Anthony, Piers - Incarnations of Immortality 02 - Bearing an Hourglass

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Bearing An Hourglass -- Piers Anthony
(Version 1.0 -- 12/12/2001)
Norton threw down his knapsack and scooped up a double handful of water. He drank, delighting in
the chill that struck his teeth and stiffened his palate. It was easy to forget that this was an
artificial spring, magically cooled; it seemed natural.
He had hiked twenty miles through the cultivated wil -- derness of the city park and was
ready to camp for the night. He had food for one more meal; in the morning he would have to
restock. That could be awkward, for he was out of credit. Well, he would worry about that tomor --
row.
He gathered dry sticks and leaves, careful not to dis -- turb any living plants, and
structured his collection for a small fire in a dirt hollow. He found some desiccated moss and set
it within his pyramid- Then he muttered an incendiary-spell, and the flame burst into existence.
He fetched three rocks, set them against the expanding fire, and unfolded his little fry-
pan. He unpacked his Span -- ish rice mix and poured it in the pan, shaking the mix to keep the
rice turning as the heat increased. When it browned, he added handfuls of water, evoking a
strenuous protest of steam, until satisfied. Then he rested the pan on the stones and left it to
sizzle nicely alone.
"Can you spare a bite?"
Norton looked up, surprised. Ordinarily he was alert for other creatures, especially
people, even when con -- centrating on his cooking, for he was attuned to the sounds of nature.
But this one seemed to have appeared from nowhere. "This is what I have," he replied. "I'll share
it." Actually, that meant he would be hungry on a half -- ration, but he never liked saying no.
The man stepped closer, his feet making no noise. He was evidently in his mid-to-late
twenties, about a decade younger than Norton, and in unusually fit condition. He was well dressed
in upper-class city style, but had the calloused palms of a highly physical man. Wealthy, but no
effete recluse. "You're an independent sort," he remarked.
It took one to know one! "Wanderlust, mostly," Norton clarified. "Somehow I always want to
see the other side of the mountain. Any mountain."
"Even when you know the mountain is artificial?" The man's eyes flicked meaningfully about
the landscape.
Norton laughed easily. "I'm just that kind of a fool!"
The man pursed his lips. "Fool? I don't think so." He shrugged. "Ever think about settling
down with a good woman?"
This fellow got right down to basics! "All the time. But seldom for more than a week or
two."
"Maybe you never encountered one who was good enough for a year or two."
"Maybe," Norton agreed without embarrassment. "I prefer to think of it as a distinction of
philosophy. I am a traveling man; most women are stay-at-homes. If I ever found one who wanted to
share my travels -- " He paused, struck by a new thought. "In that sense, they are leaving me as
much as I am leaving them. They prefer their loca -- tion to my company, much as cats do. I move,
they remain -- but we know each other's natures at the start. So no expectations are violated."
"Man does, woman is," the man agreed.
Norton sniffed his rice. "This is about done; it's spelled for quick cooking. Have you a
dish? I can make one of wood -- " He touched his sturdy hunting knife.
"I won't need one." The man smiled as Norton glanced askance. "I don't eat, actually. I
was just verifying your hospitality. You were ready to go hungry to share."
"No man can live long without eating, and I can see you're no ascetic. I'll carve you a
dish -- "
"My name is Gawain. I'm a ghost."
"Norton, here," Norton said, noticing how the man accented the first syllable: GOW-an.
"I'm a jack of any trade, expert at none, except maybe taletelling." Then he did a double take.
"Pardon?"
"A ghost," Gawain repeated. "Here, I'll demonstrate." He extended his strong hand.
Norton clasped it, expecting a crunching grip -- and encountered air. He brought his hand
back and touched Gawain's arm. There was nothing; his hand passed through, suit and arm without
resistance, disappearing into the man's body. "You certainly are!" he agreed ruefully. "No wonder
I didn't hear you approaching! You look so solid -- "
"Do I?" Gawain asked, becoming translucent.
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"I never met a real, live -- uh -- "
Gawain laughed. "Real, at any rate." He firmed up to solid semblance again, having made
his point. "Norton, I like you. You're independent, self-sufficient, uncon -- ceited, generous,
and open. I know I'd have enjoyed your company when I was alive. I think I have a favor to ask of
you."
"I'll do any man a favor -- any woman, too! -- but I don't think there's very much I can
do for a ghost. I presume you're not much interested in physical things."
"Interested, but not able," the ghost said. "Sit down, eat your supper. And listen, if you
will, to my story. Then the nature of the favor will be apparent."
"Always glad for company, real or imaginary," Norton said, sitting down on a conveniently
placed rock.
"I'm no hallucination," the ghost assured him. "I'm a genuine person who happens to be
dead."
And while Norton ate, the specter made his pre -- sentation. "I was born into a wealthy
and noble family," Gawain said. "I was named after Sir Gawain of the ancient Round Table of King
Arthur's Court; Sir Gawain is a distant ancestor, and great things were expected of me from the
outset. Before I could walk I could handle a knife; I shredded my mattress and crawled out to
stalk the household puk -- "
"Puck?"
"Puk -- a small household dragon. Ours was only half a yard long. I gave it an awful
scare; it had been napping in a sunbeam. My folks had to put me in a steel playpen after that. At
age two I fashioned a rope out of my blanket and scaled the summit of the playpen wall and went
after the cat. I vivisected her after she scratched me for cutting off her tail. So they brought
in a werecat who changed into the most forbidding old shrew when I bothered her. She certainly had
my number; when I toasted her feline tail with a hotfoot, she wered human and toasted my tail with
a belt. I developed quite an aggravation for magical animals."
"I can imagine," Norton said politely. He himself was always kind to animals, especially
wild ones, though he would defend himself if attacked. There were things about Gawain he was not
fully comfortable with.
"I was sent to gladiator school," the ghost continued. "I wanted to go, and for some
reason my family preferred to have me out of the house. I graduated second in my class. I would
have been first, but the leading student had enchanted armor, even at night, so I couldn't
dispatch him. Canny character! After that, I bought a fine outfit of my own, proof against any
blade or bullet or magic bolt. Then I set out to make my fortune.
"There are not many dragons around, compared to mundane animals, and most of them are
protected spe -- cies. Actually, I respect dragons; they are a phenomenal challenge. It's too bad
that it took so long for man really to master magic; only in the last fifty years or so has it
become a formidable force. I suppose it was suppressed by the Renaissance, when people felt there
had to be rational explanations for everything. As a result of that ignorance, dragons and other
fantastic creatures had a much harder time of it than they had during the medieval age in Europe.
Some masqueraded as mundane animals -- unicorns cutting off their horns to pass for horses,
griffins shearing their wings and donning lion-head masks, that sort of thing -- and some were
kept hidden on private estates by conservationists who cared more for nature than for logic. A
number developed protective illusion so they looked a good deal more mundane than they were, and
Satan salvaged a few, though most of His creatures are demonic. But now at last the supernatural
is back in fashion, and fantastic creatures are becoming unextinct.
"But some creatures do get obstreperous. Most bleeding-heart liberal, modem governments
have bent the other way so far they've gone off the deep end and out -- lawed poisoning or
shooting or using magic to kill these monsters. So the bad dragons have to be dispatched the old-
fashioned way, by sword."
"Why not just move the bad ones to reservations?" Norton asked, appalled at the notion of
slaying dragons. He was one of the bleeding hearts the ghost described;
he knew dragons were omery and dangerous, but so were alligators and tigers. All of them
had their right to exist as species, and the loss of any species was an incalculable loss to the
world. Many highly significant aspects of magic had been derived from once-suppressed creatures,
such as potency-spells from unicom horns and invulnerable scale armor from dragon hides. But he
realized it would be pointless to argue such cases with this fortune-hunting warrior.
Gawain snorted. "Mister, you can't move a dragon! They're worse than cats! Once a drag
stakes out his ter -- ritory, he defends it. Enchant the monster and move it to a reservation, it
just breaks out and returns, twice as omery as before, killing innocent people along the way. No,
I respect dragons as opponents, but the only really good dragon is a dead one."
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Norton sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was a good thing for the world that Gawain was now a
ghost.
'That was my specialty," Gawain continued. "The hand -- slaying of dragons. It was
dangerous work, to be sure -- but the rewards were considerable. Because it was quasi -- legal,
fees were high. I estimated that five or six years of dragon slaying would make me independently
wealthy. That was the point: to prove that I wasn't simply inher -- iting wealth, but could
produce it on my own. I knew my family would be pleased; every man in it increased the fortune, if
he lived long enough."
Gawain meditated for a moment, and Norton did not interrupt him. What would be the point?
Norton had on occasion spotted the traces of dragons in the parks and had always given the
monsters a wide berth. He might be an environmentalist, but he was no fool. It was said that some
dragons in parks were halfway tame and would not attack a person if he gave them food or jewelry,
but Nor -- ton had never trusted such folklore. The best way to deal with a dragon was to stay
clear of it, unless a person had a really competent pacification-spell.
"I know what you're thinking," Gawain said. "Obvi -- ously I met one dragon too many! But
in my defense, I do want to say that I was successful for five years and had almost amassed my
target level in bonus money. I would be alive today if that last dragon I faced had been genuine.
But you see, it wasn't; it had been mislabeled. Oh, I don't blame the natives -- not much, anyway;
they were a fairly primitive tribe in South America and they spoke a mixture of Amerind and
Spanish, while I spoke the language of champions, English. Normally language is not much of a
barrier; my armor and sword bespoke my profession, with the dragon design on my shield; and as for
the women -- a man never needs a language of the tongue to speak his use for them, especially when
he's a warrior. These things are fairly standard, anyway; the conquering hero always gets his pick
of the local virgins. After all, it's better for them than getting chomped by the dragon!"
He paused a moment, his lips twitching. "Funny that some of those girls don't seem to see
it that way."
He shrugged and returned to the main theme. "But I think they were honestly ignorant of
the nature of their monster. Of course, I should have checked it out in the Dragon Registry -- but
I had traveled a long way, and the nearest civilized outpost was a half day's trek distant --
couldn't use a standard flying carpet for this, of course, since those things are coded into the
tour computers, and that would have given away my business -- it would have delayed me a day just
to do that, and maybe alerted the Dragon Patrol. So I tackled that dragon blind, as it were. I'll
never do that again! I was cocky and foolish, I know -- but I was familiar with the specs on just
about every type of dragon in the world; I figured I was okay this one time.
"So there I was, afoot and armed with sword and shield, as is proper for such encounters,
and I boldly braved the lair of the monster. And monster it was! I could see claw marks on the big
trees some ten feet up. A real challenge! I marched up to its cave and bellowed out my challenge,
and the monster came charging out, no fire, just growl -- ing -- and then I realized my mistake.
That was no dragon -- it was a dinosaur! A largely bipedal carnivorous reptile -- allosaurus, to
be specific; I looked it up after it was too late. It was supposed to be extinct; I think Satan
revived it, just to take me down a peg."
Now Norton spoke. "Isn't a dinosaur much like a dragon?"
"Yes and no," Gawain said seriously. This was his field of expertise. "It should be as
easy to slay one as the other, as they are of similar nature. Dragons have fire and better armor,
and some are unbecomingly smart, while the ancient camosaurs -- well, they have to do it all by
tooth and claw and power, so they're both more single-minded and des -- perate. I was geared and
trained for dragons; I knew their typical foibles. A dragon, for example, will always try to
scorch you with its fire or steam first; dodge that jet, and you can often get in a lethal stroke
while it's recovering its breath. It's blast-oriented, you see, not thinking about what comes
next. But the allosaurus -- that monster didn't even pause to see how it scored, because it had no
attack heat. It simply charged, catching me off guard. I had been ready to dodge to the side, and
that was no good this time. I stabbed it in the neck with my sword, but it didn't seem to notice.
That's another difference -- a dragon will roar with pain and rage when injured -- they are
inordinately proud of their roars -- and whip about to snap at the wound. I've seen a dragon get
stabbed with a knife and reach about and bite that knife right out of its body, along with a few
pounds of its own flesh, and toast the wound after -- ward to cauterize it. This camosaur just
kept going for me. Its system was more primitive. You know how a snake's tail will keep twitching
after you cut it off? True reptiles are slow to die, even when hacked to pieces. So again I
misjudged it -- and again I paid. The brute knocked me down and took a chomp of my body, armor and
all. I didn't even try to scramble free; I knew a body-chomp would only dent the monster's teeth.
"That was my third error. Apparently enchantment has a sizable psychological component;
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people believe in its power, so it has power. A dragon would have known the armor was impermeable,
since the smell of the spell was on it, and protected its teeth by easing up. The crunch would
have been more show than serious; just testing, as it were. But this allosaurus dated from before
the time of true magic and it gave a full-hard chomp, the kind that
crunches bones."
"But magic isn't all psychological!" Norton protested. "When I lighted this fire, the wood
didn't need to believe
in magic; it was ignited anyway."
"True. My armor was impervious to the teeth of the monster," Gawain agreed. "But the mail
was flexible, so I could wear it with comfort and not be restricted when fighting. That reptile
had very powerful jaws. When it crunched, no tooth penetrated -- but I was squished to death. A
dragon never would have done that, for fear of hurting its teeth against the magical hardness of
the armor -- but that stupid reptile did. It broke a number of its teeth and put itself in dire
straits -- but it wiped me out in the process." The ghost sounded disgusted.
"Now I understand," Norton said. "I regret meeting you in such circumstance." That was
polite; Norton might have regretted meeting Gawain alive, too.
"No fault of yours," Gawain said. "You are a courteous listener. Many people fear ghosts
or ignore them."
"Many people are more settled than I am," Norton said. "Perhaps that applies to their
minds as well as their bodies. Since you profess no anger toward me, I accept you as a well-
meaning companion and hope I may in some way help you." For, ironic as it seemed, he found himself
liking the ghost. Gawain alive stood for nothing Norton stood for, but as a ghost, he was an
interesting companion. Maybe that was because his evil was safely behind him.
"I like your manners," Gawain said. "I can see we don't see eye-to-eye on everything and I
think it's because you're a gentler man than I was. Be assured I offer rec -- ompense for the
favor I ask. Would you like to leam how to slay dragons?"
"Oh, I do not require pay for any favor!" Norton pro -- tested. "Then it wouldn't be a
favor."
"This is not really a minor matter. I would prefer to pay. The favor is in merely agreeing
to do it."
"Why, then, I should be happy to leam how to slay dragons, though I hope never to have to
use such knowl -- edge." That was an understatement; he would never knowingly go near a wild
dragon without defensive magic -- and with that magic he would not have to slay it. "But what is
this favor?"
Gawain frowned. "I prefer to provide more background first, lest you be unable to accept
the request."
Norton was growing quite curious about this. The ghost was a tough, direct sort, with
quite alien values, but he was also a gentleman by his own reckoning. Why was he being so
circumspect about this? "By all means, sir."
"When I died, I had amassed a fair fortune, in addition to my inheritance," the ghost
continued. "Actually, the inheritance has not yet come down to me, as my father lives, but I am
the only heir. It is important that the estate remain in the family. Therefore, my surviving
family arranged for a ghost marriage. That is, they married me to an excellent and healthy young
woman of proper lineage who -- "
"Pardon," Norton said. "Forgive the interruption, but you have lost me. How can a ghost
marry?"
Gawain smiled. "Yes, I thought that would throw you. It threw me, first blush. It is a
device used when a noble family wishes to preserve its line -- when the heir is defunct. They
marry the ghost to a suitable girl -- one he would have approved of in life -- who then bears his
heir."
"But -- "
"But a ghost can't impregnate a living woman. That is indeed a problem."
"Yes. I really don't see how -- "
"I'm coming to that. My wife may associate with any man she chooses -- but she is my wife,
by the ghost mar -- riage, and her child is mine. He will inherit my estate and carry on my line."
"But then she's being unfaithful to you!" Norton pro -- tested.
"I had trouble with that concept, too, at first. But I came to terms with it. She knows
she must provide the heir and that I can not do it personally. But I am involved, for I am
choosing the man. With her consent, of course;
marriage is a partnership. She has refused several good prospects."
"Are yon sure she really wants to -- ?"
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"Oh, I'm sure," Gawain said confidently. "She is a good and honest woman. She is not
trying to renege. She merely wants to do it exactly properly. She has this magic talent: she can
tell by looking at a man how good a consort he would make. That's one reason my family selected
her. They didn't want the heir sired by some ne'er-do-well bum with poor heredity. She really is
special. If I had met her in life, I surely would have loved her, though I wouldn't have had much
patience with her views about dragons. She can't bear to hurt any living creature. So 'f I bring
her a man she deems good enough to -- "
Realization struck Norton. "This favor -- "
The ghost nodded. "Precisely. I want you to meet my wife, and if she likes you -- "
"Wait!" Norton spluttered. "I take my women where I find them, when they are amenable, but
never a married one! That wouldn't be right."
"I like you, Norton. You have the right instincts. I was afraid out here in the park I'd
find only wishy-washy sentimentalists, but you've got style. I think my wife would like you, when
she didn't like the warrior types I sent before. Look at it this way: I have no physical body and
I need an heir. I'm asking you to substitute for me in this one respect. After that you can go
your way, with no further commitment. It's like repairing my house for me, and I'll pay you for
the service -- "
"Some service!"
"Literally." The ghost chuckled. "I realize this is hard for you to accept right away and
I like that in you. But at least come to meet Orlene. Maybe she'll reject you."
From the way the ghost spoke, Norton had no certainty of that. Gawain thought this girl,
Orlene, would like him. If he went, expecting to be rejected, and then..."I don't know -- "
"Please, Norton! You're a good man -- and I must have that heir."
"I understand that part. But to cuckold you -- that's against my philosophy."
"I am, after all, a ghost. You can consider her a widow. If it helps, you can remember
that you will have no rights over her at all. You can not marry her, and your part will be forever
unrecognized. Legally there is no adultery here. So this is the ultimate chance to sow wild oats --
"
"Complete irresponsibility! That's not what I -- "
"Well, then, think of it as artificial insemination, and you're the donor. Hell, man,
that's done all the time, in life, when the living husband is infertile."
This was haywire, but the concept helped. The ghost did have a case. "All right -- I'll
meet her," Norton said guardedly.
"And I'll teach you how to slay dragons!"
"Oh, you don't really need to -- "
"Yes, I do. I insist on paying for it!"
Norton realized that what a man paid for belonged to him. Gawain had to have his personal,
private claim on the heir. "Yes. But first we had better find out whether she's even interested.
This may all be for nothing." He wondered what this fine girl who had sold her body in such
fashion for security actually looked like. Quality and lineage could normally net a girl a good
husband, unless she was ugly or had a vile temper. That latter kind might be the sort who would
settle for a ghost.
"We can go right now," Gawain said eagerly. "There's an elevator not far from here."
Norton thought to protest, but remembered that he was broke, so would not be able to camp
out much longer anyway. A stay with a good woman, even an ugly one, was at least worth
considering. He really could not claim to have anything better to do.
He doused the fire and cleaned up the area so that future hikers would not be annoyed.
Wilderness hiking and camping were privileges, not rights, and were strictly licensed. He was
always careful not to mistreat the cul -- tivated wilds. He burned only deadwood, left the animals
alone, and tried not to harm even caterpillars and worms. He never littered. It was not that
anyone was watching;
it was that Norton had genuine respect for the heritage of nature and for the parks that
sought to emulate it.
They walked a quarter mile to a giant blazed oak tree. Norton touched the lowest branch
and stepped inside the chamber that opened in the trunk. The elevator descended to the residential
level, where they stepped out and took a conveyor belt to the ghost's address. Gawain, of course,
could simply have popped across directly, but he pre -- ferred to honor the living conventions
among the living.
This was an affluent section of the city, as befitted the ghost's description of his
family's status. Poor people did not worry much about preservation of their estates.
They stepped off the belt, took a smaller side-passage belt, and moved into the really
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refined region of the Who's -- Who lineages. A uniformed guard barred the way as they stepped off.
"Identity?" he asked Norton sternly.
"It's all right, Trescott," Gawain said. "He's with me."
Trescott eyed Norton's somewhat sweaty and worn hiking outfit disapprovingly. "Very good,
sir," he mut -- tered.
"The guards don't always let themselves see me," Gawain explained. "Unless I take pains to
manifest to them. Ghosts are not much in fashion here; the manage -- ment worries about property
values."
"Or about scruffy-looking characters like me," Norton said. "I feel out of place here."
"Um, there's a point," Gawain agreed. "We really ought to spruce you up a bit to make a
good impression."
"I am what I am," Norton said. "If she has the power to judge a man's true worth at a
glance, what difference does clothing or polish make?"
"There is that. Very well, we'll try it this way. But if she accepts you, you'll have to
dress the part."
"First things first," Norton said, not totally pleased.
They arrived at the door. "Now I can't go in," Gawain said. "Rules of the cosmos. Everyone
can see a ghost like me except the one most concerned. You'll introduce your -- self."
"What, smile toothily and say, 'Hi, girl, I'm here to -- '?"
"Tell her Gawain sent you. She'll understand."
"Sure," Norton said glumly. How had he gotten into this? He felt like a traveling salesman
about to approach the farmer's daughter.
"Good luck," Gawain said.
Norton wasn't sure whether "good luck" would mean acceptance or rejection. He nerved
himself and touched the door's call button.
Chapter 2 -- VERIFICATION
A panel became translucent after a moment. "Yes?" a soft-voiced woman inquired. He could
not quite make out her features; the glass was, of course, designed to pass a clear image only one
way.
"Uh, Gawain sent me." Idiocy!
The door slid aside, and she stood framed within. She had hair the hue of honey and eyes
the same. Her figure was adorably proportioned, and her face was cute. She was the loveliest
creature he had met.
Orlene studied Norton. Her &yes seemed to shine. "Oh, I was afraid this would happen
someday," she said.
"This wasn't exactly my idea," Norton said. "I'll go."
"No," she said quickly. "No fault in you! I just was not prepared."
"Since I'm unsuitable, I won't bother you further." He felt quite awkward, sorry he had
come here, yet also deeply regretful. He had been braced to meet a different sort of woman; for
one like this, he would do almost anything.
"No, wait," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to -- please, sit down, have some tea."
"That's not necessary, thank you. I'm intruding. This whole business -- " He turned away --
and paused. Gawain was right there behind him, spreading his arms to block his retreat. He did not
want to walk through the ghost.
Orlene came up and took his arm. Her touch was light and gentle and utterly right; he had
a momentary mental picture of a porcelain statuette, a work of art, inconceiv -- ably delicate,
precious, and cool. "Please," she repeated. "He set it up," Norton said, indicating Gawain. "You
don't have to say that," Orlene said, sounding just a bit nettled. "You don't have to justify
yourself."
"Yes, I do! He's your husband! I can't simply -- even if I were satisfactory, I mean, it
would still be wrong." "My husband is dead," she said. "I know. That's why -- " Norton shrugged,
confused about his own emotions, wishing he were back in the forest. "How can you face him like
this and -- ?"
"Me?" she flared. She was one of those few women who really did seem as pretty angry as
happy. "How can you men exchange stories, and use a great warrior's death to try to -- to -- !"
"But he told me!" Norton said. "Gawain brought me here! Ask him! He'll tell you!"
She looked into Norton's face, then turned away, hurt. He felt like a monster who had just
pulled the wings off a dozen beautiful butterflies.
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"She can't see me," Gawain said. "She can't hear me. I told you that. She doesn't really
believe in me."
Norton was shocked. "You mean she thinks this is just a scheme to -- to hit on -- ?"
"I told you you'd have to handle the introduction your -- self," the ghost reminded him.
"She's ready to accept you;
don't mess it up."
Norton turned to Orlene again. "You really can't see or hear -- Gawain?"
"Of course I can't," she said, her face still hurt. "Only his picture." She gestured to a
framed painting on the wall inside.
Norton turned around to get a better view. It was Gawain, garbed in his armor, with a
dragon painted on his shield and X'd out. The bold killer of dragons.
Norton shook his head. "This is all wrong. I think I have insulted you, Orlene. I
misunderstood -- the situa -- tion. I apologize and I'll leave."
"Oh, you mustn't leave!" she protested. "I don't care what brought you here, really. You
glow so brightly! I never expected to see -- "
"I glow?"
"Her magic power," Gawain said from outside. "The right man glows. You're it, all right."
"It's hard to explain," Orlene said. "It doesn't mean I like a man, or want to. It just
means that, objectively, he is -- " She spread her hands helplessly.
"I think I understand," Norton said. He had thought he would be rejected, once he saw how
lovely she was;
now he was unable to turn down what was offered, though he remained disturbed by the
situation. "Perhaps I will accept your tea after all." He stepped back into the apart -- ment.
Orlene closed the door behind him, shutting out the ghost. That was a small relief. Norton
sat in a comfortable chair while she bustled in her kitchenette, dialing the tea.
The problem was that she was too pretty, too obviously nice. Norton felt subjectively as
if his touch would despoil her. This was no one-night-stand woman, and it would be a crime to
treat her that way. Especially since she herself was not aware of the ghost's active
participation. She would think that he, Norton, was simply a man taking advantage of a widow.
Well, not exactly a widow. But it bothered him.
Except for one thing -- she saw him glow. She had no need to accept him; she could tell
him to go and he would go. Why should she claim he was right for the purpose? Was her magic real,
or was it a pretext to pick and choose? Was she in fact any better than she took him to be? She
seemed like the ideal woman, but appearances could be deceptive. Especially when a ghost was
involved.
Oriene brought the tea in an old-fashioned pot and poured cups for them both. This wasn't
tea time, but time was not of the essence here. What was required was something to occupy their
hands and eyes and nominal atten -- tion -- a pretext to be somewhat at ease together. That was,
Norton suspected, the true basis of tea; it was a social amenity.
But it wasn't enough. There was only so long a person could nurse along a cup of beverage,
and it was necessary to make small talk meanwhile. How long could they post -- pone getting down
to the subject?
Norton's desperately wandering eyes spotted a large, pretty, parlor-style book, the kind
with phenomenal illus -- trations and very little text, as befitted the fashionable, wealthy
nonreaders of the day. He reached for it.
"Oh, that's the picture-puzzle guide," Orlene said quickly. "Magic technology art. I
haven't gotten into the puzzle, though I've been meaning to. I understand it's very difficult."
"I like puzzles." Norton opened the book. The first picture was of a section of the city
park, with its tall trees seeming almost alive. Almost? Now he saw their leaves fluttering in the
wind. It was a moving picture and it was three-dimensional; his eyes shifted focus as he peered
into its background. He had heard of books like this, with holographic illustrations, but never
handled one before.
Experimentally he poked his forefinger at the picture, for his eyes had lost track of the
surface of the page. His finger penetrated beyond that surface, finding no resis -- tance.
Startled, he drew back.
"It's a window to the park," she explained. "You could climb through it, if you could
fit."
Impressive magic! Intrigued, Norton turned the page. The next was of the nether transport
center, with the escalator belts leading down to the matter transmitters. People were stepping off
the belts, inserting their talis -- mans in the MT slots, and moving through to their des --
tinations. A big clock on the wall showed the present time and date; this was live! He wondered
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whether, if he should somehow squeeze into that picture, he would then be able to take a matter-
mit window to another city or planet. No -- he lacked the necessary token and lacked credit to buy
one. Too bad; he really loved to explore, and if he had ever been able to afford interplanetary
travel --
He turned another page. This picture-window showed another planet directly: the blazing
sunside surface of Mercury, so bright that the heat seemed to radiate out from the sheet. He
touched his finger to the nearest baked rock -- and drew it back quickly. That was hot!
"You say this one is merely a puzzle guide?" he asked,
perplexed.
Orlene rose gracefully and went to a cupboard. Her dress rustled, and for the first time
he became aware of what she was wearing: a kind of golden-tan wraparound affair, obviously
intended for convenience rather than for presentation, but it fitted her marvelously. He suspected
she would look wonderful in anything, however.
She brought down a box. "To the jigsaw puzzle," she explained. "Of course, it's been
decades since they actu -- ally cut them out with saws, but the name sticks." She cleared away the
pot and cups and set the box down.
Norton opened it. It was filled with bright, curly, flat fragments, indeed very much like
the pieces of a jig-sawed puzzle. But these glittered with animation. Moving images
here?
He picked one up and squinted at it. Sure enough, it showed several leaves of a tree, and
they did indeed flutter in whatever wind there was. It was a section of the first illustration in
the book.
"But there are a number of scenes in the book," he
said.
Orlene touched a button on the side of the box. Abruptly the image on the piece Norton
held changed. Now it appeared to be part of the wall of the subterranean trans -- port station. He
looked at the other pieces in the box and saw one that displayed part of the face of the station
clock. Its minute hand showed exactly the minute that Norton's own watch did. It was now only a
fragment, but it kept
accurate time.
"All the scenes are available," Orlene said. "You just set it for the one you want to do --
or change it in the middle. There's another button to change the shapes of the pieces so they
don't get too familiar. I understand it's a lot of fun, especially since the completed puzzle is
large enough for a person to step through and enter the scene."
"Science and magic are merging faster than I knew!" Norton exclaimed, impressed.
"Well, they always were pretty much the same thing," she pointed out. "Once the Unified
Field Theorem merged the five basic forces, including magic -- "
"I think I've been spending too much time in the wil -- derness!"
"The wilderness is nice too," she said. "We mustn't sacrifice the old values for the new."
He glanced at her with fresh appreciation. "You like the wilderness?" He remembered
Gawain's remark about her affinity for animals.
"Oh, yes! The estate has a section of the park; I go there often. Somehow it seems less
lonely than the city."
What a delight she was! But still he wasn't sure. He was not able to view people with a
magic glow. "Let's do this puzzle," he suggested. "The park picture."
Orlene smiled with glad acquiescence. "Let's!"
And that finessed the main issue nicely. She did want him to stay, for otherwise she would
not have agreed to get into a project like this that could take days. And -- he did want to stay.
Not necessarily to honor the ghost's request, but to explore the possibility. The notion of help --
ing Gawain in this fashion no longer seemed so unrea -- sonable.
They labored on the puzzle, first sorting the colors of the park scene, then aligning the
straight-edge pieces, getting the border done. Norton was an old hand at this sort of thing,
except that his experience had been with the old-fashioned kind of jigsaw. This magic-picture vari
-- ety was new, but the fundamental principles of strategy and matching remained. A picture was
like a story, with rules of structure that were vulnerable to exploitation in a case like this.
Orlene turned out to have a good eye for color and shape and was able to locate pieces he
needed. She was assisted by her magic, she said; the particular piece she looked for tended to
glow. He saw no such effect, but her accuracy in drawing pieces from the great mixed pile lent
credence to the claim. The two of them were working well together.
Norton glanced at the clock and discovered that three hours had flown by. They had
completed the border and much of the forest path and were working on two trees, but there was a
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long way to go. Edges and paths filled in deceptively rapidly; the solid masses of single-color
regions would be much slower. "Maybe we'd better let it rest for the night," he said.
"Yes. Let me get you some pajamas." They both under -- stood that he would be staying here
indefinitely. The agreement had formed, unvoiced, as the outline of the puzzle took form. Like the
puzzle, the details remained inchoate.
Norton did not ordinarily use pajamas, but he didn't argue. He was a guest of this estate,
and it was no place to flop in his clothes. Except -- "Pajamas? Do you have male clothing here?"
"They were Gawain's," she said delicately. "You're close enough to his size, and I'm sure
he would have wanted them to be used."
Surely so. Norton squelched his misgivings and accepted the pajamas. Orlene showed him to
a well -- appointed room, separate from hers; their relationship had not progressed to the
critical stage. As he had known from the moment he first saw her, she was no one-night -- stand
girl. And he, abruptly, was no love-'em-and-leave -- 'em guy. He was committed for the full route,
whatever it might be.
He discovered that he was quite tired; it had indeed been a long day. He undressed,
stepped into the sonic cleaner, stepped out dry and tingly clean, then got into Gawain's pajamas,
reluctantly accepting their symbolism. They hung on him somewhat baggily.
He got into bed and realized that this was not the ordinary flophouse bunk he was used to.
It was an oil -- sponge couch. His weight caused the sponge oil to give way and shift, but not
instantly; it was more like sinking into thick mud. The truth was, mud was excellent stuff, as
children instinctively knew, despite the bad press pro -- vided by their mothers. It offered
enough support to pre -- vent drowning, while being malleable enough for freedom of action. It was
also fascinating stuff in itself, suitable for splashing or mudballs and body-paintings. Of course
this bed was not mud and would not splash or separate, but the feel was similar. Norton let
himself descend into its enfoldment with sheer bliss.
"How did it work out?" a voice asked.
Norton opened his eyes, annoyed. Gawain the Ghost was there, standing expectantly beside
the bed. "I had almost forgotten you," he said.
"I certainly hadn't forgotten yo"!" the ghost replied. "Three hours -- did you beget my
offspring?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Norton demanded. "I thought you couldn't enter this
apartment."
"You misunderstood. I can't enter the room in which my wife stays, and she can't directly
perceive me regard -- less of where we are. But I can enter my own residence when she's absent. I
do it all the time."
"She's absent? 1 thought she was in her bedroom."
"She is. She's absent from this room," Gawain clari -- fied. "If she entered it, I'd have
to vanish. I'd Just step through the wall until she was gone."
Norton thought of something else. "I understood it was death to see a ghost. That's why
people don't like it! Does this mean I am going to die?"
Gawain laughed. "Yes, in a manner of thinking. You will die -- in due course. Maybe fifty
years hence. Every living person will. But seeing me won't hasten your demise one whit, unless you
should happen to die of fright." He put his forefingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled his
lips open in a grotesque face. Because he was insub -- stantial, he was able to stretch his mouth
entirely beyond the borders of his face. "I'm not that kind of ghost. You're thinking of Molly
Malone of Kilvarough. She's a nice and lovely ghost indeed; if I weren't already married -- " He
left it unfinished.
"Well, to answer your question," Norton said shortly, "I did not have any intimate
relation with Orlene. She's not that kind of woman, any more than you're that kind of ghost. And I
can't guarantee that I will have that kind of relation, or when."
"Now look, sport," Gawain said indignantly. "You're here accepting the hospitality of my
estate. You owe it to me to deliver!"
"To cuckold you?" Norton demanded, again express -- ing his inner irresolution. "To seduce
your pristine, faith -- ful wife?"
"It's not like that, and you know it. You're here to perform a service."
"I thought I was here to do you a favor."
"Same thing. Once you do it, you can leave. Except I still have to teach you how to slay
dragons."
"Well, Orlene is no dragon! The fact is, she is really a nice person, not a gold digger at
all. If she decides not to -- to want the favor, I'm not going to force it on her."
"What do you think she's here for?" Gawain demanded. "She's a guest of my estate too!"
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"She's your wife!" Norton shouted. "She has a perfect right to be here!"
"Not if she doesn't produce! Listen, Norton, I'm locked in this state until I have a
proper heir. She owes it to me to generate him promptly."
"Well, then, why didn't you marry some slut who spreads her legs for any man who looks at
her? Why inflict this on a nice girl?"
"I told you," the ghost responded hotly. "There are standards to maintain. Our family is
of noble lineage."
"Well, I have standards to maintain, too -- and so does she."
"Anyway, I didn't select her; my family did. They -- "
The ghost vanished in mid-sentence. Norton looked about, startled -- and saw Orlene at the
doorway.
"Are you all right, Norton?" she asked worriedly. "I heard you shouting -- "
And she couldn't hear the ghost! He'd have to watch that. What had she heard? He felt a
slow flush nudging up his neck and cheeks as he considered that. "I -- I don't suppose you would
believe I was talking to the ghost?"
"I really wish you wouldn't -- "
"Call il a bad dream, then. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
She looked doubtful. "You're such a good man. Do you really suffer from -- "
Norton laughed, somewhat too heartily. "How can you know I'm a good man? I'm an ordinary
man, perhaps less than ordinary, since I have never had much success in life. Not like you."
"Oh, no! I am nothing!" she protested. "You glow!"
Norton studied her. She was in a pinkish-white pei -- gnoir, and her honey-golden hair
hung loose about her shoulders. There was something enormously appealing about her, and it was not
mere beauty or sensuality. But he resisted that appeal, choosing instead to challenge her. "You
refuse to believe I can see a ghost, but you expect me to believe you see a glow? When the ghost
and the glow say the same thing?"
She smiled wanly. "I suppose it is inconsistent. But so many men have come with stories
about the ghost of my husband, I know it's a crude male game. I would like to believe you are
different."
Somehow Norton felt rather small. "I did see the ghost -- but I don't necessarily agree
with what he said."
"I do see the glow," she said. "But I don't -- " She smiled. "Good night, Norton."
"Good night, Orlene."
She retreated and closed the door.
Gawain reappeared. "I see the problem," he said. "Nei -- ther of you is a dragon slayer;
you don't like to go at it directly. But if she says you glow, she'll accept you. It's just a
matter of time. All you need to do is stay here and -- "
"And be supported by a woman," Norton finished. "I find that hard to accept."
"It's my estate, damn it!" Gawain swore. "She doesn't have a thing of her own. It's all
mine. She won't inherit;
only the son she bears will. She knows that."
"Suppose it's a daughter?"
The ghost looked blank. "A what?"
Norton was beginning to appreciate the fact that
Gawain's purpose did not align perfectly with Orlene's purpose. He wanted to preserve the
estate; she wanted a proper personal situation. He wanted a son to inherit and carry on the line;
the personality of that son was not a concern. She surely wanted a fine child who would be a joy
to her and to Gawain's family and to the world and a credit to the estate. He was concerned about
money and power, she about quality and love. She would prefer to have an attractive, intelligent,
and sweet girl -- like her -- self -- while he would be outraged by anything less than a
strapping, bold boy -- like himself. Norton's sympathy
was sliding toward the woman's view.
But he was here at the ghost's behest, and there was
merit in Gawain's position. "I'll try to accomplish your purpose. But I won't rush it.
It's not that I want to sponge off your estate, it's that I think you have a better wife than you
appreciate, and I want it to be right."
"I want it to be right, too," Gawain said, sounding aggrieved. "I want my son to have the
best of everything."
Norton didn't comment. As he came to understand the forces operating here, he did not feel
more at ease. But there seemed to be no better way through this than to remain here, get to know
Orlene, and do what the ghost wanted when the occasion was propitious. Then move on quickly, lest
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file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Incarnations%202%2-%20Bearing%20An%20Hourglass.txtBearingAnHourglass--PiersAnthony(Version1.0--12/12/2001)Nortonthrewdownhisknapsackandscoopedupadoublehandfulofwater.Hedrank,delightinginthechillthatstruckhisteethandstiffenedhispalate.Itwaseasy...

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