Twenty-seven
Queen’s Dining Hall
“I got here first,” Incarnadine said adamantly.
“The Hell you did,” Incarnadine said just as adamantly.
The two men, identical in every respect save that one wore a crown and the other was bareheaded, stood facing each other. The crown wearer had made his point with a leg of honey-basted sage hen, which he then took a bite of.
A fight was going on in the other end of the room. The participants consisted of the following: one anti-Guardsman, hereafter referred to as a — Guardsman; one Guardsman, hereafter designated as a +Guardsman; one +Snowclaw; one — Snowclaw; another +Guardsman; and, for the sake of plot complication, one anti-anti-Guardsman, a category hereafter referred to as –2Guardsman.
“I’m telling you, I sent my men in here first. Everything was going swimmingly. Then you blundered in and buggered up the whole works.”
“I buggered up the works? The castle was mine till you and your lot showed up.”
“The mirror aspect showed up in my castle.”
“In mine, too!”
“All right, in yours, too, but as soon as I found it I shot right through and hit with everything I had.”
“As did I. I’m not one to pass up a target of opportunity.”
The bareheaded one picked up a sparerib, took a bite, spat it out, and tossed the thing over his shoulder. “Cold. Lousy service in this dump.”
“There’s a war going on, you know.”
“No excuse. Look, we’re going to have to work something out.”
“Doubtless,” the crown wearer said. “But how?”
“It’s a big castle.”
“No, no, no. I’m not going to subdivide.”
“Then we have to establish who has priority.”
“Who’s going to establish it? Are you suggesting we settle this in a court of law? Arbitration, maybe?”
“No, look. Two intelligent fellows ought to be able to work this out.”
“Well, I’m not gainsaying it. But there has to be common ground from which to start.”
“How much more in common could we have?”
“A point. A point.”
“All right, then. Withdraw your boys and we’ll talk.”
“We are talking. It would be pretty silly of us to draw swords and start hacking away at each another, now, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course.”
The crown-wearer threw down the sage hen. “You’re right, the food here stinks.”
“Probably been sitting there for a couple of days. Okay, if you won’t withdraw, then let’s call a truce. This noise is distracting.”
“Let’s retire to my study.”
“Where, here? It’s not yours.”
“My castle, then.”
“You want me to walk into your lair?”
“All right, where?”
“Forget it, we’ll stay here.”
The crowned one rummaged through a salad bowl and came up with a radish, which he popped into his mouth. “Talk about generally futzing things up,I didn’t come up with the brilliant idea of the yellow Snowclaws.”
“Who says I did?”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t me, either.”
“Wait a minute. If it wasn’tyou …”
Both Incarnadines frowned and looked off.
“Holy hell. Another one.”
“Nothing to prevent still another mirror aspect forming. Or more.”
“I guess not. Which leads to some disquieting possibilities.”
“And here comes one.”
Another Incarnadine, this one in a fur coat and cossack hat, entered the dining hall surrounded by a phalanx of –3Guardsmen. He waved, shouldered past his men, and walked over.
“Greetings. Fancy meeting you guys here.”
“Yes, we were just discussing that very fancy,” the crown-wearer said.
“I suppose,” the bareheaded Incarnadine said, “you’re about to stake a claim to this shack?”
“No, I just came in to see what the hell’s going on. What’s all the ruckus?”
“The lord of this castle’s not around. Disappeared.”
“No, he didn’t,” the crowned one said reproachfully. “Tell him the truth.”
“Oh, hell. When I found this mirror aspect I got a wild hair up my ass and stormed through. So did he, more or less at the same time.”
“Whatever for?”
“Like I said, a wayward follicle. Just an impulse.”
A chair came flying across the room, and the three ducked.
“Nothing like a good fight to work up an appetite.”
“I hear this castle’s owner doesn’t go for blood sports.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too.”
“So you just blitzkrieged your way through for the hell of it.”
“More or less.”
“One hundred forty-four thousand worlds wasn’t enough for you.”
“You get bored, you know.”
“Yeah, we live too damned long.”
“Well, that’s easily taken care of.”
“You want to go Waltzing Matilda with me? We’ll see who —”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. Enough of that.”
“Well, he threatened me.”
“Stuff it.”
“You stuff it.”
“Can it! And you call yourselves Incarnadine.”
“Who says we aren’t?”
“Look, this mirror aspect stuff … it can’t be real.”
“Whatcan’t be real?”
“There’s only one castle. Can’t be more than one.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it just stands to reason. Besides, the way you’re acting …”
“Who?”
“You two. Neither of you can be the real Incarnadine.”
“Get him. Let me guess. You’re the genuine article?”
“Well, shit, I ought to know who I am.”
“Now, it occurs to me that we could all say that. It’s like the problem of solipsism. I know I’m real, but who are all you robots?”
“Look, I don’t want to start splitting epistemological hairs with you. Let’s table that issue for now and face up to the possibility that we have a problem on our hands. We have a castle with thousands of aspects, each one of which can turn into a mirror of the castle itself —”
“And each of those mirror castles has 144,000 mirror aspects in it —”
“And so on and so on, ad infinitum.”
“Ad absurdum.”
“Adirondacks. Yeah, it’s a mess. What do we do about it?”
“Not sure we can do anything about it.”
“That’s what I mean. The real Incarnadine would be furiously busy doing something about it.”
“Like you.”
“Well, I’m here.”
“So are we all.”
“Let’s not get into that again.”
More combatants joined the fray. Tables overturned, and stale food went flying.
“Who was it that came up with the idea of cloning Snowclaw in the first place?”
“Who knows? What does it matter?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
“See here. It seems we should do something.”
“Cast some sort of spell?”
“Yeah, but what kind of a spell would eliminate all the mirrors?”
“Whose mirrors would you be eliminating?”
“All of them.”
“But don’t you see, that would blink all of us out of existence except one, the real one.”
“We’re back to that again.”
“Well, not necessarily. We could each have our separate reality, our own pocket universe, independent of the rest.”
“Undoubtedly we do, but the notion of everything going poof is somehow unsettling to me.”
“All right, let’s not do a poof. Then what do we have? Pandemonium.”
“Wait a minute. You’re talking as if this poof spell were a foregone conclusion. Do you have such a spell?”
“Well …”
“Can you come up with one?”