Bearing an Hourglass (7 page)

What followed was very much like a honeymoon. They made love often at first, then settled down to a pleasant routine. They finished the puzzle and started on another. They toured the estate, which was vast and rich, with apartments on several levels of the city, a marked section of penthouse park, and a private matter transmitter in the basement level. There was even a section of a posh sports club; Gawain owned an enclosed tennis court and a table in the restaurant. Gawain had never played tennis; it was only an investment to him, handled by the anonymous experts who ran his financial affairs. But Norton knew tennis, and so did Orlene. Neither of them was professional level, but both were adequate, and they enjoyed playing each other. Norton was a healthy man, and Orlene was a fine figure of a woman, especially when exerting herself physically.

There was no discernible point of demarcation, but it was not long at all before Norton knew he was thoroughly in love. Orlene never said she actually loved him, but he understood that; she was loyal to her technical marriage to the ghost. In every other respect she was Norton’s. She fixed his meals like a housewife; she hiked with him
in the park, being thrilled when she caught a new bird on camera; and she shared his sleeping bag at night. If he had found a woman like her before, he certainly would have married her. They even had quarrels—but never, now, was there any mention of his leaving. They were wedded in all but name.

The ring she had given him turned out to be no minor trinket. It was magic. She refused to tell him
how
it was magic. “A woman needs some secrets,” she said teasingly. “Since my body has none remaining for you, the mysteries of the ring will have to do.”

That intrigued him mightily—but several things prevented him from cracking that riddle promptly. First, Orlene kept him busy with a whirlwind of joint activities. They viewed the latest top-grade holoflicks together, went null-gravity swimming, and visited the estate’s outlet on the planet Venus—no wonder Orlene was able to get delicious, fresh, Venusian fungus for meals!—which was less impressive than he had expected, because the Venus apartment was merely another chamber with a single thick-lensed viewport opening onto the perpetually murky storm of the surface. It would have been hard to tell it was another planet if it hadn’t been for the changed gravity. When nothing else offered, Orlene would teasingly display portions of her perfect body, and duty as well as inclination compelled him to pursue it. But there came a moment when she slept and he was awake, and he remembered the ring. Now was his chance!

He took hold of the ring with thumb and forefinger to pull it off—and discovered the second problem. It would not budge. It was not tight on his finger; in fact, it was so comfortable that he was never aware of it unless he focused on it—but it seemed to constrict itself when he drew on it. The harder he pulled the tighter it was. It was also invulnerable to twisting. He went to the bathroom and soaped his finger—the bars of soap were an affectation, since the sonic shower made them unnecessary, but affectations had a long shelf life—yet his efforts made no difference. He tried to pull the skin of the finger tight
so it couldn’t bunch up under the ring, but that, too, was ineffective. “This thing must have an adhesive-spell!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Orlene said behind him. He jumped guiltily; he hadn’t been aware of her waking. Spying his discomfort, she laughed merrily and proffered a kiss; it was three more days before he thought of the ring again.

This time she was visiting the estate doctor for her routine weekly checkup. Part of the condition of her marriage to the ghost was that she remain healthy so she could bear a healthy heir. She was fastidious about all her duties. Thus Norton had a little time to himself in the doctor’s lounge.

He contemplated the ring. The tiny gem eyes of the metallic serpent seemed to look back at him. “So you stay with your owner,” he remarked. “Is that the extent of your magic?”

Then he almost leaped out of his chair. The ring had pulsed twice, gently squeezing his finger!

Norton was alone, but was aware that doctors’ premises had ways to observe their occupants. Therefore, he acted as if he were in public and subdued his reaction. Perhaps, anyway, he had imagined those pulses.

“Did you do that, ring?” he asked it in a low voice.

There was a single squeeze, firm but not painful.

He was onto something here! “You understand me?”

One squeeze, constriction and release, brief but definite.

“And you respond to questions by squeezing?”

One squeeze.

“One squeeze for yes, two for no?”

Squeeze.

“Do you ever do three squeezes?”

Squeeze.

“When?”

This time there were three squeezes.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” he whispered. “What does it mean when you do three?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Norton pondered. “Let’s see—you answer yes or no. Would three squeezes mean you can’t answer yes or no?”

Squeeze.

“So three means either you don’t know the answer or you can’t phrase it as a yes or no?”

Squeeze.

“When I ask you a non-yes-no question, the answer has to be three squeezes?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

Two? What did that mean? It was “No,” but was it for the answer to a non-yes-no question having to be three squeezes? Norton pondered, then saw what he had missed. “When I ask you a question whose answer is a number, then your squeezes indicate the number?”

Squeeze.

“Such as: what is the product of three times seven?”

Squeeze.

Oops. “I meant, please give me the answer to that question.”

There was a pause, then three squeezes.

“That’s not the answer, ring! What happened?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Oh—you mean you aren’t good at math?”

SQUEEZE!

Norton smiled. “We all have our weaknesses. No shame in that! But you can count?”

Squeeze.

“How many fingers do I have?”

There were ten squeezes.

Norton smiled again. “Ring, I think I understand you now! Have you other properties?”

Squeeze.

“But you can’t tell me outright what they are?”

Squeeze.

“But if I guess, you’ll tell me?”

Squeeze.

“Very good!” Norton pondered again. Twenty Questions had never been his best game, but he was sure he could get the information he wanted, given unlimited questions. This was exciting!

Then Orlene reappeared, and he had to stop.

“Well, I’m not pregnant yet,” she said. “Despite your efforts. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. The doctor will see you next.”

“Me?” he asked, startled.

Squeeze.

That startled him again. Apparently, now that he had evoked the ring, it answered any questions it heard.

“To make sure you’re fertile,” Orlene said.

“Oh.” Of course that would be a requirement of the ghost-bride’s consort. Suppose he were infertile? That might be the end of their relationship.

“Go on in,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”

“She?”

Squeeze.

Orlene smiled. “You don’t think I’d trust this to a male doctor, do you?”

“But I’d rather see a male!”

“Too bad,” she said wickedly. She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, disgruntled.

The doctor was a stern, middle-aged woman. “Strip, son.”

“Look, I—”

She cracked a cold smile. “Would you prefer to have a male orderly present to safeguard your virtue?”

“Oh, no, thanks. But—”

“This is routine. Believe me, young man, I’ve seen it before.”

Surely true! Norton did not consider himself, in his latening thirties, as young, but didn’t care to make an issue of that at the moment. He bowed to necessity and stripped to his trunks.

She ran him through the normal paces, checking his temperature, blood pressure, ears, eyes, tongue, muscle tone, and whatever else her instruments were set for. Then came the awkward part. “Now the trunks, please.”

He clenched his teeth and obeyed. After all, women had to suffer examination by male doctors; this could be considered turnabout. She hooked a finger into his crotch. “Cough.”

He coughed, and repeated it for the other side.

Then she donned a plastic glove. “Bend over, son. Put your hands against the support.”

“Don’t you have some more modern way to—?”

“It’s much more fun this way,” she assured him.

He obeyed instructions again, and she greased her glove and did what doctors always did to men, physically. “Hey!”

“Hold still. I’m securing the specimen.”

Evidently so. In a moment she took a glass smear off to her lab, and he was permitted to clean off the grease and redress. All this indignity just to verify—

“Ring,” he asked, suffering a belated inspiration, “am I fertile?”

Squeeze.

To think of the awkwardness he could have spared himself! But the doctor probably wouldn’t have believed the ring.

As it turned out, the ring was correct; he was fertile. Then he wondered how the ring had known. The fact that it could respond to a person’s questions did not guarantee that it was omniscient. Magic came in many forms and degrees.

He rejoined Orlene, who was suppressing a smirk. “You knew I was fertile!” he accused her.

“Of course. Otherwise you wouldn’t have glowed.”

“Then why did you send me in to the doctor?”

She tried valiantly to contain it, but her giggle managed to escape. Why, indeed! Even nice girls liked to turn the tables on men on occasion. He would find a way to get even.

They returned to the whirl of activities, including more efforts to complete the ghost’s mission. It was another week before Norton had a moment to question the ring again. By then he had figured out how to make his questions count. Orlene was taking an old-fashioned bubble bath. The estate had sonic showers for each bedroom, but there was something about bubbles and bathing that delighted women. Actually, he wouldn’t have minded taking one himself, but his masculine image forbade it.

Norton was theoretically watching a news program on holo, but he tuned that out mentally and talked to the ring instead.

“Parliamentary procedure,” the holo announcer was saying, his head appearing to be right in the room, talking directly to Norton. “The Satanic forces admit they don’t have the votes to override the expected veto this time, but they hope to show substantial strength. Any break in the ranks of—”

“Ring, what shall I call you?” Norton asked. “Do you have a name?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Would you like one?”

Squeeze.

“Then suppose I make up a name? You are my Snake Ring; I’ll call you Sning, for SNake rING. How’s that?”

SQUEEZE! Evidently the ring was enthusiastic.

“Good enough, Sning. Are you of Evil Magic?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Good Magic?”

Squeeze.

The ring could be lying, for Evil lied, but he didn’t think so. Orlene would never have sought an evil artifact. That meant he could trust it.

It? “Um, Sning, are you male or female?”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“Sorry. I’ll rephrase that. Male?”

Squeeze.

“Okay, you’re a he. Now, I believe you said you have other abilities?”

Squeeze.

He zeroed in on the answer. “What else you have—is it something you do or something you are? Do?” Squeeze. “Are?” Squeeze. “So it’s both?” Squeeze. This sounded good! “Are you animate or inanimate?” Again he got yes to both. “You can change?” Squeeze. “When I ask you to?” Squeeze. “In fact,” he concluded triumphantly, “you can be a live snake!” Squeeze.

Now he had to figure out what advantage this might
be to the owner of the ring. In due course he established that Sning could come alive, slither off his finger—all he had ever had to do was ask Sning to come off, and removal would have been easy; he had stupidly tried force instead—scout the local territory, return, and report via squeezes what was going on.

Norton pondered only momentarily before grinning wickedly. “Go scout Orlene,” he ordered. “Very closely.”

The ring turned a brighter green, slid off his finger, dropped to the floor, and slithered rapidly toward the bathroom. Sning, extended, was only five or six inches long, but lively enough.

A minute passed. Then there was a scream. A few seconds later Sning zipped back, trailing some bubble froth. Norton put down his hand, and the tiny snake wrapped around his finger and went metallic.

“She saw you?”

A wet squeeze.

“Close?”

Squeeze.

“She screamed?”

Squeeze.

“And threw bubbles at you?”

Squeeze.

“Anything else to report?”

At this point Orlene appeared, half-clothed in bubbles. “Don’t you dare!” she snapped at the ring.

Norton laughed, his revenge complete—until she pounced on him, glistening wet and slippery, and doused his hair with bubbles. “So you found out how to use the ring!” she exclaimed severely. “I gave you too much time to yourself!” She jammed bubbles in his eyes, but they were the nonsting kind. “Send him after me again, and I’ll drown you both in bubbles!” She stalked off, leaving a trail of dying bubbles.

“I only wish it could have been that female doctor,” Norton muttered rebelliously.

One other thing he learned about Sning: he was poisonous. His fangs were tiny, of course, but his venom
was potent. A single bite could not kill a creature the size of a man, but could make him very sick for several hours, so that he might think he was dying. Sning would bite on order, but then would require a day to restock his poison.

“That’s all right,” Norton said. “I have no enemies; you don’t need to bite anyone for me.” But it was perhaps just as well that he had not known about Sning’s poison when encountering the doctor.

Later, after Orlene had calmed down—her annoyance had been mostly because he had unraveled the secrets of the ring so quickly—he asked her where she had gotten it. It turned out to have been in the family for generations, passed from parent to child or from spouse to spouse.