Nita tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. As she struggled for words, she suddenly realized that the circle was closer around her, now; closer to her. It had been nearly out to the horizon before, or at least the light associated with it had been. Now it was maybe—what? Fifty yards away? And it was pulsing—buzzing, or humming, making an odd sizzling noise. It was brighter, too.
The cold down the back of her neck felt more like heat now, prickly heat. The darkness about the field where she was standing had somehow got darker. There were no stars in it, none. It was not like it had been when the Pullulus came through, when there were stars on one side of the sky and the darkness on the other side that was trying to eat them. Here there was simply darkness. Even the ugly un-sky of the Lone One’s alternate Manhattan had not been this desolate. This was an emptiness that was chillingly complete. It was not a place from which stars had been disbarred or eradicated; it was a place in which they had never existed at all.
“Bobo’s not here,” said one voice. And, “Bobo can’t help,” said another. Nita’s eyes widened. Was that Penn? What’s Penn doing here?
And then still another voice, much darker, much deeper, spoke. It said, “And you know what the joke is this time?”
At that, Nita went cold all over. She knew that voice entirely too well. “Oh, go on,” she shouted into the dark, in no mood to sound conciliatory. She’d had it up to here with the Lone Power’s jokes. “You know you want to tell me—”
“But I’m on your side this time,” it said, with a sort of sad, wounded sarcasm.
“Oh, tell me another one,” Nita muttered. But that was apparently the wrong thing to say. The circle that had been fifty yards or so away was now maybe five yards away, closer, brighter, buzzing more malevolently. Heard at closer range, the noise it was making had become more uncanny. It sounded peculiarly mechanical, as if tiny racecars were running a deadly serious race around and around it. What do they call those? Nita thought, trying to remember the name of the long, thin cars that go so fast around special tracks, or on big races through many cities. Formula—something. Racing wasn’t something Nita normally paid much attention to, but now she could hear the wasplike whine of miniature cars circling. Except the sound was higher now, fainter, more piercing.
“Not that it’s going to matter to you, or to her, or to him,” said the darkest voice. “Especially not to him. His attention will be elsewhere. So you should make the most of this brief pastorale, because he’s going to come to his senses, and it won’t last long.”
“Who?” Nita said. “Bobo? Kit? Penn? You know, sometimes you get too obscure for your own good.”
“But not this time,” said that very dark voice. And it was laughing at her—laughter that she’d heard before when things had not gone well. As it laughed again, the circle had drawn in even closer, was lying right around her feet, hemming her in. She couldn’t move out, couldn’t step away, couldn’t escape. The whining noise it made scaled up and up. Desperately she reached out for what hadn’t been there before, a hand to hold, and found nothing: just empty air.
“For a change,” the dark voice said, “obscurity is not on my list. My only limitation in communicating with you is your unwillingness to engage. Isn’t it delicious? The only thing that will keep you from saving them is you.”
“I’ll break through,” Nita said. “I will!”
“But will you do it in time?” the Lone Power said. “Not if you don’t become at least somewhat more flexible. But that’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Stubborn Nita, always so sure of what she thinks, refusing to compromise. Compromise is going to be right at the heart of this one, and you will probably walk right past it because you’re so determined to have your own way.”
A long, thoughtful pause followed. “Because it’s not your style to let somebody else walk into the fire, is it? You’ve still got some guilt about that. But that’ll be a problem for another day. Right now, there’s something closer at hand. And it’s going to be so much fun watching you figure it out. If you can.”
“Well, if you’re going to be on my side, then maybe you should just tell me the answer!” After all, the thought came to Nita out of nowhere, if it works on the Transcendent Pig . . .
The circle was gone from below. It was around her throat now, like a choker necklace, strangling her, stopping the words in her mouth and the breath in her body. Her hands went up to tear at it. But she couldn’t get so much as a fingertip underneath it, and she gasped and her vision started to go, while right under her ears the maddening whine and buzz of the tiny cars became the only sound in the world. “I’m telling you the answer all the time,” the Lone Power said. “But will you hear it?” She could almost hear It shrug. “Doesn’t matter, not really,” It continued. “Or rather, it’ll matter to another. Not to me. You’re stuck with me. If you won’t walk into the fire, he’ll be stuck with me, too.” Then a long, soft laugh. “And if you do get him to walk into it,” It said, “then you’ve just managed to get somebody else to die for you, haven’t you?”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. The voice kept speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear it over the excruciating buzz of something going very very fast in circles. Wheezing for breath, Nita tore at her throat, choking, as everything went black—
And she woke up.
She was sitting bolt upright in bed, still panting for air. “Sweet Powers above, below, and sideways, what the hell was that?” she whispered as soon as she had breath enough to do so. “Bobo??”
You told me not to wake you during these, Bobo said calmly. I would’ve liked to, especially since you were calling for me, but you did specifically countermand that. Want to give some thought to rewriting the night-vision routine?
“God,” Nita said, “don’t tempt me.” She tried calming her breathing. It wasn’t easy.
I recorded it, Bobo said, but as usual there’s nothing but sound and imagery. You’re going to have to add subjective context.
“I honestly do not want to do that right now!”
White Queen memorandum . . . Bobo replied.
Instantly, inside Nita’s head, a picture of an engraving from the old version of Through the Looking Glass appeared, with the White King and the White Queen; the White King saying, “The horror of that moment I shall never, never forget!” and the White Queen, completely unconcerned by his distress, saying, “You will, though, if you don’t make a memorandum of it!”
Nita sighed. “Nobody likes a smartass, Bobo . . .”
Your note, not mine . . .
“Fine. Can I go pee first?”
Five minutes, Bobo said, and think about it while you’re there. I’ll take dictation on the context and under-dialogue while you’re brushing your teeth.
She rolled out of bed, groaning. “Wizardry is mean to me,” she muttered. “I’m gonna tell.”
At the back of her head, Wizardry snickered unsympathetically, and Nita muttered to herself and made for the bathroom.