by Glen Cook
Fright flashed across Nepanthe’s face. “Really? You’re not just saying that so I’ll ask you to back off?”
“No. I have to be there to catch the necessary personal resonances.”
Nepanthe freed one of her classic sighs. “What must be, must be. Go.”
“You insist?”
“I do.”
“I’ll set Scalza’s scrying bowl so you can watch.” That lacked any facility for listening in. He did some this and that while mumbling about it being a good thing that Radeachar did not have much character. The monster had gotten flung all over creation lately, with little respite.
He had the Unknown show itself blatantly, then called it back to Fangdred.
...
Ozora Mundwiller glared at Kristen. She scowled at Dahl Haas. “That thing is going house to house, staring in windows!”
Dahl said, “The wizard wants it understood that he’s watching.”
The old woman seemed inclined to lay the blame at their feet. “We’ve always known that. Why the sudden close-ups?”
Kristen said, “Neither of us knows Varthlokkur well enough to fathom his thinking. If I was to guess, though, the intent is to panic somebody into thinking that the wizard is onto them.”
“Somebody in Sedlmayr.”
Dahl nodded. “Would that be a first?”
“No. But it would be someone skilled at not getting noticed.”
Aral Dantice came to all three minds. And Aral had disappeared.
Ozora announced, “I have regained my composure. I will assume the Unborn’s behavior to be a message. I’ll ask questions. If there is anything going on I will expose it. Bight? Where is that boy?”
Haas said, “He’s got a new crush.”
“That Blodgett chit? He’s not supposed to let Kristen out of his sight.”
“She would be the one,” Kristen said, amused. “She may be just a wee bit more pliable than I am.”
“I’ll ply…”
Haas added, “She seems like a nice kid. Down to earth. For her age.”
“But an orphan,” Ozora grumbled. Styling. It was no secret she actually liked Bertie Blodgett. The girl made her laugh. “Living on the charity of the enThal family. Where did she come from, anyway? Those people…!”
Old family animosities were at work there. Ozora was too old and set to let them slide. She was, surprisingly, still flexible enough not to issue anti-fraternization decrees on that basis alone.
Later, Dahl teased Kristen, “You got too old for Bight.”
“What you mean is, too sophisticated.”
“And too taken.”
“That could be changed. I see the way you look at that Bertie.”
“Can I help it if I’m not dead yet? A man is a man. I never do anything but look.”
Kristen did not take that in the spirit in which it was offered.
...
“I don’t have the skills to divine the past!” Babeltausque declared, not for the first time. “I’m not really a necromancer. The spirits I command can’t look back, either. We need to find something of the villain’s and trace that. Or just keep on working the neighborhood where the girls grew up. We’ll find something eventually.”
Nathan Wolf asked, “Does it have to be something that belonged to the villain? We do have the dead girl.”
“That might work,” Babeltausque conceded, irked that it had taken a layman to suggest what should have been obvious to him.
So far working the neighborhood had produced only rumors, ugly stories, and malicious finger-pointing. Few local girls reached their wedding days untouched by family or neighbors. People considered it part of growing up.
But nobody sanctioned what had been done to Phyletia Plens. They pretended to cooperate, speculated freely, and strained muscles in their eagerness to point fingers.
The butcher was a magnet. Neighbors wondered if he had not killed Haida Heltkler and blended her into his sausages.
Still fighting that cough, Josiah Gales said, “We could put Black to the question. That would get to the facts.”
Inger said, “Do arrest him. What is all that noise?”
A grand racket had developed elsewhere in the castle.
“A mob?” Babeltausque asked, suddenly frightened. Wasn’t it too soon for that kind of trouble?
Inger said, “Nathan, find out what’s happening. And bring the doctor when you come back.”
As the door closed, Babeltausque said, “Black isn’t our killer but he does know something about the girls who lived in his house.”
Possibly. One girl later murdered and another now missing. Significantly, though, the other victims and missing girls had lived within a short distance of Black’s shop.
Inger said, “I want the doctor because I have a notion worse than running girls through a meat grinder. Which, you’ll recall, did not happen to Phyletia Plens. What we do have is the monster’s seed that he spilled into Phyletia. Babeltausque, you and the doctor will…”
The door opened. A man stepped inside.
Inger finally exhaled. “Varthlokkur!”
“I am not happy to be here. My wife insists that I help stop what’s been happening.”
Babeltausque withstood the wizard’s stare. “It isn’t me.”
“True. But you do know what became of one missing girl.”
Babeltausque inclined his head. “She isn’t missing. She’s hiding.”
Oh, he hated to confess. He did not want to suffer the disapprobation he would face now. But he would not grant the wizard a blackmail hold.
“I see. Consensual.”
“Entirely.”
The wizard surveyed the others. “One disappearance solved already. Tell me about the others.”
Wolf and Wachtel arrived while Babeltausque was confessing. The doctor looked older than his incredible age. He was pale and grim. His hands trembled.
Wolf said, “I sent men to fetch Black. Meantime, we have a small mystery, brought to my attention while I was out. There, by the way, is the cause of the excitement.” He nodded at Varthlokkur.
“What is the mystery?”
“We have ghosts in the cemetery.”
“That seems the most likely place to find them.”
“Absolutely, but for the fact that nobody ever saw any until, a while back, a Siluro family squatting in Fiana’s mausoleum were evicted by ghosts who then vanished when the Unborn appeared.”
Everyone looked at Varthlokkur, who said, “I have no idea. Maybe I should go see. Now. I’ve heard from Her Majesty and my fellow wizard. Suppose you speak next, Colonel Gales?”
“Not much to tell. I was a prisoner. They turned me loose. I’ve been trying to regain my health. My experience doesn’t connect with the matter at hand.”
“The Heltkler girl was associated with your captors.”
Gales shrugged. “I never saw a girl. I saw one man. He brought food and made sure I didn’t try to get away. I was drugged most of the time. Those times when my head did clear I was too sick to act.”
“Nathan Wolf. I know little about you.”
Wolf shivered, told what he could. The wizard did not interrupt. He tolerated repetition of information already given. He was sniffing for previously undetected connections.
“Excellent. You are a skilled observer. Is it possible that the Heltkler girl disappeared into the same fog as the men who kidnapped Colonel Gales?”
Babeltausque opened his mouth, then shut it. That possibility had not occurred to him. His hungers, fears, and preconceptions, fueled by the hysteria stirred by Phyletia’s dark fate, had shoved political possibilities right out of his head.
He was not alone.
Josiah Gales gave up a cough that was a small confession of embarrassment.
Babeltausque said, “So. A plausible explanation for what happened to another girl. Does that take the load off Arnulf Black? She might have run to escape him instead of us.”
Varthlokkur faced Wachtel. “Doctor? You have something?”
The old man shook. “I won’t be doing surgery much longer.”
Varthlokkur told him, “These people all know your secret. For my part, I don’t care what made you become political.”
“My physician’s oath. These invaders only mean to use the people of Kavelin like farm animals.”
“As may be, we have children to save. We have a monster to identify. Can you contribute to that cause?”
Wachtel talked about girls found dead in the past.
“Might there have been others?”
“Almost certainly.”
Nathan Wolf suggested, “There could have been dozens. Girls go missing all the time. Most run away. The ones we know about are the ones whose bodies were found.”
Varthlokkur said, “Youth sells. There are those who exploit that. With Her Majesty’s permission I’d like to interview people who operate houses of prostitution. Those who get stubborn can answer to Radeachar. Doctor. You still have Phyletia Plens?”
“I do. Preserved in collaboration with the sorcerer. I was sure we would get back to her eventually.”
“Excellent. You and I will examine her now. Babeltausque, please join us. I’ll need to see where she was found after I examine her remains.”
...
Word swept the city. Varthlokkur had returned. He was hunting a child-killer. Once he interviewed them Vorgreberg’s pimps and procurers stopped employing talents under fourteen. It took only one visit from the Unborn to drive the message home.
That monster became a permanent aerial phenomenon. Vorgrebergers were six parts terrified and the rest of a dozen thrilled. Every vanished daughter for thirty years past was one villain’s fault, suddenly. Tavern speculation concentrated on what might be the ugliest possible means of dealing with the beast.
There were no votes for quick or kind.
Inger told Josiah Gales, “We’re riding high today. If we found that money now we could really cash in.”
Gales was tired of hearing about a treasure he no longer believed existed. “Ask Varthlokkur to find it.”
“I did. He chuckled and said it will be no help if we do find it.”
...
A sense of unease descended on Sedlmayr, fed by the news that Varthlokkur had returned to Vorgreberg. The truth, that he had come to hunt a foul murderer, was disbelieved by many.
The road east filled with agents determined to learn the real story.
...
Babeltausque shuffled slowly along to see his Carrie Depar. No special hunger drove him. Something was wrong with him. He ought not to be tired of Carrie so soon, yet his infatuation had begun to fade. Because everyone disapproved? Why? She was damned near legal. Certainly older than he preferred.
Could it be fear? The mob would not stop to listen if he tried to explain that Carrie was with him by choice.
He knew that no one really listened even at the best of times. No one wanted to be reminded that they had failings of their own.
It was dark. A sliver of autumn moon drifted toward the western horizon. The air was brisk but not yet outright cold.
Something burred past Babeltausque. He thought it must be a big bug, yet experience made him dive into the ditch beside the road. That bug had to be a sling bullet.
There was water in the ditch. It was cold and rank.
A voice grumbled. Another, closer, said, “Nah. I think I missed.”
Babeltausque slithered forward, quietly as he could. The ditch would debouch into a wet weather creek just ahead. That passed through a culvert under the road. He should fit. Holed up, he could plan his counterattack.
He listened to them grumble as they searched. He did not recognize their voices. They did not know the terrain. They did not have a light by which to find his obvious trail.
This must be political. They must want to strip Inger of her most dangerous ally.
Babeltausque’s heartbeat settled some. He plied his sorcerer’s skills. He did not counterattack but, rather, marked the men with little spells that would betray them later, hoping they could be traced back to whoever sent them.
He waited for them to give up. That took another miserable half hour. He had time to reflect. He had become so predictable that enemies were able to set an ambush. That had to change. Then he thought about the geography between Castle Krief and Mist’s old mansion. There were other culverts. There was an abandoned well. There were several cesspools, including a dried up pit behind Mist’s mansion. There were improved springs, cisterns, and fish ponds. Few of those had been examined by treasure hunters. People figured that a Rebsamen don like Derel Prataxis would not hide anything in unpleasant places.
Babeltausque suspected that he and Nathan would be getting wet and filthy soon.
Tonight, though… Tonight was for Carrie.
The fire had returned.
...
Babeltausque inched toward the stairway down to his beloved. How bored was she? How much would she whine about being cooped up here with nothing to do but wait till he felt the need?
He had only a moment to realize that he was not alone. An exotic beauty emerged from broken wainscoting and rose in front of him, bits of broken wood sliding off her.
She was more surprised than he. That allowed him a running start.
He hit the night with arms and legs flailing.
This was the first time he had seen that woman but he knew who she was.
He was too focused on covering ground to notice the Unborn descending behind him.
†
CHAPTER NINETEEN
YEAR 1017 AFE:
CHAOS IN PEACE
Mist shoved the broken woodwork aside, duck-walked a step, rose to find herself face to face with a chubby man in black. He smelled like swamp water. He squeaked and ran. She followed, hoping to keep him from reporting her presence. That hope died when she stepped outside.
The Unborn came down from the night as though it had been waiting just for her.
Reason suggested that it must have been tracking the man now in such enthusiastic flight.
The Unborn settled at eye level, a dozen feet away. It was unafraid.
Mist wondered if it was capable of fear.
It shot upward, then whipped away toward Vorgreberg.
Mist’s lifeguard stepped out in time to watch it dwindle. “Is there a problem, Illustrious?”
“I don’t think so. Though there was a man here when I left the portal. He ran away. We should have time to poke around.”
Wait! Here that man came, a pale witch light burning over his left shoulder.
“Illustrious?”
“He doesn’t seem belligerent.”
The pudgy fellow approached till he was three yards away. His light grew stronger. Mist’s bodyguard stepped out to her left, watching the man’s right hand.
Mist asked, “What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
He faced Vorgreberg. “It won’t be long.” The Unborn reappeared. “Not long at all.” He turned back. “I am Babeltausque, a wizard. Mouse size, relatively speaking.”
The Unborn closed fast. It was not alone. Varthlokkur dangled beneath it.
“Illustrious! Get behind me.”
“There is no point. Either we are in no danger or it is too late to protect ourselves. You. Sorcerer. What is he doing here?”
“Helping find an ugly and elusive child-killer.”
“Tell me.”
He was still talking when the Unborn deposited the Empire Destroyer beside him. Mist felt tension rise in her companion.
Varthlokkur smiled. “You were the ghost in the graveyard, too.”
So. The squatters had talked. And so had the Unborn. “I’m told you’re hunting an especially horrible villain.”
“A clever or lucky one. My skills at divining the past have been inadequate, though he made no deliberate effort to hide from my sort.”
An outsider might have suspected that there was more than v
erbal communication going on. Both were deceitful in appearance. Both were ages older than they looked, though not necessarily wiser.
“I’m willing to contribute,” Mist said. “This young man told me a great deal. He lied a lot, too, but I’ll forgive him. He was protecting his principal.”
“Oh?”
“I have a daughter.”
Mist wondered what she was doing.
Both wizards were calculating, too.
She had to buy time. Varthlokkur had identified her only other entrance into Kavelin. She needed to get more set up quickly. Just in case.
She repeated herself. “I have children, too. I might be able to help.”
That knocked Varthlokkur off balance.
Her lifeguard had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.
The chubby man was horrified, though.
Varthlokkur said, “My colleague believes that you must be the darkness distilled. His attitude will improve if you give us a means to prove that the child-killer isn’t him.”
Mist eyed the pudgy man. He had a creepy quality. Most western sorcerers did. They were all twisted somehow.
A chill touched her. She had lost friends who were weird western wizards. Another chill. No one she knew ever died a natural death.
Varthlokkur asked, “Are you all right?”
“I think too much. Comes of having too much time on my hands. Tell me about your killer.”
The wizard did so, adding, “I came up empty when I tried to divine the dump. The killer kept his features hidden. And he was lucky.”
“How so?”
“Ley lines intersect near the site. Their resonances interfere with the scrying.”
“You can get around that.”
Her bodyguard made a sound that was not a word.
“Of course. I have an empire to manage. I have the Old Man to reclaim. There’s no time for hobbies.”
“Your suggestion?”
“Track the girl, not the killer. You know who she was. You know where she lived. Go back to when she was safe. Follow her forward.”
Varthlokkur offered a nod of respect. “That’s sure to travel some ugly road.”
“No doubt. You westerners tolerate…” She stopped. She did not know that her own people were less wicked. “I should go.”
“Any luck with the Old Man?”