A Nest of Nightmares

Her clothes, which had looked so fresh and fashionable in California, now looked drab and badly cut. They were wrinkled from having been packed, and they no longer fitted: the fabric of the skirt stretched unattractively tight across stomach and hips, while the blouse simply hung on her. Sheila had the eerie feeling that she had changed shape overnight. She sucked in her stomach as hard as she could and turned away from the mirror, not ready to face Byzantium, but having no other choice.

Daylight revealed what had been hidden by the night: towering above ordinary frame houses and scrubby trees was a vast, looming presence, a rugged brown peak.

‘What’s that?’

Victoria smiled disbelievingly. ‘What do you think? It’s the mountain.’

She was finding it hard to breathe – probably the effect of holding in her stomach, but it felt as if she was afraid. Of the mountain? That was silly. ‘I just didn’t realize there would be a mountain here.’

‘Oh, come on!’

‘No, really. I thought this part of Texas was all flat.’

Another hard look from Victoria. ‘But it’s the most famous thing about Byzantium, our mountain.’

That made Sheila laugh, despite her unease. ‘Look, no offense, but “famous” is not a word I’d use about Byzantium! I’d never even heard of your town until you wrote me.’

‘Really? And you’ve never been here before?’

‘Never.’

‘Well. That is a surprise. I’d better show you why. We’ll go up where you can see it all . . . why don’t you close your eyes until I tell you to look? It’ll be more impressive that way.’

Most of the drive was a gradual ascent – too gentle to be up the mountain, and it seemed to Sheila that the car was travelling away from the peak. It was not long before the car pulled to a stop and Victoria said, ‘You can open your eyes now.’

They were outside of town, up on a ridge, in a roadside parking area created especially for the view: there were coin-operated telescopes there, and a map mounted behind plastic, with the state highway department seal on it. Sheila took in the view mechanically, eyes scanning the distance, the hazy blue sky and a line of faraway mountains, then, just below, on the flat valley floor, the town of Byzantium, buildings clustered around the single peak rising like some rough, hunched beast furred brown and green.

And then she saw what she was seeing. She knew this landscape – she had been here many times before. She had invented the town, the mountain, and the wasteland beyond. She had written it into existence.

‘You see?’ said Victoria. ‘You had to come here.’

The Ramada Inn had what they called a conference centre, and it was there – a detached, windowless, concrete building on the other side of the swimming pool that the First Byzantium Science Fiction Convention was held.

When Sheila and Victoria arrived, they found Grace sitting behind a table near the door, with a cashbox and a list of names.

‘We’ve had fifteen people so far,’ she said, looking apprehensively up at Victoria. ‘I think that’s pretty good for the first hour.’

‘How many are you expecting?’ Sheila asked.

‘A lot,’ said Victoria. ‘Science fiction is big business these days, and there’s never been a convention in this part of the state. I’m sure it’ll be a big success. Here, put this nametag on. I designed it especially, so people can pick you out as the Guest of Honour.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘This evening you’ll judge the costume contest. Until then, just enjoy yourself. Give the fans a chance to talk to you. Be friendly.’

Sheila felt tired and uncertain of herself. She wanted to retreat, having seldom felt less like talking to strangers. But she had agreed to come and must make an effort. She moved away from the registration desk to begin her tour of the convention.

The conference centre consisted of the small reception area where Grace sat, three small seminar rooms, and one big hall. In one seminar room Sheila found four boys and two girls huddled in a circle with dice and notebooks, playing Dungeons and Dragons. They didn’t even look up when she entered, too involved with their fantasy to notice her.

The next seminar room contained eight or ten dark shapes gazing at a large television screen upon which flickered an episode of The Prisoner.

The main hall had a podium and microphone set up at the far end, unused. At the near end several tables had been set up and people were selling used paperbacks, comics, posters, little clay and metal figurines, and other paraphernalia. Some artwork was displayed, and Sheila recognized the paintings as Victoria’s work.