Castle Murders (24 page)

"We'll wreck if you keep doing that," Velma said.

"Possibly."

"You could at least offer me a drink."

"Powerful stuff, Velma, honey."

"I can take it. I can swill any kind of booze."

She took the bottle and had a swig. She choked, and sprayed all over the windshield.

He laughed, taking the bottle.

"What . . .
is
that stuff?"

"A little saint remover, my darling turpentine, eye of newton, denatured spirits, a little o' this an' for a' that."

"It's awful."

"Oh, it be, it be. 'O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth.' Havin' a good time. Yessuh."
 

Velma fanned the fumes away from her mouth. "What bathtub did that come out of? That's not liquor, that's poison."

"Why, hell, woman, it's full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, with beaded bubbles winking all over the bloody brim." He belched. "'Scuse me."
 

She laughed. "You're drunk."

"Yes, ma'am. Ah is drunker'n a skunk sunk in a sump. Smashed to smithereens, colleen. I gots the spirit!"

"God, are you drunk. You didn't seem so potted in the hospital."

"I was like unto a fern. But I was a-workin' a sober spell. A straightening-up spell. A sorites of sobriety. But now it's gone, gone. Now I drunk, man."
 

"You sound like that old codger."

"He the man with the power. What power? The power of — "

He had to make a hard right to get onto the bridge. He just made it, swerving the Leland crazily.

"Hey, take it easy," Velma said. "Good gravy!"

"Good night. Good night, good night, Irene, I'll see you in my dreams, wetly."

"Watch it. They're still looking for you."

"Oh, they seek me here, they seek me there. Those demons seek me everywhere."

"They're not through with you yet."

"Am I in heaven, am I in heck? What do I need with all this dreck?"

"You're not drunk. You're looney."

"La lune, la lune, keep a-shinin' in jejune. Oh, they won't bother me again. They know I'm coming to pay a visit. Why waste energy? If the mahatma can't come to the mountain, then the mountain'll come over the moon, and the dish ran away with the spoon."
 

"I'm cold," Velma said.

"Don't worry. Sumer is icomen in. Lhoude sing couscous, or maybe shishkebab. Hey, what can I do to warm you up, babe?"

"You're one to talk."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I had you pegged as one cold fish."

"You'd rather hot crabs?"

"How come you haven't made a pass at me?"

"Was it expected?"

"You're a guy," she said.

"Oh, we're back to that again, are we? Do the bastards make the passes? I guess, huh, 'cause the simps simper. Or is it the big fish? Oh, such a
beeg feesh
."
 

"Guys only think of one thing."

"Monists, all. I myself am of that stripe, but a fecal monist. Know what that is?"

"Uh-uh."

"That's the philosophical position that everything is shit."

"That's right. For the birds."

"Turd thou never wert. Okay, I'll make a pass."

They were across the river. He veered right and bumped up onto the curb, bumped down again. The car screeched to a halt. He pulled back the hand brake and shut off the motor.
 

"I'm a simpering bastard, but I hope I'm acceptable."

He took her in his arms and their mouths met. Her tongue was as quick as Dara Porter's, but smoother, less sharp. His hands went a-roving, and the moon was still as bright. She was soft, yielding, eager, and warm.
 

"We can go to my place," she said, her breath hot on his face.

"I thought you bunked at the Tweeleries."

"Only sometimes. I have a place in Hellgate. Put your hand there. Right there."

"Ah, 'Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures pr — '"

She stopped his mouth with hers.

A time later he went on, "' — Ae fond kiss, and then we sever . . . flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless . . .'"
 

He stopped and pulled away. He shook his head and it seemed, to his dismay, to rattle.

"Whoa! Ye gods! This is working up to be one monster of a spell. I've never seen its like. I'd as lief never see it again. But . . . on the other tentacle, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, do." He popped the cork and took a drink.
 

"Give me that," she said, grabbing the bottle away from him. She took a pull, and it went down successfully. Her eyes bulged.

"Smooth, huh?"

She gasped. "Yeah." She took another.

"You got yo' mojo workin' now, babe."

"C'mere, you beeg feesh."

She drew him to her and they sank together into the depths, while the Lethe flowed softly by, dark and deep in the night.

 

 

 

World

 

The star that was the sun hung, bloated and swollen, in a dusk-red sky. A billion years ago it had been small, yellow, and hot. Now it was a ruddy monster giving off little light compared to its former compact self. Nor did it have much heat to give, but its immense size brought its surface closer to the planet. The air was temperate.
 

The green sea looked as it had looked five billion years ago.

They walked the beach and found something unusual lying in at the edge of the surf. It was large and looked dead. Its shape was indeterminate. It had tentacles on one side, claws or hooks on the other. Its body was flat, except toward what amounted to a head, where it bulged. The skin looked like leather here, blubber there. The color was a mottled blue-green. There were two eyes in the head, and a third, perhaps malformed, on the hump behind the head.
 

Goofus sniffed at the creature, barked once, and sat in front of it.

"Gene, it's really gross."

"It would probably have thought us pretty damn homely. But that means little to me. I'm no relativist, aesthetic or otherwise. I say that's ugly, and I say to hell with it." Gene walked on up the beach.
 

"I feel kind of sorry for it," Linda said. "Dying alone in this place, at the end of the world."

"I wonder if it's good to eat," Snowclaw said.

"Snowy! Don't be disgusting."

"Well, I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"And that looks like blubber to me. Parts of it, anyway."

"Yuck. Well, have a nice time. C'mon, Goofus."

Snowclaw stalked the animal's length and breadth, eyeing it.

"Nah." He walked away.

Linda looked back over her shoulder. "Goofus?"

Goofus was still planted in front of the thing. He looked expectant, as if waiting for his master to give a signal.

"What is it, Goofus?" Linda walked back, Snowclaw following.

Goofus barked.

"He must sense something about it," Linda said. "I wonder what."

"Maybe it's still alive."

"Do you think?"

"It looks dead, but you can never tell about big sea critters. I know. I hunt them."

"That looks like a mouth, there. Maybe that slit there is a nose. Sort of. Nothing's moving."

"You know," Snowclaw said, "something tells me it is alive. Just barely."

"Oh. Did you see it move just then?"

Goofus got up on all fours and barked.

"I think it did move," Linda said. "I wonder if we can do anything to help it." She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, "Gene!"
 

Gene had wandered back to the ship, which had come to rest on dry sand a little way up the beach. Gene waved and yelled back, "Just a minute!" He climbed inside the Voyager.
 

"What's that?" Snowclaw said.

Something had extruded from the creature: a metal rod looking not unlike a radio aerial.

Linda put both hands up to her cheeks. "Oh, my! Could this be a machine?"

The end of the rod unfolded into a wire mesh disk. The disk rotated slowly until it was aligned with the Voyager.

"God, I hope that's not a weapon," Linda said.

"You want me to rough it up a little?"

"No! Snowy, don't do anything."

Goofus barked and sat on his haunches again, watching the thing intently.

One of the eyes on the creature blinked.

"It is alive!" Linda exclaimed. "But I don't understand the aerial. Is this thing animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"Maybe a little of everything?" Snowclaw ventured.

A high wave came in and washed over Linda's pretty silver boots. They were watertight. "Do you think it's trying to communicate with us?"
 

Gene came running from the ship.

"Hey, there's something going on with the computer. It's going nuts. . . ." He saw the communications dish. "Now what the hell is that?"
 

"We were asking the same thing," Linda told him. "I think it wants to establish contact."

"Well, apparently it has, at least with our computer. The screen's jumping with activity and I can't make head or tail of it. And this looks to be the cause of it all."
 

"What do you think it is, Gene?"

Looking at the thing afresh, Gene gave it a clinical scan. "Some sort of intelligent, seagoing life form. Doesn't look anything like a dolphin, but those flaps back here might be fins of some kind. Lessee — eyes, breather holes, and that's gotta be the mouth, although it's kind of on the small side. Maybe it doesn't eat much. And of course, your basic telecommunications link, standard on any sentient creature."
 

"Is it sick, in trouble, what?"

"Prolly both. Beached, like a sick whale. Very like a whale, only smaller."

"I wish there was something we could do."

"Like? I wish we could help, too. But . . ." Gene raised his arms in despair.

"Maybe if we pushed it back into the ocean."

"I'd say the thing weighed something on the order of two thousand pounds, avoirdupois. Besides, it's obviously an air breather, or it'd be dead already. Likely has lungs and gills."
 

"I still wish we could do something."

"Aside from comforting it, there's little. But of course, we're assuming — "

The creature emitted a whistling sound. It started in a high pitch, then descended until it became a rush of air.

"That sounded so sad," Linda said.

"Yeah."

"What were you saying?"

"I was going to say that we're only making assumptions here. For all we know, the thing is in the middle of a proper and natural life function, like spawning, or something. Or it's just sunning itself after a swim. Who knows?"
 

"I think it's sick," Linda said. "Goofus knew right off."

"I'm not going to argue with Goofus. The critter looks terrible enough."

The whistling sound came again, this time varying in pitch. It wandered up and down the chromatic scale, then settled in the middle registers. The creature started to modulate the sound, and something like a voice began to emerge from all the piping. It was doglike at first, which elicited another woof from Goofus, but then it became less feral and, while not exactly human, began to sound like something that could form words, though none came.
 

This went on for a long time. Snowclaw grew bored and strolled up the beach, sniffing for quarry. Gene left the strand and went to examine the strange trees that grew inland. They were gnarled bonsai-like little things with pink leaves.
 

Linda sat and listened. Every once in a while she thought she heard something that sounded like an effort to speak.

Finally, after about a half-hour, she heard, quite clearly, "Ablomabel."

She stood up. "Excuse me?" she said.

"Ablomabel."

"Could you say that again?"

"Ablomabel?"

"Oh. Okay." Linda touched her chest. "Linda."

"Vinah."

"Linda."

"Vin-dah."

"No, Lin-da . . .
Linda
. Linda Barclay."

"Lin-dah-baleee."

"Yeah, sort of. Pleased to meet you."

She coached it along, and at the end of a few minutes she was rewarded with, "Lin-DAH bar-CLEE."

"Right. But it's more Lin-da BAR-clee. Never mind how it's spelled. Okay, your name is Ablomabel. What are you?"

"What . . . are . . . you?"

"Oh. Are you asking me a question?"

"Ask-ing you a ques-tion."

"Gee, you're coming along fine. That was a good sentence."

"Thank you."

The voice was almost human.

"You want to know about me," Linda said. "I'm a human being. I'm from the planet Earth."

"Ear-r-th."

"Yes."

"Ear-r-th. Yes."

"And I and my friends came here in that craft over there. The one you're communicating with. But I guess you know that."

The creature said, "I know. I know. I know everything in computer. I am of it with."

"Then you know pretty much all there is to know about us. There's a lot of information in that computer."

"Much data is giving."

Gene had returned in the middle of the conversation.

"Linda, are you giving bootleg Berlitz courses again?"

"Ablomabel, this is Gene. Gene, Ablomabel."

"So I am pleased meeting, Gene, you," the creature said.

"The pleasure is all mine. Tell me, does 'Ablomabel' have any meaning in your language?" Gene asked.

"Yes, meaning title of leader of . . . thought-process-change group?"

"Ah. A scientist? Philosopher?"

"Yes!" the Ablomabel said. "Meaning much the same, yet different, I am thinking about."

Linda said, "Ablomabel, are you feeling ill? What are you doing here?"

The Ablomabel answered, "There is an ending. I am coming to shore, to home, once again, last time. Then ceasing to function. Ending. Death."
 

"That's terrible. Is there anything we can do?"

"There is an ending to all," the Ablomabel said. "I am fatigued, weary. Long time with sickness. And old, very old. There is no one left, I fear that. No one reports. I am last, I think. Then, I die, I think. I came here to see again the sun, which dies."