Chapter #37Frankenstein and His Monster by: Seuzz   "But I feel fine," you protest. "I feel just like I felt before."
"Ya would," Nash says with a grunt and a grin. He flicks another lens into place and peers back down into your palms. "Gotcher imago back, and that meens physically yer right as rain."
"But metaphysically?" The subtle emphasis on "physically" hadn't escaped your notice.
"Yer stitched togedah all wrong. Didn' getcher Kenandandra back neither. An' dose sigils're still theah." He glances over at Charles. "Stunnin' piece o' wack, Chazz. Even more impressive 'an what he was befoah."
"But everything is what it was before," Charles asks quietly. "No substitutions?"
"None I can make out." Nash pulls your head down and tousles your hair, peering at your scalp. "Maybe the Liber didn' know how to put 'im all back togedah right, but it sent back ever'ting we sent in, jes' wrapped up neatly in Will's imago."
"He said something about giving me my clothes back," you blurt out.
"He?" Charles echoes sharply. "Who?"
What with the examination you'd not had a chance to tell them what you'd seen inside the Libra. As carefully and completely as you can, you describe it to them: The old man and the tripod, and what he'd said. "And I don't know why, but for some reason I'd forgotten, like I had amnesia. But I saw him before, on my first trip into the Libra. He asked me my name, and I told him. And then the sigils came."
Charles's expression clouds over. You look between him and Nash, but the latter just busies himself with minute examinations of your body.
"Sir, what is it?" you ask.
"Hmm? Something I'll have to think about," Charles says. "I'll leave you with Nash. Would you like some clothes, son?"
"Eventually, before I have to go back to my room." Charles says he'll bring you some. He's very subdued as he leaves.
"Do you have any idea what it's about, Nash?" you ask.
"'At's above my pay grade," Nash says. "Leave it to the boss man t'chew oveh."
You hunch your shoulders. You don't like the mystery, and you don't like the suspicion that there will be some secrets about yourself that are not likely to get shared with you.
But Nash doesn't hold anything back when you ask for details on what he's finding about you. His explanation is at a high order of technicality, but you're able to follow him.
You're still a golem, he explains; in fact, you're still the golemized homeless man. And you've still got those sigils wound about you. So how is it that you appear normal?
"Yer a golem and a mask," Nash says. "Yer imago's sittin' on ya, sittin' reel purty, too. But it's sittin' on ya the way it sits on a mask." He gestures at Joe's mask. "In fackt--" He grins a grin that you've grown to recognize: a grin of admiration at some particularly cunning bit of magical engineering. "Yer like a TV. Ya gatta pitcher inside yas, pitcher 'at looks like Will Prescott, and yer projectin' it. Whereas me, I gatta skin. Diff'rence is, I can't change my skin, but you prably can change yer pitcher. If ya can get new pitchers to projeckt."" He takes a step back and cocks his head. "Yer prably ganna find all kans o' sehprises inside ya once ya stat t'len howda meditate."
"What do you mean?"
"Meditation. Stack 'n trade o' the Stellae."
"I know about meditation. I've been playing Joe for a few days now, remember? I mean, what kind of surprises?"
"I dunno. 'At'll be f'r you to tell us." He points at your face. "But when you get statted, wunna the fest t'ings ye'll fine is 'at face o' yours. Ye'll be lookin' at it from th'inside. Look like a buncha sigils wen you getta good look at it.
"Is this something I'm really going to want?" you ask in alarm.
"'S'not a mattah of what you want, kiddo," he says. "It's what ya gat, and what yer ganna do widdit. 'At's sumthin' fer Chazz and the padre to tack t'ya'bout."
Great. Another talk with Father Ed.
"I'm like a shapeshifter," you say dully. "Like a chameleon."
"It's what yer built like," he agrees. "Don’ let it getcha down, Will," he says, and claps your shoulder. "We aluvus gat somethin' special. 'At'll be yer trick."
"Because of something the Libra did to me," you say dubiously. "Something the man in the Libra did to me."
"Like I said," he says gravely. "It ain't where it comes from. It's what ya do widdit dat counts. An' it could be a useful trick. You know the kinda wack Rick does?" You nod. "T'ink how useful quick-change attistry could be fer him."
"You mean I might become a spy?"
"I dunno, kid," he shrugs. "Ye'll hafta tack to Chazz."
But Charles is still preoccupied when he does show up again with some clothes for you, and says he'll talk to you in the morning. He remains to talk with Nash while you return to your room.
* * * * *
Your sleep is restless and full of dreams that you remember being vivid, but which are lost to you when you wake the next morning. You roll around in bed for a bit, then get showered and changed into some of Joe's things. They hang limply off your frame, but you don't wish to be back in his mask. It's true that you feel completely "normal", but you still feel the horror from talking to Nash last night, and know that your face and body, which seem so solid when you look at them in the mirror, and when you press them with tentative fingertips, are only an extraordinarily solid and convincing illusion.
You make some coffee in your room, waiting for a call from Charles, and when it doesn't come you take a chance on heading down to that restaurant for some breakfast. You're munching on eggs and toast and bacon when you look up to see the head of the Stellae approaching. He sits down next to you without asking for an invitation. "How did you know I'd be down here," you ask him.
"You're not hard to find, son," he says. "I just followed the trails of self-doubt and fear."
You grimace. "Do I seem that bad?"
"You've nothing to worry about, Will," he says, and clasps your hand in a firm and reassuring grip. "I'm sorry I left you last night. It made you worry. I may not tell you everything, Will, and I may not tell you right away. But I will always tell you as much as I can, and I will always be honest with you. I had to meditate last night, before I could tell you anything."
"About me?"
"No, not about you," he says with a gruff laugh. "As Nash says, you're as right as can be expected. We'll talk about you and your situation later. Not that there will be much to talk about, except how to go about training you. You still want to join us, don't you?"
"I thought I had."
"I thought so too. Oh, certain formalities will occur." He waves his hand dismissively. "But I had to meditate on the Libra, and what you saw inside it."
"The man."
"Yes. The man." He pauses and stares at the table. "His name is Hieronymus von Gerssdorff."
The name means nothing to you, but your skin still prickles. He has a name. Somehow that makes him more real, and it's not a pleasant reality. "Who is he?"
"He's the man who wrote the Libra. The man who made it, and the spells it contains."
"He's inside the book?"
"Apparently. It's a real surprise." A waitress comes over, and Charles orders some coffee. "Yes. He vanished, centuries ago. Maybe we should have expected to find him inside his own creation."
"What's he doing there?"
"Living there, after a fashion. Do you know what a phylactery is, Will?" You shake your head. "Sometimes they are called 'soul jars'. Places to hide the spirit so you don't leave this world after you die. If I interpret your experience correctly, it was his master coup, turning the Libra into a phylactery for himself."
"It seems like an awful thing to do," you say after the silence has become awkward. "I mean, I guess I understand not wanting to die--"
"I doubt that's the reason he did it," Charles says. "He wouldn't have been afraid of death. He would have had other purposes. He would have wanted to hide himself."
"From who?"
"From lots of people. The German Emperor, for one. He was tired of chucking von Gerssdorff into prison. The Church, for another. And from us, most of all."
"The Stellae?"
"Yes." Charles suddenly looks very old and tired. "He was one of us. One of the most powerful Stellae there ever was. But he went bad. 'Retrograde', we call it. He used the spells he'd created to hide from us, and to fight us. We finally lost track of him, apparently because he hid himself from us inside the Libra."
"Are you going to go inside it and get him?"
Charles looks up at you sharply. "He made the Libra, Will. No one has power there except him. None of us would dare, even if we could. And only an adept of Sulva can get inside."
"Like I've been inside," you say, and your voice shakes.
"Yes," Charles says. "You're the only one we know who could get inside it. Probably you're the only one who could come out, too."
"Why me?" You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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