Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“Yes.”

Tranto rose slowly, stretched, trumpeted. “Guess I’ll be heading back,” he said. “Glad I met another Donnerjack at the right time.”

“Any time,” said the boy. “I’m glad to know my dad was so well liked by so many different people. —You’ve actually seen Deep Fields?”

“Yes, but I just remember things in flashes from when the madness is on me. I left lots of big tracks through entropy, as I recall, and pissed off its boss.”

Jay shuddered.

“There really is an intelligence associated with it?”

“Yes—and with you. You are their firstborn, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t really understand the bond between you and the Lord of Entropy, so I won’t speculate. But for whatever it’s worth, you ought to be aware that there is something strange there.”

“It doesn’t seem there’d be much I could do about it.”

“There is a legend that your father once fought the Lord of Entropy to a draw.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. The only one who might is himself a legendary figure known as the Brass Babboon. I’ve never met him. I heard the story of an old owl, who once passed the time of day in his cab.”

“His cab?”

“Yes, the Brass Babboon is a train.”

“This is all very confusing. Can you tell me how I might find this train?”

“No, I’ve heard that it comes and goes where it would and has a variety of ghost stations and train yards where it is serviced. It must find you, I believe.”

Jay snorted. “I think I’ve lost my scientific open-mindedness,” he said.

“I’m just relaying rumors here, because they pertain to you. No firsthand knowledge. I’m pretty skeptical myself under the circumstances.”

“I understand. I’ll find you again sometime. If you hear any more stories about my dad save them for me.”

“I will. I’ll be going now. Thanks.”

Jay watched him lumber away at a surprisingly rapid pace. After Tranto was out of sight he heard him trumpeting again, a wild, joyful thing.

That night, lying in bed, Jay recalled that the bracelet contained some of his father’s memories, though it often became rather reticent when questioned concerning them.

Never certain whether he was accessing it correctly, he tapped it several times with a pencil.

“Information concerning John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Senior, if you please,” he asked.

“How may I help you?” came the reply.

“Did he ever really journey to Deep Fields and confront the Lord of Entropy there?” he asked.

“That information is restricted at this time,” it said.

“Is there a Deep Fields?”

“Restricted.”

“A Lord of Entropy?”

“Restricted.”

“A train called the Brass Babboon?”

“Yes.”

“Has it been to Deep Fields?”

“Let us assume that it has.”

“How can one locate this machine?”

“Restricted.”

“There must be a very special reason to restrict this information from me.”

“There is.”

“Have I some special connection with Deep Fields?”

“Restricted.”

“With the Lord of Deep Fields?”

“Restricted.”

“If there were a way we could discuss Deep Fields, its lord, and my connection with them, would there be anything you could tell me about them or about myself?”

“Hm. Let me examine that sentence structure a few moments, will you?”

“Certainly.”

“I suppose I would tell you that there is a great, dark, mysterious palace in Deep Fields.”

“Yes?”

“And that its architect was John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Senior.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Perhaps in payment of a debt.”

“Was I concerned in all this?”

“Not directly, no.”

“Am I now?”

“Restricted.”

“I think there is more information you could give me.”

“Restricted.”

“And I’m too tired to fish anymore. G’night.”

“‘Night.”

From that day on, John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Junior felt that he had some special mission in life—whether for good, ill, or something else, he could not tell.

John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Junior stood before a virtual mirror he had created in a small culvert he had also created in a wood of Virtu near to the precincts of Castle Donnerjack. He became a beautiful blue-eyed woman with blond hair down to the middle of his back. Raising his arms above his head, he rotated slowly upon his vertical axis, checking for anatomical felicity. Satisfied, he lowered his arms, smiled, and curtsied to his reflection.

He closed his eyes for a moment then, and changed the subject. When he opened them he looked first to his hands, which had grown hairy, then to his reflection, which was now that of one of Sayjak’s tribe.

Dubhe applauded. “Well done! Well done!” he cried. “Ideally, though, you’ve got to do it without closing your eyes. Someone may throw something or swing something at you.”

“True,” said Jay.

“Try something totally nonhuman—like a piece of furniture, a rock, a machine.”

“Okay. Let me think a minute.”

“No time! They’re breaking down the door! Do it now!”

Jay hustled and turned into an end table.

“Not bad, except that you’re not level and you have five legs.”

“Oops!”

“Inanimates can be very tricky. This is why you’re practicing. People who are exceptionally good at it usually start out with just a few, practice them to perfection, then move on, building a repertoire.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” said Jay, resuming human form.

“Go ahead.”

“What do you do when we’re not together?”

“Wander. There’s an awful lot of Virtu to see.”

“You don’t work for anyone?”

“I work for the enrichment of my spirit. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you and Mizar and Phecda and Alioth all showed up at about the same time, and I didn’t think of it then but I sometimes wonder whether it was completely coincidental.”

“You should have asked me sooner because I’ve wondered, too, and I’ve compared notes with the others on it. We all wander. We all have things in common and get together periodically. We are all kind of fascinated by your case.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’d love to see Castle Donnerjack beyond the Great Stage. We all probably hanker after things we can’t have.”

“Come this way,” Jay said, walking briskly back.

Dubhe hurried after.

Coming at length to the Great Stage, Jay said, “I want to see if I can take you through along with me.”

“With all due respect,” Dubhe observed, “I don’t believe it can be done. I think you’re just some sort of anomaly because an exception was made allowing you to have parents from both sides.”

“Maybe,” said Jay. “But I always wanted to find out. Let’s give it a try.”

“Okay. What should I do?”

“Take my hand.”

Dubhe did this thing.

“Come this way,” Jay said, opening the door and walking briskly back.

Dubhe hurried after.

Stepping onto the Great Stage, Jay grinned. “Here goes nothing.”

“With all due respect…” Dubhe began.

Not releasing Dubhe’s hand, Jay walked onto the Stage, crossed it, stepped down into his father’s office.

Moving through his father’s office, Jay touched a desk.

“The real thing,” he announced.

Dubhe reached out. His hand stopped at the surface.

“I feel it!” he said.

“Good! Touch a few other things. Don’t touch any controls, though.”

“Shan’t. Can we go farther than this room?”

“I don’t see why not. Come on.”