Dancers - A Messiah At The End Of Time Part 14

Emmanuel Bloom chuckled. "You have found me out, Doctor Volospion, I see." He seemed undisturbed. "Now, then, what other pathetic monuments to the n.o.bility of the human spirit have you locked up here?"

Doctor Volospion extended his arms. "What would you see?" He pointed in one direction. "A wheel from Krishna's chariot?" He pointed in another. "A tooth said to belong to the Buddha? One of the original tablets of Moses? Bunter's bottle? The sacred crown of the Kennedys? Hitler's nail? There," he tapped a dome, "you'll find them all in that case. Or over here," a sweep of a green and black arm, "the finger-bones of Karl Marx, the kneecap of Mao Tse-tung, a mummified t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e belonging to Heffner, the skeleton of Maluk Khan, the tongue of Suhulu. Or what of these? Flip's loincloth, Xiombarg's napkin, Teglardin's peach rag. Then there are the coins of Bib-Nardop, the silver wands of Er and Er, the towels of Ich-all the way from a world within the Crab Nebula. And most of these, in this section here, are only from the Dawn Age. Farther along are relics from all other ages of this world and the universe. Rags and bones, Mr. Bloom. Rags and bones."

'I am moved," said Emmanuel Bloom.

'All that is left," said Doctor Volospion, "of a million mighty causes. And all, at core, that those causes ever were!"

The clown's face was grave as he moved among the cases.

Mavis Ming was s.h.i.+vering. "This place really does depress me," she whispered to her guardian. "I know it's my fault, but I've always hated places like this. They seem ghoulish. Not that I'm criticizing, Doctor Volospion, but I've never been able to understand why a man like you could indulge in such a strange hobby. It's all research material, of course. We have to do research, don't we. Well, at least, you do. It's nice that someone does. I mean this is your area of research, isn't it, this particular aspect of the galaxy's past. It's why I'll never make a first-rank historian, I suppose. It's the same, you know, when I lived with Donny Stevens. It was the coldblooded killing of those sweet little rabbits and monkeys at the lab. I'd simply refuse, you know, to let him or anyone else talk about it when I was around. And with the time machine, too, they sent so many to G.o.d knows where before they'd got it working properly. When can I stop this charade, Doctor...?"

Volospion raised a finger to his lips. Bloom was some distance away but had turned, detecting the voice, no doubt, of his loved one.

'Rags and bones," said Doctor Volospion, as if he had been reiterating his opinions to Miss Ming.

'No," called Bloom from where he stood beside a case containing many slightly differently shaped strips of metal, "these were merely the instruments used to focus faith. Witness their variety. Anything would do as a lens to harness the soul's fire. A bit of wood. A stone. A cup. A custard pie. Nothing here means anything without the presence of the beings who believed in their validity. Whether that piece of worm-eaten wood really did come from Christ's cross or not is immaterial. As a symbol..."

'You question the authenticity of my prizes?"

'It is not important..."

Doctor Volospion betrayed agitation. It was genuine. "It is to me, Mr. Bloom. I will have nothing in my museum that is not authentic!"

'So you have a faith of your own, after all." Bloom's painted lips formed a smile.

He leaned, a tiny jester, a c.o.c.kerel, against a force dome.

Doctor Volospion lost none of his composure. "If you mean that I pride myself on my ability to sniff out any fakes, any piece of doubtful origin, then you speak rightly. I have faith in my own taste and judgment. But come, let us move on. It is not the museum that I wish you to inspect, its the menagerie, which is of greater interest, for there..."

'Show me this cup you have. This Holy Grail. I was looking for it."

'Well, if you feel you have the leisure. Certainly. There it is. In the cabinet with Jissard's s.p.a.ce helmet and Panjit's belt."

Emmanuel Bloom trotted rapidly in the direction indicated by Doctor Volospion, weaving his way among the various displays, until he came to the far wall where, behind a slightly quivering energy screen, between the helmet and the belt, stood a pulsing, golden cup, semi-transparent, in which a red liquid swirled.

Bloom's glance at the cup was casual. He made no serious attempt to inspect it. He turned back to Doctor Volospion, who had followed behind.

'Well?" said Volospion.

Bloom laughed. "Your taste and judgment fail you, Doctor Volospion. It is a fake, that Grail."

'How could you know?"

'I a.s.sure you that I am right."

Bloom began to leave the case, but Doctor Volospion tugged at his arm. "You would argue that it is merely mythical, wouldn't you. That it never existed. Yet there is proof that it did."

'Oh, I need no proof of the Grail's existence. But if it were the true Grail how could you, of all people, keep it?"

Doctor Volospion frowned. "You are vaguer than usual, Mr. Bloom. I keep the cup because it is mine."

'Yours?"

'I had it from a time-traveler who had spent his entire life searching for it and who, as it happens, found it in one of our own cities. Unfortunately, the traveler destroyed himself soon after coming to stay with me. They are all mad, such people. But the thing itself is authentic. He had found many fakes before he found the true Grail. He vouched for this one. And he should have known, a man who had dedicated himself to his quest and who was willing to kill himself once that quest was over."

'He probably thought it would bring him back to life," mused the Fireclown. "That is part of the legend, you know. One of the real Grail's minor properties."

'Real? This man's opinion was irrefutable."

'Well, I am glad that he is dead," said Bloom, and then he laughed a strange, deep-throated laugh which had no business coming from that puny frame, "for I should not have liked to have disappointed him."

'Disappointed?" Volospion flushed. "Now-,"

'That cup is not even a very good copy of the original, Doctor Volospion."

Doctor Volospion drew himself up and arranged the folds of his robe carefully in front of him. His voice was calm when he next spoke. "How would you know such a thing, Mr. Bloom? You claim great knowledge, yet you exhibit no signs of it in your rather foolish behavior, your pointless pursuits. You dress a fool and you are a fool, say I."

'Possibly, Nonetheless, that Grail is a fake."

'Why do you know?" Doctor Volospion's gaze was not quite as steady as it might have been.

'Because," explained Bloom amicably, "I am, among many other things, the Guardian of the Grail. That is to say, specifically, that I am graced by the presence of the Holy Grail."

'What!" Doctor Volospion was openly contemptuous.

'You probably do not know," Mr. Bloom went on, "that only those who are absolutely pure in spirit, who never commit the sin of accidia (moral torpor, if you prefer) may ever see the Grail and only one such as myself may ever receive the sacred trust of Joseph of Arimathea, the Good Soldier, who carried the Grail to Glas...o...b..ry. I have had this trust for several centuries, at least. I am probably the only mortal being left alive who deserves the honor (though, of course, I am not so proud as to be certain of it). My s.h.i.+p is full of such things-relics to rival any of these here collected in an eternity of wandering the many dimensions of the universe, tumbling through Time, companion to chronons..."

Doctor Volospion's face wore an expression quite different from anything Miss Ming had ever seen.

He was deeply serious. His voice contained an unusual vibrancy.

'Oh, don't be taken in by him, Doctor Volospion," she said, giving up any idea of trying to placate the Fireclown. "He's an obvious charlatan."

Bloom bowed. Doctor Volospion did not even hear her.

'How can you prove that your Grail is the original, Mr. Bloom?"

'I do not have to prove such a thing. The Grail chooses its own guardian. The Grail will only appear to one whose Faith is Absolute. My Faith is Absolute."

Bloom began to stride toward Mavis Ming. Volospion followed thoughtfully in his wake.

'Oo!" squeaked Miss Ming, seeing her protector distracted and fearing a sudden leap. "Get off!"

'I am not, Miss Ming, on. I promise you no violence, not yet, not until you come to me."

'Oh! You think that I'd-?" She struggled with her own revulsion and the remembrance of her promise to Doctor Volospion.

'You still make a pretense at resistance, I see." Bloom beamed. "Such is female pride. I came here to claim a world and now I willingly renounce that claim if it means that I can possess you, woman, body and soul. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in all the eons of my wandering. Mavis! Mavis! Music floods my being at the murmur of your exquisite name. Queen Mavis-Maeve, Sorceress Queen, Destroyer of Cuchulain, Beloved of the Sun ah, you have the power to do it but you shall not destroy me again, Beautiful Maeve. You shall find me in Fire and in Fire shall we be united!"

It was true that, for the first time, Miss Ming's expression began to soften, but Doctor Volospion came to her aid.

'I am sure Miss Ming is duly flattered," he said. It was evident, with his next statement, that he merely resented the interruption to his line of thought. "But as for the Holy Grail, you do not, I suppose, have it about you?"

'Of course not. It appears only at my prayer."

'You can summon it to you?"

'No. It appears. During my meditations."

'You would not care to meditate now? To prove that yours is the true one."

'I have no urge to meditate." Mr. Bloom dismissed the doctor from his attention and, hands outstretched in that stiff, awkward way of his, moved to embrace Miss Ming, only to pause as he felt Volospion's touch on his arm.

'It is in your s.h.i.+p, then?"

'It visits my s.h.i.+p, yes."

'Visits?"

'Doctor Volospion. I have tried to explain to you clearly enough. The Grail you have is not a mystical artifact, no matter how miraculous it seems to be. The true Holy Grail is a mystical artifact and therefore it comes and goes, according to the spiritual ambience. That is why your so-called Grail is plainly a fake. If it were real, it would not be here!"

'This is mere obfuscation..."

'Doctor Volospion, you are a most obtuse creature."

Miss Ming began to move slowly backwards.

'Mr. Bloom I ask only for illumination..."

'I try to bring it. But I have failed with you, as I have failed with everyone but Miss Ming. That is only to be expected of one who is not really alive at all. Can one hold an intelligent conversation with a corpse?"

'You are crudely insulting, Mr. Bloom. There is no call..." Doctor Volospion had lost most of his usual self-control.

Mavis Ming, terrified of further conflict in which, somehow she knew she would be the worst sufferer, if her experience were anything to go by, broke in with a nervous yelp: 'Show Mr. Bloom your menagerie, Doctor Volospion! The menagerie! The menagerie!"

Doctor Volospion turned glazed and dreaming eyes upon her. "What?"

'The menagerie. There are many ent.i.tites there that Mr. Bloom might wish to converse with."

The Fireclown bent to straighten one of his long shoes and Mavis Ming seized the chance to wink broadly at Doctor Volospion.

'Ah, yes, the menagerie. Mr. Bloom?"

'You wish to show me the menagerie?"

'Yes."

'Then lead me to it," said Bloom generously.

Doctor Volospion continued to brood as he advanced before them, through another series of gloomy pa.s.sages whose gently sloping floors took them still deeper underground. Doctor Volospion had a tendency to favor the subterranean in almost everything.

By the time, however, that they had reached the series of chambers Doctor Volospion chose to call his "crypts," their guide had resumed his normal manner of poised irony.

These halls were far larger than the museum. On either side were reproduced many different environments, in the manner of zoological gardens, in which were incarcerated his collection of creatures culled from countless cultures, some indigenous and others alien to Earth.

Enthusiasm returned to Volospion's voice as he pointed out his prizes while they progressed slowly down the central aisle.

'My Christians and my Hare Krishnans," declaimed the doctor, "My Moslems and my Marxists, my Jews and my Joypushers, my Dervishes, Buddhists, Hindus, Nature-wors.h.i.+ppers, Confucians, Leavisites, Sufis, s.h.i.+ntoists, New s.h.i.+ntoists, Reformed s.h.i.+ntoits, s.h.i.+nto-Scientologists, Mansonite Water-sharers, Anthroposophists, Flumers, Haythornthwaitists, Fundamentalist Ouspenskyians, Sperm Wors.h.i.+ppers, followers of the Five Larger Moon Devils, followers of the Stone That Cannot Be Weighed, followers of the Sword and the Stallion, Awaiters of the Epoch, Mensans, Doo-en Skin Slicers, Crab-bellied Milestriders, Poobem Wrigglers, Tribunites, Callagraphic Diviners, Betelgeusian Gra.s.s Sniffers, Aldebarran Gra.s.s Sniffers, Terran Gra.s.s Sniffers and Frexian Anti-Gra.s.s Sniffers. There are the Racists (Various) I mix them together in the one environment because it makes for greater interest. The River of Blood was my own idea. It blends very well, I think, into the general landscape." Doctor Volospion was evidently extremely proud of his collection. "They are all, of course, in their normal environments. Every care is taken to see that they are preserved in the best of health and happiness. You will note, Mr. Bloom, that the majority are content, so long as they are allowed to speak or perform the occasional small miracle."

The Fireclown's attention seemed elsewhere.

'The sound," said Doctor Volospion, and he touched a power ring, whereupon the air was filled with a babble of voices as prophets prophesied, preachers preached, messiahs announced various mellennia, saviors summoned disciples, archbishops proclaimed armageddon, fakirs moured materialism, priests prayed, imans intoned, rabbis railed and druids droned. "Enough?"

The Fireclown raised a hand in a.s.sent and Doctor Volospion touched the ring again so that much of the noise died away.

'Well, Mr. Bloom, do you find these p.r.o.nouncements essentially distinguishable from your own?"

But the Fireclown was again studying Mavis Ming who was, in turn, looking extremely self-conscious. She was blus.h.i.+ng through her rouge. She pretended to take an interest in the sermon being delivered by a snail-like being from some remote world near the galaxy's center.

'What?"

Bloom c.o.c.ked an ear in Volospion's direction. "Distinguishable? Oh, of course. Of course. I respect all the views being expressed. They are, I would agree, a little familiar, some of them. But these poor creatures lack either my power or my experience. I would guess, too, that they lack my courage. Or my purity of purpose. Why do you keep them locked up here?"

Doctor Volospion ignored the final sentence. "Many would differ with you, I think."

'Quite so. But you cease to entertain me, Doctor Volospion. I have decided to take Miss Ming, my Madonna, back to my s.h.i.+p now. The visit has been fairly interesting. More interesting than I believed it would be. Are you coming, Miss Ming?"

Miss Ming hesitated. She glanced at Doctor Volospion. "Well, I-"

'Do not consult this corpse," Mr. Bloom told her. "I shall be your mentor. It is my duty and destiny to remove you from this environment at once, to bring you to the knowledge of your own divinity!"

Mavis Ming breathed heavily, still flushed. Her eyes darted from Bloom to Volospion. "I don't think you'll be removing either me or yourself from this castle, Mr. Bloom." She smiled openly now at Doctor Volospion and her eyes were full of hope and terror. They asked a hundred questions. She seemed close to panic and was poised to flee.

Emmanuel Bloom gave a snort of impatience. "Miss Ming, my love, you are mine." His high, fluting voice continued to trill, but it was plain that she no longer heard his words. His bird-like hands touched hers. She screamed.

'Doctor Volospion!"

Doctor Volospion was fully himself. "It is hardly gentlemanly, as I have pointed out, to force your attentions upon a lady, Mr. Bloom. I would remind you of your word."

'I keep it. I use no violence."

Doctor Volospion now appeared to be relis.h.i.+ng the drama. The fingers of his left hand hovered over the fingers of his right, on which were most of his power rings.

The Fireclown's hands remained on Miss Ming's. "He's really strong!" she cried. "I can't get free, Doctor Volospion. Oo..." It seemed that an almost euphoric weakness suffused her body now. She was panting, incapable of thought; her lips were dry, her tongue was dry, and the only word she could form was a whispered "No."

Doctor Volospion seemed ignorant of the degree of tension in the menagerie. Many of the prophets, both human and alien, had stopped their mono logues and now pressed forward to watch the struggle.

Doctor Volospion said firmly: "Mr. Bloom, since you remain here as my guest, I would ask you to recall..."