The Fiend (Wine of the Gods Book 13)

by Pam Uphoff

  They ate at an almost empty restaurant, with the staff keeping one ear cocked toward the radio. Then they crowded into the two rooms and started listening to the weather news on the piddly little "tee vees" in the rooms.

  Hob set up his computer in a corner. Dan paced restlessly and walked outside. I trust there aren't any bars open.

  Ajha stretched out and apparently fell asleep. Snores through the open door showed that Madam Song was not too worried about a mere tropical storm.

  Idre shook his head. "He always was the most adaptable agent. Not that he was on more than one team with Leggy and I, but it was a five year stint."

  Leggy snickered, and glanced at Fean. "He was a raw little punk right out of school. A couple of internships, and tepid endorsements."

  "Smarter than hell, but mouthy. Above all, adaptable and . . . sympathetic to the natives . . . where we were."

  "Yeah. Boy, we all should have listened to him." Leggy rubbed his nose. "Or at least had sense enough to just go away. I mean, this place has better potential."

  Fean tried to sound casual. "Oh? What world was that?" Finally! I get to find out what happened!

  Ride and Leggy both shook their heads. "Can't say."

  Leggy's left hand made a "4" then an "2," down at his side where Ride couldn't see.

  Fean ducked her head hastily and dug through the small box of supplies they'd brought in. Surely he didn't mean Target 42! One! Had they witnessed the battle . . . no, wait, they would have been there, like, twenty years ago? They must have been among the first people, well, Oners, there. And all those rumors about disastrous conflicts with Earth discovering it soon after and spies and assassinations! And battles with Natives with Earth assistance. And defeat. Over two hundred of our troops killed.

  "Sounds like you had an exciting time. Fun?"

  They both boggled a bit. Exchanged glances.

  Leggy smirked. "Parts of it were . . . excellent."

  Ride gave him a frowning look. She caught the quick flash of a mental communication, but couldn't get into it. Something about sex . . . Ride smirked too. "Well, yeah, that was . . . interesting. But the last part was horrifying. Which we could have skipped if anyone had listen to Ajha." Idre shrugged. "Can't believe it took us over twenty years to get over it." He flashed a grin at Leggy. "Should have let you tromp lizards decades ago."

  "So, you spent five years on a single world? Yikes, didn't it get boring?"

  Two very definite head shakes. Ride gave Ajha a guilty glance. "And we've already said more than we ought. So, where did you intern?"

  "I didn't get across. Caracas and Delhi. I . . . umm . . . you know, it's a pity I didn't have this broadening experience first. I was not . . . polite."

  "No! Really?" Hob looked over his shoulder, then up at the sudden noise on the roof. "The rain's starting."

  And the wind. If this was "barely a tropical storm" Fean was delighted to have missed a hurricane. They variously dozed, paced, peered out the windows. Fean welcomed the sound of the pounding rain, as it drowned out Madam Song's snoring. Not that she slept well, but she did sleep. The wind dropped about dawn, and Fean stepped out to gawk at four cems of water running through the parking lot, down to the street that was easily a half a meter under water. She climbed into the truck and fed and watered all the birds. They seemed pretty happy, probably a spell of Madam's. She splashed back to the sidewalk, and inside.

  "Guess we'll be here for awhile." Ajha looked across the road and down a bit. Dan stood outside a bar, grinning and waving. "I foresee medgicians in someone's future."

  It was past noon before Dan waded back, and spent considerable time in the lav.

  Fean fiddled with the radio and played loud music until he staggered back in and collapsed on a bed.

  It seemed like a good idea. Fean slipped into the other room. Madam Song was also watching the storm reports on the tee vee. And muttering about late season storms and needing another two months to get her last specimens.

  Fean moaned and crawled into bed. This has been fun and educational, but I'm about ready to go home. How did the guys stand it? Five years on a Medieval level world? Even if the women were as willing as those smirks implied, it must have been tedious.

  Once the roads were drivable, they left, heading further inland.

  "The birds we want aren't here yet, and the wetlands will be uninhabitable for weeks. We're getting out of the storm area, and we'll just have a couple of quiet weeks before we get back to work."

  They mostly camped. Ajha gave lessons in the practical applications of magic, and some deeper theories that had Madam Song muttering about knowledge the great unwashed should not know.

  Fean gave Madam Song's attitude some consideration, and finally tackled her. "I'm curious about the way you treat the men. I mean, Ride, Dan and Hob are Withiones, Leggy's a Neartuone. You treat them like, well, servants. But Ajha's just a Clostuone . . . "

  Madam Song looked down her nose at Fean. "They used to consider anyone with twelve insertions a Withione. Now they fuss over exactly how many gene complexes are in each insertion, and despite having all twelve insertions, men like Ajha are downgraded. Absolutely absurd. Those other four? They are all lacking entire insertions! But because they have one set with eighteen gene complexes in each, they are somehow considered better than Ajha, who is magically stronger and quite horrifyingly better trained, than any of them."

  Fean blinked. "Ajha has twelve insertions? But . . . "

  "He's a two oh five, Dear. The redefinition of the One ranks in the Millennial Conclave was pure politics. The results? Absurd."

  Fean boggled a bit. "That's in the top one percent of the One!"

  "Yes, and thus the top one tenth of one percent of the entire population. As I said. Absurd. And of course he's intelligent, experienced, cool and collected. Flexible. My dear, if I were a century younger, I'd throw myself at him. Or possibly on him. Humph. I'm tempted anyway."

  Fean boggled at the old Princess and slunk off to think about all her assumptions.

  The rankings are the result of political battles four hundred years ago. So I'm a Withione? It's just a word. It's . . . the least important thing about me. When we get home I'm going to have to do some serious belly button gazing, and I doubt I'm going to like the results.

  But two weeks in the hilly country, and they were running short on time. A cold front blew through and there were vees of geese overhead. They drove back to the coast, and found a soggy camping spot. Clearly closer to the soggy wheel ruts than Ajha liked, but they had little choice.

  "Right. We have one week to collect all the birds, then we're heading home. Madam? Let's go hunting." Ajha shouldered a large cage.

  Madam Song marched off, sticking to the side of a faint trail, where the mud was at least held together by grass roots. The wading birds, the ducks and the geese all loved the shallow lakes scattered all over the nearly flat plain. It was just a matter of finding the right species and stalking them. After five days they had some representatives of everything Madam wanted. Mind you, she wanted four pairs of each, so there was still work to do.

  "We're out of food." Ajha looked around. "Idre and Fean, let's go shopping. Dan. No. Alcohol. Zero. Leggy, keep an eye on Madam. Hob, passive radio intercepts only. Don't get cute. We should be back before dark."

  Madam nodded. "If I can get two more female whooping cranes, I'll be satisfied. Another pair of Hooded Mergansers would be nice as well. Really, the last few days have been so productive!"

  "You have today and half of tomorrow to add to the collection." Ajha looked cheerful, no doubt relief at a successful project.

  In Victoria, they ate lunch, first. Ajha disbursed funds. "Idre? Why don't you gas up the truck, then hit the dry goods store for a sack of flour. Fean, lets go check out the farmers market." They walked back to the outdoor market. "Fean? Veggies. I'll hit the meat market. Remember, just three days of stuff. No point in getting any more. We'll make this a quick trip."

  Fean wave
d a cheerful "Righto!" and grabbed a canvas bag. She blinked a bit at the bright vegetables on display. I wonder what sorts of insecticides they put on them? She straightened her shoulders and headed for the broccoli. "I will fear no old fashioned veggies." Seven people . . . Broccoli, tomatoes, a sack of potatoes. Couple of onions. two bunches of carrots . . . She paid as she walked around, then strolled back out to the street. She spotted the truck and walked over and dropped off the bag of veggies and the potato sack. She looked around and spotted Ajha at a bread stand. One! There's no wrappers! Who knows how much dust, how many bugs . . . She crossed the street and walked up behind him. "Are you actually going to . . . " She took a deep sniff. "Umm, that smells really good, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, I think I'll get a couple and . . . " Ajha turned as he spoke, and his eyes lifted to something behind her.

  Someone. Fean spun as the Nazi officer stepped out from between stalls. "Oh . . . !"

  A thump. She spun back to see Ajha folding, yet another blonde man behind him. Grinning at her as he slapped a cosh against his palm. More soldiers behind him.

  The one I kicked in the crotch. She cocked an eye over her shoulder. The first officer didn't have a cosh. But he also had backup.

  He took her elbow. "Fight me and your friend dies. Be nice and maybe he won't even spend much time in jail."

  "Jail?" Fean made her voice go high. "Why, what did he do? I'm the one you've got a gripe with." She eyed his uniform. Von Kolbe, embroidered above the pocket.

  "Oh yes, with you it's personal. With your friend, it's just duty. He'll tell us all about the rebels, and then we'll either release him or shoot him. It's all very simple." He showed his teeth and actually chuckled. A truck pulled up beside them. Two soldiers jumped out, grabbed Ajha's limp body and slung him into the back of the truck.

  "Now, Fraulein, you and I are going to have a little talk."

  Von Kolbe gripped her arm and marched her past the truck.

  :: Ajha? Can you hear me? :: nothing. Fean put more power into it. :: Ride! Idre! ::

  :: Not now! I'm dodging Nazis. ::

  :: They have Ajha. And me. Are they after the truck? :: Fean gulped as she noticed the number of uniformed men appearing out of alleys. All this for us?

  :: No. I tried your illusion spells on it. It looks like a rusting heap. ::

  :: Good. Because the beacon is still in there. You have to get it back to the others so they can leave tomorrow. ::

  No words in reply, just horrified realization.

  :: You have to. :: I am in deep trouble. If I can get alone with this guy . . . stun, sleep, whatever. But I can't deal with more than three or four men, at once.

  Horror. :: I know. I'll leave now, and then return. ::

  A wavery thought joined in. :: No. We'll escape and steal transportation. Have every thing and everybody loaded up and ready to go by noon tomorrow. :: Ajha's voice faded away leaving her with a headache. His no doubt. It faded quickly.

  The officer shoved her into the back of a car. The driver started off without instructions.

  Fean swallowed. Marooned is only fun in adventure vids. :: Idre, if we don't get back in time, tell them—one month. ::

  No answer. No way to tell if he'd heard her.

  They turned east on the highway.

  Fean cringed away from the officer, tried to look frightened. It wasn't difficult. Ahead of them, the truck bearing Ajha turned off into a temporary encampment. The car drove on a moment, then turned into the driveway of a farm house.

  No sign of farmers. The front room had been converted into an office area. Three desks, paperwork and computers all over. Through a doorway, a dining room. She could see a kitchen beyond that.

  Von Kolbe marched her past the desks and into what had probably once been a bedroom. Now it was clearly his office. He shoved her down into a chair. "Now, Miss, let's just have a little chat."

  Yes. A chat. A nice long chat. Long enough for Ajha to recuperate.

  "Let's start with your name. I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

  Fean swallowed. "Fern?" Oh, what the One hell last name is on my documentation? "Fern Cadiz."

  "So you are Spanish?" He drew his fingers along her cheek and jaw. "But of course they were occupied by the Moors, back in the middle ages."

  She flinched away from him, and looked for the other soldiers . . . One Damn it all, they're watching. And smirking. There's only four of them . . . but once I stun them, how do I find Ajha and rescue him? She tried to picture herself, holding an unnoticeable spell, searching the army encampment . . . I need to stall until Ajha regains consciousness.

  "Look at this." One man pushed through the others. He held out Ajha's bag. "Beefsteak. Very suspicious. Ve should examine it closely, over dinner."

  Von Kolbe laughed and waved him away. "Good idea. Take it to the cook." He turned back to Fern. "Now, shall we haf you for vorspeise or for nachtisch?"

  I'm not sweet enough for dessert. Fean tried to say it aloud, but nothing came out but a squeak. That was pathetic! I am not scared of these people. I'm not. I'm sure I can handle them.

  She pulled in an incredulous breath. Sure? Sure! Something inside snapped. And released a roaring flame of outrage. Rage. She fought to keep her posture cringing and subdued. I will handle them. By subterfuge, until they try to go too far. Then I will beat the One crap out of these Nazi assholes and Colonel Von Kolbe will tell me where Ajha is.

  And he had better be alive!

  "We don't know anything about the rebels."

  He chuckled. "But we do. We recorded that fascinating encounter you had with them. Perhaps I confused you when I said you were going to tell us all about the rebels. What I meant was that you are going to tell us how you did what you did to the rebels. "

  What?

  "The recordings were fascinating. I've been over and over all of them. One camera had the perfect angle to see you cutting your companions' bond just by getting your hand near them. A knocking men out with a glance." He leaned back and smiled. "So, you are an actual witch."

  "Oh." Right. History. The Nazi's first leader was a madman with, among other much less healthy obsessions, an interest in "the occult."

  Von Kolbe ran a hand along the neckline of her shirt. "Now, where are you really from? You are not reacting correctly to any of my insults. Do you like being called a Moor?"

  Racial prejudices? Oh, of course, blondes are superior, yet Kitsch, kevetch and kay whatever is all the uberfraulines are capable of. One damn primitives! "I'm not German. I don't care." Maybe I'd better have a stun spell ready . . .

  "I think you'd better start caring. Are you a gypsy?" His fingers slipped under her blouse and brassier. She stiffened as he cupped her breast.

  "Of course, the men you stunned were just the local mongrels. They actually brag about their part Indio blood, or 'Buffalo' soldier ancestors. Disgusting. Hard to believe one of the lesser races would have what we want. Now tell me where you are from."

  "I was born in Tunisia."

  "Really?" His hand withdrew a few inches, fingers circled her nipple. "In the radioactive wastes?" And pinched. Hard.

  The heel of her hand hit his nose before she consciously thought about reacting. Von Kolbe fell backwards. Her hand hurt . . . use that stun spell, you idiot! She flicked a glance toward the door, four men jumping forward. She tossed the stun, the first man collapsed, the next two stumbled over him . . . she stunned the one standing back and pulling a gun . . . Von Kolbe struggled to regain his feet, blood pouring down his face.

  Fean stood up, threw two more stun spells at the men in the door, then turned to deal with Von Kolbe.

  He fumbled for a gun, she kicked his arm, and it flew across the room.

  She grabbed his coat lapels to help him to his feet, then slammed him against the wall. Looked deep into his eyes. "Yes, Captain. Let's have a little talk. How many people know you are hunting for magic?" She could see his stubborn refusal to speak, even as he thought about the men on t
he floor. "That's all? I see. You thought you'd bring your commander a really tasty treat, didn't you? Now. Where is . . . my friend."

  A flick of thought before he tried to blank his mind. Caught on fast, didn't he? She stunned him, dropped him.

  Now, how long can I hold an unnoticeable spell? Fean eyed the man, then the others. Von Kolbe had too much glitter on his jacket . . . the youngest man's was plainer, and thus no doubt he was lower ranked. Less attention getting. She stripped off his jacket. Too large, but who cared. The shorter fellow's pants fit over hers snuggly enough to stay up, she took her shoes off to wear the smallest man's boots, hair twisted up and under the young man's hat . . . From a distance, she'd pass. From close up? "That's why the One invented magic spells."

  She walked out the front door. The car, no keys. One damn it all! She stepped back in. I need to do some fast planning. A quick scan. No keys in sight. Where did the driver go? The car is still here. She sniffed. Someone is cooking the steaks. Hmm, supplies. Sugar, to sustain the magical things I'm going to be doing real soon now.

  She got her stun spell ready and stepped around the dining room table.

  A plump woman looked around, collapsed at the touch of the spell. Beyond, a young man stood up a rough table . . . crashed back down.

  His pockets yielded the keys. His wallet was nearly empty.

  Fean grabbed Ajha's shopping bag, and two others. She threw the half cooked steaks back into their wrapping papers and dropped them in the bag. Fruit. A jug of juice. She took a long swig. She was going to need the sugar. Beer and wine . . . she trotted back out, pausing long enough to steal the officers' wallets then she panicked at the thought of what they might be doing to Ajha and bolted out the door.

  There was a track from the house to the encampment, which was probably in the original farm's pasture. She had a clear picture of which tent . . . She concentrated on being "Just the Captain's driver." The dimming light as the sun set probably helped. She drove off confidently and parked in front of the big tent with the sign Lazarett. Their medical clinic, a bit small to call it a hospital. As she walked through the door, she though hard about being totally unnoticeable. The orderly at the front frowned at the door, and failed to track her progress past his position.