The king watched in silence as the group of armed men walked warily into the forest and disappeared from sight among the trees. Outwardly he was patient as he waited, although he reached up and touched his crown from time to time as though reassuring himself that it was still there, that he was still king. A very long time later he stiffened, turned his head and listened as slow footsteps shuffled through the thick leaves below the trees. But no warrior appeared, just the thick and twisted figure of his fester, headdress bobbling, laps moist with flecked .saliva.
“What did you see?” the king asked at last.
“Gone, Majesty. All gone. Just lake all of those who have gone before. Vanished among the trees around the lake. None returned. ”
“None ever return, ” the king said, sorrow and defeat dragging him down. He stood that way, unknowing, unseeing as a young man appeared and strode towards him; a silent gray dog walked at his side. The jester, jaw agape, spittle pendulous, hacked away as the stranger approached.
“Why do you grieve, oh king?” he asked in a light and clear voice.
“1 grieve for there is part of the forest in my kingdom where men do go-but none return. They go in tens and twenties-but none is ever seen again.
“I will go,” the young man said, “but I will go alone.”
He snapped his fingers and, without another word being spoken, man and dog walked off into the forest. Beneath the trees and pendant mosses, around the hedges and nodding cattails to the edge of a dark pond. The young man stopped to look at it and a hand, sudden and dripping, rose from the water and seized the dog. Pulled it beneath the surface. The ripples died away and the surface was still.
The young man did not cry or flee, just nodded.
“This must be the place,” he said.
The darkness faded and light returned. Iron John was gone, the chamber was empty. I looked at Floyd who seemed just as bewildered as I was.
“Did I miss the point somehow?” I asked.
“I feel sorry for the dog,” Floyd said. We both looked at Steengo who was nodding thoughtfully.
“That’s only the beginning,” he said. “You’ll understand what is happening when you see the rest.”
“You wouldn’t like to, maybe, explain just what you are talking about?”
Steengo shook his head in a solemn no. “Later, perhaps. But I don’t think I will have to. You will see for yourselves.”
“You’ve seen this holoflick before?” Floyd asked.
“No. But I have read my mythology. It’s better ‘that you see the rest before we talk about it.”
I started to protest, shut my mouth. Realized that there was no point in probing further. The door opened and our guide reappeared.
“Just the man we are looking for,” I said, remembering our earlier decision. “We have heard, from reliable sources, that there is to be an outdoor market at. dawn tomorrow.”
“Your sources are correct. Tomorrow is the tenth day and that is market day. Always on the tenth day because the nomads remember by marking a finger each day with soot until all fingers are . . .”
“Right, thanks. I can count to ten without dirty fingers. My fellow musicians and I would like to visit this market-is this possible?”
“You have but to ask, great Jim of The Stainless Steel Rats.”
“I’ve asked. Can someone show us the way in the morning?”
“Tis more fit that you use the Chariots of Fire . . .”
“I agree, more fit. But more fit that we be fit. Walking is a wonderful exercise.”
“Then walk you shall, if that is your desire. An escort will be provided. It is now the hour of dining and a banquet has been prepared in your honor. Will you be so kind as to follow me?”
“Lead on, my friend. As long as it is not polpettone again we are your avid customers.”
As we followed him out I discovered that my fingers had a fife of their own. Or, more probably, were being twitched into activity by my worried subconscious. They flicked over the computer controls and the glowing numbers appeared before me.