For Luise

Once upon a time, over the whole wide earth there could hardly have been found a spot more pleasant than the small principality of Kerepes. Enclosed by lofty mountains, adorned by fragrant, leafy forests, running rivers, and placid sapphire lakes that dot the landscape, this principality was an idyllic retreat, under the beneficent rule of Prince Demetrius. It was a small principality, and so one often overlooked. I would not go so far as to say that you would not find this principality on any map, but, if you did find it, it would be rather hard to see. You would probably find it after having consumed one too many schnapps, and you would point to it with delight and say, "See, there it is. I've found it. I knew I could find it." And you'd show the map to all of your equally sloshed friends, who would put on their glasses and mutter their inane assent. Then the next day when you went to confirm what had been so clear the night before, this little principality would be hard to distinguish from other similar dots on the map, or perhaps crumbs, or maybe a squashed spider.

At any rate, under the auspicious leadership of Prince Demetrius, all the inhabitants of this little land were cheerful and gainfully employed, producing those goods that were required for the happiness of their fellow citizens. They celebrated those holidays which had enshrined and given expression to the spirit of their native land from time immemorial. It was in all ways a well regulated and joyful little country, and much of this was no doubt due to the wisdom of Prince Demetrius.

However, on a chilly November evening a change came over everything. An ominous comet had been observed growing ever nearer in the Northern skies, and the astronomers of Kerepes had met in quarrelsome consternation. Then it happened on a dark and windy midnight that some of the inhabitants passing a long abandoned tower near the center of town saw a baleful light in the topmost window. Rumor quickly spread, and after a period of a few days Doctor Zero revealed himself, letting it be known he was the occupant. A pall of dismay fell over the little town, as if a sinister contagion had driven through the city gates and parked itself in the very center of the market square. Worried citizens huddled in despondent groups under slate gray skies. Rubbish piled up in the streets. Steam was seen to rise at odd hours from the tower's dungeon, and eldritch screams were heard when certain fell constellations of the night were in alignment. At times the Doctor himself was seen, lurking with sinister mien through the streets. Animals fled when he came into view, and the milk was observed to have gone sour after he'd passed.

It was also at this time that I first cast eyes on Luise. Hers was a beauty beyond the power of words to express. From the moment I saw her she lived in my dreams. In my thoughts, I caressed every part of her. In the real world, she was the daughter of a professor of Natural Philosophy at the University, and when my former rooms were consumed by fire my friends found me temporary lodgings on Fishmarket Street, directly across from where she lived. I first caught sight of her through the window of her room. Her room was on the second floor of the Professor's house, and it had purple curtains and an orange rug. That is where I saw her walking back and forth, or lying on her bed, or reading, or drawing. During the few weeks I was ensconced across from her I observed her avidly as she came and went. On one occasion she stopped in front of the shop of a maker of musical instruments. I watched as she went in and struck up a conversation with the man behind the counter. They were discussing a viola d'amore that hung beside its bow in the shop window. They took it down and handled it for some time, before she finally put it back and left. After she had gone I went into the store to ask the man about the viola. He explained to me the history of the instrument, and demonstrated a little of its use. He spoke of where it had been made, the wood that had been selected and then softened and turned through a series of manipulations to reach just the right shape. I pretended to be a devotee of the art, but I suspect he saw through me. As our interview came to a close, he informed me of a soiree to be held at the Professor's house, where Luise and some others would perform.

What extravagant castles of romance I erected in the air during the days that followed. I passed many scenes before my mind's eye, where I brought myself to her attention, enticed her, and earned the favor of her regard. I rehearsed these moments endlessly in my mind, and walked oblivious through my daily routine, lost in fantastic reveries of romance.

Finally the night of the soiree arrived. I had made sure that I was numbered among the guests. I arrived at the door at the same time as several others, and seeing her inside I shoved them out of my way. There she stood before me. In spite of all the time I had rehearsed this moment, I found myself unable to utter a word. But then she spoke, and she spoke to me. My heart fluttered to the skies as my legs went weak. She said, "Here's the onion dip. The drinks are down the hall." I was overcome. Before I could frame a suitable reply she had left me. But she had looked me in the eye when she spoke those words. There was no mistaking. I found a place to sit and prepared myself for her performance.

Her father spoke to the assembled guests, thanking them for their attendance. He then elevated himself on the balls of his feet and lifting his arm he introduced his daughter. This was what I had come for. I sat entranced. She lifted the viola to her neck and proceeded to play. Her playing, I am so sorry to have to say it, was somewhat mechanical. Somewhat. Also I'm certain that several of the notes she played were absolutely the correct ones, but not all. And it's possible the instrument she used was in tune, though the inquisitive might see fit to ask in tune with what. I shouldn't have said, or even thought these things, because nonetheless, when she reached the end of the piece, I applauded vigorously, throwing my hat into the air and shouting several loud bravos. I felt positively ashamed of the other members of the audience, who limited themselves to some polite clapping. I was pleased to observe that I'd once again caught Luise's eye, as her startled expression made clear.

She then stood and said, "The next piece is a little song composed by my good friend Henrik," and she indicated a nondescript young man sitting next to her. "It is called 'My Love is Like the Sunrise.' I will sing, accompanied by Henrik." She sang beautifully. I still remember some of the words:

When shades of night surround me

And darkness fills my soul,

When pointlessness is all I see

And empty hours take their toll,

Then my love is like the sunrise

And I awaken in her eyes.

There are fears that turn the lights out

There are times the shadows win

There is dreariness without a doubt

And at times all hopes are thin

But my love is like the sunrise

In the land where nothing dies.

There was magic between the two of them, Luise and Henrik, I couldn't deny it. As she sang, he played, and I saw what passed between their eyes. And although it makes me spit to say it, his playing was superb. There isn't any other word. I saw her swoon as he ran his bow across the strings of his violin and I wished, oh how I wished, that I stood there in his place.

When they finished the crowd erupted in applause. I hastily ran to the front, pushing others out of my way, so Luise would be able to see that my applause was directed to her, and not to Henrik, but she had eyes only for him. I stamped my feet as loudly as I could, and when someone presented Henrik with a bouquet I grabbed one flower, I think an orchid, and pressed it to Luise's breast. I presumed it was a look of thanks she gave me, but immediately afterward she drew back, and taking Henrik by the arm said something in his ear. I couldn't catch it exactly, but I could swear she said something like "get me away from this pervert."

All the castles I'd erected in the air came crashing down on my head. Henrik left with Luise and I was alone with my despair. If I'd had a knife at that moment I could have stabbed myself in the chest. Everything I'd done had gone wrong. Everything. She hated me. How could I have made such an exhibition of myself? What had I done . . .?

I spent the next few hours walking the streets, cursing myself, wishing I could take everything back. Over and over again I thought that what I needed was Henrik's skill. If I could play as well, or better, than he, everything would be redeemed. It was what I had to do, and I would show her who was the better man.

As my busy mind had been revolving these and other thoughts, my feet had carried me I knew not where. I awoke to my surroundings to find I was in a gloomy part of the town I couldn't recall having visited before. The houses stood aloof and alone, unwilling to nestle next to one another, and their windows cast an unsympathetic gaze onto the empty streets. It was late in the day and the gas lamps were lit, though their luminosity seemed not to reach the cobbles below, as though swallowed in a miasma rising from the ancient cracked pavement. I saw a sign announcing a tavern. The sign was an old one, embellished in colors that might have once been gay, though a more hopeless looking establishment would be hard to imagine, its paint now peeling and the glass in its windows cracked and poorly repaired. I entered and found a seat at a corner table where I was served a pint of small beer by a scurvy waiter with a watery eye, and a little of the grin of an idiot. As I sat, recasting again the unhappy sentiments of this desperate day, I felt as though there were a visitor in my mind, one who was making an effort to pry into my inmost thoughts. It was an unsettling feeling, like dirty fingers turning over the cogitations that came to me, shifting them and casting them in a sour light. I looked around the smoke-filled room to see if I could ascertain where this was coming from. Most of the other denizens looked lost in inner reveries, or mumbling over the drunken residue of their regrets, but there was one gleam I detected, a kind of kindled probing menace coming from the darkest table in the most poorly lit corner of the room. And there I recognized the shrunken, twisted physiognomy of Doctor Zero.

He acknowledged me at once. I saw his knowing glance. I rose and crossed the room to where he was sitting, awaiting my arrival.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked me.

I make it a rule never to turn down an offered drink, despite which I still retain all my major appendages as well as a fairly sanguine view of the human race. I sat beside him and let him order me another beer. I couldn't make out what he was drinking, but tiny ocher flames danced on its surface and it made an uneasy bubbling.

"Can I tell you a story?" he asked.

"Is the story true?"

" 'Tis in the nature of all stories to be true. Reality is just a story."

"What is the story about?"

"About a little girl who wanted to find her true love. I heard it in Monteroso, where at one time I carried on a thriving business in shrunken heads." He took a deep draught from his mug and smacked his lips with evident enjoyment. "There was a little girl, and in the yard outside her house there was a well."

"Why is this of interest to me?"

"Perhaps you are also in search of a true love. There was a troll that lived at the bottom of the well, and sometimes the little girl would come to the well and look down it and talk to the troll. This was a lonesome troll. His mother had just died, and he sat at the bottom of the well where he crunched and crumbled her old bones."

"It was a cannibal troll?"

"This is what trolls are. But this troll knew a trick. It was a trick his mother had taught him before she died. He could show the little girl the face of her true beloved. And so this is what he did. He asked the little girl if she wanted to see the face of her true love, and of course, after pretending she didn't want it, she said she did. So the little girl looked down the well and saw the face of the man she was going to love. And he was so handsome and so brave the little girl couldn't control herself, and she went down to the bottom of the well to meet him, and she was never heard of again. But the troll had some new bones to crunch . . . How do you like my story?"

"I think a story such as this has need of a moral."

"I don't know what that moral would be. Drink up."

"Perhaps that you shouldn't look for your true love at the bottom of a well."

"Perhaps the moral is that little girls are easy to fool. Just like that troll, I also have a little trick, one that might be of interest to you. A little trick I can do with a bow and a violin. Would you like to see it? Perhaps I could teach it to you."

"Yes, I think I would," I answered. I saw no need to temporize.

He gave me a look, and with that look he led me to his tower and down the dungeon steps to his lair, where he brought forth his instrument and drew from it tones of wonder and grandeur. The skill he displayed outshone Henrik's just as the light of the sun would outshine a candle. I listened, and wandered in foreign realms, under unknown skies. I knew cold, and dark, and fear; I knew wonder, and intimations of a staggering knowledge, and over it all stood Doctor Zero, directing my heart's desires and twisting them to his will . . . I waited till the last echoes of the strings had died in the still air. Then I asked him, what was the source of his skill?

"Many years ago there was a stone, and this stone was that which is the first matter of creation, both holy and terrible. For within this stone was a point of light which is the spirit of creation, the adornment of the unity, the knowledge of the loveliness, the divine image mirrored by the world, both just and true. And by this justice all souls were made manifest and all causes were rightly determined. And so all things had peace . . . But then an error occurred. No longer did the light fall onto the stone. The stone was set aside for seven years, and altars were built to strange gods." He scratched his hump against the back of his chair and fixed me with a look. "The boundary between dark and light is not so clear there as it is here. There are certain peculiar fluids that convey knowledge from one realm to another. Any who touches the stone in anger or hatred or evil will be subjected to the light and power of the adornment of the unity. There was one who did touch it so, and he was blasted, and hurled out. I have learned from his mistakes."

He put the bow to the strings again and once more I was borne away. My soul writhed on a darkened plain, beneath a silver sickle moon, where demon lovers of inhuman anguish bowed down to obscene gods. All about me was a radiance, a show, gray bands of cloud, and above, the steep pale heights of heaven. I realized that all I saw was merely a glimmering veil, a gauze of curious lights and figures, and in all of existence there was no reality or substance. I lay down as ecstatic as a lover under roses, knowing there was only one knowledge, one science, one way, and for one moment I glimpsed the infinitude of majesty that dwells beyond . . . Then silence, and I hungered for him to play again.

I had barely dared to open my eyes before he drew another note from the strings, and now I hung breathless before the object of my adoration, one unexpressable syllable from the consummation of my desire. I attempted to reach it, to hold it, to make it mine, but it faded, turning away, down, down towards the dismal abysmal darkness, the hopelessness of love that's lost forever.

The music stopped. I opened my eyes. Once again I saw the mortared stones, and felt the chilly drafts of Doctor Zero's dungeon. He fixed me with his sardonic stare.

"So go. Tell your friends what I have. Let them come to me. I will show them what I have shown you."

"Is it the stone you spoke of? Is that what gives you this power?"

"Ah hah!" He laughed. "Perhaps when you have untied the knot of time, as I have, the answer will be clear. Need I remind you that I am the only real scientist in this whole crawling hotbed of vermin? I expect that cancer-eaten sponge you call a brain can process that much."

Out of the corners of my eye I caught a sight of something sinister -- was it tentacles? -- starting to slither towards us. The time had come to leave.

"Doctor," I said. "Can others acquire this that you seem to hold so steady in the palm of your hand?" I stepped over the chains that lay along the floor, and reached the foot of the stairs. "Is it a charm that can be bought?"

"I'll not answer that," he said. " 'Tis my secret." His laughter followed me up the circling steps and out the door into the night.

* * *

The noted traveler Ptolemaeus Philadelphius, in a letter to his nephew Rufinus, writes as follows: "As you are no doubt aware, I am overly susceptible to the rays of the sun. I find they have a deleterious effect on the substance of my eyeballs. They can cause me to squint, and to lose all contact with that inner balance I am always just on the point of achieving. I therefore travel by night, in a vehicle in which the windows are occluded. I lie in the back seat with my eyes covered and compose rapturous accounts of the lands through which I am traveling. This is the mode of transport most conducive to the elegant reveries that have graced the pages of my travelogues. Last night I had just completed my tour of the ice fields of Patagonia, and was on my way to the flesh pots of the Orkney Islands, when my driver must have turned onto the wrong way, and I found that I was being jostled up and down and back and forth. Finally the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, the door opened, and I was actually ejected onto the pavement. Removing the coverings from my eyes I found that the moon hung high in the sky. The driver was cursing me in the mistaken belief that it was my instructions that had led him to this dismal dead end, where evidently he had crashed into a concrete abutment that made further progress impossible. Naturally, I rose to the occasion. You know the power my words have to sway the human heart. My driver came to a realization of his error, and responded to my appeal to the greater good that lay within his breast. We proceeded on foot, the driver dragging my valise, several suitcases, and a steamer trunk filled with my precious books and other paraphernalia.

"Just at this moment I was met by a young man hastening towards me from a tower built of stone. As he drew near, he seemed to reconnoiter and as it were take my measure. Having evidently come to a favorable conclusion in this matter he approached and asked if he might have the pleasure of assisting me to find accommodations, it being apparent that I was a traveler in need of some assistance. I am, as you know, an infallible judge of human character, and it was clear to me that I could rely on this gentleman's good intentions. I allowed him to take me in hand, and he has led me to a nearby inn, where I am currently seated at a table, while my driver is conveying my valise, my many suitcases and my steamer trunk to my room. I have been assured that the room is the best in the house, and at the moment I am drinking coke and eating a pizza as my companion is regaling me with an interesting tale of his recent adventures. I will be sure to recount this tale to you in my next letter, as it is altogether quite remarkable."

When he wrote this, Ptolemaeus Philadelphius had just met me as I was leaving the dungeon of Doctor Zero, turning over in my mind thoughts of how I could win the love of Luise by acquiring the Doctor's skill. It was a stroke of luck stumbling on Ptolemaeus just at that moment. In an instant I had formed a plan. When I saw his steamer trunk I envisioned it as the perfect place to hide. Already I was thinking how I could divert his attention long enough to conceal myself inside. Then I would incite the Doctor's cupidity, so he would steal the trunk and hide it in his dungeon, after which I could emerge and search his hidden places at my leisure. I knew my plan had a few holes, but my gift for spur of the moment improvisation would overcome all difficulties.

"Ptolemaeus," I said, "I can see that you are a man of some discernment."

"Ah, Rudy," he replied, "if you can see that, your vision is far more capable than most, as I have done nothing that has exhibited the least bit of discernment. Only I have allowed you to lead me by the nose. But now I think you are trying to flatter me and that, Rudy, tells me there is something you want from me, so naturally I am putting myself on guard. You will not find me so easy to get around."

"I should have known you can see through me so easily."

"Yes, and also I think I know what it is you are wanting."

"You do?"

"Yes. And I will give it to you. You may have the last slice of pizza."

"Thank you, Ptolemaeus. A generous man wins many friends."

Ptolemaeus belched. "Do you think my room is ready?"

"I would not be knowing about your room, Ptolemaeus. You must understand I am a trader, a merchant with a cargo of rare and refined goods. I am come to this metropolis with the intent of unloading my freight, but I have found that my wares are considered contraband. They are in violation of the local religious dogma. Can you imagine anything more ridiculous?"

"Of what does your payload consist?"

"Pomegranates, figs, vanilla beans . . . They will rot away if I cannot soon find a market where I can sell them."

"The locals have a religious taboo against pomegranates?"

"It is a very strict religion."

"And figs?" Ptolemaeus stared at me in horror. "This speaks to an unconscionable degree of asceticism, and religious zeal."

"Yes. The truly pious here shudder at the sight of an orange. Would it be possible for you to convey some of my goods in your cases?"

"You are asking me to smuggle your pomegranates?"

"Yes. And my figs."

"True, we must not forget your figs. Have I told you I am very fond of figs?"

At this moment the driver, whose name is Fabian, returned from setting up Ptolemaeus' room.

"I have laid everything out as you requested," he said. "I have run the bath, and placed the small flowering shrub with the aromatic blossoms next your bed. Everything is in a state of readiness."

"Wait. I am not so certain I want to remain," said Ptolemaeus. "I have just learned that this city is infested with an idolatrous creed that believes citrus fruits are signs of the anti-Christ."

"That cannot be, sir," he said, unfolding a much creased map which I could see was a topological survey of northern Finland, "the chart definitely says we are in the region of the Prussian legionaries." He pointed to a location on the map which had evidently been often pointed to, smudged as it was with the impress of many dirty fingers.

Ptolemaeus looked at the map with some consternation. He tried turning it, first one way and then another. Then he asked, "What is the name of this city?"

"This is Kerepes," I said.

"Kerepes -- oh, I have heard of this. Is this not the city where the notorious Doctor Zero is said to reside?"

"Yes it is."

"Is it true what they say of him, that he has the strength of thirty men, that he brawls like a drunken sailor in the shambles, and he eats men alive, devouring even their hands and their shoes?"

"No, you must have him confused with someone else. Doctor Zero is a deformed dwarf."

"But is it true that he has a daughter, beautiful as the sun, and she rides the red horse of Norroway down to an underground ocean?"

"No. He has no daughter. There is no underground ocean. Who has been filing your head with such rubbish?"

"Oh, it just comes to me. This is how I compose my travelogues."

I could see the driver behind him. His index finger was pointing to his head as he circled it in the air.

"Well," I said, "if these are the things that come to you, maybe they are true."

"Truth is a slippery devil. She never knows just what she is, till I have pinned her down."

In the ensuing conversation I convinced Ptolemaeus not to pack up and leave, which he was only too happy to agree to, considering that he really had no alternative. I then fabricated a few more lies, enough to give him an idea of the role I wanted him to play in the scheme I was evolving, and left the inn. Outside, the Doctor's masonry tower was visible in the moonlight across the courtyard, and a tawny light shone from a window at the top. Its beams spread a yellow glow over the cobbled yard. The Doctor was working late, doubtless perfecting some nefarious scheme. A shower of meteors lanced across the night-time sky as I made my way to my lodgings.

That very night I set my plan in motion. I dispatched several pipistrellae (these are chiroptera modified to carry messages) and I felt I could rely on the Doctor intercepting at least one or two. I released the first bat from the roof of my dwelling. It carried a message in a locket tied to its leg. The message was an itemization of Ptolemaeus' worldly goods, which itemization, of course, I'd concocted out of thin air. It attested that Ptolemaeus was the proprietor of twelve meadows by the river, a house by the same, three orchards, a vineyard, a medlar tree bearing one hundred sacks of medlars every year, three cows, whose tails had been docked as a sign of mortification, this to show they were theological animals, something to give the Doctor food for thought, a house with a garden in the best street of Tours (where else?), and three thousand crowns, amen. This pipistrella was set to fly just past the Doctor's southern window, where he nightly scanned the starry constellations. The burden of the second message was the contents of the luggage Ptolemaeus brought with him, to wit the delectable quintessence of the true alchemy and the first matter of the world, something which the Doctor had hitherto not obtained, since it was sphagyrical and resided in the mountains of the Moon. This message, which was to flitter past his northern window, where he was accustomed to comb his beard, was certain to enflame his concupiscence. It was the third message, however, that I knew would excite him beyond bounds of belief. It was a magistral breviate I had skillfully scanned from a page ripped from an antique grimoire, carrying a hint of the authentic formula of the first matter of the world. It was a spell in the form of concentric circles. Inscribed on the outer circles were the characters ALGAR + ALGASTNA +++ AMRTET +, and on the inner circle was written TE + DAGIRAM ADAM and a Maltese cross was thereto appended with the following letters at each end of the cross, R T N T. The third pipistrella I'd set flying from the courtyard below his tower, with instructions to perch at his eastern window, where in the early hours he looked for the dawn. It was the best I could do.

Early the next morning, before the sun was up, I set out to return to the inn, but on my way took a detour down Fishmarket Street to see if Luise was at her window. I no longer lodged across from her and I hadn't actually expected to catch a glimpse, but this morning I was in luck. As I approached, I saw her profile behind the glass, and then she opened the window. She had washed her hair, and was vigorously drying it with a towel. When she lowered the towel to wrap it around her breasts, she leaned out to gaze at the street below. That early in the day the street was deserted, except for myself, and I pressed my back against the wall, concealing my figure in the long morning shadows. There was a cool breeze from the harbor, and you could feel a light salt spray. It was blowing the hair away from her temples, and my gaze was so intent I could also see it blowing some loose threads of the towel in the same direction. She stayed there for several minutes, just looking at the street and the shuttered shops. She hadn't yet put on her makeup, and in that moment the aura of unapproachability that she always carried with her seemed to evaporate, and what I saw was a woman, sensuous and warm. She sat for some time this way, surveying the empty street. Then she stood, and I could see the curve of her stomach below the towel, so lovely it was like touching it. She reached for the latch of the window to draw it closed, and as she did so, I thought I caught a glimpse of the hair at her groin, and then the window was closed. I waited till I was certain she wasn't coming back, and then walked on, trembling with a yearning I find it hard to frame in words.

As I approached the inn, I could make out the voices of Ptolemaeus and the innkeeper in angry dispute. This innkeeper was one I had had some dealings with in the past. Despite that he seemed to tolerate my custom. I motioned Ptolemaeus to one side.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"Fabian has left me. I must tell you, it is not such a loss as you might imagine. I'm afraid he was somewhat lacking in the mental capabilities. He fled in the middle of the night, and he took my nuts."

"He took your what?"

"I had a bag of nuts. I was saving them. There were walnuts, Brazil nuts, even filberts. I had only eaten about half of them. And he stole the rest."

"Did he take anything of value?"

"Rudy, God willing you should come to be a man of my years, I am not sanguine in this expectation, as you have the mark of a scamp about you, but should you reach the point at which you have some discretion, and the madness of your youth has left you, you will come to see the things in which value truly resides, and I can assure you that one of them is a good bag of nuts. There were some very good walnuts in that bag." Then he turned to the innkeeper. "I fear that this unscrupulous innkeeper may have practiced on poor Fabian's innocence. I don't think on his own he was one who would steal another man's nuts."

And now the innkeeper turns to me and says, "Not only does he refuse to pay for the lodging of himself and his driver, but he demands I should reimburse him for the loss of his nuts. Have you ever heard such a thing?"

I could honestly reply I had not.

"You must pay!" shouted the innkeeper, his face almost purple with rage. "He was your driver!"

"You see what a den of thieves you brought me to, Rudy?"

"A den of . . . Oh -- absolutely. It's time to get out of here. Tell him you're leaving."

"It hurts me to the quick to leave without those nuts, but I think you are right." Turning to the innkeeper, Ptolemaeus declaimed, "Enough! Bring down my bags. I am leaving."

"No!" shouted the innkeeper. "You will not be getting any bags. I will keep your bags till you pay the bill."

"Are your bags packed?" I asked Ptolemaeus. "Could you leave at a moment's notice?"

"Rudy, I am not a butterfly that can flit from one blossom to the next. What are you asking of me?"

"Only this. Let me place certain of my goods in your bags. Then, when you depart you can take my contraband with you."

"There are few for whom I would do this, but for you I will do it. It does me good to think that I am assisting to thwart these religious zealots. Ha! The people will have their pomegranates! But where are your goods? You appear to be empty-handed."

"Not so loud," I said. A crowd was starting to gather. There were students from the local university, buskers, tradesmen with wares to sell, priests and drug dealers, the usual riff-raff. I could see that some of them regarded our argument as a source of entertainment, and were starting to take sides. I ushered Ptolemaeus aside. It occurred to me that my scheme was on the point of breaking down. I had planned to go to Ptolemaeus' room with Fabian and, under the pretense of hiding my contraband, sneak into the enormous steamer trunk. Then Fabian would carry the bags downstairs and into the yard and there I'd be. But Fabian was gone, and the innkeeper wasn't allowing the bags to leave the inn, and in addition, as Ptolemaeus had observed, I had forgotten to bring any contraband to give some cover to my story.

I looked round in desperation. There was a young man, whom I took to be one of the students at the local university, loitering in the lobby of the inn. "How would you like to make a quick ten dollars?" I asked him.

"Yes sir, that's why I'm here," he said. "Are you the man who's offering the job?"

"Yes. Can you assist me in getting this gentleman's bags out of his room? He is leaving this morning."

"My name's Balthazar," he said. "Do you want to see my resume?"

"That won't be necessary. I just need you to carry some bags."

"You mean I'm hired? Just like that?"

"Yes. You're hired."

"That was the interview?"

"Yes. Here's your ten bucks."

"Yippee!" He jumped in the air and did a little dance. "I rushed right down as soon as I saw the ad. I always wanted to work in an inn."

"Actually the first thing I need you to do is to run down to the farmer's market and buy a bag of pomegranates and a bag of figs. Can you do that?"

"Pomegranates and pigs. Got it. Can I call my Mom first?"

"Did you say pigs? I don't want any pigs."

"She never thought anybody'd ever hire me for anything."

"I want figs! Not pigs. You can tell your mother later."

"One thing you'll learn about me: I'm a self-starter. Not afraid to use my brain. And I got the feeling this place could use some pigs. Kind of blend in with the décor."

"I don't want any pigs. Look, here's some money. Just get the pomegranates and the figs."

Balthazar hurried away. I hustled over to Ptolemaeus and the innkeeper who were deep in argument.

"What will I tell my hungry children?" the innkeeper was saying. "That their papa allows vagabonds to sleep in his rooms and eat his food, and then he has nothing with which to feed his own children?"

I put my hand on Ptolemaeus' arm. "It is better this way," I said. "Now when they come to quarantine your bags they can just quarantine the whole inn, and you can stay here in comfort."

The innkeeper gave me a knowing look. "Rudy," he said, "you are not fooling me. There is no quarantine. No. There is nothing but this gentleman who won't pay for the two rooms he hired last night, and the bags which will not be leaving this inn."

"Yes, there is a quarantine," I said, making an effort to keep up my deception.

"Will you please drop it with the quarantine?"

Ptolemaeus put his hand on my arm. "I think I will have to pay him," he interjected. "It hurts me. But I will write of this inn in my travelogue, and I will have my revenge. No one will ever come here again. The rooms will be empty. The seats here in the taverna will be covered with dust. Silence will echo in the halls. The world will know that in this inn a man's nuts are not safe." With that he pulled a gold coin out of a bag at his waist and placed it on the counter. "And now how will I proceed? I have no conveyance and no driver. I must find a vehicle. I leave you here to watch my bags. I shall return." He strode off in the direction of the Pnyx.

* * *

When Balthazar returned he had a large sack of pomegranates, a bag of figs, and a small wild raccoon.

"I didn't have enough for a pig," he explained, "but a raccoon's practically the same thing." He put the raccoon down on the floor where it immediately started chasing the innkeeper's cat.

I led him upstairs to Ptolemaeus' room. I opened the steamer trunk. Unfortunately it was crammed full to bursting. Before I could get in I was going to have to discard a lot. The top layer was all papers of one kind or another. I threw all that out. Then underneath was a layer of books and manuscripts of various sorts. It looked like things he'd written, descriptions of buildings, catalogues of expenses, timetables and the like. All that went too. Finally there was enough room for me to get in. I lay down inside and made it as comfortable as possible by stuffing some socks and shorts around my head and my back. Balthazar watched closely the whole time.

"I see you have an interesting technique for packing bags. Is this what they teach you in hotel school?"

"Yes," I said, handing him another ten dollars, "don't tell anyone what we've done. Now close the lid."

"Sure thing. What should I say if somebody asks where you went?"

"Um. I don't know. Make something up. Say I jumped out the window."

"If I say that they'll think I pushed you."

"Then say something else. And when you take this trunk downstairs be very very careful. Make sure you don't let it drop."

"Do I have to take this trunk downstairs?"

"Yes."

"Why can't I just drop it out the window?"

"No! Are you crazy?"

"Jesus, don't wet your pants -- "

"Don't drop it out the window!!"

"I was joking! Just joking. I wouldn't really do it."

"Your sense of humor is not appreciated."

"I know. From now on I'm going to be completely serious."

"Good. Now like I said, be very very careful"

"I'm not even going to smile. Look." And he put on a deep frown.

"Good. If you need to, get someone to help. Here. I'll even give you another ten dollars to get some help."

Balthazar just shook his head and frowned.

"Seriously, you can't do it on your own."

"I am serious."

"I know. You're very serious. Oh, for Christ's sake. Just take the money."

"No. Now you're hurting my feelings. I can handle this myself."

"Take the frigging money!"

"Alright."

Balthazar took the money. Then he closed the lid and locked me in. The last thing I saw was his frowning face as he promised to be careful.

Finally I had a chance to think. In fact there wasn't much else I could do. It seemed as though the last day and a half had passed in a whirlwind. I could now reflect on my plan, and the more I reflected, the more convinced I became that it was a terrible plan. I had no difficulty imagining any number of disastrous outcomes. And the more I thought, the more vivid and the more disastrous the outcomes became. It's amazing how being locked inside a steamer trunk can focus one's reasoning abilities.

The first step was to get the trunk out of the inn, and into a position where Doctor Zero could purloin it. I was confident Balthazar would get the trunk down the stairs and into the yard, but the more I thought about it, the less confident I became that the Doctor would act. I was snorting fluff from Ptolemaeus' socks out of my nose as I reviewed in order the messages I had dispatched by pipistrella during the night. And as I started coughing up more and more fluff I thought, What if he doesn't intercept all the messages, or maybe just one of them? What if he spends the entire night gazing out his western window and doesn't intercept any of them? And then, as my despair grew deeper, I realized that even if he did get them, he'd be sure to realize it was all nonsense. How could he not?

I was starting to think I should just give up and get out of the trunk. It was an option open to me at any time, since I had a small saw secreted in an inside pocket of my coat. But at just that moment the trunk was pushed across the floor and then lifted. And then suddenly I heard Balthazar say, "Oh, holy fuck," and the next thing I knew I was cartwheeling head over heels. I must have hit every step on the way down. I was jostled, bruised, and thrown about till I crashed against the wall and finally came to rest.

There was silence. I took the opportunity to gently move my knees and elbows. It felt as though everything was still in one piece.

Then I heard Balthazar, whispering to me. "Are you there?" he said.

"Yes, but you're talking to my feet. My head is at the other end."

"I'm sorry about that. I banged my thumb and let go."

"Don't give me that. You did it on purpose."

"Why do you say such terrible things? Don't you like me at all?" He started to whimper.

"Yes, I like you, now come on -- "

"No, you don't like me. You think I wanted to push you down the stairs on purpose."

"No, I don't think that."

"Go ahead. Say what you like. You don't care about my feelings."

"Balthazar, will you just shut the fuck up?"

"My first day on the job and already everybody hates me. My Mom was right."

"I'm sorry I said that. I know you didn't do it on purpose. Now, where are we? Did we get to the bottom?"

"Yeah, almost. Actually, no, that was just the first flight. But I'll be more careful on the next two."

"This time please, get someone to help."

"Don't worry. I can do this on my own. I don't want to squander your ten dollars. I'll give it back to you."

"No! I want you to use it to get some help."

"I don't need any help. I've got this idea. I can just kind of slide the trunk down the stairs, instead of bouncing it. It's only about twenty steps to the next landing and you can slide right down, sort of like a toboggan. I don't know why I didn't think of this before."

"A toboggan?"

"Yeah. Nice and smooth."

"Well . . . that sounds like it might work. What's on the next landing?"

"Nothing. Just a big window."

"Alright. But do it this way. You go first. Go down the steps backwards, AND HOLD ONTO THE TRUNK."

"But if I do that, if I slip, the trunk will just go right over me."

"Then don't slip."

"Oh, good idea. Funny I didn't think of that. Here we go. I'm being real careful."

I started sliding very slowly down.

"I'm being real careful," he said again.

"That's good," I said. "Keep it up."

"I am. I'm being real careful."

"Be more than careful. Be -- I don't know -- whatever's more than careful."

"I am. I'm being so careful you wouldn't believe -- oh fuck!"

All of a sudden something slipped. There was a loud thump, the trunk did a cartwheel and I went head over heels. There was the sound of smashing glass and then a moment of weightlessness that seemed very long at the time but probably wasn't long at all, and then I landed head first with an enormous crash and toppled over.

I was in agony. The towels I'd put in to cushion me had no effect. I felt like my neck was broken. I felt like my back was broken. I felt like every bone in my body was broken. I tried to stay silent, but I couldn't help a little moan. Tears were running down my face and mixing with the fluff and the lint.

I heard the innkeeper's voice. "What is this trunk doing here?"

Running steps and then Balthazar's voice. "I'm sorry," he said, "I was just emptying out the gentleman's room."

"Why? Who are you? And why did you throw his trunk out the window?"

"I didn't mean to throw it out the window. Though come to think of it, that is the quickest way down."

"But you smashed the window."

"I'm sorry. Here's ten dollars to pay for it."

"Ah, I am cursed. Ever since I let that fat old man rent a room last night, everything is going wrong. The sooner he gets out the better."

After a few moments, Balthazar whispered to me, "He's gone now. Are you alright?"

"No," I said. "I think my neck is broken. Why did I ever ask you to help me? I must have been out of my mind. You're the stupidest, clumsiest -- "

"Shh," he said. "Someone's coming."

* * *

Ptolemaeus Philadelphius, in his next letter to his nephew Rufinus, writes as follows: "I find myself stranded in the enigmatical metropolis of Kerepes, city of glowing lights and beautiful young women. And Rufinus, I must confess I find the women are of more interest than the lights, although I think the lights are a safer topic for my travelogue. I think I shall save my description of the lights for the aforesaid travelogue, and at the moment I think I would really prefer to concentrate on the women, and to turn out the lights. There I go. I find myself more and more, as I grow older, fantasizing about the young female form. It has taken on an enchanting allure I cannot remember it ever having had in my salad days. I think this is the true wisdom I have acquired after a lifetime of traveling the world and viewing man in all his customs and attitudes, that the most beautiful thing in the world is a naked young girl, and I sometimes fantasize that I am surrounded by a seraglio of stunning nymphets, all of whom are there because they genuinely recognize that I'm a wonderful person, one who is deserving of the happiness they bring me, but I'm afraid, my dear Rufinus, if I carry on like this much longer you will start to get an improper idea of your uncle Ptolemaeus.

"So here I am in Kerepes. I shall say nothing more about the young women. Nothing. Lips sealed. Except it has occurred to me that the wisdom of which we old codgers are so proud is actually nothing more than a contemptible hash of misunderstandings and senseless maunderings, the trite sort of stupidity that passes for insight among those who see no point in making the effort to think. All our lives we've tortured ourselves with rules and grand ideas, and to what end? What is it all worth really? I believe it was God's intention that the world and all its affairs should be put in the hands of seventeen year old girls. They're beautiful, and they deserve it. It's inconceivable to me that God intended to put it in the hands of the people who've gotten hold of it. Anyway, as I said, enough with the young girls.

"So here I am stranded. Why am I stranded, you ask? Because the vehicle in which I was being conveyed has gone smash, and the driver has vanished into the night. This morning I directed my steps to the Pnyx, where I encountered a dealer in used and refurbished chariots, steam engines, and hurlo-thrumbo mechanisms. He showed me around his lot. What a collection of useless machinery. I was disgusted by the trash being paraded before me, and even more so by the dealer's brazen venality. I have a winning way with salesmen, and I can always outsmart them. But this one was so stupid he didn't even know he'd been outsmarted. However, at one point I glimpsed from the corner of my eye a black iron chain ascending into the sky. Now chains don't normally lift themselves into the air, so I followed this one into the upper atmosphere, and before it had quite dwindled to nothing in the distance, I saw it was attached to a zeppelin. A zeppelin! I was looking at the anchor that was preventing a cigar shaped hydrogen gas balloon of enormous proportions from floating away. I contemplated it for several moments in rapt astonishment.

"Long story short, I am now the owner of a floating saloon. This is the way to tour the world in style. I can look down on the doings of my fellow human beings from the viewpoint of the gods, and I assure you it is an entrancing view.

"Also, as the salesman pointed out, the zeppelin had been equipped as a military vessel. It had wings that could steer it, and it had rockets that could be deployed to instill terror into the hearts of the groundlings below. I think he said it had six big ones and thirty little ones, or maybe it was the other way round, I didn't pay the closest attention. I know I should have been taking notes when he was showing me what all the little knobs and whistles and such were for in the gondola, but I was too distracted and excited by the thought of how I would be tearing across the sky in my beautiful new zeppelin. Anyway there are an awful lot of really exciting shiny brass buttons and levers. I'm looking forward to learning what they're all about.

"My first trip in the balloon was back to the inn, to retrieve my belongings. When I arrived, however, my possessions were gone. I am sure I will have much to relate in my next missive."

His belongings were gone because in his absence Doctor Zero had absconded with them. The Doctor, accompanied by a squad of robot goblins, had entered the yard in front of the inn and seized Ptolemaeus' luggage. The innkeeper, the minute he caught sight of the onslaught, ran into the inn, latched the door, and bolted shut the windows. Balthazar, left to his own devices, did his best to battle the invaders, which of course accomplished nothing at all. I learned all this afterward since I was hors de combat inside the steamer trunk. I was aware of being dragged, deposited in some sort of vehicle, wheeled a certain distance, and then unloaded. Whoever had done the unloading walked away and I was left in silence. The silence went on for some time. I had no way in the dark of ascertaining where I was, or how long I lay there. In the total absence of light and sound my mind began to drift in a dreamy way through scenes from my youth. I remembered long summer afternoons, and the voices of childhood friends. I thought of people I'd walked with, and talked to, people I hadn't thought of in years. I traversed my early lifetime, reliving winter snows, family dinners, social occasions. I heard my mother's voice again, and felt her hand in mine. We were walking on a summer's day through a meadow that had stood near my home when I was young. We stopped to see a robin's nest, with one little blue egg nestled inside. I felt her kneeling beside me, keeping my hand in hers. We went on to climb a little hill. I saw trees and tall buildings in the distance. I felt the wind tickling my face and my hair, and then little by little I drifted back into an awareness of my surroundings. I felt the view fade from my eyes as it was transformed into the pattern of veins in my eyelids. I recognized the tickling in my face for threads of cotton in Ptolemaeus' socks . . . But whose hand was I holding?

An icy shivering chill came over me.

* * *

Back at the inn, Ptolemaeus had arrived in his zeppelin just as the last of the goblin robots was leaving, carrying away his luggage. The yard in front of the inn was just large enough to allow him to descend and land. Having anchored his craft, he emerged from the gondola and proceeded to bang at the inn door, which the terrorized innkeeper had barred and locked with his heaviest locks.

"We're closed," the innkeeper shouted from within.

"Open up, I've come to retrieve my possessions," replied Ptolemaeus.

"Go away," was the innkeeper's answer.

"You really want to open up before I get angry. I have missiles."

"Excuse me," Balthazar pulled at Ptolemaeus' arm.

"Who are you?" Ptolemaeus asked.

"I'm Balthazar. I work here at the inn."

"Then perhaps you can explain why this door is locked against my entrance. I lodged here last night. I have already rendered payment, in spite of the fact that my nuts were stolen, and yet I find the door barred against me when I attempt to retrieve my belongings. This is intolerable!"

"Please, sir. I'm sure there's a good explanation."

"I don't want an explanation! I want my luggage! And then I want to get out of this terrible, terrible city!" Then he looked at Balthazar and said, "Must I give you a tip? Is that what this is about?"

"No sir, we do not accept tips at this inn."

"If you do not accept tips, maybe I should use my flame thrower."

"You have an enormous hydrogen gas balloon, and on this balloon you have a flame thrower? Are you certain this is a good combination?"

"Don't get smart. I got it very cheap. I just want to get inside the door of this inn. There is a trove of priceless manuscripts I have amassed in the course of my travels which I carry in my steamer trunk, and this boorish innkeeper seems to think he has the right to take those from me. Well, we'll just see."

At this moment the innkeeper put his head out a second story window. "Please, sir, your steamer trunk is no longer here. It was seized by Doctor Zero's goblin robots."

"Oh?" said Ptolemaeus.

"And it's not the fault of the inn. Not the inn's fault at all. When you signed in, you acknowledged that you would not hold the inn liable in the event that your possessions were impounded or confiscated by government officers, officials of the local polity, pirates, gypsies, aliens, specters, ghosts, gremlins, apparitions, or phantoms from another dimension. It's all in the fine print."

"Why don't you open your door so we can discuss the nature of this fine print at greater length without having to shout like a pair of clowns?"

"What is there to discuss? I have your signature on the document and it is a valid legal contract."

"I'm quite confident I've wiped my ass with better contracts than that. Anyway there's nothing in there about goblin robots."

"Hold on." The innkeeper's head disappeared from the window. A moment later he put his head out again, displaying the paper to Ptolemaeus. "Now there is. See? It's in the really minute print."

"I see this is what's called a living document."

The innkeeper's face took on an expression of alarm. "Oh my God. Not that again."

"I am giving you one last chance to open your door while you still have one."

"But I no longer have your luggage. I fought valiantly on your behalf since, and I am certain there is no need to point this out, you had gone missing when the goblin robots came to take it. But Doctor Zero's minions were too powerful. If you have a flame thrower you should point it in that direction," and he pointed towards the Doctor's grim stone tower.

"This is very enlightening, and you can be certain I will take your words to heart. However, I have never previously operated this flame thrower and I cannot be sure my aim will be sufficiently accurate."

"One minute." The innkeeper's head disappeared from the window and a moment later he threw open the door. "Come in! Welcome to the Inn of One Thousand Delights! Your pleasure is our command."

"One thousand delights? Perhaps there has been some exaggeration?"

"Exaggeration is out of the question. Would you like me to list them? First, there are the spacious, comfortable rooms. Second, the succulent cuisine. Third, the -- "

"The enumeration of all one thousand will not be required at this time."

"As you see fit. Please come in. Would you like to go to your room? There is nothing there any more."

"And why is nothing there? Who has been tampering with my possessions during my absence?"

The innkeeper cast a look in Balthazar's direction.

"Oh, that would be me," said Balthazar. "I assisted Rudy in packing up your belongings and taking them to the yard in front of the inn, where they were unfortunately pilfered by the goblin robots. It was probably all just a misunderstanding. If you ask, I'm sure they'll give them back."

"Oh, you think so?" inquired Ptolemaeus.

"Undoubtedly."

"If I sent you over there on that little errand, do you think they would give them to you?"

"Not to me, because they don't belong to me. It would be best if you went there yourself."

"Yes, I think perhaps I must. I do not understand why this villainous dwarf should take such an interest in my luggage. Do you have any idea why?"

Both Balthazar and the innkeeper shook their heads no. Just at that moment, a terrific clamor burst forth from the Doctor's tower, sending flocks of panicked pigeons into the air.

"What is that?" shouted Ptolemaeus. "Has Hell's gate been opened?"

* * *

As gently as I could, I slipped my hand out of the grasp of the other. When I could no longer feel the other's fingers I took a deep breath, held it for as long as I could, and then slowly exhaled. Once I had done that, I tried reaching out ever so softly. Yes. There it was. The other's finger. I could feel it. It was round, and cold, and hard. And, in fact . . . it was a candle. I started to wonder if my mind was going. In the dark and the silence it seemed possible to imagine anything.

I slid my hand inside my jacket and pulled out the little saw I had concealed there earlier. Using the tip of the saw, I drilled a hole in the side of the trunk. When I put my eye to the hole, I saw a floor of stone, a few straw mats, and a light cast across part of it. There were some little bits of rubble and that was all, really. Everything was still. I was surprised that the Doctor was not making any attempt to inspect his newly acquired possessions.

Since nothing was happening I decided to take the opportunity to get out of the trunk. I patiently sawed a hole in the side of the trunk and emerged into what I took to be one of the Doctor's dungeons. I was just starting to congratulate myself on the brilliance of my plan when I looked myself over and suddenly shuddered. I was covered with blood! I threw open the trunk, and everything inside was soaked with blood. I stood and shivered in terror. I checked myself, feeling all over my body, but I wasn't bleeding. Where had all this blood come from? Once again I thought what sort of madness had me in its grip? What fantastic delusions were rampant in the dungeons of Doctor Zero? I looked for a way out. I lurched across the floor, scattering droplets of gore in my panicked progress. Then all at once I heard my name. I could not be mistaken. I came to a complete stop and listened. For a moment the only sound was the blood dripping from my clothes. Then I heard it again.

"Ru-u-u-u-dy."

I looked in the direction from which it came. There was a shadowy tunnel, its further reaches disappearing into darkness.

"Who's there?" I called.

"It's me. Fabian."

I inched ahead slowly into the tunnel till I found him. He was confined in a squalid little cell.

"Fabian, what are you doing here?"

"It is you. Thank God. I did not know if I could believe my eyes." He had a dirty straw mattress and a bucket full of slops. "I am so glad to see you here. Have you come to rescue me, or are you another of the Doctor's victims?"

"I am neither. I have craftily insinuated myself into the Doctor's dungeon to spy out the source of his power. But this is an evil place." I looked about me at the grim masonry, at the vile stains on the walls, and the corroded shackles hanging from rivets set in the stone. "I feel as though my mind is falling victim to some monstrous delusive power."

"Yes," said Fabian, "everything here is a shifting miasma. I am constantly glimpsing phantasmal visions of malefic import, which dissolve into other forms when I try to see them clearly."

"I have felt that same power. When lying in the trunk I was certain there was another person with me, holding my hand, and when I emerged I found my clothes, as you can see, drenched in blood, although I was not bleeding."

"There is no blood on your clothes."

I looked, and saw that what Fabian said was true. My clothing was completely dry, showing not a drop of blood. "What is going on?" I asked. "Just a moment ago I thought I was soaked in gore, yet now I see no such thing. I am beginning to think I should not have made the effort to enter these precincts, and I will be happy to make my escape."

"When you escape, take me with you."

"Who put you here?"

"That terrible Doctor Zero. Last night I decided I would leave that old fool Ptolemaeus. I waited till he was asleep and then I very surreptitiously stole the bag of coins he always carries at his waist. As I was sneaking out of the inn I must have been observed by one of the Doctor's detestable henchmen because I became aware of someone, or some thing, following me. A sly little goblin I thought it was. I attempted to lose him by turning quickly round some corners and scurrying down an alleyway, but instead found myself getting trapped as more of the little beasts got onto my trail. Finally I turned and drew my knife, but they just took it from me and grabbed my arms and legs and carried me here.

"After some time the Doctor came and questioned me. He demanded that I tell him what I knew of Algar and Algastna and he was positively infuriated when I told him I knew nothing. They dragged me to a sunken well where I could hear far below sounds like the wailing of enormous animals consumed by some crushing grief. They held me over the well. A roaring heat came rushing past me. They said they would throw me in if I did not tell them the meaning of Amrtet, and much more nonsense of that sort. I told them I was just a driver and I was leaving Ptolemaeus, but they baffled me and tickled me and jeered me and turned me up and down and then deposited me back here, where I was afraid I would be left either to waste away or be tortured by troops of malicious demons. Look what scars they have inflicted." He lifted his shirt to show me his ribs scored by several ugly looking welts.

"While I am here I will free you if I can." I rattled the bars of his cage. "Is there a key?"

"There must be one somewhere, but I would have no way of knowing."

I looked around for something I could use to break the bars. I saw what looked like a large block of obsidian but when I tried to pick it up it turned into a huge, vicious rat that snarled and tried to bite me and then scuttled into the shadows.

"Did you see that?" I said. "I thought that was a stone, but it turned into a rat."

"I told you, that happens all the time here. Pay it no mind. Sometimes there are sounds like music that turn into wailing or the thudding of boulders. At other times I see things that cannot be, like shimmering glasses, muddy visions of impossibilities that turn into something else. And the coins I stole from Ptolemaeus, when I came here I saw they were transformed into worthless nut shells. How can such things be?"

"I don't think it took any magic to transform your coins. I am afraid in your haste you stole the wrong bag. Ptolemaeus has been lamenting the loss of his nuts."

"That idiot. Why did I ever join up with him?"

"Fabian, I must ask, have you seen or heard anything about a stone?"

"Like the stone you were going to use against the bars, that turned into a rat?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. I don't know what kind of stone. But I've heard the Doctor talk of a stone that gives him powers over the human soul."

"I have heard nothing of such a stone. But I have the feeling, if there were a key, it might be hanging from a hook somewhere in that direction," he gestured further down the tunnel, "I think that was where they came from before."

I looked in the direction he pointed. "I think that is where I saw that large, nasty rat disappear."

"Don't worry about that rat. It has probably turned back into a stone by now. Anyway there are much worse things here than rats."

"Thank you. That's just the sort of encouraging thought one wants before heading into a dark, dank, evil smelling tunnel." I took a cautious step or two, but was overcome by an oppressive feeling of imminent dread. I became convinced there was some ghastly macabre presence waiting to ensnare me. I headed back toward the light. "I don't see any hooks down there. I think I'd better look over here where there's more light."

"Rudy, please, don't abandon me."

"I would never abandon you. Rescuing you is my most important consideration. I'm almost certain there are many hooks over here." I now sensed something coming out of the tunnel. I caught a glimpse of fangs and claws headed in my direction. I began to run towards a stair leading upward.

"Rudy, please, help me, Ru-u-u-u -- " Fabian's cries were cut off by a series of shrieks culminating in a dreadful gurgling sound.

"Have a nice day," I shouted over my shoulder as I leapt up the stairs. When I reached the top of the stairway I caught sight of the Doctor and quickly pulled back. The Doctor was standing before an altar. A dead cat was lying on the altar in a pool of blood. The Doctor held a large knife in his right hand with which he was methodically stabbing his left hand as it lay on the altar. He then muttered something as he left his hand impaled on the knife and began mingling his blood with the cat's. Then, dipping his finger into the mess of mingled blood before him he started to write on the altar, chanting words of mystic significance as he did so. I cowered in a shadow at the top of the stair and watched, appalled, as the Doctor's voice slowly rose and fell and then rose again when he reached the end of his incantation. A bolt of vivid orange and blue lightning blasted the air above the altar, there was a sound like wings, and then the Doctor turned his maddened eyes on me. Once again I felt those dirty fingers in my mind.

"Come out, Rudy," he said.

I remained still. I considered returning down the stairs, but the thought of the gruesome horror I'd glimpsed below held me in place.

"Rudy, come forward."

"Why hello, Doctor," I said, "this is an unexpected pleasure. I was just out for a stroll, you see, when something very unusual occurred. You'd never believe what happened. Quite amusing, really, you see, I was -- "

"I hadn't expected you back so soon," the Doctor interrupted, "but your presence at this blasphemous ceremony is opportune. More blood is needed."

"You know, I just remembered I left the stove on. I've got to rush home. I think this is the way out, right?"

"Would that there were a way out . . ." He looked at me with fiendish intensity. "Think you, there can be such a thing as a labyrinth that has a way in, but has not a way out . . .? I begin to think I have entered such a one."

I wanted to creep away, but I could see there were goblin robots on all sides, glaring at me with their wicked red and green eyes.

The Doctor went on, "I told you of a stone, a stone that carries within itself the spirit of creation, did I not?"

"Yes, you did."

"I think I told you also this stone must not be touched in anger or hatred, and that there was one who did touch it so, and he was blasted, and hurled out."

"Yes."

"And yet I have touched it in hatred, and I have not been blasted, have I?"

"Well maybe a little on one side. You could wear a hat. Nobody'd notice."

"Do you know why I have not been blasted?"

"Um -- "

"Because the hatred I bear towards all creation casts a fog about me the unity cannot penetrate, so long as I possess the stone." At this he paused, and his eyes fell on a small stone, about the size of my palm, lying on the altar before him. It was of a greenish blue color, and I could see it had been inscribed with many curious designs. "Hatred such as mine is not the bright fierce flash of hate that doesn't last. No, rather it is worn like a habit, renewed by constant laceration, till it is become the very blood that pumps through my heart. It is a sickness that shields me from all spirit and adornment, from all hope and loveliness, and from all light and power that would blast me and hurl me out . . . Once having seized the stone there is no way back, I only can go on, further into the dark, bearing a hatred so great it is a weariness that shrouds me from the light. I have power now to twist truth to travel the path I set it. I have power now to turn the heart's blood to fire, and my power will be greater yet, as this hatred is reinforced, strengthened, and rewarded in ceremonies of blood and death. I trust you told others of my playing. My bow will lure more victims, just as it has lured you, for always I need more blood, and more blood to keep the smolder burning. And now I need your blood, and now I will take it from your naked, quaking throat." With that he lunged towards me.

Fortunately his left hand was still pinned to the altar, so he could only grasp me with his right, but his arm was uncannily strong, and he was able to drag me onto the top of the altar. Once he had done so he let go, and this gave me a chance to seize the stone and then, shouting "I take this in love," I scrambled off the altar, away from the Doctor, and trampled one or two of the smaller goblins as I headed towards the nearest window. Behind me I could hear the Doctor shouting in rage, and his robot henchmen gnashing their steel teeth. And behind that something else, something malevolent beyond the nightmares of man, that having been baffled till now, had finally found its prey, and was giving voice to the savage joy of retribution. I looked out the window. I was higher than I had thought; it looked like about a twenty foot drop to the courtyard below. I turned back. The goblin hordes were almost upon me. Behind them I could see the Doctor frantically trying to work the knife loose. I turned again and leaped, whispering to the stone as I placed it in my pocket, "Please, if you have any power at all, make it a soft landing."

* * *

The innkeeper, Balthazar, and Ptolemaeus stood transfixed, staring at the Doctor's tower as I came tumbling out a window, falling a good twenty feet, and landed with a splash in a pool of stagnant water. Right on my heels a swarm of monstrous goblin robots came rushing out the window, landing variously in the pool and on the cobbled pavement. Some were crippled and staggered aimlessly, or fell to the ground, sparking and sputtering. Most, however, bounced quickly to their feet and commenced waving their swords and brandishing their spears. Another horde of the monsters swept out the door into the courtyard, shouting and banging their arms against their metal chests, creating an ungodly cacophonous din. Some swarmed around as though in pursuit of me, while others aimed their weapons squarely at the inn and proceeded to charge.

The innkeeper shouted, "Come, we must defend the inn!"

"You know what," said Balthazar, "I've decided I don't really want to work in an inn after all. See ya."

"And perhaps this is an auspicious moment to ascend into the air," added Ptolemaeus.

"Good idea," said Balthazar. "I bet I can get there first," and he set off running towards the zeppelin, with Ptolemaeus in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile, I was splashing around in the pool, trying to get my feet under me while fending off the attacking robots. They were armed with typical goblin weapons, short curved scimitars for close fighting, spears which they could use to stab a combatant at arm's length, and ballistae, small hard stones, some with spikes, for hurling through the air. I had neglected to arm myself, and had nothing but the small saw I'd used earlier to get out of the trunk. I was tremendously outnumbered. There was no point in even thinking of putting up a fight, my only chance was to escape, or perhaps to find a place to hide so I could escape later. Unfortunately, I couldn't see any hiding places at this end of the courtyard. I submerged myself in the pool, hoping to elude the goblin robots, but the pool couldn't have been more than eight feet at its deepest, and I didn't see any way out below the surface. Having held my breath for as long as I could, I raised my head to breathe and then immediately lowered it again, as a nearby goblin robot swung its scimitar in an attempt to decapitate me.

Just at this moment there was a tremendously loud trumpeting. I grabbed the knees of the robot that had tried to behead me, overturned him, and looked up to see what was making the noise. It was Prince Demetrius mounted on an elephant and leading a charge of the Kerepean dragoons. They burst into the square on white chargers, slashing at the robots with their swords and generally creating a rampant scene of carnage, or what passes for carnage when you're disemboweling a mass of robots, which is lots of gears and levers and springs getting tossed about. Some of the robots tried to shoot the dragoons with their ballistae. The elephant was hoisting goblins in his trunk and flinging them through the air. There were spears and stones and projectiles of all sorts flying everywhere.

While all this was happening, Balthazar had jumped into the gondola of the zeppelin. The door slammed shut after him, which prevented Ptolemaeus from following him in. Ptolemaeus banged his fists against the doors and windows of the gondola, but to no effect, as Balthazar was preoccupied with figuring out how to get the zeppelin airborne. At this moment, recalling he had a key among the various receptacles he'd left at the inn, Ptolemaeus set off in that direction, and this probably saved his life, because just then a ballista broke through the glass of the gondola's window, hitting Balthazar on the head and knocking him unconscious. Balthazar collapsed onto the lever that operated the flame thrower, which ignited with a tremendous wwwhooshing sound and with no one to direct it, shot off large gouts of flame as it rotated in a clockwise direction, setting alight anything in its path. The destruction was horrible. Some of the jets of flame were sent harmlessly into the air, some damaged the robots, and some were wreaking destruction amongst the dragoons. One especially bold cavalryman rode up to the mouth of the flame thrower and attempted to snap it off with his sword, but only succeeded in changing the direction of the nozzle, so that it was aimed directly at the zeppelin's balloon. When the flame hit, the balloon exploded in a devastating fireball. The entire courtyard was one huge incandescent discharge of flame. Some of the zeppelin's missiles were released in the conflagration, blowing the top off the Doctor's tower, and the ruins of its demolished base caved in afterward. The fronts of the inn and the other buildings around the courtyard were charred. The zeppelin and its gondola were consumed in a fiery inferno. Most of the robots and, alas, many of the dragoons were swathed in flames and were killed or destroyed. I survived by submerging myself in the pool, and Iearned afterward that Ptolemaeus and the innkeeper were saved by an enormous table that was overturned on top of them. Of Balthazar there wasn't a trace, and Prince Demetrius barely got away mounted on his elephant.

I stuck my head out of the water to assess my surroundings. The courtyard looked like one vast barbecue. There were a few robots still mindlessly waving their scimitars. Several horses were down with their riders. A few fires burned here and there, and there was one large towering flame where the zeppelin had formerly sat. I congratulated myself on my survival, and climbing out of the pool I patted my pockets. I had the stone. The clearest thought in my dazed mind was that my plan had worked! And I'd hardly even blown up half the town in the process.

Now it may seem remarkable to you that I could congratulate myself on my success, sitting as I was in the midst of the destruction and carnage I'd brought about, with the moans of the wounded and the dying in the air, and the stench of burned horse flesh filling my nose, and yet I did so. This must be how many a great general has felt, after winning some half acre of bloody ground. And the thought that I'd done it all to win the love of Luise was no deterrent. After all, the heroes of Troy had battled ten years for the love of faithless Helen. A surge of triumph filled my breast.

I left the courtyard in something of a daze and returned to my lodgings. When I got there I took the stone from my pocket and examined it with care. It was a greenish blue, and it bore the markings of many intricate designs. I felt a power emanating from it and filling my fingers. I lusted for an instrument to play. I wanted to wrap the desires of others around my will, and I knew I could use the violin to do so.

I strutted up and down in my lodgings, imagining the words I would speak to Luise. As in a fevered dream, I held her in my arms, "Ah, so it's this you want? To feel the throbbing heart of wonder? To know the truest life? All this I can give you." These words passed my lips in an ecstasy of desire, and I imagined myself playing the violin, then laying it aside and kissing her and letting loose the reins of my unbridled passion. Over and over again I pictured the scene.

* * *

Early the next day I dressed and proceeded in the direction of Fishmarket Street. I was trembling with excitement and fearfully anxious for what this day would bring. The bodies of the dead dragoons and their horses had been laid on the pavement. Women were wailing lamentations on the air as they came to the dreadful recognition of a loved one, a father, brother, or son who was dead. I knocked on the door of the Professor of Natural Philosophy, Luise's father. A maid answered.

"Is Luise in?" I asked.

"She's upstairs," responded the maid. "She is much perturbed by yesterday's events."

"Tell her Rudy has come to ease her disturbed mind."

The maid showed me into Luise's parlor. Luise entered. She was dressed in a yellow gown and she was holding a prayer book. I could see the tears on her cheeks. The light cast an alluring shadow on her upraised arms, and her face wore an expression of distress.
"I know you," she said. "You were at the soiree."

"Yes. I went with the express purpose to adore you."

"Why have you come here?"

"Luise, must I explain? I am filled with an overpowering love of you, and I feel that you must be mine."

"This is unexpected. I thought you were coming with words of comfort, pertaining to the terrible calamity which has befallen this city."

"No, cast your mind back to the moment at which we first met. I was overcome."

"What?"

"Yes. You must remember. You told me about the onion dip."

"Just keep away. You're insane." She started to leave.

This wasn't going as I'd imagined. "Please, let me play for you. Where is your viola?"

"What? I -- "

I saw the viola. It was lying amidst some bric-a-brac behind her. I took it and set the bow to its strings.

The effect was magical. As the music laid its enchantment on her she turned from the door and listened. A look of wonder came into her eyes. Slowly her lips parted, as if to let her soul vent its ecstasy. I saw her falling into a rapture of love. I played on, and she came alive as I played. As she fell more and more fully under the spell I cast, the stars orbited around us, and we danced together in the entrancing romance of the realization of love.

I put my bow down. Luise was before me, rapt in a pose of surprised adoration. She held me. "Rudy," she said, "My God I love you. I love you." This was the moment I had been longing for, and now that it was here I trembled almost in fear because suddenly it was too much. If I could, I'd have stopped time and never gone further, forever hearing her words in my ear and seeing her just as she was now. She looked me in the eyes and kissed me, sending a thrill through every cell of my body.

I pulled away. I could take it no longer. I'd won her, but it wasn't her I'd won. This was my fantasy come to life, and, like all fantasies, once it was real it was ruined. She couldn't help but love me, so it wasn't love at all. I wanted the woman I'd seen leaning from her window in the morning light just yesterday -- could it really be just yesterday? So much had happened since it seemed a lifetime ago. But she was just the woman I now could never have. The stone had robbed me of my true love; I could never have any true love again, and in despair I turned away. I left her. She tried to clutch me to her, but I pushed her away.

"What is wrong?" she asked. "Please, just hold me. I want to be with you always."

"No. This is all wrong. What you want isn't me."

"You're all I want. Do you want to come to my room?"

"I want to leave."

"If you don't want to stay here, I'll go with you. I'll go anywhere with you."

"Let me go. I don't feel the same passion you feel. Can't you see that?" I hastened to the door through which I'd entered and then down the stairs.

"Rudy," she called after me. "Please don't leave me. Please." She broke off, and her cries turned to wailing and weeping.

My thoughts turned to Fabian, another I'd abandoned in my quest for love. My God, was it my curse to forsake all those who placed their hopes in me? I left the house, feeling as empty and desolate as it's possible to feel. I stood in the street and I took the stone and threw it as far as I could. Not looking to see where it landed, I walked away.

* * *

My first thought the next day was to drown the sorrow I felt in a drink, and to pour my feelings into a companionable ear. I entered the local pub on my corner. It was deserted this time in the morning, save for the bartender idly cleaning some mugs. He was a good sort, one who'd listened to my troubles before. I pulled up a stool, ordered a draft, and gave him an abbreviated account of my past few days, putting an emphasis on the hopeless longing I'd nursed for Luise, and then how, having finally won her, I'd really lost her forever.

"Did you bang her?" he asked, giving a good rub of the cloth to a wet spot on the bar.

"Did I bang her. You have such a way of putting things. My feelings were nothing so coarse. I'd nursed almost a religious yearning for her, one that carried me far away from this grimy world, took me somewhere where life mattered. When I was in love with her the world was a better place. And then I saw that all she cared for was the stone, that what she loved was completely false. She never loved me. I couldn't endure it. No. I didn't bang her."

He took this in with a look of stolid incomprehension. For several moments we sat in silence, each pursuing the course of our separate meditations. I observed the dust motes in the air, idly floating through bars of light and shadow, and it put me in mind of how we drift with no seeming aim or purpose from triumph to squalor, from moments of joy to the deepest despair, borne on the breath of God.

"Did you at least feel her tits?"

"I can see there's no room for romance in your soul."

"You're one of those crazy guys only wants what he can't have."

What I wanted just then was another draft, but my finances were low as my spirits, so I left and made my way to the courtyard outside the inn. I met Prince Demetrius pacing beside a singed elephant, as he was putting things back in place.

"Was there any sign of Doctor Zero?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "We found bits and pieces of him in the tower. It looked as though he'd been thoroughly ravaged by some rough and voracious beast. His left hand was discovered impaled on a stone, but there was no sign of the arm. We found his head wedged between two toppled flagstones. Here you can see it." I looked on Doctor Zero's visage. The eyes were gone, and the tongue had been plucked out. His mouth was open, as though he'd died on an agonizing cry. I thought of what bearing the stone had done to him. He had set out to follow the true path, but the stone had twisted him more foully than he could ever have twisted me.

The innkeeper was snazzily attired in a new raccoon tail hat. "I am putting the inn back together. We are closed for now, but I hope soon to reopen."

"What of Ptolemaeus?" Have you heard any word of him?"

"The last I saw, he was headed to the harbor. There seemed to be much on his mind."

So I headed down towards the harbor, to see if I could catch sight of him. There were several sailor sorts around, but Ptolemaeus cut a distinctive figure as he strode about.

"Rudy," he said, "so glad you could come to see us off."

"Oh, have you found a new conveyance?"

"Yes, look." He pointed to a fifty foot submarine docked at the quay. "I will be proceeding by sea. I am looking forward to viewing the many splendors of the ocean's deep." He put on a large pair of sunglasses. "I shall be departing soon. I find that the sunlight here is growing in intensity and its harshness disagrees with my eyeballs."

"I see. I hope you have learned how to navigate a submarine. Or does it come with a crew?"

"I have hired a pilot to steer it for me. I met him at the inn. He is a most cunning young man, although I did observe him at one point talking to my luggage, which is not a normal thing to do. Here, I will introduce you," With that he gave a wave of his hand and Balthazar poked his head out of the conning tower. Wait a minute. Balthazar? The last we saw of him he was lying unconscious in the gondola of the zeppelin just as it burst into a fiery inferno and was burned to a cinder. I bet you're wondering how he got out. So am I.

Balthazar trotted forward. "Rudy, good to see you again."

"So you've given up the inn business and have decided to travel the world?" I said.

"Yeah. I jumped at the chance. It'll be a lot more peaceful at sea. And I'll get to see the world, at least the part of it that's under water. I've been busy all morning hauling Ptolemaeus' manuscripts and bibliographical treasures from the inn down here and packing them in the Conch Shell. That's what we're calling the submarine."

"Oh, that's a good name."

"And I think we have just stowed the last of them, "said Ptolemaeus . "You know, Rudy, it's a miracle. Although all my luggage was destroyed when the explosion demolished the Doctor's tower, the most important part, all my priceless manuscripts which I have collected from all over the world, were saved. Some kindly individual actually had the foresight to remove them and place them in safe keeping in the inn before my bags were stolen."

"What a remarkable stroke of good fortune."

"Yes. But truly the greatest miracle with which I have been blessed is the miracle of love. I have met the woman of my dreams, and she will be accompanying me on my travels. Here she comes now."

I looked up and saw Luise approaching. She was lovely as ever, and my heart jumped into my throat as I endured a pang of bittersweet regret for what could have been.

"Rudy, "she said. "I must apologize for my behavior yesterday. I have no idea what got into me. I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Of course I won't" I replied.

"It could never have worked between the two of us. I'm so exacting and fastidious, and you're so -- well -- whatever you are."

"What about Henrik? I thought the two of you made a perfect couple."

"Henrik -- that jerk? All he cares about is his stupid fiddle. I'm much better off with my wise and kind Ptolemaeus. I know he is an older gentleman, and perhaps that might give some cause to talk, but in our submarine we will not hear them." With that she planted a luscious kiss on Ptolemaeus' cheek, causing him to turn a bright shade of scarlet. Then, hips swaying, she sauntered in a sultry fashion down to an open hatchway, blew us both a kiss, and went below.

"Rudy, "said Ptolemaeus , "I am truly blessed. "Such a nubile nymphet. Once below the waves we may never have reason to come to the surface again. She's just the woman I would want to marry, and I'm not married to her, which is even better. "

"Just be careful, my friend," I answered. "You may get your nuts stolen for good this time. A younger woman can make demands and take many liberties with a doting older man."

"Oh, do you think so? I hope she does."

"Well, best of luck on your travels."

"Thank you. And what about you? What will you be doing?"

"I don't know. I think I'll be heading out of town. Things here are a little too tame for me. Maybe I need to find some excitement." I put it to him this way though the truth was I wanted to leave the scene of my disastrous efforts.

"I think excitement is the one thing I no longer need. That's the difference between us. You have a disease. It's called youth. Don't worry. If it doesn't kill you, the cure is permanent."

With that we shook hands. Ptolemaeus headed down into his submarine and I turned my back to the harbor and strode towards the town. The sun was out, and birds were singing. There was a fresh breeze in the air. Light and life were coming back to Kerepes.

* * *

Rufinus Jovantor, Co-Procurator of the Province of Sarmantia, in a letter to his uncle Ptolemaeus, writes as follows: "You have often taxed me with the triteness and dreariness of my letters relating our life here in Sarmantia, and with good reason. Truly the Empire can have no other province so desperately dull as this one. The only event of even the slightest interest is the annual tooth flossing contest, which I have in the past described in mind-numbing detail.

"However, perhaps some glimmer of life is coming to our part of the world. We have recently been visited by a remarkable young violinist named Henrik von Wallenstein. His skill with the bow can only be described as superb. He gave a concert here in the Capitol last night in which he had all the women weeping and fainting. I was unable to attend, but the accounts I have heard are nothing short of astounding. He was swarmed on the stage and carried aloft by adoring acolytes stunned by his bravura performance. He has traveled here from the Principality of Kerepes, which I know you have recently visited, and according to the reports he credits his skill to a small stone which he carries always on his person. What a droll conception.

"I must bring this epistle to a close, as the post is stamping at the door, but I am certain I shall have much to relate regarding this outstanding young man in my next letter."

THE END

Bio: Donnally Miller lives in Morris Plains, NJ. He's had two scripts produced off-off-Broadway, but has never had his fiction published prior to this.

E-mail: Donnally Miller

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