And staring within, Father Vidicon did behold a face twisted with hatred, tortured with self-doubt, bare-faced as a lie and bound by the Roman collar of law.
Yet the Blessed One did not recoil. Nay, he did not so much as hesitate to question himself or his cause; only, with a voice filled with agony, did he cry, "Oh my Lord! Now preserve me! Give me, I beg of Thee, some weapon against the wiles and malice of the Imp's Shield of Distortion!"
He held up his hands in supplication—and Lo! In his left, a blade did appear, gleaming with purity, its edge glittering with exquisite monofilament sharpness—and in the Blessed One's palm, its handle nestled, hollow to the blade folded.
The imp sneered in laughter and cried, "See how they master doth requite thee! In exchange for thy life, he doth grant thee naught but a slip of a blade, which could not pierce so much as a misapprehension!"
"Not so," cried Father Vidicon, "for this Razor is Occam's!"
So saying, he slashed out at the shield. The Imp screamed and cowered away—but the Blessed One pursued, slicing at the Shield of Distortion and crying, "Nay, thou canst not prevail! For I could have wasted eternity wondering where the fault lay in me, that could so twist my face and form into Evil! Yet the truth of it is shown by this Razor as it doth cleave this Shield!"
So saying, he swung the blade, and it cleaved the Shield in twain, revealing hidden contours, convexities and concavities of temporizing and equivocating. The Imp screamed in terror and the Blessed One cried,
" 'Tis not my image that is hideous, but thy shield that is warped!"
Dropping its shield, the Imp spun away, whirling beyond Father Vidicon, to flee toward the Outer Dark.
Filled with righteous rage, the Blessed One turned to follow it—but he brought himself up short at a thought; for 'twas almost as though a voice spoke within him, saying, Nay! Thou must not seek to destroy, for thus thou wouldst become thyself an enemy of Being. Contain only, and control; for the supporting of Life will lead Good to triumph; but the pursuit of Destruction in itself doth defeat good!
The Blessed One bowed his head in chagrin—and there, even there in the throat of hell, did he kneel and join his hands in penitence. "Pardon, my Master, that in my weakness, I would have forgotten the commandment of thine example." And he held up the Razor on his open palm, praying, "Take again the instrument wrought for Thee by Thy faithful servant William—for I need it not, now. For thou, oh God, art my strength and my shield; with Thee, I need naught."
Light winked along the length of the blade, and it was gone.
Father Vidicon stood up then, naked of weapons and solitary in his feelings; yet his heart was light and his resolution was strengthened. "Whither Thou wilt lead me, my Lord," he murmured, "I will go; and with what adversaries thou shalt confront me, I shall contend."
So saying, he strode forth down the throat of Hell; but the song that rose to his lips was a psalm.
St. Vidicon strode bravely onward though the throat of Hell. Having routed the Imp of the Perverse, he did not seek escape, but strode ahead in answer to the Call he felt, the new vocation the Lord had given him.
But as he went, the crimson of the walls about him darkened down toward ruby, then darkened further still, toward purple. Protuberances began to rise up from the floor, each taller than the last, excrescences that did stand upon slender stalks as high as his waist. Then did their tips begin to broaden and to swell, until he saw that, every few paces, he did pass a glowing ball that stood by his hip. And he did see a strip upon the ceiling that did widen, with decorations that did glow upon it, curliques and arabesques. It sprouted chandeliers, and square they were, or rectangular; and they did hang down from chains at each corner. Yet neither were they chains, but cables, or aye, rods. "These are like to tables," Father Vidicon did muse, "tables inverted." Then he noticed that a bulge, extruding from the ceiling, did broaden out, then sprouted up upon a side. The good Father Vidicon frowned and bethought him, " 'Tis like unto a chair." And it was, in truth.
Thus did the Saint realize that he did pace upon the ceiling of a hallway, with a strip of carpet Oriental, and with chairs and tables hanging up above his head. And lo! He did pass by a mirror set into the wall, that did glow with the maroon of the wall across from it; and as he did step past, he saw himself inverted, with chest and hip vanishing upward. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, to rid himself of the sight; and when he did ope his eyes he did see that the walls now did flow past him toward his front; indeed, the mirror did slide past a second time, from back to fore. With every step he took, the walls went farther past, and dizziness did claim him. Then did thrills of danger course throughout his nerves, for he saw that he had come upon a region of inversion, where all was upside down, and progress turned to regress; where every step forward took him two steps backward, and all was opposite to how it should have been. "I near the Demon," he bethought himself, and knew that he came nigh the spirit of illogic.
Yet the Saint perceived that he could not approach that spirit, unless it chanced that he might discover some way to progress. He stopped; the motion of the wall stopped with him, as it should; and Father Vidicon did grin with delight, then took one step backward. In truth, the wall did then move from front to back. He laughed with joy, and set off, walking backward. The mirror slid past him again, going from the front then toward the back, as was fit and proper. So thus, retreating ever, Father Vidicon went onward toward the Spirit of Contrariness.
And lo! The Spirit did come nigh, though he moved not; for he stood, arms akimbo, feet apart, smiling at Father Vidicon as he watched the good Saint come; and the Spirit's eyes were shielded behind two curving planes of darkness. From head to foot he was clothed in khaki, aye even to his shirt, where it did show between lapels, and his necktie was of brown. Clean-shaven he was, and long-faced, smiling with delight full cynical, and crowned with a cap high-peaked, with a polished visor, and insigniae did gleam upon his shoulder boards.
Then Father Vidicon did halt some paces distant, filled with wariness, and quoth he, "I know thee, Spirit—for thou art Murphy!"
But, "Nay," quoth the Spirit, "for any trace of any person who dwells in thy real world hath been swallowed up in the mythic figure that hath grown of its own accord and become myself. I am not Murphy, therefore, but someone else by that same name."
Father Vidicon's face did darken then. "Deceive me not. Thou it is who hath enunciated that fell principle by which all human projects come to doom."
"The doom's within the doer," the Spirit answered. "How may I exorcise it? Nay, 'tis they who bring it out, not I."
"Thou speakest false, fell foe!" Father Vidicon did cry. "Well dost thou know the wish to fail is buried deep in most and, left to lie, would sleep quiescent. 'Tis thou dost invest each mortal, thou who dost nurture and encourage that doom-laden wish!
But the Spirit's smile remained, untouched. "If I do, what boots it? Wouldst thou truly blame me for encouragement?"
"For nurture of foul folly, aye! As thou wouldst know, if thou didst not look upon the world through thy fell filters of Inversion!" Thereupon did Father Vidicon leap forth to seize those darkened lenses of the Spirit, to rip away the shadow's shades, crying, "Look not through your glasses, darkly!"
They came away within his hand, yet not only those dark lenses, but all the face, peeling off the Spirit's head like shriveled husk, exposing there within, a mass of hair.
Father Vidicon gazed on the coiffure, stunned.
Slowly, then, the Spirit turned, hair sliding aside to show another face. Hooded eyes now gazed upon the Saint, darkened indeed, but not in frames; for his eyes were naught but frosted glass, and his twisting mouth a grinning grimace.