The Fifth Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ®: Lester del Rey. Lester Del Rey
sort of thing. If the wizards were right all along.…”
“They weren’t, and we’re not demons. It didn’t get started until your Middle Ages. And if it hadn’t been for old Apalon.…” Alféar lighted another cigarette off the butt, which he proceeded to extinguish on the tip of his sharp tongue. He scratched his head thoughtfully, and then went on.
“Apalon was studying your worship. You see, we’ve been studying your race the way you study white rats, using lower races to explain our own behavior. Anyhow, he got curious and figured out a way to mentalize himself into your plane. He was sort of a practical joker, you might say. So he picked a time when some half-crazy witch was trying to call up the being you worship as Satan to make some kind of a deal. Just as she finished, he popped up in front of her, spitting out a bunch of phosphorus to make a nice smoke and fire effect, and agreed with all her mumbo-jumbo about having to do what she wanted. She wanted her heart fixed up then, so he showed her how to use belladonna and went back, figuring it was a fine joke.
“Only he made a mistake. There’s something about moving between planes that lowers the resistance to conditioning. Some of our people can take five or six trips, but Apalon was one of those who was so conditioning-prone that he had the habit fixed after the first trip. The next time she did the rigamarole, back he popped. He had to dig up gold for her, hypnotize a local baron into marrying her, and generally keep on the constant qui vive, until she got sloppy and forgot the pentagram she thought protected her and which he was conditioned to. But after he disintegrated her, he found she’d passed on the word to a couple of other witches. And he knew somebody at the Institute was bound to find what a fool he’d made of himself.
“So he began taking members aside and telling them about the trick of getting into your world. Excellent chance for study. Have to humor the humans by sticking to their superstitions, of course. One by one, they went over on little trips. It wasn’t hard to find some superstitious dolt trying to summon something, since word had got around in your world. One of us would pop up, and that spread the word further. Anyhow, when Apalon was sure each member had made enough trips to be conditioned, he’d tell him the sad truth, and swear him to secrecy on penalty of being laughed out of the Institute. The old blaggard wound up with all of us conditioned. There was quite a flurry of witchcraft here, until we finally found a psychiatrist who could break the habit for us. Even then, it was tough going. We’d never have made it without the inquisitions and witch-burnings one of our experimental sociologists managed to stir up.”
Alféar put out the third cigarette butt and stood up slowly. “Look, I don’t mind a chat now and then, but my wives are waiting dinner. How about dismissing me?”
“Umm.” Henry had been thinking while he listened. It had sounded like a reasonable explanation on the whole, except for the bit about Apalon’s disintegrating the witch. Apparently as long as a man wasn’t too unreasonable, there was a certain usefulness to having such friends on call. “What about the price for your help? I mean—well, about souls.…”
Alféar twitched his ears disgustedly. “What the deuce would I do with your soul, Henry? Eat it? Wear it? Don’t be a shnook!”
“Well, then—well, I’ve heard about wishes that were granted, but they all had a trick attached. If I asked for immortality, you’d give it, say; but then I’d get some horrible disease and beg and plead for death. Or ask for money, and then find the money was recorded as being paid to a kidnapper, or something.”
“In the first place, I couldn’t give you immortality,” Alféar said, as patiently as he apparently could. “Your metabolism’s not like ours. In the second place, why should I look for tainted money? It’s enough nuisance doing what you ask, without looking for tricks to pull. Anyhow, I told you I half-enjoy visiting here. As long as you’re reasonable about it, I don’t mind keeping my end of the compulsion going. If you’ve got something to ask, ask away. There are no strings attached.”
The creature seemed to be quite sincere. Henry considered it briefly, staring at a large tinted picture of Emma, and took the plunge. “Suppose I asked you to kill my wife for me—say by what looked like a stroke, so nobody would blame me?”
“That seems reasonable enough,” Alféar agreed easily. “I could break a few blood vessels inside her skull.… Sure, why not? Only the picture in your mind is so distorted, I wouldn’t know her. If she’s like that, why’d you ever marry her?”
“Because she seemed different from other women, I guess,” Henry admitted. “When I tipped the canoe over, and I figured she’d be mad because her dress was ruined, all she said was something about not being sugar, so she wouldn’t melt.” He shuddered, remembering all the times she’d said it since. “You won’t have any trouble. Look, can you really read my mind?”
“Naturally. But it’s all disorganized.”
“Umm. Well.” It gave him a queasy feeling to think of anyone seeing his secret thoughts. But this fellow apparently didn’t work by human attitudes, anyhow. He groped about, and then smiled grimly. “All right, then. You can tell I think of her as my wife. And just to make sure, she’ll be sure to say something about early to bed and early to rise; she says that every single damned night, Alféar! She never misses.”
Alféar grunted. “Sounds more reasonable every minute, Henry. All right, when your wife says that, I pop out and give her a stroke that will kill her. How about dismissing me now?”
“No strings?” Henry asked. He watched carefully as Alféar nodded assent, and he could see no sign of cunning or trickery. He caught his breath, nodded, and closed his eyes. Seeing something vanish was nothing he wanted. “Dismissed.”
* * * *
The fruit was still gone when he opened his eyes, but there was no other sign of the thing. He found some fruit still in the refrigerator and restocked the bowl. Then he closed the strange book and put it away. He’d have to buy it himself, and burn it to make sure no one else found the trick, of course. For a moment, uneasiness pricked at him. Yet he was sure Alféar hadn’t been lying, and the story the creature had told made more sense than the older superstitions. Henry adjusted his mind to having a well-conditioned demon on tap and then began the harder job of bracing himself for Emma’s incoherent but detailed account of the movie when she came back.
Unfortunately, it was a more complicated plot than usual, and she went on and on, from the moment she entered the door. He tried to close his ears, but he’d never succeeded in that. He yawned, and she yawned back, but went on until the last final morsel was covered for the second or third time.
“He was wonderful,” she finally concluded. “Just wonderful. Only I wished you’d come with me. You’d have liked it. Henry, did you take the garbage out?”
“Yes, dear,” he answered. “Hours ago.”
He yawned elaborately again. She mumbled something about having to keep the kitchen clean because cleanliness was next to godliness, but her automatic yawn muffled the words. Then she glanced at the clock. “Heavens, it’s almost one! And early to bed and early to rise.…”
Henry jerked his eyes away, just as he caught the first glimpse of Alféar popping into existence beside her. He heard the beginning of a shriek change to a horrible gargling and then become a dying moan. Something soft and heavy hit the floor with a dull thud. Henry turned around slowly.
“Dead,” Alféar said calmly, rubbing one of his fingers. “This business of getting just one finger through the planes into her head cuts off the circulation. There, that’s better. Satisfied?”
Henry dropped beside the corpse. She was dead, according to the mirror test, and there wasn’t a mark on her. He stared at the puffy, relaxed features; he’d expected an expression of horror, but she seemed simply asleep. His initial feeling of pity and contrition vanished; after all, it had been quick and nearly painless. Now he was free!
“Thanks, Alféar,” he said. “It’s fine—fine. Do I dismiss you now?”
“No need this time. I’m