"Oh, no," Sam said. "God, really?"
!Xabbu's smile, for the first time in Sam's memory, was something unpleasant to look at. "Yes, God, really. The god of this place, anyway. The dying, crazy god."
Sam's pulse was rabbiting. She had all but forgotten the Stone Girl who still stood between them face puzzled and sad. "!Xabbu, what will we do?"
"What I will do is go after her." He was staring at the Well as though seeing it for the first time. Sam could not help remembering how afraid he had been just to dive into a placid river. "I . . . I will go down."
"Not without me you won't." For the moment, her fear of being left behind allowed her to ignore the terror of the unnatural Well. "I already told you what I think about all that let-me-save-the-day fenfen."
He shook his head. "You do not understand, Sam. The Other—I believe it already has rejected me once, rejected you too, all of us." His voice had gotten very quiet. "I do not believe I will reach Renie, but I have to try." He turned to her, almost pleading. "I cannot take you, Sam, when I feel sure there is no hope."
She was just about to issue an angry rebuttal when she finally realized that an irritating noise which had been in the background for several seconds was Felix Jongleur's loud, angry voice. She turned and saw the old man on open ground midway between the place where she stood with !Xabbu and the outskirts of the Gypsy camp.
". . . But I do not believe that anymore. I think your silence is insolence—or worse."
The person he was shouting at was Ricardo Klement.
!Xabbu was already hurrying down the slope. Sam took a few steps, then turned, startled by a cry of unhappiness behind her. She had forgotten the Stone Girl.
"Come on," Sam said. "Do you want me to carry you?" The Stone Girl shook her head stiffly, but reached out and took Sam's hand in a cool and surprisingly firm grip.
By the time they reached the others, !Xabbu was doing his best to ask Klement a question about Renie, but Felix Jongleur was full of cold fury and would not be interrupted. Sam could finally see the thing Klement was holding and she was shocked and disgusted. The infant shape and vestigial features made a bad combination with its muddy gray-blue color.
"So you will not even answer me?" Jongleur asked Klement. "Come, I thought you were my ally, Ricardo—I have made many sacrifices for you. Yet you disappear when we are all in need, then will not even tell me where you have gone? And I suppose you will not explain your little . . . souvenir either?"
For a moment Klement almost seemed to clutch the little baby-creature tighter, a gesture that was the first human thing Sam had seen from the man. "It . . . is mine."
"Just tell me what you have been doing," Jongleur demanded.
"Waiting," said Klement after a long pause.
"For what?"
"For . . . something." Klement slowly turned toward the Well, then back to Jongleur, !Xabbu, and Sam. "And now . . . I have found it."
An instant later, Ricardo Klement was gone.
Sam stared helplessly at the empty space, then turned to !Xabbu, half-believing that something must be wrong with her. Her friend looked just as surprised, but his astonishment was as nothing to Jongleur's, who looked like a man who had just seen his own furniture rise up and attack him.
"What. . . ?" he said, gaping. "How. . . ?"
Even as he spoke, the universe shifted and reality stuttered to a halt. Sam had not felt anything like it for many days, and had almost forgotten the terror of one of these hitches in time and space. Color and noise blurred into a mishmash of sensory information. Sam felt sure that the end had finally come, the crash of the system, and even tried to brace herself for a return of the hideous, bone-drilling pain she had experienced when she had once before been yanked out of the Grail Network. Instead the meaningless chaos of sight and sound abruptly knitted itself back together, as if someone had wound a key and set a clockwork mechanism moving forward again. Reality was restored. Or most of it was.
The Stone Girl was tugging at Sam's arm, but Sam could hardly see her or anything else because the light that had come back was much dimmer, as though the entire virtual universe were powered by a single spluttering, ancient generator. The shapes around her were little more than shadows, but she could hear a rising murmur of terror from the refugees crowded around the Well, a sound like wind in tall trees.
The Stone Girl tugged her arm again. "Look at the stars," the little girl said, her voice a choked whisper.
The sky was darkening from the long twilight into true night, but the stars were not getting brighter. Instead, they were fading. The evening sky was turning black and the starlight was dying, plunging all the land around the Well into deepest shadow.
CHAPTER 36
Without a Net
NETFEED/ADVERTISEMENT: ANVAC Spells "Trust"
(visuaclass="underline" scenes of dogs, children, and suburban houses and parks)
VO: There's a lot of silliness going around these days, but when people call our company secretive, or arrogant, or vindictive, well, that's just going too darn far. Our business is to protect people. Yes, some of our clients are world leaders in politics and business, but a lot of them are just average people like you. Good people. People who know that happiness comes from security, and security comes from ANVAC.
A lot of people have asked, "What does your name mean? Do the letters stand for something?" But you know, that's not really anyone else's business. We're a privately-held corporation, and just as you wouldn't want anyone to come into your house and read your old letters, we have a right to privacy, too. It's enough to know that what we stand for is the right of our customers to be safe, and that is what the letters A-N-V-A-C really spell is "trust'
She stood paralyzed on the platform, watching the arc of the trapeze as it sailed out toward her, paused, then swung back into the shadows at the top of the big tent. She knew that she must leap out and catch it on the next swing or else she would never reach it, would be stuck on the high platform forever. But she knew just as firmly that there was no net, and that a fall onto the sawdust-caked center ring beneath her, invisible in the glare of the spotlights, would be like an eighty-foot swan dive onto cement.
The trapeze swung toward her again and its slightly diminished arc confirmed that she would get no more chances. She tensed her muscles and felt the edge of the platform through the soles of the soft shoes, letting herself lean forward against every shrieking instinct until her balance was compromised and there was no turning back. As the bar neared the end of its swing, slowing to the moment when it would finally stop and hang in space for a fraction of a second, she leaped outward into the pillars of light, the unending dark.
Only as she touched the rung, clutched, and felt it squirt from her grasp like a bar of soap—only in that moment when she too was briefly weightless, but with all of death and eternity solidifying around her, changing her from a person into a mere proof of gravity—did Olga realize she was dreaming. The dream-audience bellowed in distorted surprise and terror, deafening her even as she fell, then she was gasping on the floor of the storeroom where she had fallen asleep, shivering and struggling to catch her breath as the air-conditioning vent above her head roared like a jet engine.
By the time she had found the water fountain and taken a long drink the trembling was beginning to subside. Some deep frequency in the air-conditioning was starting to make her feel ill, so she picked up her belongings and moved to the other side of the storeroom.