Damon Knight: Orbit 21

The flowers in the trees became molten bursts of color that sped past, red and yellow, glaring as they leaped out at me, vivid as they receded into the dappled shadows. I let my actions become automatic, the smells, the textures, the colors guiding my motions, accelerating my pace.

I left the wooded strip, crossed the avenue and rushed up the steps of Welcome House. This was as good a vantage point as any; I could watch Death’s approach without being seen. Additionally, there would be plenty of room for maneuvering—the street and steps were deserted, and no trading caravans were due until late tomorrow. Casting about, I located a dozen clouds well within range to the southeast, hooked into them, and began waiting.

I had been leaning on the pillar without really noticing the bright blue scales, edged in red and gilt, that covered it. I stood back to take a good look. Katie had painted this. The pattern washed across the column, splashing in and out and over the eavebeams, cascading down the wall behind me to the floor of the huge porch. When seen from a distance, Welcome House looked like a big blue dragon, wings folded, head resting on her paws, dozing peacefully in the warm sunlight.

Katie had painted most of the buildings in Elsinore. That was before her fall, when she could still walk, still clamber around in the architecture, wielding a fistful of color.

The time passed slowly.

I waited until he had nearly walked past the House. “Greetings, O Death!” I called. I knew that’d get him. He was a real sucker for formalities.

He stopped and stood with his back to me for almost a full minute. He was bald. His robes were orange, shot through with golds, pinks, purples, and deep reds. The only problem with this was that the colors tended to swirl within his form, shifting continuously. That was disconcerting to anyone who hadn’t been trained to withstand the effects of vertigo.

He turned, smiling serenely as usual. “Hello, Jehan.” He studied me. “It’s been a long time since Rutland. Still no grey hairs, I hope?” His eyes were like his robe, always changing color. That bothered me.

“No. And it’s been even longer since Rumeria.” I moved down the steps. “What foolishness brings you to Elsinore?”

He arched his eyebrows. “Business. I think you know that. I never go anywhere unless it’s on business.”

I was in the street now, the sun behind me. “We don’t have to go through with this. You can go back. I can ignore the fact you came into the city—for old times’ sake. But don’t make the mistake of trying to go after Katie. I’ll fry you in your own flames before you take a second step.”

The smile wavered, just slightly. He sighed. “You understand things very poorly, Jehan. I wish I could go back. I wish I didn’t have to come here. I wish I didn’t have to fight against my friends. Freedom of choice is something the gods never had.” His eyes narrowed. “Humans can choose, though. You still can.” He licked his lips and stepped forward. “Don’t make this difficult for both of us. Let me pass.” Another step, his fingers twitching. “I don’t mind bargaining with you. It would please me. Do you want divinity? I can give it to you.”

I laughed, turning, reaching, pulling down the sky in pieces, casting them at Death. Sunlight, cloud, or shadow, it didn’t make any difference. He was caught. A pale, silvery mist, twelve feet across, curled, flared, and twisted around him as I began the sealing spell.

He tried to fight back only once. Cherry-red pellets broke through the outer barrier, spilling flame on the white pavement.

Then nothing.

I walked up to the eighteen-foot-tall marble cube where Death had been imprisoned and ran my hand along the smooth sides. I could sense him inside, waiting.

He’d been my friend, once.

He was also a fool.

Damn.

It was a long climb back up the stairs inside the Watchtower.

The caravan from Lum showed up earlier than expected. I got off duty and picked my way through the merchants’ stalls. The smells of spices and perfumes, the glitter of glass jewelry, the haughty prostitutes, the interweaving rhythms of the different hawkers’ chants—they all assaulted my senses, inviting me to drown myself in a world of gentle illusions.

The staff at Welcome House had barely enough time to finish off the private rooms for the wealthier guests. The common rooms were a shambles. When the bulk of the entourage finally cornered the manager, demanding service, a heated argument developed, and I had to step in and beat on a few heads. Then I assigned a squad of City Guards to help prepare the common rooms.

No one had asked me about the giant marble cube, which was probably just as well. I decided to wait and remove it after the caravan had left.

Everything was cheap. I couldn’t find anything nice enough for a gift, so I left for Katie’s empty-handed. I wondered how I would explain the morning’s events to her. I figured I had to.

She lived in one of the few unpainted buildings, a small, pagodalike wooden structure in the center of town. We’d built it for her, raising up a hill for its foundation so that it would overlook Reese Park and Pand Lagoon. Serenity House.

She still liked to paint pictures, even though her skills were far from what they used to be. She also resented efforts to offer her special care: carting her around Elsinore, assigning a staff to see to her needs, providing her with nurses or companions.

Katie was stubborn.

Serenity House had been a successful compromise.

I climbed the hill slowly, admiring the gardens as I went. The roses had just begun to open, and dead crab-apple petals littered the ground like snow.

There weren’t any doors in Serenity House. Only doorways. I went in and headed for the western porch. I knew she liked to go there and paint in the afternoons.

“Jehan—is that you?”

“Yeah.” I walked out on the porch.

“Stop! Don’t move! That’s right where I need you to finish this painting!” She was totally obscured by a huge canvas.

I froze. A couple of minutes passed. Then a bright blue eye, framed by a shock of white hair, peered around the edge of the frame. We both giggled.

She came scooting out from behind her work, propelling her wheelchair as fast as she could, I scooped her up when she reached me, swung her around and around, and then settled her carefully back in the chair.

“What a ham! You fall for that same line every time!”

We both laughed again. I grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it. “The caravan’s in town. It just arrived.”

“I know. Did you bring me anything?”

“No.”

“That’s all right. There’s nothing much from Lum that’s worth buying until fall gets here. Come and see what I painted today.” She took my hand and led me around to the front of her canvas.

It scared me. She’d painted a sunset churning over Pand Lagoon. It looked like Death, though. His eyes. His robe.

Damn.

She squeezed my hand and smiled at me. “I thought of it when I was reading today. Something Narvi had translated from the past. A little passage, really.” She closed her eyes. “ Auden wrote it.

She paused, staring at the painting. “It was a long poem, but that part moved me the most. What do you think?”

I tried to study the thing. “I think I’ve only seen one other thing like it.”

She frowned. “Oh.”

“I like this better.”

She backed away from the painting and wheeled over to the porch railing. The real sunset was just finishing up, and she watched it slowly fade. “I suppose it’s just as well.”