Game of Stone

by R. L. King

  Stone examined the page. The seven figures did resemble the figurines he’d seen so far, and there had been seven slots in the box. “So what kind of game was this? How was it played?”

  Kolinsky pulled out another page and placed it next to the first. This one had nearly identical illustrations, except this time the figurines weren’t shaded. “There is another set—a white one. This source does not include a great deal of detail, but if I am reading this correctly, the game was played by manipulating mundane pawns. The player with the black set would use the pieces to influence these pawns to commit various antisocial acts—everything from thefts up to mass murder—and the player with the white set would attempt to prevent them. Each act committed scored one point for the black player, and each one prevented scored one for the white player.”

  Torn between fascination and disgust, Stone continued to study the two pages. “So—if you’re right, and it certainly sounds like you might be—these things have…what…activated again and started playing this game on their own? Or is there someone behind it?”

  “I doubt anyone is behind it,” Kolinsky said. “From everything I can determine, Henry Everett had these items in his possession harmlessly for many years. I do have a theory, though.”

  “Yes?”

  “This is conjecture, but I believe the pawns these items manipulated were latent magical talents, and the pieces’ powers augmented those abilities to aid the pawn in committing the designated act.”

  “So…you think either Frank or Ralph—or possibly both—were latent magical talents, and when they got near the chest, the pieces reacted to them?”

  “It is the best explanation I can produce, given the facts you’ve provided. As you well know, there are quite a number of latent talents in the world who never become aware of their potential.”

  That was true. Since it was quite difficult to identify even a powerful mage without close examination, many mundanes with untapped magical talent went undiscovered—sometimes for their entire lives. If Ralph and Frank Gallegos were two of these, and the figurines sought out latent talent, it was entirely possible the things could have reacted to the men’s presence. Especially given how old and potent the figurines apparently were.

  This was all interesting information, to be sure, but it didn’t help Stone’s current problem much. “So…I found out a bit more data yesterday that fits with what you’ve told me. There were seven of these things. We’ve accounted for three of them—the police found another man late last week who was committing odd thefts, and one of the figurines was found in his car—cracked and destroyed like the other two. The remaining four were sold by a huckster in San Francisco who stole them out of Ralph’s truck. He doesn’t remember who he sold them to—but he did say that the buyers seemed unusually drawn to them, while everyone else ignored them.”

  Kolinsky nodded, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers.

  “So it sounds like I need to track these people down before they commit any more of these acts. Do you know what the acts are, by the way? You mentioned everything from theft to mass murder. Ralph already killed three people, not to mention himself—that counts as mass murder, right? Are the other crimes likely to be lesser ones?”

  “I do not know,” Kolinsky said. “If I had to speculate, though, it sounds as if most of the crimes are violent in nature. And the final piece—the King or Queen, if we were speaking of a chess set—is likely the last to act, and the most violent.”

  “So these things don’t act all at once?”

  “I do not believe so. Since it is meant as a game—albeit a violent and sadistic one—it follows that rules must be observed, and turns taken.”

  Stone paced again. “You said there was a white set that could counter it. Do you know how that works?”

  Kolinsky shuffled through his papers again and chose another, pointing at more of the strange writing next to another illustration of a white piece. “When each black piece activates, the corresponding white piece appears to activate as well, establishing a connection between the two. The white player then has a short time—this reference does not say how long—to use that piece’s connection to locate its counterpart and counter its attack.”

  Stone sighed, dropping back into his chair. “But we’ve no idea where the white set is—or even if it exists any longer. Right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And even if it does exist, it could be scattered as well. Are there more than one of these sets?”

  “Alastair, you ask questions I cannot answer.” He indicated the papers. “Even this information was not easy to obtain.” He tilted his head. “If you wish to add further to our bargain, though, I can put out some inquiries. It is possible, if such a thing exists, it is in the possession of a collector.”

  “Please do,” Stone said. “If these violent acts are going to escalate, who knows what the later pieces might be up to? Could they—I don’t know—compel someone to blow up a building, or commit some kind of mass shooting or something?”

  “I do not know. But given what I know of the nature of these powerful ancient mages—these so-called ‘dragons,’— they had little regard for the lives of either mundanes or lesser mages. So murdering such people in large numbers would not be outside their purview.”

  “Brilliant,” Stone said, swiping a frustrated hand through his hair. “Well—please do what you can to find the white pieces.” Something dawned on him. “And I think I’ve got something you’ll find quite nice as an inducement.”

  “Oh?”

  Stone pulled the briefcase to him and removed the box he’d gotten from the pothead vendor. “This.”

  Kolinsky’s gaze sharpened and his features went more still than usual. “Where did you get that?”

  “I told you—from a huckster in San Francisco. The one who sold the figurines. This is what they were stored in.”

  Kolinsky leaned in closer, trying to get a better look, but Stone slipped the box back into his briefcase before he could do so.

  “That’s the deal, Stefan. You find me that white set, and the box is yours. And I’ll bring some more books over next time I go back to Caventhorne. That one I gave you has two more volumes in the set. Deal?”

  Kolinsky’s gaze was fixed on Stone’s briefcase, like a hunting cat watching a mouse hole in the hope its prey would poke its tiny head out. “All right, Alastair. We have a deal. I will contact you when I have more information.”

  “Thank you, Stefan.” There was no point in trying to light a more urgent fire under the black mage; he could already see Kolinsky was as motivated to find this thing as he was.

  He only hoped he could do it before the black side activated again.

  18

  Leo Blum called when Stone was on his way back to Stanford. “So—did you have any luck finding that guy by the wharf?”

  “I did.”

  “And? Anything useful?”

  “Yes, we had an…illuminating chat. Have there been any more unexplained crimes, by the way?”

  “No—I’ve got a few feelers out, so if anything happens in the area I should hear about it.” His tone grew suspicious. “Why? Are you expecting any?”

  “Quite possibly. According to the man, there were five of those things, excluding the one from the storage locker and the one found with Frank. He stole them out of Ralph’s truck while it was parked at a Denny’s. Ralph probably stopped there after he left the locker. He says he sold them all, but he doesn’t remember who he sold them to.”

  “Fucking great.” Blum’s loud sigh came through loud and clear over the mobile line. “So four more of these things are out there somewhere, we have no idea where they are, and we just have to wait and see if they go off?”

  “So it would appear. I’m checking into a couple more angles—magical angles—but I’m still waiting for my sources to get back to me.”

  “Well, let me know what you find out. Anything else?”

  For a moment, Stone considered
telling Blum about the box. He didn’t like to keep information from the detective, especially since this was the first time in years he could actually confide in a police officer without having to edit his responses. But if Blum decided he needed to take the box so his people could check it for evidence, he didn’t want to risk his relationship with the detective over it. He’d have to say no, of course—and not just because he’d already promised it to Kolinsky if he could produce useful information. Such a thing, thousands of years old and connected with something as dangerous as these pieces, couldn’t be allowed into mundane hands. He’d have to take the chance that Blum wouldn’t go talk to the huckster himself and find out Stone had bought the box. Though even if Blum did talk to him, odds were fairly good the pothead wouldn’t remember much about the transaction anyway.

  “No,” he said after the briefest of pauses. “Nothing else. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

  “Okay.” Another sigh. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the rest of them will behave themselves.”

  Stone doubted that, but he didn’t say it.

  Before his class that afternoon, he called Eddie at Caventhorne to ask him if he’d come up with anything. This time, though, he was disappointed.

  “Sorry, mate,” Eddie told him ruefully. “I spent a few hours this weekend checking through some of the reference material at the London library—we ’aven’t got Desmond’s lot catalogued well enough yet for it to be of much use for summat like this—but I ’aven’t turned up anything yet. I’ll keep looking.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. I got some more information from another source—if you’ve got anything about ancient games played by powerful mages, focus on that.”

  “Will do. You comin’ back over soon?”

  “Not sure—call me if you need me, but if you don’t, I need to focus on this for a while. These things are dangerous, and I want to track them down before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “No problem. Arthur and Kerrick and I are doin’ fine here. Once we get all this stuff sorted out and you’ve gone through it to decide what you want to keep, we can start workin’ on gettin’ the place opened up for business. That’ll be at least a couple months, though—probably more. There’s a lot of stuff here.”

  Between his afternoon class and a department meeting he couldn’t beg off without incurring Mackenzie Hubbard’s renewed wrath, he didn’t get away from the University until almost six o’clock. He was driving home, trying to decide if he wanted to pick up Thai or Chinese takeout, when Verity called.

  “Hi, Doc. Do we have a lesson tonight?”

  “Er—no. I’ve got to go up to San Francisco again.”

  “More about your case?”

  “No, not this time. Something else.”

  “Uh…okay. You want me to come by and bring you dinner? I made up a really good lamb stew last night. There’s tons left, and it’s even better the second day. I’ve also got that paper you wanted done—it was due today, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Er—sure, come on over. I’m on my way home now, and I’ll never say no to a home-cooked meal. I’ll have to leave around eight, though.”

  “No problem. See you there.”

  He got home at six-thirty and Verity arrived shortly after, bearing a large covered dish. Raider wound around her legs with indecent enthusiasm as she came in, sniffing hopefully at the food.

  “Back off, you mooch,” she ordered, laughing. “You’ll get yours, but I have to heat it up first.” She shuffled her way carefully to the kitchen, trying hard not to step on the insistent cat, and set the dish on the counter. Then she dug in her bag and pulled out a sheaf of printed pages, which she offered to Stone. “Here you go, all done. Have a look while I put this together. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Stone took it out to the dining room and sat at the table to skim it. He’d read it in depth later, but from the look of things she’d hit most of the highlights he’d been hoping for. That was good—she normally hated writing papers, preferring the more practical end of magical study.

  “Hey, Doc?” Verity’s voice came from the kitchen a few minutes later. It had an unusual tone.

  “Yes?” He got up and headed back.

  “Are you getting a tattoo?”

  He frowned. “How did you—Ah,” he added, as his gaze fell on the sheet of instructions Scuro had given him at the shop. He’d glanced over it briefly on Monday night, then tossed it on the breakfast bar, intending to look at it in more detail before he left for the appointment.

  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to pry, but I was moving the newspapers aside and it was right there on top. But—are you?”

  “Er. Yes. Tonight, in fact. That’s my appointment in San Francisco.”

  Her expression was almost amusing, her curiosity fighting so hard with her good manners that her features couldn’t decide what to do with themselves.

  Stone saved her from the discomfort. “You want to know why I’ve all of a sudden decided to do this.”

  “Well…yeah. None of my business, of course, but you’ve never exactly seemed like the tattoo type. I know I’ve been wanting to get some ink, but you…”

  “It’s not decorative. It’s functional.”

  Behind her, the pot containing the stew made a loud pop! and she quickly turned to attend to it. “Huh? What’s functional about a tattoo?”

  “It’s something I found out about from an old friend. The artist is a mage, and it’s designed to help channel energy more efficiently. So I don’t have to take it from someone as often.”

  She turned back, her expression sober. “This is because of what happened the other day, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Not…entirely. But partially, yes. Anything I can do to help me wait longer, I’ll do it.”

  “Yeah…” She stirred the pot again, then pulled a couple of plates and bowls down from the cabinet. “You want some company?”

  “Company? You mean while I—”

  “Yeah.” She dished up two steaming bowls of the stew and handed them both to him, then made another small bowl for Raider with just meat. The tabby practically mugged her for it as she waited a moment for it to cool and set it on the kitchen floor. Then she began gathering silver and flashed Stone a cheeky grin. “You know, unless you’re getting it somewhere you don’t want me to see.”

  There isn’t much of me you haven’t seen these days, he thought, but didn’t say it. Those boundaries were still fresh and fragile, so it was best not to disturb them. “It will be on my chest, where I can hide it. Apparently they work better if they’re near the heart. Also, the artist says he can fix it so no one can see it unless I’m casting or I choose to show it.” He pulled a bottle of wine from the rack and prepared to open it.

  “Oh, hey, you don’t want to do that,” Verity said. She gently plucked the bottle from his grip and returned it to its spot.

  “What? Why?”

  “You shouldn’t drink alcohol before getting inked. Didn’t you even read that sheet?”

  “Er…I skimmed it. A few days ago.”

  She poured iced tea from a pitcher in the refrigerator. “I read up on this a lot, since I’m gonna get some ink of my own one of these days. It can really hurt. And alcohol thins your blood, so you bleed more.” She set the glasses on the table. “So, can I come along and keep you company?”

  If anyone else had asked, he would have considered it an intrusive breach of privacy. But this was Verity, and she was different. “I suppose you can, if you want to. But you’ll be quite bored, I expect.”

  “Actually, I kinda want to see the process. I’ve got plenty of friends with tattoos, but I’ve never actually been to a shop. Maybe I can learn something.” She grinned. “Who’d have thought you’d get inked before me?”

  “Life has a way of changing your plans,” he said. He indicated the stew. “This is excellent, by the way. As always.”

  “Well, hey, I’ve gotta do something to help pay you back for the rent.” She glanced
over, only now spotting Stone’s black Stratocaster in its stand. “Are you playing again?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m in a band now. As of yesterday.”

  Her eyes widened. “No way. Really?”

  “Don’t get excited—it’s nothing terribly impressive. Four professors playing faculty parties. And the occasional club with four or five audience members who aren’t friends with one of the band.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “The Cardinal Sin.”

  Her grin returned. “That’s cute. Doc, you dog. First a tattoo, now a band? What’s next? A red convertible and some stylin’ gold chains?”

  “I’ve got to go take a shower,” he said sourly, but he couldn’t hide his amusement. She just had that effect on him. “Leave the dishes. And don’t let Raider guilt you into seconds on the lamb.”

  On the way up to Scuro’s shop, Stone filled Verity in on what he’d found out from Kolinsky about the set of figurines.

  “Huh,” she said. “So there are four more of those things out there somewhere, and you don’t have any way to find them. That sounds a little scary.”

  “It does indeed, considering that it sounds like the severity of the crimes might be escalating. I’ve got to wonder if the first two weren’t somehow out of order—the destruction of Frank’s body in the storage locker, and Ralph’s murder of his family members. The third one was theft—relatively minor compared to those two. I wonder if the next one will be somewhere between theft and murder.”

  “That leaves a pretty wide-open range.”

  “Yes, it does. I keep expecting to hear back from Blum, and hoping not to. It’s possible the others will behave themselves and not activate.”

  “Yeah…maybe so. I wonder where the white set is. Or even if it still exists.”

  “That’s a damned good question.”

  Scuro was waiting for them when they arrived at the shop a little before nine. “So who’s this?” he asked with his usual easy grin. “Girlfriend?” He made an exaggerated bow. “I’m Scuro.”