Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

They made their way out and down the nearest stair, encountering no one. Dubhe ran his hands over tapestries, furniture, walls as they went.

“But it’s just the same!” he finally protested.

“That’s the way I feel, too.”

“Don’t feel I could move into a phase, though.”

“Don’t think you can.”

“Do you think we could step outside?”

“I don’t do it very often, but I don’t see why not.”

Jay led him toward a door set in the southern wall. Taking a key from a hook he unlocked it and they stepped through. Dubhe stooped and nibbled several blades of grass from between his fingers.

“Tastes like grass, too,” he said. “Maybe there’s not that much difference.”

“Can’t spread my arms and fly here, or walk into the ocean and breathe under water.”

“Is that really so important?”

Jay moved to an iron gate set in a fence, opened it, passed inside.

“What’s this?” Dubhe asked.

“Family cemetery,” Jay said. “That’s my mom’s grave and that’s my dad’s.”

Dubhe pointed upward.

“Jay! What’s going on?”

Jay raised his head. One of those odd old pieces of equipment mounted on the wall had suddenly begun to glow with a violet aura. “I don’t know what—” he began.

The bracelet vibrated.

“Son! Get back to the office fast!” it called. “Don’t wait to lock doors! Run!”

Jay turned and ran. Dubhe followed. The air before them swam with moire.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Dubhe responded.

“What’s the stuff in the air?”

“Moire—the sign of Death,” Dubhe answered as they entered the castle.

Jay felt his hair rising and saw that Dubhe’s was also. As they pounded up the stairs the glowing units in the outer walls began to sing.

“What’s going on?” Dubhe asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before. You at least know what the moire is,” Jay said, rubbing his eyes.

“The older you get, the more you learn of such matters, brother Jay—and they’re saddening. Ordinarily, you see them right before you die, if you live in Virtu.”

“I don’t feel like dying today,” said Jay, rounding another corner and racing on toward the office. He heard something like a soft chuckle then.

There was a crackling sound in the air, and the moire faded as they entered the office.

“Bracelet!” he called out. “What now?”

“Black box on table near main desk,” came the reply. “Light indicator should be on. Third dial from right. Turn it all the way clockwise.”

Jay sprang forward.

“Done!” he cried.

A crackling sound came from beyond the walls.

“There’s a small switch jury-rigged, on the rear table leg. Throw it!”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Extra generator.”

A display appeared on the screen of one main unit on the central workbench. It was a head shrouded within a dark cowl, the face pale, shadowed. “Hello,” it said.

Jay felt Dubhe duck behind him.

“Fast on your feet, boy,” the figure continued.

Jay tried to meet its dark gaze, failed.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“An old associate of your father’s,” came the reply.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“You were given to me before your birth.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“Ask the coward who hides behind you.”

“Dubhe, is this true?”

“Well—uh—yes.”

“How do you know this?”

“I was there when the arrangement was made.”

“Why was it made?”

“You may tell him of it some time,” said the shadowy figure on the screen. “Right now he needs to know where the equities lie.”

“Well, where do they?” asked Jay.

“You have been mine all along,” said the other. “But I did not take you when I took your father because of an eloquent plea he’d made for your continued existence. Just now, though, when you left yourself unguarded, I felt that much of my word had been kept—and I decided to reach for you and test your response. How did you know what to do?”

Jay heard Dubhe whisper then, “Don’t tell him of the bracelet.” Aloud, then, the monkey said, “I thought how his father fought you for his life, years ago.”

“When did you hear that?”

“I’ve a feeling I shouldn’t say.”

“Hie you home now, Dubhe. We’ve matters to discuss.”

“Alas, sir. I cannot.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“I seem to have been translated and become a creature of the Verite. I cannot come to you. I seem to have lost the way.”

“Somehow, this is old Donnerjack’s doing, isn’t it?”

“I do not know, sir.”

“—Managed by the boy.”

Dubhe glanced at Jay, who nodded and smiled.

“Your father did not best me,” the figure said then. “It was only a draw.”

“Best two out of three?” said the boy.

The cowled figure simply stared, then said, “I’m dropping the siege. I’ll give you a few more years. I’ve a feeling the damage is already done. I fail to understand the fascination life holds for you Donnerjacks, though.”

“Who are you?” the boy repeated.

“You know me. Everybody knows me,” he said. “Goodbye for now.”

The screen grew darker. Jay Donnerjack felt his hair settling as the projectors turned themselves down, and then, finally, off.

“Tell me about him,” Jay said.

“That was the Lord of Deep Fields,” Dubhe replied.

Jay frowned. “What is your connection with him?” he asked.

“He likes a little company. I was one of the ones he kept around to chat with on occasion. He even sweetens the pot by giving us a little power to keep us happy in that strange place.”

“That strange place?”

“Deep Fields.”

“You actually dwelled there?”

“Well—yes.”

“Did he ask you to keep an eye on me?”

Dubhe looked away.

“Yeah. He did sort of mention it.”

“Which side are you on anyway? Where do you go when you leave here?”

“Well, I can’t go back now. Your power prohibits it. I had no idea you could bring me to Verite and, in effect, bar my return to Deep Fields. It would be fun to see him try to break that power.”

“What are you going to do, now?”

“Hang out with you, I guess, if you’ll let me.”

“So you can spy on me some more?”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind. I think he’s thrown me out.”

“So you need a new place to run to?”

“In a word, yes. But unless he snatches me away for dust, I think I could teach you a lot. I’ve learned something of his ways.”

“I think I can send you back.”

“Not now! Not while he’s pissed! Please!”

“All right. I’d like someone to chat with, too. Give me a break. If you ever want to go back, tell me first.”

“Oh, I will! I promise!”

“The hell with your promise. Your word is sufficient.”

“Oh, that, too!”

“Okay, we take care of each other then.”

“Okay, but bear in mind that neither of us is really a match for the Lord of Deep Fields.”

Jay chuckled.

“Hungry?”

“Yes. And I’ve never tried Verite food.”

“First time for everything,” said Jay.

John D’Arcy Donnerjack, Junior crouched on the parapet beside a particularly ugly waterspout of a gargoyle. Recently, he had begun the study of gymnastics. And while he loved his rock-climbing in Virtu, he had been quick to see the possibilities of the rugged structure of the castle itself. Sometimes he would look out over the village, up into the mountains, and toward the sea. On other occasions he regarded glorious mixes of rainbow, cloud, and mist, patches of sunlight. Whenever his nimble figure was spotted from the town below it added to the notion that the castle was haunted. On dimmer days he was unseen. He seldom ventured out upon the walls at night.