De Marigny frowned to himself in the light of the lanthorns and allowed himself a few thoughtful bites of food while Atal got his breath. The Searcher knew that the temple's high priest was growing weary - he was beginning to ramble a little, so that his words no longer completely made sense - else The Searcher might also ask him about those recent `marvels and tumults and victories', and perhaps something of the war in dreamland's moon; but he was sure there would be others he could talk to of those things, which must certainly be matters of wider report. And so it seemed to him that there remained only one more thing requiring the elder's clarification.
And as if Atal read his mind, at last that ancient had control of himself sufficient to say: 'A visitation, aye, a strange new thing come into Serannian. It is a small grey metal cube,' (and he made its shape and size with his trembling hands), 'which flew out of the sky one morning when the city was just astir, and poised itself at the:' mainland end of that narrow promontory whereon Curator keeps his Museum. There it hovered and spun like a top. in the air, seemingly sentient, a dull leaden box containing - what? And from where?
`Ah! - but let me tell you this: the strange cube was not featureless. No, for upon one of its six sides it bore hands, like those of a clock - even like those of your time-clock there - and aye they 'numbered four and moved in a manner without rhyme or reason!'
De Marigny gasped and sat up straighter, butbefore he could form a question:
'Wait!' said Atal. 'Let me say on. The longshoremen and saiors spied the cube there where it spun in mid-air, dully agleam, and word was sent to Kuranes who of course came at once from his ivied manor. A great dreamer, Lord Kuranes, but this was a matter beyond even his dreaming. Natheless he questioned the box in all the tongues of the dreamlands; but it answered him not, merely spinning there at Serannian's rim, where the narrow span of the causeway goes out to Curator's marvellous Museum ...' The ancient paused.
Now de Marigny knew something of Curator and his Museum, but not a great deal; his time in Serannian had been very limited and in the main restricted to visiting Kuranes' manorhouse. He knew however that Curator was a mechanical man, or that his body at least was of shining metal, and that both he and his Museum had existed in Earth's dreamland at least as long as Serannian; but just what the robot really was, and where he came from, and why he had brought the collection which formed his Museum's exhibits here in the first place ... no one knew those things. It was sufficient that he did no harm - within certain limits, and provided the Museum and its contents were not threatened or interfered with - and certainly the place did contain many wonderful things. Kuranes was known to frequent the Museum with some regularity.
'I should not think,' he finally prompted the old man, that Curator would be much taken with this enigmatic visitor, spinning there in mid-air so close to his Museum!' 'On the contrary,' Atal sighed, once more taking up the tale. 'For as the sun rose up and broke free of the horizon, so Curator came out and scanned the cube where it whirled; and he must have taken note of its erratic hands where they measured conjectural matters upon its sixth side; and he stared at it with his crystal eyes along the length of the bridge which connects the Museum to Serannian's rim. Then—
'A passing weird thing! For Curator, who has many arms, formed four of them into hands like those of the cube, all sprouting from a central place, and these he jerked and twirled in a singular fashion, duplicating to a large degree the movements of the cube's hands!'
`They talked to each other!' gasped de Marigny at once. `Curator and this time-clock — for it can only be some sort of strange time-clock — conversed!'
`More than that,' came Atal's rustling affirmation. Tor in a little while Curator strode out along the causeway, and the leaden cube moved forward to meet him, and there in the centre of that spindly span they paused, as it were face to face. And while longshoremen, sailors, citizens and Kuranes himself looked on, panels opened in Curator's chest to reveal a space just so big,' (again he described a small cube with his fluttering hands), 'in which without pause the enigmatic visitor located itself, ere Curator's panels closed again to fold it within his breast And so the wonder was at an end, for without more ado Curator turned and clanked back to his Museum. And still the mystery of this meeting and its meaning remain unknown.'
`So,' said de Marigny, `not only must I visit Thalarion's hinterland but also Serannian, to talk to Curator.'
But here Atal shook his head. 'Not possible,' he said, `not even remotely. It is a matter of immemorial legend that no man in all the dreamlands ever spoke to Curator"
`Never?'
`Not ever. Ask yourself these questions: does Curator even understand the speech of men? Does he care? Is he even aware of any reason or purpose outside his one task of preserving and protecting his beloved Museum? But on the other hand—'
`Yes?'
'Curator has had to do with men — with certain men, that is. By that I mean that while he converses not, still he can make his desires known to men — especially those who would harm his Museum or attempt to disorder or even steal its exhibits!'
De Marigny frowned, tried hard to understand. 'You mean that he chastises would-be thieves?'
'He has done so, yes. And he has had occasion to merely warn others. Indeed I know of two such, er, gentlemen, cautioned by Curator, as it were — ex-waking-worlders, as it happens.. And by rare coincidence, though I for one do not believe in coincidences, these same men have also ventured beyond Thalarion — ventured there and more — and returned unscathed! You should talk to them, Henri, before proceeding further with your quest.'
`Do you know them, these two, and where I might look for them?' The Searcher was eager.
But while they had talked something had been taking place to attract the attention of all the others at their tables: a curiosity at first, which had now grown into something so strange and wondrous rare as to be a singular occurrence in its own right. It concerned the cats of Ulthar, and it also concerned Moreen.
For during her man's conversation with the temple's high priest (and knowing the importance of their subject), Moreen, seated on Atal's left, had not interrupted but had taken the opportunity to eat; and having eaten she had then found a kitten to talk to, which had jumped into her lap from beneath the table. Now the cats of Ulthar are a special breed and have their preferences; they know good men from bad and true from false, and are mainly indifferent toward all but the warmest, purest hearts. How then Moreen's heart? For where one small kitten had coiled in her lap and purred -
- It seemed to the people gathered in the courtyard of the Inn of a Thousand Sleeping Cats that at least half and probably more than half of all the cats in Ulthar must have come to congregate here in the last half-hour, and all of them worshipping at the feet of Moreen! Of every type and size and description they were, though outside the circles of lanthorn light their colours were quite uniform; for of course it was that hour when all cats turn grey, except in the light. Kittens galore (Ulthar's cats have large litters), and huge, prowling toms, and sleek, well groomed matrons, all rubbing shoulders and straining forward; but never once a snarling or spitting, for theirs was a unity of curiosity - a group engrossment, a mass hypnotism - whose soul and centre was Moreen.
De Marigny and Atal, deep in conversation, had barely noticed the gradual encroachment and massing of the cats; but now, as all chatter died away, in the glimmer of lanthorns and perfume of Ulthar's night blossoms, and in the sudden astonished sighing of all humans who congregated there in that courtyard, they could scarce help but notice it. And more cats arriving by the minute, until the cobbles were crowded with them where they spread out in concentric circles from Moreen's feet; and the girl still petting that smallest kitten while she spoke purringly to all the cats in general. And them beginning to purr back at her, in a concerted rumbling that spoke of all the contentment in the world!
Forgetting de Marigny almost entirely, Atal took Moreen's hand and pressed it, and said: 'You must have loved
cats for a very long time, my dear, and loved them well. For the cats of Ulthar are very discerning.'
`Cats?' she smiled at him. 'Is that what they're called? Oh, yes, I remember now! Cats are mythical creatures-in Numinos, only ever heard of in legends of the Mother-world, passed down from generation to generation.'
De Marigny quickly explained Moreen's origin - and the fact that Borea's moon, Numinos, had no cats, for Ithaqua had never taken any there - and Atal was rightly dumbfounded. 'And she befriends all beasts in this manner, you say? But this is an astounding thing, and as surely as all the other portents have been bad ones, this must be a good one! Merely to have this wonderful girl with you bodes well for your quest, Searcher.'
'Then you'll tell me where I can find these men you spoke of, who've travelled beyond Thalarion and had something of business with Curator?'
Atal nodded his old head. 'Anything you desire to know,' he said. 'Except, if I told you all I've heard of these two it would take all night and half of it at least would be fabulous anyway, I'm sure and both of us would fall asleep ere I was done. And so I'll be brief:
'They came from the waking world and were stranded here when their lives were prematurely ended in that plane. Atfirst they seemed at odds with the lands and men and Customs of Earth's dreams, they became wanderers, adventurers, great brawlers and even thieves; but because they were artful dreamers, finally the dreamlands accepted them and gave them shelter. And rightly so, as it turned out, for now it seems they're destined to grow into legends in their own right. They are questers now, agents of ever watchful Kuranes, and their many deeds have included keep-climbing and exploring, black wizard-slaying, gaunt-riding and far-adventuring in some of dreamland's most monstrous places. Why, it was them burned down the paper city Thalarion, and almost. the wicked eidolon Lathi with it! - through I'm told she's building that awful hive once more. They were dreamland's warlords in the battle of the Mad Moon; they put an end to Zura's plot to sink Serannian; for all their roguish natures, even the King of
Ilek-Vad is said to number them among his personal friends!'
`Randolph Carter?' de Marigny was impressed.
`Himself!' Mal nodded. 'And talking of King Carter, and remembering your reason for coming here at this time, his current absence is a great pity; for Randolph Carter has been to Elysia in his dreaming and might perhaps show you the way; except that he's once again gone off, exploring in undreamed of places, ever searching for your father, Etienne, his old friend from the waking world.'
Again de Marigny turned a little sour. 'It has always been the same story,' he said. 'Like father, like son. I'm what I am because of Etienne-Laurent de Marigny. His love of mysteries rubbed off on me, and now I'm a searcher, too. The Searcher!'
'Aye, your destiny,' Atal sighed.
It was late now and the people were coming forward in small groups, politely nodding their farewells and goodnights as they went off to their homes. The moon had risen and the lanthorns were burning low, and even the cats were stirring now and their ranks thinning as they went off to seek the shadows. For delightful as Moreen was, there were more important things for cats to be about when the moon hung full and high in the night skies of dreamland. Which was just as well; for at that juncture there came a soft flapping of wings, and down out of scented darkness fluttered a bird of Ulthar's Temple of the Elder Ones, a pink pigeon, to alight on Atil's shoulder.
A few departing cats looked back, their almond, slant-eyes yellow in the night, and two or three lean toms might just have considered the possibility of a little fun and flying feathers; but Moreen was wise to their ways now and tut-tutted, which was chastisement enough. So off they went as Atal tremblingly took the tiny cylinder from the bird's leg and unwrapped the scrap of paper tucked inside it.
`A message,' he husked, screwing up his eyes and drawing a lanthorn closer. `But from where, and about what?' Then —
'MP the old man sighed as finally his eyes focussed. `And indeed this arrives at an opportune moment. For if you really wish, to meet the two men I've mentioned - the questers from the waking world - it would seem it's now or never. Here, read it for yourself, for unless I'm much mistaken it's couched in runes you'll know - English, I believe.'
De Marigny took the note, smoothed it out on the table, read its short, sharp legend.
`HELP!' it said in black, jagged lines, `AND MAKE IT FAST - FOR TOMORROW AT FIRST LIGHT GUDGE SENDS US TO HELL!' And it bore the signatures of David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer ...
2 Hero and Eldin
Playing Pass The Time Before—, David Allenby Hero, late of the waking world, where he'd been a sensitive painter of matters ethereal, and Professor Leonard E. Dingle (Psychology and Anthropology), ex-lecturer on the subconscious mind of man, had almost inevitably ended up in the doldrums of the game yet again. Hero, or more formally Hero of Dreams, as he was now known, and Eldin the Wanderer, had most recently been enumerating 'Things Ridden Upon'.
Before that they'd recalled 'Inimical Creatures, Beings or Persons Slain or Otherwise Subdued', had listed alphabetically 'Ladies Lusted After', chronologically 'Fantastic Feats', and somewhat morbidly in light of their current circumstances 'Deaths Defied'. The first of these had included a certain black wizard, species of man-eating flora and fauna, night-gaunts, dholes, zombies, termen, moon-beasts and Lengites and so on, all leading eventually to Gudge, whom they merely wished dead but who, ironically and in all likelihood, bar a large miracle, would shortly gain some notoriety in the dreamlands as their executioner!
The second series in Pass the Time Before—, 'Ladies Lusted After', had been a bad choice of subject; Eldin had led off with 'Aminza Ariz', immediately breaking down in tears before the game could go any further. For Aminza, may the Lords of Dream bless her memory, had woken up on the very day she and Eldin were to have been wed, which had brought about an abrupt termination of that romance.
`Fantastic Feats' had been a good one, for both of the questers were given to boasting a bit and vied with each other in respect of frequently recounted acts of heroism. What thief in all the dreamlands (for example) could match Hero's feat in 'cracking' a great keep of the First Ones? And who but that magnificent arsonist Eldin the Wanderer would ever have dreamed of burning down an entire city (the hive Thalarion) with his firestones? (Of that last: Hero was wont to point out that it had been done before by someone called Nero, a waking-worlder, he thought.). And so on. Alas, their most recent 'feat' had been to come spying for Kuranes in the Badlands back of Zura the land, where Gudge the pirate had discovered, recognized, 'captured and would now kill them.
Which had led them to 'Deaths Defied'. This list had been longest of all, involving not only all of the Creatures, Beings or Persons in the first series but sundry menaces such as: freezing in the upper atmosphere; drowning in a Whirlpool; walking-the-plank two and a half miles over the Southern Sea; a moonbeast spell of petrifaction; being devoured by Oorn the Gastropod Goddess in primal Sarkomand; seduced to a soggy pulp by Lathi and romanced to rottenness by Zura of Zura; and so on, etc., ad infinitum. Except, quite naturally, this had only brought them to the current Death Defied, which being unavoidable couldn't be so much defied as simply waited upon; hence the game of Pass the Time Before—in the first place. For of course that pair of indefatigable dreamers were only passing the time before their mutual demise
Except that demise was not upon them yet, and there were other lists to be considered, most recent of which had been Things Ridden Upon'. And boastful or not it seems highly unlikely that any dreamers anywhere could summon up a list of conveyances half so fabulous (and yet so thoroughly authentic) as that of Hero and Eldin. They had sailed reed-tree raft across the blue like beyond the Great Bleak Mountains, and down a whirlpool to a swamp beyond Thalarion. They'd ridden (flown) on a Great Tree's life-leaf from Thalarion's hinterland to the gardens of Nyrass the Mage in Theelys. They'd been transported 'magically' from Theelys to a mighty mountain keep, all in the blink of an eye. They'd been aboard K
uranes' ships of dream, Zura's ship of death, the eidolon Lathi's ship of paper. They'd been flown by night-gaunts across all the gulfs of dream, and vented in ethereal essence from Serannian's huge flotation system, and bustled on the back of a many-legged Running Thing through the Caves of Night in Pnoth and across the Stickistuff Sea. And that wasn't all, far from it:
They'd slid down a beam of light from Curator's curious eyes to a sky-ship in the aerial Bay of Serannian; and rushed up into higher space on a broken mast and a bag of air; and flown to dreamland's moon on a spiral moonbeam! Last but not least they'd been borne by Eeth, a moon-moth maid, to the feet (or roots) of a magical moontree; absorbed by him and transferred to seedlings, which had then twirled them back down to the dreamlands; and finally, as grotesque gourds, they'd fallen to earth on the banks of the Skai near Ulthar, where both. had been 'reborn' full grown.
'And now,' Eldin morosely concluded, 'it seems we're to careen on these damned great crosses to dreamland's very core - perhaps to the pits of nightmare themselves!'
Hero could only nod (literally) and agree: 'Aye, this is another hell of a crucifix you've got me onto.'
'Is that a joke or an accusation?' Eldin asked suspiciously.
'Hue Hero snorted.
'I accept your apology!' said Eldin; and: 'You know, lad; there's a list far more important than all these others we've played with. One which we haven't considered at all as yet.
'Oh?'
'Indeed! It's called "Narrow Squeaks Squeezed Through", and it might just provide a clue as to a way out of this current mess.'
Hero carefully moved his head (about the only part of his person he could move) to peer at the other in the gloom of their predicament. Lashed to a great wooden cross and suspended over the rim of a pit that went down almost (but unfortunately not) without limit; the Wanderer was not a pretty sight. He never had been, but now he looked particularly ugly.