The Marriage of the Living Dark

“Master? Master? Are you all right?”

Harding was sitting on the edge of the case, his gown loosely draped about him, staring straight ahead.

“Master?”

Slowly he raised his head and met his Steward’s eyes. “If s okay, Levitch, I’m just...”

But how did he explain? How did he begin to put into words what he had just experienced. He shivered, remembering it, then turned his head, looking down into the shell’s padded interior, a look of longing in his eyes. He wanted to go back there. Not later, but now. He wanted...

Harding closed his eyes and groaned.

“Are you well, Master? Is there something I can get you?” He opened his eyes again. “No, no... I’m...” Absurdly, he laughed. Fine was not the word for it Wonderful? Enlightened? Raised? It was like... well, it was almost something spiritual. Not that all that business with the woman had been anything but grossly carnal, it was just that it had seemed to mean something for once. It wasn’t just sex, it was ...

“... sublime.”

“I beg pardon, Master.”

“Never mind,” Harding said. “Now what is it?”

Levitch bowed, then handed his Master the handwritten note. Harding unfolded it and quickly read, then looked up.

“So the king wishes to see me, does he? Trouble, is there?” Levitch hesitated, then, “Word is that Old Man Egan was attacked last night. An assassin. The attempt failed, but Old Man Egan’s hopping mad. It might be war.” Harding nodded.

“And the king ... he wishes me to intercede, neh?” Levitch bowed his head. Like his Master, he kept himself well informed. “It would seem likely, my Lord.”

“It would indeed.”

Harding stood, his attention caught between the shell and this matter between the Egans. To be frank, it mattered little in the long run which generation triumphed, for both would be superseded in time. That was, if things went according to plan. But in the short term it was important to keep the younger Egan in his place, for he was the architect of these present troubles and the blame could be firmly placed upon his shoulders, whereas if Old Man Egan were to triumph, he might well claim to be the new broom that would sweep clean. And that could not be allowed.

“Coover should have bombed the old fucker.”

“Pardon, Master?”

“You heard me, Levitch. If you want to kill someone, you make damned sure of it None of this ninja stuff. A nice big bomb usually does the trick. Big enough to take out an estate and everyone in it Something that’ll leave a nice neat crater... and nothing else.”

Levitch blinked. He had never heard his Master speak like this before. He swallowed, then, at a loss what to say next, asked, “Shall I bring your clothes now, Master?”

But Harding seemed barely to be listening. “Later,” he said, waving Levitch away. “Tell him I’ll see him later.”

“He said what?”

Chalker kept his head low, embarrassed to be the bearer of such news. “He said he would come later, my Lord.” Egan sat back, astonished. “But I told him to come at once!” “Yes, my Lord.” Chalker hesitated, then. “Do you want me to go and get him, my Lord?” “Yes I fucking do!”

But Kuei Jen was shaking his head. “No, Mark I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has them, but I’m the king!” “True, but you need him.”

“Need him? I’ll fucking wring his neck! Who the fuck does he think he is! Later!

Fll give him fucking later!” “Mark!”

He turned, looking to Kuei Jen, surprised by the tone of command in his voice.

“What?”

“Think\ Think what the situation is. Think what you need and why you need it Do not feel. Feeling is dangerous, particularly now.” Egan stared at his wife a while, then nodded. “You are right, my love. Anger will get us nowhere.”

“Good. Now send again, and this time don’t simply summon. This time ask our friend Harding for his help. As a friend and confidant” Egan looked down, then. “You should have been king, Jenny, not I, then we wouldn’t have been in this godawful mess, would we?” “Maybe not,” Kuei Jen answered, smiling tenderly at him, “but here we are, nonetheless, and we must deal with the situation as it is, not with ifs and buts.”

He sighed, then made to speak again, but as he did, one of his stewards entered hurriedly and, kneeling before his throne, bowed his head. “What is it, man?” “It is your grandfather, my Lord. He begs audience with you.” Egan stood, shocked by the news. “He’s here?” “No, my Lord. On the screen. From Providence.”

Egan sat again, stroking his chin thoughtfully, then looked to his wife. “Well, Jenny? Should I speak to him?”

“You have no choice, my husband. But take care what you say. Do not let him goad you. And keep calm. Listen to what he says, but do not comment. Tell him you must consider what he says. He’ll understand.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. Your grandfather may be a malicious, greedy bastard, but he’s no fool.”

“No ...” He turned back as the giant screen slowly descended. “Okay. Put him on.”

Old Man Egan’s face filled the ten by eight metre screen. Or rather, the new face that he wore a lean, hungry-looking face that already seemed changed somehow from the face that had woken on the operating table, as if some inner force were moulding it “Mark ... how are you, boy?”

Kuei Jen saw how his husband tensed at that “boy”, how his fingers tightened about the arms of the chair, but his voice when he answered had an unexpected sweetness.

“I’m fine, grandfather. And yourself?”

“I am alive.”

The reference to the assassination attempt could not be more pointed, but Mark Egan refused to be drawn.

“And I celebrate that fact Now what can I do for you?”

“Do?” Old Man Egan laughed gruffly. “You can meet me, that1 s what you can do. Four days from now. Til come to you, in Boston. But you must guarantee my safety.”

“Grandfather?”

“Oh, don’t give me all that shit, boy. We both know how things are. And unless we’re going to be at each other’s throats from here until Doomsday, we’d better sit down and sort things out between us, neh?”

Egan hesitated, then glanced across at Kuei Jen, who gave the tiniest nod.

“Right,” he said, clearly taken by surprise by this plea for conciliation.

“Good. And your guarantee?”

Again Egan glanced sideways at Kuei Jen, again she gave the tiniest nod. “You have it””Then we’ll meet next Wednesday. At sunset, there in your throne room. And Mark ...”

“Yes, grandfather?”

“No tricks, eh?”

As the screen slowly vanished into the ceiling, Egan sat back, giving a long whistle. “Aiya...” Then, turning his head to look at Li Kuei Jen. “Do you think he means it?”

“I don’t know.”

He sat forward. “What?”

Kuei Jen shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s on the level, but... I can’t be sure.”

“So what if he’s not?”

“Then we kill the bastard.”

Harding lay there after the programme had ended, staring at his hands, surprised

to find them encased in wires and not, as he’d thought, stained with blood. He

felt... exhilarated. Yes, and half in love. She was so beautiful. Perhaps the

most beautiful woman he had ever met

For I wotdd rather owner be,

Of thee one hour, than aH else ever.

Harding shivered, moved almost to tears. He did not know where those words came from, nor why they had come into his mind just then, but they described almost perfectly what he was feeling at that moment To have her, if only for an hour - that seemed a blessed fate. He closed his eyes and the image of her face came to mind, those perfect features framed in the long dark curls of her silken hair. Was she real? he wondered. Did the model for her exist in this world? Or had Shepherd conjured her from the air, to taunt such mortal men as he? Shepherd had used his sister Meg in The Familiar, he recalled, but she was only fair compared to this beauty. A goddess this one was. There was a whirring sound as the thick loop of tape rewound, then a tiny click. Slowly the wires retracted into the sides of the machine. A moment later the catches of the lid clunked and the wing-like lid hissed open. Harding sat up, the sense of doubleness he always felt after experiencing a shell particularly strong. It had been so real this time that he could not shake from his mind the thought that his memories of it were also real - that he really had met and slept with her. Yes, and killed his rival in a jealous fit. He could remember the sounds the man had made as he plunged the knife deep into his heart.

Harding looked at his hands again. Clean they were. Clean. Not a single spot of blood on them.

“I killed a man. I killed him and I wanted to.” Harding shook his head, confused now. He’d felt so good doing it. And afterwards they had made love again, his bloody handprints on her naked flanks and breasts, the dead man -her husband - in the room with them, lying there on the floor beside the bed, his staring eyes reproachful.

He shuddered. So powerful it was. So simple, yet...

There was a knocking on the door. “Master?”

Harding closed his eyes and groaned. It was Levitch. The man would have been monitoring things. He would have known when the machine stopped running. Slowly, reluctantly, he stood. “All right!” he called, feeling a strange anger at this new disturbance. ‘Til be out in a moment!” He climbed out and pulled on his robe, then turned, staring longingly at the machine’s interior. Later, he promised himself. IH come back later. Then, begrudging every moment he was away from the machine, he went across and, unlocking the doors, threw them open, storming from the room, all of the joy he had been feeling spoiled suddenly.

“Damn Egan!” he muttered as Levitch began to help him dress. “Damn him and blast his eyes!”