Cloak Games: Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  That got a reaction, let me tell you.

  The phone call went on for another fifteen minutes. I wound up talking to Gail herself, who protested her loyalty to the Duke, the high quality of her centerpieces, and the amount of work that had already gone into the order. I made various soothing noises and eventually got her calmed down, and then ended the call and left the gas station as fast as I dared. I figured I had maybe twenty minutes before she called Alexandra Ross herself to complain, and I needed to be in place by then.

  I came to a stop in the gravel parking lot. I took a quick moment to change from jeans and a T-shirt to a nice blue sundress and a pair of high-heeled sandals. I made sure I concealed any incriminating equipment, left the van, and went into the metal trailer.

  The interior looked like a combination of a craft studio, a gift shop, and an office. A gray-haired woman in jeans, t-shirt, and an apron who I suspected was Gail stood at a computer desk, visibly upset, surrounded by four young women all wearing polo shirts with GAIL’S GREENHOUSE ARRANGEMENTS stenciled across the front.

  “Yes, dear?” said Gail, blinking as she tried to pull together her composure. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hi,” I said, drawing out the word into a nervous drawl, making my fingers pluck at each other. “I know this is totally the last minute, and I don’t know if you guys do this kind of thing or not, but…um, do you make centerpieces? Because I’m getting married, and I really need to find some centerpieces, and…”

  Gail blinked, and shared a look with her workers.

  “I think,” said Gail, “we might be able to work something out. I just had a customer cancel an order, and I think we can get something ready for you just as slick as sugar.”

  About twenty minutes later, I paid several thousand dollars for one hundred and fifty centerpieces, specifically glass vases each filled with colored beads and potpourri and a small candle that I guessed looked artistic or something. They even helped me load the centerpieces into my van, which would have been a nice gesture had I not just paid three thousand dollars for the stupid things.

  “Oh, my fiancée is a contractor,” I said as we finished. “He let me use his van for this. He’s usually got all kinds of tools and stuff in there. I think he and his veteran buddies even use it for camping sometimes.”

  I endured another fifteen minutes of polite chitchat about my wedding dress, the venue, and a dozen other imaginary details of my imaginary wedding, and then I drove off, the centerpieces rattling in the back. After twenty minutes, I parked at a shopping center and plugged the burner phone back into my laptop, firing up the spoofing program once more.

  Then I sat in the back, wedging myself between the centerpieces in their cases, took a deep breath, and cast the Masking spell over myself.

  I made myself look like Gail, with the same sun-seamed face, the same apron, the same dusty jeans and shoes. The Masking spell would also make me sound like her, which was the point. I held the spell in place and then dialed Alexandra Ross’s number on my phone. This time my spoofing program would make it look as if the call originated from Gail’s Greenhouse Arrangements.

  Someone picked up on the third ring. “Ross speaking.” The woman’s voice was calm and collected, as perfectly controlled as the picture I had seen on the Duke’s website.

  “Hi, dear, this is Gail from Gail’s Greenhouse Arrangements,” I said, the Masking spell imitating Gail’s voice. “I just wanted to call about the one hundred and fifty centerpieces I’ve been putting together for you.”

  “Why?” A note of caution entered Ross’s voice. “Is there a problem?”

  “Oh, not at all, not at all, everything is slick as sugar,” I said, wondering vaguely how sugar could make anything slick. “They’re about done, and we’ll be ready on time. I just wanted to call and say that one of my new employees will be taking them up. Nice young girl named,” I decided on one of my aliases, “Irina Novoranya. Hired her on because I’ve been so busy. All the weddings this time of year, and I…”

  “Ah,” interrupted Ross. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Well, these are the centerpieces for his lordship the Duke!” I said. “I wanted make sure that everything’s all right. Also that Irina doesn’t need a special security pass or anything.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Ross. “Good thinking. Yes, she will need a security pass. Homeland Security will be cordoning off the area around the Capitol and Battle Hall. Have her come by my office at three today. I’ll print off her pass. Make sure she brings the usual documents.”

  “Will do,” I said. I had the necessary fake documents for a woman named Irina Novoranya. Birth certificate, conscription registration card, and a few various other fake credentials. “Thanks for understanding. Crazy time of year, and…”

  “Not at all,” said Ross. “Thank you for calling ahead. These centerpieces are for the reception, and everything must be perfect. Two Dukes and a score of other nobles. A member of the High Queen’s court at the Red Palace might even see our work.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I’ll send Irina up tomorrow.”

  ###

  I had to rent a hotel room. I didn’t mind sleeping in my van, but the smell got a bit ripe after a few days, and those damn centerpieces took up all the space. Besides, Irina Novoranya could not show up at the Duke’s offices smelling like she had slept in a van for a week. So I found myself a cheap hotel, Masked myself as a middle-aged man with the look of a traveling salesman, and rented a room.

  I did a quick check for bugs. Sometimes Homeland Security liked to plant bugs in hotel rooms to catch any Rebel sympathizers dumb enough to do their plotting in hotel rooms. Or random perverts, though that sort of thing earned its perpetrator a ruinous fine and a number of lashes on Punishment Day. Satisfied that the room was secure, I showered off and got dressed in the sort of clothes a worker in a Duke’s office would wear – black pumps, black pencil skirt, white blouse, black blazer, earrings, and a touch of makeup.

  After getting all dressed up, it was amusing to Mask myself as a dumpy middle-aged salesman again.

  I drove across town to the Duke’s offices. Madison had been destroyed twice in the last three hundred years, but at no point during any of the rebuilding did anyone think to construct adequate parking. Finally I parked the van in a parking structure six blocks away, paying an exorbitant fee for the privilege, and then I had to hurry to keep my appointment. The skirt and the heels made it hard to hurry, but I managed.

  Duke Carothrace’s offices took up two blocks across the street from the Wisconsin State Capitol, which had somehow survived both the Conquest and the Archon attack. The Duke’s offices were a gleaming pile of steel and glass, and before it stood a bronze statue of Duke Carothrace in full battle armor, gazing determinedly at the horizon, flanked by six of his human men-at-arms carrying swords and spears. I noted with amusement the little camera sitting atop the building’s doors, ready to capture any acts of elfophobia directed at the Duke’s bronze likeness.

  I clacked my way into the lobby, one wall of which displayed an enormous mural showing the Duke leading his men-at-arms to victory over a band of orcs in the Shadowlands. It was disturbingly accurate, showing the strange, dead terrain of the place between the worlds, the twisted trees, the ribbons of fire in the starless void of the sky, the wraithwolves prowling at the edges of the dark trees…

  I froze for an instant.

  An anthrophage stood below the wall, staring at me, black spines rising from its gaunt, gray limbs, its yellow eyes digging into me…

  I realized it was part of the mural, and I rebuked myself. I couldn’t afford to start having freakouts in public, not now.

  The woman at the reception desk confirmed my appointment and sent for a security man in a black suit who had the look of a veteran. He escorted me deeper into the offices, past rows of cubicles, men in suits and women in blazers with Serious Business expressions on their faces walking back and forth while holding papers. If someone wanted
to make a comedy about the offices of an Elven noble, they could have done worse than copy this place.

  Alexandra Ross’s office occupied a corner on the third floor, though she did not have a view of the Capitol itself. Everything looked sleek and modern, and she had the obligatory portraits of the High Queen and Carothrace upon the wall. The desk was quite full, though the stacks of paper were in orderly piles. A cluster of picture frames occupied the space around her computer monitor. Most of them showed Alexandra biking or jogging with a Hispanic-looking man of about thirty. In some of the pictures he wore the formal uniform of an Elven nobleman’s man-at-arms, and in one of the pictures Alexandra stood next to him a brilliant white wedding dress.

  Alexandra Ross rose to greet me, smiling. She looked exactly as I expected – athletic and pretty and very blond, dressed in clothes similar to mine, albeit with an expensive-looking wedding ring. She extended a hand and offered a firm handshake.

  “Irina Novoranya?” said Alexandra.

  “I am,” I lied. “Mrs. Ross. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Let’s get started,” said Alexandra. The security man withdrew. “Would you like some coffee? I’ve only got the pods, I’m afraid, but it will be fresh.”

  “I would.” That, at least, was not a lie. A little coffee maker occupied a stand in the corner, and she busied herself making two cups. I reached into my purse and drew out my folder of falsified documents, and we made inconsequential chitchat as the coffee drizzled into the cups.

  “I’m so glad Gail could do the centerpieces for this,” said Alexandra, handing me a cup. The coffee wasn’t bad. “They’re just beautiful. I hired her for my own wedding.”

  “You’ve been married long?” I said.

  She smiled. “Two years. He’s a sergeant in the Duke’s men-at-arms. I might even get to see him soon. I think he’ll be part of the Jarl’s escort.” She blinked and went back to business. “Now. Do you have the documents?”

  I passed them over, and she scanned them into the computer. They would pass muster. At least, I was pretty sure they would pass muster. If they didn’t, I was going to have to get out of here fast and think up another plan.

  “How long have you worked for Gail?” said Alexandra.

  “Oh, a few weeks,” I said. If she called Gail, this whole thing would fall apart. I noticed she had a little cross necklace resting against her throat. “I met her through church. Well, my mom did. I sort of flunked out of nursing school and needed a job, and Gail hired me. I really hope I do well at it.”

  “I hope you like the work,” said Alexandra, clicking through some forms on her computer. “I know how hard it is to find work you can enjoy. I didn’t know what that felt like until the Duke’s office hired me.”

  Huh. I would have expected condescension. Weirdly, I found myself liking Alexandra. I had expected someone like a female version of Rusk.

  Of course, if she knew what I really was, if she knew I could work spells of illusion magic, she would call Homeland Security and the Inquisition so fast that some of her perfectly coiffed hair might fall out of place. Someone in my position couldn’t afford to have friends, especially friends who worked for an Elven noble.

  Especially when a single mistake might cost Russell his life. Mine as well, come to think of it.

  “Everything checks out,” said Alexandra. She picked up a smartphone from her desk. “If you’ll let me take a picture?” I offered a sunny smile, and a moment later the printer next to coffee maker spat out a security pass with my picture and Irina Novoranya’s name on it.

  “Thank you,” I said, tucking the little plastic card away in my purse. “I hope that wasn’t too inconvenient.”

  “Not at all,” said Alexandra. “I’ll be grateful for your help. This reception is important, and everything must be perfect for the Duke.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, thinking of the Ringbyrne Amulet. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Chapter 3: A Former Friend

  I spent the remaining days before Rimethur’s arrival in preparation.

  I read everything I could find about Rimethur and the frost giants and their embassy to the High Queen, looking for any possible edge. The Jarl and his guards and attendants would stay at the Meridian-Kohler Hotel, the finest hotel in Madison, a twenty-story tower a few blocks from the State Capitol. Renting a room there was out of the question. The place would be crawling with Homeland Security and Inquisition agents, maybe even a few Knights of the Inquisition in their long black coats with the silver lightning bolts upon the collars. Fortunately, the hotel had not secured its network properly, and I stole a copy of the employee database over anonymized connection. If necessary, I could masquerade as one of the maids with a Masking spell, and snatch away the Ringbyrne Amulet while I pretended to clean his rooms.

  Or maybe I could steal the amulet at the reception.

  And maybe a flying purple unicorn would give me a vial with a cure for Russell’s frost fever, along with a giant pot of gold coins and a magic wand that could free me of Morvilind’s control.

  Somehow I thought that more likely than a turn of good luck.

  I would have to watch for my opportunity, and I would have to be quick. If I was careful, I would find a chance to snatch the amulet and make my escape. I might only have one chance, so when it came, I would have to seize it.

  There was one other way I could prepare, and I used it.

  Specifically, I made myself useful to Alexandra.

  In preparation for the Jarl’s arrival, she was working eighteen hour days, and she was enough of a control freak that she tried to do everything herself. Since I claimed that Gail only could afford to have me work sixteen hours a week, I had plenty of time to help Alexandra. I started doing a few errands for her, laundry and getting the mail and the like. Then I started doing things for her at the Duke’s office, dropping off letters and making copies and other things. By the fourth day I spent almost as much time at the Duke’s offices as Alexandra, helping her out with this and that.

  In doing so, I learned a great deal about how Duke Carothrace’s office functioned, about his security people and his procedures. I also learned every single planned detail of Jarl Rimethur’s visit.

  Well. If Alexandra hadn’t wanted me to read those papers, she shouldn’t have given them to me to photocopy.

  “You should come work for me once the visit is done,” said Alexandra as we set up tables in the vast auditorium of Battle Hall, where Jarl Rimethur would come for the reception after exiting the rift way on the Capitol steps. Just for today, Alexandra had discarded her skirt and blazer and heels for an athletic shirt and pants and running shoes.

  “Oh?” I said. “I suppose I could work as a janitor anywhere.”

  Alexandra laughed. “Not as a janitor. As my assistant.”

  I made myself look confused. “What would I be doing?”

  “What you’ve already been doing.” We flipped another table onto its legs. The guests in the cheap section would get folding tables. The Jarl and the Elven nobles would have actual wooden tables. “Helping me out. Running errands and so forth. I could use the help. The Duke has so many events, and I have to coordinate them all.” She grinned at me. “And maybe we could find you a husband.”

  I laughed. “You want me to become an office bride, is that it?” It was a common phenomenon. Most Elven nobles used human women for their administrative staffs and human men for their men-at-arms, and when the office women and the men-at-arms mingled, nature tended to take its course. It was such a common scenario that any number of comedies and romantic dramas had been made on the topic.

  Of course, I took a more cynical view of it. Even the most benevolent Elven nobles viewed their humans as cattle, and they took care to ensure that ample children would be available to serve as future men-at-arms and workers

  Not that I could tell any of that to Alexandra.

  “Well, it’s not so bad,” said Alexandra. “When Robert first asked me out, I laughed.
It was like something out of a comedy. The office worker and the man-at-arms, you know? But it…it turned out well.” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t like talking about her husband, probably because feared for his life. “Maybe we can find someone for you, too. Why don’t you think about working for me? We can talk about it more once the reception is finished.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lied, and helped her set up the tables. I liked Alexandra, as much as I was capable of liking someone I planned to betray. For a moment I did think about it, or at least I wondered what that kind of life would be like. A life where someone like Morvilind did not have a hold over me, where I could find a husband, settle down, and have some children…

  No. Alexandra was a sheep, even if she didn’t realize it. I didn’t want a pleasant life. I wanted power, enough power that someone like Morvilind would never threaten me or Russell again. I didn’t want a romantic entanglement, either. That would give someone power over me, and I refused to surrender any more power over myself. My one romantic relationship had started out pleasantly, but it had ended so badly I had almost been killed.

  The Duke’s slaves helped my mind harden further.

  Humans were not allowed to own slaves in the United States, but Elven nobles had no such limitations. Criminals who could not pay their fines on Punishment Day were instead enslaved, and Carothrace had hundreds of them. His slaves were men and women, white and black and Hispanic and Asian, young and old, all wearing bright red uniforms (hard to escape in a bright red jumpsuit). The slaves helped Alexandra set up Battle Hall and decorate it for the reception, hanging the banners of the High Queen and Carothrace and Rimethur from the rafters. Alexandra was competent and cheerful and hard-working…and she ordered around the slaves without a second thought.

  She would have done the same to me, too, if I had been arrested, flogged on Punishment Day, and enslaved.

  I wasn’t a Rebel. I had known Rebels, and the best of them were self-righteous assholes and the worst of them were the sort of psychopaths who would enjoy detonating a pipe bomb full of ball bearings in a maternity ward. Yet watching Alexandra order the slaves about, I understood some of the Rebels’ grievances.