Fantasy: The Best of 2001 by Robert Silverberg

Author:Robert Silverberg [Robert Silverberg and Karen Haber]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: eISBN 1-59176-065-8
Publisher: ibooks, Inc.

On regaining consciousness Chemayev realized he was back in the garden. Considering the cau­tionary flavor of his previous experience and the circular pattern governing the evening, he had little doubt that March would soon put in an appearance, but nevertheless he found the bitter smell of Yuri’s vegeta­tion and the sound of water spurting from the broken fountain and the silver bar of light floating overhead solid and comforting by contrast to the emptiness through which he had passed. Surprised to find that he was still holding the nine-millimeter pistol, he tucked it into his waist and headed for the fountain, pushing aside black branches clustered with white leaves bearing scat­ters of inky characters—he wondered now if these might not be fragments of the formula that had made Yuri’s transformation possible.

Once he reached the edge of the cobblestone circle he stationed himself behind some bushes, a position from which he had a clear view of the fountain. The abstracted calm that had eased his passage from the cor­ridor to the garden remained strong in him, and waiting went easily at first. With its black serene sky, the silver bar in place of a sun, the ruined fountain and eccentric forest, the place had a Mexican Twilight Zone ambi­ence—like an old B-movie set awaiting its Dramatis Per­sonae—that appealed to him. But as the minutes wore on his anxiety resurfaced. He chastised himself for not having given Yuri the money. The moment had been brief, the circumstances problematic. But everything he’d worked for had been on the line. He should have been up to it. Of course paying the money might have been a fruitless gesture. God only knew what was going on. It was apparent that he was being manipulated. Equally apparent that Polutin had a hand in things—hadn’t he implied that he’d done business with Yuri? Perhaps he’d managed to sour the deal Chemayev had negotiated. One way or another, he’d just have to find another way to get the money to Yuri.

He became so enmeshed in worry he nearly failed to notice March on the opposite side of the circle, half-hidden in the bushes. Not shirtless as before. Wearing his leather trenchcoat. Chemayev aimed his pistol at him, but let the barrel drop. Killing him seemed the saf­est course, but he had no clue what the repercussions might be. It might be wise to feel things out. Risky, perhaps. But the pistol boosted his confidence. He tucked it back into the waist of his trousers, concealing it beneath his jacket, and stepped out onto the cobblestones.

“March!” he called.

March’s head snapped toward him. “Viktor! Christ, what’re you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Just taking a stroll. What are you doing here?” As he spoke Chemayev recognized that their dialogue was roughly the mirror image of what they had said to one another on his previous adventure in the garden. He didn’t know whether to take this for a good or a bad omen.

“I’m not sure how to answer that.” March edged forward.

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