Spell of Intrigue

Spell of Intrigue
By Mayer Alan Brenner

1. THE WORLD ALREADY IN PROGRESS
FRADI HAD RECENTLY DIED, which made it all the more
remarkable for him to realize that he was once again awake. That is to
say, on the one hand he was rather surprised, but on the other hand he
was scarcely surprised at all. He was aware that "recently" was a
relative term under the circumstances, but his attendance at his own
deathbed, surrounded by those glad to see the last of him, did seem to
have taken place not long before. That, in any event, was not the point.
By any standard it was a refreshing situation. He was not in pain. He
had been in no shortage of pain, and had expected (if anything) to
awaken into an environment where the continuation of mere physical
pain would be the least of his worries. Renewed life after death was an
article of faith, but the multiplicity of faiths differed sharply on the
nature of that life, and on the correlation of one's circumstances in the
next with one's behavior in the last. Out of self-defense Fradi had
cleaved to a faith that stressed accomplishment rather than slippery
value judgments of good and evil, but he had always harbored some
residuum of doubt. He was quite happy, though, to be reassured. One
so rarely gets an article of faith confirmed.
Nevertheless, it was surely a miracle. "To the gods," he began ritually,
"I offer thanks -"
"You're welcome," said a voice from behind his head. He opened his
eyes. Above his head was a ceiling of cunningly carved stone inset with
patterns of dancing light. The vision through the fovea of his left eye
was clear, unblurred by the annoying swirl of white whose curdling

presence had significantly impaired his accuracy with a bow. In fact, all
his senses seemed to leap at him with unparalleled clarity, his deadly
hands unhindered by knotted joints, the paths of his thought undimmed,
his natural (or, as one brief adversary had maintained, unnatural) vigor
fully restored. He was resting on his back in a long coffin-shaped basin
whose sides he could see through, covered with a white toga-like
garment fringed in gold. The figure of a woman, presumably the one
who had spoken, moved into his field of view. She would not actually
be a woman, of course, since the circumstances were what they were,
but to his newly restored eyesight no divergence could easily be found.
He suddenly discovered that another anatomical feature to whose
activity he had long since bade farewell had also returned abruptly to
consideration.
A squared-off scepter whose face glowed in mysterious patterns was in
her hand. The figure extended it toward him, examined its patterns
searchingly, and then moved it slowly in the Swirl of Sinalla. He raised
his own hand and made the Swirl himself, concluding with the extra
touch of fingertips above his heart. The figure smiled at him a benign
smile. "Behold," she said, "for your master approaches."
The transparent bier pivoted downward, leaving him perched halfway
between the horizontal and the vertical. The carved wall ahead of him
seemed to dissolve into mist. Beyond the mist was a vast open place, of
darkness above an endless silver plane. In the middle distance was a
pillar of steam. From the midst of the pillar he felt the force of a
Presence.
The pillar spoke. "Fradjikan! You have been called!"
Fradi felt the words rumble through his body with an almost-curdling
resonance as the pillar felt silent. Although the cloud exhibited no
feature that might be considered an eye, still he felt it examining him
with a deep and searching gaze. Then, somewhat to his surprise, he
heard a low, virtually subterranean peal of laughter; no, not laughter
really, but more of a chuckle. A chuckle?
"You have aroused Our mirth," said the pillar, "for reasons that are

Ours alone to know. However, this you may know. In reward for your
virtue, your devotion, and your dedicated development of such a useful
set of skills, you have been honored with Our grace."
He found he had to fight an urge to babble. "I am honored beyond all
honors, O Preeminent One. I sing your praises. There is no way to
properly show my abasement, no way to adequately repay -"
"This is true. However," the voice of the Presence said consideringly,
"there is a certain thing you can do. Indeed, We have granted the
benison of our favor in anticipation of your accomplishment of a
specific task."
Underscoring the benison, the steam pillar smiled a beneficent smile.
"The name of this job is Max."
"Not much to look at, is he?"
Two men stood over a third. The one who had spoken had