With a Tangled Skien

  The others gazed at the Tapestry through her eyes.

  "There are so many threads, so intricately meshed!" Clotho said. "We could search for months and never find the right one!"

  "Needle in a haystack," Atropos agreed. "Woman, you poked me into a bigger picklement than I knew when you signed me up for Fate! I love it!"

  "Too bad we don't have a computer," Clotho said.

  "There's the Purgatory Computer," Niobe said. "It should store everything."

  "Well, get moving, gal!" Atropos said. "I hope you know how to work it, because I sure don't!"

  Niobe got moving. She entered the Purgatory front office and asked for time with the Computer. Computers had not been widely used during her term as Clotho, but Purgatory was evidently keeping up with the times. She had not had a lot of experience, but understood the general principle.

  Fortunately, this one was user-friendly. GREETINGS, FATE, its screen flashed when she turned it on. HOW MAY I INFORM YOU?

  She started to punch the keys, awkwardly. SIMPLY SPEAK TO ME, the screen advised.

  Oh. "I need to figure out a tangle," Niobe said. "I'm new at this, and—"

  IS THERE A KEY THREAD?

  "Yes. But I need to locate it—and there are millions to choose from."

  CONDUCT A GLOBAL SEARCH. WHAT ARE YOUR DEFINING CRITERIA?

  "Well, it's some person who will visit the United Nations complex in New York, on or before a particular date."

  PROVIDE THE DATE.

  Niobe provided it. The screen became a blur of lines, then cleared. THREE THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED, FIFTY-SIX THREADS REMAIN.

  Well, that was progress. "Can we get it down to a smaller number—such as half a dozen?"

  PROVIDE FURTHER DEFINITION.

  Niobe pondered. The other Aspects helped. Just how big is that contraption—a psychic stink bomb? Atropos thought.

  "The person will have to carry in a psychic stink bomb potent enough to foul the entire complex," Niobe said. "If you happen to know how big such a package would be—"

  The screen flickered. If Niobe hadn't known better, she would have suspected that the machine was laughing. A PSYCHIC STINK BOMB? The flickering became more pronounced.

  "Yes. Someone is going to leave it to detonate in the UN complex, and America will be expelled from the UN and the headquarters will move to Moscow."

  TO MOSCOW? Now jags of yellow showed at the edges of the screen, and wiggly music sounded in the background.

  "Now don't shake off your stand," Niobe cautioned it, annoyed. "All I need to know is—"

  With a seeming effort, the computer got itself under control. ONE THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED, FOURTEEN THREADS REMAIN.

  Still too many. Maybe motive, Clotho suggested. Does it know who might want to humiliate the UN?

  "Can you eliminate the threads of those who might have no reason to dislike the UN?"

  The screen flickered again, and the words STINK BOMB showed fleetingly, as if an illicit thought were passing through the machine's random access memory. Then it settled down again. SEVEN HUNDRED, EIGHTY-THREE THREADS REMAIN.

  Still way too high! Get practical, woman, Atropos thought. Ask how many have access to such a bomb. They can't be a dime a dozen.

  "Eliminate those who have no reasonable access to such a bomb," Niobe said.

  FOUR THREADS REMAIN.

  Jackpot! Atropos thought. One day to a thread! Never thought all my time running down vandals would pay off like this!

  Evidently grandmothers did learn useful skills in the ghetto! Atropos had been the one to recognize opportunity as a defining characteristic.

  "Please identify those four threads," Niobe said, relieved.

  Four names appeared on the screen. Niobe made a note of them. "Thank you. Computer," she said.

  YOU ARE WELCOME, FATE, the screen said. Then, just before it switched off, the words STINK BOMB flickered once more. The machine seemed unable to clear that concept from its banks. The devices of Purgatory seemed to have more personality than those of the mortal realm.

  You've got to admit that ol' Satan has a certain sense of humor, Atropos thought.

  "Yes, I'm sure he's laughing as he humiliates us," Niobe agreed shortly. Mirth was indeed a characteristic of the Father of Lies.

  Back at the Abode, they reviewed the four threads. "We may do better if we approach our own kind," Clotho suggested. "To ascertain whether they are guilty or innocent."

  "We don't want to snip any innocent threads," Atropos agreed.

  Niobe sighed. "True. We don't want to make a mistake. Very well, I will verify one of the white ones today." She looked at the two white threads. One was for an old man, the other for a middle-aged woman who—

  "Great balls of fire!" Atropos exclaimed. "She's a Satanist!"

  There was a prime suspect, certainly. "I don't want to go charging into a Satanist shrine!" Niobe said.

  "Let's leave that one till last," Clotho suggested.

  Niobe was glad to agree. She knew of the Satanists by reputation, but even as an immortal she did not want to get involved with them.

  The other white thread was ordinary. The old man was a retired carpet salesman named Henry Clogg. That was about as much as she could get in detail. Otherwise she could have solved the riddle of the stink bomber without leaving the Abode. That, of course, was what Satan was counting on: Fate's present inability to read the threads aptly. This much of Satan's strategy was working.

  She rode a thread down to the old man's home. It was midmorning here, and he was out working on his little garden.

  Niobe approached. "Hello, I'm looking for Mr. Clogg."

  "You got him, cutie," the man replied cheerfully.

  Niobe found herself blushing. It had been years since anyone had called her that. She wished she hadn't let herself run down so much in the last few years; she was a good thirty pounds overweight and sagged in places that hadn't existed in her youth. Now, as an Incarnation, she was fixed in this form; dieting would not improve her figure. Of course she could change her appearance by means of magic or physics, as Lisa had done, but she preferred to live with herself with neither spell nor girdle. However she might conceal it, the flab was still there. Clotho had an easier time of it; all she needed was minimal magic to shift hair color and length, skin shade, and slant of eyes; she would be an attractive young woman regardless.

  She focused on her mission: to discover whether this man was likely to be the bomber. "Mr. Clogg, I—"

  "Call me Henry, cutie. Just plain old Henry. I'm not anyone special, you know."

  Little did he know! She realized that he must call every woman cutie; it had no significance. It embarrassed her almost as much to blush for nothing as to blush for cause. "Um, Henry, I—I understand you are planning to visit the United Nations complex soon."

  He plunged his trowel into the earth so that the handle was left pointing up so that it wouldn't get lost, and climbed to his feet, brushing himself off. "Oh, you heard about that! Yeah, my son's treating me to a two-day tour, and I guess that's on the list. Me, I don't know much about it, and don't much care. But he figures the old man's got to do some things before he kicks off, so that's it. Don't want no ignorant louts in Hell, I guess."

  "Oh, you're not going to die soon. Henry!"

  The man grinned. "I know that and you know that, but my son don't know that. I wish he'd save his money; going to need it soon enough when I get surgery."

  "Surgery?"

  "Got this here tumor on my butt," he confided. Like some old people, he was not at all reticent to discuss intimate details of physiology with strangers. He seemed not to question her presence at all. "It's a nuisance, but it's benign. Just a pain in the rump." He laughed. "All those years I talked about that sort of thing, and now I've really got it! Good, deep cushion takes care of it, but my son, he worries, says I got to have it out, and that means surgery and the lab and all, which is a real pain in the assets, just to prove what I already know. My son needs that money for
his family; I don't want him throwing it away to doctors for what I don't need anyway." He squinted at her. "Do I know you?"

  "No," Niobe said. "I—"

  "Got an accent, don't you! You're Irish! You ever been by to kiss the Blarney Stone? Have a seat; you don't have any boil on your bottom, do you?"

  "Uh, no," Niobe said, taking the deck chair he offered. Henry, true to his word, had a chair with a fluffy cushion on it. He eased himself onto it, wincing. Evidently the tumor was more painful than he cared to admit.

  "Well, what can I do for you, cutie?" he asked.

  "It's about the United Nations," she said cautiously. "There's a rumor that there's going to be trouble, and—"

  "I told you, I don't care about the UN. Just a bunch of lefties soaking up our tax dollars, if you ask me. We'd be better off out of it, and tell them to get off our land and go to Russia or somewhere."

  He's a candidate, all right! Atropos thought.

  "But the United Nations is perhaps the major force for peace in the world," Niobe protested. "It represents a forum for dialogue between most of the nations, so that they can talk problems out instead of going to war. It would be disaster if that forum were eliminated."

  Henry shrugged. "As far as I can see, they mostly talk about how terrible America is. While they take our money."

  He's got a point, Atropos thought.

  "That's a necessary freedom of speech," Niobe said. "Words will not hurt this country, but bombs will. It is far better to—"

  He nodded. "That's right, isn't it! You know about bombs, over there! I can tell you, I wouldn't live in Ireland today if you paid me to!"

  "Well, it's really not like that," Niobe said defensively. "We don't see the violence, we only read about it in the newspapers. The same as you read about crime in the big cities. The countryside is as peaceful and pretty as any in the world."

  He nodded again. "You care about your land. I like that. But you know, if they have bombs going off over there, how come they aren't talking in the UN? I mean the IRS and—"

  "The IRA," Niobe said.

  "What's the difference? Over here they call it the IRS, and it does to your wallet what those bombers over there do to your buildings. I wish they'd all get lost!"

  She saw her opportunity. "You don't like bombers?"

  "I don't like bombers," he agreed emphatically. "Except for maybe the UN building. Maybe that could use a bomb!"

  Aha! Atropos thought.

  "You can't mean that. Henry!" Niobe protested. "If the UN were bombed, it could trigger another world war!"

  Henry considered. "Could be. And we can't afford another war, that's for sure. Couldn't afford the last one, when it comes to that. You know why inflation's so bad? Because we're still trying to pay off the last war! But still, it's tempting. If we could have maybe a false alarm, just to make the UN move out—"

  "Like a stink bomb?" Niobe asked.

  He laughed so hard he winced from the motion of his posterior. "Sure! That'd be great! Make that bad smell literal!"

  Niobe experienced mixed emotions. On the one hand she was relieved to have confirmation of his guilt, for it solved her problem of research. On the other, she hated to do what she knew she would have to do: have Atropos cut his thread short. Now that she had talked with Henry Clogg, she liked him; he was at least an honest man. It would be a shame to terminate his life so abruptly.

  It is not certain, Clotho warned. Many people will not do what they say.

  Niobe grasped at that straw. "Henry, if someone were to come and give you a stink bomb that you could sneak into the UN complex when you go there, so that after you leave it would mess up everything and get the United States of America expelled from—"

  "Hey, wait a minute!" he said. "Why would anyone do that? A bomb that strong would cost a lot of money!"

  "Yes. But let's say Satan hoped to promote discord in the world, so he brought you a—"

  Henry scowled. "Satan? Listen, cutie, I'm a God-fearing man, no matter what I say about going to Hell! I wouldn't touch the Devil with a ten-foot spell!"

  "Well, he wouldn't give you his identity, of course. He might come in the form of a businessman, offering to pay you enough money to cover your surgery and not be a burden to your son, if you will just take a package to the UN complex, hide it from the guards, and leave it there where it won't be noticed, in a closet or somewhere."

  He stared ahead, pondering. "Satan, eh? If he wants to be rid of the UN, I'm not sure I do!"

  "Well, as I said, he wouldn't say he was—"

  "What do I want, taking money from strangers?" he demanded righteously. "Lug a big suitcase around on the tour? I don't need any part of that!"

  "You mean you wouldn't stink-bomb the UN if you had the chance?"

  "Not now that I've thought about it! When you really get down to it, stink bombs are kid stuff, not that funny. And I sure wouldn't do it for tainted money! If the Devil wants it done, let him get someone else to do his dirty work! Me, I want to go to Heaven when I kick off, even if I won't find most of my friends there."

  Niobe felt mixed relief and regret again, this time reversed. Henry Clogg was not the one after all, and she was glad she had not decided to cut the thread of an innocent man. But it meant they would have to interview the others, and that the job had not yet been done.

  "Say—you want some sherry?" Henry asked.

  "Well, no, I—"

  "I don't get much company these days," he said. "It'll be good to share it. My wife, bless her soul, she liked it. It's been three years now—" His face turned sad.

  "I'll have some sherry," Niobe agreed.

  He eased himself to his feet and went indoors to fetch the bottle and glasses. He's a good ol' geezer, Atropos thought approvingly. Reminds me some of my old man, before he died, except mine liked moonshine.

  "I normally don't drink—" Niobe murmured.

  Sherry isn't drinking, woman! Atropos thought firmly. It's socializing.

  I don't think the other interviews will be this easy, Clotho thought.

  Niobe just nodded.

  Henry returned with the sherry. Niobe sipped the golden wine, satisfied for the moment to relax. It was nice being company, however extemporaneously. This was the way she should have been with Cedric, instead of drinking too much. Alcohol was an evil only when abused—as with so many pleasures.

  "My son's already bought me a ticket for the carpet to New York," Henry remarked. "That gripes me some. See, I was a carpet salesman, when I worked. We had some pretty fancy models, too. You know how those automobile companies always say a carpet's no good in the rain? Don't you believe it! We have models with canopies; no way you'd get wet on one of those. Could even close it in tight and pressurize the cabin for high flying. And magic doesn't pollute the air the way gasoline does."

  She listened, and nodded agreement. She was sorry when the sherry was finished, and she had to go.

  "Come again sometime!" Henry told her cheerfully.

  "I will," she promised. She intended to do that, when she had time free.

  They returned to the Abode and considered. "One down, three to go," Atropos said. "Who do we tackle next?"

  "Well, we have a young black woman, an Oriental martial artist, and the Satanist."

  "Let's take care of the easy one first," Atropos said. "That's mine—the black girl."

  "But let's rest first," Clotho said. "We want to be fresh so we don't make mistakes."

  The others agreed. Also, there were some routine threads to spin, place, and cut; there was no point in letting the job get behind.

  They worked on the threads; then all three slept.

  Next morning. New York area time, Atropos assumed the body and made her first solo trip along the thread down to the realm of the mortals. The girl was at home, flirting with two boys. She was about fifteen, the boys older.

  Atropos burst in upon them like a scourge from Purgatory. "What's these boys doing here, girl?" she demanded, glaring about. The gir
l looked stricken, and the boys abashed. "You're not 'sposed to have company at home alone, you know that! If your grandmaw knew—"

  "Grandma's dead," the girl said defensively.

  "She'd roll over twice in her grave!" Atropos continued without pause. "And if your maw knew—"

  The girl gave a little squeal of terror.

  "She'd have your li'l black hide hung out on the line to cool!" Atropos said, fixing her with a deadly stare.

  "Ain't that right, girl!"

  The girl nodded, unwillingly. Atropos whirled on the boys. "Now scat!" She took a menacing step toward them. The two banged into each other in their haste to exit. "And if I see you two out here again, I'll take the cane to you myself!" she called after their fleeing forms.

  How did you know they weren't supposed to be here? Niobe thought. We didn't read that in the thread!

  "I know boys," Atropos muttered. "And I know girls. Moment I saw their faces, I knew what they were up to." She smiled privately. "Same thing I was up to, at that age. Made me a grandma sooner than I needed."

  She turned back to the girl, who was trying to recover her poise. "Who are you?" the girl demanded. "You ain't my ma! You can't tell me what to do!"

  "I'm a friend of your grandmaw, girl," Atropos said. "She can't rest easy till she knows you're going straight, so I'm checking you now. I can tell you, I don't much like what I'm seeing! You going hog-wild here—why aren't you in school?"

  "I'm in second shift!" the girl protested. "It don't start for two hours."

  Atropos rolled her eyes skyward. "Lord, I don't know if I can do the job in two hours." Then she fixed on the girl again. "You're in big trouble, child!"

  "Listen, old woman, you got no business coming in here like you owned the place! I can do anything I want. Leave me alone!"

  Atnapos sighed. "I see we're going to have to do it the hard way. I'm going to have to enchant you."

  "You don't have no magic!" the girl said. "You can't—"