With a Tangled Skein (45 page)

"Two more of you cross," Niobe said.

Two crossed. When they arrived, all three demons were on the far bank, while all three women remained on the near one.

"Now one of you bring it back," Niobe called.

Piers Anthony 363

"But if one of us crosses next-" Blanche said worriedly.

"Don't worry," Niobe said.

The demon arrived back. The two on the far shore licked their gross chops, anticipating something pleasant on the next crossing.

"Now two of us will cross," Niobe said. "Come on, Blanche."

"But I-" Blenda protested.

"You will have the company of one demon," Niobe said. "No problem."

She and Blanche took up the paddles and started off. The fish swarmed in again, but found nothing tender to chomp. The journey was somewhat erratic, as neither woman was experienced, and at times Niobe feared they would tip the craft over in their effort to keep it on course, but they did eventually make it across. The fish clacked their teeth angrily.

Now there were two women and two demons on this bank, one of each on the other. Who was going back: a woman or a demon?

"One of each," Niobe said. "I'll go-and you." She picked a demon.

The demon shrugged and joined her in the boat. It didn't know what she was up to, but was sure that sooner or later it would find the women outnumbered.

It was eerie, riding with the demon. She knew it could overturn the canoe at any point, dumping her in the water and costing her a life. But she also knew the demon wouldn't do it. It would attack only when it had the advantage of numbers. She was finessing Satan, offering him the chance to penalize her two threads when he wanted three.

They reached the bank. Now there were four on this side, two on the other, still evenly divided.

"Two women," Niobe said.

Blenda joined her in the canoe, and they crossed, leaving the two demons behind. When they arrived, there were three women to one demon. "Now you can ferry your friends across," Niobe said. "We'll be moving on. Thank you for your help." She led the way on down the path, leaving the demon to scratch his horny head in perplexity. How had the three morsels managed to escape?

"That was very clever of you." Blanche said.

"It was just a fond memory," Niobe said enigmatically. She knew it had been a close call. though-and four illusions remained, with the challenges getting harder.

The path diverged from the river. It led to a large hall, a virtual cathedral.

A man sat on a throne on a dais in the center. He stood as the women entered. "So you have come!" he exclaimed, rising.

It was the Magician!

Blenda was the first to approach him. "My husband!" "My wife!" he agreed. They embraced and kissed. Now Niobe approached him. But she remembered those four remaining illusions. It was possible that she had bypassed them when she crossed the river, or that the count given on the plaque in the 4-hall had overstated the number, but she doubted it. It was more likely that she would have to fathom every last one of those illusions before she won through. She couldn't trust this.

But suppose it was her son, ready with the answer she needed-and she passed him by? That was as good a way to lose as any! Wouldn't Satan laugh if he offered her the solution on a platter-and she rejected it, for that reason. Exquisite irony.

Well, one day Satan was going to try so hard for that irony that he would lose more than an encounter.

She brought out a thread and flung it at the Magician. If this was no illusion-The thread touched-and the Magician became a demon with three faces and six arms. Its head seemed to be mounted on ball-bearings, for it rotated without limit to aim one face at her, then another, and then the third. One face was young, one middle-aged, and one old, but each seemed uglier than the other two.

"So!" the middle face hissed. "You doubt me, bag!" the old one grated. "I will perforate you!" the young one cried. The demon stepped toward her.

Blanche and Blenda screamed. Niobe expected them to run away, as their challenge was done, but instead they closed in before her. "You shall not have her!" Blenda cried.

"This is my concern, not yours!" Niobe said. "Don't-"

The three-faced demon grabbed Blenda, using four of its arms to catch hold of her two arms and two legs. It picked her up and spun its head to view her triply. "You aren't worth bothering with, you prune!" it said, and hurled her beyond the throne.

Now Niobe saw a gulf there. The throne was not in the center of the chamber; it had only seemed to be, from a distance. It was perched on the edge of a void. Blenda screamed as she fell into this hole and disappeared.

Again the demon advanced on Niobe. This time Blanche interposed herself. "You can cross, Niobe!" she cried. "The landing is hidden by illusion-"

The demon caught her, wrapping two hands about her throat to cut off her words. With three more hands it ripped off her clothes. It growled with disgust. "Damned flesh is no good; I want the real thing. To Hell with you!" And it threw her also into the gulf.

Niobe was shocked on several levels. These were demons-sacrificing themselves to protect her. They were giving her information that she needed to defeat their master. That made little sense, unless-Unless Blanche and Blenda were what they had seemed to be. In which case-

No! There was no way those two could really be in Hell. But they weren't necessarily demons. They could be other souls, ordered to impersonate the women Niobe had known-or maybe even caused to believe that they were those women. Thus they could have acted in good faith, despite being false-and had paid a terrible price for it.

Terrible price! No-they were damned souls anyway. The fall into the pit could not hurt them; it merely took them out of this context. Niobe was alone again. Still, she regretted their passing, and was sorry she had not been able to do anything for them.

Meanwhile, the three-faced demon was coming at her again-and this time there was no one to intercede. She had used a thread exposing it; if it killed her now, that would make three threads lost, and put her below the critical threshold as she understood it. She had to escape-but the void was too broad for her to slide across on a limited thread.

If she retreated, she would be trapped between this demon and the three at the river. She had to go forward.

There was a landing, hidden by illusion-if Blanche had been telling the truth. If that damned soul had been a true emulation of the blessed one, she would have told the truth. Blanche had been one of the finest people Niobe had known, though she had known her mainly by observation. Satan had made a mistake, using damned souls to emulate blessed ones; naturally they had longed to be their roles, as an actor might wish to be the hero he portrayed, and they had played them too well. It had been their closest approach to the illusion of Heaven, of escape from Hell.

Niobe ran for the void. She threw a thread ahead of her.

There, just a yard away from the edge, was a platform. It had been concealed by the illusion of the void.

She leaped across. The three-faced demon, following her, tried to stop, skidded on the smooth floor, and fell into the crevice between the edge and the platform. Screaming from all three faces, it descended.

She was across, and she had three threads left, while Satan had only two illusions. It was coming down to the wire, and for the first time she had a genuine hope of winning.

She set herself and walked on, hardly exhilarated, still regretting the fate of the two damned souls who had helped her cross.

She came to another large chamber. Here there were a dozen demons of the kind she had encountered at the river, all looking alike. They stood beside a huge set of balancing scales.

What was she to make of this? The demons made no hostile gesture; they seemed merely to be waiting. This must be the final challenge-but how could she solve it, when she couldn't even tell its nature?

Then something occurred to her. Pacian, her second husband, had had a mind very like Cedric's. Magic music and intellectual brilti&wx-^\vj had \wsfi cousins, so it was not surprising that they shared traits. She had played games of riddles with Pace, too, and he had bested her readily. Now she remembered the first, at the sea of grass as they tried to approach Gaea's residence. Twelve coins, a set of scales. Eleven coins specified to be genuine, one counterfeit-but the counterfeit looked exactly like the others. Only its slight difference in weight distinguished it. The problem had been to discover which one was the counterfeit, and whether it was heavy or light.

Easy enough; it was necessary only to weigh all the coins in pairs. If two balanced, both were genuine; if the scales did not balance, then one coin was the counterfeit.

Then each of these could be balanced against one of the others, and the counterfeit would be exposed.

Except that only three weighings were permitted. It was necessary to weigh them in groups-and no combination of group weighings seemed certain to isolate the lone counterfeit, let alone identify the nature of its difference.

Here were twelve identical demons-and she had just three threads left. Could that be it?

Satan had two illusions remaining, it seemed. Two demons could be made to resemble her son, concealing him-but that had not been done. None of these demons had been masked.

Then she caught on. "One of you is my son!"

All of them nodded affirmatively.

"Which one?"

All nodded negatively, refusing to tell.

Why didn't the Magician simply step forward so she could verify him with a thread?

She considered and realized that, just as her threads were not merely illusion-disposers but also life-restorers and flying devices, so Satan's illusions were not confined to the senses. Satan could have used one illusion to change the Magician's appearance to that of a demon- and the other to prevent him from identifying himself.

More than that, she realized. Satan could have bound the Magician so that once she identified him, he would not tell the truth. Then she would have a lie for an answer, and when she applied it, Satan would win.

Well, then, she would reverse whatever he told her, and have the truth.

But suppose it wasn't a lie? Then she would forfeit the game despite having the truth-another delicious irony.

She had to know whether the Magician had been enchanted to tell the truth or to lie. A thread would do it but would she have a thread left, once she found him?

Her son was the counterfeit coin, in this Hellish inversion-and what he told her could be either true or false. He could be honest, and be slightly lighter than the demons, or dishonest, and be slightly heavier, for dishonesty was a sin and sin weighed down the soul. She had to know which.

She had three threads-and now she knew that each one entitled her to one weighing. She had to locate her son among the identical demons, and determine his relative weight.

It seemed impossible-yet Pacian had done it, and shown her how. But that had been a quarter-century ago, and she had forgotten the solution.

This was a tougher one than the river-crossing; she knew that. She had barely solved the other; how could she ever fathom this one? Her advantage in threads had been nullified by her lesser intellect and fading memory. Now she wished she had been the smartest woman of her generation, instead of the prettiest!

A fireball manifested. It expanded and became the form of Satan himself. "So it has come to this at last, sad sack!" he exclaimed.

She had been less annoyed during that confrontation in the Void, when he had called her "cutie" and other such mock endearments. But she held her peace. "I can win, Satan."

"Can you, old hen? Let's see you try!" He gestured, causing a throne of fire to appear. He ensconced himself in it and settled down to watch.

"Why not invite the whole world to watch?" Niobe asked, irritated.

Satan shrugged. "The world? I think not. But selected parties, perhaps." He clapped his hands, and a wall of the chamber vaporized. Beyond it was a segment of an amphitheater. Seated there were all manner of demons and lost souls, including the two who resembled Cedric and Pacian, and the two who resembled Blanche and Blenda. There were also the five major Incarnations.

Five? Oh, yes-she was not at the moment Fate; she was just the soul of Niobe, perched on the verge of damnation-or salvation. Clotho and Atropos had the body, and they shifted back and forth as the mood took them.

"Now perform your miracle of failure, 0 dismal dog!" Satan said sardonically. "Your friends will see your humiliation!"

Still she resisted the baiting. If she allowed herself to get rattled or angry, she would certainly lose. She concentrated on the immediate problem. Twelve coins, three weighings-how could it be done?

She considered balancing six against six. One group would certainly rise-but would that mean that a light counterfeit was among them, or that a heavy counterfeit was among the others? If only she knew the weight first! Then she could take the lighter six, if that happened to be it, split them into two groups of three, and weigh two of the three from the lighter group. If one was light, that was it; if they balanced, then the odd one out was it. It would work as well if the counterfeit was heavier. Such a simple process!