Daniel laughed when he saw what the drawer from the cabinet contained-it was just full of junk. There was a bundle of pencils of varying lengths and sharpness-some even bore teeth marks- all tied up in a silk ribbon. There was a gardening fork lying inside a glass case. A jar containing coins, bottle caps, ring pulls, paper clips, and brass tacks. There was a pair of binoculars, something that looked like an oven knob, a bottle of ink, and more besides.
“It is up to you to choose the most recent or valuable to you.
Tell me, do you recognise any of these items?” the merchant asked.
“I recognise all of them. How did you find them?”
“I have my sources,” the merchant said guardedly. “Tell me, this manuscript, what is its nature?” The merchant reverently handed him a bundle of decaying papers.
“This is a comic book.”
“I have studied it closely but do not understand the writing. Is it a history of one of your heroes?”
“It’s a story-none of this really happened.” He handed it back. “It’s not so old. It was printed about twenty years ago.”
“What about this?”
“That’s more recent-it’s a video cassette tape.”
“What is it used for?”
“Amusement. You stick it in a machine and it plays a story for you. We have lots of them where I come from. This one is Doctor Who.”
The merchant looked at him blankly.
“It’s a science fiction TV show. That would probably help me out, if I had it. As would this, I suppose.” He picked up liner notes from a CD and flicked through it. “And that, definitely.” He pointed to a cell phone charger.
“So, these three items, the . . . vidosette tape, the small booklet, the wire with the weight on it . . . and the manuscript as well?”
Daniel shrugged. “Sure, the comic book as well. Why not?”
“What about these? Can you tell what they are?” He handed Daniel a rectangular red box made out of thin cardboard. It had “.38 SPECIAL 130 GRAIN FULL METAL JACKET” printed on its side.
“These are bullets,” he said, turning the box around in his hands so that they were the right way up. He opened the box-it was full. “They can be quite dangerous.”
“Would you take those?”
“I’d rather not.”
“So,” the merchant said, businesslike again. “Four items from your world, and valuable ones at that.”
“And if I have these, I can go back tomorrow night?”
“Very likely.”
“Can you guarantee it?”
“Not absolutely, but with my experience as a traveler between worlds, I can offer you near certainty. As certain as anyone can be in these matters.”
“Okay, what do I have to do?”
“That moneylender,” the merchant said, nodding at the tent flap, “Agrid Fiall, is a vile and detestable creature who has the throat of this nation in his grasp. He is a disgusting leech who holds entire cities to debt and squeezes them as dry as if they were in a vice. Families starve because of him, and yet he blithely carries on, squeezing and squeezing every debtor as dry as a bone. Due to his power, he has risen to a high position in court and as a shameless flatterer to the princely brothers. He is here in attendance with Prince Lhiam-Lhiat at this Fayre.”
“I’ve heard of him already. What do you want me to do?”
Daniel asked, already having an inkling.
“Kill him.”
Daniel considered. “Would that be hard?”
“I have already devised a plan that will put you at minimum risk-one blow, and an easy escape. I must protect my investment, after all.”
Daniel thought a little longer and then said, “Very well, I’ll do it. But I’ll need those bullets after all. And also,” he said, pointing to a black, metallic object in the centre of the tray, “I’ll need that to put them in.”
“Are you sure you are up to this?” Lokkich asked. “Can I really count on you to complete this task?”
“It’s not the first time I’ve assassinated an evildoer.”
3
She lay in bed, tired, weak, and confused. Her body felt . . . wrong. It was almost too much of an effort to move. So many things felt . . . wrong. It was hard to think. There was something important she had to do. She had to rescue someone? Who? Herself?
Professor Stowe-Felix-was sleeping next to her. She could see his back and arm-pale, flabby, and it disgusted her. Repulsed, but still with a tremendous effort of will, she pushed herself up and swung her feet out of bed-dizzy, and she wasn’t even standing up yet.
She pulled the covers off and hoisted herself to her feet. Gripping the side of the bed to steady herself, she made her way to the door. Catching sight of her reflection in a full-length mirror, she halted. She looked old. Much older than she used to look. Her face was gaunt and eyes sunken. Her lips were thinner-even her hair looked tired. It no longer displayed the black sheen that she was secretly proud of. She shut her eyes. This wasn’t her. She was someone else.
A soft squeal from the corner of the room made her jump. The baby. She needed to escape. Should she take that with her? It didn’t seem right to leave the child, and anyway, the crying might wake the professor.
Gathering strength from she didn’t know where, she crossed the room and took the baby from a small white cot. Holding it against herself, she rocked it gently and staggered out of the room.
She was in the hallway. The air was cold and through the window, she could see it was snowing. Should she make her escape now? In this weather?
She was so hungry. Instead of going out of the flat front door, she went into the kitchen.
The place was spotlessly clean. Still shouldering the child, she opened the refrigerator and recoiled. It was stocked with food, but everything was rotten or overgrown with mold. A head of lettuce had partially turned to sludge. Milk had separated in its plastic container that showed only a whitish-blue fuzz through its transparent lid. She swung the door closed. There must be something in the cupboards. She opened the one nearest to her-empty. The next was full of drinking glasses. Finally, in the third cupboard, she found some tinned food. She grabbed some baked beans down and put them on the counter. She put the baby on the centre of the kitchen table. Amused, bewildered, it gazed beatifically up at the ceiling.
She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a can opener. Working frantically, she managed to get the lid off of the tin.
It was empty. Or at least, not completely empty, for there were dried streaks of bean juice clinging to the sides of the tin, as if it had once contained beans, but a long time ago.
She reached for a can of pineapple slices and opened that. It was empty as well, except for the sickly sweet smell of old fruit.
This was too weird. She picked up the baby, turned to leave, and immediately halted. There was a small girl in the doorway.
“Mum? Is breakfast ready?”
“S-Sophia?” she stammered.
“Mum, I’m hungry,” the girl-she must be about seven years old-said primly.
“No time, come on, we’re leaving.”
“Where?”
Grabbing Sophia’s hand, she dragged the girl down the hallway and out of the door of the flat.
“Mummy,” the little girl said as they started down the stairs.
“I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold and snowy.”
“It’ll be fine,” Freya said, not at all convinced of this herself.
She felt the girl’s hand pull away from hers as they reached the bottom of the steps. “I have to put my wellies on.”
Freya tried the door handle, but it was locked. She pulled it harder and frantically looked around for the key. “Where is it? Where is it?” she muttered under her breath.
“It’s on the windowsill,” Sophia said, pointing.
Snatching up the key, she thrust it into the lock. It turned and in another moment, she had the door open. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground and she was b
arefoot, but she couldn’t stay any longer. She pulled the key out of the keyhole.
The baby started crying. “Come on,” Freya called over her shoulder.
“I need my coat.”
“No time!” she snapped.
“Freya, darling?” came a voice from above her. “What are you doing?”
“Come on,” she whispered, holding out her hand to Sophia.
“I don’t want to go!”
The baby howled.
“Freya, where are you going? Come up and have some breakfast.”
There was a rush of wind that slammed the door shut. Frantically, she flung it open again. Then with her foot outstretched to prevent the door from closing, she reached in and grabbed Sophia’s arm. She heaved herself through the doorway and into the snow-filled front yard.
Only there wasn’t any snow. And, suddenly, there wasn’t a Sophia anymore. She stumbled and fell. She found herself lying on . . . grass. In the whole garden, there wasn’t a flake of snow to be seen.
Freya looked down at herself and let out a long, strange cry of surprise and relief-she was dressed in the same pink blouse and jeans that she had been wearing when she first visited the Old Observatory.
Her head was clear now.
It hadn’t been years after all, it had been . . . what? Days? She started laughing-it was all a dream, or an illusion. There were no children-she was now just clutching a dirty tea towel against her shoulder. There was no important work she was doing, translating that strange gobbledegook. All of it, since she met that weird little group-the militant Gerrard Cross, the odd Leigh Sinton, the rotund Brent Wood. She paused. She had an aunt who used to live in a town called Brent Wood. And the Reverend Peter Borough?
Peterborough? And Felix. Felixstowe-that was a harbor town on the west coast. She’d caught a ferry there once. Those were names of towns, not people. But why? Were they illusions too? And her tutor . . . what did it mean?
Daniel. It had something to do with Daniel’s disappearance.
Freya heard her name being called from inside. Stowe’s legs could be seen at the top of the stairs. Scrambling to her feet, she flew to the door and pulled it closed. She still had the key, which she used to lock it.
Stowe’s shape appeared dark in the frosted glass and he gave it a bang with his fist. Then, swift as a thought, he turned and dashed back up the stairs.
Freya needed no further prompting. She spun around and, as fast as her weak and malnourished body could move, she pushed open the front gate and ran out into the street.
4
Feeling uncomfortable in the fine Elfin clothes that the merchant Lokkich gave him, Daniel nonetheless tried to look natural. His sword was at his side, and a leather pouch, which seemed heavier than the weight it contained, bounced against his thigh.
He had become lost in his thoughts and had fallen behind Awin Kaayn, the musician he had met on the road. That was a stroke of luck. The merchant’s plan had been a good one, but Daniel was able to refine it. To enter the feast hall as the minstrel’s assistant was his idea and would remove much risk and attention from the operation.
By chance-or providence, or fate, for everything so far had gone unbelievably smoothly-Daniel had actually been introduced to Agrid Fiall. Returning to K?yle and Pettyl’s stall, he had encountered a small crowd of people clustered around it. He slipped in around them and edged to the back of the booth.
K?yle was standing in the middle of the room, his powerful body at ease, and all the more threatening for his casual strength-he was taller than anyone else there. Before him was an elf, who was dressed in an outfit that was splendid, even by elfish standards. Thin black robes enfolded him, trimmed with grey and white lace-the one serving as an accent for the other. Pearls of varying sizes and brilliance were set into the black cloth, creating swirling patterns, as if depicting the sky on a hailstorm night. His face wore a thick, bushy beard that was jet-black and streaked with bright white hairs, which seemed to be a piece of the costume as well.
On either side of him stood what were obviously Elfin soldiers. They wore silver helmets and chest plates that were etched with woodland scenes. Everything else was covered with thick embossed leather. Short swords hung at their sides and long, thin spears rose over their heads. Behind these three were nobles and what appeared to be merchants of a higher class than those who owned stalls.
The eyes of all of these men turned towards Daniel as he entered, immediately pegging him as someone who didn’t belong. “Who is this young-man?” the black figure asked.
“He is an unfortunate boy who fell into our world and came into my care. I have already made arrangements for him to return to his own world.”
“It has been some time since I have seen a human. You used to see more of them about-when we used to steal them. Are you sure it is not a changeling? It’s so hard to tell with those animals.
My name is Agrid Fiall, young human. What is yours?”
“Daniel Tully, your lordship.”
Fiall laughed. “Daniel Tully, your lordship,” he repeated in a mocking tone. “I’d forgotten how they sound when they speak.
Marvelous, simply marvelous. One might almost believe that they were able to think as we do. There was that bard who managed it once, but I never saw him and believe reports of him to be exaggerated. Will you sell him to me?”
“No,” K?yle said once, with finality.
“Anyhow, where were we with the negotiations?” Fiall continued.
“The price is the price,” K?yle said firmly. “There is no changing it.”
“Come now, it is your patriotic duty to supply us with charcoal for the fires needed to draw silver and gold from rock. It’s what keeps many families fed and clothed.”
“If ever I saw a grain of this gold or silver, then my consideration may be different. As I don’t share in the fortunes of those who use what I make, I must set the price that seems fair to me.”
“Do you want to own a part of a smelter’s works? There is one I’m looking for a partner in,” the moneylender asked with a raised eyebrow. Daniel had seen this expression many times before and had no doubt that even though the offer was in earnest, he’d find some way to cheat and ruin whoever took him up on it. K?yle simply continued to gaze stoically at the minister.
“No matter, then,” Agrid Fiall replied. He took a deep breath, as if regretting what he was about to say and wanting to put it off as long as possible. “I was trying to spare you some amount of shame, you see; the royal budget only extends to two barrels of your stock.”
“That is no shame of mine.”
“It means that we will have to requisition another nine.”
K?yle’s face was impassive. “That is far less than fair,” he said eventually.
“There is no need to tell me that,” Fiall said in a plaintive tone. “It is how things are, and I feel as badly put upon as you do, no doubt. That is all I can offer, unless . . . unless you want to sell me the human. Go on, please . . .”
K?yle did not respond, so the moneylender gave instruction over his shoulder. “Pay him.”
“Are you taking the charcoal now?” Daniel asked Fiall.
Fiall had been about to turn away but paused for a final quizzical look at Daniel. Then, with a humorous chuckle, Agrid Fiall left, completely ignoring the question. However, an elf, apparently a clerk of some sort, stepped forward with a bag of money and while counting out silver coins said to K?yle, “Delivery will be taken tomorrow morning. We want these five, and those five over there; no others. I shall mark them for you.”
That was the whole of the interaction with the man that Daniel was supposed to kill, and he reflected on it as he stayed close to Awin Kaayn, drawing his new sky-blue cloak tighter around his shoulders-another piece of equipment from Reizger Lokkich- and struggling to keep Kaayn’s enormous guitar on his back. He had offered to carry it, to make it look like he had a purpose there, but now he wished he hadn’t. It was more strain in a stressful situation.
Still, he supposed it helped to hide his nervousness. He was now suspecting that elves were far more perceptive and observant than most humans were-they seemed able to actually see emotions. Not just what was on your face, but perhaps what was in your heart as well. And fast-above all else, in Daniel’s experience, elves were fast.
Things hadn’t gone so well with K?yle and Pettyl. He told them that he’d made another deal with Lokkich, which he wasn’t able to tell them about, but it meant that they wouldn’t have to pay anything and that he’d most likely be leaving tonight.
Pettyl had started to ask questions, which Daniel wasn’t about to answer.
K?yle, who must have had some idea, said to him, “Daniel, don’t do this new deal. Stay with us for the next few days and take the surer, more natural route home.”
“No, I have to get back soon. I’ve heard my friend’s voice calling me-twice now. I just feel-I need to get back as soon as possible, I know it. She needs me.”
“It may not be in the plan that you reach her so soon.”
“Plan? What plan?”
“The plan of the universe. The natural order that instructs all things, that guides the hearts of all living things.”
“I shouldn’t even be here, though,” Daniel said resentfully. “If the universe had a plan to protect every living thing, then I’d have stayed where I belonged in order to protect Freya!”
“We aren’t to know the plan,” Pettyl broke in. “It is not for you to judge where you most belong.”
“What does it matter what I do, anyway, if it’s such a great plan?”
“Don’t think of it as a plan-think of it as all of the created worlds working in an ideal state. Nothing is set, but things have a best course. Within this we may stay on our course, or travel a different one. If we go this other way, then we have made things disordered, and it may be difficult to correct after that. More, it may knock others out of alignment.”
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