§ § § -- September 22, 1979

"So come on, Mr. Roarke," Leslie persisted over lunch. "Who, or what, is 'Nui Oh'wi' anyway? I never heard of that before."

Roarke, who had been patiently bearing with her pestering all morning, finally gave in and smiled indulgently at her. "I suppose it can do you no harm to know, particularly since I thought you might like to look in on Tattoo in secret now and then. Nui Oh'wi is the name of a god on the island that Luana comes from. In fact, the very words themselves mean 'the god of love'. Well, after all, that's what Tattoo's fantasy is, is it not?"

"Well, he did say he wanted to be loved and admired by loads of beautiful women," Leslie agreed, frowning. "And if he's a god…I guess that covers the 'master of all he surveys' part." She peered doubtfully at him. "But do they really think he's a god?"

"That's his fantasy, Leslie, remember?" Roarke reminded her, infinitely patient.

She shrugged. "I guess it was." For a few minutes she fell silent, forking in a few bites, while Roarke worked on his own lunch. Then she remembered something else he had said and looked up. "You said something about looking in on Tattoo. You mean by myself?"

"Of course not, child, I'll be with you," Roarke said, as though it should have been obvious to even the most obtuse human being. "There may come a day when I will teach you how to make the transition on your own, so that you can help me by making quick checks on fantasies. But for the moment, it's best that I accompany you."

And he kept that promise, just after lunch had ended, by taking her through the room where he most often sent guests back in time. Today it wasn't in use, even though Myra Kolinsky and Gladys Boyling had traveled back to the American Civil War; they had been given the use of a team of horses and an old-fashioned two-seater buggy, which naturally could never have fit into this little room. So the space was bare of any trappings, but the floor was covered in the sort of fog produced by dry ice, which billowed up and swallowed them both the moment Roarke closed the door to the study.

Leslie panicked. "Mr. Roarke, are you still there? I can't see a thing!"

"I am here, Leslie, don't worry," she heard him assure her, and she took a hesitant step forward, hoping to bump into him. Before she got any farther, however, the fog suddenly cleared away, and she looked around in amazement. They were surrounded by a thick forest of palms and a few deciduous trees that could withstand the tropical climate; the humidity was higher than on Fantasy Island, and in the near distance they could hear the regular rush of waves rolling onshore. Through the thicket of tree trunks, a small village was visible, consisting of a group of straw and bamboo huts. An odd-looking bamboo contraption sat in the middle of a small clearing around which the huts had been grouped, a sort of throne which held Tattoo, decked out in a mass of brilliant yellow feathers and a matching headdress; the suit was trimmed with black feathers and adorned with a wide round collar made of red, white and navy-blue beads. He was making impressive inroads on a huge plate of tropical fruit, and was being handed still more by the two young native women who flanked his sides. Suddenly he pushed their hands away. "No more fruit…no more mango. They give me a bellyache." He lifted a wooden gavel and waited expectantly while Roarke and Leslie watched with heightening interest.

The village natives were standing in a crowd around the "throne", so that from time to time someone's head blocked their view of Tattoo; but they could hear every word that was said. The village chief spoke: "Nui Oh'wi is ready to hear your problems."

There was silence, broken only by the repetitive bleating of a goat; then Tattoo waved forward a mustachioed young native and a somewhat overweight older one. "You first, buddy," he said. The younger man bowed to Tattoo; the older just eyed him in silence.

"Oh, wise Nui Oh'wi," the man with the mustache began, "I say this goat belongs to me, because I found it wandering in my garden."

"No, the goat belongs to me," the older man countered indignantly. "I can't help it if it went for a walk and wandered over there."

"Hear the judgment of Nui Oh'wi," the chief intoned firmly.

Tattoo smiled smugly and regarded the two complainants. "Where is your wife?" he inquired of the younger man.

The native glared in the older man's direction. "She is visiting his wife, in his garden."

"You mean, she's just wandering around to visit?" queried Tattoo.

"Yes," the younger man said, with less certainty.

Tattoo nodded. "Then you keep the goat, and he can keep your wife." Leslie gasped softly and put a hand to her mouth, glancing in delight at Roarke, who grinned. Tattoo called out, "Next case!" and banged his gavel.

"A goat for a wife!" blurted the young native. "That's not a fair trade!"

"Then give him back his goat," Tattoo ordered, waiting till the mustached man had handed the goat's reins back to its rightful owner before banging his gavel and commanding once more, "Next case!"

Giggling, Leslie watched while an even younger native man stepped up to the front of Tattoo's odd little throne, with Luana at his side. "It is my turn, Nui Oh'wi," the man said, while Leslie swallowed back her mirth in order to hear the proceedings. "I, Kona, ask you to sanction my marriage to Luana."

Tattoo considered the pair, then half shrugged and said amiably, "Well, it's okay with me. What about Luana?" He eyed the pretty native girl who had first called Tattoo by the name of the god he was portraying. "Luana, you want to marry, uh…what's-his-name?"

Gasps went up at this and people looked at one another in shock. Leslie bit her lip and murmured low to Roarke, "They must think he should have known that guy's name."

"Perhaps," Roarke murmured, frowning slightly. "But I suspect it's more than the mere omission of a name."

Tattoo seemed worried as well; he pounded his gavel and shushed the mumbling that had arisen in the crowd. "What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? I only asked if she wanted to marry him."

"You…you wish my opinion, Nui Oh'wi?" Luana ventured, as though afraid to believe she actually had a choice.

"That's what I asked for," Tattoo said.

Luana hesitated, glanced at Kona, then turned back to Tattoo and announced, "No. I do not wish to marry him."

Tattoo smiled. "Well, in that case, you don't have to." Luana brightened in amazed delight, and a friend came up to hug her while cheers arose from the gathering. Pleased with himself, Tattoo called, "Next case! I'd like some papaya."

He was taking a chunk of fruit from the hand of the girl at his left when Kona, pushing people out of his way, approached Tattoo and glared threateningly at him. He spoke low enough that even Roarke had to listen carefully to hear his words. "You have taken Luana from me…but you and she must remember that gods rise and fall. And when they fall, they are but men—and men may die." Kona spat out the final four words as though they were poison before taking his leave.

"What a sorehead," Tattoo said dismissively.

But Luana took Kona's place by the throne and pleaded, "Nui Oh'wi, beware of him. He is deadly dangerous, and now he hates you."

"Don't worry. Us gods, we don't scare easy," Tattoo said cheerfully and raised his voice so that everyone could hear. "Hey, who wants to dance?"

Roarke and Leslie retreated a few steps in silence while a small luau got under way, and the fog swirled up and around them again. This time Leslie managed to grab Roarke's hand before it shut him from her view, and she was relieved when they found themselves back in the study; the fog cleared away again once Roarke had opened the door, making her wonder how he'd known where the knob was in all that pea soup. "Well," Roarke remarked, "that was quite a visit, don't you think?"

"I think he's having way too much fun being a god and not paying any attention to that guy's threats," Leslie said. She hesitated a moment, thinking about it while Roarke watched her with interest; then she focused on him. "So is he really a god? I mean, just for the weekend, as part of his fantasy?"

Roarke smiled, retreated to his desk and sat behind it before fixing his attention on her. "Well now, Leslie, what do you think?"

"I think," she mumbled slowly, "that he knows he's not really a god, and he doesn't have the powers of a god, but he's so crazy to be one that he's putting up a front. And it's like that Kona said. When gods fall, they're only men. Which is what Tattoo is." She looked up sharply as this registered fully. "Are you gonna just leave him to take that fall he's setting himself up for? That wasn't his fantasy!"

"Perhaps not." Roarke relaxed in his chair, still smiling a little. "But as you've been learning—and as Tattoo should know by now, all too well—even a fantasy must have some element of reality in it. I can't change that, not even with my powers. There must always be checks and balances, and Tattoo's ambitions may well spiral completely out of control if he is not reminded of his own limitations."

"I guess you're right," Leslie mused through a sigh. "I just hope he doesn't get hurt in the middle of it all. Can we check on him again tomorrow?"

"Of course," Roarke agreed. "For the moment, why don't you go through the mail, before it gets beyond your control." He winked, and she snickered and willingly settled down to go through the latest batches of letters. Yet all the while, in the back of her mind, she was still thinking of Tattoo, hoping he didn't end up biting off more than he could chew—an all-too-real danger in a fantasy like his.

§ § § -- September 23, 1979

Sunday morning was bright, the sun diffused somewhat by transparent, gossamer cloud cover. After breakfast, Roarke checked his gold watch, then beckoned to his ward. "I think this would be a good time to make that check on Tattoo."

They went through the same ritual as the day before, and when they could see their surroundings, they became aware that the low, loud moan of a shell horn was drawing in the villagers from all around. Tattoo, soaking wet and dripping as if he had just come in from a swim, appeared abruptly from the crowd and stared up at Luana, whose face was radiant. "What's that noise? What's wrong?"

"Wonderful news, holy one," Luana bubbled. "A huge school of fish has been sighted off the reef. Good fishing has returned, thanks to Nui Oh'wi!"

The villagers began to cheer—all but Kona, who was conspicuous by standing off to one side of the crowd and glaring at Tattoo. Oblivious, the diminutive "god" grinned widely, clearly very pleased at this development, and as it happened, more than willing to take the credit for it.

"You have heard, Nui Oh'wi?" asked the village chief. "Your bounty has been returned to us. I and my people thank you."

"Don't mention it," Tattoo said, grinning and at least trying to be modest, without a whole lot of success, Leslie thought. She turned to Roarke, who was smiling.

"Is that his doing, really? Or did you do it?" she whispered. Roarke merely gave her a sidewise glance, without changing expression.

The chief continued: "Nui Oh'wi has delivered the fish to his people; and now, as it is foretold in ancient legends, he will deliver the catch safely into our hands..." Throughout this narrative, Tattoo was beaming proudly around at the crowd, though primarily at the adoring Luana. "…and drive away the hungry sharks that are attacking already," the chief added, neatly erasing the smile from Tattoo's face. "Quickly, Nui Oh'wi! Fly over the reef, and drive the sharks away from the fish, which were meant for us. Fly!" This urging was taken up by the happy crowd; Luana waited, happy and expectant, and Tattoo looked around in horror and disbelief.

"Mr. Roarke…" Leslie whispered.

He shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "I am afraid, child, that this is the fall the young man predicted Tattoo would take."

Tattoo clearly realized he was in far too deep, and frantically waved his arms, shouting, "Wait a minute…wait a minute!" The crowd fell silent. "I can't fly to drive the sharks away, unless you give me a helicopter. I'm not a bird. Look, I can't help myself." He spread out his arms and jumped up and down a few times to demonstrate his lack of lift, while the villagers stared at him with mounting disillusionment. "I'm not a bird!" He turned to the stunned Luana and reiterated, "I can't fly!"

Kona filled in the breach. "Then Nui Oh'wi is a false god! He has mocked us by bringing us fish, which we must battle the sharks to keep! To the stockade with him, and let us tend to our fishing." Amid the rising grumbles, he focused on Tattoo and sneered, "As I said, little one—when gods fall, they are but men, and men may die."

Drums began beating and the crowd's restlessness broke into shouts; two villagers grabbed Tattoo by the arms and toted him away, while the hapless "god" shouted frantically, "Help, help!" Kona directed the village men toward the beach, while the women and some children stood around watching in silent bewilderment. Meantime, Tattoo was hauled straight to a sturdy bamboo cage and thrust unceremoniously inside, protesting and shouting the entire time, while his captors securely latched the door. "Let me out…I'm your god…open the door! I'm Nui Oh'wi! Come back!" The two men paid him no heed and ran off to join their compatriots in launching the outriggers for the fishing expedition.

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, then at Tattoo's prison, which they could now see clearly from where they stood in their hiding place in the trees. Leslie grabbed her guardian's arm at sight of a pile of skulls in the corner, not far from where Tattoo had finally given up and collapsed into a sitting position. Roarke's brows went north, just as they heard Tattoo groan to himself, "Oh boy…I think I'm in a lot of trouble."

"Indeed, my ambitious friend…indeed," murmured Roarke, before urging Leslie away, to her sheer astonishment.

"You're gonna just leave him in jail like that?" she protested when they were back in the study.

Roarke eyed him. "What would you have me do? Swoop in, as some deus ex machina, and rescue him? What lesson do you suppose he would take away from that?"

Leslie planted her feet apart on the floor and put her fists on her hips. "Mr. Roarke, come on…we're gonna have to get him out of there one way or another." She brightened as an idea popped into her head. "And I know how we can do it…we can come in through that fog like we've been doing, and use it to appear inside Tattoo's cage, and grab his hands. And then we can use the fog to come back here with him. That way he disappears right in front of the natives' eyes, and they'll think he was a god after all. Face saved, image restored."

Roarke stared at her, astonished; then, to her disgruntled embarrassment, he burst into hearty laughter. It took him a good minute or so to notice her reaction, and then he came to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, still laughing. "Ah, my child, I know your intentions are all the best, and I must commend you for the sheer inventiveness of that suggestion. Unfortunately, I am bound not to make even a pretense of being a god myself…and what do you suppose would happen should I do as you describe? It's entirely possible that it could backfire, expose the two of us, and bring Tattoo's status up to something on the order of some mischievous juvenile god being reprimanded by his superior."

"That would kind of be what it really is, though, wouldn't it?" Leslie asked feebly.

Roarke squeezed her, shaking his head, laughter lingering. "I think it best that Tattoo be allowed to use his own brain and his own resources in the matter of his escape. If he truly does find himself in a situation that defies his capabilities, then we will step in, that I can promise you. Does that satisfy your sense of honor?"

"Oh, I guess so," she muttered. "I just wish you didn't think my idea was so funny."

"My apologies," Roarke chuckled and squeezed her again before releasing her and returning to the desk. "We have a little work to do, so why don't you get your mind off the problem entirely and help me a little here."

They had been going steadily on for several hours, both before and after lunch, when the grandfather clock chimed, and Roarke looked up. "I believe it's time to bring the ladies back from their fantasy. Would you like to come with me?"

"Sure!" Leslie agreed and willingly followed him out of the house and along a trail that led from the terrace outside the French shutters. They walked for about fifteen minutes, along trails that Leslie didn't yet know, till she began to notice wisps of white fog drifting through the trees and mingling with the dust of the trail. "More fog?"

"It's the same mist that effected the time travel," Roarke said. For a minute or two it grew almost too thick to see; she ran to close the distance between herself and Roarke so that she could stay on the path. Shortly the cloudy air began to clear, and they came upon a large wheeled cage pulled by two horses, which had stopped at a bend in the dirt road on which the path terminated. Inside the cage were two young women, one in a red dress and the other wearing sky blue; two men wearing Union Army uniforms leaped off the front of the cage and ran to the back as soon as it stopped, unlatching the back door and helping the women out. "Why are we stopping here?" asked Myra Kolinsky, her blonde curls and blue skirts flying as a man who looked startlingly like Clark Gable's Rhett Butler lifted her to the ground. Her friend Gladys Boyling stopped short, seeing Roarke and Leslie there.

"Ladies, you must come with me now," Roarke said.

Gladys' eyes widened. "Oh no, Mr. Roarke, please, not yet…"

"I'm sorry," Roarke told her firmly, "your fantasy is over."

Gladys' friend looked at her with compassion and said in a low, rusty, gravel-filled voice, "I think you'd better go with this gentleman. I'm sure he knows what's best."

Everyone stood in silence, waiting for Gladys and Myra to give in; then, from some little distance, they heard the sound of a horn bellowing out a familiar tune urging troops to charge forward. Leslie looked at Roarke, who waited calmly; she wasn't sure what had happened, but it seemed reasonable to deduce that the women and their men were being chased by enemy troops.

Myra stared up at her Clark Gable clone. "Without you, what'll happen to me?"

"Frankly, my dear, I—" He hesitated, stared at her, then said softly, "I very much give a damn." Leslie grinned to herself at that; for a second or two, she had actually expected him to quote the old Rhett Butler line! She watched Myra smile wistfully at him; then both women hugged and kissed their men before at last breaking loose and coming to join Roarke and Leslie. The two men clambered onto their wheeled cage and whipped the horses back into a run, disappearing around the bend in the road just before five or six horsemen came galloping into view, firing their guns ahead of them in their pursuit.

"Mr. Roarke, do they get away?" Myra asked, staring anxiously after them.

Even Leslie looked up and over her shoulder at her guardian when he let a few beats elapse before replying; then he smiled gently and said, "Only time will tell." The women had to accept that, and slowly they accompanied their host and his ward back into the fog, back to the present day.

They sat and listened to the women's story for a good half hour or so, and Leslie found herself wondering at their fascination with the Civil War era. "I guess that was pretty exciting for you," she ventured when Myra and Gladys took a break from their narrative to sip some tea, "but there's something I don't get. The Confederates lost the war, you know. Why would you go in fighting for the losing side? Besides, Indiana was on the Union side!"

Myra and Gladys looked at each other and laughed, then studied her with interest. "Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind?" Myra asked her.

"Not even once," Leslie admitted. "A couple of my friends have, but not me. Maybe I'm just too much of a northerner to have any sympathy. I know the book was written by a southerner and all that. It's just that…" She hesitated, self-conscious with all eyes on her; then she sighed and complained, "I don't usually like reading Civil-War-era books. They always make the south look like a perfect, romantic paradise, where all you had to do was sit on a porch and fan yourself and drink iced tea all day. And the northerners always come out looking like the epitome of evil. How come they always forget that the south was fighting to perpetuate slavery, which is one of the worst evils in the world?"

"You raise an excellent question, Leslie," Roarke said. "But you must remember that the sort of life led by plantation owners and their families looks very romantic indeed, more than one hundred years after the era has passed. I'm sure that northerners led as romantic a life as southerners did, with lavish parties and balls; but people have a history of rooting for the underdog, which the Confederacy was during the war. Time dulls the sharp edges and cruel realities of the war itself, and brings into light the softer, more enjoyable aspects of those days. The culture of the antebellum south is perceived to have been more formal and more…yes, romantic, than that of the north."

"Mr. Roarke probably explained it better than we could," Gladys said. "Yeah, we knew we were on the losing side. But we really wanted to experience something like the book and the movie, where the war is a background thing and the focus is on the life of a southern lady of the time. It's not necessarily the setting—it's the story."

Leslie nodded slowly, thinking it over. "I think I see what you mean. The romance and the handsome guy, right? That's what you were really looking for."

"You got it," Myra said warmly and smiled. "And I think we did find our guys, even if we didn't get to keep them. Thanks, Mr. Roarke, I guess we'll go have nice, hot, modern showers and change our clothes."

"Of course, ladies," Roarke agreed and watched them depart; then he turned to Leslie and grinned. "I daresay it's time to rescue Tattoo."

"Rescue him!" she blurted, alarmed. "Is he in trouble? And how do you know?"

Roarke just laughed. "It's my business to know," he said. "Hurry, we may need your help, and I'm sure you want to be there to make sure he's safe."