A Rose-Red City

Ten

The road seemed to sway, and the sunlight danced strangely. This was it, then? He sent a last smile towards Ariadne and closed his eyes and waited.

“What is going on?” Gillis roared.

Jerry opened his eyes and blinked. The roadway had steadied, and the light was all right Then he was hit by a wildcat, his arm grabbed and twisted, and he went hurtling to the grass; Carlo had the gun. One of the women squealed.

Jerry sat up and rubbed his shoulder, flexed twisted fingers and looked around the ring of angry and frightened faces. He saw that he was level with Alan and gave him a smile. Alan quickly hid behind Maisie’s leg.

He was alive.

The wand had gone, and he had not rumbled into dust. His hands looked fine, no old man’s liver spots. If his hair had all fallen out and his face collapsed into wrinkles, he thought it likely that someone would be kind enough to mention it. He started to laugh— he was alive.

“I said, ‘what is going on?’ ” Gillis repeated.

“I’m damned if I know,” Jerry said. He also didn’t care at the moment. He had done it, the big one: He had sincerely offered his life for a friend. That the offer had been refused, so that he was still whole, was hardly less welcome than the awareness that he had been able to make it. J. Howard was now one of the good guys. He laughed again at life and sunlight and green trees. Not the same trees. He looked around. This was a forest, but a deciduous forest, hardwoods. Was that a lime? So something had happened, and all the others were too shocked to notice. There were some small and fluffy white clouds in the sky which had not been there before, and the sun seemed higher, yes, the air was much warmer and sweet-scented. Birds were chirping.

Carlo kicked him, and he yelped with pain. “Up!”

Damn, that felt like broken ribs; nothing like a hard kick to bring a man back to reality. Winded and wincing, Jerry scrambled to his feet, no longer the man with the gun. Gillis’ bruised face was registering satisfaction, and Carlo’s puffed mouth was twisted in a smile. Maisie was kneeling to hug the children; Ariadne was standing by herself again, withdrawn and pale.

Now explain!” Gillis said. “Where is that wagon?”

“It went back to Mera,” said Jerry. “Either there were too many of us, or the wand was refusing to take someone— possibly the children.”

“Or me,” Araidne said sadly.

“Or me?” Jerry shrugged. “The one I was most sure of was Killer, and I did not dare take the wand away from him anyway.”

“And the rest of us, what happens?” demanded Carlo in an accent which Jerry could not place.

“Jolly good question,” he said. “Cut out the horse— “

“Wait!” Gillis said. “I don’t think he’s clowning. He’s a limey, and that’s his real voice.” Carlo glowered but did not argue. Probably he could hear a difference in Gillis also.

“It’s another place,” Jerry said. “The firs have gone, see?”

They looked around at a much more open woodland and a narrower, dusty roadway with a slope to it.

“Where are we, then?”

“Not the foggiest,” Jerry confessed. “I don’t know where and I don’t know when. I don’t even know how, because the wand has gone, so there must be something else going on. We’ll just have to wait for Killer to come for us.”

“Why should he?” Gillis snapped. “How can he find us? And even if he wants to, it may be months before he’s well enough.”

Jerry turned his back on the gun to prove to himself that he could do it and walked a few steps to a fallen tree. He sat down and tried to look confident. Suddenly that gun had made him feel very mortal.

“Once back in Mera, he’ll heal in a few days,” he said. “But even that doesn’t matter— it wouldn’t matter if it were a year. If the Oracle can find us, it can put Killer right back here at the right time.” He hoped.

The others looked at one another and then at their surroundings. “Then Mr. Howard, I think we do not need longer,” Carlo said, raising the gun two-handed. “I have a score to settle.”

“Now, wait!” Gillis shouted.

The swarthy youth did not take his eyes off Jerry. “No longer your business,” he said. “He mashed my face, and now I kill him.”

“No!” Ariadne shouted.

“Not in front of the children!” Maisie begged, pulling them to her. Now there was a kind thought.

“Go, then!” Still holding the gun on Jerry, Carlo jerked his head. “You all go down the road. I will join you afterwards.” It would be a shame to be killed so soon after having expected it and escaped. Jerry took a deep breath and said, “You realize that Killer may need me to home in on?”

“Another good reason,” said the gun holder, with obvious satisfaction. He would be in no hurry to meet with Killer, who would likewise have a score to settle. That had been an ill-advised remark, J. Howard.

“Graham!” Ariadne said. “You’re not going to let this man shoot him in cold blood?” Gillis’ hand fingered his swollen face, where Killer had struck him, the nose broken when he fell from the cottage. “I don’t think I can stop him. Come, Maisie.” He scooped up Alan, put a hand behind Lacey to urge her on, and the four of them started along the road.

Jerry was back on the high board and this time he was going to be pushed— unless… He looked at Ariadne. “What time is it?” he asked.

She glanced at her wrist. “It’s stopped,” she said.

Ah! Jerry felt all his taut muscles relax in a rush. He turned on a confident smile and directed it toward Carlo, who seemed to be enjoying the anticipation and was apparently in no hurry.

“Go ahead,” Jerry said. “I dispense with the blindfold and waive the cigarette.” You think I snow you, Limey? Think I can’t shoot you? Think I don’t have the cojones?”

“I’m sure you do,” Jerry said. “You’re a very effective young man, and I’ve been underestimating you. Go ahead, though. Try it.”

Carlo’s eyes narrowed. Obviously he wanted to see his victim cringe. “I think in the gut, like your friend. That hurts most.” Jerry lifted his cape, pulled his belt down a fraction, and pointed at his navel. “There’s the bulls-eye, then.”

Click. Click again.

Phew! Jerry stood up. “Strange!” he said. “It worked for me a moment ago. Would you like me to try? No?” He held out a hand to Ariadne. “Come on, let’s stay with the others.” Carlo snarled oaths, expertly cracked open the weapon, checked the ammunition, then put it back together. He pointed it at Jerry once more and…

Click

Hold it, though. Jerry had overlooked something else back at the cottage and somehow he did not think Carlo would have missed it. Yes, he had underestimated this kid— he was incredibly fast and obviously not overly troubled by scruples. “Try your knife and see if that works.” Carlo grabbed inside his jacket and produced the switchblade— but the blade itself did not leap into sight. Now that was interesting! Carlo glared with one and a half eyes at his tormentor and looked about ready to use fists and feet— and Jerry no longer believed he could snap this deceptively weedy youth.

He held out a hand. “Truce?” he said.

He got more obscenities, and this time certainly in Arabic, familiar to Jerry from his tour in Transjordan. Carlo was a curiously proficient linguist.

Jerry shook his head. “You need me to tell you what’s going on,” he said. “I can’t afford to have you edging around behind my back all the time. You have a score to settle. So has my friend Killer. I’ll make a deal with you— I’ll keep Killer off you if you’ll stay off me.”

“I see no Killer!” Carlo snapped.

“I told you,” Jerry said, trying to be persuasive without being too humble, “you need me to tell you what’s going on. I’ve had more experience with this… er… guff than you have. Now— until we’re back to Mera or back to civilization, we’re all in deep fertilizer, Carlo my friend, and we’d better work together.” Reluctantly Carlo nodded. “Truce, then.” He tucked knife and gun inside his coat.

He did not shake hands.

The three of them set off after the Gillises, who had vanished around a bend.

Ariadne was giving him a wondering look. “How did you know that the gun wouldn’t work?” she demanded.

“Because of your watch.” But he had not been quite certain; firearms were earlier than whatever technology they were using in watches in her time. Fairly certain, but not quite.

“And why did you send Killer back that way?” she asked.

“It seemed like the best thing to do,” Jerry said. “He needs Mera to recover and then he’ll bring help. I’ve been lousing up everything.”

“You could have gone with him.”

“And go crawling back among my friends with my mission a shambles like this?” he said, avoiding her eye. She put her hand in his and said no more.

She had said she would not go without her children, and apparently it was the children who had been denied access to Mera. He could have returned and reported a refusal. He knew that. The Oracle would know that. He could visualize Killer raging and storming and the Oracle forbidding any attempt to recover such an idiot. What would Killer do then, go out on strike? He might threaten to do just that— no more rescues before Jerry— and the other field men would certainly support Killer. But this was no ordinary industrial dispute. Probably the Oracle could make them all forget that they had ever known Jerry Howard.

Time would tell— and very little time, too.

And what exactly was going on, anyway? He needed to prepare some sort of story for the others.

For a few minutes he thought that the others had vanished— which might have simplified things considerably— but around two bends and up a steep slope the party was re-united. The Gillises were drooped on a fallen tree, taking a rest. The temperature had risen dramatically, and discarded coats and sweaters lay in a heap beside the stump. Maisie was wearing a filmy blouse over a clearly visible bra, Graham had unbuttoned his shirt to show that he grew fur under it. The woodland was thinning out into parkland, but they seemed to be on a hill, with nothing but sky visible beyond a close horizon. The road ahead continued to climb.

The newcomers flopped down on the grass. Jerry asked the time; both Maisie and Graham confirmed that their watches had stopped. They seemed mildly surprised to see him still alive, but offered no congratulations. Now he remembered the calculating machine he had stolen from Gillis and brought that out, but it would not work for either of them.

“Carlo and I have a truce,” Jerry said. “I suggest you join it. We need to work together.” Of course a lawyer had to set out specific terms, but eventually it was agreed that the parties of the first, second, and third parts would all stick together until further notice. Gillis was understandably worried and trying not to show it before his wife.

Now the job was to try and establish some sort of leadership.

“First hypothesis,” Jerry said, stretching out and leaning on one arm, “would be that we’re in Mera, because of the gun and the watches not working. Discard that because of my accent and Carlo’s.” And both Alan and Graham had black hair, not blue.

“Second hypothesis would be that we’re in the real world, but we’ve gone back in time. If that’s the case, then we’ve gone back a jolly long way, because even the spring in Carlo’s switchblade doesn’t work.” Then he had to explain about technology not working downtime.

“So what’s the third?” Gillis asked, guessing from Jerry’s tone that there must be a third.

“Just to add to the second,” Jerry said, looking around, “if we’re in the real world, we’ve also moved in space, because this vegetation looks all wrong to me. I wish I knew what those trees were, and those bushes. The grass is not very long— I think it must be grazed.”

“Let’s have the third hypothesis.” Jerry sighed. “I think we’re in some faerie state. It just doesn’t feel quite real, somehow. That would explain the watches, too. Who put us here, I don’t know; they may be well intentioned or otherwise. We have no weapons and no food. I don’t know about you, but I could surely handle a large breakfast.” Carlo asked if that was all he could contribute, salting the question with his usual obscenities.

“That’s about it,” Jerry admitted. “Plus a smattering of Greek.”

“Why Greek?” Gillis demanded suspiciously.

“Just a hunch.” He shrugged. “I may be way off the mark, but doesn’t this vegetation look sort of Mediterranean to you?” Apparently none of them were conversant with Mediterranean flora and nobody had any helpful suggestions.

They could go ahead and look for breakfast, they agreed, or they could go back to where they had arrived, in the hope that the place was somehow important— but then they might starve to death.

“Pony!” squealed Alan.

Heads turned, then Jerry sat up, Ariadne rose to her knees, Lacey said, “Ooooo!” Standing in the middle of the track they had been following, slightly uphill from them, was the largest horse Jerry had never seen— a truly magnificent snow-white stallion with tail and mane sweeping almost to the ground and shimmering like spun glass. Dappled by sunlight through the trees, carefully posed before a dark mass of bushes, he looked every inch aware of his beauty and strength, arrogant, defiant, and contemptuous of mere bipeds in his forest. He tossed his head and whinnied quietly and then gazed carefully in their direction, while the sun flashed on the three-foot horn protruding from his forehead.

“Oh, Lord!” Gillis groaned. “If any of my colleagues ever hear that I’m seeing unicorns, I’ll be disbarred for life.”

“Nineteen hands if he’s an inch!” Ariadne whispered. “Superb!” Maisie crossed herself automatically and reached for the rosary she had been wearing around her neck. Jerry said, “No, Maisie! Not demon work this time!”

“No?” she said.

He knew he was grinning like a maniac, and his words almost fell over themselves as he tried to explain. Of all the monsters in the bestiaries— the griffins and yales and sphinxes and others— only the unicorn had a truly good reputation. It was not a Greek legend, but a Christian one. That probably meant that they had broken out of the evil influence of Asterios— although he still would not mention that name, just in case— or else, perhaps, some other power was making itself felt. The Romans had known of unicorns, but theirs were different and had black horns, and the Greeks had gone in for flying horses.

“Pegasus!” said Lacey.

Now he knew that they were not in any part of the real world, the world of machines and lawyers, but in some realm of faerie. And if he was going to trust anyone or anything, a unicorn would rank near the top of his scale of faith.

“Christian?” Maisie repeated when she got a word in.

“Father Julius is quite insistent,” Jerry said. “He considers the unicorn a symbol of the Savior.” Father Julius, with his medieval reasoning, was the most impossibly muddled thinker imaginable, an angels-on-pins man, a juggler of faulty premises and contorted deduction. An argument with Father Julius was a wrestling match with a team of giant squid, but his faith and good intentions were beyond question, and in this case his opinion impressed Maisie.

The unicorn whinnied quizzically and scratched the ground with a flashing silver hoof.

“Perhaps we’re supposed to follow him.” Ariadne suggested.

“Let’s try then,” Jerry said, rising cautiously. “I doubt if any of us is qualified to catch him. You don’t happen to be a virgin, do you, Carlo?” Carlo grabbed him by the cape and balled a fist; hastily Jerry explained that only virgins could catch unicorns.

The youth stared at him doubtfully and then released him, apparently deciding that the madman was trying to be friendly. “I lost that sort of virginity on the night of my thirteenth birthday,” he said… proudly? “To an uncle. And the other soon after.” Progress— it wasn’t much, but it was his first real conversation.

Gathering up their bundle of coats, the castaways stepped back to the road, Alan clutching his father’s hand, and Lacey now by her mother, shivering with excitement. They had only walked a few paces towards the stallion, however, when he dropped his head, waved his horn menacingly in small circles as though taking aim, and started pawing the ground with a great silver hoof.

Dead stop.

“Apparently that’s not the program,” Ariadne said. She smiled thoughtfully at Jerry. “Next helpful suggestion?” Jerry was visualizing a charge by that enormous beast, with himself shish-kebabbed on the horn. Ouch.

“Well, let’s try the other direction,” he suggested, afraid that honor required him to stay in the rear.

They turned around, walked a few steps, and stopped.

A short distance downhill, two more unicorns blocked their path— mares and not quite so gigantic, but positioned foursquare, dazzlingly white in a spread of sunlight, side by side in the roadway.

“Everyone back to the tree bench,” Jerry said unhappily. “Let me see if this is negotiable.” Wishing he had a wand or an Uzi with silver bullets, he advanced slowly toward the mares. The stallion whinnied warningly, and Jerry glanced back uneasily, then tried a few more steps forward. Both gleaming horns went down, silver hooves pawed. He turned and beat a quick retreat back to the others.

“On the other hand,” Ariadne said, “this is really a very pleasant spot to spend an afternoon.” Her show of courage amazed him. Perhaps it was for the children, but he hoped that a little of it might be for him. She certainly was smiling more in his direction.

A pleasant spot if it had boasted room service.

So they could proceed neither uphill nor downhill. On either side the scattered bushes and clumps of trees stretched off into a background of greenery, with hints of a skyline not far off. If the stallion wanted them to move laterally, then he could so indicate by moving around them, but he seemed to be content to stay where he was.

“I think we’re waiting for something,” Jerry said.

Then, like a magic show, quite silently and right where he happened to be looking, two more unicorns emerged from the undergrowth and stopped, another mare and a unicorn foal, gangly-legged and boasting the merest stub of a horn, a white button.

Lacey saw them and said, “0ooooo!” once more, turning to smile at her mother in great delight— apparently Ariadne ranked ahead of Maisie in horse matters. Alan squealed with excitement, although surely he was too young to appreciate the rarity value of horned horseflesh.

Beginning to feel that being taken prisoner by horses was a demeaning experience, Jerry turned around, and, sure enough, another pair of mares, younger-looking, had closed off the fourth direction. The humans were surrounded; time had come to circle the wagons.

“I wonder if they’ll throw us some hay before sunset?” he muttered. “There’s lots of grass to eat,” Maisie said. “Stop complaining.” Lacey and Ariadne laughed, and Jerry regarded her with some surprise.

Time began to drag. The stallion watched them intently, barely moving except for an occasional swish of that long snow-and-crystal tail. The mares started browsing, but their attention was obviously on the captives also, and the slightest movement would bring their heads up at once. They were waiting, obviously, but for whom, or what? Then the stallion suddenly whinnied like a trumpet fanfare, and a shriller, faint reply came floating through the forest.

“Visitors on the way,” Ariadne said.

With a patter of tiny hooves, two more unicorns came cantering in from the downhill direction, past the two mares. They wheeled around between the trees for a moment and then came to a stop in a clearing by the roadway, puffing.

Shetland unicorns? They were white and they had short horns that looked as sharp as needles, but they were tiny, child size. Yet these could not be the younger versions, for there was an undoubted foal to compare. They must be another species, then, the dwarf unicorn. Very rare.

“Compact models?” someone muttered farther along the tree, but Jerry had gone back to pick up a thought— child size.

He waited to see if anyone else had seen the connection, but when no one spoke he said, “Ariadne, Graham? We do have a couple of virgins with us.”

“No!” they snapped simultaneously. But Gillis studied the two newcomers carefully— they were twitching their tails and studying him in turn from a safe distance— and then looked at Jerry.

“Say what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I think it’s a rescue,” Jerry said. “It may be a trap, but unicorns do have a good reputation. And I think we have to try it.”

“No!

” Ariadne repeated.

Jerry waited, but no one else would speak. “It seems pretty evident that they can’t go to Mera,” he said. “I don’t know why, but there must be some rule— even faerie has its rules. Perhaps this is a way to get them out, and then— perhaps— there will be an attempt to get us out. Heck, it’s worth a try!” Stubborn silence. He tried again. “Perhaps we have a long way to go, and this is transportation for us? That stallion doesn’t look as though he would let himself be ridden across a street for all the oats in Texas, but there are five mares and five of us adults… and two of the little ones.”

“Little pony for me!” Alan said, starting forward. Maisie grabbed him, and he exploded into screams, kicking and punching.

“Stop that!” Gillis barked and took him from Maisie. Alan’s bellows became incandescent, and he turned purple, thrashing madly. “Cut that out!” his father roared. “Oh! Little bastard!” His hand was streaming blood; Alan had bitten his thumb. Then he had squirmed from his father’s weakened grip and was running towards the unicorns.

Ariadne and Maisie went after him, and the stallion roared his warning, dropped his horn, and started to move.

“Ariadne!” Jerry yelled. He rose also, and the huge white bulk rolled forward menacingly. “Come back! The stallion!” Maisie and Ariadne stopped, looked at the obvious menace, then at Alan, and reluctantly retraced their steps. The stallion stopped and tossed his head angrily.

Alan reached the miniature unicorns and threw his arms around the smaller. The other nuzzled him, and he screamed with laughter, enthusiastically thumping the smaller on the ribs, probably to indicate affection. The unicorn was putting up with it, although its ears were flickering. He tried to mount and could not. The stallion whinnied, and the little beast reluctantly knelt down— head first like a cow, not as a horse would— and Alan scrambled onto its back.

Then the unicorn rose gently and started to pace around, while Alan kicked its ribs wildly and giggled with joy. The adults watched in astonishment.

“He’s a born horseman,” Gillis said proudly, sucking his thumb. The stallion whinnied again, impatiently.

“Now Lacey?” Gillis asked.

“No!” Ariadne said, clutching at Jerry’s arm. “May I?” Lacey whispered.

“Be very careful,” her father said. “If they point their horns at you, come back. They’re not just ponies and they may not like you going close. Go slowly.” So it was slowly Lacey rose and slowly she stepped forward. All the unicorns watched her cautiously, but made no threatening move. Jerry kept his eyes mostly on the stallion, who was obviously in charge of this operation, and the stallion seemed to be more interested in watching the adults, which was a good sign. Then he heard a sigh of relief from his companions and turned his head, to see that Lacey had reached the two Shetland unicorns and had an arm over the larger’s neck and was being in turn sniffed and nuzzled. Love at first sight. Virginity— try it some time!

Having established friendship, Lacey expertly leaned over, swung one leg up and jumped with the other, and was on the creature’s back, squeaking with joy and excitement. The stallion kept his head up, merely uttering a brief snort, either approval or sympathy for a unicorn being so degraded. Lacey kicked her heels gently and was treated to a small circular journey. Yet it seemed to Jerry that the animal was making the decisions, not Lacey.” This is incredible!” Ariadne said, but she had released Jerry’s arm and seemed to be relaxing.

“Let me see if the mares will accept us,” Jerry suggested. He took two steps, and the stallion dropped his horn again.

Alan and Lacey were still being shown how to ride unicorns. The two animals were performing a dance, trotting lightly around in a complicated circle and figure eight routine, their tiny hooves flashing like diamonds. Alan was red-faced with excitement, Lacey more nervous, beginning to cast longing looks towards her father and Maisie. The children were clearly passengers now, not riders, and the ponies were training them.

“Totally incredible,” Ariadne said. “Compared to this, even last night was plausible.” Trumpets again— the stallion issued a long and imperious whinny and flashed into motion, flowing off through the trees toward the foal and mare, his speed incredible and the ground trembling with the beat of his hooves. The mare spun around to move before he reached her, the foal cavorting after in a flurry of legs. Jerry turned his head to see the mares behind him starting a canter.

“No!” Ariadne and Graham shouted together. The unicorns were all moving now, even the two miniatures, with Alan and Lacey uttering loud screams and clinging fiercely to the manes. The herd left the roadway and thundered away through the trees, led by the stallion, with the two pony unicorns at the rear and the five adult humans in very cold pursuit, Maisie shouting vainly for Alan and Lacey to come back.

Jerry was fastest and led the pack, but the unicorns were traveling at many times his speed, and even so it was probably the ponies who were setting the pace. He knew that it was a ridiculous chase, but he had to try, panting along after the sound of hooves as the white shapes became indistinct in the wood, leaping and bounding over tussocks and fallen branches. Then the hoofbeats became fewer and stopped altogether. He reached the edge of the trees and a long grassy slope falling away before him to an edge that could be a steepening hillside or even the top of a cliff— and saw the whole herd in flight. They had not followed the land as it dropped; they had spread enormous white feathered wings and gone straight forward, out into the sky.

Beyond the edge lay distant blue sea, and high above it, gradually gaining height with the great stallion in the lead, outward and upward went the string of white winged horses, closely followed by the two winged ponies. And Lacey. And Alan.