ENTOVERSE

“Concentrate on the situation,” VISAR replied. “I’ve got a feeling you could get involved real soon.”

Near the base of the platform, surrounded by more soldiers, was a group of what looked like prisoners, dirty, ragged, and disheveled, wearing manacles and chains. Two seemed to single themselves out in Hunt’s field of view as VISAR directed his attention to them. The younger man, scarcely more than a youth, had fair hair and the remains of a long, white tunic. Hunt stared in surprise as he recog­nized the purple-spiral emblem on the sash hanging from his shoul­der. The older of the two, with long, matted hair and a heavy beard, was clad in what had once been flowing robes, now falling apart. But instead of bowing cowed and dejected like the rest of the prisoners, he was standing erect, his face turned upward, wreathed in an expres­sion of ecstatic revelation. Then Hunt heard a voice that he recog­nized as Nixie’s, which he knew somehow to be speaking inside the bearded man’s mind.

“. . . the gods that you knew before. All that’s over now. The sky’s about to come under new management.”

The old man’s thoughts came through as another voice, sounding awed and exalted. “More powerful gods shall rule the heavens? And shall I, Shingen-Hu, be their servant? The priests of the temples, and all their powers, and the king and his forces, all shall be overcome?”

“Don’t worry about them. They’re out of it now. . . Oh-oh.” On the platform, another nobleman in robes was shouting something about bringing down wrath on blasphemers. Three more prisoners were being chained to the stakes, while several sinister figures advanced menacingly toward them holding long, nasty-looking knives.

“Look,” Nixie’s voice said. “We’re gonna send you down one of our troubleshooters right now. You look like you could use help. Just leave it all to him. I’ll explain later.”

“An angel?” Shingen-Hu said. “To aid us in this moment of anguish? We shall yet be saved?”

Hunt realized with a sudden sinking feeling whom she meant. “Hey, wait a minute, VISAR. You can’t do this. I don’t know anything about—”

“Trust me,” VISAR said. “Think about getting your act to­gether.”

Suddenly, Shingen-Hu was thundering and pointing an accusing finger up at the robed figure on the platform. “Desist ye, false prophet and instrument of all that is evil!” A confused hush swept over the crowd, and all heads turned toward him. “Charlatan and deceiver, thou liest! Even now do greater gods sweep thee and thy puny masters aside, to be trodden into the mire like vermin. Behold, an angel descends from the realm beyond, and he shall be my witness, and thy undoing!”

“VISAR, I really don’t think you—”

“Okay, go knock ‘em dead. You’re on.”

And suddenly, Hunt was up there on the platform. Not just as a focal point of impressions being relayed by VISAR. He was there. Instantly, total silence fell, and every face in the square was gaping at him as if he had just materialized out of nowhere.

As indeed, of course, he had.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

It was no good. Hunt’s mind seized up. For a fleeting, insane second he was tempted to say, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’m standing up here like this,” but the looks on the faces below dispelled any further thought of it.

He looked down and saw that he was wearing a long, loose, togalike garment with sandals. “What’s this?” he hissed inwardly at VISAR. “I look like a part in Julius Caesar.”

“You’re not exactly in Trafalgar Square,” VISAR answered. “It’s appropriate. What did you want, something from Savile Row?”

The noble who had been in charge was backing away behind the soldiers, who were slowly recovering their wits and moving forward

warily. “He’s not a god, he’s an impostor!” the noble screamed. “Kill him!”

In a passing thought, Hunt wondered how he came to understand the words. But there were more pressing things to attend to just at the moment. One of the soldiers, a bearded giant with embellished breastplate and plumed helmet, who suggested something from pop­ular depictions of the Trojan War, drew back his arm and hurled a spear. Hunt raised a protective arm reflexively; the spear stopped in midair less than a foot away, then burst into fragments that fell to the ground.

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