Lesser Gods (38 page)

Huntington glared at the figures towering around him. “You caught me off guard is all — I’ve been busy today. I’m exhausted.”

“You’ll have your beauty rest real soon,” Death promised. “That long last one.” Then he and his men cackled at his marginal attempt at humor.

They laughed for all of five seconds.

Then the mesos’ chuckles morphed into hideous gargles, necessitated when their mouths vanished, replaced by solid expanses of flesh. The damper to the festive mood continued as Death’s mask melted into a drooping frown.

One of the mesos passed out, proving that being a mouth breather has a downside; the other panicked and attempted to carve a new mouth into his face with a sheath knife. Not a pretty sight.

Seeing his men’s capabilities vanish before his eyes, Death rushed Huntington, attempting to stomp him. But before he got within a yard of the old man on the floor, he went hurtling through the air to smash against the wall with a jarring thump of flesh and metal.

Huntington spent the next five minutes transforming the three monsters in the living room into fine, pink confetti that swirled into a slime tornado. The mini-cyclone thundered out a window that opened before it. Once outside, the flesh storm grew, twirling its way off Huntington’s property and crossing the dark ocean waves beyond where the gale dissipated, dropping the remains of Death and his pre-digested men to feed the fish in the briny grave.

His savage work over, Huntington floated into the air as his wheelchair came to him, then he settled into its padded seat, his broken arms draping on either side of him. He bowed his head and wept.

It was at this point, when he had been exhausted in the two battles we had brought to his home front, that Alice and I had planned to attack him, banking on the fact that the intense mental activities involved in thwarting two savage attacks would stretch his abilities to the limit.

Our plan seemed to have worked. He was obviously worn out.

But we had overestimated our own resolve.

Neither of us any longer possessed the will to attack the pathetic figure sitting in front of us.

It’s crazy,
I told Alice,
but I don’t think I can attack him. I transformed myself into human form and shook my head. Killing him now would be cold-blooded murder.

I feel the same way,
Alice agreed, her voice strangely distant as she reappeared as herself.

I glanced at her and then did a double take, turning with alarm toward her. Bright red splotches were blossoming on her blouse, soaking through the fabric from massive wounds. I ran and caught her as she tumbled to the floor. My heart in my throat, I asked, “What has Huntington done to you?”

“Nothing,” she replied, her breathing labored. “The gunfire. I thought — since I was a palm tree — that the bullets would have no effect. Palm trees don’t have a nervous system.” She forced a smile as I cradled her in my arms. “But the damage remained and when I transformed myself… I’m so exhausted. I love you.”

“Wait,” I ordered her. “I can heal you.”

I concentrated on repairing the extensive damage she’d suffered, closing my eyes and holding her tight. Some of the wounds were healed when I opened my eyes. But I had been too late. The healing was a success, but the patient was dead.

I felt only emptiness. One moment she was there; the next her spirit was gone leaving only her lifeless body in my arms. I sat helpless, rocking on the floor, arms across my chest.

A distant voice moaned, “No, no, no,” over and over again. Only later did I realize that the sorrowful cries were my own. Knowing I might have kept her alive if I tried to save her more quickly tore at my mind. I had failed her.

Now she was truly and utterly gone, and the room, the whole world, was empty of her.

Then I realized that perhaps, just perhaps, I could resurrect her.

I had grown very powerful over the last few days, more powerful than Alice. I knew that if I concentrated I could bring her back right then. I would call her spirit back from wherever her soul might be. I placed my hand on her forehead and closed my eyes.

“No!” Huntington warned in a gentle voice. “You mustn’t. Remember your dream.”

“What dream?” And then I remembered the chilling nightmare in which I had called Alice back from the dead, and how she had returned with a body that should have remained in the grave.

But if Huntington knew about the dream, it only meant he’d put it there to torment me. Surely I could bring her back.

“Don’t do it.”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Because I’m not the monster you think I am.”

Abruptly all my emotions of sorrow, love, and anger vanished.

I realized what had happened. “You’ve robbed me of my emotions?” I cried.

“They’ll be back soon enough,” Huntington replied, his arms mending themselves as he stood, straight and tall, on his own two feet. “Now there’s something I must do and I can’t afford to have your emotions getting into the way at the moment.”

Jeff Huntington

I was prepared for the knock-down, drag-out, scratch and bite battle with Ralph. But Alice’s death had taken the fight out of him, which was just as well. I’d had enough fighting for one day. More than enough for ten lifetimes.

Ralph finally set Alice’s body on the floor and looked up at me. “You suckered us into a well-laid trap, designed to make a clean sweep of all his enemies in one night. Alice and I were lured here just as surely as the government and Death had been by the two of us.”

Ralph looked more alone and exposed than the day I had first seen him in the children’s orphanage with Alice and the others. “This wasn’t a trap,” I told him. “I could have turned you into a cockroach and squashed you underfoot quite some time ago had I so wished. I’m sorry for Alice’s death — that wasn’t in my plans. But you must not try to resurrect her. I’ve tried this with others and believe me, it always ends in tragedy. That nightmare you had of calling back the dead was comprised of some of what I had experienced.”

“But…”

“A soul must never be recalled, even by the likes of you or me.”

“How can I trust what you’re saying?”

“You’re confused right now, I know.

Ralph tried to wink away but I stopped him. “Don’t leave me just yet,” I said. “There is something you must learn.”

He glared silently at me.

“Tell me, what happens when a man has absolute power?” I asked.

Ralph looked me in the eye and said, “He becomes a manipulator who kills on whim, who takes advantage of the innocent, and lives here in New Sarasota.”

I smiled grimly. “Ralph, I like you a lot — I really do. But sometimes I’m tempted to do something terrible to you to make the world a better place and raise the average IQ. Listen: You have trouble with authority figures. I suggest get beyond that and look at things realistically, because some of your views are half cocked. And I will prove it to you.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, and took Ralph back with me through time. Abruptly the sun cast long evening shadows as we stood on lava flagstones alongside a lazy, muddy river.

“You have already experienced Cambodian killing fields and the Soviet Gulag,” I said. “Those are often presented as examples of what happens when absolute power is abused. Now we have one more stop. That, by the way,” I pointed toward the waterway, “is the Tiberis. We’re in the center of ancient Rome. That’s the Emporium.”

“Another creation of yours?”

“No. More like an echo in time, bouncing into our minds from the past. You can’t change events here because they’ve already occurred. You can sometimes interact like a ghost with the inhabitants in the most minor of ways, but mostly you’re here to observe and learn. We travel as leaves floating on a river in the past. We can be carried by the stream, but we can’t change its course.”

Ralph looked at the empty streets and raised an eyebrow. “No inhabitants?”

“Their echoes are a bit slower than inanimate objects. But they’re almost here — right about now.”

The empty street darkened and then erupted in the hubbub of an ancient city, with Plebs and slaves jostling around us. On the river, cargo ships, powered by long oars, eased into docks to unload their bails and boxes before night descended. The air was alive with a multitude of languages and the smell of unwashed bodies.

“Why did you bring me here?” Ralph asked.

I ignored the question, dodging my way along the congested street that wound past the warehouses and markets lining the wharf. Ralph followed, ignoring a sharp-voiced soothsayer waving a caduceus above his head.

A woman stumbled and fell ahead of us. I strode past her but Ralph stopped and tried to assist her to her feet. His hands passed right through her and a look of amazement crossed his face.

“A noble gesture,” I said. “But I’m afraid that would have been a bit too radical of a modification to the timeline. Remember, we are the ghosts of Christmas Future to these people. They’re long dead. You can’t change history.”

We continued up the narrow street past a tavern filled with screams and fragments from what must have been a drinking song. A pair of wigged Romans vomited on the pavement in front of the establishment.

As the evening shadows accented everything, I marveled at what I saw, realizing that without much machinery other than ropes and pulleys, everything had been built with the brute force exerted by slaves and stone masons.

How many had died to make these monuments to heartless Roman gods?

I glanced up and down the street, searching. “Nero is said to wander about these streets wearing a mask, frequenting brothels. I thought perhaps we’d find him here. But not tonight. So… To the palace.”

Abruptly I winked us into a lush garden lit by immense smoldering torches that exuded the stench of burnt flesh.

“This is the great park that surrounds the emperor’s Golden House,” I told Ralph. “You’ll note the light source.”

His puzzlement at my admonition showed as he studied the torches. Then I could see his disgust as he realized that each of the smoky flames was the blackened remains of a human being.

“Criminals and the emperor’s enemies are tied to the metal scaffolding, soaked in oil, and set ablaze. Once the temperature of the flame is high enough, the protein and fat in their bodies burns like a candle, providing the light for parties. Imperial Rome ruled with an iron fist.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Ralph replied, apparently thinking his cliché might needle me. The fires around us flared up as if somehow reflecting his anger. For a moment, I thought he had somehow actually affected our surroundings, then remembered such a thing was impossible. I said nothing, averting my eyes from the corpses lighting our path as we crossed a wooden bridge and entered the long marble pergola that led into the atrium of the palatial house.

“What are you doing here?” a slurred voice demanded as we stepped into the banquet area. “Who dares interrupt Nero and his guests?”

The beefy man, wearing a white robe spotted with blood was looking directly at Ralph as if he could see him. It always unnerved me when those in the past somehow perceived my presence.

Ralph gave the emperor a shove.

And to my surprise, the ruler staggered back as if Ralph had somehow caused him to move.

Ralph glanced my way. “I thought you said we couldn’t interact with them.”

“We can’t. He must have stumbled.”

Ralph stepped toward the Roman, shoving him once more.

“Stop,” I said, pulling him back. I waved my hand like a sorcerer and abruptly the emperor lost all interest in us, turning back to the scroll in his hand.
How had Ralph managed to interact with the past?
I hoped he hadn’t done enough to alter the past. That was a can of worms that I didn’t even want to consider. I had thought, from my years of exploring the past, that such interactions were impossible.

Fortunately Nero seemed too drunk to believe much of anything had happened. “I thought I saw a ghost,” the emperor announced in a strangely melodious voice to his party guests who surrounded a small table piled high with food. “Is it the Ides of March?”

There was nervous laughter in the room.