Des listened, then nodded. “Yes. My friend can drive. Okay. Book that flight, and arrange for a rental car, something comfortable for at least four. He’s probably going to need to drive relatives around.
“My friend’s name is Charles Adolphus. Thanks a bunch, Patricia. By the way, keep your eyes open for good fares either to San Jose or San Francisco, for two, probably sometime next week. Thanks … You’re an angel.”
Des hung up the phone, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. “Okay. Riprap, we have a nonstop flight for you out of Albuquerque tomorrow leaving fairly early. It will get you into Washington National—I can’t stand the new name for that airport—midday. There will be a rental car waiting. I’ll let you judge whether you’ll drive to Pearl in Virginia then or wait for morning.”
“That afternoon, if I’m not too beat from the flight,” Riprap said. “I know Pearl Bright is a tough old tiger, but it makes me nervous thinking of her there pretty much alone with that young thug. I’m itching to leave right now, but I know it won’t do any good.”
Des grinned mischievously. “Well, since it won’t do any good for you to sit around and fidget, I plan to keep you and Brenda pretty busy tomorrow morning.”
Brenda wrinkled her nose. “Making more tiles? Des, I’m not sure I could concentrate.”
Des shook his head. “I know. However, I’ve tested the tiles you and Riprap made, and they look good. I think we’ll go out and show you how to use them.”
Pearl hung up the phone and turned to Nissa in time to see the younger woman apologetically patting back a yawn.
“Sorry, Pearl, but I had trouble sleeping last night. I was worried about you here, alone with him.”
She tossed her head to where Foster sat as if mesmerized in front of the television.
“That was sweet of you,” Pearl said. “Des has arranged for Riprap to take a flight that will get him into D.C. by tomorrow afternoon. He’ll drive down here to meet me. I think we’ll leave as soon as Riprap can bear to get in a car again, although I’ll drive to give him a chance to rest. Now we need to make arrangements for you and Lani.”
“I don’t want to leave until after Riprap is safely here,” Nissa said.
“That’s fine,” Pearl agreed. “I was actually thinking that since we’re driving, and Des and Brenda are still in Santa Fe, you could have a few days here to tie up your affairs and come up with a reason why you’re going to California on such short notice.”
“I’ve already been working on that,” Nissa said with a faint smile. “Bob, my boss at the drugstore, already has it in his head that you came out here to scout Lani for the movies and TV. The rumor got home before I did.”
“Aren’t your sisters upset that I’m overlooking their kids? Several of them are very cute. I realize that you’re biased, but I think they’re at least as cute as Lani.”
Nissa shook her head. “Not much. Not really. Most of them are seriously into the home-schooling, natural-foods way of life. Hollywood doesn’t match with that at all.”
“Good,” Pearl said “If that’s our excuse, I’d better make some calls. It wouldn’t hurt to at least do a portfolio and some screen tests. I have a friend I can call … . But first, let’s see about getting you a flight.”
There were plenty of available seats on nonstop flights from D.C. to San Francisco, fewer available directly to San Jose at such short notice.
“But if you don’t mind,” Pearl said, reviewing the options she’d copied down, “I’d like to put you on a late flight five days from now. That will get you into San Francisco early in the morning. I’ll arrange for my driver to pick you up.”
“A night flight would be best,” Nissa said. “Lani’s much more likely to sleep on a night flight.”
“That was what I was thinking, too. You can drive my rental car to D.C. and return it,” Pearl said. “Des said Riprap’s bringing a larger, more comfortable car with him.”
“Sounds as if you and Des have everything covered,” Nissa said. “But isn’t this going to be expensive?”
Pearl glanced at where Foster sat staring at the television.
“Not nearly as expensive as if we pay with our memories, not nearly as expensive at all.”
“Okay, folks,” Des said. “If I’m going to show you how those bracelets you made work, I need a little time to set up. Can I leave you to review this list of limit hands?”
He put two copies of a short list on the table: name of hand, combination of tiles needed, and a short description of what the hand could do.
“These are good basic attack and defense spells,” he went on. “You’ll find it easier to craft them onto tiles—and later to work them from memory if you have the sequences down cold.”
Brenda still felt awash with the tension and confusion of the last few days, and she’d have preferred a chance to go for a walk or see some of the local tourist sights.
And get jumped like Pearl nearly did? the querulous voice of her inner self asked her.
“Sure, Des,” Brenda said.
Riprap took out the spiral-bound notebook that Des had—with some reluctance, for apparently it was traditional for students to learn without written cribs—given each of them.
Riprap looked up from the notebook he’d spread open on the table, his large brown eyes warm and nonjudgmental. Brenda went to her room to get her own notebook, but when she was seated across from Riprap at the table and saw that he was now carefully copying each sequence over ten times, something in her snapped.
“You’re determined,” she said. “Don’t you want to give it a rest? We’re in one of the tourist capitals of the country—if not the world—and here we are doing lessons.”
“I don’t think I can give it a rest,” Riprap said almost too mildly. “You see, whoever’s after us has got what they want from the Rat’s line, but they didn’t quite manage with the Dog’s. More than that, I’m still burning over letting that man get to your dad—especially since Pearl managed to stop him. I’m not going to let anyone go down while I’m standing by—not if doing a bunch of lessons will let me know what to expect.”
Brenda flushed. “Yeah. Me either, I guess. I’m sorry. I guess this has all caught up with me. I’m not sure what difference getting to Auntie Pearl’s is going to make, but I feel like it should make some.”
Riprap raised his broad shoulders in a casual shrug.
“Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I’ve learned though, from playing and coaching both. You can’t control the rest of the team. You can’t control the weather or home-field advantage or any of that stuff. What you can control is yourself, and as I see it, we’re seven innings into this game, and the other side has scored lots of points. If we’re going to pull a save, I can’t be expecting one of the star players to do my part as well as theirs.”
Brenda blinked. “That’s quite a lecture.”
Riprap grinned sheepishly. “You should hear me when I get all inspirational on my players. Don’t get me wrong, Brenda. I don’t think these tricks I’m learning will let me do anything spectacular. I just don’t want those who can use the big guns to be kept from doing so because they’re busy pulling my butt out of the fire.”
Brenda, remembering her father yelling, “Brenda! Down!,” remembering how both men had moved to protect her against the “mugger,” thinking how her own cockiness might have made matters worse, not better, flushed again.
“You’ve got a point, coach. I’ll remember. I guess I’ve been thinking that the ‘game’ will start when we’re there. You’re right. It’s ongoing, and we’re not winning. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When Des arrived about forty-five minutes later, though, Brenda was glad for a chance to stretch.
“Come out into my yard,” Des said. “I’ve set wards, so even if someone catches a glimpse of us, they’ll not see anything odd.”
Brenda, accustomed to the open yards of the Southeast, understood his “even” better when they were outside. Des’s yard w
as completely walled, the thick adobe uneven and picturesquely crumbling in places. Along parts of the wall, red and yellow trumpet vine spilled over in a wild wash of color that relieved what was otherwise dirt brown.
The yard itself showed that Des wasn’t much of a gardener. Near the walls there were scattered shrubs and off in one corner was an apple tree that even Brenda’s untrained eye could see needed pruning. Dominating the enclosed area was a flat area of smooth packed earth, neatly swept clean of any debris.
There were benches on one side, and on these Brenda saw an assortment of oddities, including the tiles she and Riprap had made two days before. These had been strung on parallel bands of thin elastic.
“Put those on,” Des said. “I strung them for you last night after I checked to be sure the spell was live.”
Brenda’s bracelet fit a little loosely, but Riprap’s had to stretch to go over his big hand and fit very snugly around his wrist.
Des frowned. “In later versions, we can incorporate a few beads to give you more play, but this will do for now. Who wants to go first?”
Brenda glanced at Riprap, and the big man shrugged. “Your call.”
“I guess I will, then,” Brenda said. “What do I do?”
“Move to that open area,” Des said, “and when you’re comfortable, take off the bracelet and smash it onto the ground.”
“Won’t it break?”
“More easily than you imagine, especially if you throw it with the intent that it will break and so release the ch’i—that is energy, in this case, magical energy—you trapped within. Ready?”
In answer, Brenda moved to the open space. The bracelet slipped easily over her hand. With a decisive snap of her wrist, Brenda threw it hard onto the packed dirt. As soon as the bracelet hit the ground, the fourteen tiles immediately vanished, leaving a trace of white dust against the brown.
Brenda was still struggling to accept this phenomenon—polymer clay didn’t break that easily, and when it did, it didn’t explode into dust; it cracked or chipped—when a translucent dragon’s tail swirled around her and took her into its embrace.
The dragon’s tail was colorless, and yet she felt confident that it was also pale blue shadowed with brown. The image was so detailed that Brenda could see how the individual scales decreased in size as the tail narrowed toward its tip, even though the image no more obstructed her vision than would a fingerprint on the lens of her sunglasses. It was as if some previously dormant part of her mind, rather than her eyes alone, was responsible for the seeing.
Odd as this was, perhaps the oddest thing was that although Brenda couldn’t see the entire dragon—only its tail, and only the part of the tail that crossed in front of her—she could sense a bulk, a force, surrounding her, much the way the press of a crowd is felt even when no one in that crowd is making actual physical contact.
She shivered in her skin, simultaneously delighted and mildly claustrophobic.
Des trotted over to close with her. The dragon’s tail reacted to his proximity with rippling undulations, but it wasn’t until Des took a swing at Brenda’s face that the coils rose and interposed themselves. Brenda jumped back, and found that the entire coil moved with her.
“Hold still!” Des commanded. “You need to learn to trust the protection.”
Brenda did as ordered, but she flinched anyway as Des’s balled right fist came toward her face. It stopped about six inches short of impact. He brought his left fist up in a sharp uppercut that she didn’t even see until the dragon’s tail stopped it.
Riprap had come over to join them.
“So she doesn’t need to direct it,” he said. “It intervenes on its own. Nice. How long will it last?”
Des shrugged and kicked out at Brenda’s shin. “Depends on the strength of the caster, on the strength and type of blows being blocked. This one probably has at least another fifteen minutes in it. Take a swing. I want you to see how it feels.”
Brenda felt a mixture of indignation and pleasure as Riprap obeyed orders with alacrity. He pulled his hand back, shaking the fingers slightly.
“Didn’t exactly hurt, but I knew I was hitting something.”
Taking advantage of his greater height, he aimed a blow from above. Brenda saw the tail snake across to block, but also saw that the coverage was less complete.
“Careful,” she warned.
Des nodded. “This is a pretty basic protection. It works best for attacks from front, rear, and sides, less from above and below. It will work against fists or weapons, but a really skilled practitioner might be able to slip a blade through the coils. It works less well against missile attacks, and even less well against those that involve a scattered projectile of some sort—birdshot, flame, or liquid. It can’t stop gases, but it might slow them long enough for you to do another spell.”
“Basic,” Brenda agreed, “but cool. What about if I trip and fall—like when I was trying to dodge you—will it catch me?”
“Maybe,” Des said, “but don’t count on it, especially if it’s blocking an outside attack. Protecting from outside menace is its first order of business.”
Des went back to the bench and returned with a pair of outlandish-looking things—sort of a cross between brass knuckles and garden cultivators, but a whole lot more menacing-looking. He slipped them over his hands with accustomed ease.
“My grandmother—the Exile Rooster—had these made. She called them the Rooster’s Talons.”
Again, without giving warning, he slashed out at Brenda’s face. She managed to hold her ground, though her eyes squinched shut.
“What did you see when the Talon hit?” he asked.
“There was,” Brenda said, “a sort of bluish light, a thin line of it where the Talon slashed the dragon’s tail.”
Des nodded in approval. “If you see that, watch out. That means whatever weapon that hit your spell has the ability to weaken its ch’i.”
“So the spell will break faster?” Brenda asked.
“Right,” Des said. “Then would be a good time to cast a follow-up or get out while you can.”
Riprap had been about to take another swing, but now he let his hand drop, obviously not willing to risk breaking the weakened barrier.
“Can she do anything from inside there?” he asked. “I mean, anything to attack.”
“Sure,” Des said. “She could cast spells or even throw a punch.”
“The dragon’s tail won’t get in the way?” Riprap asked.
“Somewhat,” Des admitted, “but as you’ll see when you’re inside, the coverage isn’t complete. You can work around it. But, to repeat myself, this is a very basic spell. Its greatest virtue is it is relatively easy to create, and reliable within its limits. If you get interested in combat armor spells, there are others that are more versatile.”
“But harder to do,” Riprap said.
“Exactly.”
Brenda scooped up a few pebbles from the ground and experimented, imagining that a shrub was one of their enemies. She decided that if she practiced, she might even hit occasionally. Her own lack of skill, not the Dragon’s Tail’s blocking, was the greatest impediment to success.
But I doubt we’ll get too much practice—at least with the spells, she thought. These bracelets take too long to make for us to use them up—especially with real enemies out there.
Brenda’s spell didn’t last much longer, and she gladly changed places with Riprap. She was interested to see that unless she concentrated hard, she couldn’t see Riprap’s dragon’s tail at all.
“Is that because I’m not really the Rat?” she asked, dancing around and taking jabs at Riprap, feeling more than seeing the solid, flexible force that kept her blows from landing.
“No,” Des said. “It’s because you have very little training. There are spells that permit the caster to see magical energy. They’re very useful, and you’ll all be learning how to do at least a simple one.”
“As a bracelet,” Riprap said.
/> “At first,” Des agreed. “In time, you should learn how to focus your ch’i on demand.”
After the lesson was over, they went back inside. Des presented Riprap with a selection of amulet bracelets.
“My crafting,” he said, “and somewhat generic. However, they will give you some protection as you’re traveling. Pearl brought some along for Nissa. We don’t expect either of you to have trouble in public areas, or even in private, but it never hurts to be careful.”
“I will,” Riprap promised, sliding the bracelets onto his wrists and practicing getting them off smoothly. “I assure you, I will.”
The next morning, Brenda and Des drove Riprap to the airport in Albuquerque. The previous day hadn’t been all work and lessons. Des had taken them for a walk through several historic areas, and later to dinner at a high-end restaurant called the Pink Adobe that was quite proud that its building had once been a brothel.
Almost everywhere they went, Des was greeted like an old friend by someone or other. Apparently what Pearl and her dad had said was true. Even in a city known for being a haven of movie stars, artists, and writers, Des was something of a celebrity.
As they went from gallery to shop to cathedral, Brenda couldn’t help but notice that for all Des chattered away about the local sights in a relaxed and animated fashion, he also kept them to areas where they were always in the vicinity of other people. She also noticed how Riprap kept scanning their surroundings and fingering the bracelets on his wrist.
Brenda was surprised at how quickly she had started to feel naked without the one she’d made, but when on their way back from the airport she asked Des if she could have a couple, just for now, he assured her that for now he’d protect her.
“Besides,” he said, grinning at her sidelong in a way that reminded Brenda that Desperate Lee was a father and teacher, as well as local celebrity, “wanting some amulets of your own is the best incentive I can think of for you to stop worrying and start doing something—even if it is something as demanding as making those bracelets.”
Thirteen Orphans Page 17