Bearing an Hourglass (31 page)

“Luna.”

“Luna. Now I think I know what I’m doing.”

“Thank
you
,” she said, touching the back of his hand with her cool, delicate fingers. “It is my career you are preserving.”

Norton looked across at the others. Lachesis was facing him. “We have now pinpointed it exactly,” she said. “We can give you precise coordinates. Are you ready to save the world from Satan, Chronos?”

Norton breathed deeply. “I hope so,” he said.

–11–

They took him to the spot where the deed had been done—not the contamination, but the decontamination of the capsule. The capsule was already in a bottle in the Senator’s suburban residence, in storage for later use. It was an irony of the type Satan specialized in that this Senator had acted to block more effective regulation of the production and marketing of exactly such products as this, so that slipshod quality control was practiced in the interests of cost-economy, and many people were harmed by such contamination. But now it suited Satan’s purpose to preserve the life of the Senator, so he had acted.

The demon had simply come, denaturized the capsule, and expired. Norton would have to catch the demon just before it did the job and cause it to expire early. That was all. Gaea had provided him with a vial of holy water for the purpose. Norton had donned a conventional suit, concealing his white cloak, so that he would not seem remarkable among the mortals.

The room was empty and dusty now; the Senator’s house had been sold after he died, and this wing of it was in disuse. Of course, it might remain empty if Satan’s ploy worked, for in eight years the Senator could have died of
natural causes. Satan didn’t care about the Senator; he just wanted to see that Luna was not the person who replaced him.

Norton concentrated on the Hourglass, turning the sand blue, and zoomed through time to the designated moment. The other Incarnations could not come with him for this mission; they had to maintain their own positions in this historical period so that Satan would not suspect what effort was being made here.

He arrived at the designated time and slowed to his normal pace. He raised the Hourglass, about to invoke the major magical attempt of his brief career, when he noticed something. He had overshot his target time by a few minutes and come within the six-hour limit. That was readily fixed; he would simply back up till he was clear, before engaging the rest of the world. He had not yet phased in to reality, so there would be no three-person complication. But there was another thing—something that jarred.

He was in the same room he had started from, a generous eight years hence, but now it was filled with supplies: bottles of bourbon, smoked hams, cans of caviar, and other signals of rich living. The Senator evidently believed in taking care of Number One first. One high shelf was devoted to medicines—more than one man should need in a lifetime. Among these was
the
bottle; Lachesis had described it precisely, so Norton would know it without fail. All this he had anticipated. But there was another presence, and that was what had made him pause.

Sitting across from the key bottle and watching it intently was a small demon. The creature was so small it could have been a figurine, with little snub-horns, red shoe-button eyes, and a leathery forked tail. But it was no figurine; it was a living—if that term applied—minion of Satan.

Had the demon survived its mission? No, the other Incarnations should not have been wrong about a detail like that. This must be another demon, a contemporary one, assigned to guard the capsule until it was used. That
could only mean that Satan was aware of this counterplot after all. The Satan of this time, eight years before Norton’s present. Since Satan did not live backward, he could not know what his future self had done—but he surely had recognized his minion. So he must have assumed, correctly, that his future self was up to something nefarious and he was seeing that no one interfered with whatever that was. He would not know
why
the demon from the future had nullified the contamination, but he would know there was good, or rather evil, reason. Satan was evil, but not stupid.

This posed a problem for Norton. The little demon could not perceive him at the moment, for Chronos was not obvious in his normal state. The demon was existing forward, while Chronos existed backward. Only when he phased in to the world—or made the world phase in to him—was he apparent to others. But when he did reverse the world, he would be apparent to this demon. That would tip off Satan, the Satan of this time, and there could be all manner of trouble. In fact, that might be this demon’s purpose—to catch Chronos himself when he approached the capsule and balk his effort.

Mischief indeed! He had to do something about that guardian demon, for the creature would surely interfere with him one way or another. If it summoned its master to this spot, Norton’s little vial of holy water would be relegated to the status of mere annoyance. Holy water destroyed the things of Satan but could not touch Satan himself, just as Satan’s minions could spread mischief in the world but not touch God Himself or directly harm other Incarnations. Maybe the demon would not be able to stop Norton, because, of course, the world would be proceeding backward. But he didn’t care to take the risk. Why should Satan post a demon, if it couldn’t do anything?

But if Norton phased in and tackled the demon, extinguishing it with the holy water—wouldn’t that action alert Satan? Again Norton wasn’t quite sure, and hesitated to gamble. Too much was at stake.

He pondered, then decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the demon. If the creature never knew Chronos was present, it would never give its master the alarm. Satan would assume that all was well (ill)—until it was too late (early). Norton would approach the capsule only at its moment of change, then use his holy water. A swift, surgical strike—and victory.

He walked away from the chamber, passing through the wall. In his normal mode, the universe was hardly aware of him, and he could ignore it to the extent he found convenient. He was very much like a ghost. He emerged onto a busy street, one of those old-fashioned kinds with concrete sidewalks, asphalt road surface, and ornamental shrubs planted along the sides. Most suburban streets, even on this day eight years in the past, were traveling composition sheets that carried both people and vehicles to and from their residences, just as they did in the nether levels. Evidently the Senator was conservative and had prevented modernization of his region. It was a status symbol to live primitively when the common man lived modernistically; it was also a type of posturing—the humble servant of the people. This should be a good place for Norton to phase in to; he could lose himself in the throng, and the demon in the house would never know.

Norton reddened the sand and moved fifteen minutes forward in the world’s time. This put him safely beyond the six-hour limit. There was a large clock on the facade of a store, another archaic affectation; its hands jumped from 11:03 to 11:18
A.M
.

Now he turned the sand white, for his normal progress backward. And he concentrated—and caused the sand to reverse, flowing up to the top chamber, causing the outside world to match his timeflow. He had once thought that the falling sand measured his own passing life, but now knew that was only approximate. The sand measured—everything.

He willed the magic to include the entire world and felt the massive engagement of magic as the spell of the Hourglass took hold. This was potent sorcery and represented
the limit of what the Hourglass could do. A significant portion of the magic power of the planet was being drawn on here, channeled to this purpose. He knew he would have to give the instrument a rest, once this mission was over, so it could cool and recharge.

The white sand flowed up and the world phased in to Chronos’ timeline. The facade clock started to tick backward; the breeze reversed—and so did the people. A car had been approaching Norton on the street; now that car was moving backward. Pedestrians walked backward. Some of them looked startled.

Startled? Norton had not expected this! These people were aware! They realized that they had reversed, though they were powerless to prevent it. This was a new wrinkle. Would it make a difference?

He glanced at the Senator’s mansion. Was that a face looking out the window? Probably just a perplexed servant—but it could be the demon. Norton decided to get out of sight of the building. He strode down the street.

Now a problem manifested. He was moving with the flow of pedestrian traffic—but the other people were walking backward. Norton was following a young man—but the man was facing him. To the man, Norton realized, it was as if he, Norton, were striding backward. Certainly Norton differed from others here.

How much easier this would have been on a normal moving belt! Then he could simply have stood in place, facing back, and not attracted attention.

No help for it. The man before him was starting to gawk. Perhaps this one did not realize he was now living backward, so saw Norton, who traveled forward into the past, as a freak. Norton turned about and proceeded to walk backward.

Unfortunately, this was not his natural mode. The others could walk backward at speed with confidence, because they were reversing a course already traveled; Norton was not. He was new to this scene. He tripped on a crevice and stumbled, windmilling his arms. This was no good either!

He looked back at the Senator’s mansion. Someone was emerging from it, he thought. The little demon?

Norton ducked into an alley, just wanting to get out of sight. Now he didn’t bother to walk backward; that was too much trouble and not much for either safety or concealment.

He heard a groan. He went to the source—and found an old man lying in a pile of garbage, bleeding from the head. He had evidently been mugged and needed help. Norton started toward him—and suddenly another man charged backward toward them, holding a wallet.

Norton paused, uncertain what was happening. The running man went right to the fallen one, bent to tuck the wallet into his back pocket, turned him over, and retreated a step while the victim hunched himself back to his feet. The other man brought out a blunt instrument, unclubbing the victim’s head. Then he retreated, while the victim, his head unbruised, scalp untorn, proceeded blithely backward after him at a slower pace, just as if nothing had happened.

Norton, furious, charged the mugger. He caught the man’s blunt-instrument arm and swung him about. Startled, the mugger cried, “!yeH”

“You mugged him!” Norton accused.

The man stared at him. “!gniog er’uoy erehw hctaW” he exclaimed.

Norton paused. Backward speech! Another complication! No doubt the people of the world were able to understand one another, since they were all living backward, but he, Norton, was living forward. Their speech was gibberish to him. He should have anticipated this, but had had no prior experience, since he had to phase in on green to interact with normals. Physical involvement was different from aloof observation!

Frustrated, he wrenched the blunt instrument from the man’s grip and threw it away. “Get out of here, you criminal!” he cried, shoving the man away.

The man, surprised, ran backward away from him, disappearing around a corner. Norton stood, trying to get
oriented. Had he disarmed a mugger just after—just before the mugging and prevented the crime—or had he merely witnessed it? The man had had the blunt instrument at the time of the act. Obviously he had completed the crime before time reversed; would he be balked when time reversed again, after (before) Norton’s mission ended (began)? Norton hoped so. Therefore a perfect replay of prior events wasn’t possible, with his interference. Maybe he had saved an innocent victim some trouble.

He looked around for that victim, thinking to warn him of the danger, but the man had gone. He must have taken another route. Anyway, the mugging hadn’t happened yet.

Norton walked along the alley. He was in the unsightly service area where garbage cans sat and the pavement was dirty. Garbage cans? This was another aspect of the past that wasn’t all that aesthetic! Far better to use a modern banishing-spell for that sort of thing! But, of course, such spells were expensive, and not every person was able to invoke them properly; sometimes a bungled spell brought extra garbage into a house instead.

He glanced up and saw a magic carpet fly backward high above the buildings, the only present evidence of the good modern life. This was not two hundred years ago, even though it might seem like it.

He found a back step and sat down. He had time to pass, away from observation by the demon, and this was as good a place as any. It was private because it was ugly; crowds did not seek this particular region out.

His wandering eye spied graffiti on the opposite wall. Idly curious, Norton studied them. Most were in male hand, large, dark, and crude in both execution and concept: four-letter words describing sexual and scatological concepts, as if mankind were hopelessly enraged at the universe and determined to demean it. These graffiti were basically rapes of the viewers, assaults on whatever sensitivities passersby might possess. No beauty or gentleness or caring here, just ugliness. Norton felt ashamed to be a man. But he noted one thing; the words were not backward. Time was reversed, but not space. So if he
really had to talk with someone, he could do it by writing. Lachesis had done that at the outset of his career as Chronos; she had known. Now he realized the significance of that approach.