The Beauty of Our Weapons

by Jilly Paddock

  “I have its twin.” Meeka guessed.

  The letter was identical to the first—same paper, same stencilling and same message, except that it was addressed to ‘Mr Marteen’, and it was just as devoid of material evidence as its brother.

  “What do we do with these—hand them over to the local police?” Meeka retrieved hers from Lyall and folded it carefully back into its envelope. “I’m not sure I’d trust SantDenis with them.”

  “He may seem a pompous little idiot, yet his claim to be the foremost detective on this world is valid.” I hadn’t believed it either, but Zenni had done some snooping of his own on the satellite computer-net. “He wouldn’t tamper with evidence. Keep one of the notes and give him the other. If nothing else, it should make him take this kidnapping more seriously.”

  “What will you do today?” Lyall demanded.

  “Call me stubborn if you like, but I’m guessing that Chandre and the child are still pretty close to Krystallya. I’m going back into the forest to cover more ground.” I met the telepath’s eyes. “And I’m going alone.”

  Lyall shrugged. “I’m not about to argue with you. My batteries are running at minimal charge.”

  “You can’t abandon us, not when the kidnappers could make contact at any time!” Meeka’s terror rekindled. “That would be gross negligence!”

  “We won’t hear a peep out of whoever’s holding your daughter until after dark.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “From the wording of the message—‘before midnight’ suggests that there’ll be no contact until after sunset. On a world lacking phones and comm-terminals, what I’d do in the kidnappers’ place is use a lowly member of the gang, a pawn that can be sacrificed without risking the game, to pass us a second letter or deliver a verbal ultimatum. He or she would consider escape after the deed easier under the cloak of darkness.” I read that my intuitive logic carried no weight with Jansen’s widow. “If anything should happen sooner, all you have to do is think my name loudly and I can appear at your elbow within seconds.” I snapped my fingers. “It’s as easy as that.”

  Meeka scowled. “Just how do you ‘think loudly’?”

  LIKE THIS! I fired the words into her head, pitching the volume high enough to make her wince. “Comes naturally if you’re scared. You’ll see.”

  “Any fear you read in me is for Angel, not myself.” She returned, pouring on the scorn. “Fine empath you are if you can’t see that!”

  “Whatever I am, your dead husband had a hand in the recipe. If the dish came out rancid, blame him, not me.” I waved a farewell to Lyall. “I’ll be back before dark.”

  ***

  If SantDenis did nothing else towards solving his case today, he had at least planted the seed of an idea in my mind. I took the eastern path from the Dreamgate and, within a quarter mile of the city, found a corral under the eaves of the forest, where a ginger-maned Tambou youth skipped like a satyr amongst his herd of ponies-for-hire. When I called him over to negotiate the loan of one of his darlings, he grinned like a demi-Pan too, and quizzed me soundly about my riding skills before finding me a speckled grey gelding called Sky, a real live horse, not one of the constructs reserved for non-riders. I scrambled aboard and made the dozy animal walk, trot and turn to order, until its handler was satisfied that we’d both be safe in each other’s company, then we were free to meander off along the woodland trail.

  Do we have a game-plan for today? Zenni asked.

  I thought I’d work my way through the forest and see if I could pick up any signs of them. I can cover more ground on four legs instead of two.

  I have a map of the paths in memory, so I’ll calculate the most efficient search-pattern—

  ANNA!

  The word was a silent squeal of fear, as vivid and directional as a maroon going up. Such was the urgency behind it that I didn’t stop to think, teleporting straight from the saddle and landing with knees bent, which gave me just enough leeway to avoid tumbling into the swimming pool. I teetered wildly on its edge and just about recovered my balance. Meeka watched in avid anticipation of my downfall, the only person there, treading water in the deep end and apparently in no danger at all.

  “Oh, you didn’t fall in!” She pouted up at me, her face and demeanour that of a wilful child. “Such a pity!”

  “Why did you call? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She gave me a look of doe-eyed innocence, then ruined it with a smirk. “Just testing.”

  “Didn’t you ever hear the story of the boy who cried ‘wolf’?”

  Meeka shook her head, scattering a silver rain from her braids. “Not wolf—bitch!”

  For one crazy moment everything went out of my head, everything except the need to wipe the grin from this infuriating girl’s face. I wanted to push her under the water and hold her there until she was fighting for breath, or to slap her in the face with wave after wave until she wept for mercy, and I could have done either so very easily. All I had to do was stretch out my hand in that unconscious gesture all agent-pairs make when they unleash psi-power, as if pointing a finger was enough in itself to wreak havoc. If Zenni said anything to snatch me back from disaster I didn’t hear it, all my awareness centred on Meeka’s mocking grin. All I needed to do was stretch out my hand... I did, then closed my fingers into a fist, and the Zenith signalled his relief with a sigh.

  “I’m nobody’s dog, Mrs Jansen, least of all yours.” I assembled a smile from the fragments of anger. “Meow!”

  When I rematerialised on the grey gelding’s back, Sky simply stopped grazing the verge and lifted his head, a patient and stoic slave. A click of my tongue and a gentle nudge behind the girth was all that was needed to send him on his way again.

  You shouldn’t let Meeka wind you up, my partner scolded. She’s in torment with the loss of her child and all she wants to do is pass on the hurt.

  And I’m the biggest and best target? What if she pushes me too far—what then?

  I don’t believe you’d deliberately harm an unarmed psi-zero who posed no real threat to you.

  I laughed aloud and Sky twitched an ear. You have way too much faith in me!

  Comes with the programming, Zenni said sheepishly. Do you want me to ask Jeb to write it out?

  Shit, no! I’d no more alter one byte of your persona than I’d change one hair of our Dr Lucas’s head. Both of you are just great as you are.

  Which of us do you love the most?

  Deep in the darkness of my mind, where the Zenith seldom ventured, I waxed cold as I thought of Tom and Oona, and of unwelcome truths voiced in the sunlight of the wabe. You, of course, tinhead, but if it’s Jeb doing the asking, I’d say it the other way round.

  Oh, fickle woman! Zenni mimed throwing his hands up in horror. How can you live with such deceit?

  I shrugged. Comes with the programming, I suppose.

  ***

  If my purpose for being on this delightful world had been less sinister, it would have been a wonderful day. I crisscrossed the Forest of Dreams at a gentle pace, stopping from time to time to let Sky drink from one of the numerous brooks and pools, while I sat with my back to a tree, far-looking for Chandre. Not once did I touch her mind, not once did my intuition uncoil to give me the slightest inkling of the woman’s whereabouts. Now and then I checked on my other charges; Lyall dozed on his balcony with one of the Opal’s pretty maids dancing attendance on him, visiting each hour to deliver refreshment or plump up his pillows, while Meeka moved through the mountain city like a haunted thing, first swimming, then sightseeing and shopping in a daze.

  At the end of a long, golden afternoon I found that Zenni’s search pattern had brought me close to the mysterious clearing we’d found on the previous day, so I dismounted and led the gelding between the trees. We emerged into the sunlit space and I saw that I wasn’t alone. A figure crouched on the fallen stone, head bowed in lonely reverie, a Tambou who was all too familiar.

  SantDenis, Zenni muttered.
Just like a bad penny.

  “Hello, Caron,” the investigator said, as if it was no surprise to him to meet me here. “You’ve spent a fruitful day conjuring romantic spirits and evoking the mythology of the forest, I trust?”

  “Yes, indeed. This is a magical place. I feel relaxed and renewed.” I gushed, patting Sky’s neck. “Was your day as rewarding?”

  “No, it was pure frustration. I searched all day and nothing found.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Seeking inspiration.” SantDenis rubbed at his temples and I sensed a haze of pain over his thoughts. “Come sit beside me and tell me about your adventures, my dear.”

  I hitched Sky to a low branch and moved to join the Tambou. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to touch the fallen monolith, so I sat down cross-legged on the grass instead, telling myself that was much more in Caron’s idiom. “It’s been brilliant, just riding around, with the sun and the trees and everything! Did you find Chandre and the little girl yet?”

  “No.” Something about SantDenis was different tonight, something beyond simple weariness. His confidence was dulled, its edges blunted. “I’ve wasted the day speaking to twenty witnesses who saw and heard nothing. I’d no idea how many folk in Krystallya could turn blind and deaf at the swish of a spine-tail! I’ve followed false leads, lost time in dead ends and found only muddled evidence, in fact such a log-jam of chaos that I’m now utterly certain a grave crime has been committed.”

  “Do you think they’ve been kidnapped?”

  “Madame Marteen and the child are lost.” Herculeon scowled and studied the dust-caked toes of his boots. “I fear for their safety.”

  “You think that they’re dead!” I let Caron leap to the edge of hysteria. “Chandre can’t be dead, she just can’t! And the little girl—she’s only two years old! If they’re both dead— No, that would be too awful! They must be alive, they must!”

  SantDenis’s black mood took wing and I saw it scud away like a stormcloud driven by a gale. He laid one hand on my shoulder, an anchor to ground my panic. “Calm yourself, my dear. Let us presume your friends alive and well until we find otherwise. It would be very foolish to abandon hope so early in the investigation, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.” Caron leaked a tear or two, then swallowed the balance. “What will you do now? I mean, if there isn’t any evidence and nobody saw anything?”

  “I have sources of information I can tap in the city and my colleagues in the local police have their own part to play. If we can’t solve the mystery within a day or two, there’s always the arrival of help from Terrapol to look forward to!” He bared his teeth in a savage grin, revealing canines that wouldn’t have disgraced the average jackal. “I only hope they don’t send me a spook to work with!”

  I leaned back, wriggling out of his unwelcome grip. “A what?”

  “A spook—one of their special agents.” SantDenis laughed. “Come now, my dear, Barnard Three isn’t that much of a backwater, and not even a babe like you can really be that naive! It’s common knowledge that Terrapol recruits psi-freaks into its ranks, telepaths mainly, and kinets, when they can get them.”

  My denial came out by reflex. “That isn’t true!”

  “Isn’t it?” He cast a sidelong look at me, his eyes narrow and glinting green from within, like a sinful cat caught in torchlight. “Take my advice, little miss, and don’t put it to the test. Anybody foolish enough to gain a high score in one of their psi-aptitude sessions on any of the core planets is head-hunted—signed, sealed and shipped off to Sol-system before they can whistle. That’s what gives Earth the most feared police force this side of Syracuse, not because they’ll beat you to within a whisker of death to gain a confession, but because they know you’re guilty of a crime practically before you’ve stepped outside your door to commit it. Bedamned spooks!” He spat on the grass. “I hate them!”

  Well, that rules out all future help from that quarter. Zenni observed. Does anybody here like us, I wonder?

  “I don’t believe that Terrapol uses espers—there are too few of them.” I felt that Caron could get away with that viewpoint, given her youth. “Although one might be helpful now, to lead us to Chandre and her captors.”

  “They might not send us a spook.” The Tambou smiled, warming to that idea. “After all, Chandre Marteen isn’t a public figure, tied into politics or the media. She’s probably not important enough to rate that kind of elite intervention.”

  “She’s important to me!” That was Anna talking and I had to retreat back into character. “I feel terrible about all of this. Isn’t there anything I can do to help find her?”

  “No, my dear, in fact, I forbid it!” SantDenis declared, in a blaze of righteous indignation. “You have no experience or training in this field, and meddling in a case of this magnitude would lay you open to great danger. Besides, you’re on holiday. Enjoy your time here and let me cope with the problems, eh?”

  “All right.” I hung my head, a child rebuked. “But you will find them soon, won’t you?”

  “I will try, I promise you that.” The Tambou took the vow in all seriousness. “I came to this spot to mull over everything I’ve learnt today. To reach a solution one must make the leap from intuition to logic, and this glade is traditionally viewed as a place of enlightenment. It’s at the heart of the fiefdom of the djinn. It was where the lost brothers made their bivouac in that tale I recounted this morning.”

  “And this stone?” Again I refrained from touching it, as if it might bite. “Does it cover a grave?”

  “Some say it does.”

  I was almost sure he was teasing me, yet I couldn’t accurately read the blur of his near-human emotions. “Who’s buried here?”

  “Not who—what. One legend tells of the bones of a monster sealed under this rock for all eternity, never to be released lest it wreak destruction on Tambouret, and another holds that we buried our native soul here when we spurned our own heritage and natural history in favour of those of Earth. A third tale has it that this is indeed a tomb, that of an immortal who died of sorrow.” SantDenis basked in the wonder I painted on Caron’s face. “Pretty tales, all three of them. You may choose a favourite and call it the truth.”

  “Does this place have a name?”

  “No, but this slab of rock lays claim to several. It’s known as Hell’s Maw, the gate to the paths of damnation, and it’s called Love’s or Sorrow’s Rest by those who believe it to be a grave. I like to think of it as the Wish-stone, for if one stands here at the rising or setting of the sun, or the full of both moons, and makes a wish with all of one’s heart then it invariably comes true.”

  “Oh, but you’ve a glib tongue!” I giggled. “I’ll bet you sell snake oil to the tourists when you’re off-duty, don’t you?”

  “Snake oil?” SantDenis shook his head. “Pardon me, but I’m not familiar with that reference.”

  “Never mind.” I put one hand down in the grass and felt the dew on it, noticing for the first time how close the sun was to setting. “I’d better be taking my horse back, before his owner charges me for two days instead of one!”

  “I ought to go too.” The investigator grunted. “I’ve some people to talk to in Lowkrys before I can call it a night.”

  “Lowkrys?”

  “The basement levels of the city.” His open stare told me nothing, but I caught a sulphurous whiff in his aura that might have been resentment. “The least savoury parts of Krystallya. Where the Tambou live.”

  There was something in his tone that sent me cold, a barely discernable thread of menace. “Then I’d better not keep you from your duties... better be going back... got to be in time for dinner...” I babbled, in an almost-coherent goodbye.

  “Wait a moment.” SantDenis leaned on the edge of the monolith and plucked something from the grass. He dropped it into my hand, an alien flower with seven curled petals of an intense blue. “One of Tambouret’s native herbs, a common weed that used to grow
all over this area before the trees were naturalised here. Two centuries of terraforming and we still haven’t eradicated all of our plants—the toughest will always survive.”

  “It’s very pretty. What was it called?”

  “You have a childlike fascination over the naming of things, don’t you?” The Tambou carefully grubbed the rest of the weed out of the soil, stood up and ground it under his heel. “But then, knowing a name gives you power over its owner, thus the wisest folk of all hide their secret names well. Good night to you, little miss, and may you find a safe path home.”

  He walked slowly out of the clearing and was eaten up by the shadows between the trees. I waited until I was sure he’d gone before I moved. Sky was almost asleep and blundered after me like a zombie as I made for the nearest path.

  That Tambou, mercurial or what? Zenni chuckled. I think he could match you for mood swings.

  I swung up onto the gelding’s back and tucked the odd flower into his neckstrap. I have no opinion on the being, other than dislike.

  That’s irrational.

  Not at all—it’s instinctive. Everything about SantDenis irritates me.

  Hate at first sight?

  Why not? You believe in the other side of that coin, don’t you?

  Yes. Zenni’s voice filled with warmth, as if he’d smiled. After all, I’ve seen it happen.

  I urged the gelding into a reluctant trot and turned his head for home.

  Chapter Six: A Certain Token

  We ate dinner that night out on the terrace, under a pergola of musk-perfumed yellow roses. Lyall occupied a wheelchair that looked as if it had sought passage on the Ark, a splendid contraption of wicker and wood that needed two strong male Tambou to carry it down the steps, and which creaked mightily as they guided it into position at our table.

  “I could have walked.” The telepath complained, as his porters left us.

  “Enjoy being waited on while it lasts. It’s doing wonders to salve the consciences of the staff. Think what it would have done for the hotel’s reputation if you’d died on them.”