A Calculated Magic

20

Roger groaned in frustration. Of all the resorts in the world, why did they have to stay in one that contained a replica of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon? Though it was long after midnight, the Crouching One showed no signs of leaving the elaborate arboretum. Instead, the Ancient One insisted on wandering to and fro along the maze of pathways, reminiscing about old times. Roger, who had heard most of the demigod’s stories dozens of times before, was bored to tears. And though he prided himself on how little sleep he needed, he was tired and ready to call it a night.

The Crouching One, unfortunately, required no rest al all. Gods never slept. Normally he treated Roger’s request for rest as an annoying but necessary habit. Tonight, captivated by his surroundings, the Lord of the Lions wanted company. Which meant Roger.

“I am amazed at the accuracy displayed throughout this reconstruction,” said the Crouching One, bending over to smell a black orchid, a rare breed that opened only in darkness. “According to those encyclopedias I read, a complete description of the Hanging Gardens no longer exists. I wonder how the Old Man of the Mountain managed to find one?”

Roger almost answered, then thought better of it. In a brief exchange with al-Sabbah earlier in the day, the Lord of the Assassins mentioned that Gilgamesh, the immortal Babylonian hero, designed the entire resort. It was a name best kept hidden from the Lord of the Lions. He and Gilgamesh had clashed in the past.

The Hanging Gardens consisted of a square tract of land four hundred feet on each side. Built as a series of low-rising terraces, there were hundreds of varieties of plants and trees contained in its confines. Dozens of winding trails and narrow paths cut through the vegetation, preserving the natural beauty of the grounds. In the one concession to modern agriculture and Nevada heat, the entire four acres were watered by a vast system of automatic sprinklers.

“Nebuchadnezzar built these gardens to please his wife Amyitis,” said the Crouching One, strolling up the winding path leading to the fifth level. They had started at the bottom of the gardens hours ago and Roger estimated it would take them hours more to reach the top at the demigod’s leisurely pace. “She disliked the flat plains of Babylon and yearned for her home in the Median Hills.

“It took ten thousand slaves working day and night fifteen years to complete the project. Located at the peak of the gardens was a huge reservoir that fed the streams and ponds that dotted the landscape. Whenever the water level dropped below a certain mark, hundreds of huge vats filled with liquid were rolled up the terraces to replenish the tank.”

Roger yawned. His interest in gardening began and ended with lettuce in salads. To him, the fabled hanging gardens were nothing more than a haven for annoying insects.

“If you study the plant formations very carefully,” continued the demigod, “you will notice that the darker foliage forms a series of wedge-shaped patterns and letters. That is the lost secret of the hanging gardens. Viewed from the windows of the king’s palace, the entire tableau creates a cuneiform love poem to Nebuchadnezzar’s fickle wife.”

The demigod laughed, a disconcerting sound. “Beware of demanding women, my disciple. They are like a cancer eating at your vitals. Nebuchadnezzar was Babylon’s greatest king. He practically rebuilt the city, revitalized his nation, and erected the Hanging Gardens. Yet Amyitis was never happy. Her whining drove her husband to drink. Many were the times I advised him to throw the nag to the lions. But he would rather face an army of Persians blindfolded than confront his wife.”

The Crouching One paused. His eyes narrowed and his hairless brow crinkled in concentration. “It cannot be them, but it must,” he declared, sounding shocked. “The Raging Women.

“Behind me,” commanded the demigod, jerking a hand at Roger. “Quickly. Close your eyes and keep them closed no matter what you hear. Hurry. The horrors approach.”

Roger had no idea what the demigod was talking about, but he also understood that now was not the time to ask questions. He did exactly as he was told. Whoever or whatever sparked such a reaction from the Crouching One was serious business.

Their smell preceded them. Roger hated animals and avoided zoos, but having been raised in the Far West, he recognized the smell of snakes. And the hissing noise they made.

“Remain silent and do not open your eyes,” warned the Crouching One. “Otherwise, you are a dead man. The Raging Women are extremely vain and extremely ugly. If you see their features and speak of it, it will go hard on you.”

“Nergal,” said a new voice, female but definitely not human. “We heard you returned from limbo. How appropriate to encounter you here in these re-created gardens.”

“Sisters,” said the Crouching One, his voice polite. “This meeting is as unexpected as it is a pleasure,” Then his tone turned harsh. “Your prey…?”

“Is human this night,” said another voice, equally inhuman. “Was human. You have nothing to fear from us. Our mission here is complete. We were exiting this place when we caught a whiff of your scent. My sisters and I thought it only appropriate to say hello after these many centuries.”

“Very touching,” said the Crouching One sarcastically. “A card would have been enough. We never were particularly close. Your kind and mine never did get along. Be gone. Your presence disturbs my meditations. I have plans to consider.”

“Your thoughts concern death and destruction,” said the first speaker again. Roger needed no prompting to scrunch his eyes closed. If the features matched the voice, the Raging Women were ugliness personified. “We serve justice. You defile it. Your plans have been altered.”

“A human hides behind you,” declared a third sister. Fingers of fear ran down Roger’s spine.

“My servant,” said the Crouching One. “He worships and serves me in the modern world. Surely you would not deny me one disciple?”

“We do not kill without reason,” said the first sister. “That would be cruel, and we are never cruel.”

“I remember,” said the Crouching One, chuckling. “You are the Kindly Ones. If that is the case, be so kind as to leave me and my servant in peace.”

“As you wish,” said the first. “Have a nice day.”

Then they were gone. However, five minutes had passed before the Crouching One told Roger he could open his eyes.

“We must return to the hotel at once,” said the demigod. “The terrible sisters said something about changing my plans. As unstoppable avengers, their presence in Las Vegas bodes ill for tomorrow’s auction.”

“Who were they?” asked Roger, not sure he wanted the truth.

“Busybody contemporaries of mine from Greece,” said the Crouching One. “Insufferable moralists, all the immortals hate them. Though not true gods, they control powers that can threaten even one such as I. Forget them.”

“They’re forgotten,” said Roger.

Hurrying behind the Crouching One to the resort, Roger cheerfully concluded that events were progressing from bad to worse. Which was fine with him. The more confusion, the better. Hopefully, Jack Collins was close at hand and had some mischief plotted for tomorrow night. It actually didn’t matter much. Whatever occurred at the auction, Roger was ready. Long hours of secret deliberations at his computer terminal had finally paid off. The answer to his problems was carefully transcribed on a sheaf of papers in his pocket. He was going to be in charge again. And this time, no one could stop him.