Part 38 (1/2)

The old Canaanite deities, despite their glossy black wavy hair, hooked noses, prominent eyes, and bold features, despite their swarthy skin and huge hands and feet, were timid deities. When Azzie told them he was angry, and ready to call down a lot of trouble on their heads, both were willing to desist.

”We can stop the wind,” said Baal-Hadad, ”but the rain isn't up to us. We have nothing to do with it. All we send out of here is pure wind.”

”Do you know who's sending the rain?” Azzie asked.

They both shrugged.

”Then it'll wait,” Azzie said. ”I have to get back. It's about time for the ceremony.”

Chapter 9.

Aretino made sure all was in readiness at the inn. Then he went up to Azzie's room.

Azzie wore a green dressing gown with golden dragons embroidered over it. He was seated at a table and bent over a parchment, a quill pen in his hand. He did not even look up. ”Come in,” he said.

Aretino entered. ”Not dressed yet? My dear lord demon, the ceremony is soon to begin.”

”Plenty of time,” Azzie said. ”I'm a bit winded, and my outfit is all laid out in the other room. Come help me, Aretino. I have to decide who to award prizes to. First, is everyone present?”

”They're all here,” Aretino said, and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine. He was feeling very good. This play was going to send his already great reputation sky-high. He would be more famous than Dante, better known than Virgil, maybe even surpa.s.s Homer. It was the high moment of his life, and he suspected no trouble when there came a knock at the door.

It was an imp messenger from Ananke. ”She wants you,” the messenger said. ”And she's mad.”

The Palace of Justice, where Ananke held sway, was a Brobdingnagian place sculpted from blocks of stone larger than entire pyramids on Earth. Despite its size, the Palace was built with cla.s.sic proportions observed entirely throughout. The columns in front were thicker than a gaggle of elephants. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, too. On the well-trimmed lawn, sitting on a red-checked blanket near a white gazebo, with a tea service spread out around her, was Ananke.

This time there was no question what she looked like. It is known that Ananke can take many forms. One of those forms, the Indescribable, is the one she takes when she wants to discourage flatterers. It is a mode of being that literally resists description. The most one can say is that Ananke looked nothing like a steam shovel. She had chosen this mode of appearance for the occasion.

As soon as Azzie was in her presence, Ananke said to him, ”Too much with the magic horses already!”

”What do you mean?” Azzie said.

”You were warned, boychick,” Ananke said. ”Magic is not a panacea for all that ails your ambition. You can't use magic to solve everything. It is against the nature of things to a.s.sume that matters can go in any but their customary ways whenever you please to ask them to.”

”I've never seen you in a state like this,” Azzie said.

”You'd be mad, too, if you saw the entire cosmos threatened.”

”But how did that happen?” Azzie asked.

”It was the magic horses,” Ananke said. ”Magic candlesticks were all right, but when you invoked magic horses, too, you simply stretched the fabric of credulity too far.”

”What do you mean, the fabric of credulity?” Azzie asked. ”I've never heard you talk like this.”

”Tell him, Otto,” Ananke said.

Otto, a spirit who for reasons known best to himself wears the disguise of a fat middle-aged German with a heavy white mustache and thick gla.s.ses, stepped out from behind a tree.

”Do you think the universe can stand an endless amount of tampering?” he asked. ”You've been playing with the meta-machinery, whether you know it or not. You've been throwing a spanner in the works.”