Gene Wolfe - Free Live Free

The witch shook her head.

Stubb said, “I’ll answer. I’ve checked out a few of those guys for nervous relatives. And what the hell, you’re not interviewing me, so anything I say is free. So what I say is, I never in my life met a man that had a dog that would come every time he called it. But I’ve met a lot of stage people who’d go into their acts every chance they got, and sometimes for no reason at all. If a guy comes up with some sort of spook every time he tries, you can bet the rent he’s a performer. The guy whose dog stops coming if somebody looks hard to see if it’s a real dog or a kid in a dog suit’s a performer too.”

The witch’s lip curled ever so slightly. “Since Mr. Stubb has seen fit to put himself forward as enlightened, I have no alternative but to proffer an answer—or at least half an answer—myself.”

Sandy started to speak, but the witch raised her hand to stop her. “Do not thank me. Whatever gratitude you may feel should be directed to him, not me. My half answer is this—that the real problem confronting one who would judge mediumship is not distinguishing true spirits from bogus ones, as Mr. Stubb appears to believe. The great problem that confronts such a person is distinguishing honest and beneficent spirits from dishonest and malicious ones. One who can do that will have no difficulty unmasking shams; but one who cannot do it, and do it reliably, had much better have no traffic with spirits at all unless he can procure the assistance of a trustworthy expert. Now let us have your third and last question, please.”

“All right.” Sandy gulped. “The third and last question, but before I read it I want to tell you I am grateful to you, whatever you say.

“Third question. Madame Serpentina, what event of great importance to America do you foresee within the next ten years?”

The witch laughed. Her laugh was charming when she wished it to be, and it was charming now—Bames felt she had never been so desirable. “I do not cast the nation’s horoscope every day. Indeed, I do not much approve of the casting of horoscopes at all, as that art is commonly understood. One baseball team will defeat another, a short politician will be beaten by a tall one, valleys will flood, and the ground will shake; aircraft will plummet from the sky. I can tell you all that, but there is nothing of the unseen world about it—it is all the world that is too much seen, and in fact the world that does not have to be seen at all, since anyone can read of it in a newspaper. I will couch all those things in suitably cryptic verse for you, if you wish.”

“But that wasn’t my question—none of it was my question. I want to know just one event of great importance, as specifically as you can give it to me. We’ll print your prediction, and don’t forget that your reputation will depend somewhat on what you say. If you have to cast a horoscope, go ahead and do it.”

The witch shook her head. “Casting the horoscope of an entire nation—as I do such things—would require weeks. I will make a prediction because I have promised, if I can. If I cannot, you must leave without one. Are you familiar with catoptromancy?”

“I don’t even know what it means.”

“Perhaps you will see some. Ozzie, would you please open the drapes?”

Barnes fumbled for a moment before finding the cords at one side of the window. The stores and offices across the street were in three and four-storied buildings for the most part, so that the window looked out over a dark panorama of ugly roofs.

“Cloudy,” the witch said. “Very cloudy. Nevertheless, perhaps we might try. Ozzie, Mr. Stubb, I wish the mirror to be taken from that—that thing there. The dresser, or whatever one calls it. Can you do that for me?”

“I doubt it,” Stubb told her. He jerked the article in question away from the wall and glanced at its back. “Big tamper-proof screws. I might get it off in half an hour if I had a tool kit, but I don’t.”

“Then you will have to move the whole affair until it faces the window. Not right against the glass necessarily, but fairly close. Ozzie, assist him.”

Sandy pushed her chair back to let them past.

“Good. That is fine. Now open the window.”

“It’s cold out there,” Barnes protested.

“I am aware of it. Miss Garth, would you prefer that I call you Candy?”

“No,” Candy said.

“I do not blame you. Miss Garth, will you please extinguish the lights? You are nearest the switch, I think.”

The room was plunged into night. Sandy stirred in her chair and made one of those little moans for which there is no name. Barnes was wrestling with the window catch in the blackness. He won and slid back the glass.

“Now what?” Stubb asked.

“Now you wait until I tell you otherwise.”

Candy, rummaging the floor near where she sat, found her white raincoat and draped it about her shoulders. None of the others moved.

The faint noises of traffic rose from the street below. There was no wind, but the room quickly became cold. Somewhere nearby, the door of another room opened and closed.

“If you don’t—” Sandy began. The witch, leaning forward from her position on the bed, touched her knee to silence her.

An airplane droned far overhead. At thirty-five hundred feet the dark masses of snow cloud parted. Moonlight reached down toward the spire of the Consort, shone through the open window of Room 777, touched the mirror, and was reflected back and lost in the lightless sky.

“Shut the window,” the witch said. “Close the drapes. Now you must all listen to me and do as I tell you. You must not look into that mirror. When Miss Garth turns on the lights, you may talk among yourselves, or walk about, or do anything else you wish, but you must keep your eyes from the mirror. Do not speak to me; I will not be able to answer you …” She continued, rapidly yet solemnly, but the words were in a tongue none of them understood.

“Hell, we can’t look into it,” Stubb said.

Barnes told him, “I think she wants us to put it back where it was.”

Candy flicked the switch and called to Sandy Duck, “Get up and help them. That thing must weigh a ton.” With a woman at each front corner and a man at each rear corner, the vanity was restored to its original position.

“Now what?” Sandy asked. She was the smallest of them all, shorter even (if the heels had been pulled from her shoes) than Stubb, and she was panting a little.

“Now we don’t look in it,” Barnes said. “You heard her.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Oh, Lord,” Candy muttered. “What now?”

A voice outside announced room service.

Candy opened the door, and the third bellman wheeled in a laden cart. She looked frantically at Stubb, who waved a reassuring hand.

“Four dinners,” the bellman said. “I’ll put them on the table for you. Fish. Pie. Club. Steak. Fruit. Two coffees. Beer. Scotch. Glass of wine. That everything?”

“I think so,” Stubb said.

“Lady will have to sign for it,” the bellman said. “Unless you’re paying. Say, is she all right?”

The witch relaxed and nodded. “I am fine. I will sign. May I put a tip for you on the bill when I sign it?”

“Yes, Ma‘am. That will be fine, Ma’am. Thank you very much.”

She took the check and his pen. “Your friend—do you know whom I mean? He has not returned with my seventy dollars. If you should see him, will you ask him to do so? I am somewhat inconvenienced.”

“I certainly will, Ma’am. Joe ought to have got back to you with that quite a while ago. I’ll tell him.”

Stubb said, “Maybe he’s off already.”

The bellman shook his head as the witch handed back the check. “He’ll be on the rest of the night. We don’t get off till seven.” He grinned. “That’s very generous of you, Ma’am. Thank you.”