Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

Big John handled their four heavy bags as if they were weightless. He guided them outside, to a huge white stretch limo. “Make yourself comfortable. The Seven Wonders is on the other side of the city. It’s about a half-hour ride. There’s a full stocked bar if you care for a drink. And a TV set.”

Jack settled into a plush seat and poured himself a Coke. Adjusting to the good life wasn’t very difficult. Next to him, Cassandra wrenched off her boots with a grunt of relief.

“I thought John Henry died of a broken heart after battling a steel-driving machine?” said Jack, as they cruised along the highway. It seemed unlikely that the hero of a folk song could be evil, and Jack was curious about the being’s origins.

The driver chuckled. “Rose-colored contact lenses, huh? I heard they existed but never met anyone wearing them. Pretty neat.” He paused for an instant, then continued, “You got me mixed up with the wrong character. My namesake perished just as you stated. I’m the hero of that Jimmy Dean song, popular in the late 1950s. He never actually killed me, and in a sequel song, an old girlfriend rode into town and rescued me. So many people believed it was a true story, I came to life.”

Big John sighed. “The Delta Queen left years ago. She abandoned me to pursue a career as a backup singer for Motown. With the mines shutting down all over the country, I moved to Vegas for the sun. Hacked a cab for years. Finally I earned enough money to buy a limo and start my own business. Type of people that come to this town enjoy traveling first class. At least the ones heading to the hotels. Returning to the airport, they take a cab.

“It’s a pleasant existence. Nobody messes with a man my size. And it sure beats the hell out of being buried at the bottom of a cave-in.”

They chatted about life in the gambling capital for the next twenty minutes. Big John knew nothing about other supernaturals in the city. An easygoing giant, he was content earning a living and sampling the world’s basic pleasures. That he had been created by a hit song becoming part of modern urban folklore set Jack’s mind reeling.

If Big John existed, what other modern folk legends might also walk the Earth? There were numerous books detailing common urban myths. It was quite possible that many of the unusual characters they described had been given life by mankind’s collective subconscious. Jack found the concept both exciting and disturbing.

The lobby of the Seven Wonders of the World Resort was the size of a naval shipyard—a large naval shipyard. As they deposited their luggage with a bellman, Big John warned, “Don’t forget to get a map of the hotel when you check in. People have been lost for days searching for their room. Good luck. Win big.”

“Holy Athena,” whispered Cassandra as they slowly strolled past row after row of slot machines that lined the path to the front desk. She nodded her head at a huge white marble statue in the southwest corner of the immense atrium. “That’s a perfect copy of the statue of Jupiter by Phidias. I saw it at Olympia two thousand years ago.”

“Whoever built this palace didn’t spare any expense,” replied Jack softly. “I wonder who he used to design the exhibits.”

Taking Cassandra firmly by one elbow, he steered her to the registration center. Standing still and gawking at the scenery established them as tourists, not high rollers. While there were several thousand people in the lobby, not one of them was paying any attention to the incredible decorations. Pips, grapes, cherries, oranges, and dollar signs were the only things that interested them.

“That’s a re-creation of the Great Lighthouse of Alexandria,” murmured Cassandra as they continued past a hundred-foot-tall refreshment center. “In the northeast, on a direct diagonal from Jupiter, stands the Colossus of Rhodes.”

“No need to question where they put the rest of the sights,” said Jack, as they stepped up to a vacant window at the registration desk. Behind the check-in center was a huge map of the entire complex. It listed each of the seven wonders and prominently displayed their location.

Quite properly, the Tomb of Mausolus, King of Caria, was one level beneath their feet. Instead of serving as an elaborate mausoleum, the floor contained dozens of boutiques, shops, and video game arcades. It was a mini-shopping mall for the entire resort complex.

Restaurants were located at the fabulous Temple of Diana at the rear of the casino. A sign posted at the desk proclaimed it served “food fit for a God at prices designed for mere mortals.”

The outer buildings containing all of the guest chambers were designed in the shape of pyramids. The higher one’s elevation in the structure, the more expensive the room. Jack was not particularly surprised to learn their quarters were at the apex of Khufu’s Tomb, an exact replica of the Great Pyramid of Giza.

“The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are to the rear of the hotel,” their bellman informed them twenty minutes later, as he turned on the lights of their suits. Big John hadn’t lied about the size of the complex. Without a guide, they would never have found the room. The resort was the only hotel Jack had ever visited that featured moving sidewalks. And needed them.

“That’s also where the golf range and tennis courts are located,” continued the bellman as he deposited their luggage on racks in the huge bedroom. “At night, they feature a big fireworks display there that you can see from this window.”

“Incredible,” said Jack, examining the well-stocked refrigerator in the parlor. After the long walk from the lobby, he needed a Coke, Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a fifty and handed it to the bellman. “This place exceeds my wildest dreams.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” said the bellman, grinning, as he made the bill disappear. He glanced at Cassandra and rolled his eyes. “Not that you’re in need of any other physical delights, sir. However, in case you desire to sample a truly unique experience, you might make confidential inquiries at the desk about the Eighth Wonder of the World. It’s only available to the highest rollers. From what I’ve heard, it’s like visiting paradise.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, his heart thumping like a trip-hammer. “Maybe I will,” He ushered the bellman out of the room. “I appreciate the thought.”

Once the man had left the room, Jack turned to Cassandra. “Paradise on Earth? I believe we’ve just confirmed that the Old Man of the Mountain makes his headquarters in this hotel. Now the fun really starts.”

Stretched out on several wide cushions strewn across the floor, Roger reflected on how much he disliked sitting on cushions on the floor. However, he wisely refrained from expressing his opinions. The two entities present with him in the chamber were not in any mood to discuss his discomforts. In life, there was a time to speak and a time to remain silent. This was definitely one of the silent periods.

They were in a huge throne room, fifty feet square, forty feet high, decorated lavishly in ivory and gold, on the top of the Seven Wonders of the World Resort. The ceiling consisted of a gigantic mosaic of colored glass, effectively filtering the sunlight into a rainbow that ended on the only chair in the chamber—a massive obsidian throne, decorated with leering white skulls. Seated on the chair was the master of the complex, the Old Man of the Mountain. Pacing back and forth in front of him was Roger’s boss, the Lord of the Lions. The two were in the middle of a particularly heated disagreement.

Neither figure’s voice was raised in anger. Instead, they spoke softly, almost in whispers. It was all a matter of style, Roger concluded. The Old Man of the Mountain and the Lion Lord were very similar in nature. When their tempers rose, their voices dropped. Only the icy coldness of their tones indicated their true feelings. And the flurry of blue sparks that cascaded off the Crouching One’s forehead as he walked.