The second he saw me, he smiled.
"Cley, I've had you on my mind quite a bit lately," he said, and laughed raucously at his own joke.
Misrix pulled the chair across from me out for him, and he took a seat.
"Excuse me for a moment, Cley," he said. He turned to Misrix. "Listen, boy, I want you to go over to the Ministry of Education, back there where I've been stockpiling the beauty. Load it on the wagon, hitch the horses to it, and bring it around. It's time to ingratiate ourselves to the good people of Wenau."
"The werewolves, Father," said Misrix.
"Oh, yes," he said. From around his neck Below removed a chain with a small thin cylinder attached to it. "Take the whistle. If they bother you, blow on it, and it will put them off."
The demon took it from him, but did not move.
"Yes?" asked the Master.
"I want you to know that Cley saved your life, sir," said the demon.
Below reached over and rubbed the fur on Misrix's forearm. "I'm aware of it," he said. "I'll never forget it."
The demon smiled, then, giving me a quick look, turned and left the room. The instant the door closed behind him, Below reached into his jacket, pulled out a pistol, and laid it on the table in front of him.
"What do you think of him?" he asked me.
"He is very special," I said. "You should have more faith in him."
"How might that be possible?" he asked.
"Why do you think you have to coerce the people of Wenau to accept him? I'm telling you, they will be frightened at first, but once he has a chance to prove himself, you won't need to force them to see his kindness. With the plan you have, you will end up making them hate him as they hate you."
"I wish I had the faith in people you have, Cley. I only have faith in power," he said with a sigh.
"And so you are going to shoot me?" I asked.
"It is a rather second-rate means of execution. I would have liked to have thought up something more diabolical in keeping with your remarkable qualities, but, as you know, IVe been out of sorts lately, and my imagination needs time to rebuild"
"What will your son think when he comes back and finds me dead?" I asked.
"He will be upset for a time. Parenting is a tough business. You can't shield your children from the realities of the world forever. I tell you it makes the process of raising a son bittersweet, knowing the vicissitudes of life he will have to face," he said, staring at the table. A look of true sadness came over him.
"Were you aware of me in your memory?" I asked.
He nodded. "I saw you flailing around, but it was as if I was paralyzed at the bottom of a deep well. It was a struggle to focus on my memories. Things were not always clear. I really had to concentrate. My word, what an effort it took to invigorate my form on the dome and set a course that would lead you to the antidote."
"You consciously sent me back to the ruins of the city?"
"I could see that you had botched the situation on the floating island. I knew I had to help you get to a particular memory where the antidote would be more obvious. When Anotine kissed me, even though it was a memory kiss, it still carried a hint of the beauty, and this revived my will just enough for me to start the dome's engine and set a course."
"And what of Anotine?" I asked.
"She is still there, Cley. You saved her, and what's more, if I am not mistaken, she is pregnant with your memory child. Watching you interact with her was somewhat pitiful, but it offered a bit of amusement."
"She was a woman you loved and abandoned?" I asked.
"No, no, no, her memory seized while studying Scarfinati's book. She's on a ship somewhere encased in a chemical ice that can't melt. She's out there somewhere," he said, sweeping his hand in front of him. "The ship left port one year and never returned."
"That's not what Scarfinati told me," I said.
"Oh, please, Cley. You should know at your age how the imagination, how desire, influences memory. My memory of Scarfinati is a mischievous entity in my mind. You carv't b^few a word of what he said. These things can't always be controlled. Take the Delicate, for instance. He came to me in a nightmare when I was a child, soon after my sister's death. I've been trying to get rid of him since, but he persists. He's a symbol of something very powerful that I can't quite understand and can't, for the life of me, forget."
"There is a world of evil inside you," I said, "but I also found love there."
"One thing you've got to understand, Cley. What you experienced wasn't all me. Your presence changed things; your desire was so inextricably intertwined with my memory that it would have been hard to separate the two. What belonged to whom is difficult to say. Perhaps, for a short time, you made me better than what I really am. For that, I'd be happy to spare your life, but from past experience I know you are an incorrigible meddler. If it were anything else but Misrix's future, I would let you go."
"Promise me that you will protect the people of Wenau," I said.
"I intend to. Where would I be without them?" he said, and, taking the gun in his hand, pushed his chair back and stood. "Stand up," he said, pointing the gun at me.
I thought about leaping over the table at him, crying out for help, running for the door, but the dull ache inside me caused by my loss of Anotine canceled my will to act. "Shoot," I said.
He took aim at my chest, and I waited for him to pull the trigger, but then he started coughing violently, making him unable to aim. Holding his free hand up as if to indicate he would be with me momentarily, I could tell he was trying to utter one of his witticisms, but the words came forth in a tortured gurgling. It was obvious he was having a hard time catching his breath, and I waited, really rather bored, for the episode to pass. Only when he dropped the gun and brought both of his hands to his throat did I realize his condition was serious. He stumbled back against the wall for support, all the while making these slight wheezing noises.
I came around the table to try to help him. "What is it?" I yelled.
The door opened and Misrix entered. "Everything is ready, Father" he said before noticing us. A moment later, he saw what was happening and came over to Below's other side. There was a look of intense fear on his face. "What's happening, Cley?" he screamed.
"Your father was going to shoot me, but then he started choking. I don't know."
The Master quickly went from bad to worse, the complexion of his face turning nearly as blue as those of the spire miners of Anamasobia, who, after years, take on the hue of the mineral they work. The wheezing diminished, he lost consciousness, and we eased him to the floor.
"What should I do?" asked the demon.
I shook my head. Whatever was happening was a mystery to me.
Moments later, Below's whole body suddenly relaxed. I felt for a pulse but could find nothing. I could hardly believe it. The great Drachton Below, the Master, was dead. His eyes stared coldly at the ceiling, his mouth was agape, his hands lay on his chest.
"How?" asked Misrix, tears in his eyes.
My life had just been spared by some wild fluke, but still I felt terrible for the demon, having recently experienced an equivalent loss. I stood up and backed away.
"What is this, Cley?" he said. "Look, there is something in his throat."
I came back and knelt.
"There," he said, pointing with the tip of a claw.
Pulling down on Below's chin in order to open his mouth yet wider, I bent low and peered into the dark behind his tongue. There was something there. It appeared to be a small flap of some kind. Then Misrix changed his position to look over my shoulder, and the light, which had been blocked by his head, now revealed to me the color green. My hand immediately went to my breast pocket and found it empty.