“Heavily… guarded,” Mizar commented. “On ground and… above.”
They shrunk closer to the rock as a winged lion soared overhead, its shadow temporarily touching their refuge.
“I wonder if there is something to the theory that Virtuan natives have trouble perceiving Veritean forms,” Alice mused.
“I hope they’re just careless,” Dubhe said. “I’m not Veritean—at least I don’t think so.”
“And Mizar is definitely not,” Jay said, “though he has a gift for concealment.”
They observed for a time in silence. Various robed and kilted figures, their garb reminiscent of ancient Babylon, strolled around the square buildings. Occasionally a voice blatted out a command the watchers could not understand, and one or more entered one of the buildings that capped the avenue.
“It reminds me of backstage before a live show,” Alice commented. “They’re purposeful, but not doing much, just waiting.”
Jay, who had never seen a live show, could only grunt.
“I wish they weren’t all dressed the same,” Dubhe complained. “I can’t tell if the ones coming out are the same as the ones going in—but then humans all look alike to me.”
He sniggered. Jay punched him gently.
“I can’t tell them apart either,” Jay said. “Mizar?”
“Scent similar… but… too far to be sure.”
“One thing is certain,” Alice said. “We’re not going to be able to sneak in there. Not only are there all those people, but I’ve seen lions, long-horned bulls, and various really weird monsters.”
“No argument,” Jay said. “We’ll need to watch and wait for Arthur Eden’s unmasking. If that causes enough confusion, we do something here. If not, we cross over and hope.”
Desmond Drum sipped his iced lemonade and felt sorry for the Elishites out in the hot sun. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and sandals. The seats for which he had purchased tickets were beneath a mesh awning, and he still was hot. They must be broiling.
With his binoculars, he scanned the grandstands, looking for Arthur Eden. If he hadn’t known where Eden’s seat was, Drum wouldn’t have recognized him in the disguise they had worked up.
As he lowered his binoculars, a tall, impressive man with abdominal muscles right out of a comic book (but real), wearing a costume that glittered in the unforgiving sun, was standing in the center of the dais. The crowd responded to his raised arms by growing quiet. From the ziggurats along the sides a stirring, almost atonal chant arose.
Drum felt it in his bones and wondered if they were mixing in subsonics. He didn’t think that vox humana could create that impressive throb. Clever if they were. He certainly didn’t believe in the tenets of the Church of Elish, but awe stirred within him nonetheless.
The middle of the dais on which the High Priest was standing began to rise now, carrying him up. Drum nodded approvingly at the engineering. Apparently, it had been constructed rather like one of those travel cups that expands from a pill box. When it finished expanding, the High Priest stood on top of a conical pedestal, his escort arrayed around the base.
When the singing stopped, the High Priest slowly lowered his arms. Drum felt his heart catch in his throat. This was the moment Eden had been told to watch for. Would he take the opportunity?
Silence answered the end of the song—the kind where you can tell that the audience is waiting to find out if applause is appropriate or not. Into this silence, a single voice rang out. It was masculine and deep but strong enough to carry.
“Poppycock!” Arthur Eden said. “Balderdash! Oh, it’s good theater, I’ll admit that, but if half of those ladies and gentlemen up there believe what they’re chanting then my name isn’t Arthur Eden!”
Stunned silence for only a moment, then the murmurs broke out.
“Eden? Eden?”
“He dared!”
“He wrote the book… you know, the book, the one that got them all so mad. Why is he here?”
“We’re going to see fireworks now!”
Drum did his part to start the hubbub, knowing that all around the Celebration grounds his hirelings were primed to do the same. The intention was to force the Elshies to acknowledge the interruption rather than just bowling past and onto other things (while they quietly escorted Eden off to who knows what fate).
It worked. The priests conferred. The ceremony was delayed.
“They’ve done it!” Alice said softly, squeezing Jay’s arm. Her whisper sounded like a cheer.
“I think they have,” Jay said.
Within the past few minutes they had watched as the calm organized waiting below turned into the milling of a stepped-upon ant hill. Knots of costumed figures gossiped; every new person (or creature) who emerged from the miniature ziggurats was grabbed and questioned.
“Unfortunately, the confusion is going to make it harder, not easier, to get close,” Alice said. “I don’t think we have any choice.”
“Cross over,” Jay agreed, “and hope that we don’t land somewhere obvious. Give me your hand, Alice. Dubhe, get on my back. Mizar…”
The hound wheezed sadly. “I… go. Be careful.”
“As careful as we can be,” Jay promised. “See you later.”
Very aware of Alice’s slender, slightly damp fingers in his hand, Jay concentrated on crossing out of Virtu into the Verite. Since he never really knew how he did it, he did not know how he knew that the process was awry—different from the last time he had made the effort on Meru and different yet from his many practice sessions with Alice.
He felt a coolness, not unpleasant, but certainly not what he expected for a sunny day in California. Darkness surrounded him, a darkness so absolute that he could not see Alice although her hand was tight in his. Into this darkness came a light.
At first he thought it was from a single source, then he saw that it was from numerous illuminated sources set within a frame. The points of light bobbed slightly as they approached, making him think of a lantern set on the bow of a ship. Then he realized that the light emanated from a device of crystal and platinum carried on the shoulder of a man who limped as he walked, favoring his left foot. A scar bisected his face, but did not distort the friendly smile he bestowed on them.
“Welcome to the gates of Creation,” the Master said. “I told you that we would meet here.”
“Can you tell the future?” Jay asked.
“No, but I can divert a few travelers who need my help—or whose help I need. I am somewhat muddled as to which is the case.”
“Are you Ambry?” Alice asked.
The Master shook his head. “Not really, dear, although I have some of his memories and know who you and your companions are.”
“Then is he gone for good?”
“That waits to be seen. Much hinges on the actions of the next few hours.”
He set down the device and twiddled one of the wires. When he had finished, about a third of the crystals were ruby red. The remainder shimmered clean and white.
“There, it’s set. If you just flip this switch”—the Master indicated an elaborate bronze toggle—“the field will come up.”
“Field?” Jay said. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand, sir.”
“A field that will jam the translation projectors that the ones on Meru are using to boost their integrity during the crossover. Essentially, they are using an extension of the broadcast power that they’ve had for years.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry about the particulars, Jay Donnerjack. As your father was fond of saying ‘Does it matter why it works if it works?’ “