Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

“Yes, it was,” snapped David, silencing the melodramatic smee. Sitting on his bed, he touched the headboard and glanced up at the stars. When Andromeda appeared, he muttered the constellation’s name and the pair promptly vanished.

Walking over, Max stared at the bed as though expecting it to perform another trick. But it disappointed him. Uneventful minutes passed until he grew bored and went down to the lower level to make a fire. Spreading a blanket upon his lap, he sat and gazed into the crackling hearth.

Twenty minutes passed before David reappeared. Max saw him rounding the upper story’s ledge and leading a confused-looking man by a slender, glowing cord. The engineer blinked and gazed about, his silvery hair standing straight up as though he had been electrocuted.

“I’d have been back sooner, but Toby needed to ‘get into character,’ ” sighed David. “Let me take Dr. Bechel down to Miss Boon and I’ll be back. Our guest won’t have anything useful to say until the effects of the passive fetter wear off.” He paused and looked attentively at Max. “Are you all right?”

“We need to talk.”

“Give me an hour and I’m yours.”

David made good on his promise. Before the clock struck six, he eased into the armchair across from Max and kicked off his shoes.

“Ah,” he sighed, wiggling his toes. “Much better. Now, what’s the matter?”

“Astaroth visited me,” replied Max. “Two days ago, by Rose Chapel.”

David raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Max relayed every detail he could recall. When he had finished, David gave a bemused smile.

“Well, I have to applaud his generosity,” he reflected. “That’s a far better proposal than the one Prusias made. In exchange for one life, we save thousands and our realm besides. We don’t even have to surrender the gae bolga or suffer another embassy on our lands. It’s very tempting.” The sorcerer chuckled.

“David, I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He shrugged. “Or at least half serious. I may despise Astaroth, but I pity him, too.”

Max glanced at David’s wrist, the puckered stump where the Demon had bitten off his hand.

“Why would you of all people pity him?”

“Your conversation with him was very telling,” said David, rubbing his eyes. “To reiterate Astaroth’s point, he still holds all the cards. With the Book of Thoth, he can destroy this world—wipe the slate clean anytime he chooses and yet he doesn’t! Instead, he visits you and makes a personal appeal. Why should he do such a thing?”

“To use me as a weapon against your grandfather,” Max brooded, staring at the fire.

“Possibly,” David allowed. “That’s undoubtedly part of his objective, but I think there’s more. Astaroth could have stated those terms far more directly. Instead he tried very hard to justify himself to you, to convince you that he’s not a mere tyrant or mass murderer. He tried to persuade you that his vision is grand and worthwhile—that it will benefit all once it reaches fruition.”

Max nodded, uncertain where his roommate was going.

“But why should he remotely care whether you or anyone else approves?” laughed David. “Why should Astaroth entertain any objections or resistance when he has the means to obliterate them?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps I do,” mused David, tapping the armrest. “Astaroth doesn’t want power for its own sake—he finds that juvenile and crude. And despite his stated interest in creation, we know that creation alone doesn’t satisfy him. After all, he already possesses the means to destroy or create almost anything he wishes. Strange as it sounds, I think what he really craves is consent … consent and admiration. Astaroth believes in his vision, and he desperately wants us to believe as well. And to love him for it.”

“Well, at least he’s insecure,” Max quipped. “That’s a comfort.”

“Cold comfort,” remarked David, shaking his head. “I far prefer an enemy like Prusias. He’s cunning, brutal, and greedy, but he’s also pragmatic. Prusias wants what he wants, and he’ll gladly bash you over the head until you give it to him. The King of Blys is content with slaves, but Astaroth demands followers.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Oh, there’s a big one. A tyrant like Prusias doesn’t really care why you obey him; he only cares that you obey. But Astaroth is a fanatic. He wants true believers who share his ideals. Fanatics are scary, Max. Ultimately, they’d rather burn the board than let someone else win the game.”

“Astaroth said the same things about your grandfather,” Max reflected.

“He’s not wrong,” said David. “Astaroth and my grandfather have more in common than they’d probably care to admit. The Archmage may be family, but I harbor no illusions about him—I know he is a dangerous man. And given this, I think you should tell him about Astaroth’s offer. It will be best coming from you.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Max sheepishly. “I don’t want him to be suspicious of me.”

“It’s your choice,” said David. “But have you considered that my grandfather may already know about the Demon’s proposal? In fact, I would guess that Astaroth has already told him.”

Max had been tapping the profile of a raven engraved upon the gae bolga ’s scabbard. He stopped and glanced at David, who was eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Why would Astaroth warn the very person he’s trying to kill?”

“Because he’s a strategist,” David replied. “Astaroth knows the chances of you acting upon his offer are slim—it’s simply not your nature to murder someone in cold blood, no matter what the reward. Now, if you do and say nothing about it—as is likely—Astaroth has not gained anything by making the offer. But if my grandfather also knows about the proposal, many more possibilities unfold. At a minimum, the prospect of your treachery is a considerable distraction to the Archmage. In the best case, the information triggers a violent confrontation between the two of you. So long as Elias Bram knows about the offer, Astaroth is guaranteed an outcome with some value. It’s basic game theory. And so I think you should tell my grandfather, Max. The more forthcoming you are, the less suspicious he will be.”

“I don’t see why Astaroth doesn’t just do the job himself,” said Max. “If he wants Bram dead so badly, I would think he could do it whenever he wishes.”

“Not with the Book,” said David mildly. “In this world, the Book of Thoth has no power over my grandfather or anyone else in my family. If it did, Astaroth would have destroyed me long ago.”

“But why can’t it affect you?” asked Max.

“There are three basic requirements for the Book of Thoth to have power over something,” David explained. “First, the Book’s pages must contain the thing’s truename. Second, the Book must be in the same world where that truename originated. And finally, the thing itself must also be in the world where it’s truename originated. For example, do you remember Folly and Hubris, those birds I created in the Sidh?”

Max nodded.

“Well,” said David, “the Book has no power over them while they’re in this world. If we were to take them and the Book back to the Sidh, we could do whatever we wished—modify them, make them the size of ostriches, or negate their existence altogether. But while they’re in this world, the Book has no power over them. The same holds true for my grandfather and thus for my mother and me.”

Max considered this and arrived at a bizarre conclusion. “So … Elias Bram is from another world ?” he gasped.

“Technically, yes,” said David, smiling at Max’s astonishment. “You can pick your jaw up off the floor. Elias Bram was born in this world, but he no longer has his original truename. Long ago, he gave himself a new one.”