Van knew that it was so. The two worlds differed not only in magic and science, but in fundamental philosophy. The science people had seen the magic world only as a place to be conquered and exploited. They had sent in things of science, whose effect there had been limited and diminishing, just as magic things were in the science world. So the invasion forces had been nullified. In future it might be possible to prevent the invasions from ever getting started. He would be glad to help with that effort.

  “We hold the members of those invasion forces in benign captivity,” the dragon said, following his thoughts. “We are providing women and employment for them, and gradually they are learning. The members of this colony are different; all of you loved magic at the outset, and were ready to fathom our way. But those others remain hostile. So we depend on you to be our liaison—”

  Suddenly there came a noise from beyond the dragon. Violet screamed. Van looked up—and there was a military helicopter bearing down on them. The science folk were attacking!

  Van drew his sword. “Get away from here, Violet!” he cried. “Take Veeda!” Then he moved to block the way, so that no one could pursue them down the path.

  The machine landed and helmeted warriors debouched. They charged Van—and suddenly all he held was a stick, while they had guns. So much for heroics. In a moment they had him; he was the one they wanted.

  “I don’t understand,” the Colonel said. “You are in that village barely two days, and suddenly your mind is all cluttered with junk about the supernatural. They feed you hallucinogens?”

  Van shrugged in the fatigues they had put him in. He hated this foreign clothing. It chafed both his body and his soul. “No. They showed me the truth.”

  “That they do things by magic? Come off it, Sergeant!”

  “Your devices can’t pick up on it, because science doesn’t fathom magic, any more than magic fathoms science. It’s an enchanted world over there, sir. You’ll never be able to exploit it, because you can’t send in military equipment. The farther a tank gets from the aperture, the less valid will be the principles on which it operates, mechanical and philosophical, until it grinds to a halt. That’s what happened to your invasion forces. You’d be better off trying to understand—”

  “I understand that you had repeated sex with that fat pig just as if you liked it, and then you went and felt up a damned ten-year-old girl! Then you went out with the girl and messed with a mongrel cur. Then you came back for more disgusting sex. Where the hell was your mission, Sergeant?”

  Van looked at the red-faced man with new appraisal. What filthy attitudes the oafs of this world had! Unable to see beauty, they saw obscenity. Yet his duty required that he try. “Sir—”

  “Enough of this nonsense!” the Colonel snapped. “We’re going to deprogram you, Sergeant. We’ll cure you of your delusions. Then maybe we’ll get at the truth.”

  “Lotsa luck, sir.”

  Then the orderlies took him away. They left him in a padded cell.

  Van didn’t care what the Colonel believed. He had to get out of here! The colony was going home at dawn, and it was dusk now. But how could he escape a padded cell? Nothing he said would impress the orderlies, who thought him crazy. And he might as well be, because there was no magic here.

  Or was there? He knew how science faded the farther into the magic world a person went, and magic faded similarly here. But this complex was not far from the village. Could there be a little magic here?

  It was mostly illusion, anyway. Illusion wouldn’t help; he needed the reality of a key to his cell. He didn’t even know how to craft an illusion.

  But he did know how to make a fire, maybe.

  He inspected the walls and floor of his cell. It was as he had thought: This was not a professional job, but an amateur one. This was a military base, not a prison or mental hospital. They had had to make do. They had tied mattresses in place, and the mattresses were stuffed with material which was surely flammable, because these were old “surplus” mattresses, the sort that no longer passed flammability standards. The military never threw away anything; it stored it for eventual use, no matter what it was.

  He worked at a seam until he was able to pull out some threads and open it. The job was tedious and time-consuming, because the mattress was tough and his fingernails were short. Eventually he got the stuffing, and made a little pile of it. Then he sat between his pile and the front bars, concealing it, and concentrated.

  Fire, fire, light my hearth.

  Nothing happened. Well, he hadn’t expected it to. But he had just begun. He needed to focus his hope and belief.

  Hours later, without success, he began to get depressed. If he didn’t get to the dragon by dawn, he would be stuck in this dreary world for the rest of his life!

  Oh spirit of my hearth, he prayed. Oh V, I beg you, give me strength for this magic!

  Then he tried again. This time a tiny curl of smoke rose from the stuffing. He was doing it!

  Buoyed by that, he intensified his concentration. The smoke thickened, then billowed, and then a tongue of flame showed. Victory!

  Thank you, V! he thought. You are truly watching out for me.

  He fed the flame with more stuffing, and then with the corner of a mattress itself. The stuff did not burn readily, but it smoldered well. The thick smoke was spreading out into the building. The fire was established; it no longer depended on magic. It would interfere with the science world just fine.

  In due course an alarm sounded. The soldier in charge of the wing dashed in. “Get a damn extinguisher, you idiot!” Van shouted. “Want me to burn to death?”

  Rattled, the soldier dashed out, to return a moment later with a hand extinguisher. He started to spray through the bars, but couldn’t get to the farther reaches of the cell. The smoke ballooned as the struck mattresses hissed.

  The man came up to the bars and poked the nozzle through, trying to score more perfectly. He was of course a fool, as Van had hoped. Van grabbed his arm and then his body, holding him through the bars. Sure enough, the cell key was on him. Van took it and let the man go.

  The soldier opened his mouth to shout. Van tossed a smoldering divot of mattress at him. While the man tried to get it off him, Van unlocked the gate and stepped out.

  Just in time! Several other men were arriving at the scene. Van hunched low and caught the first in the chest with his shoulder. The man grunted and went down. This unit certainly wasn’t combat-ready!

  He charged through the building, pausing only to duck out of sight as the commotion of the fire brought more men. He made it to the Alien Plot door and rammed into it. But the thing was locked, and he didn’t have the key for that. He couldn’t get out!

  Could he go out the front, circle the building, and climb the fence that enclosed the Plot? No, that was barbed and electrified; he’d never make it. He could get out front and lose himself in the woods, but that would do him no good; it was the plot he had to get into.

  Oh, V, what can I do? he thought.

  Forget V; his fire is down, another thought came. It was the dragon! How do doors open in the science world?

  They have keys to unlock them. But I don’t have the key to this door.

  Then get the key from the desk.

  In the desk? Could it be?

  He lunged to the desk across the room. Sure enough, the security-oblivious dopes had left it in the drawer! He grabbed it and ran back to the door. In a moment he had it open. Then, as an afterthought, he held the door open and bent the key sharply to the side until it broke off. He slammed the door shut. No one else would follow him for a while. Not with the broken key jammed in the lock.

  He ran out from the wall toward the village. Not that way, the dragon thought. Come to me.

  Van realized that much of the night had passed in his slow effort to build a fire. He had to get to the top of the hill before dawn.

  Lights flashed in the sky. Oh, no—the helicopter was coming after him! He had blocked the door, but the troops weren’t limited by that.

  Van plunged into the dark forest. Branches tore at his clothing and flesh, but the concealment was good. The copter would not be able to find him here.

  The copter did not try. It swung across toward the hill. Oh, no! It knew where he was headed, and would wait for him there. What was he to do now? He couldn’t just hide and wait; dawn would finish him.

  “Here.”

  Van knew that voice: It was the two-headed dog! “I’m not here to fight you!” he said, looking desperately for some weapon. The Project personnel had thrown away his stick, and if it had reverted to its sword form, it was still up on the hill.

  “No fight,” the dog said. “I’m going too. The dragon sent me. Follow me.”

  Of course! The dog would be better off in the magic world. But it wasn’t enough. “That machine will stop me. It’ll stop us all. We have to get it away from the hill.”

  “How can we do that?”

  “Another fire!” Van exclaimed. “Can we light one here?”

  “We can try,” the dog said dubiously. “It’s not my skill.”

  “I might do it, but it could take hours.” Then he thought of another ploy. “The village—can you get a coal from a hearth?”

  “In my mouth?”

  Obviously not. “Then lead me there, quickly. I’ll start a fire there.”

  “You may not have time to reach the dragon, if you do.”

  “But at least the others will escape!”

  I’ll do it, the dragon thought. I can pass people through only at the key site, but I can start afire anywhere. That village is no longer needed.

  “But the hearths!” Van protested. “The magic letters! We can’t burn them up!”

  “The people took down the letters,” the dog said. “They wouldn’t go home without them. The village is a husk.”

  “Then let’s go!” Van cried, relieved. He ran after the voice of the dog.

  Soon there was a light from the direction of the village. The dragon had started the fire. It expanded rapidly, illuminating the night sky.

  Sure enough, the helicopter left its perch on the hill and moved to cover the fire. The diversion was succeeding.

  Come to me, all of you! the dragon thought. We must complete this before the science thing returns.

  This distance wasn’t far, but it took Van another half hour, struggling cross-country in the dark. His body felt like a mass of welts. But he made it to the top of the hill, and saw the magnificent dragon standing there, glowing faintly.

  “Come on, Daddy!” a sweet little voice cried. It was Veeda.

  Van swept her up and stumbled on. He saw Violet waiting beside the dragon, lighted by the glow; she had not gone without him. No one else was there; it seemed they had already made it through.

  Then the helicopter returned.

  Van put forth his remaining energy and sprinted for the dragon. “Through! Through!” he cried at Violet.

  She turned—and the dragon swallowed her.

  Van almost stopped running. Then he realized that this was the way of it. The dragon was the portal. He plowed on. “Through!” he gasped at the dog.

  The dog ran ahead and leaped into the dragon’s open mouth. But now the light of the helicopter was spearing down. It illuminated the dragon—and lo, it was merely the mockup, lifeless and pointless.

  Then the light moved on. Now! the dragon thought.

  Van held Veeda out before him, and dived up and into the place where the mouth should be.

  He entered a gullet-tunnel, sliding on his belly, the child still held before him. His body seemed to turn inside out and do a cartwheel without changing its orientation.

  Then it stopped. He found himself standing in a pleasantly warm place. But where was it?

  “We’re here,” Veeda said. He had forgotten he was holding her! “Now I’m all-the-way real.”

  “Ah, there you are.” It was Violet’s voice, as she approached. She came to kiss him and take Veeda. “What was illusion there is reality here. I hope you like it, Van.”

  Now light was coming. They were standing at the top of the hill, watching the first gleam of dawn. All of the beautiful people were there. The tops of the great exotic trees were beginning to show, and the smells of strange spices wafted down. A breeze stirred, caressing them.

  Van knew that this was only the beginning of their job. They would have to teach the people of this world all that they knew of science and economics and politics, before this knowledge was lost, so that a more perfect defense against the brutal other world could be forged. So that no one would have to be hurt, and there would be no ravaging of nature here. Some of them might even have to go back, on spy missions, so that there would be no ugly surprises. It would not all be easy or fun; some might die on such missions.

  But meanwhile they would be part of this magic society, living in harmony with their world instead of exploiting and destroying it. For these people were not only physically perfect, they were emotionally perfect. Science, in the other world, gave man power, which he too frequently abused Magic, in this world, gave him understanding.

  “I like it, Violet,” he agreed.

  The world became gorgeous around them.

  BLACK VELVET

  Maggie Flinn

  I wore black velvet that day. I think I look best in black. A sheath of a dress, just kissing the top of my knees, with buttons straight down the back. With a black velvet coat, a trapeze coat the sales lady called it. It flared out from the shoulders, draping a wide circle just above the hem of the dress. I couldn’t wait to dance in it, his arms underneath the coat, finding the buttons, holding me. He said there’d be music at the wedding, to wear my dancing shoes. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  It started about two years ago. I’d met him a few times before, though. I remember the first time, working a convention. I’d been hired by one of the drug companies to do booth illustrations at various medical and surgical conventions. I’d been freelancing for a couple of years already, and this was one of my best contracts. I’d show up at eight at the advertising booth and draw life-size anatomically correct bits of bodies. An arthritic spine or an ulcerated stomach, sometimes a nice nude muscled torso or even a whole body. Drawing time would be one to two hours, three to five days for an adorable sum of money. The conventions were scheduled several years in advance. It was money and travel I could count on.

  I was used to being asked for the drawings. That was when I first found out how cheap doctors really are. Each morning there would always be a couple of them. They say something nice at first, flattering. How beautiful my work is. And then, “So, if I come by at the end of the day, do you suppose I could have one? I mean, if you’re going to throw them away that is.” Or some variation of the same theme. I used to be nice and refer them to the people running the booth. Sometimes I say, “Sure, if you’ll give me and my entire extended family free medical care for the rest of our natural born days.” That usually works. Plus, I like the facial expressions that follow. This convention I’d tried something new. I pretended to be deaf. It wasn’t quite as satisfying but it was definitely less aggravating on the whole. But this guy, he started to sign and I lost it. At first I giggled a bit, but he seemed so serious I broke down laughing.

  “lean hear you just fine, but I’m afraid I don’t understand sign language,” I admitted, turning away from the half-finished sketch of a bony pelvis.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but the drug rep said you were deaf, and I wanted to ask you about your work. I had a roommate years ago who taught me a little sign language. I thought it was worth a try,” he explained.

  “Sorry, it was just pretense,” I explained. “Fewer interruptions that way. The sooner I finish, the sooner I’m out of here.”

  He looked like he was about to apologize but didn’t. He just stood there looking down at me, then at the drawings, then back at me. I noticed his eyes the most, so blue they were almost violet. And his moustache, streaked with a touch of grey. He didn’t look old enough to have grey on his face.

  “So, what were you trying to ask, anyway?” I asked, not knowing what else to do with the silence as he kept looking.

  “How much?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How much do you charge for one of these? I’d love to have one, but I figure I probably can’t afford one.”

  I laughed.

  “That much, huh?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just you’re the first one who’s ever asked to buy one—at a conference that is. It seems everyone else wants me to give them away.”

  “You’re kidding,” he said. To his credit, he seemed genuinely surprised.

  “So, how much for the pelvis you’re doing?” he continued.

  We settled on a figure; I don’t remember how much but it was more than I expected and probably less than I could have gotten, or so he later insisted. And we made the arrangements. He said it’d be better if I got it framed for him. I was to call him when it was done, and he handed me his business card. Then he started.

  “Where have you been all my life?” he asked, widening his grin.

  “Philadelphia,” I said, reaching for more charcoal. I tried to concentrate on the sketch.

  “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means,” he said, taking my left hand in his.

  “When you work with charcoal, you get dirty hands,” I explained, deliberately misunderstanding him.

  “The ring. Tell me you’re not married.”

  “Sorry. I guess it means what you think. Eight years ago this July.”

  “Well, at least you have the decency to apologize for it. I finally meet the woman of my dreams. Talented, gorgeous, dirty hands and she’s married. Why, god, why?” he moaned to the ceiling, two stories above us.

  I was getting a bit nervous at this point. I’d received my fair share of compliments in my lifetime, but nothing like this. It seemed to me that people were staring, sideways of course, but staring. The drawings were supposed to be the attraction at the booth, not me. This was too sweet a job to risk. I smiled graciously, thanked him for the compliments, and told him I’d call when his picture was framed and ready for delivery. I explained how I really did have to get back to work, and surely he had to go to his meetings or the poster sessions or something. I knew I was mumbling, but he just bowed, smiled, and then blew me a kiss. I watched him walk away. The way his hips moved, I guess you’d say I watched him saunter away. From behind, they looked almost as good as his eyes. He was almost around the comer and out of view before I noticed the bulge at the base of his skull, just above his shirt collar.

 

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