“You want to choke to death?” said Menelaus in Virginian, coughing.

“I prefer it to being caught by the wee blue fairy kings, or their hellhounds.” Mickey must have perfected the art of lucidity while dreaming or drugged, because he was able to answer without slurring his words. He also either had a biomodification or had a very high tolerance for smoke, because he did not cough. “You must proffer a dozen thanks to me, for I have worked your salvation this night.”

“It’s daytime. Reveille.” Menelaus held his hood shut over his nose and mouth. His eyes were watering.

“It is night in my inner soul, for my spirit walks the dark paths.”

“Thanks times twelve, then, pal. What I am thanking you for?”

“The beautiful geisha woman from Japan, the one who dressed in leaves and flowers, Weena.”

“Name’s Oenoe. Not Japanese.”

“She placed a come-hither on one of the Moreaus, a Doberman, with a scent of magic and an elfin perfume.”

“Neurocoded pheromones.”

“If you wish to call it by its illusionary outward and material-world name, yes. That opened certain deeper channels into its soul I could manipulate. I placed a glamour on the dog. When you had not returned by morning inspection, I knew you would be caught.”

“What did you do?”

“I had the Doberman hand me his voice-machine, and I used the talisman to cast a spell.”

“You mean you reprogrammed it.”

“Technology is still a type of magic. All knowledge that is secret has power over the ignorant. The talisman was able to wake the Ghosts inside one of the ancient Windcraft. With no pilot in the seat, and no hand at the control, she taxied and took off, and now heading North.”

“Wait—by Ghost, you mean those flying machines have emulations running them?”

“Not full emulations. Simple machine-minds that copy only the skill sets and knowledge of human brains, but not the infrastructure of midbrain and hindbrain. These partial minds live inside the serpentines. They look like long metal snakes made of silver—”

“I know what serpentines look like. It’s my damn tech. But why do they keep cropping up?”

“The serpentines were useful to my ancestors who made the Windcraft. Their electric muscles provide the torque for the air screws, and their dead voices provide navigation orientation.”

“Weird. By any normal Cliometric membrane-domain calculus, they should have vanished from human history like the steamboat or the eyeglass or any other niche technology.”

“The serpentines are magic relicts haunted by the Ghosts of the Sylphs, who were in the air when the Giants burned the world, and so survived for a season, but fell prey to the Medusae—but you must know of these events, being from the long-ago dreamtime yourself?”

“The time of legends is actually quite a broad period, and I was napping. But why did Blackie send the Medusae to wipe out the Sylphs?”

“Were you asking me, or do godlings talk to themselves on a regular basis? Or does the madness legend says overcomes you season by season seem near? Is it springtide that brings your episodes on? If so, we are fortunate to be in the middle of an ice age.”

“I think my fits of madness are brought on by sarcastic Witches.”

“Then you are dire danger indeed! In any case, the dog thing returned to his duties and remembers nothing. Only one aircraft had a Ghost whose secret names I could by my art command. The Blue Men will assume the Nymph and the Hormagaunt fled away north, and will not think to look within the camp for them.”

“You drugged the dog thing Oenoe had softened up for you by tricking him into the tent here?”

“Such is my art.”

“And why are you still burning all this jazz weed?”

“Such is my entertainment. Breathe deep! And you will see visions of the looking glass side of life.”

“No thanks. I am trying to cut down on how often I blindly monkey with my brain structure.” Menelaus made a small opening, no bigger than a mail slot, at the seam of the back of the tent, and breathed the colder outside air instead.

2. Assignments

The voice machines of the dog things were able to shout out simple commands in several of the long-dead languages the various Witches, Chimerae, Nymphs, and Hormagaunts knew, and Menelaus heard at least two other strands of communication: the fluid singsong of the Blue Men, called Intertextual, and a tonal language of chimes, clicks, and diphthongs Menelaus did not recognize, and whose period he could not guess.

Several of the prisoners, all strong men, were called to form a work crew to haul coffins won past the broken Tomb defenses. It was not voluntary, but nonetheless the Blues made the dog things repeat promises of hot showers and hot cocoa for any who did his work well. Women were given tasks in the mess tent and infirmary tent.

Several were called out for particular tasks, including Menelaus. An escort of dog things took him once more beyond the slowly waving smartwire.

Mentor Ull was waiting at the foot of the large azure nautilus shell edifice in the center. His eyes were heavy-lidded and baggy, cold and hard. His countenance was lined and wrinkled, as if folded once too often into expressions of contempt and bitterness. He was absentmindedly scratching the ears of a dog thing that was simpering at his feet, tongue lolling. Menelaus could not help but smile, and he told himself that someone who liked dogs could not be all bad.

Menelaus said, “What was the commotion this morning? There is a plane missing, but you did not send out a party to search for it or get it back.”

Ull’s grim little mouth wrinkled into an even narrower line. “The past-creatures from undeveloped ages propose various antics due to the elliptical reasoning of the neurotic knots of neural tissue which pretend to serve them for brains. It is not in keeping with the simplicity and dignity of our Order to exert ourselves in reaction.”

“So if anyone escapes beyond the wire, you don’t chase him?”

Ull grinned without humor, his eyes dead. “The two relicts unaccounted for had already been examined. No further utility from them was expected.”

“What if they find the cops? You know, the bulls, bears, the Batsi, the bobbies? The authorities? Don’t tell me you are here with anyone’s permission.”

“The scenario proposed is implausible. The hypothetical fugitives could not long survive in a climate of tundra and taiga and boreal forest. And the Simplifiers neither recognize nor impose authority: the concept is without immediacy to us. Therefore, neither the hypothetical fugitives nor the nonexistent authority will be found on the surface of the Earth.”

“And speaking hypothetically, what is to be the eventual fate of the Thaws who do not escape? Once you are done with them? Answer carefully, because the Judge of Ages may not be hypothetical, but very real, and nearer than you suspect.”

Mentor Ull looked grim. “We are not to be trifled with, Chimera! We tolerate with blissful indifference the obtuse antics of the relicts merely because to enforce the discipline they lack would involve us in needless complications. Our social order is both too rigid and too flexible for the crude and unintegrated nervous systems of the various prior species of man, except, perhaps, in a subservient and servile capacity: but if, even as servants, the relicts cannot be adapted to our social order, harmony may suggest that the relicts recognize their inadequacies and commit self-euthanasia once we have achieved our objective here. Dead, and therefore without the disturbance of further neural activity, they would by definition not be discontent, and matters would likewise be simpler for us. Of course, if they are insufficiently enlightened to welcome that final solution, mass murder may be indicated.”

Menelaus decided that perhaps even someone who liked dogs could be all bad.