" It' s a window!" she exclaimed. " On the city. I can see people moving. But:"
" It' s not merely a window. The ' other side' of that device is miles away, near the center of Dicca. The Lord watches the crowd, waits for the proper moment."
Inyx stared in fascination. Silvain spoke the truth. This wasn' t a window in any sense she knew. The people were too large to be distant, yet she had the feeling this picture came from far away. The mechanicals quietly discussed it among themselves, then the scene shifted with dizzying speed. A man harangued a crowd, whipping them into a frenzy with his rhetoric and his illusions.
A hush fell.
" They' ve seen the screen begin to glow," said Silvain. " Above the platform. They know that when it turns white, that means the Lord of the Twistings speaks."
Inyx saw the Lord strut in. He had changed from his fool' s costume to one more befitting royalty. Vivid purple velvet had been lined with delicate furs of white and gold. A blazing silver emblem woven into the fabric over his chest proclaimed his rank, as if it weren' t obvious from his haughty bearing.
He clapped his hands and sent mechanicals scurrying like robotic mice. They turned and bowed when all was in order.
The screen Inyx watched carried a replication of the Lord fifty times larger than life. She guessed the impact on the crowd. Such magics were more potent than any mere illusion.
" People of Dicca, people of the world. The election is soon upon us." He paused for dramatic effect. Inyx found herself breathing faster, caught up in the rhythm of the way he spoke. This man was no fool. He controlled the crowd as easily as he did the miniaturized victims trapped in his diabolical death mazes.
" Many running for this exalted office promise much. They will deliver little. They speak of you in abstract terms. Remember what I have given you. Remember it well!"
Cascades of coin fell from the sky- faery gold. Inyx reached for a piece and it dissolved at her fingertips. She looked at the screen; the crowd enjoyed this teasing approach. They had forgotten totally about the other man on the platform under the screen.
" Illusions. They are not enough. Illusions and reality. These I offer freely. And what is reality? Reality is peace of mind. Reality is a safe feeling, knowing that we are safe in our homes, on our streets, in our most private places.
" Crime has risen." He paused to let the words sink in. " I am not unaware of this sad development in my beloved Dicca. As part of my campaign, I not only offer you coins," and again they fell from the skies, " I also offer the most startling reality. I offer an end to the criminal element. None dares the Lord of the Twistings' wrath: if the penalty is banishment."
" Banishment!" came the cry from the assembled throng. " Give them to the Twistings!"
" Yes," thundered the Lord' s amplified voice. His fifty- timeslifesize image leaned forward, a stern look crossing his patrician face. " The Twistings!"
The crowd went berserk. They crowed and cheered, they slapped one another on the backs, they rioted. Inyx hardly believed that one wordTwistings- inspired such joy.
" Why are they cheering him?" she asked Silvain. The man' s face had clouded over with anger. He held back only through duty.
" He' s toying with me," said Silvain in an ugly tone. " I shall not tolerate this! I shall never-"
His words were drowned out as the Lord of the Twistings continued his televised harangue.
" I have such a criminal with me. Her master has chosen to die rather than be banished."
" Banishment!" shrieked the crowd.
The Lord smirked, then gestured. Mechanicals pushed Alberto Silvain aside and gripped Inyx by the arms. They propelled her to a point five feet behind and to one side of the Lord.
" She lewdly displayed herself in a Fine Room. That is acceptable. But she had the temerity to also do it in public view. She caused a public scandal. The current Lord of the Twistings shows no mercy to those who flaunt the law, What should be her punishment?"
" Banishment!" the crowd responded, on cue.
" To the Twistings," he said, with an imperious wave of his delicate white hand.
" What' s going on?" demanded Inyx. " What kind of a trial is this? I was forced to do those things. Luister len- Larrotti made me!"
" To the Twistings, to the Twistings!" chanted the crowd.
Inyx failed to read the expression on the Lord' s face. It was a curious mixture of loss- of a plaything?- and revenge and triumph. She remembered what Silvain had said. The Lord toyed with the soldiers' leader. She provided a convenient pawn in this power struggle, nothing more. She' d given the Lord a few minutes of sick pleasure while trapped in his diabolical maze, but this transcended personal enjoyment. He now struck out at Claybore and Silvain, used her as a tool in his reelection, and doomed her.
The Twistings.
Whatever that meant, it boded ill for her.
" Shut off the sound," came a low command. The mechanicals obeyed. From where he stood, the Lord told her, " Enjoy your vacation. You were most diverting."
" Where?" she asked.
" Stop this, Lord," demanded Silvain.
" Stop it, Alberto? Stop it? Hardly. Unless you want to join her, you' ll be quiet. But then you do want to join her, don' t you? Shall it be now? Is that your plan, Alberto?"
" The Lord knows that justice is his." Silvain bowed and backed away. Inyx hated Claybore' s commandant as much as she could any human being, but she had the feeling of loss. In some fashion she didn' t comprehend, she' d just lost a powerful ally in her battle to stay alive.
The mechanicals dragged her away.
Down halls, past closed doors, descending stairs, she quickly lost track of direction. She was being taken to the lowest levels of the palace, of that Inyx was sure. They moved so fast that Inyx knew she' d have been lost even with a detailed map of the route. The mechanicals said nothing, but even in their metallic visages she detected a sadness- and a fright.
" If you see him, tell him we still think of him," whispered one to her left.
" Quiet," barked another. " He listens in."
" Knoton," said the first mechanical. " Tell him we still remember him."
" What are you doing?" the dark- haired woman demanded. They stopped, opened a door, and pushed her through. She stood, staring. A long corridor ended in another door, a huge vault door. In the center of the shining barrier smiled a likeness of the Lord of the Twistings, retouched to make him appear much more handsome than he was.
" Forward," commanded one of the mechanicals. A well- placed hand in the middle of her back sent Inyx stumbling. The heavy vault door swung ponderously, hinges silent and well oiled. A sharp sulfur tang came from the other side, the odors of hell.
" I won' t-" she began. The mechanical shoved her again. Off balance, Inyx staggered through the portal. For a moment, she wondered if this were only some insane method of imprisoning her. The room in which she stood was barren, devoid of all furniture, decoration, or even texture. The vault door closed with an ominous click.
Inyx turned to examine the room further. As she moved, the world reeled about her. She dropped to her knees, feeling as if she had shifted between worlds, using a cenotaph. Colors flowed in wild, kaleidoscopes, sounds starting below her range of hearing, then crescendoed upward till her head almost split. She felt, she tasted, she heard and experienced: damnation.
The woman spun through space and time, tumbling, lurching, jerking, twisting, especially twisting, forever twisting inside and out.
Inyx knew she had truly found the Twistings.