Mytholumina Page 4

  ‘I’m flattered, Mrs. Amberny.

  ‘You must help us. There is only one way. I could think of no one other than a Pleasure Giver who is sufficiently discreet to perform this service.’

  ‘Which is?’

  She squashed out the cigarette on a side-plate, her eyes taking on an eerie, girlish glitter. ‘Witchcraft,’ she said.

  ‘Witchcraft,’ I repeated, to play for time.

  ‘Yes. We must fight fire with fire, or in this case, cult with occult.’

  I was sufficiently perturbed to throw down my fork. ‘Mrs. Amberny, I’m not a witch. And if anyone has said I am, it is doubtless because of some petty offence...’

  ‘Be quiet, Mr. Guilder. I know what you are. In this universe the only person who can be trusted to utter silence is a Pleasure Giver; their income, their life depends on their discretion. As you yourself said, the only other alternative is some sordid kind of hired killer and you’ve heard my views on that.’

  ‘Perhaps a real witch might be discreet, Mrs. Amberny.’

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps so, but I was advised against it. Discretion cannot be guaranteed in any profession but yours. I trust no one. If Breed found out about what I’m planning, he’d ruin me. I’d be thrown off the council. Frenzied acolytes of the Baby Jesus would tear my crystal fields to shreds with their bare hands. Only witchcraft can remove his allure, and of course, the first policy he instituted on the council was to outlaw all alternative religions. You must do it, Mr. Guilder, even if you know nothing about the occult at all.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Mrs. Amberny,’ I said, making further investigation of the meal, even though the plate did not appear to be getting any emptier. ‘I know a little, obviously, for as you said my work takes me upon unusual paths, but I don’t know enough to bewitch someone – if that is what you’re implying you want.’ My mouth was apparently getting used to the unusual flavours. I discovered that eating was becoming less of a trial.

  Mrs. Amberny still had not taken more than a mouthful. ‘Mr. Guilder,’ she took another breath, ‘your name came to me from a very reliable source. I can’t say more than that. I know of your reputation; no other Pleasure Giver’s can rival it. I trust your ingenuity and wit. After lunch, I would like you to return to your hotel to ponder upon the problem. I will see you again tomorrow.’

  I rubbed my face with a cautious hand. ‘This might seem indelicate, Mrs. Amberny, but you did say we could discuss it. How much can I expect to earn if I complete this task?’

  She smiled widely. ‘How much? Oh, you saw the cruisers at the spaceport, no doubt? Well, you could buy all of those and a freighter to transport them on. Is that enough?’

  ‘I’m already working on a solution to your problem, Mrs. Amberny.’

  ‘Good boy.’

  ‘One more thing, and it’s merely curiosity, why were you so concerned that I should be male?’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious. You say you know a little about the occult? Well, I am female and need to work magic with a male. You will be my High Priest, Mr. Guilder, and you will teach me what I need to know.’

  I thanked the Infant Baby Jesus I’d shelved the idea of having an additional female orifice implanted before coming here. I raised my glass. ‘To our success,’ I said and drank. Mrs. Amberny smiled.

  Riding back to the Hotel Evening in Mrs. Amberny’s own silver hover-car complete with female chauffeur who had eyes with slit pupils like a cat, I was already considering a certain course of action that could be of immense assistance. Several times, my well-trained brain tried to skirt the idea; the sensation of wincing was quite alien to me, but there seemed no alternative. I was under no illusions as to the state of Mrs. Amberny’s mental health – her solution to the problem was wild and emotional and highly impractical when looked at with an objective eye. However, it was what she wanted and I was in no position to question it. Neither did I want to, because it gave me an excuse to make a particular holoscreen call that I’d needed an excuse to make for years. This was what was causing the wincing.

  I was shamefully aware of how my spirits had leapt when she’d mentioned the fateful word: witchcraft. How absurd it sounded in this age of space cruisers and gender implants and black hole bistros. Witchcraft. A dark word that draws one inexorably into the dim, haunted past of our race, to a time when people lay in the mud of Mother Earth and worshipped the sun and the moon. Did anybody nowadays adhere to that ancient religion and wield the ways of the elements? Yes, they did. I’m sure of it because there is a name in my address file beside which I have inscribed the legend, ‘Sneaky, snaky WITCH’. It was a bitter time when I wrote that, the extent of the bitterness illustrated by the fact that I’ve never scrubbed it out. What Mrs. Amberny didn’t realise was that witches were extremely reluctant to actually harm people, despite popular myth, and especially so in the case of my acquaintance. There was no one else I knew who could help me with this job, and I did need assistance, because my knowledge in this field was slim to say the least. On the one hand, I shied from getting involved with this person again, on the other hand, no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I was overjoyed.

  I suppose there are two popular images of witches. The first is the raddled hag armed with various parts of batrachian anatomy, and the second is the lissom seductress against whom all men are witless. Pharaoh Hallender was neither of these. Half of all available witches are male. Pharaoh was born male. The last time we’d met he hadn’t changed sex at all, but that had been some time ago. Knowing him as I did, however, he probably had some deep-seated principle about interfering with one’s external expression of polarity. I expected him still to be a ‘he’, although I knew for a fact that his principles didn’t extend to refusing rejuvenation. We’d been friends for a while, on a far world that in my memory is a paradise of summer evenings and slow-moving water and shady trees. I can still see his house, dim lights through a veil of fern trees and I can smell the heady incense that smouldered in a dish of ashes on the porch. Our friendship ended with a misunderstanding on his part that left me powerless against a barrier of protection he cast about his house to keep me away. No amount of pleading, contrition, gifts, rage or avowals of love would affect his decision never to speak to me again. It was a long time ago, and I never let anyone get to me like that again, as Lenora Sabling would no doubt have been able to tell you. I only hoped that enough time had passed for his anger to have cooled. He might even be speaking to his sister again by now. They were both beautiful. Was it my fault I couldn’t make up my mind?

  I paced my bedroom for half an hour back at the Hotel Evening. I kept looking through the door to the sitting room, eyeing the holoscreen with aversion and longing. Eventually, I found myself quite suddenly sitting in front of it and speaking his code to the long-distance operator. It must be an old system they have on Esher Belling. There was a discernible delay before my call clicked through. And then with a shiver and a brief, whining purr, the screen gave me a picture, and the face of Pharaoh Hallender was before me, enchanting as a dream, exactly the same as the last time I’d laid eyes on it. He wasn’t looking into the screen but was leaning down to fiddle with something on the floor, holding a towel unsuccessfully to a tumbling mop of wet, black hair. I could see the room behind him. That, unlike him, had changed. The shawls on the wall looked more expensive than I remembered. Clearly, fortune-telling was an expanding business. ‘Yes, who is this?’ he said, now peering into the screen. Perhaps they had bad reception at his end.

  ‘An old friend,’ I said confidently.

  He looked blank. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Tavrian Guilder.’ I tried to control a desperate note in my voice.

  ‘Tavrian Guilder?’ He stared at the screen suspiciously. ‘The Tavrian Guilder?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He looked bewildered and my heart gave a helpless leap. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I wondered whether you’d give me some assistance on a contr
act I have.’

  ‘Are you still a Pleasure Giver?’ he sneered.

  ‘Yes. Are you interested? It’s just your kind of job.’

  ‘Tavrian, it is painful to remind you that we haven’t spoken for years, even more painful to remind you why. I suppose there is a kind of charm in you calling me up like this with such an insulting suggestion. It’s almost childlike. I really don’t think anything that comes within the line of your profession could ever be termed “just my kind of job”.’

  ‘You don’t know what it is yet.’

  ‘This is true. Neither do I expect to in the near future.’

  ‘Your words are bleak, but I am encouraged by the fact that you haven’t broken the transmission.’

  ‘You have green skin, Tavrian.’

  ‘I know. This woman wants to work some spell or another. I can’t talk about it now, but it’s beyond my abilities. I thought...’

  ‘Tavrian, you have green hair.’

  ‘I know. Are you listening? There’s a lot of money to be earned here.’

  An interstellar sigh travelled all the way from his world to Asher Tantine. ‘All right; tell me.’

  ‘I can’t really. It’s not a rat promise, Pharaoh, I need you. It’s genuine, it’s lucrative.’

  ‘And where is it?’

  ‘Asher Tantine.’

  ‘Asher who? Is that near Gulfride?’

  ‘Sort of. More near Ilthante.’

  Pharaoh closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Are you asking me to come there, Tavrian?’ he asked in a low, dangerous kind of voice that I knew of old.

  My finger was poised over the recall button. ‘It will be worth it.’

  ‘Do you know how much it will cost me? Is the job that lucrative? Can it possibly be worth it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sighed. ‘Give me directions.’ There was a fatalistic note in this.

  I experienced a thrill of victory. Patience had won. I always knew I’d get the better of him. I wanted to get up and dance around the room. I’d won – after all this time. He couldn’t resist me. He was coming. My elation was bordering on hysteria. Send me packing would you, you little witch? Ha, I’ll show you!

  ‘How is the charming Raifina?’ I enquired, after delivering the information on where I was.

  Pharaoh did not flicker. ‘Fine. Goodbye, Tavrian.’

  Even on the fastest transport available, Pharaoh would not reach Asher Tantine for three weeks or so. Mankind might have conquered the concept of space and its traversal, but was still struggling with the concepts of timetables and connections. I used this time to cast a wary eye over the antics and cavortions of the New Church of Infant Jesus. I went to listen to Matthew Breed speak, but could only stomach it once. There was a newly built church in the middle of town, its walls crystal-scum-free and adorned with framed representations of the man himself. He was a very prominent figure in the town and death was clearly not a spectre he left the light on for. Any enterprising annihilator could have disposed of him neatly a hundred times a day, so lax was the security around him. His appearance was much as you’d expect; clean cut, shaved raw, eager. His eyes, as is the custom with his type, were exceedingly pale. All men of god tend to look at the world through eyes like oysters, I’ve found. Matthew Breed was, of course, a very rich man.

  Mrs. Amberny began to twitch when I told her about Pharaoh Hallender. The woman is paranoid to the point of delusion. I heaped assurances upon her as to Pharaoh’s irreproachable discretion. She was only half convinced. More than the downfall of Matthew Breed, she looked forward to being able to wield some kind of power herself. The slap in the face, the appeasing knife thrust, the silver bullet, were denied her because Matthew Breed was too popular to be harmed. In the place of such delights, she longed to gather dark power to her breast and throw it in his direction. Not murder but the curse of ill luck. Matthew Breed must lose his allure. His sincerity must become questioned by even the most stupid of his followers.

  Pharaoh Hallender arrived on the evening flight and I went to the Violet Way spaceport to meet him. The customs officials were almost as delighted by his papers bearing the occupation ‘occultist’ as they had been with mine. Standing beyond the doors, I could see Pharaoh smiling and joking with them, as is his way. His tolerance of other humans was one of the few things I disliked about him. When I saw one of the officials extend his hand for Pharaoh to read the palm, I decided I must interrupt. Mrs. Amberny was meeting us for dinner at a fashionable restaurant in town and I did not want to be late.

  ‘Pharaoh,’ I said, ‘it’s me, Tavrian. We have a dinner appointment.’ I indicated the door.

  The customs official looked downhearted.

  Pharaoh followed me out into the sharp fragrance of an Asher Tantine evening. Hire cars hovered hopefully around the entrance to the spaceport. I hailed one and we climbed inside. Pharaoh is the kind of person with whom people are irresistibly tempted to fall desperately in love. Not just because of his beauty, which is unique in itself, but because he brims with childish wonder and vivacity, that is healing and infectious at the same time. I was not surprised when he told me of his success as an occultist. Even if his predictions were completely made up, which they weren’t, people would pay vast amounts of cash just to be soothed by him and listened to. I sat leaning against the door of the car, discreetly appraising him. He was looking out of the window taking in the harsh, splendid sights of Asher Tantine. I still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to come. ‘I’m pleased to see you, Pharaoh,’ I said.

  He turned and smiled wanly at me. ‘Weird kind of place this, isn’t it?’

  Mrs. Amberny fell under the Hallender spell as soon as he swanned into her line of sight, which I considered to be quite an achievement on Pharaoh’s part. She was quite a hard nut. The restaurant was furnished in dark, midnight blue and startling white. Crystal chandeliers shone dimly from tented fabric. Mrs. Amberny was sitting smoking at a table set on a dais at the back of the room, in front of windows through which the nightlife of the town could be seen emerging for another evening’s rampage. The white cloth of her table was littered with ash; her glass of wine stood half empty. I admired her svelte body in its white gown; she was really quite a stunning creature. Pharaoh and I took our places beside her and she summoned a waiter. By now I was thoroughly acquainted with the local cuisine and ordered our meals with calm expertise. Then I had to sit and listen to Mrs. Amberny pouring out her heart to Pharaoh. She heaped scorn upon the New Church at which Pharaoh twitched uncomfortably. I did not dare look up to witness his response.

  ‘Forgive me, Mrs. Amberny,’ he said, his voice full of gentle censure, ‘but although I can understand your grievance, it would not be appropriate to cast a malison over this Mr. Breed. Everyone has a right to their own beliefs, even if they do happen to conflict with your own.’

  ‘You are right,’ Mrs. Amberny said, at which I just had to look up. ‘And if it was just a case of that, I’d do nothing. But as I explained to your colleague, Matthew Breed will destroy the livelihood of this town, indeed this planet, if he’s allowed to continue in his fanaticism. I cannot believe that religious retreats can earn half as much as a single, decent nightclub.’

  ‘Clearly, you are unfamiliar with the Church’s reputation in this galaxy,’ Pharaoh said dryly. ‘I really don’t think you have anything to worry about if it’s only the financial aspect that concerns you.’

  Mrs. Amberny shook her head. ‘It’s not just that,’ she said. ‘How can it be right for this parasite to come here and inflict his ways upon our society? It smells of conquest to me. It is empire building, and I, for one, will fight most vehemently against subjection.’

  Pharaoh considered her words. ‘There is a happy solution to every problem in this universe, Mrs. Amberny. I shall just have to find the one for yours.’

  After the meal, we rode back to the hotel in silence. The journey took longer than expected because of another detour we had to make around a group of yelling Bre
ed converts. I didn’t mind. I was just happy to sit there thinking that only a few weeks before I would never have dreamed it possible that I’d be in the presence of Pharaoh Hallender again, never mind working with him. Another, more rational, part of my brain was flashing warning signals that I was entering a dark and dangerous place, which I ignored. The moment was too sweet.

  Back at Hotel Evening, I asked Pharaoh to come for a drink in my suite. He said no, he was tired. Then I suggested that he come for a drink and then sleep.

  His face assumed a hard expression. ‘Tavrian Guilder, if you as much as think about getting within touching distance of me, I will remove your throat with a blunt instrument. Is that clear? I came here to work. Although I’ve forgiven you for the past, which is purely the fault of genetic abnormalities on your part, I have not forgotten. You are a trail of slime across the gateway to hell, Tavrian. You are as hollow as a rotten mag-fruit. You are as sincere as a starving man who says he is a vegetarian. In short, I despise you.’

  ‘I suppose sex is out of the question then?’

  He didn’t answer.

  The next evening, a car arrived to take us to Mrs. Amberny’s estate. Pharaoh had been locked in his room at the hotel all day, emerging at sundown looking tired. By the time we reached the Violet Way Villa he was full of energy again. I guessed he’d found a solution to Mrs. Amberny’s problem, although he was reluctant to tell me what it was.

  In olden times, a witch would stand and summon up the elements with the power of her own voice; not so in our wondrous golden age of technological miracles. Pharaoh had a set of resonating machines, which were housed in four, hand-sized silver boxes, inscribed for effect with runic symbols. When activated, these machines produced sounds that conjured up within seconds the elemental forces necessary for any occult work. It took years of training for a human being to achieve such an effect.

  Mrs. Amberny had cleared a room for us. It overlooked the lawns and was floored in spotless, white marbeline. Pharaoh paced the room, sniffing, and then set up his machines around the edge. Next, at each compass point he set out long, white candles which were lit from a glowing taper. Mrs. Amberny turned off the lights and the room became a temple; dim-lit, mysterious, the air hushed.