed directly to Heaven. She is a good woman, as pure in her distress as she was in her happiness, and insufficient evil attaches to her for the manner of her demise to deny her her destiny. I will not be present for her; you will be. I hope your knowledge of the full situation will abate your discomfort. You are a good man and can have a good life, if you can pass this crisis without being corrupted.”

“The concern of Death for my welfare is touching,” Norton said bitterly. “You tell me my—Gawain’s baby must die, and the woman I love must die, but I should ignore all that and enjoy myself? Why do you bother?”

“Because I dislike unnecessary pain,” Thanatos replied seriously. “Death is a necessary thing and it comes to all living creatures in its proper time; it is right that this be so, for a proper death is the greatest gift to follow a proper life, but the manner of its occurrence differs. I prefer that the transition be accomplished with as little unpleasantness as possible and that no extraordinary measures be taken either to extend the agony of demise or to shorten the natural term decreed by Atropos.”

“Atropos?”

“An aspect of Fate, who is another Incarnation. Atropos cuts the threads of life. When a person dies, the primary burden always falls on the living; therefore much of my own concern is with the living, as it is with you. I feel compassion for mortals, for their lot is often difficult.”

“Compassion!” Norton exclaimed.

“I realize this is difficult for you to understand or accept, but it is so.”

Norton stared into the hooded skull-face and discovered that he believed. This Death-specter, Thanatos, really did care. Thanatos was trying to help Norton bear what it seemed had to be borne. “That’s all? You use your valuable time just to ease my concern?”

“No time is passing,” Thanatos said. He lifted his arm, showing the solid black watch. “I used the Deathwatch to suspend time so that I could converse with you at ease.”

“Thank you,” Norton said, finding it simplest to accept this additional incredibility. He remembered how Orlene had frozen in place and he saw now that nothing in the forest moved, except themselves and the horse. Even the clouds were frozen in the sky, and the shadows had not budged. Truly, a supernatural power was in operation! “Must be nice, having a device like that. To control time itself, at need.”

“You have a similar artifact,” Thanatos said. “That may be the other reason I paused for you.”

“Other reason? What is the
first
reason?”

“The fact that you were able to perceive me. Few people not directly involved with death can sense my presence.”

“I love Orlene!” Norton said. “Anything that affects her welfare affects mine!”

“Demonstrably true. And so you saw me—and I saw your ring.”

Norton glanced at his left hand. “Oh, Sning. Orlene gave him to me.”

“Excellent magic can be incorporated in small things,” Thanatos said. “Sning, as you call him, is of demonic origin, and almost as old as Eternity.”

“But he’s not evil! How can he be a demon?”

“Demons, like people, differ. He is good—as long as he remains bound to the service of Good. You are fortunate to command his loyalty.”

This turn of conversation was so surprising that it distracted Norton from the horror of the main topic. “Sning,” he asked the ring, “is Thanatos genuine?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“How can you verify this? Do you need to touch him?”

Squeeze.

“You object?” he asked the specter.

Thanatos shook his skull, no.

“Do it, then, Sning.”

Sning slithered off Norton’s finger, into his palm, and toward the hooded figure. Thanatos pulled at the bone fingers of his left hand, and they slid off—in the form of a glove. Beneath it was a human hand, fully fleshed, complete with a smidgeon of dirt under the nails. He extended his hand, and Sning touched it with his tongue. Then the little snake curled back around Norton’s finger, while Thanatos donned his glove and the hand became bone again. When in place, the glove did not show at all; the hand seemed to be genuinely fleshless, and Norton was sure it would feel that way.

“He’s genuine?” Norton asked Sning again.

Squeeze.

“And all that he tells me is true?” Squeeze.

“You are a good demon?”

Squeeze.

It was enough. “You have amazed me,” Norton said to Thanatos. “I did not believe in you, but now I do. I appreciate your courtesy—but I’m going to try to save Orlene.”

“Naturally. It is your way. The world is better for your concern.” Thanatos stood and gravely extended his hand.

Bemused, Norton stood also, accepting the hand. It did indeed feel like bare bones.

“Mortis!” Thanatos called. The magnificent stallion
trotted back, and they mounted. Then the animal ran a short distance and plunged down through the ground and the occupied levels of the city. This time Norton could see that all the people there were as still as statues. One, in a rec-room, was caught in mid-leap, hovering half a foot above the floor. Time was indeed frozen.

All by the mere touch of a bone finger on the Deathwatch! What dreadful power this Incarnation possessed, to be thus casually employed for the sake of a private interview. If this was an adjunct to Death, what power did the Incarnation of Time possess? Norton’s imagination failed.

They landed on the floor of Gawain’s level, dismounted, and reentered the apartment. Orlene remained frozen by the baby. Thanatos reached again for his watch.

“Uh, thanks,” Norton said, somewhat awkwardly. He was not resigned to what was happening, but he no longer blamed Thanatos.

The somber figure nodded. Then time resumed.

Thanatos stepped to the crib and reached for the baby. Orlene stared at him and screamed: “No! No! Go away, Death! You shall not have him!”

Thanatos paused. “He is in pain. I will relieve him of that.”

“No! We have medicine!” She shoved at Thanatos, but her hands passed through him without resistance, as if he were a ghost. He had been solid for Norton, but not for her.

“There is a time to die, and his time has come,” Thanatos said sadly. “You would not want him to suffer longer.” He reached down and drew out the baby’s soul, like translucent tissue. Gaw-Two’s labored breathing stopped and he relaxed, looking strangely comfortable in death. His travail was over.

Orlene sank to the floor in a faint.

Thanatos faced Norton again. “I regret,” he repeated. “Yet it is a necessary thing I do.” He folded the soul and put it in a black bag he had brought forth. He walked out.

Norton felt numb. He went to Orlene and lifted her to
the couch. She felt horribly light; she had lost even more weight than he had thought. This ordeal was destroying her!

Then he used the phone. “There has been a natural death,” he told the face that came on the screen. “Please send appropriate service to this unit.”

The girl nodded. This was routine to her; she did not feel the horror of it. He held the connection long enough for her to get a fix on the address, then disconnected. He went to attend to Orlene.

Now, he knew, came the hard part. He was numb, but not insensitive. What would he do when she woke?

She woke, and he did it. He told her the baby was gone. This was not the occasion for euphemism.

“I know it, Norton,” she said. “Please excuse me. I have some things to attend to.” She went to the bedroom.

Was that all? He could hardly believe it!

She was that way for several days, calmly going about her business. Norton did not know what to make of it. She had been so desperate and, now that the worst had happened, was so composed. Had Thanatos misjudged her? Perhaps, after a suitable period, the two of them could enjoy each other’s company again and generate another baby, a healthy one, for the estate. Slowly, Norton’s hope strengthened.

Then, ten days after the death of the baby, when Orlene had set all her affairs in proper order, including careful instructions for the disposition of her few individual belongings and her body so that there would be no awkwardness, she took poison. Norton found her slumped at the piano and knew as he saw her that it was too late, that her last note had been played. She had, of course, arranged it that way. She had not even said good-bye—and in that she had not been cruel but sensible, knowing he never would have let her do it, had he known.

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