The Great And Secret Show Part 48

"Ever been under fire, Rab?" the sky-watcher asked.

"Nope. Have you?"

"Sure," came the reply. He snorted dust into the handkerchief his wife Marci had pressed for the top pocket of his tux. Then, sniffing, he surveyed the sky.

"Between attacks..." he said.

"Yeah?"

"It feels just like this."

Tommy-Ray, the Jaff thought, turning from his business momentarily, and going to the window. He'd been distracted by his work, and hadn't realized his son was near until he was driving away down the Hill. He tried to send a call out to the youth, but the message was not received. The thoughts the Jaff had found it easy to manipulate on previous occasions were not so simple any longer. Something had changed; something of great significance which the Jaff couldn't interpret. The boy's mind was no longer an open book. What signals he did receive were confounding. There was a fear in the boy he'd never felt before; and a chill, a profound chill.

It was no use trying to make sense of the signals; not with so much else to occupy him. The boy would come back. In fact that was the only clear message he was receiving: that Tommy-Ray intended to return.

Meanwhile there were more urgent demands upon the Jaff's time. The afternoon had proved profitable. In a matter of two hours his ambition for this gathering had been realized. It had produced allies possessed of a profound purity undreamed of among the Gravers' terata. The egos that had yielded them had resisted his persuasions at first. That was to be expected. Several of them, thinking they were about to be murdered, had produced their wallets and attempted to bribe their way out of the upper room. Two of the women had bared their silicone b.r.e.a.s.t.s and offered their bodies rather than die; one of the men had attempted a similar bargain.

But their narcissism had crumbled like a sugar wall, their threats, negotiations, pleas and performances been silenced as soon as they started to sweat out their fears. He'd sent them al] back to the party, milked and pa.s.sive.

The a.s.sembly that now lined the walls was purer for its fresh recruits, a message of entropy pa.s.sing from one terata to another, their multiplicity devolving in the shadows to something more ancient; darker, simpler. They'd become un-particularized. He could no longer ascribe to any of them the names of their creators. Gunther Rothbery, Christine Sea-pard, Laurie Doyle, Martine Nesbitt: where were they now? Become a common clay.

He had as large a legion as he could hold sway over; many more and his army would become unruly. Indeed perhaps it had already become so. Yet he continued to put off the moment when he finally let his hands do what they had been created, and re-created, to do: use the Art. It was twenty years since that life-shattering day when he'd found the symbol of the Shoal, lost in transit in the wilds of Nebraska. He'd never returned. Even during his war with Fletcher the trail of battle had never led him back to Omaha. He doubted there'd be anybody left he knew. Disease and despair would have taken a good half of them. Age, the other half. He, of course, had remained untouched by such forces. The pa.s.sage of years had no authority over him. Only the Nuncio had that, and there was no way back from such alteration. He had to go forward, to see realized the ambition which had been laid in him that day, and the days following. He'd flown from the ba.n.a.lity of his life into strange territories, and seldom looked back. But today, as the parade of famous faces had appeared before him in the upper room, and wept and shuddered and bared their b.r.e.a.s.t.s then their souls for him, he couldn't help but glance back to the man he'd been, who would never have dared hope to keep such celebrated company. When he did, he found something in himself he'd hidden, almost successfully, all these years. The very thing he was sweating from his victims: fear.

I.

Though he'd changed out of all recognition a little part of him was still and would always be Randolph Jaffe, and that part whispered in his ear, and said: this is dangerous. You don't know what you 're taking on. This could kill you.

After so many years it came as a shock to hear the old voice in his head, but it was also strangely rea.s.suring. Nor could he entirely ignore it, because what it warned was true: he didn't know what lay beyond the using of the Art. n.o.body really did. He'd heard all the stories; he'd studied all the metaphors. But they were only stories, only metaphors. Quiddity was not literally a sea; the Ephemeris was not literally an island. These were a materialist's way of describing a state of mind. Perhaps the State of Mind. And now he stood minutes from opening the door to that condition, in almost complete ignorance of its true nature.

It might lead to lunacy, h.e.l.l and death as easily as to heaven and life everlasting. He had no way of knowing, but to use the Art.

Why use it at all? the man he'd been thirty years before whispered in him. Why not just enjoy the power you've got? It's more than you ever dreamed of, isn't it? Women coming in here offering their bodies to you. Men falling down on their knees with snot running from their noses begging for mercy. What more do you want? What more could anybody want?

Reasons, was the answer. Some meaning behind the t.i.ts and the tears; some glimpse of a larger picture.

You've got all there is, the old voice said. This is as good as it gets. There is no more.

There was a light tapping on the door: Lamar's code.

"Wait," he murmured, trying to hold on to the argument he'd been running in his head.

Outside the door, Eve tapped Lamar on the shoulder: "Who's up here?" she said.

The comedian offered a small smile.

"Somebody you should meet," he said.

"A friend of Buddy's?" she said.

"Very much so."

"Who?"

"You don't know him."

"So why bother meeting him?" Grillo said. He took hold of Eve's arm. Suspicion had given way to certainty now. There was a rank smell up here, and the sound of more than one presence on the other side of the door.

The invitation to enter came. Lamar turned the doorhandle, and opened up.

"Come along, Eve," he said.

She pulled her arm from Grillo's grip and allowed Lamar to escort her up a step into the room.

"It's dark," Grillo heard her say.

"Eve," he said, pus.h.i.+ng past Lamar and reaching through the door after her. As she'd said, it was indeed dark. Evening had come over the Hill, and what little light fell through the far window scarcely etched the interior. But Eve's figure was visible in front of him. Again, he took hold of her arm.

"Enough," he said, and started to turn towards the door. As he did so Lamar's fist met the middle of his face, a solid, unexpected blow. His hand slipped from Eve's arm; he fell to his knees, smelling his own blood in his nose. Behind him, the comedian slammed the door.

"What's happening?" he heard Eve say. "Lamar! What's going on?"

"Nothing to worry about," the man murmured.

Grillo raised his head, causing a hot gush of blood to run from his nose. He put his hand to his face to stem it, and looked around the room. In the brief moment he'd had to glimpse the interior he'd thought it piled with furniture. He'd been wrong. This was living stuff.

"Lam..." Eve said again, all bravado gone from her voice now. "Lamar...who's up here?"

"Jaffe..." a soft voice said. "Randolph Jaffe."

"Shall I put on the light?" Lamar said.

"No," came the answer from the shadows. "No, don't. Not yet."

Despite his buzzing head Grillo recognized the voice and the name. Randolph Jaffe: the Jaff. Which fact gave him the ident.i.ty of the forms that lurked in the darkest corners of his huge room. It was lavish with the beasts he'd made.

Eve had seen them too.

"My G.o.d..." she murmured. "My G.o.d, my G.o.d, what's going on?"

"Friends of friends," Lamar said.

"Don't hurt her," Grillo demanded.

"I'm not a murderer," the voice of Randolph Jaffe said. "Everyone who came in here has walked out alive. I just want a little part of you..."

His voice didn't carry the same weight of confidence it had when Grillo had heard him at the Mall. He'd spent much of his professional life listening to people talk; looking for signs of the life beneath the life. How had Tesla put it? Something about having an eye for the hidden agenda. There was certainly subtext to the Jaff's voice now. An ambiguity that had not been there before. Did it offer some hope of escape? Or at least a stay of execution.

"I remember you," Grillo said. He had to draw the man out: make subtext text. Make him tell his doubts. "I saw you catch fire."

"No..." said the voice in the darkness, "...that wasn't me..."

"My mistake. Then who...may I ask...?"

"No you may not," Lamar said behind him. "Which of them do you want first?" he asked the Jaff.

The inquiry was ignored. Instead the man said: "Who am I? Strange you should ask." His tone was almost dreamy.

"Please," Eve murmured. "I can't breathe up here."

"Hush," Lamar said. He had moved to take hold of her. In the shadows, the Jaff s.h.i.+fted in his seat like a man who couldn't find a comfortable way to be.

"n.o.body knows..." he began, "...just how terrible it is."

"What is?" Grillo said.

"I have the Art," the Jaff replied. "I have the Art. So I have to use it. It'd be a waste not to, after all this waiting, all this change."

He's s.h.i.+tting himself, Grillo thought. He's close to the edge and he's terrified of slipping over. Into what, he didn't know, but it was surely an exploitable condition. He decided to stay on the floor, where he offered no physical threat to the other man. Very softly he said: "The Art. What is that?"

If the Jaff's next words were intended as an answer they were oblique.

"Everybody's lost, you know. I use that. Use the fear in them."

"Not you?" Grillo said.

"Not me?"

"Lost."

"I used to think I found the Art...but maybe the Art found me."

"That's good."

"Is it?" he said. "I don't know what it's going to do-"

So that's it, Grillo thought. He's got his prize and now he's afraid of unwrapping it.

"It could destroy us all."

"That's not what you said," Lamar muttered. "You said we'd have dreams. All the dreams America ever dreamt; that the world ever dreamt."

"Maybe," said the Jaff.

Lamar let go of Eve and took a step towards his master.

"But now you're saying we could die?" he said. "I don't want to die. I want Roch.e.l.le. I want the house. I've got a future. I'm not giving that up."

"Don't try and slip the leash," the Jaff said. For the first time since these exchanges had begun Grillo heard an echo of the man he'd seen at the Mall. Lamar's resistance was winning the old spirit back. Grillo cursed him for his rebellion. It bore one useful fruit only: it allowed Eve to step back towards the door. Grillo kept his place on the ground. Any attempt to join her would only draw attention to them both, and prevent any chance of escape for either. If she could get out she could raise the alarm.

Lamar's complaints, meanwhile, had multiplied.

"Why did you lie to me?" he said. "I should have known from the beginning you weren't going to do me any good. Well, f.u.c.k you-"

Silently, Grillo egged him on. The deepening dusk had kept pace with his eyes' attempt to pierce it, and he could see no more of his captor than he'd been able to see when he first came in, but he saw the figure stand. The motion caused consternation in the shadows, as the beasts hidden there responded to their creator's discomfiture.

"How dare you?" the Jaff said.

"You told me we were safe," Lamar said.

Grillo heard the door creak behind him. Though he wanted to turn he resisted the temptation.

"Safe, you said!"

"It's not that simple!" the Jaff said.

"I'm out of here!" Lamar replied, and turned to the door. It was too dark for Grillo to see the expression on his face, but a spill of light from behind him, and the sound of Eve's footsteps as she fled the room, was evidence enough. Grillo stood up as Lamar, cursing, crossed to the door. He was woozy from the blow, and reeled as he stood, but got to the door a pace before Lamar. They collided, their joint weights toppling against the door and slamming it again. There was a moment of confusion, almost farcical, in which they each fought for the handle of the door. Then something intervened, looming behind the comedian. It was pale in the darkness; gray against black. Lamar made a small noise in his throat as the creature took hold of him from behind. He reached out towards Grillo, who slipped from beneath his fingers, back towards the middle of the room. He couldn't work out how the terata was battening upon Lamar, and he was glad of the fact. The man's flailing limbs and guttural sounds were enough. He saw the comedian's bulk slump against the door, then slide down it, his body increasingly eclipsed by the terata. Then both were still.

"Dead?" Grillo breathed.

"Yes," said the Jaff. "He called me a liar."

"I'll remember that."

"You should."

The Jaff made a motion in the darkness, which Grillo failed to make sense of. But it had consequences that made a great deal plain. Beads of light broke from the man's fingers, illuminating his face, which was wasted, his body, which was clothed as it had been at the Mall, but seemed to spill darkness, and the room itself, with terata, no longer the complex beasts they'd been but barbed shadows, lining every wall.

"Well, Grillo...," the Jaff said, "...it seems I must do it."

IX.

After love, sleep. They hadn't planned it that way, but neither Jo-Beth nor Howie had slept more than a handful of uninterrupted hours since they'd met, and the ground they'd made love on was soft enough to tempt them. Even when the sun slipped behind the trees, they didn't waken. When finally Jo-Beth opened her eyes it wasn't the chill: the night was balmy. Cicadas made music in the gra.s.s around them. There was a gentle motion in the leaves. But beneath these rea.s.suring sights and sounds was a strange, unfixable glow between the trees.

She rocked Howie out of sleep as gently as possible. He opened his eyes reluctantly, until they focused on his waker's face.

"Hi," he said. Then: "We overslept, huh? What time is-"

"There's somebody here, Howie," she whispered.

"Where?"

"I just see lights. They're all around us. Look!"