“What good would even your greatest advice be, Monarch of Thieves? I do not need words. I need actions.”
“Perhaps, even . . . tell me!”
“All right,” said Sam, “though I doubt you would be interested in a task this difficult—”
“You can skip over the child psychology and tell me what it is you want stolen.”
“In the Museum of Heaven, which is a well-built and continuously guarded installation—”
“And one that is always open. Go on.”
“In this building, within a computer-protected guard case — ”
“These can be beaten, by one of sufficient skill.”
“Within this case, upon a manikin, is hung a gray, scaled uniform. Many weapons lie about it.”
“Whose?”
“This was the ancient habit of he who fought in the northern marches in the days of the wars against the demons.”
“Was this not yourself?”
Sam tipped his smile forward and continued:
“Unknown to most, as a part of this display there is an item which was once known as the Talisman of the Binder. It may have lost all its virtue by now, but, on the other hand, it is possible that it has not. It served as a focus for the Binder’s special Attribute, and he finds that he needs it once again.”
“Which is the item you want stolen?”
“The great wide belt of shells which is clasped about the waist of the costume. It is pink and yellow in color. It is also full of micro-miniature circuitry, which could probably not be duplicated today.”
“That is not so great a theft. I just might consider it in this form—”
“I would need it in a hurry, or not at all.”
“How soon?”
“Within six days, I fear.”
“What would you be willing to pay me to deliver it into your hands?”
“I would be willing to pay you anything, if I had anything.”
“Oh. You came to Heaven without a fortune?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunate.”
“If I make good my escape, you can name your price.”
“And if you do not, I receive nothing.”
“It appears that way.”
“Let me ponder. It may amuse me to do this thing and have you owe me the favor.”
“Pray, do not ponder overlong.”
“Come sit by me. Binder of Demons, and tell me of the days of your glory—when you, with the immortal goddess, rode abroad in the world, scattering chaos like seed.”
“It was long ago,” said Sam.
“Might those days come again if you win free?”
“They may.”
“That is good to know. Yes . . .”
“You will do this thing?” “Hail, Siddhartha! Unbinder!”
“Hail?”
“And lightning and thunder. May they come again!”
“It is good.”
“Now tell me of the days of your glory, and I will speak again of mine.”
“Very well.”
Dashing through the forest, clad in a leather belt, Lord Krishna pursued the Lady Ratri, who had declined to couple with him after the rehearsal dinner. The day was clear and fragrant, but not half so fragrant as the midnight-blue sari he clutched in his left hand. She ran on ahead of him, beneath the trees; and he followed, losing sight of her for a moment as she turned up a side trail that led out into the open.
When he glimpsed her again, she stood upon a hillock, her bare arms upraised above her head, her fingertips touching. Her eyes were half closed, and her only garment, a long black veil, stirred about her white and gleaming form.
He realized then that she had taken on her Aspect, and might be about to wield an Attribute.
Panting, he raced up the hillside toward her; and she opened her eyes and smiled down upon him, lowering her arms.
As he reached for her, she swirled her veil in his face and he heard her laugh—somewhere within the immense night that covered him over.
It was black and starless and moonless, without a glint, shimmer, spark or glow from anywhere. It was a nighttime akin to blindness that had fallen upon him.
He snorted, and the sari was torn from his fingers. He halted, shaking, and he heard her laughter ringing about him.
“You have presumed too much. Lord Krishna,” she told him, “and offended against the sanctity of Night. For this, I shall punish you by leaving this darkness upon Heaven for a time.”