Good people exasperate one's reason; bad people stir one's imagination. –Oscar Wilde
Folks at the Cape & Cane rarely talk about the Rules of Play, unless we're passing a candle as well as a bottle. If you make it through the door, it's assumed you've had enough firsthand experience not to need things spelled out. We are all connected in that way; we understand Losing. Even Twist, with his infinite second chances. Especially Twist, the petty tyrant who is so terrified of it that he's willing to make a deal with someone on Stella's list. The C&C is her place, after all, and when the candle and the bottle go around together, certain names conspicuously avoid coming up- at least until after the second bottle.
I only knew about Doctor Delta from whispered third-bottled conversations. Even among our crowd, the true connoisseurs of hubris, his story stood out. He had been preoccupied with the Rules, and was convinced he could rig the game so his death would ensure a utopia. He was enamored with martyrdom; so obsessed he never realized the power he was amassing made him functionally immortal. As a result, his world languished in a cycle of flat, pantomimed violence. He became desperate to find or create someone that could kill him. Eventually he Lost, but through the ironic, well-meaning cleverness of his world's heroes, he didn't die. Instead, was cast through a Broken Threshold- an unsecured rift in Doorspace. He drifted between worlds, eventually finding the Cape & Cane and becoming a regular, at least until Stella threw him out. There have never been enough bottles for me to hear that story.
I tend to feel nauseous on new worlds, but I wanted to see him with my own eyes. The Rooftop Door in St. Lucia was not really on a rooftop, rather it was nestled between a café and a secondhand shop two blocks from the beach. The door was inconspicuously labeled "No Rooftop Access" with a rough equivalent below in vernacular Lucian. The sign's creator had chosen an extremely odd colloquial translation. My curse read it variably as: "(Movement/Progress) in the direction of the (Roof/Sky/Afterlife) is (Nonexistent/Unnecessary/A Comedic Pratfall.)" The three of us headed down the boardwalk, and I briefly wondered if Stella was purposefully trying to put distance between herself and the door.
Honestly, I remember thinking there should have been a hurricane, or at least a thunderclap, something to indicate the release of a tremendous amount of energy. Instead, there was stillness. A total lack of turbulence in the air around us, and quite naturally, as if he had always been there, stood a curly-haired man in a faded T-shirt, with drawstring pants that ended four inches above his ankles.
In retrospect, he was good at hiding his power; both gifted and extremely practiced. Even with my eyes, it was difficult to see the tight folds in reality around him. Here, by his wrists, was a faint ripple that might just be body heat. At his shoulders, what may have been the merest suggestion of a cape, if capes could be purely imaginary. In his hands, an ordinary straw hat that almost entirely failed to inflect the cold command of unassailable power. My senses should have been freaking out. I should have been awed, unsettled, petrified. Instead, I stared at his hairy toes and wondered if I, too, should take off my shoes. The sand would probably feel quite nice.
"Stop that."
Stella's voice drove a forked spear through the illusion. Cracks formed, my eyes fixed on the fissures, looked into their depths, and I realized I was standing on a boardwalk with two individuals whose mood swings were measured in megatons.
"It's better than the alternative, I think." His reply worked to smooth the cracks, blurring and blending the edges of the illusion- repairing without restoring it. Canyons became rolling hills. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, I know my choice in messengers lacks a certain talent for diplomacy. I apologize for that. Of course, that isn't the only offense for which I'm- how do I say this- seeking absolution."
"Mr. Twist mentioned as much. He also said you want to use the Table."
"That's an interesting choice of words. 'The Table.' Carefully chosen. You always do that, don't you? It's always 'The Table,' Never 'My Table.' Funny thing- how long have you had it? Decades? A century now? The previous owner imagined it was his."
"He used it to hurt people, and in the end it hurt him."
"As the Rules dictate. How do you use it?"
"I don't."
"Exactly. Why not?"
She stopped. He didn't.
"Because you know- someday- you know you're going to need it. You don't use it because it takes planning, and you've got your own rules about planning. This is a comfortable situation- these people like you, and you're finding out you like being liked. But mostly, you don't use it because- and I say this with all due respect- because you're good people."
The sudden choking noise that erupted from Mr. Twist was almost worth it. As far as tactics went, I'm not sure my curse was showing me any weakness that wasn't already obvious. Every once in a while, when things get dull, the Dealer will get Reverso liquored up and turn him loose in the bar, as a prank. That's what this felt like. It couldn't be real. I looked at Stella, trying to get a read, but she wasn't radiating anything at all. I heard her respond, although I'm not entirely sure her lips moved.
"You're going to be very careful about what you say next."
"I know that's an unfortunate colloquialism, but the truth of it is why you even considered hearing my apology. I was the smartest person on ten worlds, the most powerful on a hundred, but I was my own biggest blind spot. I'm sorry. Honestly. The last time I was here, when you threw me out, I misunderstood the restraint you demonstrated, mistook it for weakness. That voice you used, the aphorism, I thought the words were 'truth hides in a measure of poison.' Some kind of riddle, or insult, or maybe both. I puzzled it over for a while- I had time. I think 'wisdom lies at the bottom of the cup' is closer to the meaning. Maybe 'self-knowledge,' would be more poetic. Either way, I know enough to admit I was wrong. I'm wired as a problem-solver; fixing things is in my nature. I always thought it was a gift, and maybe it is, but wander between worlds for long enough and you gain some perspective. I spent so long shaping myself into a tool to fix any problem, but I don't have the tool to fix myself. You do. That's why I'm here."
She let his apology breathe for a moment, not hang in anticipation, but expand in contemplative silence. All the incredible things she can do with her voice- I've seen her keep Nightmares in line with just a word- but just then she was inflecting the stillness with a wordless mixture of empathy and gravitas.
She studied him for several seconds, then gazed out over the ocean. The waves seemed distant, muted. I saw her purse her lips. Very casually she shifted her weight to her front foot, spun, and clocked Mr. Twist in the jaw just as he was finishing his piña colada. The 'oldest being in creation' crumpled at her feet.
Doctor Delta glared with eyes that no longer looked ordinary. She locked with his gaze, and spoke with a library of subtext, absent any hint of anger.
"The answer is still no. I'm sorry. I accept your apology, and I understand what you're trying to do. It's an intriguing idea: gamble all that power at the Intuition Table, go all-in on a bad hand. Even if that would work- and I'm not sure the Table would allow it- it would be just another kind of fixing. Your desire to divest yourself of immortality is another act of martyrdom. You've got all this power, and you think only your death can mean something? That's the problem with martyrs: they only needs to be good once. There was no riddle, by the way. 'In vino veritas.' You're on a world with a Rome, look it up."
They stood there for a moment, playing a cosmic chess game on planes I can't even perceive. Or, possibly, there were just waiting for the other to blink.
He blinked.
"What about Twist?"
"I'm not having today's conversation again. Lay him on the beach; he'll wake up, eventually. Whatever you've promised him, I'm sure he deserves it."
That was it. I wish there was more, but the mysterious Doctor Delta was just… just a guy with the power to solve everyone's problems but his own. We left him standing there on the boardwalk, dipped in the gold of the afternoon sun.
As we walked back to the Rooftop Door, he called after her. "It would have worked, you know."
She didn't look back. "If we were 'good people,' maybe."