Tom Holt (32 page)

'Jason,' said the voices or voice, 'the world you are standing on is a world which actually exists. Its technical name is Betamax 87659807 and it is the same as your world in most material respects. It is your world; or it could be. Your world could be merged with it, and nobody would know. Now there are some differences, as you will shortly find out, but once the merger had happened nobody would remember them. It would be as if everything had always been like this, and anyone who remembered otherwise would be sent somewhere quiet and restful with high walls until he was well again. Now the gods want your world merged with this one, and they've been trying to bring the merger about for a very long time. I we would like you to have a look at this world and let me us know what you think of it.'

Jason shrugged. It was like, he decided, those offers you get from the timeshare companies where you go along and listen to their spiel, and afterwards they give you a portable television. The only element lacking, so far as he could tell, was anything resembling a portable television.

'Where are we now, then?' he asked. 'I don't recognise this at all.'

'This is the street where you live, or would have lived, or will live, in Anglia, which is, was or will be what they call England,' he/they said. 'And the date is December the twenty-fourth. Sorry if this all seems needlessly Dickensian, but we haven't got much time, so we wanted to get in as much culture shock as possible. This is a world where Prometheus never stole the Joke from Heaven, and where the gods never retired. Right, roll 'em.'

As Jason stood there recovering from the above conversation, which put him in mind of a multiple choice English grammar exam, he looked up and saw a small knot of miserable-looking people trudging up the street. They wore grey homespun overcoats and grey knitted scarves, and they were getting drenched in slush by a passing oxcart. The leader of the party was carrying a collecting tin, with
For The Gods; Please Give Fearfully
written on it. The party stopped outside one of the dilapidated thatched houses that made up the street and started to sing.

'We wish you a Saturnalia,'
they sang

'We wish you a Saturnalia

We wish you a Saturnalia

And a pious New Year.'

'No Christmas, you see,' he they said in Jason's ear. 'No Donations of Constantine, no Christianity, ergo no Christmas.'

'Huh,' Jason replied, and for two pins he'd have added 'Humbug.' Christmas always bored him rigid, partly because he was a Hero and lived on a higher plane of background experience, and partly because his family always gave him socks. Something about the song troubled him, however. 'Shouldn't it be "We wish you a happy Saturnalia," though?'

'No such thing as a happy Saturnalia.'

The singers had finished their song and the door of the house opened. A terrified-looking man poked his head round, thrust two gold coins into the tin, and slammed the door. The leader ticked a name off a list and they moved on down the street. Outside the next door they sang;

'
Bad King Atreus looked out

On the slopes of Pindus.

Lightning came and rubbed him out,

Blowing him to cinders.

Atreus, the silly sod,

Came to Jove's attention.

People who offend a god

Don't collect their pension.
'

There was complete silence for a while, broken only by the mooing of a distant cow; then the shutter of an upstairs window opened and a very old woman poked her head through.

'Piss off,' she said. 'I haven't got any money, do you hear?'

The leader shuffled through the papers on his clipboard. 'According to the priests, he said, 'you've got two denarii five quadrantes left out of your pension.'

'But that's got to last me till January.'

'Tough,' replied the leader -- not unpleasantly; he clearly wasn't enjoying this very much. He was just very, very determined. 'You shouldn't have spent it all on butter then, should you? One denarius you're down for. We haven't got all night.'

'Go away.'

'Look, gran,' said another of the group, 'we know it's hard, but we're only doing our job.'

'Is that you, our Timon?'

'Yes, gran.'

'Then you should be ashamed of yourself.'

'Steady on, gran,' said their Timon. 'It is the season of ill-will, you know.'

Jason turned. He couldn't see his companion or companions, but he turned nevertheless. In the circles in which he moved, if you wanted to talk to someone without someone else hearing, you turned, and that was that.

'Shouldn't that be the season of...?'

'No,' he they replied. 'Shut up and listen.'

'Look,' said the leader of the group, 'it's no skin off our nose if you don't make your voluntary offering, right? If you want to offend the gods and get blown to bits by a thunderbolt and spend the rest of eternity on the wrong side of the Styx just because the thought of going hungry for a few days meant more to you than paying your respects to the everlasting gods...'

'All right, all right,' said Gran, and shortly afterwards there was a shooting back of bolts and a slight tinkle, such as might have been caused by a small silver coin dropping into a very full collecting tin.

'Bye, then,' said the leader. 'Have a pious Saturnalia.'

'Bog off.'

The party slouched off down the street, and soon Jason could hear them singing about how, away in a manger with a crib for his bed, the impious Thyestes was found very dead. Snow fell. Jason's sensitive nostrils detected the smell of totally inadequate drains; or more accurately, no drains at all.

'A brief history lesson,' said the voice or voices. 'In our world, the Roman Emperor Constantine declared Christianity to be the State religion, and the worship of the gods was suppressed. In this world, however, Constantine never existed. There was never a Constantinian revolution. Constantine's predecessor, Diocletian, remained in power. Now Diocletian believed in a place for everybody and everybody in his place, and also in the gods. He set up a system of government along those lines and, in this world, the system has worked. One thousand seven hundred years later, things have not changed much, largely because no-one's seen the need. There is still an Emperor in Rome --Severus the Thirty-Third -- and the science of urban sanitation died in infancy; you are presently standing in the main sewer of the town. Petrol is still a black messy substance that interferes with well-digging operations in Mesopotamia, penicillin is an unfortunate by-product of inadequate bread management, and electricity is something that comes out of the sky to let you know you've forgotten to sacrifice to Minerva. The only known cure for an abscess under a tooth is death. This is because people never learned to laugh at the gods, and so never realised that it's possible to tell them to get lost. Discontent cannot exist without laughter.'

'Was Diocletian the one who made his horse prime minister?'

'That was Caligula, and not on this world he didn't. It was a joke, you see, and here there are no jokes.'

'None at all?'

'Try for yourself.'

Jason thought about this, and as he was contemplating a man appeared at the top of the street. Jason had been wondering if he was in fact visible to the people of this world, and asked as much of his companion(s).

'No,' he they said, 'not as such. The Possibility Police wouldn't allow it. However, since this is a controlled environment and we can adjust things later, we can make you visible for a few minutes if you like.'

Once this had been dealt with Jason walked up to the man and stood in front of him.

'Excuse me,' he said, 'but what's brown and lives in the sea and attacks young women?'

The man stopped and thought about it. 'Good question,' he said. 'You've got me there. It could be Neptune, because he lives in the sea and he's a bit, well, like that, His name be praised, but I never heard that he was brown, particularly. There's the Old Man of the Sea, of course, but he just attacks everybody, thanks be to Him. Then there's Porphyry, I suppose, except he's...'

'Actually,' Jason said, 'it's Jack the Kipper.'

'Who?'

'Jack the Kipper.'

'Never heard of him,' said the man, after a moment's thought. 'Is that another name of Scylla the Hundred-Headed Sea-Fiend?'

'No,' Jason replied, 'it's a pun.'

'A what?'

'A pun.'

The man thought again. 'No, sorry,' he said, 'you've lost me there. You sure you're not thinking of the Old Man of the Sea, because...'

'All right, all right,' Jason said. 'Try this one. Why did the chicken cross the road?'

'Which road?'

'Sorry, forget I said that. How many dentists does it take to change a light bulb?'

'What's a dentist?'

'Ah. Well, thanks for everything, have a nice day.'

'What's nice?'

Jason shivered, not entirely because of the cold. Fortunately his companion or companions chose this moment to wipe the man's memory clean, and he hurried by without saying anything further.

'All right,' Jason said, 'you've proved your point. Can I go and have something to eat now, please?'

But the person or persons he couldn't see shook his or their invisible head or heads. 'Not yet,' he they said. 'You wanted to understand what was going on, didn't you?'

'In a way, yes,' Jason replied. 'Not this way.'

'How, then?'

'More a sort of comfortingly meaningless truism sort of way,' Jason said, 'or, failing that, a detailed exposition over lunch. Do they have food here, by any chance?'

He they considered. 'They eat,' was the reply.

'Whatever it is they eat, could I eat it too?'

'No.'

'Oh? Jason- thought about it, and remembered the story of Persephone in Hell. 'You mean, if I eat any of the food here, I'll have to stay here for ever and ever?'

'No,' said his companion(s), 'but if you eat any of the food here you'll be ill. It's winter, remember. No fresh veg, all the meat is salted, and there's ergotism in the bread. If you're really hungry there's always rats, but...'

'I think I'll wait, thanks,' Jason said. 'Okay then, so what else have I got to see before I achieve enlightenment and you let me go home, because time's getting on and...'

'Not here it isn't.'

'Look...'

'Roll 'em.'

'I shall now,' said Jupiter, 'call this meeting to order.'

He looked around him and frowned. Either all the gods had suddenly gone deaf or else they had forgotten what had happened the last time.

'I shall now,' he repeated, 'call this meeting to order, and anyone who doesn't shut up will spend eternity as a dung-beetle. Thank you.'

In the resulting silence the Great Sky God looked round and counted heads. Someone was missing.

'All right,' Jupiter said, 'where is he?'

Silence.

'I see,' Jupiter went on. 'Solidarity. Right.' Jupiter cast eye across the assembly, muttering under his breath. By the time he got to Eeny-meeny-miny he was staring straight at Mars.

'He was called away,' Mars whimpered. 'An urgent summons from Delphi. He asked me to make his apologies for him, and...'

'Called away.'

'Yes,' Mars continued, sounding like a whole Wealdful of sheep bleating simultaneously. It is part of the Divine Code of Ethics that gods stick up for their fellow gods and try to conceal each others' cock-ups from the Great Eye. Other components of the Divine Code are fair dealing, honesty, justice, consistency and kindness to animals. It was last observed on October 16th, 1145. 'At least that's what he told me,' Mars continued. 'I said to him, I said...'

'Called away.'

'Um,' Mars quipped brilliantly. 'Yes. Exactly what I said to him. I said...'

Jupiter stroked his beard, producing enough static electricity to power all the food processors in New York. 'In that case,' he said, 'as of now Apollo ceases to be a member of this council. Mercury will convey this news to him after we have taken Any Other Business. In the meantime he shall cease to function as an independent entity. Moved and unanimously carried, I trust.'

The gods looked at each other. On the one hand it was a terrifying precedent. On the other hand it was just plain terrifying. They nodded.

'Moved, then,' Jupiter said smugly, 'and carried unanimously. At this rate, we'll have this lot wrapped up by teatime. Isn't it satisfying when everyone does as they're told? Right, next item on the agenda, the destruction of Earth...'

Something hopped into Mars's mouth and bumped up against his clenched teeth. He was horribly afraid it was a protest. 'Um...' he said.

'Sorry?'

'Um,' Mars said again. Something told him that his point required a degree of clarification and expansion if it was to have maximum effect. 'Er...' he added. Everyone was looking at him, and he suddenly realised how pleasantly restful it was when people were just shooting at him.