she had chosen to do what she chose to do — with him. He felt a warm rush of feeling, composed partly of appreciation and partly of burgeoning grief. He could love her, he realized; she was the kind of woman he had longed for all his life, without ever realizing it. What had Angelica ever been, after all, but the dream of a moment? Luna was the reality. Beauty, intelligence, artistry, courage — but what use was any of it if she died?
She was right; they must not waste what time remained. If she wanted to be happy, to celebrate — to celebrate what — the least he could do was help her do it. 'We shall make a night of it,' he agreed, taking the left turn. Then they all closed their eyes.
There was no crash. 'Here it is,' Molly Malone announced.
Zane looked. They were approaching a complex of tents, with colorful banners flying. Loud, off-key music wafted out. People crowded around. It was a carnival, all right.
'These people look alive,' Zane remarked.
'To the dead, the dead look alive,' Molly said. 'But the two of you are the only living creatures here. Don't let that spoil your pleasure.'
'We won't,' Luna said. 'I have always liked ghosts.' Molly approached the ticket seller. 'These are my guests from the land of the living,' she said. 'Death did me a favor not long ago, and the woman will save the world from Satan in twenty years. Give them free passes.'
'Those are good credentials,' the ticket seller agreed, handing out the passes.
They passed through the old-fashioned stile and entered a broad concourse. Circus-type sideshows and knickknack concession stands lined either side. 'Come on,' Molly said enthusiastically. 'The best thing to start with is the historical tour.'
Luna took Zane's hand possessively as they both suffered themselves to be led to the embarcation station for the historical tour. Soon the three of them were ensconced in an open car on narrow tracks. It began to move under its own guidance, carrying them through a scintillating curtain.
Suddenly they were in a gloomy cave. 'Lascoux,' Molly announced. She obviously had been here many times before. 'The famous cave paintings.' As she spoke, the cave illuminated, as if from a flickering torch, and the walls glowed with assorted wild animals that seemed almost alive despite being crudely drawn. 'It's the glimmering light,' Molly explained. 'It changes what we see, so it is as if the paintings live. That is the genius of these artists.'
'Is the genius?' Zane asked. 'Isn't this a replica?'
'Oh, no!' Molly protested. 'This is the real cave, circa 14000 B.C. We are the ghosts.'
'Literal time travel being problematical,' Luna said, nudging him. Zane put his arm about her shoulders. She might be using spellstones to lighten her mood, but she was still herself. 'Ghosts can go where they want, without paradox.'
'See, there is the artist painting the first unicorn,' Molly said brightly.
Zane looked. He saw a seemingly vast panoply of crudely sketched animals all along the wall. Most of them were equine or bovine, some overlapping other figures. Yet in the flame of the sandstone lamp, whose crude wick sent out almost as much smoke as light, these figures seemed to be a three-dimensional herd, the overlapping sketches showing not carelessness but the dimension of time. This stag would soon give place to that horse; the double picture showed that clearly enough. This was the great Hall of Bulls; Zane remembered it now from former studies.
The unicorn representation was not apt. It had an enormously sagging belly that almost touched the ground, a severely truncated tail, several huge, hollow spots, and two long, straight horns. 'That's no unicorn,' he protested. 'It's a bicorn.'
'We think they evolved into the single horn,' Molly explained. 'The unicorn must have had both horses and horned creatures as ancestors, and the first crossbreeds would have seemed crude by modem standards. After all, the human figures depicted in these caves are far more primitive than those of the animals; our species has evolved much more rapidly in the last fifteen thousand years or so.'
'I suppose so,' Zane agreed, surprised at the ghost's knowledge. But of course Molly must have taken this tour many times before, and learned all she wished. He was beginning to understand what ghosts did with their free time.
'Primitive art fascinates me,' Luna said, her gray eyes flickering orange in the lamplight. She was especially lovely, here, somehow enhanced by the primitive surroundings. 'All true art stems from the depths of the unconscious mind. The men of these caves were close to the natural world and they knew, perhaps better than we do, how to relate to its magic. We can no longer summon prey for the kill by painting its likeness on a wall; we have to use technological weapons or highly refined spells. To primitive man, science and magic were one — and he made them work as one. Only recently have we begun to rediscover the principle of aura that our ancestors understood intuitively. The whole cave is suffused with that awareness.'
'Yes,' Zane agreed, seeing it now. 'I use a camera, you use paints. They used entire caves. The spirits of these animals are still here,'
'No, we are there,' Molly reminded him. 'Today the caves of Lascoux, Altamira, Perch-Merle, and the rest are tourist traps with no soul remaining. We ghosts are trying to preserve the true spirits, but it isn't easy.'
'Of course it isn't easy,' Luna said. 'But you must keep up the excellent work.'
The cart passed through a wall, out of the cave, and into a man-made labyrinth. 'The maze of the Minotaur, in old Crete,' Molly said. 'This is our earliest historical reference to the bull-man.'
'I thought you were an illiterate peasant girl,' Zane said. 'You don't sound that way.'
'Oh, I can't read or anything,' Molly said. 'It is very hard to learn fundamental skills like that after death. I just sell shellfish; it's the one thing I do well. But I've been dead much longer than I lived, and I have had the chance to educate myself that I lacked in life. I wasn't stupid when I lived, just ignorant. There's a lot to learn, simply by watching the follies of the living. See, there's the Minotaur now.'
Indeed, the bull-man was pacing about his central chamber, lifting his horns and sniffing the air suspiciously, as if becoming aware of the intruding party. 'I don't suppose you want the gossip about how he was conceived,' Molly said. 'How the Queen Pasiphae of Crete had a passion for the Bull from the Sea, who was really a sort of masculine demon, but the Bull wasn't interested in her, so she — '
'We know the story,' Luna said curtly. Zane could understand why she did not want to discuss the matter of lovely women making love to demons.
Then they were out of the maze and rolling along a Roman highway. 'Are you enjoying this?' Zane asked in Luna's ear.
'I haven't been on a date — in a long time,' she answered obliquely. 'Most men shun association with the family of a Black Magician.'
'Their loss,' he said, drawing her in more closely. She melted against him, and it was very pleasant.
'How can you save the world from Satan in twenty years if you are doomed to die within a month?' Zane asked, remembering something the ghost had said.
'Maybe I can influence Satan in Hell,' she suggested.
'I don't want you in Hell!' he protested. 'I don't want you dead at all.'
'We must all die,' Molly said. 'What hurts is dying out of turn.' She was, of course, in a position to know.
Zane pondered that, as Luna snuggled most pleasantly close. Those were the clients he had trouble with, intellectually and emotionally — the ones who were dying early because of accident or misunderstanding or plain bad luck. A game that played itself out and was finished was one thing; its score was known. But one that was interrupted before its course was run was a tragedy. Maybe he was abusing his office by talking a potential suicide out of it, or rescuing a drowning man, while facilitating the demise of an old and worn-out person, yet that was the way he had to play it. He had precious little of a worthwhile nature to distinguish himself, but it was important to care about people.
'Penny for your thoughts,' Luna murmured as they cruised through a medieval Chinese city. Zane was sure each setting on this tour was a highly significant historical event, and Molly was happily describing it all, but somehow he wasn't interested at the moment. 'I don't want you dying out of turn,' he whispered. 'You're a lot better woman than I deserve, and if — '
'Despite my affair with the demon?' she asked.
Why did she have to remind him of that? 'To Hell with the demon!' he exploded.
