Psychoshop

Glory passed her the flask and she took a long swig.

"I don't see anything like a man's gear or clothing around here," I said.

She nodded. "My Dickon up and run off one Saturday night. Guess he just didn't have the stomach for more propheseyin'. They found him floatin' in the river next day. I'd seen it comin' but he never paid my warnings no heed. 'Could've married lots of times after that. As I said, I was gettin' on well-off. But I'd bring my suitors home and pound on 'em a bit. The first few larrups always tells me somethin' about the person, the others bring other visions."

"As when you said what you said about the sword and the cat?"

"Yes. Knew you for a hunter right away. Lots of danger."

"Such as?"

"That's the trouble with prophecies. You never get it all." She glanced at the kettle, which was just beginning to make noises. "I could see none of my swains would ever amount to much, so they never got much farther than being beaten. There was one or two as actually took a likin' to it, though, and they started comin' around for more . . . long as I was a little more careful." She smiled. "We actually had a couple of good things goin' for some time till they got too laid up. Men are strange."

"Because they are of the same race as women," I said.

She stared at me. Then she slapped my knee and laughed.

"You know whereof you speak, hunter," she said, accepting a biscuit from the box Glory had opened. "Mm! These are good!"

I got up and made the tea while she ate several more. I reached over and snagged one myself. In an odd way, it was almost cheery, being in a cold, leaky cottage with a company-starved woman with certain anti-social tendencies, searching out and cleaning three cups amid the litter. I found sugar, creamer, and a lemon in Glory's bag with the tea, and prepped to satisfy every taste.

While I was about this, Glory began the pitch. "If you could trade that ability for something you might find more substantial in life, would you do it?" she asked.

Mother Shipton sighed, reaching for the cup I passed her. "Many's the time I wished I'd not had the Sight," she said. "For I often saw griefs none could forfend against." She took a sip of tea. "Yet, 'tis the source of my income, and as you can see I live well—for the times. And it's been educational as well. I've learned of engineering by building flaws, of military strategies by bad example. I can speak and behave well an' I wish, as I've studied court politics and matters of the heart among the mighty. I've seen the affairs of the Church, the state, the individual, and profited therefrom. Not to mention having developed considerable skills of the combat sort along the way. No, 'tis somethin' of a curse but it's also been good to me. I'd not be lettin' go of it too easily."

She took two more biscuits and a big drink of tea.

"So what you're saying," Glory continued, "is that if you sold your talent the price would have to include something to keep you living in the manner to which you've become accustomed."

"I'm thinkin' it would have to be somewhat better than that. I still have my hopes and the ability maybe to realize 'em. Yes, I would want some small fortune." She looked down at herself, raised a patched outer garment, and let it fall. She ran one hand through her hair and shook her head.

I realized then that beneath the grime her hair was probably blond, with no gray in it. She had striking blue eyes and the high cheekbones of a fashion model. It struck me that she was still possibly in her early thirties, and I wondered what her figure was like under all the wrappings. "I think I'd also like to be good-looking and have some nice clothes," she said, "and have a chance to meet some halfway-decent men."

Glory nodded. "Something might be worked out," she said. "Would you be willing to come with us and talk to the boss? He's in charge of things like that. Don't get the wrong impression. It's not a pact with the Devil. It's all a matter of the natural sciences—and money, of course."

Mother Shipton laughed. "I don't believe in pacts with demons, lass," she said. "I've seen too much about how evil really comes to be. Of course I'll talk with the man and see what he can do for me. If I've somethin' he wants, why that's just good sense."

"'Hunter,'" I said then, nibbling a biscuit.

"Yes, one of the great ones."

"Tell me," Glory said almost casually, "do you get any foreign words along with your visions?"

"Why yes, when they involve foreign matters."

Glory nodded toward me. "Is 'hunter' your translation of something else then, from the feeling?"

"Oh, you're sharp, lass," she said, refilling her cup and quickly mastering the use of a teabag. "There was some foreign tag—somethin' like 'custodian' but it meant 'hunter.'"

"And 'Graylon'?"

"That, too. That, too. Goes with t'other."

Glory nodded and sipped her tea. Her fangs were extruded.

"Mind telling me what the hell you're talking about?" I asked.

"Alf, you're doubtless the most dangerous man on Earth—for centuries in either direction, at that—and you don't even know it."

"Well, how about enlightening me on the matter?"

"No, timing is almost everything in matters of this sort. And there's your timing and there's our timing. And neither has run its course. So we wait and you stew. Just remember that we could have done you harm before now, but we didn't."

I nodded.

"I guess that's the best deal I get."

"The only deal," she said.

"My, this sounds intriguin'," said Mother Shipton; and, fair being fair, I got an idea just then. "And it's just occurred to me," she went on, "that if we spilled a few drops of that brandy into the tea it might be ever so much more excitin'."

Mentally, I tried to recall myself in the mirror for advice. My image appeared in my mind, staring back at me. "Drop your teacup," it said.

I did. Mother Shipton shrieked and her eyes grew moist. Glory said, "Alf, how could you? Little things like that are so dear back here."

"I'm sorry. It just slipped."

Glory stood. "I'll be right back," she said, "with a replacement."

"'Tis not necess—"

Glory was gone. Less than half a minute later she reappeared with a party streamer in her hair and a mug from the Black Place's kitchen in her hand. She passed it to me and I poured myself a refill. "You can drop it all you want," she said.

"It's virtually indestructible."

I nodded and we both thanked her. While she was away I'd had time to give Mother Shipton an instruction.

We drank our tea and ate our biscuits. The rain rained and leaked in. Wet thoughts in a gone world.

SIX · MACAVITY'S SMILE

When we wished in we were whisked out, which disconcerted me sufficiently that I applied fingertip pressure to La Shipton's wrist as a signal to put my instruction on hold.

In a moment, the scene was recognizable, though it was hardly the parlor of the Luogo Nero. At a table beneath a tree in front of a house the Hatter and the March Hare were having tea, a dormant Dormouse between them, a little blond-haired girl at table's end to their right, Adam across from the Hatter and chatting.

On seeing the direction of his companions' gazes, Adam rose, turning, smiling, nodding toward us. Behind him, the Hatter also got to his feet—tall, familiar—and when he doffed his old-fashioned hat to the ladies his shock of white hair completed the picture.

"My associate, Medusa, whom you just met in passing," Adam said, "is accompanied by Miz Ursula Shipton, a prospective client, and my other associate, Alfred Noir. Friends, permit me to introduce Sir Professor Doctor Bertrand Russell."

"Let us dispense with Teutonic preambling," the man said, showing us a smile. "Happy to meet you, all of you. Adam has not only dealt with the problem I brought him, but has shown me a good time in answer to a secret wish, and handed me a thorny dilemma involving ideals and practicalities." He turned toward Adam once more. "I say, no matter how you try to keep it out it may still find its way in," he said.