by R. L. King
“I promise, I’ll make it quick.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “I don’t know if Byra told you, but I’m—new to this area. Unfamiliar with the customs. I come from quite some distance away, where we do things much differently.”
“She mentioned that you were an odd man,” she said. “I can see what she means, just by listening to you.”
“How is that?”
She tilted her head. “You’re well spoken, but Byra says you can’t read. You have a tattoo on your chest that looks magical, but no sign of magical abilities. You have the manners of someone who was raised in wealth, but when you were brought in you were wearing strange rags. And according to your records you claim your name is Alastair—a name I’ve never heard, but that marks you as one of the Talented. You’re a contradiction, is what you are. And that makes everybody around here nervous. Me included.”
Instead of answering, Stone merely nodded. “You’re not like the other Talented I’ve seen, Tanissa. Not at all.”
“No.” The single word was clipped, remote.
“Byra said you don’t like to talk about your past. But you grew up with them, didn’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about—”
Even without aura-reading ability, Stone couldn’t miss her sudden tension. “I know,” he said. “I don’t want to pry, but—I’m getting a bit desperate, to be honest. I came here looking for someone, and I’ve had no luck tracking him down. Since you’re the only one of your kind I have a reasonable chance of talking to without being incinerated, I’ve got to take a chance.” He lowered his voice. “Please, Tanissa—just a few questions. I give you my word I won’t reveal anything you tell me.”
She made a bitter sound, halfway between a chuckle and a snort. “You haven’t been here very long at all, if you think you can make that promise.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you know something the Talented want to know, they’ll get it out of you, and there’s no way you can stop them.”
“They read minds?” Stone asked quickly, glancing up. If they did, that would make them different from Earth mages—and a lot more potentially dangerous.
“No. They can’t read minds. At least, I’ve never heard of any who can. But they’re…adept at torture. Some of them enjoy it. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
Stone thought about the three young men who’d nearly killed him. “Oh, yes. Quite so.”
She shuffled some of the papers on the desk. “Listen—I’ve got a good thing here. I can use my abilities to help people, instead of lounging around in luxury, being waited on. The powers that be in Temolan don’t like it—they don’t approve, and think I might not be in my right mind—but they look the other way. I have as little contact with them as I possibly can, and I want to keep it that way. I’d like to help you, but I’ve already helped you in the only way I can—by saving your life. I don’t want to know anything else about you.”
This time, she did stand. “I’m sorry, Stone, or Alastair, or whatever your name is. Please don’t come here again.”
He didn’t mean to do it—certainly hadn’t intended to when he came here, but at the sight of his last and best lead preparing to leave the room, he took a chance. If she killed him, or turned him in to the authorities in Temolan, at least he wouldn’t die as a mundane making meat deliveries in some blighted town on a foreign dimension.
“I’m from another world,” he said quickly, under his breath.
She’d been reaching for the door, her back to him. At his words, she stopped. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Slowly, she turned back. “What are you talking about?”
Stone lowered his voice further. “I’m not from your world. I’ve come here looking for someone I need to find, but I—took a bit of a wrong turn on the way.”
Still moving slowly, never taking her eyes off him, she moved back around the desk and sat down. “Just a minute.” Her expression went fuzzy for a few seconds, then she switched back on. “Okay. Nobody can listen in on us now. What do you mean, you’re from another world? There aren’t any other worlds.”
“There are,” he said gently. “I can’t give you details, but it’s true. It’s why I seem well educated, even though I can’t read your language—because I am well educated. Just…somewhere else. It’s why I can speak and understand your language: it was part of the magic that brought me here.”
Looking at him as if trying to decide if he was mad, she said, “If that’s true—how did you get here?”
“That’s—hard to explain. But where I come from, I’m…Talented as well. We don’t call it that, but it’s the same thing.” He touched his chest. “My tattoo is magical, but my magic doesn’t work here.”
“It doesn’t work.”
“No. I haven’t figured out why yet. That was one of the things I thought I might discuss with you.”
She looked at the papers on the desk again, and swallowed. When her gaze came up again, it had hardened. “I’m sorry. I was worried your brain was damaged when you were injured, and now I’m sure of it. I think you should go now.”
Stone didn’t miss the undercurrent of fear in her tone. Something was scaring the hell out of her, that was obvious. Was she afraid of the other Talented finding out about him—or more specifically, finding out that she had some connection to him? “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I promise, if you’ll just answer my questions, I’ll leave and you won’t see me again. But—”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I can’t help you. You really need to go now. I’ve got patients to look after.”
Stone stood, sighing. He couldn’t force her to talk to him—in fact, she could force him to leave if she wanted to. She could even kill him, if he scared her enough. Perhaps her fear was justified, and he was putting her in danger merely by being here. Still, he didn’t want to leave without something.
He took one last, desperate chance: “All right, then. I’ll go. But I don’t know if they told you—I’m looking for someone here. One of the Talented, though I don’t know what connection he has with the others, if any. His name is Harrison. Trevor Harrison. Have you heard of him? Can you give me any leads on where I might look for him, without getting myself blown up or killed by the Talented for my impertinence?”
Tanissa swallowed hard, and once again Stone didn’t miss the fact that she paled at the mention of the name. “No, they didn’t tell me that. Where did you hear that name?” She glanced at the door.
A little flutter of excitement rose in Stone. She’d heard of Harrison—he was sure of it. Even if she didn’t know him or know where to find him, it was Stone’s first piece of concrete evidence that he hadn’t landed on the wrong dimension. “I told you—I’m trying to find him. I knew him—several years ago. I think he might be able to help me.”
“Help you how?” Again, her gaze flicked toward the door, almost as if expecting someone to burst in on them.
“Long story. Short answer: he might be able to help me get home. And…to get my magic working again.”
Silence hung in the air. Tanissa didn’t meet his gaze; she straightened the papers on the desk again, adjusted a framed print on the wall, and looked at her feet. “That’s a dangerous name, if you’re talking about the man I think you are. I wouldn’t go throwing it around indiscriminately if I were you.”
Stone frowned, glad that he’d had the sense not to use Harrison’s last name during his inquiries. “Dangerous? Why?”
“Look—” Even her voice shook now. “You need to go. This is all I’m going to tell you. If you come back, I’ll have you removed, and I’ll tell everyone you’re not right in the head. You could get locked up for that, or worse. That’s how serious I am. Understand?”
“I…do,” Stone said slowly. “I promise—I won’t come back. Just tell me something. Who is Harrison here?”
Another long silence stretched out, even longer than the last one. “He’s a ghost. A legend. I�
�m honestly not sure he even really exists—or if he ever did.”
Stone gaped at her. “I—don’t understand. What do you mean, doesn’t exist?”
Her nervousness was clearly growing. “I haven’t heard anything about him in years—not since I was a teenager, still living in Temolan. Nobody’s seen him. Nobody ever sees him. He’s wanted by all the mage houses, but they can’t catch him—and that shouldn’t be possible. Honestly, I think he’s just a kind of bogeyman—something the Talented’s leaders made up so they can have an enemy, since they can’t fight each other anymore.”
“Why…can’t they fight each other?” Stone narrowed his eyes, convinced if he played this carefully he might get more information than he’d hoped.
No such luck, though. Tanissa’s mask settled back over her face and she shook her head. “No. I told you—that’s all I’m going to say.” She moved toward the door again. “You need to go now. And remember, you promised not to come back.”
“Wait,” Stone said, holding up a hand. “You didn’t tell me anything useful. All you said is that he’s a ghost—but he’s not a ghost. I’ve met the man in person, back where I come from, only a few years ago, and someone I know spoke with him just a couple of months ago. I know he exists. You said he was a bogeyman—what is it he’s supposed to be doing that’s so terrible?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Nothing. That’s what’s so insane about the whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look—I don’t know anything about what’s going on with the Talented leadership. Maybe if he exists, he is doing something, and even most of the Talented don’t know about it. I don’t want to get involved.” She paused, studying him, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “The only rumor I’ve ever heard is that he’s growing some kind of rebellion among some of the people here.”
“Rebellion? You mean among the non-magical people?”
“Yes, but that’s even crazier than the other stuff. It would never work—there are too many of the Talented, and you’ve seen how cruel and vengeful they can be. Most of the people here have never heard anything about it, or him. They wouldn’t want to even if they could. They’re content to live their lives and stay completely away from the Talented—which is what you should do, if you’re smart. Now, go on. I have work to do.”
Stone stopped in front of the door. “One more thing—have you heard any rumors—any at all—about where the people involved in this kind of rebellion might go? If it were really a thing, anyway.” He met her gaze with a pleading one of his own. “I won’t get you involved. I won’t mention your name at all, I promise. And I’ll be careful. But I’ve got to do something.”
She dropped her gaze and didn’t answer.
Stone sighed. He’d tried, and at least she’d given him more than he had before. Given her obvious fear, it was more than he had the right to expect.
“All right,” he said softly. “Thank you, Tanissa. You won’t see me again.” He reached for the doorknob.
“Wait.”
He stopped but didn’t say anything, afraid he might startle her if he did.
“I truly don’t know anything about what you’re looking for. I wasn’t lying when I said I thought it was all just rumors—stories people tell each other to help them get through the day. But you might try the Fisherman’s Rest. It’s a bar down by the docks. Go after dark, and be careful—it’s a dangerous place.” She glared at him. “But watch who you talk to. And if you mention my name, I will tell people you’re not right in the head. And my word carries a lot of weight around here.”
Stone merely nodded and slipped out of the office.
She closed the door behind him, and he heard the snick of a lock engaging.
12
Stone didn’t sleep much that night. Dusk was falling as he got back to the butcher shop in time for dinner, served by a dour-looking Runa. She did seem to approve of his new clothes, however.
He sat on his bed, barely thinking about eating as he went over what Tanissa had told him. So Harrison was here somewhere, and if she could be believed, he was some kind of legendary, mysterious figure that the mages were trying to find. The “mage houses,” she’d mentioned—he was an enemy of all of them. Stone wondered how many of them there were, and what Harrison had done to become such an enemy. Before, Jena had said there were five of the floating cities—did each one have its own house, or were there multiple houses per city?
Then there were the rumors of a rebellion. In all the time he’d spent sitting in bars, nursing drinks and keeping his ears open, he’d never heard of any such thing. All the mundanes he’d encountered—he refused to call them the “Dim,” even in his own mind—had seemed terrified of the Talented, and certainly hadn’t given any indication that they’d want to rise against them even if offered the chance. Even those like Faran, who made bitter remarks about the mages, seemed to do so out of fear rather than any sense of rebellion.
How could they do it? Mundanes wouldn’t stand a chance against mages, especially not at this world’s technology level. If any sort of movement existed at all, it would have to be deep underground and probably cell-based to avoid any of the Talented finding out about it; based on what he’d seen of the mages so far, Stone had no reason to believe they wouldn’t cut a swath of destruction across dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of innocent mundanes if they heard even a rumor of such an organization.
If the rumors were true, could it be possible that some of the Talented were cooperating with Harrison? That was the only thing that made sense, the only way such a rebellion would have even a prayer of succeeding. Surely some of them had to be decent—even in a society where an entire class of people was raised with an unassailable sense of their own inherent superiority, there had to be at least a few of them opposed to treating the nonmagical populace with contempt and cruelty. Hell, Harrison himself, as cold and driven as he might be when focused on a goal, hardly seemed the type to torment innocent people for entertainment.
Stone set his plate aside and ran his hand through his hair. None of this mattered, not really. As much sympathy and outrage as he felt for the mundanes here and the capricious brutality they lived under, he was hardly in a position to bring about society-wide social change. Ultimately, all he wanted to do was find Harrison and see if the man could teach him to wield his power source without burnout. If he could, great. If he couldn’t, then he wanted to go home, resume his life, and accept that he was a black mage now.
The next day he barely managed to get out of bed on time to bolt down a quick breakfast and start his delivery rounds. It was a good thing he’d memorized the stops on his route, as very little of his mind was present as he pedaled around and carried packages into the back rooms of shops. Even his tips suffered, due to the lack of the usual charm he deployed with his customers. By the time he hurried back to the shop at the end of the day, did his cleaning (he’d gotten it down from nearly two hours to less than one by now), took a shower and finished dinner, it was fully dark.
Time to go to the Fisherman’s Rest.
Faran was outside, smoking a cigarette and tinkering under the hood of his old truck, as he headed out the back door. “Goin’ out again?” the butcher asked. His brow furrowed in obvious disapproval; he’d made no secret that he wasn’t pleased his deliveryman spent so much of his off-work time going out at night and returning so late—apparently respectable people remained home during the hours when they should be sleeping.
“I am, yes.” Stone didn’t try to argue with him—he knew the butcher didn’t have any problems with his work, and as far as he was concerned, it was none of the man’s business what he did on his own time. Faran had said as much, though it was clear he hadn’t exactly meant it.
“Lurby said he sees you down’t Bella’s Tavern two-three times a week.”
“Is that a problem?” Bella’s Tavern was the disreputable bar where he spent much of his time trying to pick up rumors.
“You tell
me,” Faran said, shrugging. “Ain’t a nice place, Bella’s. They got cheap women there, and bad sorts. Even criminals, I hear.” He removed the cigarette from his mouth, spat, and replaced it.
“I’m not looking for cheap women—I couldn’t afford them if I were.” He jingled the meager remains of his tip money in his pocket. “Spent most of my pay on new clothes, so all I can afford is a drink or two until next week.”
Faran grunted. “Just don’t let me hear nothin’ about you gettin’ up to trouble. Remember, folks know you work for me. Can’t have you reflectin’ badly on the business. I hear tell you doin’ that and I’ll cut you loose.”
“I understand.” Stone tried not to sound annoyed—Faran gave him some variation of the same lecture at least once a day. He waved before the man could get up a head of steam. “See you tomorrow. Have a good evening.” He almost added, Don’t wait up, but decided it was best not to push it.
He wasn’t completely sure where the Fisherman’s Rest was, but he did know where the docks were. So far he’d avoided them, based on some of the conversation snippets he’d overheard at Bella’s Tavern—he’d never been much of a fighter, and without his magic it hadn’t seemed wise to go where he stood a decent chance of getting jumped again. Now, though, he’d have to take the chance. He buttoned up his coat against the damp, chilly air and set off walking.
As he walked, his thoughts turned once again to Harrison. The man was indeed a mystery—even more so than he’d thought before. Before his chat with Tanissa, he’d thought Harrison was just another mage in this world, but now it appeared he had a more substantial reputation here. When had he come to this world, and why? Had he been seeking a quiet place to get away from Earth? Was he a dimensional explorer who, for some reason, had decided to establish a more permanent base here?
And then there was the big question: how was he able to use magic when Stone couldn’t? Despite his best efforts and many attempts, Stone had still been unable to use Harrison’s magical source here, which seemed strange to him. He’d even, in a moment of desperation earlier in the week while pushing through a crowd on his way back from his deliveries, tried to drain a bit of power from a guy wouldn’t stop trying to jostle past him. He’d deliberately moved into the man’s path, allowing a collision and making his attempt as the two of them muttered hasty apologies.