Tranto grunted. Out on the field of rubble and debris a legion of department store mannequins had arisen and was opposing an acid cloud that crumpled them with a caress.
“Earthma machinated a meeting with me by taking on the guise of a failing proge. She asked me what I desired more than anything else in Virtu. Many beings—proges and aions alike—attempt to barter with me when they see the moire. I thought nothing of the question. Perhaps she had woven an imperative of some sort into her entreaty, but I answered her honestly.”
Tranto grunted again, picked up a strange attractor in the delicate fingers at the tip of his trunk and paused before he popped it into his mouth.
“You told her of your desire to create.”
“And then she revealed herself to me as a goddess Most High. We made a deal. She would give me three seeds of creation if I would give her one of destruction. I thought I was well ahead on the deal, believed she had some game in mind with an opponent among the dwellers on Meru—perhaps Seaga or Skyga.
“I used one of Earthma’s seeds to give John D’Arcy Donnerjack back his bride. Another was used so that the Palace of Bones he designed for me would maintain its shape and form. I believe that Earthma used the seed I gave her to give the power of death to the thing that now ravages my fields and seeks to dethrone me.”
Phecda looked down into Death’s dark eye socket.
“Yet it is not merely a clone of you, is it, lord? I analyze the presence of other forces.”
“No, it is not just mine. It is hers; perhaps one or both of the other Great Ones made an unwitting contribution as well. That would explain its power and why neither of the others has moved against it.”
The acid cloud had dissolved the last of the mannequins and was eddying toward the moat. Tranto moved to a cannon set in the battlements, adjusted the aim slightly, placed a match against the touch hole. It fired a ball made of compacted pliant feces—which at this point was largely reprocessed strange attractors.
The acid cloud took the cannon ball in the center and retreated slightly.
“Well shot,” the Lord of Deep Fields commented.
“And well shat,” Phecda added.
“How long can we hold out?” Tranto asked.
“Long enough, I hope. I have not exhausted my resources, but if Earthma’s bastard can draw for power upon its mother and perhaps one of its other fathers, then I fear I am in danger of being replaced. However, this palace may resist better than other elements of Deep Fields, since at its foundation lies Earthma’s own power. Whatever the case, surrender is not an option.”
“No.”
Mizar raised his head from his paws.
“Jay will come.”
Death patted him. “I do not doubt that he will try. In his own way, he is as stubborn as his father. However, I do not know how he can turn the tide.”
“Jay will,” Mizar said.
Across the field, seen but faintly in the gloom, the green moire was taking on the form of a battering ram. Death reached for the recorder John D’Arcy Donnerjack had brought to him.
“Einekleine Nacht Musik while we wait. It seems appropriate while we wait to see if our own little night is about to fall.”
Jay D’Arcy Donnerjack howled for the banshee and hoped that she heard.
“Mom!” he called as he wandered the upper reaches of Castle Donnerjack. “Ayradyss! Cao-whatsis! Mom!”
He was getting hoarse and Dack, hearing his cries from the castle’s kitchen, was growing concerned for his continuing sanity when the caoineag appeared. As usual she wore a gown pale and flowing, but this time her veil was drawn back and fell in loose folds on her shoulders.
“Yes, Jay?”
“Mom, I need the ghosts.”
“Need the ghosts? Whatever for, son?”
“To go with me to Deep Fields and defend its lord.”
“You cannot be serious!”
“But I am, Mom, as serious as the grave.”
Kneeling, he poured the contents of the whisky bottle into a series of shallow dishes and set them around the long corridor. Then, with far more composure than he felt, he explained the situation in Virtu to his ghostly mother.
Sometimes Ayradyss interrupted to forestall an explanation she did not need—as with the nature of the Threefold One who was also Warren Bansa. Sometimes she interrupted to ask for clarification—as when he mentioned Virginia Tallent. Mostly she listened, and as she listened, Jay glimpsed in his peripheral vision that the ghosts of Castle Donnerjack were joining them.
There were old friends like the crusader and the blindfolded cleric; others, such as Shorty or the Lady of the Gallery, he knew mostly for their more spectacular effects. There were strangers as well—some kilted, bearing claymores and raggedly bearded, others gowned in the fashions of several ages, still others clad in tatters. Mutilated or whole, they drifted into the gallery. Some stirred restlessly, as if even this much materialization was a terrible effort; all gave grave attendance to his words.
For the imperative that had drawn them there was the voice of the last laird of Castle Donnerjack, the son of Virtu and of Verite, explaining why he needed their help to protect one who most of humanity view as the greatest enemy of all—greater even than devils or demons, for the works of these beings are largely intangible, but every living creature will feel the rent when Death takes a loved one and leaves only emptiness and the bitter solace of hope for reunion.
“That’s why I need them—you—” Jay said, turning for the first time to address his larger audience.
“‘Tis a mighty crusade you call us to join,” said one who knew much of these things. He rattled his ankle chain. “And it canna help but be as noble as that for which I gave my all.”
There were rustles of agreement, a few almost-heard agreements. Jay felt encouraged, but there was one hurdle yet left to leap. He returned his attention to the dark-haired, dark-eyed lady who had borne him and then been taken before she could know the joy that would wipe out the memory of her travail.
“The moon is past full,” he said. “Can we get into the Eldritch lands? It’s the only way I can think of to get the ghosts into an area that borders on Virtu. Even now the Brass Babboon is seeking a route that will enable him to pick us up there.”
“We can try,” Ayradyss answered, her voice still slightly disapproving. “Somewhen, the moon is always full. Perhaps with so many here from so many ages past we will be able to effect the transition.”
“Shall we meet in the tunnels, then?” Jay said. “I’ll join you as soon as Alice gets here. She could have gone with the Brass Babboon, but she insisted that she wanted to try the crossover through the moon portal.”
“Very well, son. We shall meet you there.”
The ghosts began to fade out, leaving behind a faint scent of whisky and a collection of empty bowls.
Dubhe spoke from where he had silently watched the conference.
“I wonder why Alice made such a peculiar choice.”
“You heard what she said. She thinks she may be protected by her body.”
“But she risks being wiped out entirely,” said Dubhe.
“We discussed that possibility on the train,” Jay reminded him tartly, “and this was the choice that she made.”
“I still think it’s stupid. I certainly wouldn’t risk my skin if I had the choice.”
“You can always stay here.”
“I already explained. That isn’t a choice.”
“So you say.”
“I still wonder if she had an ulterior motive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, her heritage is as odd as yours. You’d be a fool to underestimate her.”