Mr. Sheckley has been focusing on short fiction in recent years, but those of you who don't know his novels are encouraged to pick up Dimensions of Sheckley, an omnibus volume of five of his novels from the 1950s through 1990. His new story starts off in upstate New York, but you never know where Mr. Sheckley's stories will take you.
GRAPPO'S PEOPLE MIGHT have gotten away with it if Harry hadn't been so alert and apprehensive. There was no reason to expect any trouble. Not here in Troy Hills, New York.
Selles, Harry's FBI guy, had set him up just a couple of days ago in this nice little suburban house on a ridge overlooking Troy, New York. Moved him out from Phoenix where Grappo's people had somehow done the impossible--found out where Harry lived despite the high security of the Witness Protection Program. Gotten a man to him. And then the exploding pizza box trick. As old as Sicily. But so often effective.
Harry's paranoia had saved him that time in Phoenix. Yes, he'd ordered a pizza. But he'd ordered it with anchovies. When they sent pepperoni, warning bells had gone off in his head. He had slammed the door in the delivery kid's face and run upstairs for his gun. He was just going through the bedroom doorway when the box went off, shaking the small house to its foundations.
And now, here in Troy Hills, New York, thousands of miles from Grappo in the Federal Penitentiary in California, something else warned Harry that things weren't right.
Outside, it was a night of driving rain mixed with snow, and the stuff was starting to freeze on the winding black tar road that led past Harry's new house near the summit. Given the conditions, it was unusual for a truck to be winding its way through its gears, preparing to come down the other side of Harry's hill. His house was on a shortcut to Route 451, but a dangerous one, and truckers never used it at night or in bad weather.
In the ordinary course of things, Harry might have muttered to himself, "Crazy truck drivers!" and given it no more thought. But the course of Harry's life was a long way from ordinary.
It hadn't been ordinary since the day, two years ago, when the first of many FBI men had called him in for questioning. Harry had been the chief bookkeeper for Grappo's enterprises. The job paid well, and, although Harry knew there was some intense cooking of the books going on, that hadn't seemed to concern him or involve him. He wasn't in on the profits. He was a salaried employee and he did what he was told. If Grappo ran a criminal enterprise, Harry had no personal knowledge of it, and made no profit out of it.
That first FBI man had quickly showed him the error of his thinking.
"Look, Harry, maybe you were an innocent. Hey, anything's possible. But that's not how it's going to look in court. We can prove you had to know what you were doing. No way you could have avoided knowing. Doing stuff no right-minded CPA would ever do. We can nail you for racketeering, just like we're getting Grappo. In the eyes of the law, you're as guilty as Grappo or any of his associates. You're looking at twenty years hard time in a federal pen."
Harry had believed him. Somehow, in his heart, he'd known he was guilty of federal crimes. They just hadn't seemed like bad crimes. And the pay had been good, and the bonuses even better, and Myra and the two girls always needed things. There was Myra's operation, and the girls' colleges, and the mortgage on the house. What could he have done?
So he'd agreed to be a government witness, and gone into the Witness Protection Program.
For murder, racketeering, and various other crimes, Grappo got three life sentences with no possibility of parole.
Grappo was out of circulation, but not out of action. As Harry learned after the first attempt on his life.
Myra took the girls and left him after the second attempt, in the supposedly secure house in Spokane, Washington.
The Feds had never found the money Grappo was supposed to have. But Grappo knew where it was and how to get at it, and with the help of a few trusted associates on the outside, was using some of it to even his score against Harry.
Harry had been alone when Grappo's people had tried to kill him in Phoenix. No Myra to think about now. Just saving his own skin.
And here he was in Troy Hills, listening to this truck begin to downshift as it came over the crest and started down his street.
Nothing so suspicious about that.
Unless you've already had two attempts made on your life under conditions in which you were supposed to be perfectly safe.
The truck was starting down the winding road past his house, and Harry could tell by the whine of the gearing that it was going faster than it should have been, given the conditions.
He was standing at the front window. Up the hill, he could see the truck's lights illuminate the road.
Maybe it didn't mean anything....
But he couldn't take the chance. He ran to the hall closet. He had an overnight bag packed there. He had another, identical bag upstairs, in the bedroom. So he could get at one of them quickly and get out.
He grabbed his overcoat, and, bag in hand, went out the back door, into his small back yard.
It was cold! But you couldn't expect a man to be wearing his skiing longjohns all of the time.
He went to a corner of his back yard, where the little opening in the hedge led to a short path connecting with the next street down.
He had just gotten into the path when he heard the truck slam into his house, and, a moment later, blow up. Burning junk was propelled into the air and came raining down in hot firebrands and flaming shingles. For a moment he was blinded by the flash, even though he hadn't been looking directly at it. But then his eyes adjusted and he was into the street below.
At the end of the path, on the street below, was a small wooden garage half-hidden in trees. It had been one of the points that had induced him to accept this location. At least he had transportation away from his house if they got at him again.
He dug his duplicate car keys out of the overnight bag. Within minutes he had the vehicle moving, making his way down the slick road with caution.
WHILE DRIVING, Harry used his cell phone to call Richard Selles, his current FBI contact. Selles was alarmed to hear of this latest attempt on Harry's life. Despite the lateness of the hour, Selles agreed to meet Harry at a diner they both knew near the Northway.
Harry was there in twenty minutes, and soon after, Selles arrived. The FBI man was tall, dark-haired, well groomed, like all the others Harry had met.
Harry cut through the man's obviously set speech about how unaccountable this was, how it was unprecedented in the Witness Protection Program for a secure place to be revealed, not once but three times.
"And you're very sorry about this," Harry said. "Sure, I know. But your regrets don't do a thing for me. I told you before, you've got a leak in your program. Somebody's telling Grappo where I am. It's got to be someone on the inside."
"Not necessarily," Selles said. "I and other agents have gone over all the evidence. If it were a leak in the program, others in Witness Protection would be involved. But it's only you."
"That doesn't prove you don't have a leak."
"No. But it offers a pretty strong inference. Especially when taken with other evidence."
"Like what?"
Selles stirred his coffee. Then he asked, "How well did you know Harold Grappo?"
"I went to high school with the guy," Harry said. "After that, he went into the army and I lost track of him for a number of years. I didn't meet him again until he telephoned me out of the blue and offered me a job. But you know all this, I've told you and the other agents this a thousand times."
Selles persisted. "Grappo never talked to you about what he did in the army?"
Harry shook his head. "We were never exactly buddies. I was just someone he'd known in childhood." Harry grimaced bitterly. "Therefore someone he could trust."
Selles considered for a few moments, then said, "Would it surprise you to learn that during his service time, Grappo was assigned to a section researching psi phenomena?"
"Yes, it would," Harry said. "I didn't know he had any expertise that way."
"He didn't. He was assigned to a guard unit at a special facility in Colorado. All he did was watch gates and TV screens and check credentials. But we figure he kept his eyes and ears open. It's the only way we can make any sense out of what's happening here."
"I still don't get what you're driving at."
"We think he must have contacted a Far Viewer."
"What in hell is that?" Harry asked.
"The Far Viewer program was an army experiment using people with demonstrated psychic abilities to project themselves mentally into situations to which they didn't have physical access. The idea was to spy on certain foreign governments--the Russians and East Germans, specifically--and get a lead on what they were up to."
Harry thought about it and shook his head. "I still don't get it."
"Some of these Far Viewers were really good. They could sit in a darkened room and go into a trance and project their consciousness to different locations. A few of them were extraordinarily gifted. They could trace individual people across a continent, through some mental gymnastics we still don't understand."
Harry frowned, trying to get his mind around the concept. "And you think that's what's happening to me?"
"At the moment, it's our only working conjecture."
"You got anything else that makes you think so?"
Selles nodded. "We've checked out all Grappo's telephone contacts over the past two years. He's talked several times with a woman named Anna Freed. Name mean anything to you?"
"Never heard of her."
"She was one of the most promising Far Viewers in the army program until the experiment was abandoned."
"What have you done about her?" Harry demanded.
"We're asking permission to set up surveillance. The okay should come down in a day or two."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Harry said. "And meanwhile I get killed, right?"
"We have another place for you. We'll put guards on it. You'll be safe this time, believe me."
"Where does she live, this Anna Freed?"
"Harry, we have no real evidence against her. There's nothing we can do."
"I'm not asking you to do anything. Just give me her address."
"That wouldn't be ethical."
"But what's going on is okay, huh? Listen, Selles, give me her address or forget about my cooperation. If I can't talk with Anna Freed, try to make some arrangement with her, I'll talk to Grappo, see what I can do there."
"Grappo will just kill you."
"What do you think he's trying to do now? I want her address."
Selles hesitated, then said, "You understand we can't condone any violence."
"I don't intend any. I just need to talk to the lady."
Selles thought for a while, then came to a decision. He pulled a slip of paper from an inside pocket, scribbled on it, and handed it to Harry.
"She's in Saugerties, New York. That's pretty convenient."
"Yes, very handy."
"It would be better," Selles said, "if you let us handle this."
"I can see where that's gotten me," Harry said. "I'll be in touch."
He got up and left the diner. Within minutes he was in his car again, driving toward Saugerties.
When Anna Freed got off the bus, the brief winter sunset of the Hudson Valley had faded, and a darkening grayness now pervaded the western sky.
"Have a nice evening, Miss Freed," the bus driver said.
"Good night, Tony," Anna said.
The bus moved on, completing its loop back into Saugerties. Looking up from the bus stop, Anna saw her apartment building, standing all by itself on the rim of the hill, silhouetted against the sky, with lights already winking on behind leaded windows. The old redbrick building was scheduled for demolition soon. They were going to put up a development. Anna hated the idea, but there wasn't much she could do about it.
She climbed the broad concrete steps leading up to her building. She was a small, plump person, middle-aged in appearance. Her clothing was the dowdy, respectable long skirt and matching jacket with brooch that so many librarians affected. She wore an old army parka over it all.
The front door of the building was seldom locked, although the insurance people always scolded her about that. She went through the unlocked door, climbed one flight of stairs, and went down the corridor to her apartment in the rear.
She let herself in, turned on the living room lights, and got a shock. There was a man sitting in the big armchair facing the front door.
It was only a small shock, however, because she knew who this man was, although she had never actually met him before.
"Hello, Anna." He was an average-sized man, balding, getting close to middle age. He had a harrassed, querulous look on his face. This didn't surprise Anna at all.
"Hello, Harry," she said.
She took off her parka and hung it from a peg in the little hallway. She came into the living room and sat down in a straight chair facing Harry's. She sat alertly, waiting for him to speak.
Harry seemed at a loss for words. He stared at her, his mouth working, his forehead creased, and at last he said, "Well, lady, how does it feel to kill a guy? Because that's what you've done, you know. You're the one been tracking me for Grappo, am I right?"
"You're perfectly right," Anna said. "But until two days ago, I had no idea Mr. Grappo wanted to kill you. He said he wanted me to trace people who ran out on their debts. He told me it was normal collection agency procedure, except for the psychic angle, which he wanted to experiment with. I saw nothing wrong with it. It paid well, and I needed the money."
"You never thought about investigating Grappo?"
"No, why should I? I understand your position, Harry, but your attempt to reproach me is badly conceived. From what I know of you, moral indignation is not your strong suit."
Anger flared across Harry's face. He looked like he was going to jump to his feet, do something, and Anna braced herself for violence. But then Harry's shoulders slumped, he sat back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. Finally he pulled himself together and said, "So I'm a dead man."
"Not on my account," Anna said. "I have stopped working for Mr. Grappo. I quit as soon as I learned what he was really up to. I stayed long enough in the Remote Viewing posture last night to see the attack on your house."
"So you knew I got away?"
"That is correct."
"And that I talked with Selles, the FBI guy?" She nodded.
"Did you know I was coming here to see you?"
"I thought it likely," Anna said.
"But you didn't try to avoid me?"
"No. Why should I? My conscience is clear. As soon as I learned that attempts were being made on your life, I stopped working for Mr. Grappo."
"Well, that's something, at least," Harry said.
"Something, but not much. Mr. Grappo employs at least half a dozen other Far Viewers. I don't think any of them have my talents. But they will find you."
Harry was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "I came here with half an idea of killing you. But don't be alarmed. I'm not going to do it."
"I am not alarmed," Anna said.
"I'll get out of here now," Harry said. He stood up. "Thanks for talking to me. I just wanted to know what was going on."
"Where are you going?" Anna asked.
"I guess I'll call Selles, try his next hidey-hole. At least it's free room and board. And maybe I'm getting used to the idea that pretty soon I'm going to wake up dead."
"It is good to take a realistic attitude," Anna said. "But perhaps there's something you can do other than resign yourself to the inevitable."
"Like what? Stay here?"
Anna shook her head. "I have no protection to offer you. Grappo's Far Viewers could find you as easily in my apartment as anywhere else on Earth."
"Then I'm all washed up," Harry said.
Anna stood up and walked over to him. She peered into his face for several moments. Then she sighed and said, "This was not my fault, but I feel I owe you something."
He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
"The Far Viewers can find you anywhere on Earth. But I know a place that is on the Earth but not of it. A place where you could go. Where Grappo and his men could never find you."
"What are we talking about here?" Harry said. "Shangri-La?"
"Something like that," Anna said.
Half an hour later, when Harry left Anna's apartment, the rain had stopped and snow had begun failing in big, slow flakes. He cleared off his windshield and got going again. This time he had a New York State roadmap Anna had given him. And her silver brooch, which she said he'd need. The routes he was to take were marked in thick black grease pencil. He was going north, into the Adirondack Wilderness, to a place he didn't really believe existed. But he was going there anyhow. What else was he to do?
He stopped at a diner on a road outside of Lake Placid. It was colder now, and a brusque wind had come up. When he sat clown at the counter, he realized how ravenously hungry he was. For the first time in his life he put away one of those lumberman's specials--eggs, ham, hashed browns, biscuits and sausage gravy. While he ate, he occasionally reached into his pocket and touched the heavy silver brooch. It was his only solid reminder that this last hour hadn't been some sort of a dream.
Finally, reluctantly, he finished his meal, paid, and returned to his car. He was still chilly. His emergency getaway kit had been a good idea, but he hadn't planned far enough ahead when he'd assembled it in Phoenix, not thinking to include a down-filled parka, hiking boots, thick shirt, heavy sweater, wool socks, gloves. He had been able to buy a Saranac Lake sweatshirt at the diner counter. At least it provided another layer.
He kept the heater/defroster on high through Keene, and then on the back road toward Au Sable Forks. He had to slow down, because the driving was getting slick, and the snow was coming clown faster, turning into a winter storm. It was difficult driving, but at least he had a fair assurance that Grappo's people weren't on to him yet. He didn't have to worry about his back. And he didn't dare think about what lay ahead.
He almost missed the turnoff to South Jay Mountain. The road marker had blown down. But Anna had told him there was a farm with two big silos just beyond it, and Harry was able to back to the turnoff. After that, it was very slow going, slipping and sliding on the narrow, rutted dirt road that wound up the mountain. He passed the sign she'd warned him about--DANGER! ROAD CLOSED! At that point, the chain on his rear left wheel came loose. He got out and fixed it.
Then he was back in the car, climbing up an increasingly steep and slippery road. The headlights dazzled off the snow and frozen black branches whipped against his windshield. The car wallowed, uncomfortable on the high-crowned dirt road, its wheels spinning. Harry had the impression that there were things out in the woods, just outside the headlights' reach, that were watching him with what he could only think of as hungry interest. Bad as that was, however, he didn't want it to end. He knew he'd soon have to leave the car and continue on foot.
Anna had tried to reassure him about that. "It's a dangerous trip, but there's nothing supernatural about it. Not until the end. The supernatural part comes after you have to leave the car."
"What happens then?" he had asked.
"For most people, nothing. Just South Jay Mountain. Which, in winter, is bad enough. But for you, you have my brooch. The Guardian will sense it, and will come for you."
"And then?"
"He will bring you where you need to go. Where you couldn't get to on your own. To the Village."
"Why don't you come with me?" Harry had asked her. "This can't be much of a life for you."
"My sister and I made our choices long ago," Anna told him. "This is all I can do for you." Her expression softened for a moment. "I hope my sister welcomes you. I hope she's not quite as--adamant--as before. You're in a desperate situation. Maybe this time she'll bend the rules."
"What's your sister's name?" Harry had asked.
"They call her the Lady."
Harry had wanted to know more about everything, and especially how this village could be in this world but not accessible by ordinary means. Anna refused to say any more. "I could talk for hours. But the only way you're going to find it is by going there."
And now the car slewed around again, seemed to fight for its footing, then slid into a deep ditch to one side.
END OF THE EASY PART, if you could call it that. Harry sighed unhappily, made sure he had the brooch in an outside pocket where he could get at it easily--Anna had insisted on the importance of that--and stepped out into the cold.
He followed the road, now knee-deep in snow, until it petered out. He had his overnight bag in one hand and a three-cell flashlight in the other, but the bright beam only turned the falling snow into an impenetrable gleam of white light. He finally realized that he could see better without it. He turned off the beam and went on, slipping and sliding, sometimes falling. Slowly he became aware that something was out there on the mountainside watching him.
He paused to catch his breath. He turned on the flashlight again and swung it in a slow circle. He called out, "Hello? Is that the Guardian?"
He heard a growl, low and impossibly deep. A heavy, guttural sound strong with menace. It was difficult to imagine what sort of a throat could have made that sound.
He turned off the flashlight, put it in his pocket, took out the brooch, held it at arm's length and turned around slowly.
"Anna gave me this. She said it'd be all right...."
He thought he detected a shape off to his right. An enormous head, pointed ears, an impression of size, a flash that could have been two eyes....
And suddenly there was a roar so loud and malevolent that it shocked him to the core. He fell down as though he'd been hit by a Taser.
His leg was bent painfully under him. There was something huge standing over him, mouth open, revealing jagged nightmare teeth. It was an animal, he couldn't tell if it was a wolf or an ape or some combination of the two, and he was scrabbling around in the snow trying to find the brooch, saying, "Just a minute, give me a minute, it's all right...."
His fingers closed over the brooch and he held it up in both hands, but the creature, the Guardian, was ignoring it. The creature seemed to be both furious and confused, and Harry realized the thing must have been expecting Anna.
"She sent me!" Harry shrieked, though he knew that whatever it was, it couldn't understand him. "She said I was to come here! She said it would be all right--"
The brooch was slipping again out of his chilled hand. He tried to regain his grip, but felt the creature picking it up in his teeth. A moment later, Harry was cradled by huge, hairy arms, and he was being carried up an almost vertical slope that mounted precipitously toward the sky. He lost consciousness for a few moments after that. The next thing he heard was the sound of voices coming from somewhere above him. He saw the flare of a torch.
"What is it, Finn?"
"It's the Guardian, Hans. It's got something for us."
"This is not right," Hans said, sounding ill at ease. "This has never happened before. Perhaps we should consult with the Lady."
"You know she's away on her journeying," the older voice of Finn said. "And anyhow, the instructions are clear. Whom the Guardian brings, we are to receive."
"Yes, but he's not lifting him high enough. I can't reach him."
"Let me try," Finn said. "Hold on to my legs."
For a while, Harry didn't hear anything but the Guardian's impatient snuffling. Then he felt a hand grasp one of his wrists, then the other.
"Have you got him, Finn?"
"Aye, I've got him all right. Now to heave him up...."
The hands tightened, tugged, and then something went wrong and Harry felt himself slipping, and then the hands resumed their grip, and Finn was shouting, "Keep hold of me, I said!"
And Hans was saying, "I didn't know you were going to jerk so sudden like that! Don't worry, I have you!"
Harry felt himself lifted up again. He lost contact with the warm fur of the Guardian. He was dragged over something rough. And then the hands released him and he lay back against a large rough stone.
The last words he remembered hearing were, Hans, the big, younger man, saying, "You have the brooch?"
"Never fear me losing that!" Finn said.
Then Harry passed out.
When Harry came back to consciousness, he was lying under a light coverlet in a high, wooden-framed bed, propped on big eiderdown pillows. The room was filled with golden daylight, and there was a pleasant smell in the air which he couldn't immediately identify. In a room close to the one he was in, he could hear a young woman singing.
Looking around, he saw he was in a gingerbready sort of room, filled with wooden carvings, some of quaint little gnomes, other more sinister--crude wooden carvings that might have been hacked out with an axe and looked like they represented some ancient, shaggy-haired deities.
He stirred in the bed. A voice behind him called out, "Ah, he's waking up!" This was Finn, the round-cheeked little fellow whom Harry remembered lifted him out of the Guardian's arms at some cost to his own safety.
He turned his head. Finn was seated on a stool behind him. He stood up, and he was no more than four feet tall. He was wearing ancient-looking clothing of brown and green. He wore suspenders, and old-fashioned shoes with silver buckles. He had a small clay pipe clenched in his teeth. He looked to Harry like some old Irish or Germanic or Scandinavian legend come to life.
Another man came in from the other room. Harry vaguely remembered this one, too. It was Hans, big and stalwart, with a square, placid face, ash blond hair cut straight across the forehead. He looked dull-witted but amiable.
They both called out, "Helke, come see, the stranger is awake!"
They pounded each other on the back in congratulation, Hans nearly knocking Finn over. Harry had time to think, "So this is what they do for excitement around here." And then Helke came in.
She could be no more than eighteen or so. And she was beautiful, with long brown hair in which she wore a chaplet of wild flowers. Her beauty was all the more striking because of the innocence of her expression. She clapped her hands together. "Oh, you're alive! I'm so glad!"
The three of them joined hands and danced around the room. Then they clustered around the bed again, all of them talking at the same time.
"I saw the Guardian was up to something," Hans said. "He usually doesn't visit us, you know. He stays outside our little valley, and he keeps bad things out. But this time he came right up to the parapet that separates our world from the other one, and I said to myself, 'Ho, something's afoot!' And I went and called Helke."
"I came right away," Helke said, "even though Hans was talking to me. Hans can be something of a nuisance, always wanting to take my attention away from my embroidery. But I saw at once that there was something serious afoot, so I called for Finn, the cobbler, who lives in the next house."
"It's a tumbledown little house, but I love it dearly," Finn said. "I was just sitting in front of the fire, smoking my pipe, with a pot of porridge warming in the coals, when Helke, who is like a daughter to me, came in and told me I must come at once. And so I did. And I saw the Guardian with someone in his arms, standing on the steep mountaintop below the parapet. He was lifting a person up to Hans, and Hans was trying to reach him, but the distance was too great."
"I saw it was a stranger," Helke said, "and I knew we had to do something, because he would perish in the cold, and the Guardian could come no further. This was the first time he had brought a stranger to US."
"I understood at once how it could be done," Finn said. "I told Hans to hold my ankles, and I climbed over the parapet and got a good grip on the stranger here. And even though it was very slippery and dangerous, I managed to pull him up. Yes, and I saved the brooch, too, for I knew the Lady would want to see it."
"And here you are!" Helke cried to Harry. "And you're alive! Wait until the Lady hears of this!"
At mention of the Lady's name, the three sobered up immediately. "Yes," Finn said, "we must tell the Lady, just as soon as she gets back. I hope she won't think we overstepped ourselves."
"Oh, I hope she doesn't think that!" Hans said.
"I do so hope the stranger can stay with us!" Finn said. "He could be my apprentice. I could teach him to cobble shoes."
"Or I could teach him to be a woodsman," Hans said.
Helke shook her head gravely. "We have only one of each. You know the rule."
They looked at her sorrowfully. There was a long silence. Then Helke said, "Well, it's all in the hands of the Lady. She will decide. For our part, we must let our stranger rest. I am preparing some good chicken soup for him. It will help him grow strong. Stranger, what is your name?"
"Harry," Harry said.
They all repeated the name to themselves several times. At last Helke said, "How exotic!" She turned to the others. "Let Harry rest now, and I will prepare his soup. You can visit him again later."
The two men, Hans, very large and lumbering, Finn, almost a dwarf, left the room, their faces wreathed in smiles. Helke straightened the coverlet over Harry and bent over him, smiling, her face heartbreakingly beautiful. Then she heard a bubbling sound from the kitchen, cried, "My soup!" and hurried away.
Harry lay back contentedly on the big pillows. He had given up any thought of making sense out of all this. He just wanted to lie back and enjoy it. The three--Helke, Hans, and Finn--seemed to him like big children, or like brightly illuminated figures from a child's drawing book. But he was all right with that. How wonderful they were, he thought, and there was a hint of condescension in that thought: they were wonderful children, and he was an adult who could appreciate them.
LATER THAT DAY, after rich chicken soup and a nap, Helke helped Harry to the balcony to give him a look at the Village. He saw what looked like a Walt Disney set for an alpine fantasy--quaint little houses with peaked roofs set into curving cobblestoned streets, people in old-fashioned costumes, everything in bright colors. It was all a little unreal, and, perhaps for that very reason, deeply satisfying. Harry loved this place at once, not least because the alternative was death.
He and Helke ate soup together in the evening, and Finn came by to show off his latest handiwork--boots of a highly polished leather, shaped and turned on his own lasts. Harry was glad to see him. He had taken to the little cobbler right away. He was less pleased to see Hans, who came by after Finn, and who hung around for a long time making calf's eyes at Helke.
The Lady was expected every day, but a week passed before she made her appearance. By that time, Harry was in love with Helke. More to the point, she seemed utterly in love with him. She couldn't stand being out of his company. They held hands in the parlor and made impossible plans. And when the Lady appeared again, and sent for Harry, she went to her bedroom and cried.
The Lady lived in a big house in the very center of the Village. It was a beautiful wooden house, painted in cool whites, blues and grays, and with a lot of ornamental woodwork. The windows were high, and were covered with long white curtains.
Helke walked with him as far as the little gate that led to the walk up to the house, and here she stopped.
"Aren't you going in with me?"
She shook her head. "It is not allowed. The Lady asked for you, not for me."
Harry walked up to the front door of the Lady's house. The door opened by itself. He hesitated a moment, then walked in. He was in a hallway. It was dark, but there was a brightening at its far end. He knew he should follow the light and he did so. The light led him to a flight of stairs, and he went up, and then down a corridor, and at last into a room.
There, seated in a straight-backed chair, was the Lady. She was neither young nor old. Harry's first impression was that she was timeless. She was slender and slight. She had long, light-colored hair, and her face was a pointed oval. In her hand was the silver brooch that Anna had given him.
"You got this from my sister, Anna," the Lady said. "When you saw her, was she well?"
"She seemed tired," Harry said. "Maybe not too well. I urged her to come with me to this place of yours. She refused."
The Lady nodded. "She still holds by the original choice she made, back when she decided to stay with the life of Earth, and I elected to come here."
"Can you tell me where 'here' is?" Harry asked.
"You won't find my Village on any map. This place exists outside of everything you have ever known."
"Do you mean we're not on the Earth?"
"You're still on the Earth, but it's not the same Earth you've known. This Village is in its own little fold of time and space. You can't get here from the Earth that you know. Except through the Guardian. As you have seen."
Harry was struggling to understand. "How can such a place exist?"
"Places like the Earth exist in many planes of existence, and each plane is sealed off from the others. People of my race are able, under certain circumstances, to move from one plane to another. It is the destiny of my people, the Tuatha dé Danaan, to live very long lives in secret places, together with the humans we bring with us."
"That must confer a great power on you," Harry said.
"It would, if we were humans. But we are not. We are Tuatha, we are not aggressive, we are not ambitious, we have no expansionistic tendencies. We live by simple rules, and we protect those who live with us by those rules, invariably applied. My sister Anna chose to turn away from the ways of our kind. She was attracted to the tumult and splendor of human life, its variety, its immense emotional range, its joys and pathos."
"Tuatha dé Danaan," Harry mused. "I've heard those words before."
"It is one of the words your race has for mine. We are also known as The Little People, the fairies, and many more titles. We have been with humanity since earliest times, but almost always in secret places like this one, hidden away from human life, its changes, its ambitions."
"This place is just what I want," Harry said.
"I'm sorry you've had to come this difficult way in vain," the Lady said. "You will have to leave."
"Hey, wait!" Harry said. "I can fit in!"
"It's not a question of that. Here in the Village the rule is simple, as it is in all Tuatha-ruled places. The rule is, just one of everything necessary. We already have, for example, a cobbler, a woodsman, an embroideress, a cook--"
"But do you have a pastry chef? What about a master dyer so we could get some other colors in here? I noticed you have only apple and walnut trees. I could introduce some other species. There's a lot I can do that wouldn't be duplicating anything."
The Lady laughed. "That is ingenious. But ingenuity is exactly what we do not want here. I am the one who says what is necessary, and that is what we already have. We don't need anything else. You will have to leave."
"Besides," Harry said. "Helke and I--well, we love each other. I want to stay with her. She wants me."
"I am sorry, that cannot be."
"It isn't fair!" Harry said.
She looked at him curiously. "'Fairness' is such a human concept. We Tuatha don't deal in it at all. Ours is not a universe governed by the terms of morality. We simply follow our rules. Now leave me, Harry. Take the rest of the day to make your preparations. But when tomorrow comes, you must be outside, or I will bring in the Guardian to carry you out."
She handed him Anna's brooch. "Take this. It has not bought you admission."
Helke was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him when Harry returned. She sprang up as soon as he walked in the door, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him, then kissed him a second time, lingeringly. She sighed and snuggled up close to him, and Harry felt a great wave of affection come over him for this beautiful girl. Their kisses grew more frequent, they began to touch, to stroke, to linger. And then Helke pulled herself away with an evident effort.
"Time for that later! A lot of time! For I love you most dearly, wonderful stranger who has come into my life. But tell me of your talk with the Lady! I'm sure she took pity on you, on both of us, and found a place for you in our Village. Tell me at once that it is so, and relieve my fears."
"If only I could!" Harry said.
"Do you mean she didn't find you a place?"
"She said I would have to leave tomorrow morning."
"Did you tell her about us?"
"Yes, I did," Harry said. "She said it couldn't be helped. She said only one of each kind is allowed here."
Helke went to an armchair and sat in it. "Of course she ordered you to go! Why should the Lady care about little Helke's broken heart? Helke is only supposed to do embroidery every day. Not to fall in love. And if Helke discovers love after these endless years of embroidering, well, Helke can just keep her mouth shut about it."
Helke's mouth took a sullen, discontented turn. She looked quite unattractive for a moment. But then she pulled herself together again, and a determined look came into her face.
"It's those rules of hers," Helke explained. "One of everything and nothing more. The same things every day and nothing different. They're well enough when this life is all you know. But when you discover love, as I have, when you fall in love with a living man from the outside world, well, it simply won't do any longer."
"Hey, I don't want to go," Harry said. "It means my death if I go out there."
Helke nodded absently. She wasn't thinking of Harry's life or death just now. She had other things on her mind. Her own life, which she had suddenly became aware of. Her own happiness, which she had lost in the moment of finding it.
Nothing changed in the Village. That was the idea, anyhow. But even in the short time since Harry's arrival, some things had changed. Helke, for example. The lovely, innocent girl had fallen in love with Harry. That had brought about changes in her, not all of them nice ones. She was very affectionate toward him. Harry liked that, though he sometimes found it just a tad tedious. She was peremptory toward Hans, whose love for her was evident, and who seemed to find it natural to do whatever she told him to do.
And Hans had changed, too, though it was difficult to put your finger on exactly how. He looked at Helke in a new way. Interest in her showed in his rather dull face. An awakened lust burned in his china-blue eyes. And Helke used this interest to get Hans to do what she wanted him to do. Hans was willing enough, but there was a cunningness about him now that didn't exactly square with his former straightforward character. He seemed to be waiting for something. Something that would profit him. Without doing anything about it, he was beginning to progress toward his own self-interest.
Only Finn hadn't changed. Or his changes had been innocent, and didn't seem to be leading him anywhere.
"It's unfair," Helke said. "We lived here the same every day, and that was supposed to be best. But now I see it is not so. Now I know love. How am I supposed to go on as before? Perhaps it would have been best if Finn had not been able to reach you... if you had fallen down the mountain. In a way, this was all Finn's fault. And Finn must pay for it."
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.
"Never mind," Helke said. "I know what must be done. Now come to bed. We have much to do in the morning."
What could she possibly have in mind? Harry didn't want to ask. All he knew was, he didn't want to leave the Village. He didn't want to be lowered down into the snow and ice, and wait until the Guardian came to collect him. If it went that way, what was the best he could expect? To get back to human civilization? Stumble out of the woods into Elizabethtown or Keene. And wait until some other Far Viewer picked him up again.
Helke had something in mind. Harry didn't know what it was, and didn't want to know.
IT WAS SWEET that night in Helke's arms in the big warm bed. The morning of Harry's departure dawned all too soon. Helke dressed, looking grim-faced and determined. She led Harry, together with Hans and Finn, through the Village to the place where the Guardian had first put Harry into Finn's outstretched hands. A group of villagers had come along to watch the festivities--for it was an important day when someone left the Village. The Lady was not there, but this absence was expected--the Lady never attended the matters of the Village.
Helke led Hans aside and did a lot of whispering in his ear. Hans seemed puzzled, but he agreed to what she was saying. Harry wondered what she was up to, but he didn't ask.
Helke said to Finn, "Show everyone how you and Hans rescued the stranger."
The villagers applauded, and Finn said, "I'll be pleased to show it. Hans, take hold of my ankles as you did before."
Held in Hans's strong hands, Finn was lowered over the side of the parapet.
The villagers exclaimed as Hans, his face red, muscles taut, lowered Finn down toward the peak, below which the points of innumerable mountains fell away.
Harry was watching, too, and he couldn't imagine what Helke had in mind, or how she was going to bring it off under the gaze of the entire Village.
At last Helke had Finn and Hans in the position she desired, with Hans gripping his ankles and Finn stretched out to his fullest extent, below him nothing but empty space and cruel pointed rocks.
"Is everyone watching?" Helke asked. "Good! Now I want you all to look up into the sky. What is that I see? An eagle? Or is it a winged man? Can anyone tell me?"
The villagers stared upward dutifully.
Helke said in a low voice, "Now, Hans."
Hans blinked, and needed a moment to wrench his attention from the sky, where he also was looking, back to Helke.
"Do it now!" she commanded him.
Hans grimaced and opened his hands.
Finn fell away in a long keening wail.
"Oh, dear!" Helke cried. "Hans's hands must have fallen asleep. Is that what happened, Hans?"
"Yes, that's what happened," Hans said. "My hands fell asleep. I couldn't keep my grip. And now our dear Finn is gone."
The villagers began to wail and tear their clothing.
"But luckily," Helke told them, "we have Harry here, the one who had been the stranger, but now is known to us, a new man and a good one, and if the Lady agrees, he will take Finn's place as our cobbler, and all will be just as it had been."
Upon hearing that, there was general rejoicing, and the villagers began an impromptu Morris dance.
"That was it?" Harry whispered to Helke. "That was your plan?"
"Yes! Good, wasn't it?"
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. At last, all he could say was, "Well, I guess if no one's seen the trick before.... And if no one gets suspicious.... "
"Why should anyone be suspicious?"
Harry didn't answer. But he realized that if you lived in a place where no one had ever doubted anyone else's motives before, there was no reason to begin now. Guile needed a while to settle in before it became an habitual pattern or reaction.
But what would the Lady think?
The next day, word was passed that the Lady wanted to see Harry, and he went at once, fearing the worst. But he soon saw that the Lady wasn't going to question the account of Finn's death.
"As you know," she said, "there has been an accident. Finn the cobbler is no longer among us. Do you want to take his place?"
"Yes, Lady, with all my heart I do!"
"Then let it be so."
And so Harry became the Village's new cobbler, and pretty soon it was as if he had always been.
It was more unusual by far when Helke announced that she wanted to marry Harry.
Before this, marriage had been unknown in the Village, as unknown as guile, love, and death.
"Another innovation?" said the Lady.
"A noble institution," Helke said "And inevitable, once love came in with Harry."
"I wonder what next?" the Lady said.
"I can't imagine," said Helke.
"I can," the Lady said. "And I shudder to think of the next step. I have guarded this Village to the best of my abilities for as long as I have been able. But even I can only delay new things from happening, not stop them entirely. I have never done a marriage before, but they are not forbidden, and I know how to do them."
And so Harry and Helke were married and there was a fine celebration.
The Village and its life went on as before. Not exactly as before, but similarly. Change had come to the Village, and some things were not as they had always been. Hans and Helke, for one thing. The embroidery girl and the big woodsman were in each other's company at all hours of the day and night. More than was seemly... if you were a person who thought of such things. But of course, the only person suspicious of what they might be doing together was Harry. The rest of the Village hadn't progressed that far.
The villagers had become surprisingly sophisticated in some other matters, however. Soon, a deputation of villagers came to the Lady. "We'd like to open up commerce with the outer world," their spokesman said.
"Why should you want that?" the Lady asked.
"To serve the new principle."
"And what is that?"
"The profit motive, Lady!"
"I never even noticed its arrival."
"It came in with Harry, and shortly after death and love and marriage. It is a beautiful thing, Lady. It means ownership of many things."
"I don't advise it," the Lady said. "But if you insist...."
"Lady, most respectfully, we insist."
"I will consider it," the Lady said.
Harry thought it wouldn't be long before she gave in. He saw that it was inevitable, and that he was responsible. In lending himself to Helke's scheme, although he had done so passively, he was as guilty as she. He had gained a momentary safety, but lost the enchantment that made life worthwhile.
Now there were strangers in the Village. With the Lady's permission, the burgomaster had arranged small tours for very special and rich people from Earth.
Soon enough, Harry knew, the villagers would get their connection to the outside world. After that, they'd have a ski lift in the Village, and there would be stores selling souvenir gnomes of painted china looking just like Finn--venerated now as a Village ancestor. These china Finns were to be sold to strangers with unknown motives.
How quickly it's all changing, Harry thought, sitting in Helke's little parlor, turning Anna's brooch over in his hands and listening to Helke and Hans giggling upstairs in the bedroom. But of course, he was still alive. That had been the whole point of coming to this place. That was all that really mattered, wasn't it?
He frowned. It seemed to him that something else had mattered, or could have mattered, something he'd had a glimpse of, then lost. But he had forgotten what it was.
He shook his head irritably. Strangers in town. People with unknown motives. It wasn't safe here anymore. It was time to get out. But where to go?
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From "Fantasy and Science Fiction (May, 2003)
2003.07.04