by Pam Uphoff
For a search warrant.
Lester sputtered and helped, rather ineffectually.
His brother helped gleefully, but to little purpose.
The negatives were found and sent to HQ for fast copies, the small house where the women had lived was searched. They left it still occupied by the bewildered granny-type who cleaned and cooked and didn't know where either of the women were, and whose main concern seemed to be getting paid before she quit.
Trehem managed to find a picture of Jasi in his office. The photo turned Staven's stomach. My Dancer. She owes me an arm, and her other boyfriend owes me a brother.
The corridor guards had no recollection of the two women, that morning or any other.
Staven stepped aside to speak to Macay. "They can't possibly have used the public corridors to get from the End of the World to here. It's a ten mile ride to the nearest . . . although they might have managed to beat Dusty to it, when she raised the alarm. Or managed to slide through after her and before the troops took control. Damn it, could one of those wizards have been able to make them, himself?"
"Don't give me nightmares." Macay flagged down his lieutenant. "Take these pictures to Colonel Janic. Ask for lots of copies and people to circulate them. Maybe some of the Girls could take them around to beauty shops."
Staven scowled at the arch marked Two Trees. "Well, those two—as far as we know—are not magic. So they ought not have illusions . . . I think. Maybe the spells can stick to them. Bloody hell." So, as soon as they realized I'd survived . . .or at least that the alarm had gone out . . . they mounted up and rode out? "Captain, I think we need to ask a few more questions at the Edge of the World. May I borrow a few extra men, so Passe doesn't hyperventilate?"
The remaining staff of the Edge said that the "group possibly associated with the assassination" had not had horses of their own, and that no horses had been stolen.
The officer in charge of the scene, and the ongoing detailed search of the premises, cursed at that. "Then how did they escape?"
"Maybe they had horses ready to go, and picketed . . . out here somewhere?" Passe looked around the flat stony wasteland. "It's not like anyone lives anywhere around here."
Staven nodded. Much better than having a magician in that gang powerful enough to create a corridor.
"Right. Well, let's get back to Karista. The Council was going to choose a panel to interview all the adults in the succession. I need to see those interviews."
Chapter Eight
Winter 1393, Day 6
New Bombay, Eastern Hemisphere
The corridor to New Tokyo was pinned on the side of the History and Archeology building, on the west side of the King's University campus. It had a token guard to keep students from picnicking, partying, swimming and drowning in the vicious currents off the Asian coast.
A glance at Xen's uniform and the man on duty returned to his reading.
Evening on this side turned into noon on the other. The corridor opened up inside a small fort built on and of the ruins of New Tokyo, destroyed a thousand years ago by a chunk of comet that had hit two thousand miles to the west. It consisted of a small office building, a kitchen and mess hall and barracks for the troops keeping an eye on the scholars as they excavated the ruins with less than sensible care for their own safety. Pyrite trotted through and turned for the gate. An officer turned to look at the sound of hooves, and stepped out toward them.
Xen slowed, tossing a salute. "A bit of exploration, for intel, sir."
"Mind your horse, then. The ground is treacherous."
"Yes, I've twisted my own ankles here often enough. We'll stick to the road."
"Do I know you?"
"Umm." Xen searched his memories. "God, you've been here a long time, haven't you? My mother's one of the witches who pried open the sealed temples, and I was one of the kids running around trying to kill themselves."
"Oh, Old Gods, that was a long while ago. I was a green private. Then I went back to university—took all the archeology I could fit into the military sciences track—and asked to be sent here." He shot a wistful glance westward. "I don't get to dig nearly as much as I'd like, but at least I hear all the shop talk."
Xen grinned. "Sounds like the perfect post."
The captain smirked. "Especially now that they've got so many women students on the big summer digs."
They exchanged salutes and Xen headed south.
Carefully.
:: I don't have trouble with rocks. ::
"Ha! Someday when I'm not in a hurry, we'll come back and I'll show you how bad rocks can be."
Xen wanted to be alone, free of distractions for a long jump with, begging his father's pardon, a dubious location at the other end. "No telling how long ago his recognition point was set up. And just the fact that Mercy is there will be a bit of a change."
:: He is very good at traveling. Jet says they learned to travel by studying what happened when He was summoned. :: The road surface changed to solid stone. Very like the Old North Road they were both familiar with. But mostly covered with soil and grass Pyrite stretched out to a gallop.
This road is probably even older than ours. The magically metamorphosed rocks of the roads had survived a lot of disasters, but they'd also been broken by faults, covered with lava, landslides, sand dunes or just a thousand years of sediments.
Pyrite slowed to pick his way over debris a couple of times, then Xen felt something . . . "An old volcano. That peak, there, I think. I can feel the power, the geothermal heat. Let's get as close as we easily can, then I'll use that for a location."
Pyrite covered another five miles, then they veered off the road. The land roughened, turned into an eerie scene of eroded volcanic deposits. Canyons climbed the slopes toward the mountain, waterfalls cascaded off the sides, a stream roared down in the depths . . . and they smelled sulfur. They followed their noses and spotted the source. Steam rose from a pool above the stream, discolored rock around it.
"Perfect."
Xen unsaddled Pyrite, and brushed him. Munched a sandwich as the horse grazed. And contemplated the hotsprings, the rough canyon, the unearthly beauty of the eroded pillars of volcanic tuff. The vegetation was tropical, lush areas interspersed with barren rock. He absorbed the area, the power of the heat from the old volcano. Recognized this specific spot.
"So. Ready to go, Horsie?"
:: Yes! We can spy on a god. ::
"Can't be much more dangerous than spying on Nil, right?" He swung the saddle up onto Pyrite's back. Cinched it and mounted. No need for the hackamore, out here with no one to see it.
He held his recognition of this spot in one corner of his mind, and remembered his father's recognition of New Bombay. And felt the pull, that the spot was over there. He brought up the web of the traveling spell, felt the embedded spells adjusting the momentum, the orientation, the velocity . . . Pyrite stepped forward.
On to an old, overgrown plaza. God work in the patterned mosaic of the stones, cracked and lifted here and there, where trees had grown beyond the confines of circular openings. Ferns and elephant ears grew in the debris of fallen giants, vines climbed the trees, and wrapped the statues standing in the middle of the raised pool. Water sprayed from the still working fountain, glittering in the sun. They'd jumped from late afternoon back to noon again.
"One way pipes. That must have been a heck of a spell to last . . ." Xen broke off as Pyrite's rigidity registered.
The horse was staring at the statues . . . the vine wrapped bronze horses, three mares, drinking . . .
:: Mommy? ::
Xen dropped to the ground and walked up to the fountain.
:: That's my Mom horse! Get her out of the Black! :: Pyrite splashed through the shallow water, sinking knee deep in accumulated muck. He grabbed vines with his teeth and started ripping.
"Wait, we ought to find Mercy, and Edmund's old . . . crap!" Pyrite wasn't listening. Xen waded in, pulled out a knife and started removing vines.
:
: I don't see little Ember. He was her next foal. That mare is Jet and Copper's mom, and the other is Sungold and Foggy's mom. ::
"Are Copper and Foggy two of the yearlings we've left in the black?"
Pyrite shook his head. :: Foggy is what the Old Dun was called, when he was a foal. When he first got out of the Black. :: He turned big brown eyes on Xen. :: Get Mom out? ::
"Look, she may have just been a surrogate, she may not be very smart, so don't be disappointed if she can't talk to you." Xen felt, got his fingers into the bubble and ripped it . . . and then the one underneath it. And the one underneath that. Tripled. That would be a trillion to one time dilation ratio . . . she didn't even have time to spook.
She spooked now.
The other two mares had been in the same bubbles, and they were still in the vines. And seriously panicked.
By the time Xen had freed the last one, only catching a single glancing kick, the other two, and Pyrite, were out of sight. The last mare knocked him flat and galloped off after them.
Xen wallowed across the pond, spitting dirty water and sprawled over the rim. Kicked out of the roots that had tripped him. Pushed himself up . . .
Stared at glittering golden slippers.
He tipped his head back and stared at the Goddess of Mercy.
"I was quite fond of those statues, and Art is going to be seriously irate."
She snapped her fingers.
The world turned into a tiled courtyard. Without the supporting rim of the fountain, Xen hit the ground, swallowed a curse and squished to his feet. There were three people in sight, one sweeping, one trimming plants, one opening the double doors and standing at attention.
"Get him cleaned up. I want to talk to him." Mercy strode off without a second glance.
"Yes, Mistress." The butler, or whatever he was, looked Xen up and down. "Come with me."
Xen followed him, squishing and dripping, into what looked like the servants quarters. Utilitarian. The butler summoned three men. "Wash him, dress him. The mistress wants to talk to him."
At least the shower was hot. Xen was stripped, sprayed, scrubbed, dried, and stuffed into a ridiculous outfit. Baggy white pantaloons, a sash that failed to make up for the low slung "waistline." A short vest that failed to cover very much at all. Soft slippers with turned up toes.
Help! I've been trapped in the Arabian Nights!
A giggle from the doorway. "That's mother's favorite book."
The girl was maybe sixteen, rather plain, or rather, dressed in uncomplimentary clothes and colors.
Her mouth turned down and quivered a little. "You didn't have to think that so loud."
Whoops, insulting young witches is never a good idea. "You'd think she'd want a show of pretty servants, and dress them up."
"I'm her daughter."
Blink. "I see. So, Mercy doesn't want any competition. How odd."
The girl folded her arms and tried to look tough. "My name is Grace. I came to warn you about her. She does lots and lots of charm spells."
"I'm Xen, and yeah. I figured I was in trouble."
"Come on. She's not very patient."
Xen followed her back into the opulent parts of the edifice. Thinking hard. "I rode down from the ruins of New Tokyo. What would the Goddess of Mercy think about archeologists and historians working down here? We're getting a lot of fascinating material out of the old buildings up there." He stopped as the girl turned into an open doorway.
"The Goddess of Mercy wants to be left alone." The exotically gorgeous woman eyed him. "You're strong, I can feel it. What are your bloodlines?"
"Umm, you mean, like my maternal grandfather is Chance's son? And Harry, on Grandmother's side, but he's a couple of generations further back." Xen held still and followed her with his eyes as she circled him.
"Harry! Yes, that I can see, and your features are not unlike Chance's. I may just let you live." She eyed him, clearly suspicious. "Historians. Archeologists. Bah!"
"Company would be nice." Grace spoke up from behind him. "You could throw parties, like you used to."
Mercy's eyes narrowed as she studied the girl. "You're too young for . . . some parties." Her gaze lifted to Xen. "Hmm . . ."
Grace gulped, behind him. "So, what are you going to do here, Mister Xen?"
"First, catch my horse. Hopefully before he loses my saddle and everything I brought with me, who knows where."
"And after that?" Mercy's voice was sharp.
"I'm going to keep exploring to the west. Well, I've got to go north first, but I want to see if there's anything left of the other early settlements. Red River, Cairo, Tunis . . . The archeologists are especially eager to find the University of Tripoli. Then on to the Atlantic. Depending on the extent of the ice, I have maps that show the location of Scandia . . . "
"Enough! One of the comet fragments hit just south of Tripoli. It's gone. And Scandia was too far north. It will be under the ice." She waved a hand. "Go catch your horse. Come back for dinner."
"Yes, Ma'am." Xen bowed and strode out.
Grace popped up beside him. "Bet you can't find the front door."
"Bet you're going to talk my ears off while I look for it."
She giggled. Then heaved a sigh. "I miss all my friends. I keep hoping they're bubbled up in Art's Gallery . . . but I'm afraid to look. They probably died a thousand years ago."
When the comet hit.
She nodded.
"I used to think I was pretty good at shielding my thoughts."
"I'm pretty strong. I really need to get some training." She glanced his way. "I guess I'm not going to be able to seduce you into taking me with you, am I?"
"Not a chance. I really don't want to get a goddess mad at me." Xen's steps had taken him to a large foyer. "How many gods are down here?"
"Just Mother and Art. I expect he'll come to dinner too." She followed him out the door. "How are you going to find your horse?"
"Umm, which way to the drinking horses fountain?"
"It's about a mile that way." She pointed west . . . the horses had run east . . . Xen decided to not show his magical abilities yet, and whistled. A faint neigh, from the east.
Xen strolled out. "Does your mother have a stable?"
"Oh, no, she says there's no place to go, so why bother. I don't even have a pony anymore."
"Maybe you can keep one of those statue mares. Assuming Art doesn't bubble them again." Xen wandered eastward. There were paths cut through the jungle growth . . . mostly showing the old worked stone. The clink of shod hooves . . . Pyrite trotted around a curve and wickered at him. Wagged his ears and looked apologetic. The softer sound of bare hooves on stone; all three mares followed him.
:: I should not have run away. ::
"Silly horsie. Give me that saddle and I'll give you all some grain."
Pyrite looked first at Grace, then beyond her at the mansion. :: There's another building back there. I didn't like the smell of it. ::
"Umm, how about we get off this trail, then. I have a dinner invitation, maybe we'll stay a few days. This is Grace. Grace, this is Pyrite."
The girl rolled her eyes. "You are really silly."
Art came to dinner.
Xen blessed his decision to change into a nice suit, not a uniform. The god gave no sign of recognizing Xen. And Xen made no reference to the party that had devolved into a duel between gods.
"So give us the news about our fellow gods. I haven't been in touch with them in years." Mercy eyed him. "Did you say you knew Harry, or just that you are descended from him?"
"Oh yeah. I saw Harry, oh, a year ago, I suppose. He moved the Tavern down to a place on the Old North Road, had you heard about that?"
"Really? Excellent! It'll do him a world of good to be away from that nasty Wolfgang. Did he say anything about anyone else?"
"Umm, he said the Goddess of Logic had moved to another world, and married someone he called Charlie Alpha." Xen savored a curry that gave a whole new meaning to 'hot.' Washed it
down with a rather indifferent beer. Or maybe he just couldn't taste it, any longer.
He pretended he didn't see the startled looks that passed between the two of them.
"Umm, gossip about the other gods? Well, pretty much everyone thinks both Virtue and Vice are dead."
Mercy sniffed doubtfully.
"And the last dispatch I got mentioned Prince Staven being saved by the Goddess of Health herself. Did you hear that Prince Rebo was assassinated? Makes me glad I'm out here. Karista must be a hive of suspicion right now. Well, they may have caught the perp . . . " Xen nattered on, acting like he didn't see Art's narrowing eyes and deep thoughts. He didn't react strongly, but I think Rebo's death was news to him.
Art smiled thinly at Mercy. "I may have to go back. This brings up so many possibilities, revives things I'd abandoned as dead ends." He turned and eyed Xen. "A dispatch, you say? How?"
"Oh, it's some magical gadget. You put a report in, they get it, back at HQ. They send me the news every week or so." He wrinkled his nose. "I think that's how they keep track of me."
"Ah. Well, we can't have news of us going out." Art made a grabbing gesture.
Xen saw the bubble, rolled out of his chair. Black descended. He reached out and ripped it open, and fell to the floor . . . of a strange place. He was in the foyer of something like an office building. No, a museum. Run, you idiot! He staggered to his feet, crashed into a statue and knocked it into a glass door. Or not glass, it didn't break. Nor open. The lock . . . more complex than most. The glass distorted his reflection, concealed the dark night beyond, but whatever was out there was probably less dangerous than the God of Art. The lock clicked. Xen and the statue fell through the door.
Grace dodged their sprawl. "That's Simon! He's my friend! And there's River! He's bubbled my friends!" A sharp angry hurt tone . . . that changed abruptly to hope. "He's bubbled . . . my friends?" Grace climbed over the fallen statue and into the museum.
"Kid, this is not a good time or place to go exploring! Kid!" Xen hissed, watching her run deeper into the building.
She called back over her shoulder. "Take Simon and River with you. I'm going to look for my friends."