Jay felt vaguely uncomfortable. He had been underestimating Alice. He was so accustomed to being the peculiar one, the one with strange gifts and unusual education, that he tended to think of her as a Veritean who had stumbled into something too big for her. He kicked at a rumpled spot in the runner that ran down the hallway.
“Thanks, Dubhe. I’ll remember. Now, give me a hand collecting these saucers.”
The dry sound of monkey paws clapping sounded hollowly against the tapestried walls.
Alice arrived driven by Milburn in the same vehicle that had brought Jay to New York for the Elishite Celebration. Back activated savoir faire subroutines he had not needed since he escorted Ayradyss and John on their long-ago honeymoon, surprising Jay with his repertoire of courtly compliments that stayed precisely on the correct side of mannerly. He reminded Jay of an uncle meeting his favorite niece.
Voit carried lights and a parcel of supplies down to the basement. Dubhe and Alice followed. When Jay would have gone with them, Dack stayed him with a polished hand to his arm.
“Jay, I overheard your oration in the upper gallery.” He shook his head slightly to stop comment when Jay would have interrupted. “I cannot see ghosts, but I have lived in this castle since its completion. Lady Ayradyss believed there were ghosts here, and when her pregnancy made her slow, someone came to visit with her.
“I know what you are planning to do, and as much as I wish I had some pearl of wisdom for you, all I can offer you is my most sincere wish for your success and safe return.”
Robots cannot cry, but Jay had the impression that Dack was holding back tears. He threw his arms around the shining torso and hugged him.
“I’ll be careful, Dack, as careful as I can be.”
“And be lucky, Jay. It is a quality that I understand exceeds the power of planning.”
“I’ll try.”
Jay fled down the stairs before he could start crying. Voit had unlocked the door and the rest were waiting for him.
“Let’s go,” Jay said, and if they heard a certain hoarseness in his voice, they chose not to comment.
They hardly needed artificial lighting when they arrived at the appropriate tunnel for the glimmer of ghostlight was strong. Its pale illumination showed the dark shadow of the moon portal, somewhat smaller in circumference than usual and with something of the gritty wall just barely perceptible beneath the darkness.
“The news is good and bad,” Ayradyss said, without waiting for introductions. “Our concentrated efforts can force the portal to manifest, but its most complete materialization lasts only briefly. You, Dubhe, and Alice must go first. The rest of us will follow, as many as are possible.”
“And the guardian?” Jay asked, lifting Dubhe to his back.
“We do not perceive it, but that does not mean that it is not here.”
“Whenever you give the word,” Jay said, and Alice nodded.
The ghostlight concentrated around the round shadow, almost as if by bringing brighter light to the point they could force the distant moon to cast a darker shadow.
“Now,” Ayradyss said.
Jay went first, monkey on his back; Alice was so close to his heels that he felt her warmth as they passed from the tunnels into the cooler ocean cliffs. Behind them, the ghosts filtered through, growing in substance and detail as their feet touched the ground.
“And so here we are,” Jay said to Alice, pleased that thus far his plan was working.
“So we are,” Alice said, looking around.
“Not quite like a virt transition, is it?”
“Not quite.”
Her lack of enthusiasm made Jay scowl. Alice caught the expression before he could banish it.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jay. It’s just that so many things have happened in the last several days that…” She struggled to explain. “I found out that my father is a computer program—or possibly a god— or possibly a man who died before my mother was born. Just as I got to like him, I watched him taken away by a face in a cloud. I’ve been to a place that might be heaven and am getting ready to go to hell. The moon portal is neat; the ghosts are wonderful, but I think I’m all awed out.”
Mentally, Jay kicked himself, realizing that, despite Dubhe’s warning, he had expected Alice to behave like some proge heroine from a virtventure.
“Yeah,” he said. “You have been through a lot. More than me, really.”
The caoineag drifted to join them, overhearing Jay’s awkward apology-
“I don’t know about that, Jay.” Ayradyss smiled at them both. “You learned that your mother is a banshee, went to visit with Death, and took on a great deal of responsibility. How about calling it quits?”
She extended a slender hand, as substantial as life in this place, to Alice.
“I am Ayradyss D’Arcy Donnerjack. Before you were born, I met your father and mother. We visited in a cottage in this very place. How is Lydia?”
Alice took the proffered hand. “She is well, thank you. Worried about Ambry, but otherwise fine. She’s back in the Verite now.”
J
“Would you like to see the cottage?” Ayradyss asked. “Jay’s train may find it easier to run along the shore than across the ravines. We can wait there.”
“That would be nice.”
They picked their way down to the shore, trailed by a host of more or less substantial ghosts. These, contrary to expectations, did not move silently, but instead sang, laughed, and traded jokes. The crusader ghost seemed to be their informal leader, starting the songs, then rattling his chain in accompaniment.
The cottage stood much as they had last seen it, neatly sealed but cozy. As they were peering into windows, Ayradyss telling Alice about how her parents had seemed then, about Lydia’s slate of equations, about the haunting sound of Ambry’s pipes through the mist, a plump pigeon flew down from beneath the thatch and landed on Alice’s hand.
“Oh!”
“Lydia used such a bird as a messenger,” Ayradyss recalled. “Does it have anything?”
“There’s a spill of paper tucked into the band on its leg.”
Alice gently removed it and the pigeon trilled happily, flying to the roof and observing the noisy throng that had invaded its isolated home from a head tilted on side.
“What does it say?” Jay asked as Alice unrolled the paper.
“It’s a train schedule,” she turned it so they could see, “and this cottage is listed as a stop. I guess that the Brass Babboon has found the route here.”
“Good,” Jay said, some of his anxiety leaving him. “We have army and transport. Now all we have to do is win the war.”
“All?” Dubhe chuckled dryly.
“Well, one way or another, that’s all that’s left.”
A wind rose, and almost before they saw the billowing cloud that heralded the arrival of the Brass Babboon, the train was pulling to a halt before the cottage. Spouting fireworks, the Brass Babboon chortled greeting. Drum waved from the cab; Virginia managed a smile.
“Ready, Jay?” the mocking babboon face called.
“Ready!” Jay answered. He turned to face the rowdy mob. “All aboard! All aboard for Deep Fields!”
The songs of ghosts, which proved to be not at all like ghostly song, jetted outward from the Brass Babboon as the train traveled its twice-worn track into Deep Fields.
“This train is bound for glory …”
“You take the high road and I’ll take the low road…”
“When Irish eyes are smiling …”
“Brigadoon …”
When first they set out, the Brass Babboon sang along as loudly and tunelessly as any of the Scottish spirits, but as the tracks carried them to lower and lower realms (many of these imitations of hells, theologically grounded or purely imaginary) the train’s voice grew quieter and quieter, at last falling purely silent.