Eye of the Forest (29 page)

That person now stood apart from him.

While he himself was stronger and entirely careless of innocence and good. And Dybbuk knew himself, in the first moment of this new life, to be more wicked, a million times more wicked than he had ever dreamed was possible.

While that other Dybbuk, the good Dybbuk, the one who now stood apart from him with a face full of horror at what he had become, was now an object of contempt and derision.

And as the good Dybbuk collapsed onto the ground, the evil Dybbuk stretched out his powerful-looking hands, and the very thought of his own utter wickedness braced and delighted him like a hot shower.

Appearing inside the dome of Paititi a split second later, Philippa, wearing her anti-radiation suit, registered the radiation levels in the lost Incan city with horror. They were completely off the scale. What was most horrible, however, was the realization that there were now two Dybbuks. It was as if he himself had split like one of the atoms whose huge and lethal power he had sought to control.

One of these two figures — the Dybbuk she recognized more easily as her old friend — lay on the ground,
huddled up against the blizzard of uranium neutrons that now raged inside the containment dome. He looked utterly exhausted. His skin was a deathly shade of gray and in his hands were large clumps of his own dark hair. Instinctively, Philippa knew that this Dybbuk was near death. And she might have gone to comfort him but for the presence of the other, the second Dybbuk.

This second Dybbuk was a livelier, obviously healthier version of the boy who lay on the ground. He was taller, stronger, and older than the other Dybbuk. More ruthless, too. All the good that had once appeared in Buck’s eyes was now gone. Evil was written on his face so clearly that, for the first time, Philippa saw a strong similarity to his father, Iblis. And a powerful sense of misgiving that he would not permit her to come near the other Dybbuk kept her at a distance.

“Buck,” she said, “what have you done to yourself?”

“Realized who and what I truly am,” said the second Dybbuk. He uttered a little chuckle. “Discovered the real me. Taken charge from my better half. Better late than never, I suppose.”

“I’m not talking to you,” said Philippa. “I’m talking to the other Dybbuk. The good Dybbuk. I’m talking to you, Buck. It’s me, Philippa. Can you hear me? Let me help you, if I can.”

“It’s too late for him,” said the second Dybbuk, the evil Dybbuk. “I should have thought that was obvious. Even to you, Philippa.”

“Buck,” said Philippa, “listen to me. Come to me. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

“You’re wasting your time,” said Dybbuk.

Philippa paused, searching for something else that might give the boy on the ground some strength. “Think of your sister, Faustina. And your mother. Buck, let me help you for their sakes. Think of their love for you.”

“Love.” Dybbuk made a noise of derision. But the boy on the ground raised his head weakly and stared ahead of him, as if seeing nothing. “Phil?” he croaked. “Is that you? Help me. Please.”

“You’re finished,” said Dybbuk. “Dybbuk is my name and what I am. Malicious. Turned away. Dislocated. Like a split atom. What I was always meant to be. There’s no mileage in being good. No recognition for it. People just think you are weak. It’s strength that matters. Being pitiless.”

“Don’t listen to him, Buck,” said Philippa. “You can still prevail against him. Against his evil.” She held out her hands. “Come back with me. I can help you. My power is greater than his. Dybbuk knows it, which is why he doesn’t dare come near me.”

“Your power is greater than mine, true,” said Dybbuk, and planted a foot squarely on Buck’s shoulders. “But mine is much greater than his.” And with that he crushed what remained of the part of himself that was still good.

“There,” said Dybbuk finally. “Happy now? You’ve made
me kill him, I think. Whoops. Boo-hoo. Aw, look. Poor little me.”

This seemed to make Dybbuk stronger.

Now that his good half was finally out of the way, Dybbuk felt a sudden exhilarating boost in his own newly recovered djinn power. Indeed, he felt much stronger than he had ever felt before; as if the good part of him had somehow always been holding back the extremely wicked part. Like that most pathetic of human things, a mundane’s conscience.

At the same time Dybbuk guessed that Buck must have always known who and what Dybbuk really was. Poor Buck. How he had struggled against it. He must have been acutely aware that Dybbuk was every bit as nasty as his true father, Iblis. Possibly even nastier. And aware that Iblis had previously tried to destroy Philippa, Dybbuk did not hesitate. He resolved to try to do the same.

Up until now he had been cautious of Philippa, sensing that her own djinn power was somehow enhanced by some ancient force present in the strange golden slippers she was wearing. But that earlier caution no longer existed. Every decent feeling he had once had for Philippa was now gone. He had quite forgotten the many good turns she had done him in the past. And silently uttering his focus word, he tried to concentrate all of his new malignance upon his former friend. Wasn’t it Philippa and her stupid brother, John, who had helped imprison his father inside a jade suit of armor, somewhere in China? She would pay for that. Dybbuk pointed at the sky over Paititi.

“I wish for a great black cloud,” he said.

Immediately the sky darkened ominously and a storm cloud as big as a city materialized over Philippa’s head.

“And out of that great black cloud I wish for a huge fork of lightning to blast you into oblivion,” he yelled.

A split second later the mountaintop was hit by a bolt of lightning that was the size of the Amazon River itself. It split the rock to a depth of several feet and left a smoking scorch mark as wide as a bus. But it did not harm Philippa. As long as she wore the slippers she was protected by the ancient djinn power of the great Kublai Khan. A few seconds before the bolt of lightning struck the rock with a noise like a train wreck, she was transported a short distance away to a place of greater safety.

“Stop it,” Philippa yelled. “Stop it, or I’ll hurt you, Dybbuk. You’re not the only one who can pull that kind of a stunt. My power is as great as yours. Greater.”

But she did not finish her sentence. Dybbuk’s next wish brought a huge boulder sailing through the air, which narrowly missed crushing Philippa to a pulp.

The sense that he truly meant to harm her was enough to make Philippa stamp her feet with anger and frustration. She was wasting her time. He was lost to the world of good. She could see that now. And this realization was enough to return her, in the blink of an eye, to the nuclear bunker where she had left her uncle, her brother, and her true friends. Not to mention Virgil McCreeby.

“There’s no time to explain,” she said and, stamping her
strawberry-slippered feet again, transported them all, in the wink of an eye, to their encampment on the other side of the Eye of the Forest even as Muddy was welcoming Sicky back from his journey to the Xuanaci village, and Hector the dog after being lost in the rain forest.

Philippa took another radiation reading with the strawberry-colored Geiger counter, and finding the levels quite normal, started to relax a little. “We can take off these stupid suits now,” she said.

“You were only gone for a split second,” said John. “What on earth happened?”

“More than I think I can say,” said Philippa. “For the moment at least.” Her eyes filled up with tears.

Nimrod placed a kind hand on her shoulder. “Tell us later,” he said. “When you feel more equal to the task.”

For an hour or two she sat quietly on her own, and gradually recovered her composure. And when no one was looking, she dug a very deep hole and buried the gestalt slippers.

A little later on John said to her, “Just tell me one thing. Is Dybbuk dead?”

“No,” she said. “Yes.”

“Well, which is it?” he demanded.

Philippa thought hard for a moment and felt her eyes fill with tears again. The memory of what she had seen in the lost city of Paititi would, she knew, stay with her forever.

“He chose,” she said. “Unwisely.”

“What does that mean?” said John.

“What I mean is that I think the Buck we knew is dead. There is another Dybbuk now. A different Dybbuk. A bad Dybbuk. Full of evil, like his father.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Nimrod.

“Me, too,” said John, and walked sadly away.

“We should call home,” said Philippa.

“I already did,” said Nimrod. “Your father is rescued. Your mother is with him now, at home.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Thank goodness, indeed,” said Nimrod.

A
fter Pizarro’s conquistadors and the mummified Inca kings had finished cutting each other to pieces, and peace reigned once more in the rain forest, Sicky was made chief of the Xuanaci in an impressive and lengthy ceremony that was attended by Nimrod, John, Philippa, Groanin, Zadie, Muddy, Hector the dog, and Virgil McCreeby, as well as many members of Sicky’s own tribe, the Prozuanaci. Even poor Mr. Vodyannoy felt sufficiently recovered from his contact with the poison dart frog to come out of his lamp and attend, albeit briefly.

After the ceremony, Zadie decided not to come back to New York with the others but to remain in the rain forest and work with the Xuanaci.

“I know I was hypnotized and all that,” she said. “But I really feel I ought to do something for them. With a little bit of djinn power, I was thinking I might set up a school.”

“Good idea,” agreed Nimrod. “But you’ll need a good teacher to help you.” He looked at Virgil McCreeby.

“No,” said McCreeby. “Nimrod. You can’t be serious.”

“I think it’s a very good idea,” said Nimrod.

“Me, too,” said Zadie.

“Have a heart, Nimrod,” protested McCreeby. “Me a school teacher? Can you imagine it?”

“As a matter of fact, McCreeby,” said Nimrod, “I happen to know that you were once the headmaster of a boys’ school in Switzerland.”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. And the boys were Swiss. You can teach the Swiss anything, except perhaps how to be late.”

“I’m sure you will do a very good job here,” said Nimrod. “You shall stay here with Zadie and help her set up the school. Consider it your punishment. A punishment that Zadie will strictly enforce.”

“Count yourself lucky that we don’t let the Xuanaci put your head on a necklace,” said Groanin. “Or feed you to them piranha. Or put a giant Peruvian centipede down the back of your shirt collar. Do the right thing for once, man.”

“Just be careful he doesn’t try to hypnotize you again,” Nimrod told Zadie.

“It’s all right. I’m wise to him now. I know all his little tricks.”

When Philippa and John had finished saying good-bye to Zadie, they hugged Sicky and wished him luck in his new
job. Sicky choked back the tears of emotion he felt at being parted from all his new friends.

“Come back anytime,” said Sicky. “We’ll give you a real jungle welcome.” His head may have been unusually small, but there was nothing wrong with his heart.

“Muddy,” said Groanin, shaking the boatman’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure. I say, it’s been a pleasure.”

“I heard you the first time,” said Muddy.

“What will you do now?” asked Nimrod.

“Now that Sicky is an important chief, I’m going to give up being a chef.”

Groanin nodded his approval. “Believe me, you’re doing the right thing. In my opinion, you were a terrible cook. What will you do now?”

“Me?” said Muddy. “I’ll take over Sicky’s business as a tour guide.”

And it was Muddy who took them back to Manu, where they awaited a plane to fly them to Lima.

“It will be a while before those lupuna trees we planted have grown and any of us djinn can safely fly by whirlwind again,” said Nimrod. “Of course, I suppose Philippa could take us home just by stamping her feet if she wanted to.”

“No, I couldn’t,” explained Philippa. “The gestalt shoes. I buried them somewhere in the jungle.”

“You did what!” exclaimed John.

“It was too much power,” said Philippa. “It’s hard enough just being a djinn without having to cope with those slippers as well. I just had to think a thing and it happened
instantaneously. I simply couldn’t stand the responsibility. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to take a plane home like anyone else.”

Nimrod nodded gravely.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked, and found herself being hugged tightly by her uncle.

“It takes great wisdom to know when one has too much power,” said Nimrod. “Great wisdom and a great soul. So, yes, Philippa, you did do the right thing.”

“But what about Paititi?” John asked. “What about the radiation levels on the mountain? What about the Eye of the Forest? Suppose someone goes through the Eye? Won’t they be in danger?”

“Yes, they will,” agreed Nimrod. “Which is why Sicky and the Xuanaci have agreed to stand guard over the door. To prevent anyone from accidentally entering the Eye. He’s also going to lock the door. This should do the job until we can figure out something more secure.” Nimrod held up two sturdy-looking brass combination locks.

“Did you make those with djinn power?” asked John.

“No,” said Nimrod. “As a matter of fact these belong to Groanin. They were on his suitcase.”

Groanin pulled a face. “Them baggage handlers at Heathrow Airport,” he said. “You can’t trust them.”

“I’m sure that can’t be true,” objected Philippa.

“It is. I know. I used to be a baggage handler at Heathrow myself.”

Several days later, Uncle Nimrod, Mr. Groanin, Mr. Vodyannoy, and the twins arrived back in New York.

Mr. Vodyannoy went immediately to his apartment in the Dakota building, where Nimrod had arranged for Marion Morrison, a djinn nurse, to come and look after him. (And within three months he was quite well again. Well enough to host another Djinnverso tournament at his house in New Haven.)

The others went straight to the Gaunt family house on East 77th Street, where the twins found both their parents waiting for them. Mr. Gaunt looked none the worse for his experience at the hands of his kidnappers. Mrs. Gaunt just looked fabulous, which is to say, very glamorous and exactly the way the twins remembered her. Even Mr. Groanin said how good she looked.

There was, however, one minor difference. For once it seemed to be their diminutive father who was in charge. Mrs. Gaunt seemed more deferential to her husband than before, although only her brother’s keen eye spotted this and suspected what it denoted.

When the twins had finished hugging their parents and telling them all of their adventures, Nimrod made his excuses and the two Englishmen checked into the Carlyle Hotel around the corner, which was Nimrod’s favorite hotel in the world.

“I don’t know about you, Groanin, but I’m hungry,” said Nimrod.

“I could eat a horse,” admitted Groanin.

“Would a nice juicy steak, smothered in onions, do instead?” asked Nimrod.

“A steak would certainly hit the spot,” said Groanin. “As long as they do it the right way, mind. Knowing how to do the right thing in a kitchen, well, how else is civilization to measure itself?”

But after they had eaten the steaks, which were excellent, Groanin found something else about which to complain.

“I just wish I’d taken a little more time to say good-bye to those kiddies,” he said. “I miss them already. I say, I miss them already. Why did you hurry us out of there so quickly?”

“Because,” said Nimrod, “I decided that the right thing to do would be to leave the reunited Gaunt family to itself. You see, my dear Groanin, that is all that any happy family — no matter how peculiar — really needs. To be left to itself.”

“Sounds like the start of a novel,” said Groanin. “Or perhaps the end of one.”