Roger Zelazny - If at Faust You Don't Succeed

Mack turned to Marguerite. "All right, let's get out of here!"

Mack, with Marguerite in tow, now turned away from the city walls and made his way back into the camp. He was in search of a place of safety. One thing he knew for sure was, he had fulfilled his first test.

He had made a choice, had saved the icon of St. Basil.

Already it was late. Darkness suddenly fell. The night had turned quite chilly. A cold wind was blowing.

Rain was falling. Shivering, shaking, Mack and Marguerite slogged across the muddy battlefield.

"Where are we going?" Marguerite asked.

"There's somebody I have to meet," Mack said, wondering where in hell Mephistopheles was.

"Did he say where?"

"He said he'd find me."

"Then why are we running like this?"

"We're getting away from the battle. You could get killed out there!"

"Hey there, you! Stop a moment!" a voice cried as Mack and Marguerite came up. "Haven't got a bit of dry firewood on you, have you?"

"No, no," Mack said. "Sorry, but we don't have any. Excuse us, fellows, we have to go."

The soldiers crowded around them. Marguerite felt something lumpy press against her side. She was about to slap somebody's face when she realized that Mack was trying to get her to take a small sack he had taken from Henry Dandolo. She concealed it on her person as the soldiers grabbed Mack.

They searched him roughly, and then turned to her. Marguerite, fearing rude hands on her person, dumbly handed over the sack.

"Aha!" one of them cried in a triumphant voice, taking out the icon of St. Basil. "What have we here?"

"Careful with that," Mack said, "that's a special holy icon."

"What does it do?" the soldier asked.

"It works miracles," Mack said.

"Works miracles, does it? Let's see if it'll start this fire. That would be a miracle!" He struck flint and steel. Sparks flew. One of them caught in the varnish on the icon's painted face. The icon sprang immediately into flames.

The soldiers bent down over it, trying to get the burning icon under the other logs. Mack took the opportunity to get away, followed by Marguerite.

They reached the edge of a little woods that bordered the battlefield. Loud lamentations could be heard from the direction of the city, now that the hiss of arrows had ended. The Crusaders were running wild.

Already a pall of smoke hung in the clear moonlit air. It looked like it was going to be Troy all over again.

Mack looked away. A flash of lightning revealed a tall, sinister figure standing not ten feet from him, wrapped in a crimson cloak, picturesquely posed at the margin of the woods.

"Mephistopheles!" Mack cried. "Am I glad to see you!" He hurried up to him. "Did you see what I did? I took the icon option."

"Yes, I saw," Mephistopheles said. "Frankly, I'm not impressed."

"You're not? But it seemed the best choice. When I heard of Henry Dandolo speak about his plans for the future of Constantinople, I knew that I shouldn't kill him. As for Alexius, I never did get close enough to him to kidnap him even if I'd wanted to."

"Fool!" Mephistopheles said. "Henry Dandolo was deceiving you. His hatred of Constantinople is implacable."

"How in hell was I supposed to know that?" Mack asked.

"Read his lips," Mephistopheles said. "If you had killed him, a better emperor might have been found, who could have saved the city from the terrible sacking and burning that the Crusaders are giving it even now." "I did the best I could," Mack said sullenly.

"I don't really mean to scold you," Mephistopheles said. "As I said, it's not you yourself being judged, it's mankind as exemplified by you. You made just the sort of silly choice a human would make. To try to save an illusion rather than perform a practicality!" "Well, I'll do better at it next time," Mack said. "I won't try to save any more illusions, I can tell you that.

What's next?"

"Your second adventure awaits you," Mephistopheles said. "Are you ready?"

"I could use a bath and a night's sleep."

"You will be able to get those things at your next stop. You are going to the court of Kublai Khan."

"What am I going there for?"

"I will explain when we get there. Prepare yourself." "Wait!" Mack cried, for Marguerite was tugging at his sleeve. "Can I take her along?"

Mephistopheles looked at Marguerite, seemed about to refuse, then shrugged. "Oh, I suppose so. Hold hands, close your eyes, and the thing will be done." Mack and Marguerite did as they were told. Marguerite also held her breath, because she hated the dizzying sensation of being conjured to another place and time.

Mephistopheles made hand gestures, there was the familiar flash of fire and curl of smoke. And they were gone.

When Mack opened his eyes, he found he was on a busy street corner in what looked like a very large city. Mephistopheles and Marguerite were standing on either side of him. Mephistopheles was looking as dapper as always. He had a fresh red rosebud in the buttonhole of his dark lounge suit. His black shoes glittered with a new shine. And Marguerite was pretty as a picture. She'd found the time to repair her makeup since leaving Constantinople, and to change into a flowered gown with low-cut bodice.

Mack looked around, and saw at once that this city had many large and noble buildings of a peculiar design that had to be Chinese. This impression was further reinforced by the inhabitants, who, wearing silks and furs, and with their hands in their long sleeves, hurried back and forth holding high-pitched conversations. The air was crisp and cold and smelled of charcoal and five-spice powder. The sky overhead was a cold northern blue. Men in fur hats with flat orange faces passed by. These, Mack was pretty sure, were Mongols. There seemed to be a lot of them around, all armed to the teeth. They walked past Mack and the others as if they were not there.

"They can't see us," Mephistopheles said. "I have put us under a temporary Invisibility Spell. It's cheaper than hiring a conference room."

"If you say so," Mack said. "Now, what am I supposed to do here?"

"There in front of you," Mephistopheles said, "down at the end of the street, is the great palace of Kublai Khan. Within that palace live the great Khan, his nobles, relatives, concubines, and hangers-on. Also in that palace is Marco Polo."

"The famous Venetian explorer?" Mack asked.

"None other. His uncle and father would normally be there with him, but they've gone on a trading trip to Trebizond."

"Where's Trebizond?" Mack asked.

"Never mind. You don't need to know that. What you need to know is what you're supposed to do here."

"Yes, right," Mack said. "Better fill me in."

"The situation is like this. Marco is planning to leave Peking and return to Venice. Kublai Khan has reluctantly agreed to let him go because Marco is the only one who can provide safe escort for the Princess Irene, whom he has betrothed to one of his lords in Persia. There are plots 'gainst Marco's life, however. Some of the Mongol lords resent the favors Kublai has bestowed on him. There are people who want to kill him. One of your choices is to prevent Marco Polo from being killed before he leaves Peking."

"Now, wait a minute," Mack said. "He did leave Peking, didn't he?"

"Yes, but that was in the past. This is happening now. So it all must be done over again. And it could go a different way. Because even though it's happening over again, this is also the first time."

"But if it did go a different way," Mack said, "wouldn't that play hell with events in our own time?"

"You needn't worry about that," Mephistopheles said. "Think of it as a game within a game. You are brought here and given a moment in time. You will have three choices of what to do with that moment.