On a Pale Horse (2 page)

“I don’t know. If it’s like the last one—”

“This is romance! How can you lose?”

Zane sighed and took the stone. It was certainly pretty and twice the size of the Deathstone, and its theoretical power intrigued him strongly. A really good romance—what more could a man ask for?

As the ring touched his hand, the stone brightened, turning a lighter blue, becoming translucent. Again his mind faded to memory. Love—it was a second leg of his guilt. There had been a woman, nice enough, pretty enough, and she had wanted to marry him. But she had
lacked the one thing he had to have. He had liked her, perhaps loved her, and she had certainly loved him—too much.

“The perfect romance—within the hour!” the proprietor exclaimed, seeming genuinely amazed. His voice snapped Zane out of his reverie. “You are a remarkably fortunate man, sir! I have never seen the Lovestone so bright! So clearly directional!”

The perfect romance. He had, really, had that before. How could the stone know his particular needs? He returned it to the proprietor. “I can’t afford it.”

“You can’t afford love within the hour?” the man affected astonishment.

“Romance won’t pay my rent.”

The proprietor nodded with sudden understanding. Something unscrupulous passed fleetingly through his expression. “So it is finance you lack!”

Zane took a deep breath. “Yes. I suppose I’ve been wasting my time here—and yours.” He turned to go.

The proprietor grabbed his arm, in his eagerness forgetting his savoir-faire. “Wait, sir! I do have a stone for you!”

“How can I pay for it?” Zane demanded sourly.

“You can pay for it, sir!”

Zane shrugged him off. “You know why the Deathstone turned black for me? Because I’ll soon starve to death! I have no money. I don’t know why I came in here; it was a completely irrational act. I can’t afford the least of your magic gems. I apologize for deceiving you.”

“On the contrary, sir! I have a Salestone set above my door; it glowed when you entered. You will purchase something here!” He snatched a stone from the display. “This is the one you want.”

“Don’t you understand? I’m broke!”

“This is a Wealthstone!”

Zane paused. “A what?”

The proprietor held it out. “It brings money! Try it!”

“But—” Zane’s protest was cut off by the thrust of the stone into his hand. This one was not set into a ring. It was an enormous star sapphire, well over a hundred carats, but of very poor quality. The color varied from cloudy
gray to muddy brown, and there were concentric rings crossing the material and several black inclusions or imperfections. But the star was impressive; its six rays reached right around the polished hemisphere, and their intersection floated just above the surface. Zane blinked, but the effect remained; the star was not
in
, but
above
the stone. There was magic here, certainly!

“Not pretty, I admit, but my stones aren’t marketed primarily for their appearance,” the proprietor said. “They are valued for their magic. This is as potent a spellstone as the others, but of a different nature. This is the one you want. It is virtually priceless.”

“I keep trying to tell you! I can’t—”

“Priceless, I said. You can not purchase this jewel for money.”

“Not if it generates wealth!” Zane agreed, intrigued.

“That’s right, sir. It produces wealth—all you’ll ever need. Potentially thousands of dollars at a time.”

“But this is paradox again! How can you afford to sell such a stone? You should keep it for yourself!”

The proprietor frowned. “I confess the temptation. But there would be a prohibitive penalty. If I were to use any of these fine spellstones myself, none of the other stones would work for me. Not reliably. Their enchantments tend to cancel one another out. So I use very little of the magic, apart from the Salestone, which actually facilitates business. I earn my living on commissions, using no other magic gems myself.”

Zane considered. The man could be concealing the fact that his stones were enchanted by black magic, helping to damn the person who used them. Drug dealers often did not use the drugs themselves, lest they be destroyed by their own product, and black magic was more insidious than drugs. Still, it was an answer. There were sellers, and there were users. “Then, what price?”

“Note the clarity of the star,” the proprietor said. “When you invoke the magic, the star floats right off the stone and does not return until the spell is complete. That way you know exactly when it is operating.”

This person was being evasive. “Assuming that it works,” Zane said.

“A demonstration!” the proprietor said, sensing a sale that would hold. “Gaze on the Wealthstone and concentrate on money. That is all it takes to invoke it.”

Zane held the stone and looked and concentrated. In a moment the star floated right off the stone, its rays dangling like legs, and cruised slowly through the air. It was working!

Then Zane’s awareness faded to a dismal memory—the gaming table, compulsive gambling, the losses mounting—he had been such a fool with money! No wonder he was broke! If only it had stopped there …

The star dropped low, going toward Zane’s foot. He stepped back, but it followed as if pursuing him. “Watch wherever it leads,” the proprietor said.

“Suppose it leads me to someone else’s wallet? To a bank vault?”

“No, it only discovers legitimate, available wealth. Never anything illegal. That’s part of the spell. There are laws about enchantment, after all. The Federal Bureau of Enchantment investigates complaints about abuse.”

“Complaints about the practice of black magic?” Zane asked alertly.

The proprietor affected shock. “Sir, I would not handle black magic! All my spells are genuine white magic.”

“Black magic knows no law except its own,” Zane muttered.

“White magic!” the proprietor insisted. “My wares are certified genuine white.”

But such certificates, Zane knew, were only as good as the person who made them. White magic was always honest, for it stemmed from God, but black magic often masqueraded as white. Naturally Satan, the Father of Lies, sought to deceive people about his wares. It was hard for an amateur to distinguish reliably between magics. Of course, he could have this stone separately appraised, and the appraisal would include a determination of its magical status—but that would be expensive, and he would have to buy it first. If the verdict turned out negative, he would still be stuck.

The star hovered at Zane’s shoe. “Lift your foot, sir,”
the proprietor suggested. Zane raised his foot, and the star slipped under like a scurrying insect.

Surprised, Zane angled his foot so he could see the worn sole. There was a penny stuck to it. The star had settled on this, clasping it.

Zane pried the penny off. Immediately the star returned to the big sapphire.

The spell had worked. The star had led him to money no one had known about. Not a lot of it, but of course there would not be much loose change in a shop like this. It was the principle that counted, not the particular amount.

The horizons opened out before him. A Wealthstone—what would that do for his situation? Money coming in, abating his debts, making him comfortable, and maybe more than comfortable. It could save him from starvation and bring romance, for that was easy for a rich man to come by. To be free at last of the burden of poverty!

“How much?” he asked, afraid of the answer. “I know the price isn’t money.”

The proprietor smiled, at last assured of his sale. “No, not money, of course. Something of equivalent value.”

Zane had a suspicion he wouldn’t like this. But he did want the Wealthstone. The prospects were dazzling! He hardly cared that it might be an illicit black-magic item. Who else would know? “What equivalent value?”

“Romance.”

“What?”

The man licked his lips, showing an unprofessional nervousness. “The Lovestone showed you have romance commencing within the hour.”

“But I’m not buying the Lovestone. I won’t be zeroing in on that romance.”

“But someone else could.”

Zane looked at him tolerantly, recognizing the man’s lust for an ideal woman. “You own the stone. You could do it. You don’t need anything from me.”

“I do need you,” the proprietor explained, speaking rapidly. “I told you I don’t use the stones myself. It would ruin my business if I did. But even if I did—in my own near future there is no romance. I am well established in my profession and I have a long life ahead, but my social
life is strictly indifferent. I would give a great deal to have a meaningful relationship with a good woman. One who was not a gold digger or desperate. One I could trust. A woman such as the one you are fated to encounter—were fated, had you purchased the Lovestone and used it properly.”

“You claim you have not used the gems yourself?” Zane asked skeptically. “You seem to know a lot about your own future.”

“There are other avenues of information besides my gems,” the proprietor said, a trifle stiffly. “I have had horoscopes and divinations and readings of many types. All show I am destined for success in business, not in love.”

“Then how can my romance do you any good? You already know you can’t have it.”

“On the contrary! I can’t have
my
romance, but I can have
yours
—if you permit it. In that manner I can bypass this one aspect of my fate. The woman is destined for you, but would settle for me. I can tell by the way the stone reacted for you that she would do for any number of men, of whom I am one. Her appeal is very broad. It would not be as good for me as for you, since I am not reduced to your straits, but it remains highly worthwhile. Even a match not quite made in Heaven can be excellent.”

“It’s your stone,” Zane said stubbornly. “You can zero in on her yourself. So maybe that will ruin the rest of your business; if you want romance that badly, it should be worth it to you.” He was uncomfortable, suspecting that he was losing out on something important. Perhaps he should change his mind about trying to buy the Lovestone. If what awaited him was that good …

Of course, that was what the proprietor wanted him to think, so he would be compelled to make the purchase of the expensive stone and sign himself and maybe his future wife into debt for the rest of his life. Realizing that, he resisted the devious sales pitch, overtly playing along with the proprietor’s supposed need for romance. Zane did have a certain affinity for intellectual games; he was much more of a thinker than an actor. He had had a decent education, before things soured, and enjoyed art and
poetry. However, he had largely wasted his education, and his thoughts seemed generally to get him into trouble.

“My stone, but your romance,” the proprietor said with every evidence of sincerity. “Even if I were willing to sacrifice my business for romance, which I am not, I could not use this stone to tune in on an encounter fated for you. It simply would not register for me. The set lines of fate are not readily reconnected. So I would hurt my business for nothing. Literally nothing.”

“That is unfortunate,” Zane replied noncommittally. His sympathy for those who had money and wanted romance as well was slight. Everybody wanted both, of course!

“But
you
could orient on it, using this stone. Once it is evident who the woman is—”

“But I can’t afford the Lovestone!” Zane was not going to be trapped into any such commitment!

“You misunderstand, sir. You will not purchase the stone. You will use it only to point out the woman. Then I will proceed to the encounter. I will have your romance.”

“Oh.” Zane assimilated that. Could the man be serious, after all? He was inclined to play this out and discover the catch. “I suppose that would work. But why should I do any such great favor for you?”

“For the Wealthstone,” the proprietor said, gently taking it from Zane’s hand.

Now at last Zane understood. He had been sidetracking himself, misunderstanding the thrust of the sales pitch. “You will sell me this money-gem—for an experience! I want wealth, you want romance. I can see that it would be a fair exchange—” He paused, as a piece of the puzzle failed to mesh. “But will the Lovestone work that well for me, if I don’t actually own it?”

“It works for the holder. It knows nothing of ownership; that is a convention among people. In any event, none of this can have legal binding. But I assure you, I will give you a bill of sale for the Wealthstone, if you turn over the potential experience. This is not something money can bring. It is an opportunity that may occur for me only once in this life.” The man scribbled out a sales slip.

It seemed like a bargain to Zane, if everything were as represented. He could have the Wealthstone in trade for a romance he had already turned down. He had an impulsive—some would say volatile—nature. “Agreed.”

In a moment the sale was signed—one Wealthstone for private consideration, delivery after receipt of that consideration. Zane pocketed the sales slip, then took the Lovestone, watched it glow within its blueness, and followed the brightest spot out of the shop and onto the street.

Zane stood for a moment, blinking his eyes in the dazzling sunlight. In a moment his vision adjusted, and he found himself focusing on the store’s sign: MESS O’ POTTAGE.

He rechecked the gem, turned it about until the glow was brightest, and walked north as indicated. The proprietor followed. But then the stone faded. Zane turned about, but the gem only glimmered. “I think the scent is cold.”

The proprietor was unalarmed. “This is not a purely directional thing. It is situational. You have to do what you have to do to make the intersection. As you do, it guides you.”

“But if it doesn’t
tell
me what to do—”

“Start walking. Watch the stone for reaction. There are only so many options available.” The man’s voice was controlled, but there seemed to be a slight edge of concern. The whole deal would fall through, of course, if the woman could not be located.

Zane turned right and walked. He passed a penny arcade, where teenagers cranked old-fashioned movie-machines as they peered in the scopes, chuckling evilly. Zane judged from their reactions that it was no Dimwit Dick comic they were viewing. The arcade’s name was TWO TO TWAIN, theoretically a pretension to literacy but actually a code name for earthy humor. There was a drawing of a little train puffing along, sending up cute balls of smoke, and Zane realized there was another pun in the title, when pronounced aloud.