Free Memoranda by Jeffrey Ford Page A

Misrix, putting his hand on my shoulder.
    â€œBut that could take forever.”
    â€œIn the world of the memory palace time runs at a different pace. Seconds here are minutes there,” he said.
    â€œWhat did you see when you were there?” I asked.
    â€œA small island that floats among the clouds a mile above a silver ocean of liquid mercury.”
    â€œHe’s really basting the shank with this one,” I said.
    â€œHe’s limited only by the boundaries of his imagination,” said the demon. “On the island there is a tower called the Panopticon. It sits at the center of everything and from a series of portals issues a flying female head with streaming hair and bright, searching eyes. It moves through the village at the base of the tower, watching the lives of the inhabitants. When I was there, I was chased by it. It bit my back and neck.”
    â€œVery appealing,” I said.
    â€œFor the antidote, I would guess you would have to get inside the tower, but there is no telling where he has hidden it.”
    â€œIt could be an ant I unknowingly step on while hurrying after a clue,” I said.
    â€œPossibly,” he said. “But remember, Father has to be able to readily find the object in order for the memory system to be worth his while. Now, would you like to take a journey?”
    â€œI’d thought I already had,” I said.
    â€œYou must go farther.”
    Given I was able to elude the werewolves, I could return empty-handed to a sleeping Wenau, or I could enter into a world whose atomic structure was Below and grope for the antidote. I told Misrix that I needed to take a short walk in order to clear my head. He said that he would need a few minutes to get two chairs set up.
    I left Below’s room and walked down the hallway. My thoughts were still adrift, and I kept returning to the image of the demon standing beside the remains of the false paradise. There was only one thing I could do to increase my chances. When I came to Misrix’s door, I found it open and went in.
    As I passed countless rows of objects in the Museum of the Ruins, memories went off behind my eyes like strings of firecrackers. Misrix had told me that all of his artifacts should add up to a love story, but I was beginning to think he had missed the mark. Instead, I foresaw peril and strangeness without resolution. For that reason, I took the white fruit.
    It felt almost like a ball of smooth flesh in my hand. The aroma of Paradise swirled around me, and my mouth began to water. I tried to think noble thoughts, knowing the fruit’s disposition to reward and punish. The taste was sweet dripping energy, and I felt it in my blood. I couldn’t stop eating it. The salad Misrix had served me had left me hungry, but now I felt as if I would never have to eat again. Upon taking the last bite, I saw the mental image of my neighbors in Wenau before it flapped once and folded into a green veil as the demon’s hand touched down upon my shoulder.
    â€œMisrix,” I said, turning quickly.
    â€œWhat have you done, Cley?”
    I held the core of the fruit out to him, and said, “You see, the story isn’t over yet.”
    He shook his head sadly and took the core out of my hand. “I have the chairs ready,” he said, bringing the remains of the fruit to his nose. He breathed deeply.
    â€œ That’s Paradise,” I said.
    Back in Below’s room, we sat in our respective chairs. Misrix had been kind enough to also bring me a foot bench, so that I would be comfortable. The demon sat next to Below, within arm’s reach of the Master’s head. I sat last in line, in the shadows, waiting to feel the effects of the fruit of paradise. There was no sensation except fear.
    â€œSit back and close your eyes, Cley,” he said.
    I took a last look at him in the wavering candlelight, and he smiled at me, but this did little to relieve the doubt I was feeling. I finally