“Ariadne?” the big man shouted.
“Yes, Graham?” she twisted round briefly and sent him a smile, perhaps the first genuine smile she had given him in years. She had not even reached Mera, and yet already it was transforming her.
“Suppose this fairy city does exist,” Gillis said. “You know what you’re giving up? The whole world for one small place, a ragtag of people collected at random from all cultures and times. That’s a fair description, is it not, Howard?”
“Very fair,” Jerry said. “Except that you have a choice of all sorts of countryside around it, without limit. And they’re a fine bunch of people. There are no locks on doors in Mera— I left my house open because people go in and borrow my books all the time. They always bring them back, too.” Gillis snorted disbelievingly. “But this Oracle you talk of is the ruler? No elections? The Oracle lives forever, also, I suppose, and whatever he says goes?”
“That’s true,” Jerry said. The two cars had apparently disappeared in the night. The road curved emptily out of sight behind the wagon and also in front. He wondered if the others had noticed. “But there are no orders to give, except when someone needs to go Outside. I never heard of anyone refusing, so I suppose the Oracle knows who to ask.” Gillis scowled suspiciously. “This Oracle— what is he? Or she? Is it human?”
“It looks human,” Jerry assured him with a straight face.
“But no freedom? No rights?” He had a lawyer’s skill at arguing. “All your present friends and family lost forever, and home and familiar things?”
“Not everyone agrees to stay.”
“And how about boredom? Do you never get bored?” He was no fool, this lawyer.
“No,” Jerry said. “There are too many good things to do and good people to meet. I have no idea how many folk live in Mera, but you can’t walk there very long without seeing faces you’ve never seen before, which means new friends to make. When I get tired of being a bookworm I go off to the exercise fields and try my hand at wrestling or tennis or fencing, or go swimming or boating— or fishing or hunting. I talk abstractions with learned friends and read a lot and enjoy music. I party with the girls and riot with the boys. Boredom is no problem. Ask me again in ten thousand years.” The big man scowled heavily and fell silent for a while.
The knob at the top of the wand was still white. The road continued to curve gently ahead and behind.
The cross-examination started again. “What language do you speak there, then? Do all these Greeks and Chinese and so on all learn English?”
“Killer knows about six words of English,” Jerry said and laughed at the disbelieving faces. “I can’t guess how he even picked up those. Where do you suppose I’m from?”
“You’ve got no accent,” Gillis said thoughtfully. “I mean you have none to my ear, so I suppose somewhere near Colorado.”
“Where are you from, Carlo?” Jerry asked.
“That’s my business,” Carlo said.
Gillis’ head whipped around, and he stared.
“Had an accent yesterday, did he?” Jerry said. “And he doesn’t now. Right? I’m English— or I was, once.” He let them worry about it for a while, while he worried about the unchanging scenery. Then he explained, “The wand is doing it. In Mera everyone speaks and understands the same language. I promised Ariadne she could read Homer in the original— or Goethe or Chaucer or de Montaigne. Or Confucius or Gilgamesh. I gave Killer his nickname as a pun on Achilles— it rhymes in English and it rhymed in Mera. It doesn’t rhyme in Greek, but Killer got the joke in Mera. Puns translate, which is impossible anywhere else; rhymes translate. It’s magic, faerie.” The wagon rumbled along for a while in silence while they all thought about that, Maisie’s pretty young face twisted with worry at this further demonstration of the work of the Devil.
“The wand will do the same translation job Outside,” Jerry said. “It has a range of about a quarter of a mile— usually. But very rarely the range drops down to feet, or even inches, which is tricky if you have ten guys speaking ten different languages. A few times Killer has taken me along just because I know a little Greek from my school days. We can talk to each other, and I can talk to Marcus and Jean-Louis, of course.”
“Why sometimes and not others?” Gillis demanded, his methodical lawyer’s mind obviously disturbed at the illogicality of faerie.
“I’m not sure,” Jerry confessed. “I think that sometimes the wands reduce their power output very low, or probably so as to avoid attention and calling up demons. Or perhaps there are times and places where faerie won’t work. But there are times when the Oracle has warned that language will be a problem, and one thing you absolutely can not do in Mera is learn a new language, obviously.” The sun was back in his eyes again, and so far no one else seemed to have noticed the problem. Partly he was talking to hide his steadily increasing uneasiness and his frantic efforts to think of an explanation and a solution. Then Ariadne pulled up; the wagon stopped, and there was silence on the grassy forest road.
“We’re going in a circle, Jerry,” she said. He glanced up and saw the dread and hopelessness that were creeping back into her face, the hope of early morning gone once more.
It had been too easy.
He had his hand on the pistol, ready, and he pulled it out, trying not to show his rising fear. Asterios had been in the cottage, in the same room as Carlo and Gillis, yet they had survived. Or had they?
“I’m afraid the hayride is over,” he said. “Obviously we are not all supposed to go to Mera.”
“So you’re going to ditch us?” said Gillis, his bushy black eyebrows coming down dangerously.
Jerry wasn’t sure what he expected— a werewolf transformation? A suicidal assault? But so far the two men were merely angry men. “Right. The three of you out, please. I expect the road will return to normal as soon as we have left. Just keep walking and you’ll reach somewhere. Out!” Carlo jumped down, then Gillis, and he helped Maisie. Both men were clearly furious, but Jerry still held the gun.
“You’re stealing my children!”
“Daddy!” squealed Lacey. “Maisie?”
Alan started to cry. They did not want to be left with their mother, and that was not good news.
“Drive on!” Jerry said, keeping his eyes on the men. The wagon started to roll forward again. It did not move much faster than a man could walk, but the three stood in the road and watched it go. Soon the curve of the road had hidden them from sight. Jerry heaved a sigh of relief.
“What’s going wrong, Jerry?” Ariadne said quietly. “Are you sure it was their fault?” He stood up, lifted the children over the seat, and told them it was time to change places. He warned Lacey to tell him if she saw anything behind them, wishing now that he had brought the big guns— another error! Then he clambered over beside Ariadne.
“To be honest, Ariadne, I don’t know. We should have been there by now.”
“It could be ” she jerked her head to indicate the children behind.
“Adults only?”
“Would you come to Mera without them?”
For an instant she hesitated, then said, “No. Graham is a crook. Oh, he never breaks the law, but he bends it like a pretzel. He’s one of those lawyers who think their job is to find ways around the law instead of upholding it.” That was a judgment and a good topic for debate and not something he could comment on without knowing the facts; her opinions of Gillis could hardly be unbiased.
“Maisie is not a bad kid,” Ariadne admitted grudgingly, watching the road continuing in its gentle curve. “But she’s far too young to be their mother. Lacey has a great gift for music, and Maisie doesn’t know an orchestra from a bandbox.”