CrossTown

by Loren W. Cooper

  “Once.” I smiled in spite of myself. “Oh, I won the game a couple of times, but I only beat him once.”

  The Wraith nodded in satisfaction. “Once you would not have known the distinction. Corvinus and I are both old. You’re new to this game. Corvinus played chess like he lived his life, always planning ten or twenty moves ahead. If you managed to catch that, you could deliberately break his strategy, rather than bumbling into victory. I will tell you this much: Corvinus was working on something, and that something was valuable enough to kill him for, and I don’t know what that something might have been. He never talked about it; I never pried. Anything else?”

  “I could almost agree with you regarding the motive of the Whitesnakes, but the price they posted for my head and the involvement of the Fae do not seem so easy to explain away,” I said mildly.

  “You’re beginning to think,” he said. “In some cases it takes a while. You don’t have the luxury of time. Corvinus planned in advance. His history in CrossTown counted centuries, not years. Whoever killed him had to be able to plan for that. They must be able to play at Corvinus’s level. Odds are, the Whitesnake bounty is only one move made against you. When were you poisoned?”

  “Huh?”

  “Poisoned,” he repeated impatiently. “You and your Legion. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes to see. Surely you knew.”

  “I’m having problems with some recent conquests,” I admitted.

  “That’s an understatement,” the Wraith said dryly. “You’ve been attacked at the foundation of your power. If you believe that’s anything but a deliberate strategy, you’re fooling yourself. Did it happen in Faerie?”

  “No.” I spoke slowly, thinking about my recent past. “I’m beginning to believe now that it came before the meeting with Fetch. Vincent asked me to take care of a problem for him. A nasty spirit with a horror fetish. The Jigsaw Man. My troubles seem to have begun about then. On the other hand, I’ve been attacked since by a Fae Shadow Hound, and both it and the Jigsaw Man referred to the Wild Hunt.”

  “How difficult do you think it would be for someone to discover that Vincent knew you well?”

  “Not hard, if they went to the trouble.” I sighed. “It all goes back to Corvinus and points to Faerie. Silverhand is out for my blood, after all, but something doesn’t ring right with that. Not his style. I fear that Faerie might be another blind.”

  His head bobbed nervously. “I heard about the contract. Fetch should concern you more than Silverhand. You do realize that Corvinus was killed while you were waiting for Fetch.”

  “I thought of that,” I said. “The amount offered and the timing strike me as more than coincidence, but is it a distraction? Can you track the Whitesnake’s gold? Find out where it originated? It will probably be several layers deep, and of course, it’s in the hardest nut to crack, the Bank of Hours …”

  “Don’t try to manipulate me, boy,” he interrupted. “You’re so clumsy it’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe so.” I grinned at him. “But …”

  “But you knew I’d be interested. I also see your theory. But who in Faerie? Silverhand had a grudge against you, not a grudge against Corvinus. I don’t see Silverhand attacking Corvinus to get to you. And once he had you in Faerie, I don’t see him letting you go. The Wild Hunt is Fae, but not commonly linked to Silverhand. It’s too old and too wild to fall under Silverhand’s control.”

  “Maybe so, but Silverhand didn’t trap me. Titania did.”

  His features grew suddenly indistinct. I realized that I’d shocked him. “Titania’s moving again?”

  “I suppose so,” I said indifferently. “I’d never seen her in the Faerie courts, or heard her referred to there …”

  “They wouldn’t mention her,” he cut me off brusquely. “No one would speak of Titania in the courts of Lugh’s liegemen. She’s a separate power, and Lugh doesn’t like that. When the Fae betrayed their allegiance to Danu, Titania alone remained faithful. For most of the interval before what you would call history, she remained in the time beyond time. She set up a permanent residence in Faerie when the Sidhe Lords began to isolate it from mainstream possibility. She has appeared infrequently at best since that time, rarely involving herself with anyone or anything beyond her own demesne, and few are welcome there. A number of Sidhe Lords have never met Titania. The link to the Wild Hunt isn’t strong with Titania, but she does have the resources to call on some of those old powers. Titania is an old, wild power herself.”

  I licked suddenly dry lips. “She was … impressive.”

  His outlines blurred. “You saw her?”

  He didn’t pay any attention to my nod. His voice had taken on an odd timbre, an inhuman tone. That vanished when he spoke again, his outlines once more settling into the smooth façade of humanity. “Humans are not among her favorites. She must have planned to discard you from the start. You’re right in one respect—the contract was a sham covering an attempt on your life. But a strange attempt. She could have killed you herself, even with your Tindalan insurance. Something deeper is at work here. Perhaps she felt she could not afford the time it would have taken to recover from the attack of a Tindalan Swarm. Perhaps she did not mean for you to die just yet. Perhaps she means to use you for something before she kills you. And now that you’ve broken the contract she made with you, Fetch can take you anytime, anywhere without stepping outside CrossTown laws.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t known there were powers in Faerie separate from Lugh’s dominion. She sounds as powerful as Lugh, at least. Did she kill Corvinus?”

  “Who knows?” The Wraith shrugged. “She could have,” he said. “It would have been within her capabilities, but it would have been risky. She would have had to act through agents, for she is bound to Faerie, and that increases the risk of discovery. Whoever killed Corvinus did cross the line. They will be hunted. CrossTerPol is persistent. Emerantha Pale and the Practitioner’s Union has sufficient resources that even Titania would have difficulty operating within CrossTown ever again, even indirectly; and the penalty could even be more severe, since CrossTerPol can’t afford to let someone in the suburbs get away with casually murdering prominent citizens. I will do this for you. I will follow this Whitesnake’s gold. If it is Faerie …”

  “Then we’ll have more questions than answers. Again.”

  He nodded in agreement. When he spoke, his voice softened, surprising me. “Have you thought about turning away from this obligation? Corvinus is dead. What does he care if you find his killer? Your own life is at risk. And at this point, smart money is on the opposition.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said sourly. “Look, I’m not ready to abandon CrossTown. There’s no guarantee that I could stop these attempts by leaving CrossTown anyway. So it’s in my own interest to pursue this. More importantly, an obligation doesn’t end when a friend dies. If I walk away, I’m not just walking away from my old teacher, I’m walking away from the foundation of my own principles. The life I’d save in doing that wouldn’t be worth having.”

  The Wraith had nothing to say to that. His human form became something resembling a column of smoke. I lifted a hand in farewell as I turned and slowly made my way back to the antechamber and picked up my belongings. Corvinus’s workshop seemed the next logical place to hit, and given its proximity that would be easy. After that—depending on what I learned—perhaps it was time to deal with the Whitesnakes.

  CHAPTER XVI

  CORVINUS HAD owned two workshops. He kept one for low security or high profile projects: the lab at the base of the tower in his home in the Folded Quarter. It served as an excellent blind for any high security projects that he might have been pursuing elsewhere: “elsewhere” generally meant in the four thousand or so square feet of finished cave that he owned in one of the upper caverns of DeepTown. That one he kept for high security, low profile projects, which meant research done for his own purposes as opposed to research done for hire.

  Corvi
nus had always been cautious; in this case, his ownership of the DeepTown cave passed through at least one corporation and a couple of dummy identities. It would have been difficult and expensive for anyone to link him to his activities in the DeepTown caves. He had chosen an isolated, nearly deserted section of DeepTown for the lack of honest traffic and for the lack of neighbors. Some research is less savory than others. His security measures could perhaps be best described as draconian.

  I had several advantages, however. As the Raven’s apprentice, I had been keyed to all but the most restricted of his security levels. I had assisted on a number of projects. I knew the place well. I had no fears of being unable to penetrate the security, even though Corvinus might have changed the accesses again before he died.

  I followed the passage around the last bend. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. The broken slabs of granite that normally concealed the inner doors of interlaced composite fell away to each side of the lab entrance. Of the composite doors I saw no trace but black powder. I wouldn’t have to worry about breaking through Corvinus’s security. Someone else had done that already.

  I felt a tingling in my extremities. I remembered the Wraith’s warning that Corvinus’s killer had to have significant resources and knowledge. The evidence of some player, whether the killer or not, with more resources and knowledge than I had anticipated lay before me. I couldn’t afford to stay behind in this game.

  Concerned, I began to examine the area carefully. I didn’t want to be taken by surprise. Through a gray haze of interference, I tasted no hint of power in the area.

  I worried about that haze on my senses. I thought about the lack of power traces at the scene of Corvinus’s murder. That haze could be a less sophisticated version of the same technique, covering any traces of whoever had broken into Corvinus’s workshop. Bright Angel stood ready when I called. “Have you seen that kind of interference before?”

  “No.” She said mildly. “And there’s a reason why.”

  The White Wolf answered before I could ask the question. “It’s from within.”

  “The interference? A side effect of the digestion problem?”

  “This is a bit more serious than a digestion problem,” growled the White Wolf. “You need to give this a higher priority. Remember what the Wraith said about spiritual poisoning. Indigestion doesn’t change tactics. This is definitely a change in tactics. You’ll notice that you’re communicating with us without interference. This thing, this poison, now seems to be trying to cut your senses off from the outside. You need to deal with this in a hurry.”

  “Look, dammit!” I snarled. “I understand. I’ll deal with it when I have time. If I slow down now, I run the risk of Fetch catching up with me. First we deal with the workshop, then I try to find a safe place to deal with this thing.”

  “You need to make the time—” the White Wolf argued.

  “And now is not the time,” I told him flatly, cutting him off.

  His voice dropped to a muttering growl. Fortunately for both of us, I couldn’t make out the words.

  Blade broke in at this point. “I have to agree with the White Wolf. You must make this a priority. If you allow this poison to continue to work unopposed, I fear it will seriously impair your ability to function.”

  I turned my attention to him. “Have you and the White Wolf discovered anything?”

  “Some. The problem is centered on the Captains of your Legion, and the White Wolf.”

  “I like that!” the White Wolf said with an affronted snarl in his voice. “If I’m not a Captain by now, I should be.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I thought it was spreading through the Legion.”

  “It is,” Blade said patiently. “It’s spreading through the Legion, but it’s spreading outward from the Captains. Including me. And I can’t feel it.”

  I looked from one to the other. “So. How do I deal with something none of us can sense? Tell me that.”

  Silence.

  I thought about the workshop. “Keep working on it.”

  “Purge the Legion.”

  I turned back to the White Wolf. “What?”

  “Purge the Legion.” He settled back comfortably on his haunches. “Confine all possible sources of infection and already infected members of the Legion. Wait and see what happens to them.”

  Blade nodded grudgingly. “It would be the best way.”

  “It would also strip me of my defenses.” I considered that. “This isn’t an accident. The effect is too convenient. The Wraith was right. I’ve been poisoned, spiritually speaking. Or you have. This eliminates the possibility of the Gold.”

  “The Jigsaw Man,” the White Wolf said flatly.

  “Seems like the logical choice,” I said. “Vincent called me. I made no secret of the fact that I knew Vincent, and he knew my work. Any problem of that nature in the abode of a friend would result in calling me in. It would have been an easy trap to set for anyone who knew my habits, or did a little research.”

  “It would fit the facts the best. Elements of darkness … infecting the Captains and the White Wolf, who all fed on it,” Blade agreed. “All of us had begun to suspect. We just hadn’t faced it yet.”

  “Knowing its nature should help.” Bright Angel shifted uneasily, her discomfort more evident for being foreign to her nature.

  “It should. Hopefully it’s enough.” The White Wolf couldn’t leave it alone. I glared at him, but he met my eyes without flinching.

  “I’m starting to believe the Faerie theory,” Blade said. “As much as it pains me.”

  I sighed. “I don’t believe in that much coincidence either. The timing …”

  “None of us do, at this point,” the White Wolf said acerbically. “What would you like to bet that the Whitesnake bounty is ultimately from Faerie as well?”

  I thought about that. “I don’t know. There’s still something off. Faerie doesn’t seem to want me dead. At least not yet. They seem to want something else. If they had wanted me dead, they had plenty of opportunities to kill me. I almost have the impression that there are factions involved.”

  “Which could all still be Faerie,” the White Wolf insisted.

  “There’s one way to test the Faerie commitment,” Bright Angel interjected.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Go home. See if Fetch is waiting there for you. See if he refuses to take you.”

  I shivered. “I don’t think that I want to test my theory quite that far, yet. And I don’t have time at the moment.”

  “You’d better deal with it soon,” the White Wolf said bluntly, “or you may lose access to the Legion altogether.”

  “I know, I know.” The conversation was taking us nowhere. I felt the growing urgency, but I had too many problems to juggle. I was at the workshop. I needed to find what I could while I had time, then find a place to work on cleaning up the Legion. I didn’t like the idea of a purge, and I didn’t like the idea of isolating my Captains. I didn’t have a strategy for dealing with it. So I decided to keep dealing with one thing at a time. I had too many things that demanded my immediate attention, but I had the feeling that choosing the wrong course might mean that I would never have the opportunity to choose anything else again.

  I ended the conversation abruptly by pulling out of the conference and taking the time to study my surroundings with both conventional and sorcerous senses until I was satisfied that no one had left any signs of passage, deadfalls, powered traps, or spirit guards. The interference from the spreading cancer within had not diminished, so I took longer than usual, scrutinizing everything as carefully and as closely as I could. The impairment of spiritual senses emphasized how urgently I needed to deal with the poison within.

  I didn’t find any traces of active or bound power. Of course, someone could have been waiting inside, their power pulled in on themselves to keep their profile low, but I doubted it. There aren’t that many users of any power out there who could hide from my careful attention at such
close range. The ones I knew of who had enough subtlety to conceal themselves from me even when I was actively searching wouldn’t bother with stakeout duty.

  The place looked empty of any sign that sorcery had ever been used there. I did not take this as a good omen. Corvinus had shielded it, but the shields leaked at least a little bit all the time, due to the magnitude of power he would call up and bend to his will in the midst of his research. But now the doors had been cast down, the shielding had been destroyed, and the workshop felt empty, cold and dead.

  Everything about that supported Emerantha Pale’s theory. But who else had known about, or would have been able to find, Corvinus’s secret workshop? He had died a terrible death. Perhaps his killer had tortured him. Perhaps Corvinus had given all of his secrets up before the end.

  On the whole, I doubted that he had given anyone much. He had been tough, had Corvinus; no one who had survived as long as he had doing the things he had done could be anything but tough.

  I thought about Pale as well, as I stood there in the corridor. It couldn’t have been an official raid; otherwise the place would still have been guarded by representatives of CrossTerPol. If Pale acted legitimately, she would move only with the sanction of CrossTown’s finest. But Pale could have been acting independently. She seemed to be convinced that Corvinus’s research had been important enough to kill for. How badly did she want it for herself?

  Thinking about CrossTerPol made me realize something else. This damage hadn’t been done long ago. As soon as a local happened by here and called the authorities, the place would be crawling with narrow-minded public servants. I had things to do before that occurred. Even though traffic had never been heavy in that area, passersby that would eventually call the authorities could stroll through the corridor at any time.

  I entered cautiously through the broken doors. I thought about the force displayed so casually there, combined with the subtlety necessary to work through Corvinus’s security precautions unscathed. If the perpetrator had been unscathed; I hadn’t yet seen any body parts or copious amounts of precious bodily fluids that would indicate some serious scathing had occurred.