always repay my debts.” She picked a glass of wine off the table and drank.
“Her words have merit,” said Josh.
“Words,” scowled Beauty. Then to the Neuroman woman: “I cannot stop you. Still, I do not like it.”
“You mistrust words?” Jasmine asked him, her manner softer now.
“Words are a sorry attempt to describe what is.”
“Words can approximate the truth,” she replied.
“You cannot convince me with words of something I know to be false by experience or feeling.”
“Words are their own truth,” asserted Joshua. Normally this was a topic he and Beauty avoided discussing, but they were all a little heady from the liquor and the moment. Sentiments were bubbling up like steam in a simmering kettle.
“Words just reflect the truths of their times and their places,” said Jasmine, warming to the subject. “For example, when I was still young, in the early 22nd century, people rarely used verbs except in the present tense. The past was so depressing, and the future so frightening, that it became chic to discard all grammars but the present indicative. We said, ‘I eat,’ and that had to do, since nobody cared if you had eaten, or were going to eat. The words were just reflections of the way things were, though. Make sense?”
Beauty’s expression looked as much like a wall as an expression could. “I hope you do not talk so much when you hunt,” he said.
Jasmine smiled. “That reminds me of a story,” she began. “I was walking with a Captain of Clones, some 100 years ago, stalking a renegade Hedon in the jungle south of the Line. I just talked and talked about this and that, and after a while, the Hedon jumped out of the trees at us, knife in hand. I got him, though – dropped him at the Captain’s feet.
“The Clone Captain was a little peeved, just like you. ‘You always talk so much when you hunt?’ he said. Thing is, if I hadn’t been making so much noise, that Hedon never would have found us, and we might not have caught him. See, it’s all a question of definition – whether you think of yourself as hunter or hunted, and how you make use of that. Which gets us back to words again, right?”
Beauty stared at her as if she’d come from another planet. He had never wanted a hunting partner less. She’d been helpful, true, but so much chatter turned his stomach. It made him positively disharmonious, tilted his equanimity. Once more, he measured his words, “I hope you do not talk so much when you hunt.”
There was a second of silence, punctuated by an eruption of laughter so loud that the Flutterby woke up. Lon raised his glass. “To the hunt,” he said.
“To the hunt!” they all toasted, and a cheer went up. Soon everyone was talking at once. Even Beauty relented to the mood. Toasts were answered with vows, the music resumed, the dancers whirled in every corner. Humbelly fluttered until she fell asleep again. Isis got up on her hind legs to do a rowdy jig.
Josh was so sated, he was moved to sing a song, which he seldom did in the company of strangers. So he bade the musicians follow him as he sang out melodically:
“The hunter, he did cross the plain, And then he ventured home again, The merry merry feast will soon begin, Among the leaves so green-o.” At which point Beauty joined in with his gravelly baritone: “Well it’s hey down down, Ho down down, Hey down ho down derry derry down, Among the leaves so green-o.”
Followed by more cheers, more music. More drink, talk. Stories, gloriously told, of battles heroically fought, of journeys unconditionally traveled, of mortal trials tried.
Until finally, some time later, Lon stood and said he would be going to sleep. He showed the guests to their sleeping quarters – a lush, private room for each – telling them it would be his honor if each of them would take to bed a chosen favorite from the harem. Josh and Beauty politely refused; Lon intimated that he understood, though Josh saw the Vampire felt hurt, if not insulted by the rebuff. Jasmine selected the beautiful young servant boy with the jewelry, picked him up easily in her arms, and carried him off into her bedroom.
Lon had a special surprise for Isis: a champion Persian with long violet fur. The two Cats eyed each other and sidled up next to each other. “Mnnnnnn,” said Isis, as the Persian followed her hotly up a dark corridor into a seldom-used section of the cave.
Humbelly woke up long enough to flutter a bit nearer the glowing coals. Finally, the whole house-hold was asleep.
At sunrise they convened in the library where the walls were engorged with books, ceiling to floor - something Josh had never seen. He stared in profound wonder at the stacks of antique volumes, folio editions, and gold-leaf bindings. “You can read,” he whispered to Lon as if it were a shared secret. Lon only laughed.
Josh considered carefully, then asked Lon if it would be possible for him to leave his scriptures, including those he’d written the previous night, before falling asleep – leave them with Lon, for safekeeping, here in the company of all these other books. “They could share thoughts with each other when no one else was reading them,” Josh added.
Lon was touched. He accepted Joshua’s treasure with high moment, saying he would be honored to harbor the writings with his own coveted texts. Gently he placed Joshua’s records on the shelf. When the manuscripts were finally nestled, he took Josh by the arm and said, “There is something I would show you.”
He led Josh to a hidden door, then through it to a hidden room. Once inside, Joshua momentarily had to hold his breath; all manner of surpassing things were here.
“My museum,” said Lon.
Josh walked silently from shelf to shelf. Strange artifacts sat in delicate display, mysterious machines from another time. Colored glass beakers, some connected by elaborate coils, filled one whole wall. A small collection of crumbling, ancient books was propped on the end cubicle. Josh read the titles: all contained the word Alchemy.
Another section of the room was devoted to various dried herbs, animal parts, and raw gemstones. Timidly Josh walked up and down aisles of curious devices. All were labeled: Television, Film Projector, Video Cassette Recorder, DVD Player, Holographic Laser Projector, Lava-Lite, Crystal Ball, Nutty Putty, Cardiac Pacemaker, Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus, Microwave Oven, Geiger Counter, Magic Eight Ball – and all these things potent with silence.
“The magic of times past lives here; antiques of sorcery,” Lon said. “And though museum it is, every item here is in working order – oh, the moving parts must be hand-turned, now; electricity is such a rare luxury – but the magic contained in these potions and contraptions is still strong. You can feel it when you walk in the room.”
Indeed, Josh felt as if he were still holding his breath.
“I’ve never shown this room to anyone before,” Lon went on. “It is my special gift to you. In this way we share the magic, as our books share thoughts with each other.”
Josh was overwhelmed with the magnanimity of the gift, the magnificence of the room. He said, simply, “I’d like to see it again, someday.”
Lon smiled. “So you shall,” he said, and led Josh back into the library.
When all at last assembled, fond adieus were bid along with stern admonitions.
“Go
