Titan's Day

by Dan Stout

  “The man looks younger,” said Jax.

  “That’s the theory.”

  I imagined Tenebrae standing in front of his own sculpture, facing it as it mimicked him. Each of them reaching out a hand to the other, rubbing away the wrinkles and moles and imperfections in his skin. It felt dirty, almost unspeakably egotistical.

  “So why hide it away?” I said. “It’s embarrassing, but why kill for it?”

  “Think how big it is.” She circled the figure as it walked in place, suspended on its metal tracks. “And if he’s been at this for years, then he’s had to add manna to it to maintain the connection. Spritzed it down like watering a plant.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Sideroads, that’s expensive.”

  “Tenebrae’s rich,” I pointed out.

  “Not that rich.”

  Jax returned to riffling through drawers, looking for anything else that might be helpful. “That manna’s gotta be coming from somewhere.”

  “From his company.” I moved closer to the sculpture, peering into its hollow eyes. “He manages the manna reserves for some big company. Tele-something that I can never remember.” I had a bad thought about those eyes. “Can he see us?”

  “You mean Telescribe?” Guyer stared at the chest, considering this. “Huh. They’ve got to have more than enough manna.”

  Jax nodded. “And government contracts. They’re probably cleared to assist in all kinds of classified sorcery. It’d be easy for manna to disappear.”

  Guyer pressed a finger to her chin. “You think he’s embezzling manna. And then what, started to kill people to cover up white-collar crime?” She took a seat on the footstool by the dresser, long legs kicked out in front of her. “And no, Carter. He can’t see or hear us. This kind of connection is surface level only.”

  A glance back at clay Tenebrae showed us he was standing in front of something, one arm raised as if holding up a lid, the other held out in front of himself, fingers close together, like a chef adding a pinch of spice to a dish.

  “He could be bonding something,” said Guyer.

  “Any idea what?”

  “None,” she said. “I’d guess it’s a vat of something, or a container with many small objects. I can’t say for sure.”

  I stared at the perfect clay face of the simulacra, and thought of the cuts on Tenebrae’s face after the explosion, the lack of bruises or swelling from Thomas’s punch. Torn flesh from pulling teeth out of a dead woman’s throat. What else could it heal?

  “He’s not killing to cover up embezzlement,” I said. “He was in an accident, disfigured. What healed him though wasn’t medical, it was this thing. He sculpted a new face for himself.” I turned from the simulacra to the others. “This is why he’ll do anything. If he can’t keep the flow of manna to this statue, he’ll lose his perfect face. Hells, for all I know he’ll die without it.”

  “Or from manna rot,” said Guyer. That triggered thoughts of Gellica and her eternal need for manna to exist. I wondered what someone like her, someone with a patron like Paulus, might do to stay alive.

  I shook my head, banishing the thought.

  “You’re both missing the point,” I said. “Changes to the sculpture show up on Tenebrae.”

  “I know,” said Guyer. “I’m the one who told you, remember?”

  Jax held my eye. “What about it?”

  “So let’s make some changes.” I jabbed my thumb into the clay face of the sculpture, ignoring the powerful swirl of cobwebs that coated the sculpture as I twisted my thumb into the sculptured cheekbone. It might as well have been marble. The expression, however, altered. Clay Tenebrae looked like a fly buzzed into view, and it swatted the air, before glaring around.

  “Safeguarded,” said Guyer. “He’s good. Something’s baked into the connection that means only he can modify it. He felt something, though.”

  Clay Tenebrae’s brows furrowed. Our guy was clearly pissed. I stared him down, tingles dancing over my hands and the air thick with spidery strands of magic that only I could feel. Could I shut it down? Turn him off? It would leave him on the street, disfigured and potentially unrecognizable. As it was, the simulacrum was a link to the man who’d murdered at least two people.

  Clay Tenebrae tilted its head, then smiled and said something to its real world environment, clay lips moving soundlessly before us.

  “What do you think it’s saying?” said Jax.

  “Which way to—” I broke off. “I’m not sure.”

  “Colin something?” Guyer leaned in, frowning. “I don’t know. It’s too fast.”

  It wasn’t even like watching a surveillance film, where we could rewind and look twice to guess at a syllable.

  “It’s pointless,” said Guyer.

  “Maybe for us.” I walked to the room’s phone and dialed an outside extension. “But I’m going to bring in someone who’s more experienced with this.” When the line connected I did my best to sound chipper. “Hi Susan, is Doc Mumphrey in?”

  * * *

  While we waited for Mumphrey to arrive, we kept watch over Tenebrae’s simulacrum, hoping for some indication of where he was. I called Gellica’s office again, leaving more messages.

  Mumphrey finally arrived, entering the apartment in a huff.

  “Night before a holiday,” he said. “It’s a twice-damned madhouse out there.”

  I smiled. “Wait’ll you see what’s in the bedroom.”

  He humphed and turned to the others. He shook Ajax’s hand and said, “I’m assuming that you’re saying hello, young man.”

  Ajax’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and Mumphrey smiled back.

  Never shy, Guyer stepped forward. “Divination Officer Guyer.” She held out her hand.

  Mumphrey’s smile dimmed. “I know the name,” he said. And he did shake, but only with some sense of hesitation. “I’ve cleaned up after you on more than one occasion.”

  “Doc,” I touched his arm and regained his attention. “We need your help with something.”

  “Lead on and show me what’s so important.”

  We took him into the bedroom, and I watched his reaction to Clay Tenebrae. Doc’s jaw dropped, and he took a half-step back. He would’ve crunched Jax’s toes if the younger man hadn’t been quick enough to sidestep. Clay Tenebrae was walking at a good clip, head turning, as if watching for surveillance.

  Recovering quickly, Doc stepped forward, then looked to me. “He’s not alive, is he?”

  “Not as such,” said Guyer. “But he’s broadcasting all of Tenebrae’s actions.”

  “He looks scared.”

  I grunted. “Good.”

  Tenebrae’s eyes tracked someone invisible to us, and he flashed his winning smile. He said something to his conversation partner and stayed still.

  Mumphrey grunted. “He’s not speaking out loud, is he?”

  “Not to us,” I said. “Can you—”

  “Two for lunch,” said Mumphrey, then pointed at the statue. “That’s what he said.”

  “He’s in a restaurant,” said Jax.

  Clay Tenebrae began walking again.

  “Unless he’s trying to fool us,” I said. “I’ll bet anything that bell was an alarm.”

  “He knows we’ve found his simulacrum,” Guyer agreed. “We’ve got to assume he knows we’re watching him.”

  “Get me a chair,” Mumphrey said. We stared at the statue of Tenebrae, and Doc cleared his throat. “That was me. I’d like to sit down while I do this.”

  Jax fetched a chair for the doc as Tenebrae held out his hand and spoke.

  “Thank you,” translated Mumphrey. And he and Tenebrae sat down. It was strange, watching the sculpture sit in midair, supported by the rods and pulleys built into the trunk, facing the pathologist perched on a physical object.

  “Tell me we can use this thing to lure h
im in,” I said. “Does he need to have this back?”

  Ajax asked Guyer, “What about his security system? Can you break it? Allow us to mess with him directly? Even if we handcuffed him, or put a blindfold on him or something?”

  “I’ll take a Teneyson on the rocks while I wait for my friend,” recited Mumphrey. “You know what? Make it two. She’ll be here any moment.”

  My pager buzzed, and I fumbled it out, barely bothering to read its screen. I swallowed. “I’m calling the Bunker, gonna get a patrol car down to The Lotus Petal. He’s been there before.”

  “Given enough time,” Guyer answered Jax, leaning onto the dresser. “Probably I can break it, yeah. But we’re talking days.”

  “You’re a dumb-ass,” said Mumphrey, staring at me instead of the statue. “That was from myself,” he said. “Offering my professional opinion.”

  We didn’t respond, and he scowled. “He needs it,” Mumphrey said, before returning to watch Tenebrae. “At least to break the connection. If he lets us keep his imitation, we’ll find a way to use it against him sooner or later.”

  As I walked to the phone I focused on the pager’s display. Faded green on green showed Gellica’s office number. I was afraid they were calling to tell me she had a lunch date. As soon as Jax was off the phone with the Bunker, I snatched the handset and called her office. Gellica’s assistant picked up. I started to announce myself, but he interrupted me.

  “Hold on,” he said, and there was a rustle on the other end.

  Clay Tenebrae sipped at an invisible glass of wine, then looked up and smiled. I’d seen that same radiant smile in person, directed at Gellica.

  “My dear,” Mumphrey recited.

  There was a muffled, “Imp’s teeth,” in the phone’s earpiece and hope filled my chest.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Carter?” Gellica chirped in my ear. “Why is my office filled with a stack of messages from you?”

  I let out my breath, glad for the rare turn of good luck.

  Gellica asked, in a softer voice, “What’s going on?”

  Clay Tenebrae stood and made a motion as if he were pulling out a chair.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” Doc translated. “You look lovely this evening, Colonel.”

  32

  THERE WAS A LONG BEAT while we absorbed that, the only sound Doc Mumphrey’s continued recital of Tenebrae’s side of the conversation.

  “No need to apologize,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this meeting for a long while. A little delay isn’t an issue. Our third party should be here shortly.”

  “Carter?” Gellica’s voice chirped in my ear.

  Jax leaned closer to the statue. “Colonel Marbury? What’s she doing with him?”

  “Does he really look like that?” Guyer indicated the lean, muscled figure of Tenebrae’s simulacrum. “Because I’ve got a good guess.”

  I leaned forward, getting Jax’s attention. “Get on the horn,” I said. “Call Bryyh, the mayor, anyone who’ll listen. Tell them Marbury’s in danger and we need to find her. Have them call in to the AFS military.” I said it loud enough for Gellica to overhear, then spoke directly to her.

  “Tenebrae’s dangerous.”

  “Carter—”

  “I don’t have time to explain. If he contacts you, alert us immediately, okay?”

  “Carter!” Gellica’s call echoed in my ear again. “I know where he’s supposed to be tonight.”

  The pigtail of the phone cord wrapped tight around my hips. “Where?”

  “Listen to me,” she said. “You cannot arrest him. Follow him, track him, don’t let him get away. But don’t let him know you’re on to him. This blackmail plan he’s got . . . If he releases classified information, he can do unimaginable damage to this town.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I’ll tell you, but promise me you’ll wait to hear from me before you do anything.”

  “Gellica . . .”

  “Promise me!” In her voice was the passion she felt for her work, for the programs and lives she believed rode on keeping Tenebrae’s mouth shut.

  Behind me, Mumphrey announced, “He’s saying something about beginning—bargaining, maybe? I didn’t quite get it.”

  “Fine, we’ll play it your way,” I growled, and placed a hand on Jax’s shoulder, before he could leave and make those calls.

  “Bryndel Grove.” The relief in Gellica’s voice was clear. “At some street festival. He’s auctioning off his information to the CaCuris and Colonel Marbury.”

  Of course he was. It all flowed back to the 24th Ward, and the Titan’s Day election.

  I thanked Gellica and hung up, then relayed the information to everyone else in the room.

  “You trust her?” said Guyer.

  “As much as anybody,” I said. Jax muttered to himself in Kampi, a swirl of high-pitched clicks and bass notes making it sound as if he were arguing with himself over some point or another.

  “We can’t have a patrol squad march into CaCuri territory in the middle of a rally without sparking a riot. Jax and I will head in that direction. If anyone gets a definite on another location for Tenebrae, radio it in, and we’ll converge there directly. We’ll radio all this in from the Hasam, agreed?”

  Jax grunted his assent, looking at least a little happier.

  I nodded to Guyer. “And you, try to focus on breaking whatever protection he’s got on this thing. We’ll need any advantage possible when we bring him in.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” said Mumphrey.

  * * *

  The bright banners in Bryndel Grove declared the night to be the Starlight Festival. The roads were closed, and tents were stationed down the middle of the street. The buildings were bedecked with strands of faintly flickering lights, made to look like stars, those semi-mythical things that Titanshaders could go a lifetime without seeing, hidden as they were behind the incessant glare of city lights.

  Jax’s head was on a swivel as we walked the festival. The closed-off streets and extensive parking had required us to abandon our vehicle more than a block away, and we strode down the middle of the road, peering into anything that could possibly be called a restaurant, while rubbing shoulders with residents and celebrants delighted to have a reason to party on an average Duoday night.

  “Is every street festival like this?” Jax asked.

  I sidestepped a pair of passersby gorging on jumbo fair snacks. “Pretty much.” That was a bit of a lie. It was Imp’s Night, the longest night of the year, and we had to pass through it before morning broke on Titan’s Day and marked the return to light. The combination of street festival and annual holiday made for an even more happily inebriated crowd than usual.

  Around us, people wandered from tent to tent and from open retail spot to open homes.

  “Most neighborhoods have a handful of festivals a year,” I said as we passed a pair of stocky men in modest sweaters, likely bouncers plucked from their usual perch at a bar and pressed into service as keepers of the peace among cotton candy and dunk booths.

  The air buzzed with a thousand scattered conversations, words blending into whispering undertones that accompanied the eclectic swell of street music. There were musicians and performers at most every corner, hats set out for tips. Beyond them, tents were set up in the streets, luring in white-haired humans and Mollenkampi with faded plates to swig beers and play games of chance.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” I said. “When we spot Tenebrae, or Marbury, or the twins, we’ll separate, and come at them from the flanks. I’ll do the talking, you watch my back.”

  “I know the plan,” Jax said.

  Farther down the street a news crew captured filler video to roll behind an anchor’s description of the event, unless something more interesting happened to bump them from the evening news. We g
ave them a wide berth. I had a specific list of who and what I wanted to see, and the media definitely wasn’t included.

  Jax and I walked the streets and eyed the kids running along with poorly hidden packs of belca root that they were too young to buy. I’d run wild on the streets of neighborhood festivals when I was a kid. But the closer we got to the heart of the CaCuris’ organization, the more the mood tilted from the pleasant buzz of nostalgia and toward anger and resentment. Silver and blue Titan’s Day decorations were on display, but so were black and red banners with a stylized representation of the jagged peaks and ridges of the Mount above two lines of text: Titan First. Mixed in with these were black banners, apparently blank, but when the light caught them just right, the shiny sheen of the pattern showed up against the matte black of the banner fabric. A stylized hand clenched tight, an intimidating design that was new to me.

  From down the block, a half-dozen Imp’s Run celebrants dashed along with exaggerated, loping gaits, the long fur of their costumes waving in the air as they pushed and shoved each other down the street. There were the usual variations on imp costumes, and a sub-group with extra shaggy, white-streaked hair pulled themselves into a tighter knot and broke off down a side street, accompanied by the crowd’s cheers and whistles.

  “No guarantee that Tenebrae is in with the CaCuris.” Jax exaggerated the swing of his shoulders as he walked, allowing him a slightly better than normal view of the crowd without broadcasting that he was looking around. “We don’t know they’ll be at the Paradise Parlor.”

  “I suppose not,” I said. “But why meet Marbury in this neighborhood if it’s not to see the twins?”

  We drew nearer the Paradise Parlor, and found that a stage had been erected at its front. Taking up most of the street, it was festooned in holiday decorations. The twins seemed intent on getting one last night of campaigning in before the Titan’s Day special election.