At that, Arhu had become so confused that he actually became quiet: and shortly thereafter they were at Grand Central, and Arhu went off to his dinner, ending the day’s questioning. Rhiow had smiled somewhat wearily at that as she and Urruah parted, for the “grandfather paradox” served well enough to illuminate how difficult it could be to alter history, especially if you viewed it linearly. But in this line of work you would eventually have to deal with the question of what happened when events in some original timestream had actually been altered. Then you would have alternate universes to deal with. By themselves, they were bad enough. But they also brought with them the possibility that, in dealing with them, you would find yourself going back in place … which was more complex than merely backtiming, and potentially more dangerous.
Quite a few locations on Earth had a “back in place” as well as “back in time”. There were other downsides than the Old Downside, less central in the hierarchy of universes, perhaps, but no less important to the creatures who loved or hated the realities to which those places were related. History, or the realities of which history is a shadow, was in full flower in these less central “downsides”, fully expressed there no matter how they might be repressed elsewhere—in fact, usually more vigorous in expression in direct proportion to how vigorously they had been repressed in the “real world”.
And going back in place involved an entirely different set of dangers. You ran the risk of somehow altering the basic “mythological” or “archetypal” structure of a place, which could be immensely important in the minds of thousands or millions of sentient beings. Tampering with the mythological essence of a place—a Rubicon or a Valley Forge, in the ehhif metaphor, a Camelot or a Runnymede—could change not just history, but the perception of it as good, bad or indifferent … a far more perilous business than changing the mere structure of time. Such shifts could create ripples and harmonics through the “noo-string structure” which would be capable of ripping whole worlds apart. The thought of going back in both time and place at once was dangerous enough to make Rhiow shudder.
But they might wind up doing just that, for London was definitely a Place, one of those hinges of ehhif history in this part of the world. Not that the history of place wasn’t mostly an ehhif manifestation, anyway. Humans weighed hard on the world, and imprinted it with history and personality. But People stepped more lightly. Feline history tended to take place within individual cats, who, according to their nature, saw place as merely something they moved over or through: it was rare for one of the People to become attached to one field, one tree. Granted, your den for this season—or this week of this season—was something you would defend, for the sake of the kittens or the local hunting. But sooner or later time or loss or boredom seeped into every den like water, and you moved out, perhaps with mild regret, to escape the creeping damp and find yourself somewhere else more warm or dry. Memories of those dens you took with you, as the worthwhile part of the transaction: but the dens themselves held little interest unless your kill or your kittens were in them.
What kept People in one place, if anything, was the ehhif they companioned: sometimes much to the Person’s embarrassment—and Rhiow glanced up in affectionate amusement at Iaehh, who sat there with his head slightly to one side and his eyes closed, his mouth open, and the tiny snore emitting from it at decorous intervals. The whole business of companionment was a tangled one. Some People felt that the only way the ehhif-People relationship could be viewed was as slavery: others, mostly those already in such a relationship, tended to see it otherwise, in a whole spectrum of aspects from pity (“Someone has to try to teach them better”) to simple affection (“Mine are well enough behaved, and they’re nice to me, what’s the problem?”) to cheerful mercenary exploitation (“If they want to feed us, why shouldn’t we enjoy eating their food? Doesn’t cost anything to purr afterwards, either.”).
The People who raved most about slavery and freedom found all these views despicable: starving in a gutter, they said, but starving free, was far superior to a full belly in the den of the oppressor. Rhiow, ehhif-companioned for a good while now, found such an attitude simplistic at best. Yet there was no denying the existence of People who had no knowledge of themselves as such: taken from their dams too early, perhaps, too soon even to drink in with the first milk and their mother’s tale-purring the truth of what they were or where in the worlds their own kind came from—People who were barely self-aware, merely receptacles for food and excreters of it, dull-brained demanders of strokes and treats, “pets” in the true sense of the word: slaves to their most basic instincts, but in service to nothing any higher at all.
Rhiow shuddered a little. But it’s not that simple, she thought. Even among People who are self-aware, People for that matter living wild and “free”, you’ll find those for whom the gods and the life of the world doesn’t matter at all, or matters far less than their last rat or a warm place to sleep. Which is worse? A cat who doesn’t know she’s a cat—just eats and sleeps and lives? Or one who does know, and doesn’t care … ?
A tangled issue, and not one which Rhiow would resolve. Meanwhile, there was still the problem of the upcoming intervention. She had spoken to the Whisperer on the way home and had sorted out the spells she felt most likely that she would need. In the morning, before they were ready to set out, she would crosscheck with Urruah to make sure that they weren’t carrying duplicates. And beyond that, there was nothing much she could do, except worry about what the future held for them … or, rather, the past. And what good would that do … ?
Rhiow closed her eyes and reduced the world to near-darkness and Iaehh’s tiny snore. When I wake, I will meet my old enemy uncertainty, she thought, and its partners, the shadows that lie at the back of my mind and others: those darknesses which go about hunting for some action of mine to which to fasten themselves. They will lie in my road and say Why bother? or It will never work: or they will lie out long and dark behind me, saying, What difference have you made? It is all for nothing. But I need pay them no mind. They are only the servants of the Lone Power, and against me and Those Whom I serve, they have no strength unless I allow them the same. My commission comes from Those Who Are, the Powers that were before time and will be after it: the Powers Who made time, and to Whom it answers. My paw, lifted to strike the shadows away from the feet of the Event enacted, holds hidden within it Their claw that strikes the Lone One to the heart, day by day. So it was done anciently: so I shall do tomorrow. And for tonight, I admit of no shadow but that of my closed eyes, and I give Their claw the resting time to sharpen itself in dream on the Tree: for at eyes’ opening, together We go to battle again…
And Iaehh’s snore was the last thing she heard.
When she woke up, Iaehh had already gone off to work, and apparently had carefully moved her off his lap and onto the chair without waking her when he went to bed … whenever that had been. The food bowls had been washed again, and were full.