guardian came in.
'A summons for you, oh lucky ones. Iron John will see you in the Veritorium. Come!'
We went - since we had little choice. For a change Goldy was not in a chatty mood; waving off our queries with a flick of his hand. More corridors, more bricks - and another door. It opened into misty darkness. Stumbling and barking our ankles we made our way to a row of waiting chairs, sat down as instructed. It was even darker when Goldy closed the door behind him as he left.
'I don't like this,' Floyd muttered, muttering for all of us.
'Patience,' I said for lack of any more intelligent answer, then nervously squeezed my knuckles until they cracked. There was a movement of air in the darkness and a growing glow. Iron John swam into view, a blown-up image really. He pointed at us.
'The experience that you are about to have is vital to your existence. Its memory will sustain you and uplift you and will never be forgotten. I know that you will be ever grateful and I accept your tearful thanks in advance. This is the experience that will change you, develop you, enrich you. Welcome, welcome, to the first day of the rest of your new and fulfilling lives.'
As his image faded I coughed to cover the grunt of suspicion that this old bushwah evoked. Never try to con a conman. I settled my rump more comfortably in the chair and prepared to be entertained.
As soon as it started I could see that the holofilm was very professionally made. I appreciated that the young, the gullible - or the just plain stupid - would be very impressed by it. The mist churned, the russet light grew brighter and I was suddenly in the midst of the scene.
The king watched in silence as the group of armed men walked warily into the forest and disappeared from sight among the trees. Outwardly he was patient as he waited, although he reached up and touched his crown from time to time as though reassuring himself that it was still there, that he was still king. A very long time later he stiffened, turned his head and listened as slow footsteps shuffled through the thick leaves below the trees. But no warrior appeared, just the thick and twisted figure of his jester, headdress bobbling, laps moist with flecked saliva.
'What did you see?' the king asked at last.
'Gone, Majesty. All gone. Just lake all of those who have gone before. Vanished among the trees around the lake. None returned.'
'None ever return,' the king said, sorrow and defeat dragging him down. He stood that way, unknowing, unseeing as a young man appeared and strode towards him; a silent gray dog walked at his side. The jester, jaw agape, spittle pendulous, hacked away as the stranger approached.
'Why do you grieve, oh king?' he asked in a light and clear voice.
'I grieve for there is part of the forest in my kingdom where men do go - but none return. They go in tens and twenties - but none is ever seen again.
'I will go,' the young man said, 'but I will go alone.'
He snapped his fingers and, without another word being spoken, man and dog walked off into the forest. Beneath the trees and pendant mosses, around the hedges and nodding cattails to the edge of a dark pond. The young man stopped to look at it and a hand, sudden and dripping, rose from the water and seized the dog. Pulled it beneath the surface. The ripples died away and the surface was still.
The young man did not cry or flee, just nodded.
'This must be the place,' he said.
The darkness faded and light returned. Iron John was gone, the chamber was empty. I looked at Floyd who seemed just as bewildered as I was.
'Did I miss the point somehow?' I asked.
'I feel sorry for the dog,' Floyd said. We both looked at Steengo who was nodding thoughtfully.
'That's only the beginning,' he said. 'You'll understand what is happening when you see the rest.'
'You wouldn't like to, maybe, explain just what you are talking about?'
Steengo shook his head in a solemn no. 'Later, perhaps. But I don't think I will have to. You will see for yourselves.'
'You've seen this holoflick before?' Floyd asked.
'No. But I have read my mythology. It's better that you see the rest before we talk about it.'
I started to protest, shut my mouth. Realized that there was no point in probing further. The door opened and our guide reappeared.
'Just the man we are looking for,' I said, remembering our earlier decision. 'We have heard, from reliable sources, that there is to be an outdoor market at dawn tomorrow.'
'Your sources are correct. Tomorrow is the tenth day and that is market day. Always on the tenth day because the nomads remember by marking a finger each day with soot until all fingers are…'
'Right, thanks. I can count to ten without dirty fingers. My fellow musicians and I would like to visit this market - is this possible?'
'You have but to ask, great Jim of The Stainless Steel Rats.'
'I've asked. Can someone show us the way in the morning?'
'Tis more fit that you use the Chariots of Fire…'
'I agree, more fit. But more fit that we be fit. Walking is a wonderful exercise.'
'Then walk you shall, if that is your desire. An escort will be provided. It is now the hour of dining and a banquet has been prepared in your honor. Will you be so kind as to follow me?'
'Lead on, my friend. As long as it is not polpettone again we are your avid customers.'
As we followed him out I discovered that my fingers had a life of their own. Or, more probably, were being twitched into activity by my worried subconscious. They flicked over the computer controls and the glowing numbers appeared before me.
Nineteen and a pulsing red eleven.
Eleven days to go. The morning market had better produce something.
Chapter 15
'It is going to be such a lovely day,' the voice said.
Each word shot through my head like a rusty arrow, grating and scraping against the growing headache that was throbbing there. I opened one eye blurrily and bright light added to the pain. I had only enough energy to twist my lips into a surly snarl as our gold-clad host flitted about our quarters. Opening curtains, picking up discarded clothing, generally being as obnoxious as possible at this predawn hour. Only when I heard the outer door slam did I crawl from the bed, turn off the searing lights, stumble on all fours to my pack where it rested against the wall. On the third fumbling attempt I managed to open it and click out a Sobering Effect pill. I swallowed it dry and sat motionlessly while I waited for its beneficent chemicals to seep through my fractured body.
'What was in that green beer?' Floyd said hoarsely, then began to cough. Moaning in agony between coughs as his aching head was kicked about. My headache was seeping away so I clicked out a pill for him and walked unsteadily across to his bed of pain.
'Swallow. This. Will. Help.'
'Quite a party last night,' Steengo said benevolently, joined fingers resting comfortably on the ample bulge of his stomach.
'Die,' Floyd gasped, unsteady fingers groping for the pill. 'And burn painfully in hell forever. Plus one day.'
'A bit hungover are we?' Steengo asked cheerfully. 'I suppose there is good reason, considering the length of the nights here. Their parties must go on forever. Or maybe it just seems that way. Eat a bit, sleep a bit. Eat a bit, drink a bit. Or maybe more than a bit. I thought that the beer tasted a little on the nasty side. So I only had one. But the meat courses! Tremendous, vegetables, good gravy, liked the bread and red sauce, plus…'
His voice died away as Floyd crawled out of bed and staggered, groaning, from the room.
'You are cruel,' I said, smacking my dry lips together and feeling a little better.
'Not cruel. Just pointing out a few truths. This mission first. Overdrinking, hangovers and Technicolor yawns saved for our victory celebration.'
