Bride of the Castle

CHAPTER NINE

Hochstader paid the driver and watched momentarily as the cab pulled away. It was a cold, wet night. Max pulled the collar of his denim jacket up to cover his neck. They stood in front of a large two-story house with a Tudor faqade. It was a stately, imposing residence, nestled in tall trees, surrounded by a painfully manicured lawn.

"Impressive, ain't it?" Hochstader said, gesturing around. "You've done pretty well for yourself." He crooked a finger at Max. "We have to go around back. Come on."

Hochstader led the way. The front of the house was illuminated by a streetlight, but shadows toward the rear made navigation difficult. Max barked a shin on a piece of aluminum lawn furniture and sent it clattering.

Hochstader shushed him from the darkness. "This way?" he hissed.

Max turned toward the voice, saw a lighted window, and made his way gingerly over to it.

Hochstader was up on tiptoes, peering inside. "I think we hit it right on the nose. We're expected."

"Expected? Who's expecting us?"

"Him. Come here and look."

Max peeked in. The room was a book-lined study, lit softly by lamplight. Behind a stately desk near the far wall sat a man in a dressing gown, smoking a pipe. The man looked a lot like Max.

In fact, he looked very much like Max.

Max rubbed his eyes and looked again. The guy could have been Max's twin brother.

He wasn't. He was, of course, Max 2.

Light suddenly edged above Max 1's horizon of understanding. Finally, the import of Hochstader's ravings sank in. This was another version of himself, another Max, the Maximilian Dumbrowski of this world, this slightly different variation of the theme of Earth.

Hochstader was tapping on the window pane. He did it twice before the man inside turned toward the window, saw he had visitors, then got up and left the room.

"This way," Hochstader said. "Back door."

"You're late," Max 2 complained to Hochstader as he let the two men into a dark kitchen. His red plaid woolen robe looked expensive. His appearance was identical to that of the first Max, except for a more recent and fashionable haircut. He was an upscale, cleaned-up Max.

"There's always a time-slippage factor to consider," Hochstader said. "Delicate business. You don't want to meet yourself coming the other way."

Max 2 grunted. "Well, anyway, I'm ready."

"Do you have the money?"

"In the study. This way, and keep your voices down. Andrea's a light sleeper."

Max, the first Max, was beyond being stunned, and the name hit his mind with a dull thud. Numbly, he followed the other two through the dark house.

In the study, Hochstader nodded with satisfaction at the contents of the attaché case Max 2 held open. Gold coins gleamed in the lamplight. "Good. All here, I presume."

"One hundred troy ounces," Max 2 assured him, "as you specified."

"Fine." Hochstader looked over at Max 1 and chuckled. "Hasn't it sunk in yet?"

"So this is how you collect your fees?" Max 1 said through clenched teeth.

"Is this a newcomer?" Max 2 wanted to know.

"You got it," Jeremy said. "In gold. Paper's not good for butt-wiping. Funny serial numbers in different worlds."

"We're going to swap worlds," Max 2 told his double. "It's that simple."

"Swap… worlds," Max 1 repeated mechanically.

"You still have the one-bedroom apartment near the university, right?"

"Max," Hochstader said, a bit exasperated, "don't you realize who this is? It's you! A you that could have been if you'd had a bit more luck. Look around. Great house, isn't ii? In this universe, you're a resounding, unqualified success." He turned to the other Max. "Right?"

Max 2 nodded. "Right. And I have Andrea. In this world, we were married. I have my own agency. Dumbrowsky Taylor Burke. Most of our accounts are blue chip, strictly top drawer."

Max 1 rubbed his temples and sat down heavily in a green leather armchair. "None of this," he said in a lost little voice, "makes any sense."

"He's just a little freaked," Hochstader said, strolling over to the bookshelves. "He'll come around."

"But why?" Max 1 blurted, looking up at his double. "Why would you want to trade places with me?"

"The grass is always greener," Hochstader murmured, running a finger along a shelf of leatherbound volumes. "Like I said, Max. People always want something different." He angled one book out from the shelf. "You have any porno here?"

"It's a long story," Max 2 said, "but let's say I need a change. The pressure, the obligations… going into business for yourself isn't the easiest thing in the world. I'm not sorry I did it, but it's wearing kind of thin. Frankly, I'm bored with my life. But it would be all new to you."

"But how could you leave Andrea? Or is she going with you?"

"No, she stays." Max 2 seated himself on the matching sofa. "Look, you have to realize that I've been with Andrea ten years. A lot can happen to a relationship in that time, let alone a marriage. I need a change. I need freedom. I'd give anything in the world to be in your shoes. You're free, no strings, no obligations. You can do what you want. Live in a garret, write poetry-anything."

"But Andrea…"

"I've had Andrea," Max 2 said forcefully. His tone was more than a little bitter. "You've been pining away for her for ten years, or so Hochstader tells me. I want to be free of her."

Hochstader walked over and stood between the twins. "You two had better swap clothes." From somewhere upstairs came the sound of running water. "Quickly, too, I'd say."

Max 2 rose. "Right," he said, and undid his robe.

Max 1 looked at Hochstader, then at his doppelganger. "No," he said firmly. "I'm not going through with it."

Max 2 wheeled on Hochstader. "You said it was all arranged."

"Oh, he's just a little zoned out," Hochstader said. "He'll come around."

"No," Max said, thumping the armrest with a fist. "This is insanity. I won't do it."

Max 2 stood with arms akimbo, glaring at Hochstader. "We had a deal!"

Hochstader sighed. "Yes, we did." He withdrew a strange weapon from his overcoat pocket. "And I'm afraid I can't let you queer it, Max."

Max 1 looked at the gun pointed at him. It was fairly conventional at the grip and trigger end, but the business end terminated in a bell-shaped flange made of fine woven gold wire. ,

"What the hell's that?" he asked, paling.

"A pocket de-tuner. We're an anomaly in this universe. All it takes is a little tweaking to send either of us spinning out of it. That's what this thing does, but it has the accuracy of a blunderbuss. Watch."

Hochstader aimed the thing at a lamp on a table in a far corner. Max heard a faint high-pitched whine. Both lamp and table promptly ceased to exist, along with a geometrically precise ellipsoidal section of oak paneling on the wall. "Oops. Sorry about that," he said to Max 2. "The field shape needs adjusting."

"Forget it," Max 2 said.

Max 1 shot to his feet. "Where's they go?"

"No way to tell with this baby," Hochstader said. "Some backwater universe, probably. I usually use this thing for getting rid of trash. It also comes in handy for settling arguments." Hochstader swung the gun around to Max 1 again. "Feel a sudden urge for a fresh change of clothes?"

"Uh, yeah," Max 1 said, taking off his denim jacket. "Now that you mention it…"

Hochstader said to Max 2, "Or I could just zap him."

"No!" Max 2 said. "No need. You'll make the switch, right?"

"Do I have a choice?" Max 1 asked.

"No," Jeremy Hochstader said. "Make it quick, guys. I have to get moving."