"Jody Lynn Nye - Muchness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nye Jody Lynn)

of her reach forever, and the beast would pick its teeth with her bones. There would be an end. The
monster could feed on her conclusion. Fitzhugh and the others in the lab would never know what
became of her. She didn't want to die.
She flung story after anecdote after fable at her captor. Each recitation was consumed or discarded, but
none of them seemed to be what the beast wanted. Every moment she felt herself being drawn closer and
closer to an inexorable doom.
" ' 'TтАФ'twas brillig,' " she began, her voice weak with fear. The beast neared her, baring rows upon rows
of multicolored fangs that seemed longer and more terrifying than ever. It looked like the illustration of
the Jabberwock in Alice.
Yes, that's what it resembled: a Jabberwock. Perhaps she had given the beast its form when she
perceived it.
In that case, the nonsense poem by Lewis Carroll should serve well.
" 'Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsyтАФ' "
Valerie's mind raced ahead of her tongue. It concluded in the same fashion that it began, with the same

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 Muchness by Jody Lynn Nye

stanza of nonsense rhyme. The symmetry pleased the mind and the earтАФshe'd never thought of it in that
way before. Energy begins, energy builds, peaks, dies away, ends. A complete and functional circuit,
described in poetry. The beast fed on physics!
The thought gave her strength. When she came to the verses that described the battle, she flung herself
back. Surprised, the beast let her go. Valerie flailed one arm like the vorpal sword, slashing and stabbing
at the imaginary Jabberwock, while the real one watched her with growing delight. Its tiny eyes
glittered, and an endless flood of drool ran down its jowls. A tongue, a heretofore unimagined color that
was a murky blend of red, gray, and brown, emerged and swabbed the corners of the beast's mouth. It
was feeding. It was enjoying the meal. Valerie darted in and out, taking both parts of the duel, both hero
and foe. Her body changed back and forth between her two roles, drawing her up and out like clawed
putty or compressing her into a taut mass that focused on the right hand wielding the sword. In a
moment, it was over. Her Jabberwock staggered and fell, vanquished.
Exhausted, Valerie halted her war dance and took a few steps forward, dropping her imaginary weapon.
" ' "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! Oh frabjous day! Callooh!
Callay!" he chortled in his joy.' "
Trying to reproduce the same tones she had used, she recited the last verse. She watched the monster
warily, wondering if it would pounce as soon as she was done.
" 'тАж All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.' "
As the last word rang on the cold, gray air, the beast dislimned, fading away into insubstantiality,
leaving behind only an awful smell and a half-heard phrase.
"Balance of open and close!" it hissed.
Valerie closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. As if in answer, she felt the
muchness approach. It floated toward her, enveloping her. With certainty she knew that the match was
right this time. Before she could properly explore the sensation, she felt herself growing bigger. Bright
lights glared in her eyes, and voices burst upon her ears like exploding skyrockets.
"Ms. Hodges! Right on time!" A rangy, red-haired man, almost the opposite number to Connor
Fitzhugh, grabbed her arm and helped guide her through the portal. He had to be Dr. Ewing. She had
made it to the other side of the mirror at last. The room had a high ceiling lined with a blinding array of
fluorescent rods, humming in tune with the silver field behind her. A clock on the wall read fourteen
seconds after twelve.
"Welcome to Chicago!"
"Boy, right on the tick. We just hung up with Professor Fitzhugh."