He shook his head. "Wrong."
"I don't see it."
"Assuming that She could fly us that far, a question I hope never to settle, She could have flown us to the Gate She preferred. What would you have done then? If popped almost directly from Nice to Karth-Hokesh? Charged out and fought like a wolverine, as you did? Or said ‘Miss, you've made a mistake. Show me the exit from this Fun House—I'm not laughing.' "
"Well—I wouldn't have bugged out"
"But would you have won? Would you have been at that keen edge of readiness it took?"
"I see. Those first rounds were live ammo exercises in my training. Or was it live ammo? Was all that first part swindle? Maybe with hypnotism, to make it feel right? God knows she's expert. No danger till we reached the Black Tower?"
He shuddered again. "No, no! Oscar, any of that could have killed us. I never fought harder in my life, nor was ever more frightened. None of it could be skipped. I don't understand all Her reasons. I'm not Her Wisdom. But She would never risk Herself unless necessary. She would sacrifice ten million brave men, were it needed, as the cheaper price. She knows what She's worth. But She fought beside us with all She has—you saw! Because it had to be."
"I still don't understand all of it."
"Nor will you. Nor will I. She would have sent you in alone, had it been possible. And at that last supreme danger, that thing called ‘Eater of Souls' because it had done just that to many braves before you...had you lost to it, She and I would have tried to fight our way out—I was ready, any moment; I couldn't tell you—and if we had escaped—unlikely—She would have shed no tears for you. Or not many. Then worked another twenty or thirty or a hundred years to find and con and train anther champion—and fought just as hard by his side. She has courage, that cabbage. She knew how thin our chances were; you didn't. Did She flinch?"
"No."
"But you were the key, first to be found, then ground to fit. You yourself act, you're never a puppet, or you could never have won. She was the only one who could nudge and wheedle such a man and place him where he would act; no lesser person than She could handle the scale of hero She needed. So She searched until She found him...and honed him fine. Tell me, why did you take up the sword? It's not common in America."
"What?" I had to think. Reading ‘King Arthur' and ‘The Three Musketeers', and Burroughs wonderful Mars stories—But every kid does that. "When we moved to Florida, I was a Scout. The Scoutmaster was a Frenchman, taught high school. He started some of us lads. I liked it, it was something I did well. Then in college—"
"Ever wonder why that immigrant got that job in that town? And volunteered for Scout work? Or why your college had a fencing team when many don't? No matter, if you had gone elsewhere, there would have been fencing in a YMCA or something. Didn't you have more combat than most of your category?"
"Hell, yes!"
"Could have been killed anytime, too—and She would have turned to another candidate already being honed. Son, I don't know how you were selected, nor now you were converted from a young punk into the hero you potentially were. Not my job. Mine was simpler—just more dangerous—your groom and your ‘eyes-behind.' Look around. Fancy quarters for a servant, eh?"
"Well, yes. I had almost forgotten that you were supposed to be my groom."
" ‘Supposed,' hell! I was. I went three times to Nevia as Her servant, training for it. Jocko doesn't know to this day. If I went back, I would be welcome, I think. But only in the kitchen."
"But why? That part seems silly."
"Was it? When we snared you, your ego was in feeble shape, it had to be built up—and calling you ‘Boss' and serving your meals while I stood and you sat, with Her, was part of it." He gnawed a knuckle and looked annoyed. "I still think She witched your first two arrows. Someday I'd like a return match—with Her not around."
"I may fool you. I've been practicing."
"Well, forget it. We got the Egg, that's the important thing. And here's this bottle and that's important, too." He poured again. "Will that be all, ‘Boss'?"
"Damn you, Rufo! Yes, you sweet old scoundrel. You've straightened me out. Or conned me again, I don't know which."
"No con, Oscar, by the blood we've shed. I've told the truth as straight as I know it, though it hurt me. I didn't want to, you're my friend. Walking that rocky road with you I shall treasure all the days of my life."
"Uh...yes. Me, too. All of it."
"Then why are you frowning?"
"Rufo, I understand her now—as well as an ordinary person can—and respect her utterly...and love her more than ever. But I can't be anybody's fancy man. Not even here."
"I'm glad I didn't have to say that. Yes. She's right She's always right, damn Her! You must leave. For both of you. Oh, She wouldn't be hurt too much but staying would ruin you, in time. Destroy you, if you're stubborn.
"I had better get back—and toss my shoes." I felt better, as if I had told the surgeon: Go ahead. Amputate.
"Don't do that!"
"What?"
"Why should you? No need for anything final If a marriage is to last a long time—and yours might, even a very long time—then holidays should be long, too. And off the leash, son, with no date to report back and no promises. She knows that knights errant spend their nights erring, She expects it. It has always been so, un droit de la vocation—and necessary. They just don't mention it in kiddies' stories where you come from. So go see what's stirring in your line of work elsewhere and don't worry. Come back in four or forty years or something, you'll be welcome. Heroes always sit at the first table, it s their right. And they come and go as they please, and that's their right, too. On a smaller scale, you re something like Her."
"High compliment!"
"On a ‘smaller scale,' I said. Mmm, Oscar, part of your trouble is a need to go home. Your birthing land. To regain your perspective and find out who you are. All travelers feel this, I feel it myself from time to time. When the feeling comes, I pamper it."
"I hadn't realized I was homesick. Maybe I am."
"Maybe She realized it. Maybe She nudged you. Myself, I make it a rule to give any wife of mine a vacation from me whenever her face looks too familiar—for mine must be even more so to her, looking as I do. Why not, lad? Going back to Earth isn't the same as dying. I'm going there soon, that's why I'm clearing up this paper work. Happens we might be there the same time...and get together for a drink or ten and some laughs and stories. And pinch the waitress and see what she says. Why not?"
Chapter 21
Okay, here I am.
I didn't leave that week but soon. Star and I spent a tearful, glorious night before I left and she cried as she kissed me "Au ‘voir" (not "Good-bye"). But I knew her tears would dry once I was out of sight; she knew that I knew and I knew she preferred it so, and so did I. Even though I cried, too.
Pan American isn't as slick as the commercial Gates; I was bunged through in three fast changes and no hocus-pocus. A girl said, "Places, please"—then whambo!
I came out on Earth, dressed in a London suit, pass-port and papers in pocket, the Lady Vivamus in a kit that did not look like a sword case, and in other pockets drafts exchangeable for much gold, for I found that I didn't mind accepting a hero's fee. I arrived near Zurich, I don't know the address; the Gate service sees to that. Instead, I had ways to send messages.
Shortly those drafts became, numbered accounts in three Swiss banks, handled by a lawyer I had been told to see. I bought travelers checks several places and some I mailed ahead and some I carried, for I had no intention of paying Uncle Sugar 91 percent.