“No. Do nothing. This is a test.”
Abruptly, Death drew his hand back, studied the window. He reached again and withdrew.
“I must know how you are doing that, Donnerjack,” said Death. “It is very dangerous.”
“Not for me.”
“Given time, I’ll slip through.”
“In the meantime, you can’t,” said Donnerjack, and he lobbed two strange attractors at him.
Death fell, and when Donnerjack peered out the window he was no longer in sight.
Suddenly, he stood before them again. He withdrew his hands from his sleeves. Lights danced at his fingertips, forming into balls that sped toward the cab, exploding as they neared.
“What now?”
“It is a distraction. Do nothing. We’re going to live. I know that now.”
Donnerjack blew the whistle long and hard.
The firestorm continued, and at length Donnerjack said, “Snap the blades.”
Like a pair of scissors, a pair of long blades swung forward from the engine’s sides, closing with a snap upon the figure of Death.
Death fell in two parts as the firestorm ceased.
“Breathe your flames upon him now, and start lobbing strange attractors at him.”
Death’s two parts began to smolder, dwindle.
“More strange attractors. They seem to be affecting him.”
Death melted away as the first one arrived.
“Back up slowly, then lay a side track to loop back to the one we came in on.”
“You mean we’ve beaten him?”
“He’s not around to argue with so I’ll call the draw myself. Let’s get out of here.”
The Babboon backed up and began the maneuver.
As they approached the junction a fog blew before them. Donnerjack switched on the headlamp and they slowed. The fog swirled and darkened. Then it coalesced into a great, dark, towering, winged figure. Suddenly, blazing multitudes of stars shone through it and its face at once seemed too dark and too bright to look upon. Moire filled the air between them as it extended its arms.
“No. It is for me to call tie or truce,” Death’s voice came.
He seemed to lean forward then, beginning to envelop them.
Donnerjack turned a dial on the black box all the way up, hit the fire blossom control, snapped the blades, blew the whistle, and cried, “Hit him with all the remaining attractors and get us back onto the track!”
There was a moment of absolute blackness, and Donnerjack felt them switching tracks. They advanced slowly and the air began to clear.
A mile or so later they saw a moving light ahead and Donnerjack slowed for it. It proved to be a lantern in the hands of an old man wearing bib overalls, an engineer’s cap, and a red bandanna.
Donnerjack halted, leaned out.
“What is it?” he asked.
The man was grinning, an everyday-seeming expression for him.
“I’ve decided to call it a draw,” he said.
“Then you grant my petition?”
“Your request was that I think about it.”
“Well? Will you?”
“Take your brass monkey and get out of here. I told you I never make promises.”
The man and his lantern vanished.
“Do as he said,” said Donnerjack. “Back to our station and its yard.”
“And after that? Will you have more use for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then in the meantime may I have my freedom, to tour Virtu?”
“Certainly. You’ve served me well.”
“Thanks. It was good to be part of a legend.”
Defiantly, Donnerjack let the child play upon the Great Stage—its locale shifting every fifteen minutes to keep his attention—as he fortified his castle with projectors of the field Death had told him he could slip through, given time. His next order of business was to multiply the defenses, while he worked on varying and strengthening the field itself. Then, as Duncan and Angus installed new projectors with the assistance of the robots, Donnerjack continued to modify the personal fields in his son’s bracelet, succumbing to idea after idea concerning it. He also had his memories and personality chip-recorded with an AI overlay.
Despite his precautions, he felt it prudent to drag his heels on the design of Death’s palace. He felt certain that Death would hold off on any vindictive response to their latest encounter at least until the design was complete. In the meantime, he amused himself in seeing how many hiding places and entrances and exits he could insinuate into the design for the strange laborers to create unthinking, hopefully to slip by Death’s casual surveillance of the plans.
“When I die,” he said to Dack, “bury me next to Ayradyss and tell no one of my passing. Run this place for me. Keep Duncan and Angus for human contacts as well as for their work, eventually promoting them to caretakers. Give them periodic raises to keep them happy. Take care of my son. Try to figure what is best for the boy. Keep him healthy and well fed. See that he learns to read and write and do numbers.”
“I hope, sir,” Dack stated, “that this is not an anticipation of anything imminent.”
“So do I,” said Donnerjack, “but these instructions had to be given sooner or later, and I decided that sooner was better.”
He sat up that night on the third floor, near to the place of heaviest manifestation. He had with him a bottle of Laphroaig Scotch Whisky and a glass.
Along about midnight it seemed that he heard a faint rattling of chains. He waited a few moments to be sure. Then it came again.
“Ghost? That is you, isn’t it?” he called.
“Aye, laird. ‘Tis.”
“Have you a moment before you make your rounds?”
“Certainly, laird. You’ve been away?”
“Aye.”
“Before we talk may I ask what ‘tis you’re drinkin’?”
“Good Scotch whisky. Wish I could offer you some.”
“Ah! ‘Twould be good to be drunk again. But there is truth in some of the old stories.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pour this old soldier a libation. I get some pleasure out of the fumes.
If you could slop a little into that ashtray I could be takin’ in the aura while we talk.”
“Done, my friend,” said Donnerjack, pouring. “By the by, I’ll never know whether this was all a funny dream. I had a lot tonight.”
“I’ll try to remember to remind you,” said the ghost, making a sniffing noise. “Ah! That’s good stuff!”
“I lost my wife recently, you may know.”
“Ach! My condolences.”
“Thanks. I was wondering…”
“What, laird?”
“I was wondering whether you might have encountered her spirit in some ghostly place.”
The other shook his head. “I canna say. Though that proves nothin’. Sometimes they wander far afield, confused, for a time. Other occasions, they may be off to some spiritual reward I’m not eligible for. Wish I could know that kinda rest. This drink’s a good substitute, though.”
Donnerjack glanced at the ashtray and wondered how it could have become half-empty so quickly.
“Well, thank you. I’d be grateful for any news of her you come across.”
“I’ll do what I can, laird.” Another sniff, and for the first time Donnerjack saw the specter smile. “We’ll do this again one night?”
“Sure thing. Many, I’ve a feeling.”
A few sniffs later and the tray was empty. The ghost rattled his chains and staggered off.
Donnerjack took another drink and staggered off himself.
The following day, Donnerjack talked to Reese Jordan. He told him the story of his recent visit to Virtu. There was a long pause, then, “Oddly, I believe most of what you say,” Reese said, “though your personification of Death troubles me. You were always a good hands-on man, with a rule of thumb for just about everything. I think that everything you’ve described is within theory. I’ve decided to take your notes and Bansa’s, together with my own conjecture, and try to approximate a unified field.”