“Why couldn’t you pull Incarnadine in?”
“Gee, I just don’t know. I’ll have to think about this.”
“What would the danger be?”
“There might not be any danger. But I just …
“Well, whatever you say. We’ll go ahead with our original scheme, anyway. Let us know if you come up with anything.”
“I will. I’m going down to the dining hall again. Maybe they’ve found out about Thaxton and Mr. Dalton.”
“Okay, see you later.”
Linda left the room.
Isis smiled at Jeremy, got up, and sat in his lap.
“You’re so resourceful, so clever. So
“Uh, thanks.”
“I like bright men.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Um, well.”
“What’s the matter, Jeremy. Don’t you like me?”
“Yeah! Sure I do.”
“Then what is it?”
“Uh, nothing. It’s just that women don’t go for me much. I mean, well, you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I look like a twerp.”
“Jeremy, why do you put yourself down?”
“I’m a nerd, let’s face it.”
“And you don’t think I could like you?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I used to dream about women like you. Hell, every guy does. You’re like a centerfold.”
“Why, thank you.”
“I mean it. You’re beautiful. But I just can’t believe that you’re real.”
“But I am.”
“You’re a computer program, for Pete’s sake.”
“What difference does that make?”
“What difference? Well, I mean, you just don’t go around making out with computer programs. A program is just a …”
“Just a pattern of information.”
“Yeah. Just a pattern.”
“So are you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just a pattern of information, too. What makes
Jeremy was silent. Then he said, “I never thought of it that way.”
“We’re both software, Jeremy. Why can’t we interface?”
“I guess … well, maybe. But where did
She shrugged. “I guess you could say that my body is just a pattern of information, too. Everything is merely a configuration of data.”
“I don’t get it. But I’ll tell you one thing. I like your configuration a lot.”
She smiled and kissed him.
When she took her lips from his he said, “Why …” He took a deep breath. “Why
“I told you. I like bright men. Besides, you’re a user, and I was created to serve users.”
Jeremy put his arms around her waist. “I still can’t believe it. But I’m working on it.”
“Let’s work on it together, Jeremy.”
“Yeah, let’s.”
Eleven
Forest
He had crossed enemy lines without incident, avoiding detection with a partial invisibility spell. The going had been risky. The energy level was low back on the plains. This world blew hot and cold on magic. In spots, like Merydion, there was little power, whereas in other places, such as his destination, the level was dangerously high. Not a few native magicians had vaporized themselves fooling with powers they couldn’t control. It was an occupational hazard.
Now the energy gradient was steepening as he entered the Timeless Forest. Though not sufficient to power a teleportation spell, the magic of the forest was tricky. There were currents and eddies of force. Intersecting lines of influence wove a tangled web to snare the unsuspecting. He had not spent a great deal of time here, but was aware of the risk and knew some of the dangers. Yet he was by no means experienced. He would have to take it easy.
The trees were tall, their trunks of staggering girth. Thick loam compressed beneath his mount’s hooves. The undergrowth was thin, unable to thrive in the dark under the forest canopy. Moss on tree trunks grew thick as rugs. Toadstools towered almost man-high, and morels resembled hot-air balloons. Vines like hawsers hung from the treetops.
He sniffed. It was high summer, but there was the definite tang of autumn in the air, the cider smell of rotting fruit. Strange.
He rode on, noticing odder things. Some leaves were turning. A little farther along the trail most of the foliage had bloomed into colorful fall decay. Reds, yellows, golds. Puzzled, he halted his mount and looked around.
The leaves seemed to change as he watched. Then they began to fall.
Leaves swirling around him, he continued. Soon the forest floor was a carpet of colors. The air now had the snap of early winter.
The sky grayed over and the temperature dropped. A snowflake drifted by. Then another. Another.
He rode on. The accumulation was fast and reached ankle height in no time. Wisps of steam trailed from his mount’s nostrils. He wore no cloak, and had on only a short-sleeved doublet. He shivered and shook. Deepening hoof prints trailed in the snow.
Winds buffeted him while bare branches grasped and tangled above. He booted his mount into a slippery canter, hoping to get through the anomaly.
After a good stretch he eased the horse into a walk again. The snow had stopped falling. Green buds appeared, and birds sang. The snow melted. In a matter of minutes he passed from winter to spring, and then back to midsummer again.
“The years go by fast when you get old,” he told his horse.
The trail forked ahead. He stopped to get his bearings. He was inclined to take the right fork, and did.
Warm breezes brought the smell of wildflowers as he rode through sun-dappled shade. Sagging branches creaked, and a lone bird twitted at him. The trees were more slender now, but still tall. Shelves of yellow fungus ringed an occasional stump. Passing through a swarm of gnats, he fended them off, and journeyed on.
An hour passed, and the trail fed into another. A line of hoof prints marked the dirt. He turned right and followed them.
Ahead the trail diverged. It looked like the same fork, to which he had come full circle. His own trace went off to the right.
