And The Devil Will Drag You Under (1979) (3 page)

"I-this might seem silly," Jill said hesitantly. "I'm a pretty good fencer. It was one of the secondary sports I took up that helped build up my reflexes and timing."

"Ever kill anyone, either of you?" Mogart pressed.

They both looked startled. "Of course not!" Jill huffed. Mac treated it like a joke; he smiled and shook his head negatively.

"Do you think you could do so? Could you kill if, by doing so, you could stop that thing up there from hitting the Earth, maybe even reverse a lot of what has happened here?" Mogart's tone grew serious, almost anxious, and there was no doubt in either of the others' minds that the question was not being asked from a purely theoretical point of view.

"I-I'm not sure," the woman replied.

"Depends," was Walters' response. "If somebody was trying to kill me, maybe I could."

The little man sighed and lit another cigarette. He needed a drink, but didn't dare right now.

"Well, that's not exactly what we have here. But some killing might be necessary-and, in fact, you might be killed instead." He paused, lapsing again into that daze, but only for a moment.

"Look," he continued earnestly. "Here's the situa-tion. I told you how the University sets up these uni-verses. The processes used and the equipment required would seem like black magic to you. I should know-I think I'm the model for most of the devils and de-mons on this world. So let's think of it as magic, com-plete magic. Your science is devoted to finding the laws by which things work, and it's a comfortable wayto do things-but all of it, necessarily, is simply de-fining the laws established artificially for this universe by the Department of Probabilities. Those laws don't apply everywhere. So let's take nothing for granted, and just accept it as magic. It works about the same way, anyway."

He reached into his tattered coat pocket and pulled out something, placing it on the vinyl tabletop for them to see. It was a huge stone, like a perfect giant ruby, multifaceted and shining, almost as if it were on fire with a life source of its own.

"A device-an amplifier-no, check that, a magic stone," Mogart explained. "A link with my own world, and with all the others, too. A vessel of great power during the setup stages, drawing power from outside your universe. With it I have enormous power by your standards. I make people do things against their will, change minds, put on funny shows, transport myself where I will. It's still not very powerful comparatively speaking. Its limits are -too great-it cannot handle enough power to do a big job."

"It does pretty well against the laws of probabili-ties," Walters noted, nodding toward the slot machines.

Mogart smiled. "Oh, dear me! No! You presuppose that the machines are random. Most people do. Actu-ally, they have a system of weights and pins in them, governed mechanically by the coins put in. That's how they set the payoffs. The more coins in, the more weights depressed, the more pins go out longer to catch the elusive payoffs. I merely increase the weight so that the pins come out all the way. I win nine out of ten times that way."

"Psychokinesis," Jill guessed. "I saw a TV show on it once."

Mogart nodded. "If you will. I've been using the power to try and slow our unfriendly asteroid out there. There has been some effect, but it's very slight on an object of such mass."

"Perhaps you could add more mind power by add-ing more people," Walters suggested, not even con-sidering the fact that he was taking all that the little man had said at face value.

Mogart shook his head from side to side. "No, no. The number of inputs actually decreases the output power. More drain. You'd need matched minds, and that would be impossible unless there were more exact duplicates of me-and one of me is too much for most people. No, it's not more input, but more
amplification
that's needed. The stone just doesn't have sufficient power to do what it's being asked to do."

"Then you need more stones," Jill put in, thinking aloud. "How many?"

"Five," Mogart replied. "Five more, that is. The progression is exponential. Two stones joined together have ten times the power of one; three, ten times two, and so on. It's a neat solution.

Nobody in the field has enough power to change the rules of the world, let alone the universe, he or she is in-but a lot of us can get together if something monstrous goes wrong and fix it."

"And the end of the world isn't monstrous?" Wal-ters asked incredulously.

The little man sighed. "The end of your world, of this planet, yes. One world in a vast universe, and only one of many universes. Planets and suns die all the time. No, you wouldn't comprehend the nature of a catastrophe enormous enough to cause a bunch of us getting together. So we have a problem. How do we get enough of the stones and get them into my hands in time to stop this crash? I can't get them from the University; Probabilities has them too well guarded for that. That means we have to get them from others of my own kind in the field."

"Steal them, you mean," Jill put in.

He nodded. "If you will."

"Any more of your kind on Earth?" Mac asked.

"No, there's usually only one per civilization, and this one in particular is not highly thought of, which is why they chose me for the job. And we can't get the stones from legitimate research personnel, either. They would be more than willing to destroy their little worlds rather than give up their stones, and may have University security helping them. No, we'll have to pluck them from the rogues like me."

"Rogues?" Jill echoed questioningly.

He nodded. "Ones who, like myself, got into trouble and were exiled to various little-used and unimpor-tant places where they could cause no real harm out-side their own prison. Most choose it, like myself, rather than face the alternatives of an eternally dull retire-ment or a mindwipe." He looked at them both seri-ously. "We can't die, you see. We reached that point and passed it eons ago. We neither die nor reproduce. And that, of course, brings up the other problem-the ones you must steal the stones from, they are immortal, too.
They
can kill you, but you can't kill them."

"Then how . . . ?" both of the humans asked to-gether, letting the question trail off.

"We must find the agent, then somehow steal the magic jewel. Not once, which is hard enough, but five times. And we haven't any room for failure, either. Time isn't consistent on the various levels-some run at this time rate, some run much faster than we, some run much slower. Which is good, for otherwise we'd never have the time to do the job. So, with time press-ing, we are limited to universes running at a much faster clip than here-say an hour here equals a day there, or even faster rates. That narrows us down to only a couple of dozen. Now, add to that problem the fact that we must use only rogues, not anyplace with a project going on where security could be around. When I put all those requirements together, I come up with only five possibilities. Five!

Thus, we must enter each of those worlds and steal the magic jewel-and we cannot fail even once, or we won't have enough power to knock that damned rock out of reality. And, with time so short here, we alone must do it. I can help, but the two of you must do the real work. There is no one else, nor is there likely to be."

Mac Walters gulped, and Jill McCulloch again ex-perienced that sense of total unreality about the con-versation.

"Do you both agree to try?" Mogart pressed. Walters nodded dully.

McCulloch sighed, not believing a word of what she was hearing. "Why not?"

The little man nodded. "Now, indulge me here. I know you both think this is end-of-the-world madness, so this little bit extra will not hurt, either. Just believe me that, for various reasons, it's necessary."

He reached out and picked up the jewel, holding it in his outstretched right hand, palm open and up in the center of the table.

"You first, young woman. Just place your hand over mine and the jewel-no, palm down, on top of mine. That's it." His tone grew strange; even his voice started to take on a hollow, echoey quality.

"Repeat after me," he instructed. She nodded, and he said, "I, Jill McCulloch, freely and of my own will, accept the
geas
and all others which shall be placed upon me." Then he stopped. She repeated it, forgetting the word "geas" until prompted. "And I accept this one as my liege lord in service, and accept his mark and bondage."

She frowned slightly. The language sounded like something out of
Dracula;
she had the odd feeling that she was selling her soul. Still, she repeated the man's strange words.

"What is done is done and cannot be undone," Mogart intoned, "under the Seal of Blood."

Suddenly there was a burning feeling in the center of her palm, as if someone had just stuck a lot of needles in it. She started in surprise and tried to pull her hand away, but it seemed frozen there.

"It is finished," Mogart proclaimed, and her hand came free. She withdrew it and stared at her palm. On it, like some sort of tattoo, was a small pentagram inside of which were two stylized strokes, like goat's horns. There were little flecks of blood around it, in-side the pentagram, but they soon dried and the pain quickly faded.

"Now you, Mr. Walters," Mogart said, turning to the man, who was staring at the woman's palm in mixed wonder and apprehension.

"What's happening there?" he asked nervously.

"A necessary process," Mogart responded coolly. "Binds you to the jewel, and so will allow you to pass into other planes at my direction and also will alwayskeep you in touch with me.

Come! Come! What have you to lose? And time is of the essence!"

Walters put his hand over the jewel in Mogart's palm a little hesitantly. But he did it, going through the same ritual, and, despite forewarning, experiencing the same burning and etched design on his palm as the woman had.'

Mogart smiled, let out a deep sigh, and put the jewel back in his pocket. "I am the sole input,"

he intoned lightly under his breath. "The two are bound as my vassals, and so it shall remain as long as I have need of them." He lapsed into thought for a moment, then said, "All right, let's get things straight. We have five jewels to get and we have very little time. The best way is to dispatch each of you to a different plane-a one-person operation. As soon as you have the jewel in your physical possession, just wish yourself back to me and you will come. That should simplify matters a bit-you won't have to worry about a getaway. With-out their jewels, the rogues can't even give chase. If one of you has more success than the other, well, we'll continue with the operation with the other, and if we're lucky, both of you will combine for the last two quests."

"You mean we'll be alone?" Jill gasped. "Not even a team? I thought the two of us-"

"No time," Mogart cut her off. "But you won't be alone. I cannot go anywhere physically from this plane except back home-the Main Line, as it's called. But I can be summoned when needed, and I can also pre-pare the way. You will be matched to the plane-time rate, language, whatever will be needed for you to be both unobtrusive and safe from death through ignor-ance of local conditions. Also, it's possible for anyone with a jewel to find the whereabouts of any other jewel-bearer, just in case. Since you are bound to me, it's just about the same, so you won't have to comb a whole world." He slid out from the booth and stood. "Come on! Let's be away!"

They also slid out and stood, and as they did, Mogart walked in back of the bar, took a glass, and poured himself a straight double shot of Scotch.

The young couple looked nervously at the barman. He seemed still, as if frozen in position, eyes wide open but unseeing. Mac went up to him and examined him closely.

The barman seemed to be alive, but a living statue.

"No, nothing's wrong with him, or with anybody else in the bar," Mogart told Mac, anticipating the question. "It's us. As soon as you both entered my service, I started speeding us up. We won't be able to put you in the proper planes until you are physically, temporally, matched to their rates." He downed the contents of the glass, coughed, belched, and then came back around the bar.

"All right. Just a second." He took a piece of chalk from the blackboard behind the bar announcing spe-cial drink prices, cleared a place in front of the bar of furniture, and motioned them both to come to him.

"Stand close together," he instructed, "while I draw this thing. Don't touch or cross the line," he warned.

Quickly he bent and sketched out a chalk pentagram around them, with the three of them in the middle, then stood up and turned to face them.

"Ready?" he asked, and before they could reply things started to happen.

The entire bar and its people and contents seemed to fade slowly out of existence. It was replaced with a grayness, a nothingness that nonetheless seemed to be substantial, to be something or some place. They had no bearings; even the floor was gone, and they felt as if they were floating. Now and then images would flicker by for an instant, but never long enough to tell what shapes and scenes they held.

"It is now six-fifteen, in your world, on the evening of August twelfth." Mogart's voice came to them, not as if he were speaking but as if he were somehow projecting his thoughts into their minds. "Remember, time is of the essence, and one failure means we all fail. Even though the worlds in which you will exist run much faster, time will not stop on Earth. The quicker each jewel is procured, the better."

"Where are we going first?" Jill asked, still feeling that she was in some sort of strange dream.

"We will choose the lines temporally closest to ours and close in as we go," Mogart explained, at the same time explaining nothing.

"I'm not sure I want-" Mac Walters began, but it was too late. One of those flickering images came up and he felt himself being pushed out into it by a force too strong to resist.

A few seconds later Jill McCulloch felt the same shove.

What they wanted was strictly beside the point, Mogart thought with satisfaction. Time was of the es-sence, and the sooner they got started the sooner he could get back to that damned bar and get himself another drink.