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“Only four possibilities now,” the witch said. “And nothing much to distinguish among
them, at least no differences you’d be likely to know about, down to the level of
whether a particular dog in India is alive or dead, whether a priest in Romania has
syphilis or not. But four is good, and two of them are close together for your purposes,
so I can give you a probably, a good stiff probably, but that’s the best you’re going to
get from me today, understand?”
“Yes,” Marla said. “Where will Mutex be?”
“Golden Gate Park. The Japanese Tea Garden. Tomorrow, late afternoon, or evening. A
difference of two or three hours, maybe, so go at the earliest, say three o’clock. You’ll
probably get there in time, though as for what you’ll do with that time, well, it branches
a hundred different ways, and there’s too many maybes between today and tomorrow,
too many minor and major variations, for me to say for sure.”
“You said that’s two of four possibilities. What are the others?”
“In one of them, you’re too late. Mutex’s spell is done in the middle of the night, and
destruction reigns, and you can’t stop it.”
Marla nodded. She’d suspected as much. “And in the last possibility?”
The Possible Witch’s eyes moved independently of her face, a few tiny lenses
telescoping forward in a manner that seemed caught between the technology of a zoom
lens and the biology of a snail’s eyestalk. “In that possibility, you’ll never get there at
all, Marla. You know why. Your enemy in Felport, mumbling over her spell. It’s a
question of whether she gets indigestion or not. She probably doesn’t, her spell
probably isn’t delayed, so you’ll probably live. But if she eats the wrong bite of salmon,
she’ll heave over the toilet, and the spell will be delayed, and you will be doomed.”
Marla frowned. “Wait, if the spell is delayed, I’m doomed? That doesn’t make any
sense! Delays are good, I’m desperate for her to be delayed!”
The witch waved her hand. “You’ll understand soon enough. Just be prepared for the
possibility of utter failure.”
Marla nodded glumly.
“Mutex is like a bulldozer,” the Possible Witch said. “He doesn’t let himself be
deflected, and his course is remarkably straight and true, he moves right along in many
a world. He’s got the dedication of true religion. I know where he’ll be anyway.”
“I don’t suppose…is he right?” Marla asked. “About the old gods needing blood to keep
the universe spinning?”
“If he succeeds in calling up his god, and growing it to full size, he’ll be right,” the
witch said. “His faith and his magic will make him be right, and the other gods he
believes in will follow the Frog, appearing as quickly as he can spill blood to kindle and
feed them. Just be glad you’re in a world where he’s trying to call up the Frog, and not
in a world where he called up the Jaguar, and that over a year ago. I’m dead in most of