Midnight at the Well of Souls

the brain anyway. In the end, even though a large number of members voted to kill them, the majority voted to let them through.”

“How did you vote, Serge?” Brazil asked.

“I voted to kill them, Nate. They are both maniacs, and both are possessed of genius. Each believed he could do what he set out to do, and both seemed to believe that it was destiny that, so soon after the discovery, they were brought here.”

“More to the point, do you believe it, Serge?”

“I do,” the giant replied gravely. “Right now I think those two are the most dangerous beings in the entire universe. And—more to the point—I think that one of them, I can’t tell which, has a chance of succeeding.”

“What are their names, Serge, and their backgrounds?”

Ortega’s eyes brightened. “So God in His infinite wisdom allows mercy after all! You do want to get them, and God has sent you to us for that purpose!”

Brazil thought for a moment. “Serge, ever hear of a Markovian brain actually, literally, trapping people by sending out false signals or the like?”

Ortega thought for a moment. “No,” he replied, “as far as I know it’s always accident or blunder. That’s why so few come. Now do you see what I mean about God sending you to me?”

“Somebody sure did, anyway,” Brazil acknowledged dryly. “I wish I could see those films and learn a lot about them before I tried to find two invisible needles in a planet-sized haystack.”

“You can,” Ortega assured him. “I have all the material back in my office.”

Brazil’s mouth was agape. “But you told us there was no way back!”

Ortega shrugged monstrously again. “I lied,” he said.

* * *

Several hours later Brazil learned as much as he was going to from the recordings, testimony, and arguments of the Council committees.

“So can you give me any leads on this Skander and Varnett? Where are they now? And what?”

“Newcomers are pretty conspicuous around here, since there are so few of them and they are so obvious,” Ortega replied. “And, yet, I can give you nothing on either. The planet seems to have swallowed them up.”

“Isn’t that unusual?” Brazil asked. “Or, worse, suspicious?”

“I see what you mean. The whole planet saw what you saw and heard what you heard. They could have some natural allies.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m most concerned about,” Brazil said bluntly. “The odds are that there’s a monstrous race going on here, and that this place is the soul of reason compared to what everything we know would become if the wrong side was to win.”

“They could both be dead,” Ortega suggested hopefully.

Brazil shook his head in a violent negative. “Uh-uh. Not these boys. They’re clever and they’re nasty. Skander’s almost the archetypal mad scientist, and Varnett’s even worse—a renegade, high-class Com. At least one of them will make it, and he’ll have some way to dump his allies afterward.”

“You’ll have the help of all the hexes who voted to kill them,” Ortega pointed out.

“Sure, Serge, and I’ll use that when I have to. But this is really a lone-wolf operation and you know it. That Council was politically very slick. They could count. Even a hex voting to kill them knew they wouldn’t be killed—so what was the use of their vote? Getting there might take help—but once there, every friend I have on this world will seek godhead, and never mind that I don’t know how to talk to the brain. No, Serge, I have to kill both of them, absolutely, irrevocably, and as quickly as possible.”

“Getting where might take help?” Ortega asked, puzzled.

“To the Well of Souls, of course,” Brazil replied evenly. “And before midnight.”

Now it was Ortega’s turn to look stunned. “But that’s just an old saying, like I said before—”

“It’s the answer, Serge,” Brazil asserted strongly. “It’s just that nobody has been able to decipher the code and make use of it.”

“There is no answer to that. It makes no real sense!”

“Sure it does!” Brazil told him. “It’s the answer to a monstrous question, and the key to the most monstrous of threats. I saw Skander’s and Varnett’s eyes light up when they first heard the phrase, Serge. They seized on it!”

“But what’s the question?” Ortega asked bewilderedly.

“That’s what I don’t know yet,” Brazil replied, pointing his finger at the Ulik animatedly. “But they thought it was the answer, and they both think they can figure it out. If they can, I can.

“Look, Serge, why was this world built? No, not the brain; we’ll accept that as bringing some sort of stability to the universe. In fact, if they’re right, we’re all just figments of some dead Markovian’s imagination. No, why all this? The Well, the hexes, the civilizations? If I can answer that, I can answer the bigger question! And I’ll find out!” Brazil exclaimed excitedly, half-rising from his chair.

“How can you be so sure?” Ortega responded dubiously.

“Because someone—or something—wants me to!” Brazil continued in the same excited tone. “That’s why I was lured here! That’s why I’m here at all, Serge! That’s what makes even the timing! Even now they’ve got a ten-week start! You, yourself, said as much back at the Gate!”

Ortega shook his head glumly. “That was just my old Latin soul coming forth, Nate. I’ve been consorting with Jesuits again—yes, we have several here, from the old missionary days, came in a single ship and are out trying to convert the heathen. But, be reasonable, man! You never would have found Dalgonia were it not for the detour. You wouldn’t have detoured except for Wu Julee’s presence on your ship, and that could hardly have been planned, let alone your act of mercy.”

“I think it was planned, Serge,” Brazil said evenly. “I think I’ve been conned all along. I don’t know how, or by whom, or for what purpose, but I’ve been had!”

“I don’t see how,” Ortega responded, “but, even if so, how will you ever know?”

“I’ll know,” Brazil said in a tone that was both firm and somewhat frightening. “I’ll know at midnight at the Well of Souls.”

* * *

They stood once again at the Gate, this time for the last time.

“It’s agreed, then,” Ortega said to him. “As soon as you pass through and get oriented, you announce yourself to the local ruler. All of them will have been notified of your coming through, with instructions to render any assistance. But at least one of them is sure to be in league with your enemies, Nate! Are you sure? What if you are swallowed up?”

“I won’t be, Serge,” Brazil replied calmly. “Chess-players don’t sacrifice their queens early in the game.”

Ortega gave one last massive shrug. “Believe what you wish—but, be careful, my old friend. If they get you, I shall avenge your death.”

Brazil smiled, then looked at the Gate. “Is it best to run at it, walk into it, or what?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ortega told him. “You’ll wake up as if coming out of a long sleep, anyway. May you wake up a Ulik!”

Brazil smiled, but kept his thoughts on being a seven-meter, six-armed walrus-snake to himself. He walked over to the gate, then turned for one last look at his transformed old friend.

“I hope I wake up at all, Serge,” he said quietly.

“Go with God, you ancient heathen,” Ortega said.

“I’ll be damned,” Brazil muttered, half to himself. “After all these years I might wake up a Gentile.” And, with that, he stepped through the Gate.

And in the darkness he dreamed.