by Mark Eller
Sadness welling in her eyes, Kit looked at Aaron. She knew.
"Aaron, what about the kids?"
"I'll drop in," Aaron promised, acting as if he had known what he wanted all along. His decision to leave Last Chance for a time had only come to him with the arrival of the letter in his pocket. His decision to make the separation permanent had occurred only the day before. "I have my way of doing that after all. I don't want to be a stranger to my children."
"Your children by me, not by Sarah." Kit's regretful smile said she knew there was a difference.
"My children," Aaron said firmly. "Kit, keep my obligation to the farmers on the Manor. Remember, they get the land after ten years."
"I won't compromise your word, Aaron. I respect you too much for that."
Yes, Aaron thought. We do have that in common. We respect each other. Unfortunately, respect was not enough to build a marriage on. He wanted more, wanted something Kit could not provide. This knowledge showed in her moist eyes, but nothing in them said that she had any give in her attitude. So yes, he was walking away because their marriage was a pretense, a sham. If they tried to force matters, their respect for one another would fade in a few short years. Shortly afterwards they would grow to hate one another. One of the reasons he was leaving was to never give that hate a chance to grow. Kit's eyes told him that she understood.
After the two women left Aaron stayed in his chair, watching the sun set on a caring town. People passed by; some stopped to chat. Businesses closed their doors for the evening, their owners locking them firmly with a key before settling their hats and heading down the boardwalk on their way to a sound home and family. Mistress Banks walked by with her elbow held firmly in the grip of Mistress Moody while they discussed the possibility of bringing Mistress Banks into the family. Passing him, they paused for a moment to give him a friendly nod. Aaron smiled. These were good people. They cared about him just as he cared about them. He loved each and every one of them.
He loved them, but he did not love them enough to make living in Last Chance palatable to his scarred soul. There was too much loss here; too many happy memories had turned sour. Besides, this was no longer the town he had learned to love. Over the past year Last Chance had changed its character. People had left, and other people had arrived. Mistress Golard was no longer Mayor because the newcomers had voted in one of their own. Aaron did not like that idea. You could never be too sure who new people really were deep inside their skins until they had time to prove themselves.
Catching the direction of his thoughts, he snorted in self-derision. It had not been so long ago when he was new himself.
Cathy looked quite proper as she left the inn and walked over to open the Emporium for the evening. She smiled at him with an open, friendly smile. Behind that smile, hidden by her eyes, was secret pain, and her hand fumbled when she tried to open the Emporium's door.
Aaron remembered her crying over him, and he wondered if perhaps some small part of her loved him after all. Maybe the part that loved him wasn't so very small.
She was married. Cathy was another reason why he should leave.
Well, N'Ark should be distant enough for even the most critical of town wags. He would go there as Miss Bivins' letter had requested. During the last several months she had been very busy on his behalf and now matters were beginning to roll along. According to her letter his presence was needed for a few weeks if she were ever going to get his affairs smoothed out.
Well, the indomitable Miss Bivins was in for a surprise. He was going to N'Ark for more than a few weeks. He was going to make N'Ark his home and never come to Last Chance again. No, once he finally left, the closest he would ever come to the town would be when he visited the Manor and his children.
He closed his eyes as the last rays of the sun settled into the west. Thoughts of Sarah and the laughter they had shared ran through his mind, and this time he did not push her memory away. He brought up a memory of her sitting in his rocker, Ernest in her arms. Rocking peacefully, Sarah smiled gently at Aaron, telling him how much she loved their lives and how much she loved him. Sad, contemplative, Aaron wrapped his thoughts around her. She had been his wife and his love, but she had been much, much more. She had been a warrior and a justice maker, and she had been strong. If she were here to know of it, Sarah would be disgusted with his melancholy turn. She would berate him, kick him in the butt, and tell him to get on with his life because life was getting on without him.
And she would be right. It was time for him to get on with his life.
Footsteps sounded from inside the store. Steven Knight stepped out on the walkway and smiled at Aaron as he began sweeping the day's dust off the worn boards.
Clang Clang Clang Clang
Jorrin's lights were on in the smithy. He was a stubborn one, was Jorrin. He was always the last to quit on any evening.
Clang Clang Clung Clang
Steven stopped his sweeping for a moment and smiled at Aaron, leaning on his broom while his eyes roamed the street as the town shut down around them.
"I have to admit, Mister Turner, this is one of my favorite times of day. I like it when I open the store and get to watch the town come to life, but I like to watch it go back to sleep better." Straightening, he began sweeping once more. Dust and dirt rose gently in the air. "Yes sir, I like to watch it shut down, and I like to sweep the walk clean. It's soothing, and it sort of means that everything is done, but I get to sweep it again in the morning, and that tells me that everything is beginning all over again. Feels like everything from before is gone, and only the new is ahead of me."
Aaron smiled and closed his eyes.
Cathy began singing inside the Emporium. She sang a song of dark moody stanzas. She sang low and slow, and her voice broke near the end of her last words. Her song spoke of lost love, broken dreams, and a home torn by endless strife.
The tremor in her voice was as tragic as the song she sung.
Aaron listened, and he mourned with tearless eyes until Jorrin finished working and crossed the street to help Aaron stand and accompany him to the empty house where Aaron lived.
Epilogue
Sneering, Delmac listened while the Balandice woman explained the proposed terms of the treaty. It seemed fair, seemed just, but he was no fool. Words were nothing but air. Actions counted, and he had no doubt Isabella's actions would lean towards the peaceful destruction of his people. Within the next few years his people would be smothered under laws, custom, and treaties that stole their land, delegating his entire race to a few tracts of worthless land.
Birsae had promised more. She had promised a savior, the Chosen, and the Chosen had come, only they were not saved. They were trapped in a hell of their own making because they'd listened to a shaman and a madman.
Delmac waited while the other leaders had their turn, and then he set his mark beneath Tremon's on the piece of paper because he had no choice. Any other action would mean instant disaster instead of a slow decline. After all, there was still time. All was not lost. The Chosen might save them yet.
It had been promised.
Betrayed
Mark Eller
In association with White Wolf Press, LLC
Copyright 2009 Mark Eller
Dedication
As always, this book is dedicated to Daneen, my wife, and to my three kids, Troy Anne, Kris, and Kameron. I would also like to thank the world’s best editor, author Larion Wills, and Brian Rathbone. Without them this would not have happened. A special thank you has to go out to Darrell Jay Cook, a recent friend who is working hard on my behalf. And let’s not forget Emerian Rich, my personal nag, irrepressible author, and hostess of the Horror Addicts podcast. Entire football teams wish they had half her drive and energy.
Chapter 1
"Sausage on a bun. Get yer sausage on a bun."
"Bagel an' a smear. Right here for yer bagel an' a smear. Nothing better in the mornin' to getcha goin'."
Screeeee.
&n
bsp; "Hey there. Get yer arse out o' the road. Ain't ya heard o' street corners? All ya damn men are the same. Ya think the damned road was put there just fer yer sakes? Well, I'll tell ya, Mister, there's others of us what need to travel--."
"Watch yer language, you old harridan! Have the law on you, I will! It was you and yer horses what was doing--."
Welcome to early morning in N'Ark, Aaron told himself. He was surrounded by people heading from home to work and by people heading from work to home. Tourists impeded sidewalk traffic. Panhandlers and street players did their part to block the walkway. Everyone around him was irritable and rushed and crunched and abused, but that was not unusual in Isabella's capital city. There was nothing lazy about this city. N'Ark was the center of Isabellan society, seat of the Isabellan Assembly, and the financial center of several stock and security markets. At best, it was controlled chaos. At worst, incomprehensible.
"Speed it up there, ya old harridan! Ain't got all day!"
"I'll speed you up--."
Ignoring the activity, Aaron squared his shoulders, gathered his courage, and prepared to enter the four story brick building he had been standing in front of for the last three minutes.
"You going to stand there all day?" a man's voice asked dryly. "Other people need to get inside."
Aaron gave the complainer a curt nod and pushed his way through the doors.
He walked across the large lobby, ignoring people lounging in the scattered chairs. He paused before setting his foot on the stairway leading up. Part of him wished he had the guts to turn around and leave. Another part knew she would track him down eventually.
Gods, he really hated these meetings.
Aaron sighed and climbed the stairs until he reached the third floor. Once there, he clumped his way down the wide hallway until he reached the third door on the left. He drew in a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
Miss Bivins' waiting room looked small compared to the offices of other legal firms she and Aaron habitually dealt with. As yet, she did not need a great deal of space because her practice only had one lawyer, herself, and one client, Aaron. However, keeping up with Aaron's financial interests had changed from a one-day-a-week job into something that required almost all her time. Aaron did not know exactly what Amanda Bivins did for him, but he did know that she suffered from an intense desire to succeed. From what he could tell, she measured success by the size of her bank account. That bank account depended heavily on Aaron's interests.
Amanda's secretary, Miss Heidi O'Malley set aside a sheet of paper and picked up another legal form as Aaron came through the door. Seeing Aaron, she gave him a quick wink and adjusted a shoulder strap to display more cleavage. In return, Aaron gave her a noncommittal smile. Heidi was hunting a husband and Aaron was not in the market, a fact which did not deter her at all.
She gave him a wide-eyed stare and a full-mouth smile. "Good morning, Mister Turner. Miss Bivins is expecting you. Go on in." Her right eye drooped in another wink. "She's been waiting all morning so her mood is somewhat-- ambivalent."
"Riiight." In other words the ever-so-irritable Miss Bivins had finished chewing her teeth down to her gums and was now grinding those gums into paste because Aaron was an hour late for her requested meeting, or a few days late, depending on which of her several requests he referred to.
Aaron sucked in his belly and marched forward.
"Remember," he muttered beneath his breath. "She works for you." Turning the knob, he opened the door.
"You were supposed to be here an hour ago!" Amanda snapped. "How am I supposed to present our argument when I don't know how you want to attack this matter?"
Aaron checked. No froth around her lips. She wasn't rabid--yet.
"And a good morning to you." He pulled a chair around and plopped down. "As always, you'll do and say exactly what you choose. We both know my opinion doesn't matter in the least. Besides, I've no idea what you're talking about."
"Excuse me?" Eyes narrowing, Amanda leaned forward, two sure signs he had goofed big.
"I'm clueless."
Amanda sat back in her chair. A muscle twitched in her cheek, and her forehead wrinkled. "I sent you three messages. You've had a week's warning, and you're saying you don't have a clue about anything?"
Frowning, Aaron studied the stack of papers piled on one corner of her desk. After tossing a pair of dice in his head, he decided telling her the truth was probably the best approach.
"That sounds about right. I haven't been home for a while."
She groaned. "Been visiting the kids again?"
"Maybe." Aaron answered, reflecting that the solitude had been good even if the fishing had been bad.
"And maybe not." Her narrowed eyes opened wide, and they were not pretty. "Doesn't matter. What does matter is that your irresponsibility has created a problem. As you know, you have a five percent gross interest on every new product introduced to Isabella through the use of your other-world books, and that you a tax waiver on any undertaking you have a direct interest in for the next ten years." She gave him a long look. "You do know this, don't you?"
"I signed the papers," Aaron reminded her.
"You sign a lot of papers. I doubt you read more than one percent of them."
"I only leaf through most," Aaron admitted. "The papers you're talking about were the first ones you gave me so I read them several times over."
"Well fine! At least we have that much," Amanda said. "Okay. Here's the scoop. Several people among the liberals believe your books represent too great a financial and industrial sword to be owned by only one person. They want to remove the books from the university's keeping and add them to the National Archives, and they want to steal your ownership rights while doing so."
Aaron shrugged. "Not much we can do about it, is there? Let them have the books and we'll call it a day. After all, I don't need the money."
Amanda shook her head. "Uh-uh buster. You need all the money I've brought in and more. I know you don't keep track of your finances, but the sad fact is that we have to keep expanding if we expect to open new Turner orphanages. We have seventeen now. Only five are wholly self-supporting. Seven get at least a quarter of their support from you, and all five of the N'Ark Houses are a major drain. Those seventeen houses will break you inside of the year. That means you either have to keep control of the books and the money they represent, or you have to sell off the Houses."
Aaron took a moment to enjoy the way she had switched from 'we' to 'you.' Expanding his interests and opening more Houses were 'we' items, while the money needed to run them was entirely a matter of 'you.' Of even more interest was the fact that the 'she' part of 'we' had not one thing to do with the Houses. Hell, he barely had anything to do with them anymore. Amanda, or somebody, had hired a director here in N'Ark. The other Houses spread around Isabella were all single-unit affairs that could very well take care of their own running as long as Amanda wrote them a check every once in a while.
"The Houses stay," he said firmly. "I'll not put those kids back on the street. Our job is to make sure the Houses remain open and that we continue expanding. I don't care if the government gets hold of the books, but I do care whether or not the orphanages continue running."
"Well," she said, "your choices are limited. You can give up your books, live on your present funds, and start shutting down houses, or you can maintain ownership of the books. Personally, I like the second option."
Aaron chuckled. "You would. Your practice is entirely dependent on me. Once my money's gone, you have no work."
Amanda shook her head again. "Wrong. A year ago that would have been true, but I've gained a reputation since then. In fact, I've turned down three offers this week alone. No, Mister Turner, without you, I will do just fine on my own. I may have to give up my private practice for a short while, but I'd be snapped up by a respectable firm in an instant. You're the one who won't do well."
Scowling, Aaron thought of the buried silver bars
he owned that she didn't know about. Even that much silver would do little more than delay matters for a few years. The Turner Houses were expensive, and Miss Bivins was correct. Only five were self-supporting. A few came close to breaking even. The rest were a continuing drain on his resources. None of that mattered.
"The Houses stay," he repeated. "If that means ownership of the books has to remain with me, then it remains with me. I do have a signed agreement with the government and the N'Ark University to that effect. They'll live up to the agreement, or they'll deal with us in court for the next fifty years."
"You don't have the money to sue them for nearly that long," Amanda told him. "A suit will only make you poor that much quicker. Besides, you're not a citizen of this country. You're an alien resident who's here on suffrage. If they throw the agreement away, the government can kick you out of the country. Try suing them when you have no funds and don't live inside Isabella. Go ahead. Try."
Aaron tapped his fingers on his knees. He hated governments and politics and everything else that was devised for the sole purpose of deception and sneakiness.
"So what do we do?" he asked. "What are our options?"
"We need to show the government that they not only need the books, they need you. Frankly, that's a tall order. Now that you can no longer transfer to your birth world, there's little about you that's valuable to the government."
"I do have a slightly different Talent now," Aaron reminded her, "and a Talent Stone that makes it usable."
"And you are best advised to keep that as secret as possible. An unscrupulous assemblyperson could make very good use of your Talent."
"Such is the way of governments everywhere," Aaron complained.
"Maybe," Amanda admitted, "but you have to remember that governments are made up of people who have their own individual agendas. We have to show the assembly that promoting your best interests is in their best interest. The problem is that I'm not sure how to do this. I wanted to brainstorm with you before we went into the meeting."