Gods of Riverworld: The Fifth Book of the Riverworld Series

  Gull was now on his bare knees, looking upward, his hands together in a praying position, his mouth moving. Netley looked like a cornered animal, snarling, crouching, ready to spring at some unknown danger. The three women were looking at him with wide-open eyes. He could read both fear and hope in their faces, fear that he might be some horrible creature, hope that he might be their savior.

  He got out of the chair and, smiling, approached them slowly. When he was five feet from them, he stopped. He raised his hand and said, "There's nothing to worry about. Quite the contrary. If you will please stop babbling and follow me, I'll tell you what's happened to you. And I'll make you comfortable. My name, by the way, is Richard Francis Burton. No need to introduce yourselves. I know who you are."

  He went to an open door, possibly that from which they had just exited. They started toward him just as he heard a faint roaring. Burton recognized the sound of the motorcycle motor. Instead of seating them as he had planned, he stood by the doorway. The others huddled behind him. Presently, the corridor throbbed with noise, and the cycle leaned around the corner, straightened, and shot by them. The black rider waved a gauntleted hand. "How you like that, motherfucker?"

  Burton turned and saw that they were puzzled and even more scared. No wonder. None of them had ever seen a motorcycle before, any internal combustion machine, in fact. Neither had he when he died, but he had become familiar with them through his viewing of films and reading of books since he had come to the tower.

  "I'll explain that later," he said. He told them to sit down, and they did so, but all tried to speak to him at once.

  He said, "I know you have many questions, but please restrain them. We'll get them in a while. First, though, you might like a drink."

  No, first, he would get kilts, bras, and blankets from the converter. For the moment, they were too shocked to be concerned about their nudity. Anyway, after their exposure to naked people on the Riverbanks, they would not be overly anxious about it. They were glad to get the clothing and blankets, and they murmured their thanks before putting them on. Though Netley had lost his wild look, he still seemed suspicious of Burton.

  "You must need a drink," he said. "What would you like?"

  None seemed to have taken an abstainer's vow. Netley, Stride, and Kelly wanted gin straight. Gull ordered Scotch with water; Annie Crook, wine. After Burton had served them, he said, "Your stomachs'll be empty, but I imagine that you're not hungry just now. When you are, you may have anything and as much as you like. Unlike your situation on The River, you don't have to take what the grail delivers."

  They downed their liquor so swiftly that Burton gave them another round. They now looked less pale and disturbed and seemed eager to listen to him.

  Gull spoke with a rich baritone. "You are not by any chance Sir Richard Burton, the famous African explorer and linguist?"

  "At your service."

  "By God, I thought so. You look like him, younger of course. I attended several of your lectures at the Anthropological Society."

  "I remember," Burton said.

  Gull waved the hand that held the cut-quartz goblet, spilling some Scotch. "But . . . all this . . . what . . .?"

  "All in good time."

  Gull and Netley would know each other, of course, even though it had been more than forty years since they had seen each other. Burton doubted that the two recognized the three women. Gull had seen Crook for a brief time when he certified her insane, and she was not now in Victorian garments and had cut her dark hair short. (She did resemble somewhat Princess Alexandra, Eddy's mother, which might be why Eddy, who had obvious Oedipal tendencies, had failed in love with her.) John Netley had seen Annie Elizabeth Crook, Prince Eddy's lover, many times, but if he knew her now he certainly was not acting as if he did. Perhaps he did not want to acknowledge it. If she did not know him, so much the better. On the other hand, why had Crook not recognized him? His moustache was missing, but even so . . . Perhaps the shock and the lack of Victorian clothes and the long time since their last encounter accounted for her lack of memory.

  As for Kelly, she had been picked up by Sickert and Gull on a dark street, taken into a dark coach, and given drugged liquor. Stride had also seen Netley and Gull in dim surroundings and that briefly.

  Burton did not know if he should first explain about the tower and the method of getting them here or should introduce them. He relished their reaction when they realized in whose company they were. But he was afraid that the resulting furor would put off the explanation for a long time. On the other hand, the explanation was going to take a long time, and during that they might come to recognize each other.

  He decided, and he said, "First, you should know each other."

  "That's not needed, dearie, for Annie and me!" Kelly said. "We have long been friends. And Liz and I are old friends."

  "Even so," Burton said, grinning, "it's only polite, and the men should make your acquaintance."

  He paused — oh, how he enjoyed this! — and he said, "Elizabeth Stride, Mary Jane Kelly, and Annie Elizabeth Crook, meet Sir William Gull and John Netley!"

  What followed was all he had hoped for. Gull paled, and the edge of his goblet, just touching his lip, failed to dip. He never did get to finish his drink. Netley also paled, and, after a moment of rigidity, he leaped up and backed away, his eyes fixed on the women.

  Annie rose quickly from her chair and said, "Now I know you! You!" She pointed a shaking finger at Gull, "You're the crooked doctor that said I was crazy! And you," she moved the finger to spear Netley, "you took my Eddy away when the police came."

  "He also tried to kill your daughter twice," Burton said. "And, Mrs. Stride and Mrs. Kelly, this man," he indicated Gull, "is the man who killed you. With the help of that man."

  "God help me," Gull said, getting down on his knees. "God help me and forgive me as I hope that you will."

  "That was a long time ago," Netley said, snarling. "What difference does it make now? You're all alive and well now, right, so what real harm was done?"

  "The thing is," Burton said, "Stride and Kelly know that you killed them, but during their many years on The River, they never ran across anyone who spoke about the Jack the Ripper murders. So they —"

  "He!" Kelly said, pointing at Gull. "He's Jack the Ripper?"

  "There is no such, that is, Jack was not one but three men working together. However, he, Gull, wrote the letters that made the name famous, and he masterminded the entire business. What you, Kelly, don't know is what he did to you after he killed you. You remember, Kelly, how Catherine Eddowes was mutilated? That was nothing compared to the butchery Gull did on you. Shall I describe it?"

  Gull rose to his feet and cried, "No! No! Even now, though I've made my peace with God, I can't forget what I did!"

  "What about me?" Stride said. "What happened to me?"

  "Your throat was cut, that's all. Gull didn't have time to carry out his ritual on you."

  "That's all!" Stride screeched. "That's all! Isn't that enough!"

  Screaming, she ran at Gull with her hands out, fingers curled.

  He did not run, though he flinched when she sank her fingernails into his face. Netley had stepped forward as if to help Gull, then he moved away after a slight hesitation.

  Burton pulled the screaming woman away. Gull felt his bleeding cheeks but said nothing.

  "I'd like to cut his guts out and hold them up before his dying eyes," Kelly said. She went to Stride, put her arms around her shoulders, and led the sobbing woman away.

  "That's enough of drama, retribution and reproach," Burton said. "What you do after you're on your own is your business, unless it involves those outside this matter. For the time being, you will behave decently and listen carefully to me. You need an education, and though it inconveniences me to instruct you, I must do so. I can't just leave you to find things out for yourself."

  First, he had them describe their appearance in the converter. It had taken place in the huge cube in a
corner of this very room. They had awakened from death in the converter, and, after a few moments of confusion, had opened the door and gone into this room. They had explored the other rooms, then gone into the corridor. And Burton had come around the corner in his flying chair.

  "Then you saw no one else?" he said.

  They replied that they had not.

  Burton took Gull into the bathroom of the next room and found, as he had expected, a bottle with a liquid to apply to the scratches on his face. This stopped the bleeding and would, within twenty-four hours, heal the wounds.

  He asked them if they were hungry. Netley and the women said that they were; Gull shook his head. Burton got their orders and transmitted them to the converter. After they were seated and eating from little tables before them, Burton launched into the very long exposition of the Riverworld, of his and others' tribulations in getting to the tower, and what had happened since. By the time he was through, he had drunk two tall goblets of Scotch, and they were deep into their own cups.

  "So you see," he said, "just what the situation is. I know you have a thousand questions, and it will take you some time to learn how to use the Computer. Meanwhile, I suggest that you settle down for the night — I can get sleeping pills for you if you wish — and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll also introduce you to my eight companions then. Perhaps not personally but via the wall-screens."

  Mary Kelly said, slurring, "How do we know that those two bastards won't try to murder us again while we sleep?"

  "I would not even dream of doing such a deed!" Gull said. "I have changed; I am not what I was! Believe me, ladies, I deeply regret my crimes, and I have tried — am trying — to live a Christian life, a truly Christian life. I would not only not harm you, I would defend you against anyone who tried to do so."

  "Fine words," Liz Stride said scornfully.

  "I mean them, madam, I truly do!"

  "I think he's sincere," Burton said. "In any event, I suggest that you three women sleep in an apartment room separate from that of the men. I will give you a codeword that will prevent anyone from coming through your door except myself and you three."

  After he had shown them how to get food and drink from their converters and how to call him, he left them. Instead of going on to his world, he returned to his apartment. Since he would have to show them the ropes tomorrow morning, he should be close to them.

  On the way back, he considered the question of who had resurrected the five. Whoever it was had a vicious sense of irony. But whom could it be? Only Frigate and Nur knew about his investigations of the Ripper, and neither would have brought the five here. Who then? Loga and the Mongolian Agent were dead. Was there . . . he did not even like to approach the thought . . . another unknown, another Snark?

  Burton had just gotten into bed when a screen appeared on the wall. Star Spoon's distraught face was in it.

  Speaking Esperanto rapidly, tears flowing, she asked Burton if she could come to his apartment.

  "Why?"

  "I am tired of sharing Po with five other women, though he gives very little time to any of us. He's too busy drinking with his cronies or studying. Besides . . . I do not desire his embraces."

  Burton did not have to ask her whose embraces she did desire.

  "Does Po know you're calling me?"

  "Yes. I told him an hour ago. He raved and ranted and then . . ."

  "He didn't beat you?"

  "No, he does not beat women, I'll say that for him. Not physically, anyway."

  "And then?"

  "Then? Oh! Yes, he smiled and blessed me and said he hoped I'd be happy with you. He spoiled it, though, by saying that he doubted that I would."

  Burton got out of bed and put on a towel-kilt. "I'd like to speak with him."

  Her black eyes widened. "Why? Do you think I'm lying?"

  "No, of course not. It's just that I don't want him to think I'm afraid to face him. I also want to make sure that he doesn't think I was sneaking around behind his back."

  "Oh, he doesn't think that. I told him that you were not in the least aware I desired you."

  "That's a lie," Burton said, but he did not reproach her. There were lies and there were lies, and this was in the "white" category. Besides, who was he to rebuke anyone for falsehood?

  "I'll speak to him if he's awake," Burton said.

  "No, he's awake, but he won't want to be disturbed. He's with a woman. A woman he just resurrected. He said she'll replace me. Poor devil."

  "Perhaps," Burton said. "But for the time being she'll be very grateful he rescued her from the dead."

  He was not in love with the Chinese woman. However, he did not consider love to be a prerequisite for a good bond between man and woman. He had certainly been in love with Alice, and look at what had happened to them.

  "Come on over," Burton said. "I'll tell the Computer to let you in."

  Star Spoon quit weeping and snuffling and smiled like the sun at dawn.

  "Just as soon as I repair my makeup and get my belongings together. You do want me, don't you?"

  "If I didn't, I would say so," Burton said.

  He did not get to sleep until five in the morning.

  24

  * * *

  Burton called the three women, in their room, and the two men, who had slept in separate rooms. After bidding them good morning, he told them that he had instructed the Computer to teach them how to operate it. He also invited them to the weekly meeting of the eight — more now — that evening.

  "After that, you're on your own. I will, however, call you now and then or even drop in on you, if I'm welcome. And you may call me if you have some problem."

  They did not like what he said. Apparently, they felt that he should devote all his time to making sure that they were adjusted. But they could do nothing about it.

  He and Star Spoon had breakfast, eggs au beurre noir, blue-berry muffins, and figs with cream. They then flew to his little world, Theleme, named after the mythical state in Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel. Its motto was, in the old Frenchman's work, Do What You Will. Burton's motto was: Do What Burton Wills. The world might, however, have been better called Baghdad- in- the- Tower. Burton had had erected in its center a small town and castle that looked like a romanticist's or Hollywood producer's conception of a place out of The Thousand Nights and One. A river ran from the west end of the vast chamber, circled the city, and snaked eastward, disappearing in the sands of the desert not far from the entrance. Outside the city roamed several lions and leopards and many gazelles, antelopes, ostriches, and other desert creatures. Hippopotami and crocodiles swam in the river, and the patches of jungle were alive with monkeys, civet cats and birds.

  As of the moment, Theleme was populated only by himself and Star Spoon. He planned to bring in some suitable people later, though he was in no hurry.

  At 8:00 P.M., he and Star Spoon went to the party, though not without incident. The black motorcycle rider, this time with a black woman riding behind him, roared below them. The man waved a hand at them but his greeting was more courteous. "Hey, Burton, what's happening?" A few seconds later, they traveled over a large pig trotting along, its hooves clicking.

  "My God," Burton said. "Now what?"

  "I don't know," Star Spoon said. "I talked to Aphra this afternoon, and she said she's running into people she never saw before. Most of them are from Tom Turpin's world. At least, she thinks so, since they're black. But she flew by a dozen people that looked like gypsies."

  "Gypsies? Who'd resurrect them?"

  They entered Nur's apartment, which was noisy with chatter and laughter. Alice was there, dressed in the 1920s flapper's clothes that she liked so much. She smiled slightly at him but made no effort then or later to talk to him. He had expected to surprise everybody by showing up with the Chinese woman. Apparently, however, Li Po had told them about her. If he was jealous, he did not show it. He was realist enough to know that a display of it would not only be useless but also make him lose fac
e. Besides, he was not suffering from lack of company or sex. He had by now resurrected forty men and forty-seven women, all of whom he had known on Earth. Seven of the women were his, one for each day of the week. Tonight, however, he had brought only one.

  "They take turns going with me to these meetings," he told Burton.

  "Eventually, they're going to tire of this sharing and resurrect men for themselves," Burton said. "What do you plan to do then?"

  "Nothing," Li Po said, smiling. "I am not a tyrant. When that happens, I will raise others to replace them. It is just as well that does happen, since, sooner or later, I will tire of them or, difficult as it is to conceive, they may tire of me."

  Burton could visualize the people-burgeoning of Li Po's world. When the saturation point was reached, the excess would have to live in the apartments. The same thing was happening in Turpin's world.

  "Man, I don't know," Turpin said, shaking his head. "It all started out with the people I brought in, and then it got out of hand. They resurrected people, and those raised people, and now those're resurrecting like it was going out of style."

  Burton told him about the black motorcyclist. Turpin grinned and said, "That's Bill Williams. I don't know who in hell brought him here. I could find out, but what difference would it make? He isn't an American black, you know. He's Russian."

  "Russian?"

  "Yeah. He's got quite a story to tell. You ought to talk to him sometime."

  Burton had observed Gull, Netley, Crook, Stride, and Kelly when he entered. They were standing in two corners, the men in one, the women in another, and they were obviously not meshing with the others. Burton took them around the room to introduce them. It seemed, however, that Frigate had already spread the news about them. This had aroused curiosity about the newcomers, but many were uneasy with Netley and Gull. Anyone would be in the company of the two-thirds of the unholy trinity forming "Jack the Ripper." So affected was Netley by this that he left early. Burton went into the hall off the main room, where he was unobserved, and ordered the Computer to keep track of him.