By now they were just across the river from us, the wagon less than ten feet from the bridge. Two things began to happen at the same time. First, even as he chatted, Quince was deliberately agitating and confusing his own mount—scraping his heels against the horse’s sides while pulling back on the reins, and no doubt sending other confusing messages with the shifting placement of his weight in the saddle. The horse showed the whites of its eyes, flattened its ears back, and was about to leap directly in front of the wagon (which was Quince’s aim, to startle the donkeys enough for the wagon to pitch) . . . but at the same moment, I heard Livia murmuring under her breath. I turned to look at her. She was sitting upright, eyes half closed. She finished whatever she had been saying with a soft, drawn-out “hush” . . . and Quince’s horse hushed. Calmed. Immediately became indifferent to the DOer’s nonvocal commands.
Quince frowned and smacked the horse on the rump with the flat of his hand. The horse did not react.
“Is something wrong with your nag?” asked Hanno, laughing.
“He isn’t minding me well,” said Quince.
“Well, brother, you are flailing about, perhaps you have disgusted him with your bad horsemanship.”
“I think he has something lodged in his hoof, tell the wagon to hold up so I can check.” He dismounted, irritated, and brought his mount around at such an angle that the horse’s body would shield him from the view of Hanno and the wagon driver—but not from us.
Livia tensed beside me now, eyes sharp on Quince, anticipating him. I saw her lips moving very rapidly and her eyes widen, then narrow.
Quince, kneeling, tried to spook his horse but was suddenly unable to raise his hands quickly. After a long moment of seeming to wrestle in slow motion with the air, he dropped his arms, disgusted, and his attention shifted toward the donkeys pulling the wagon. There was a small tree branch lying less than an arm’s length from him. He reached for it, but Livia had already magically fastened it in place, and he could not budge it for any amount of tugging. Frustrated and confused, he released it and returned to a position of kneeling upright at his horse’s right front hoof.
“Are you all right down there?” Hanno called out, laughing. “Are you having a seizure? I thought you wanted to check your horse’s hoof.”
“Yes, sorry, I saw a snake and was trying to scare it away,” said Quince tersely. He squeezed the horse’s lower leg to make it raise its foot, peremptorily glanced into the hoof, and then released it. He stood up. “Nothing wrong. Just being ornery.”
Livia relaxed. She nudged me and signaled that we should go closer to the river as if watering our mounts. Above us, the wagon and both riders passed by on the road without seeing us and continued uphill. When they were well past, we returned to the road.
The wagon had to proceed slowly to keep the mosaic steady. Over the next hour and a half, we rode behind them at a far enough distance to discourage interaction. Both men would have recognized Livia (and Quince would have recognized me), but her spell of being unnoticed held. They noticed riders behind them, headed to the same (and eventually only) destination, but they were not interested. About every twenty minutes, Quince attempted again to agitate his mount, but Livia’s spell held, and the horse remained placid. Otherwise the trip back up the mountain was hot and quiet, punctuated by the whirring calls of insects in the wheat fields.
Quince was in a terrible mood by the time we reached that massive entrance gate. It was late afternoon by now, the sun slanting shadows across the entrance plaza. Hanno Gisgon called out instructions to the workers about how to get the subsections of the mosaic into its chamber. (The workers had come from Armerina several days ago, but while waiting for the mosaic, they’d been lodging in the stables, so we never saw them.) I kept my back to Quince until he went inside, so that he couldn’t get a look at me; then Livia and I dismounted and handed our horses off to a groom. We hustled back inside to her rooms, where the girls swarmed her, seeking anecdotes about our Grand Day Out. She promised them all the details of the adventure while we were in the bath.
Post-bath and dressed again, Livia and Julia hurried to play hostesses (chaperoned by Vilicus, of course). Livia agreed I should stay behind in the room to prevent Quince’s seeing me. Arria and Thalia took turns showing me how to plait each other’s hair. They also wanted to know about the courtship rituals of my native land. I was disappointingly non-lurid, refusing to share anything about my sex life.
Livia returned, glowing with satisfaction, several hours later. “The workers have mixed the cement and already started laying down the central tesserae,” she announced, very pleased. “So the mosaic of the Nine Muses for my bedroom shall proceed as planned.”
“And Quintus is content to have failed?” I asked, doubting.
“Quintus knows better than to reveal any discontent to my face,” said Livia with a knowing smile. “Melia, I thank you. It shames me that I even considered you untrustworthy. You have been good company, and we will all continue to practice our running so that you will be proud of us if you ever honor us by journeying here again, and I will tell you if Hanno looks at my legs. But truly I apologize for the iron anklet. That wasn’t called for.”
I shrugged. “This was a strange situation. I’m grateful you trusted me at all. But in fact, there is something I didn’t tell you, which I must tell you now so you can Home me: neither Quintus nor I am from the Veneto . . .”
She was interested that we were from the future but not very interested. Well-born Romans in 309 CE had reason to believe theirs was the greatest civilization of all time, so why care about another one? Without grilling me, she Homed me to East House. Where—although it’s worrisome that Frank’s not back yet—I was relieved to learn that Robin has avoided Gráinne’s death traps thus far. (But Tristan will lose it when he hears about the chandelier stunt. Assuming Robin successfully gets him back to hear about the chandelier stunt.)
I will go back for Strand 2 as soon as possible, but we should have a discussion first about the pros and cons of using magic as part of a DEDE. Also, can someone do a deep dive on Hanno Gisgon?
FREYA’S TRANSCRIPT OF
CONVERSATION AT EAST HOUSE
DAY 2003 (22 JANUARY, YEAR 6)
ERZSÉBET: This young woman is very irresponsible and spoiled. Using magic for a DEDE is a terrible idea, although there is no reason for her to know that, because she is not familiar with the unnatural and appalling things that you people are trying to do with magic. If Gráinne becomes curious as to why her DOer is suddenly having problems and goes back there to see for herself, she will see the glamour and know that there is magic in play. Then she might respond with magic. Then suddenly there is a magic battle between Livia and Gráinne, because they are both very selfish and shortsighted—
MORTIMER: I wouldn’t call Gráinne shortsighted, exactly. She has her eye on the prize.
ERZSÉBET: She is impulsive. She would rather try to blow you out of your inflatable rowboat with a cannon than make a surgical slice to the inflatable rowboat. And that girl Livia, she is foolish.
MEL: She’s actually incredibly smart, but she’s bored. In a more stimulating environment—
ERZSÉBET: Having an excuse to be foolish doesn’t make it not foolish. How bored do you think I was in the 180 years you made me wait for you? I stayed out of trouble.
MORTIMER: The bigger issue is that if there is some kind of magic battle in the past, things get complicated in ways that DODO will be able to calculate far more efficiently than we can, because of the Chronotron.
ERZSÉBET: I agree with this.
MEL: So it’s good I had a successful DEDE and that I now have a good lay of the land. But no magic next time.
Exchange of messages between Chira Yasin Lajani, DOer Lover Class, and NMS on private ODIN channel
DAY 2004 (23 JANUARY, YEAR 6)
NMS (11:45): Hello, Chira! I’m Dr. Blevins’s new assistant. Congratulations! Dr. Blevins has instructed me to invite you to the executive
break room at 16:30 hours to receive a special honor.
CHIRA (11:46): Hello, NMS. Thank you. What’s the special honor?
NMS (11:46): I don’t know the details, but it is something related to your current DEDE.
CHIRA (11:46): You mean the DEDE that nobody is supposed to know about?
NMS (11:47): That’s correct.
CHIRA (11:47): Why are we having a ceremony for something nobody is supposed to know about? Also, why are we having a ceremony when I haven’t completed the DEDE yet?
NMS (11:47): Those are excellent questions, Chira. Let me research this and get back to you.
* * *
NMS (12:31): Hi, Chira, OK, I have some info for you. It’s a private ceremony, so no need to go to the exec break room, just go right to Dr. Blevins’s office. The relevant personnel will gather there.
CHIRA (12:32): Thank you, NMS. I remain curious why there’s anything to celebrate when I’m still in the middle of completing all the required Strands.
NMS (12:32): Of course. Working on it. I’ll let you know real soon.
CHIRA (12:32): It’s not urgent, I’m just curious. Please do not put yourself out trying to get an answer.
NMS (12:32): No problem, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll be back in touch soon!
* * *
NMS (13:17): Hi, Chira! OK, here’s what I have for you: your DEDE is only the third example of “black ops within the black ops” of DODO, and agents on those extra-secret assignments are automatically promoted mid-DEDE. So this is the promotion ceremony. ☺
CHIRA (13:18): In that case I assume the Forerunner with the code name Angelo must also be getting promoted. I look forward to meeting him. But may I ask: Why not just wait until after the DEDE is completed and then make it a regular promotion?
NMS (13:18): That’s an excellent question, Chira. Let me research this and get back to you.
* * *
NMS (13:31): Hi, Chira! Here’s what I can tell you: the Forerunner will not be getting promoted because he was already promoted last time he did a black ops. The reason the promotion happens mid-DEDE is because, in the event you meet an unfortunate end, your loved ones will be the beneficiaries of your promoted position. Can I help you with anything else?
CHIRA (13:31): Sorry if this sounds rude, but you are a real human, right? Not a bot?
NMS (13:31): A bot?
CHIRA (13:32): Like that Amazon bot that talks to people. Alexa.
NMS (13:35): Sorry, I don’t see an Alexa in my address book. There is one DEDE being prepped for the 1491 Amazonian basin, but I can’t give you details without clearance.
CHIRA (13:36): Never mind. Have we met in person?
NMS (13:36): Not yet, Chira. As I said, I’m new. ☺
CHIRA (13:36): Do you report to the whole executive suite?
NMS (13:36): I report only to Dr. Blevins, but I communicate with whomever he needs me to communicate with.
CHIRA (13:37): I see. And you always communicate via ODIN channels?
NMS (13:37): I find that’s the most efficient way. I’m a very fast typist. ☺
CHIRA (13:37): So you don’t communicate at all with people who don’t use the ODIN channels for their work, is that the case?
NMS (13:38): May I ask why this is so interesting to you?
CHIRA (13:38): Gráinne doesn’t like to use ODIN, so I just wondered where you are in the Gráinne-Blevins communication stream.
NMS (13:40): That’s an excellent question, Chira! So far, Dr. Blevins has not asked me to communicate anything to Gráinne in the short time I have been here, but I believe that is because they speak so often in person, so it isn’t necessary.
CHIRA (13:41): But Gráinne is not authorized to use you to communicate with other people, is that right?
NMS (13:44): That’s correct, Chira. My duty is to listen only to Dr. Blevins and Dr. Constantine Rudge, who is a consultant from IARPA, the Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Agency. Anyhow, to be honest, it’s hard for me to understand Gráinne’s accent. I have a good ear for all kinds of accents, but I can never manage to make out what she’s saying! I’m relieved she hasn’t noticed so far. I don’t want her to think I’m rude.
CHIRA (13:46): OK, thanks for clearing that up. So Dr. Blevins hired you?
NMS (13:46): Dr. Constantine Rudge recommended me to Dr. Blevins. Dr. Rudge is a consultant for DODO from IARPA, the Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Agency.
CHIRA (13:47): Yes, I know who Dr. Rudge is. Thank you, NMS. Welcome to DODO.
NMS (13:47): Thank you, Chira! Shall I tell Dr. Blevins to expect you in his office at 16:30?
CHIRA (13:48): Certainly. Will I have the pleasure of meeting you in person then?
NMS (13:48): Afraid not, I have an appointment out of the office then. Sorry to miss you! Maybe next time. ☺
Exchange of messages between Mortimer Shore and Rebecca East-Oda on “Chira” GRIMNIR channel
DAY 2005 (24 JANUARY, YEAR 6)
MORTIMER: Attached is a screenshot Chira just texted me of an email exchange she had with “NMS,” who is Blevins’s new virtual assistant. Sounds like Constantine Rudge has figured out Gráinne has her own agenda, even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. Voice-recognition software with an accent-specific blind spot! Or deaf spot, I’d guess you’d say. Sweet!
REBECCA: That could be a misdirect. Gráinne could have used psy-ops or seduction to get somebody inside DODO to create this NMS bot and include the claim that it can’t understand Gráinne, when in fact Gráinne is the man behind the curtain.
MORTIMER: My good woman, that’s a little paranoid but I see your point.
REBECCA: I don’t think anything can count as paranoid thinking, Mortimer. That woman is capable of anything.
MORTIMER: Point taken, and I apologize, Rebecca. I’m gonna say I don’t think you’re on target here, though, because Gráinne would be one hundred percent dependent on someone in IT to pull that off, and I can tell you from personal experience that she does not grasp the geek sensibility. I think NMS is a product of Dr. Rudge realizing there has to be a Gráinne-free zone within DODO communications.
REBECCA: So he also understands she might be diabolical.
MORTIMER: He probably learned that from the Fuggers . . . Twenty-first-century bankers have a vested interest in the world not devolving to pre-industrial chaos.
REBECCA: Unless they figure out how to make money from pre-industrial chaos.
MORTIMER: More money than they can make by cornering the chip market? I think not.
REBECCA: But perhaps now Frederick Fugger would be willing to Send somebody back to look for Frank.
MORTIMER: Yeah, but you already tried that. He said no.
REBECCA: We didn’t give him enough information to make an informed decision. We Sent Frank to a village outside Kyoto, correct? Kyoto is a small city, and perhaps he’s drawn attention to himself as an outsider with an unusually canny grasp of many things. The shogun at the time is Ashikaga Yoshimasa, but he’s only fourteen and the court would be ablaze with infighting and competing cabals. If Frank stumbles into all of that, he could really be throwing a spanner into the works. He is so naive in some ways, he could spawn a host of troubles that might even trigger Diachronic Shear. Frederick Fugger would want to prevent that.
MORTIMER: Frederick Fugger wants us to prevent it. I’m sorry, Rebecca.
REBECCA: No, that’s fine, I’m sure I’m being silly. Only, it’s been two weeks and it seems irresponsible of us not to make some attempt to make sure he’s all right.
LETTER FROM
GRÁINNE to CARA SAMUELS
County Dublin, Vernal Equinox 1606
Auspiciousness and prosperity to you, my friend!
Today’s tale is further to impress upon you the urgent need of your joining forces with me. ’Tis a cautionary tale regarding Dr. Roger Blevins.
The Blevins is turning out to be a thorn in my side when I had anticipated he would be a cog in the machinery I was constr
ucting. But now instead he grows suspicious, and thus not only does he not help me, but ’tis perilously close to hindering me, he is.
Sure he’s been full of complaining that I seem to be forever elsewhere and not around as his “girl Friday,” as he likes to be calling me, and further he resents that I will not answer to him regarding my absences. Thinks he owns me, the fool! Not wanting to be bothered with his snivelling suspicions, I set about to refresh the spells that I wove upon him on Hallowe’en. As I didn’t meet you until New Year’s, you won’t know the story, so here ’tis briefly.
When I had been in the future but some month or two, and was getting along like a house on fire with Erzsébet, and figuring out what DODO was truly up to, and realising the need to correct the course of history to be more magic-friendly . . . just about that time, didn’t the overlords at DODO decide to throw a feast to celebrate Samhain. Or rather, as you call it in the New World, Hallowe’en. The real thing’s silly enough, that being the offering up of seedcakes to the spirits of the dead, to soothe them from being mischievous. And although that be superstitious nonsense, I can make sense of it. But what you’ve done with it in America! Sure some do counterfeit to be ghosts and ghouls, and threaten sensible folk into giving them sweets. I can respect such prankstering when the result is free sweeties. But most of them dress up as insects or nuns or the brightly painted canister whence uncooked porridge is dispensed. Why would anyone be soothing a porridge bin with biscuits? ’Tis all bollocks.
On this day I tell of, some month after my arrival, DODO did stage a huge party. You may have even been there as a guest, but we never met because I was engaged as follows: with Erzsébet’s assistance (when she was still allied to me), I lured the Blevins into an ODEC-on-wheels, called an ATTO. And ’twas there, within the chamber, I charmed him and mentally seduced him to bend to my will.
Being a fiercely good practitioner of magic as I am, wasn’t my spell successful and strong? Is right it was, and for months it’s lasted. But now I’m wondering a bit if the effects do seem to be wearing off in the accursed magic-free environment of the future. For the Blevins questions me more than e’er he did, and no longer thinks to run every thought past me first before implementing it. Nor does he always do as I ask without questioning.
Master of the Revels Page 26