The silver-furred man paused to drink from his large stein, and Varian could feel the apprehension and the anxiety in the air. He could feel the expectations of all who listened to the tale. Tessa reached out, touching Varian’s wrist, and he flinched.
“So, anyhow, we get into the outpost, and one of the trappers, he tells me there’s been a monk, or somebody like that, passin’ through and askin’ for me! Now, I got to think this is pretty odd, ‘cause there ain’t hardly no one knows I’m out there, or what I’m doin’. And surely there’s no monks that know me. I’m not what you’d call a religious man.” He paused and looked skyward, then made a halting sign of the star on his breast. Everyone laughed and he waited for it to subside before continuing.
“A few days go by, and Raim and myself, we’re just restin’ up, gettin’ some good cooked food and like that. I snoop around a bit and find that the fellow’s been lookin’ for me—his name’s Cartor Fillus, and he’s supposed to be a messenger from my employer, Marduk, the Salasan of Borat. Now I am confused! We’re thousands of kays from Zend Avesta, near impossible to track down, and Marduk’s supposed to be sendin’ me a message. It was crazy, see? So I decide to wait it out in the village to see if this fellow shows up, ‘cause now I sure as shit want to talk to ‘im.”
Varian was now only half listening to the narrative. He knew now that the old man was not lying. There was no coincidence so close. Kartaphilos. Cartor Fillus. No, it was the same man, the same thing. What did it all mean? For the first time in his life, Varian felt as though he were losing control of things, as if he might be being manipulated by forces greater than he could understand.
“. . . and it’s night, see? Raim is sleepin’ and I got the watch. There’s nothin’ but dark and cold all around our tent, and sure enough I hear somethin’ out there. I have a 9-mil sidearm that’ll put a hole in a man the size of a pie pan, right? So I pull it out and aim out there. I always fire first and talk about it later. And I’m about to squeeze off a few rounds in the direction of the noise when I hear my name bein’ called . . . real formal, like I was in the House of Salasans: ‘Stoor of Hadaan, I greet you. I come in peace.’ So I tell him to come out into the light, and out steps this old man in a robe, a hood up over his head, sure as shit lookin’ like a monk. ‘Cartor Fillus?’ I asks, and he nods his head. So I bring him into the camp and offer him some drink, but he didn’t take none. We make small talk awhile, then I asked him how he found me way out there, and he won’t say exactly, says he has ‘his special ways.’ I figured that meant he wasn’t about to give away any trade secrets, so I let it go. Then he tells me that he don’t really work for Marduk. I also figured that, but I wasn’t about to tell him. . . .”
The old man paused to drink again, and Varian studied the faces of his audience. There was everything there—disbelief, amusement, rapt attention, drunken ignorance. Yet they all listened.
“. . . but then a funny thing happens, and I know this is going to sound like I rigged it up in my dreams, but listen up: I hear a sound out in the darkness, some big branches breakin’ quick, like there’s somethin’ out there, moving real fast-like. But before I can raise up my 9-mil piece, there’s this big shape flying out of the black woods.
“Old Cartor, he stands up and catches the thing right in the chest. It was a cragar, the biggest, meanest one I ever saw, almost three ems long! Hit old Cartor with its claws out and fangs ready to chomp. I expected the old man to be torn pretty much in half before he hit the ground, but it wasn’t like that.
“The cragar’s on top of him, ripping and slashing like they do, right? I got time, only a second or two, but that’s all I need to squeeze off two rounds. Wango! The cragar’s head’s gone! Pieces flyin’ all over the place.
“But that ain’t the end of it. I walk over and kick the carcass off poor old Cartor Fillus, expecting to see a meat market, right? And he sits up, trying to gather up the folds of his robes. ‘Thank you,’ he says to me.
“By this time I would have normally fell out, ‘cause there’s no man alive that could have taken that kind of hit from a night-stalkin’ cragar. . . . But, you see, I already knew that this Cartor Fillus was no man at all!
“That critter had torn up his clothes bad, and while he tried to gather them up, I saw what was underneath. Metal! And glass! So thick and clear, like it was topaz! And underneath, it was ablaze with light and power!
“I step back as he tries to pull his clothes up about him, but he knows and I knows and by now even Raim knows—’cause he heard the cragar coming out of the woods. So we all stand there lookin’ at each other for a minute or two, then the robot says: ‘I would have told you eventually that I was not human, but I suppose this demonstrates that a bit more dramatically.’ And I told him it sure did, and what,
