Roger Zelazny - If at Faust You Don't Succeed

From your choices, we will see how you will affect the future, whether for good or for ill."

"No, it makes no sense at all," Mack said. "Why should I have to help Marco? He has already won out against any plot there might have been against him."

"You don't seem to understand," Mephistopheles said. "When we send you here, it's as if the story is happening for the first time. No outcomes are fixed. For that matter, who knows how many times the Marco Polo story has been replayed? The history of Earth is like the old morality plays one sees over and over again, but the outcomes are not fixed. It's like the commedia dell'arte. The basic cast assembles every evening, the situation is begun, but sometimes, quite unexpectedly, the outcome is different."

Marco Polo story has been replayed? The history of Earth is like the old morality plays one sees over and over again, but the outcomes are not fixed. It's like the commedia dell'arte. The basic cast assembles every evening, the situation is begun, but sometimes, quite unexpectedly, the outcome is different."

"

"How could you know what the main course of history is if you're immersed in its stream? And yet, although it is all deadly serious, it is all a game. At least, to us it is a game. But to you it had better stay serious or you'll suffer for it."

"What are my other choices?" Mack asked.

"There is the matter of the Princess Irene. She is from a far country and Kublai Khan has betrothed her to a lord of Persia. Yet if she were to marry someone else, that would change the course of history, too.

You can decide to change that by getting her to marry someone else."

"What happened with the one she did marry?" Mack asked. "History doesn't tell us," Mephistopheles replied.

"All right," Mack said. He saw he wasn't going to get anything much clearer out of this high-flown demon.

"And what is the third choice?" "Kublai Khan possesses a magic scepter that brings good luck to the Mongol forces, and hence bad luck on his enemies, which include the countries of the West that Kublai opposes. You could steal that scepter."

"I tried that last time with the magic icon."

"This time is completely different. Forget about the last time. Now, if you're quite ready, I'll take away the cloak of invisibility and you can begin."

"Wait a minute!" Mack said. "How do I explain my presence here?"

Mephistopheles pondered for a moment. "Tell them you're the ambassador from Ophir."

"And what is Ophir?"

"Ophir," Mephistopheles said, "is the city mentioned in the Old Testament from which King Solomon got his gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks."

"And where is this Ophir located?"

"No one knows for sure. Various sites have been mentioned, among them East Africa, the Far East, Abyssinia, and Arabia. We can be sure Marco Polo has not been there, otherwise he would have mentioned it in the long and boastful list of travels he will leave behind. So you can safely claim your ambassadorship since there is no one to refute you."

"Well, all right," Mack said. "So I'm the Ophirian ambassador. Or is that Ophirese?"

"As you please," Mephistopheles said, showing signs of impatience. "Now, if you're quite ready?"

"Wait! One more thing," Mack said. "What about my clothing?"

"Look at yourself," Mephistopheles said.

Mack looked. Evidently, when redressing himself and Marguerite, Mephistopheles had found time to give Mack black-and-white tights, a wool-lined jacket, and a little cap with a feather in it. So that part was all right. But Mack felt there was something else, some other problem. Mephistopheles was beginning to make his disappearing gestures. Then Mack had it.

"What do you mean?" Mephistopheles said.

"Unless they know German and a little French, I'm going to be stuck."

"Oh." Mephistopheles frowned. "But, Dr. Faust, you are a renowned scholar and linguist."

"You know how it is," Mack said. "People exaggerate these things. Anyway, I've been a long time out of languages. They all need brushing up." "Very well," Mephistopheles said. "I'll give you a Language Spell that will enable you to understand everything anybody says. Be careful with it. It's not for general circulation."

"A magic Language Spell will help," Mack said.

Mephistopheles gestured. "It is done. You have to give it back when you are through with it."

"What about me?" Marguerite asked.

"You're just along as his friend," Mephistopheles said. "The Language Spell doesn't pertain to you. Ready, then?" Mack gulped and nodded. Mephistopheles disappeared, this time without a flash of fire and smoke, just a rather rapid fading out. At the same moment, a short, squat man with a long beard bumped into Mack.

"Ogrungi," the man said.

"No, no, it was my fault," Mack said. And then marveled at the fact that he had understood the fellow perfectly. The man moved on and Mack turned to Marguerite. "I wish Mephistopheles hadn't been so peremptory," Mack said. "He really doesn't set these things up very well. Let's see now. What is the first thing I'm supposed to do?"

At that moment a tall, fierce-looking warrior in fur hat and lacquered armor, with sword and shield and a lance on his back, said, "Hey, you!"

"This is familiar," Mack murmured to Marguerite. Turning to the warrior, he said, "Yes?"

"I haven't seen you around before. Who are you?"

"I," Mack said, "am the ambassador from Ophir. Take me to your khan. And by the way, this is my friend, Marguerite."

"Follow me," the warrior said.

Staying a few steps behind the warrior, out of whose way people scurried with much kow-towing, they walked through the teeming marketplace that lay on their way to Kublai's palace. There were smells aplenty here and they were Chinese smells for the most part, not European smells, though there were also curry smells from India, and hibiscus smells from the South Seas. Once they began walking among the stalls, the air became redolent with the odor of five-spice powder and Accent. Blocks of pressed seaweed, which people ate like knockwurst, exuded their characteristic odor both miasmic and iodinic.

Mack could detect the clean smells of bamboo and sandalwood above the more insistent odors of garlic, charcoal, rice-wine vinegar, and lichee nuts. There were baskets of barbecued pork and platters of General Khu's chicken. Duck Peking style could be seen everywhere, most of it doused in the ubiquitous Peking sauce. People with brownish yellow faces and straight black hair, of all sizes and shapes, gazed at them and passed comments. Because of the Language Spell that Mephistopheles had given him, Mack was able to understand all of the comments.

"What is it, Ben?"

"Sure looks like foreigners to me."

"What a funny skin color!"

"What ugly eyes!"

"And the way he's dressed! Nobody wears them velvet jackets around here."

"And look at her in them high heels! We don't even wear high heels around here, they're so tacky, so you can figure what they're like."

"Hell no, we don't!"

Noisy but cheerful, the crowd offered no violence. Mack, Marguerite, and the warrior left the market with its many smells and came to an altogether more neutral region in terms of odoriferousness, a great boulevard beyond which lay a noble palace.

They crossed the street and entered a long stone courtyard leading to a high gate. The gate was open and a captain of the guard stood before it in lacquered armor with sword and shield, and challenged them.

"Who goes there?'

"Anonymous soldier," the Mongol warrior replied, "bringing with him the ambassador from Ophir and his girlfriend to present to the Khan."

"What good timing!" the guard said. "Kublai Khan and his whole court happen to be assembled now, they've finished talking business and it's not yet time for dinner, and so are hoping for something amusing to come up. Pass, anonymous soldier with honored guests."