Livorus and Trennus both stared at him. “But there are no wires,” Trennus objected. “They’d still need to transmit the power elsewhere, to where it would be needed, and that’s what they said . . . .” He paused, his mind clearly working. “I’m really rusty on this,” he admitted, “but Tholberg had some crazy notion of storing electricity and loosed ley-energy in the ionosphere, correct?”
“Because that couldn’t possibly lead to the degradation of the ozone layer or anything like that, and everyone would wind up needing a personal lightning rod on their roof, which doesn’t present safety issues at all. Not to mention that you’d be expending more energy lofting power up there than you’d ever get back down again,” Kanmi said, waving a hand irritably. “But yes, say that wherever they’re currently storing . . . whatever this energy is . . . it’s a latent charge. This facility draws it down, and then will distribute it . . . gods, for all I know, they plan to arc it to similar, smaller facilities all through the area.” He rubbed at his face. “That would be a . . . gods-be-damned big lightshow, if it were electricity. But it’s not. It’s magic, and I don’t know what they’re using to collect and condense the energy. Or what they’re planning on using, anyway. I don’t see a lot of ley-power in this area, as is. What little there is, gets wired in from north of here, and we’re on the very edge of the grid. Hospitals and the governor’s house get priority.”
Livorus could have ensconced himself and his lictors in the palatial luxury of the governor’s house. It said something about the man that he hadn’t, and that, more than anything, Kanmi . . . respected. As much as he could respect a patrician, anyway.
Now, the Carthaginian gestured around the hotel room, formulating his thoughts. The elevator in the lobby was a counterweight system, with low power usage; the lamps in this room were all oil ones. Kerosene, in the main; it was distilled from coal-bearing rock. No air conditioning. Little in the way of refrigeration, beyond ice boxes, which was making him leery of eating anything involving meat at meals. Of the very few things that were powered . . . phones were, at least minimally, but those could have power transmitted along their existing lines and infrastructure, along with their signal. He shook his head. “They obviously haven’t moved into the infrastructure-building phase. Whatever that might entail.”
“If they used a sacrifice at the site of the initial receiver,” Trennus said, his voice suddenly faintly nauseous, “. . . if the station is a receiver, as you say, and if that body was a sacrifice by the builders, and not . . . a blood-binding by a random unethical summoner . . . then wouldn’t they also have to perform similar sacrifices at each additional reception site?”
Livorus stared at them both. “This is all purely speculative, at the moment,” he noted, quietly. “You’re ranging very far afield, with little evidence.”
Kanmi nodded, immediately. It was hard not to let his mind go leaping, to find the next most logical step in the chain. But the propraetor was correct. They didn’t even know for certain who the body in the grave was yet, or how he or she had died.
“Our first step is to get the Roman gardia down here, not the locals,” Livorus went on. “And we’ll exhume the body as soon as they arrive. But we’ll need to do this quietly, I think. Else we’ll arrive there and find . . . nothing, I suspect.” The propraetor leaned back in his chair, and regarded Kanmi steadily. “Give your dear friend Gratian Xicohtencatl another call . . . hmm. After we’ve gotten the Roman gardia down here. The closest available would be in . . . Copan, I think.” He stood, and pulled a map from a drawer in the room, unrolling it across the table, ducking back into the silencing field. “Yes. Some three hundred miles south of here. That would have them here inside of a day, rather than taking two days to drive down from Tenochtitlan.” Livorus tapped his fingertips together. “That will do. Maintain your sound-proofing, if you would, Eshmunazar, though it will do little good if our phone line here is tapped.” He picked up the phone, regarded the buttons at the base, under the rotary dial, which lit up, minimally. He awarded Kanmi an inscrutable look before toggling one of them and asking the front desk to put a call through to the regional switchboard . . . which, in turn, connected him to the gardia in Copan.
Kanmi and Trennus stepped out of the room after the phone call had been completed, and Ehecatl, who’d been guarding the door, asked, “So, anything I need to know?”
Kanmi studied the Nahautl lictor for a long moment. “Not for right now,” he said, cutting a quick glance at Trennus. He didn’t know the man. Didn’t know what his loyalties in the region were. Caetia obviously trusted Itztli—it showed in how the valkyrie’s face softened a little around him, as it rarely did around Kanmi himself, as yet. But he wasn’t sure if he could trust the valkyrie’s assessment of the man. Not yet. “Things could get a little interesting in the next day or so, though.”
“Interesting? That’s usually code for ‘don’t expect to see your wife and children for a few weeks.” Ehecatl raised his eyebrows.
In spite of himself, Kanmi wanted to like the man. They were almost the same age, and had many of the same concerns. He hadn’t seen his own family in close to a month, himself. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve decrypted the cipher,” Kanmi told him, grimacing. “They’ll change the codebook on us.”
Over dinner in the bar, Kanmi watched in amusement as Trennus did his best not to stare too much at the lovely waitress who brought them their drinks. She wore a traditional Quechan outfit . . . which was to say, she had a colorfully-striped cloth around her hips that served as a very thin skirt . . . and she wore a necklace of turquoise beads that draped down to her tanned, rather pert breasts, the dark rose nipples completely visible, as she wore nothing else. Trennus was doing his level best to look anywhere but at the woman at the moment, a task rendered more difficult by the fact that he was seated, and she kept bending over to ask him questions in lightly-accented Latin. She clearly thought Trennus was fascinating, and leaned in over his shoulder to ask him about Britannia as she placed their bowls of water for them. Asked him about the tribal tattoos on his forearms, so different than Nahautl markings, as she handed them their menus.
And then she made the fatal error of asking him what he did for a living, and Trennus, who’d been replying with a little discomfort to begin with, now launched into an enthusiastic and altogether relieved-sounding monologue about ley-lines and their traditional uses in Gaul and Pictish Britannia. At which point, the Quechan waitress backed off, hastily, and all but fled towards the kitchen. “Is it really that hard to talk to women, Matrugena?” Kanmi asked him, shaking his head. “Find something of common interest. Don’t just drone on about your personal hobbyhorse.” Kanmi couldn’t resist the urge to needle the younger man. Trennus was simply so even-keeled, it seemed possible that he’d never react to any taunt, beyond a faint flush. He leaned back now, and put on a professorial tone, raising a finger. “Think of women . . . as spirits. You’re the summoner here, after all. The first step, is you get her Name. Then you find out what motivates her. You bargain with her in terms of what that motivation is. And then you get what you want. Simple, yes?” Kanmi arched his brows, wondering if this would finally piece Trennus' equanimity.
All the ley-mage did, infuriating enough, was laugh, sheepishly. “I don’t think it quite works like that. Besides, I’m not really looking to bind one.”
“Oh, but it’s far more fun that way.” Kanmi smothered his grin behind his glass and a bland tone.
“Wait, what?” Trennus’ face, already sunburned, flushed redder.
“I am, after all, a married man.” Kanmi nodded, virtuously, and watched the flush spread. “Ah, there’s hope for you yet. A dirty mind does lurk behind that façade of innocence.”
Trennus coughed. “No . . . I mean, that’s not . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. “Gods. I just want to know what to talk about. I don’t actually care about theater actors, the chariot or motorcar races at the local circus, or any of that.”
“Get her talking
about herself. That’s usually anyone’s favorite topic.” Kanmi shrugged. “Everyone in existence is an egotist. Figure out what a given woman’s interested in, and adopt her concerns. Just don’t talk about magic to a non-mage. You’ll confuse them and make them feel inferior and angry. It just never goes well.” He went out of his way not to talk about his work with his own wife. She knew he was a technomancer. She knew he was a Praetorian. Past that, his work didn’t come in the front door. There were reasons why there were so many collegia for magic practitioners. Magic that hadn’t been state-sanctioned or controlled by the priests, centuries ago, had gotten sorcerers and summoners persecuted, until they’d banded together, and managed to convince society to give them the respect due to all professionals—such as doctors and magistrates—and equal rights under the law. Of course, enforcing the law on magic-users was a very, very different thing . . . .
“Or,” Sigrun said, from behind Kanmi, dryly, and Eshmunazar sat up, hastily, “you could just wait until you find someone who already shares your interests. There’s meeting someone halfway, I’ll grant you, but giving up who you are, or pretending to be someone you’re not, is never the route of wisdom.”
Kanmi grinned up at her. “I’ve gotten where I am in life precisely by pretending to be who I’m not,” he informed her, feeling the arak expand warmly through his belly.
Sigrun gave him a tired, but amused look. “That explains why there is always at least one lie in your eyes, Kanmi. Of course, I know that usually, the lies are unimportant ones, and, as often as not, involve the fact that you care far more about everything than you care to let on.”
How much do you see with those fucking god-born eyes of yours, anyway? Kanmi felt his own narrow, just for a moment, and then he covered it again. “Unfair advantages aside, Caetia, you and ben Maor should join us. I trust your day’s gone better than ours has?”
The pair sat down, both looking freshly showered. “Can you arrange a little privacy?” ben Maor asked, easing his way into the booth.
“After you’ve both ordered, sure. Will somewhat stand out if the waitress has to sit in your lap to hear you.” Kanmi bared his teeth at the younger man. Ben Maor seemed to have more trigger points than Matrugena did. Matrugena would blush or stammer, but never seemed to get angry. Ben Maor, on the other hand, could be pushed. Could be provoked, but not easily. And of course, Sigrun was quick to irritation, and slow to forgiveness. It was just interesting seeing what made each of them react, like putting chemicals in a solvent, and seeing what boiled over in a laboratory beaker.
The Quechan waitress made her way back over to offer menus and drinks, and Kanmi found it enormously amusing to watch ben Maor’s eyes track down, and then jerk back up again. “I keep reminding myself,” the man noted, as the waitress walked away again, “that I’m not in Judea anymore, and that local customs can be very different.”
“Yes, but at least the scenery is pleasant, isn’t it?” Kanmi offered, blandly.
That got both Trennus and ben Maor to glance, sidelong, at Caetia. Who, for her part, lifted her eyes and looked directly at Kanmi for a long moment. And then she offered, unsmiling, “I find the jungles lovely, but the ground here is too flat.”
“I was actually commenting on the delightful ranges of hills hereabouts,” Kanmi told her, blandly.
Sigrun straightened, completely, her spine set like a sword-blade, and her shoulders came back. The gray eyes held, for a moment, no more warmth than a winter storm, and she tipped her head to the side, like a bird, and there was total silence for a long moment. And then she lowered her head back to the menu, and offered, calmly, “It says that the guinea pig was slaughtered today. That should be fresh, Adam.”
Ben Maor flipped through his own menu hastily. “It also says, if I’m reading this right, that the fish is raw, but has been ‘cooked’ in acidic fruit juices.” He paused, and then read, “Includes clams, shrimp, and snails.”
“So. A salad for you, then?” Sigrun’s tone actually held a hint of a tease.
“I’m still looking.” His tone was resigned, however. “Salpicón . . . Beef, something called adobo, mint, radishes, peppers . . . avocados, tomatoes . . . .”
“I’ll try that,” Sigrun said, immediately.
“It is, I hasten to point out, a salad.” Ben Maor grinned at her suddenly. “I’ll admit that meat is involved here, but it is a salad.”
“Could it be anything else?” Her tone was droll.
“No refrigeration,” Kanmi warned, keeping his voice low. “How good is god-born digestion, anyway?”
Her faint smile faded. “Oh, spoiled meat won’t kill me. It will just make me wish that it would,” she admitted, with a sigh, and held up her earthenware cup of water. “Just as the tap water might not be . . . entirely up to Imperial standards.”
That actually made Kanmi snort, ruefully. Points for honesty, at least. He encircled the table in the field that deadened sound waves in the air, and then flash-boiled the water for them, before removing the energy once more, making the water chill, as he allowed the heat to disperse back into the ambient air. “All right,” he said, looking at them again. “What did you all find?”
“Not as much as you did apparently,” ben Maor told him. “Livorus and I spent all day in talks with the regional governor.”
Sigrun shrugged. “Ehecatl and I made contact with some of the local priests. Even the priests of Chaac have heard of our friend Tototl,” she added, between bites. “Also, they do not like him.”
“There’s a surprise,” Kanmi muttered, leaning over his own bowl of spicy vegetable stew.
“Why not?” Trennus asked.
Ben Maor smiled without humor, his dark eyes serious. “The governor had a few things to say about that, actually. Tototl seems to be pushing something he calls pan-Caesarianism. That all the peoples native to the new world should band together, revive their old customs and religious practices. Sounds just like the god-born of the Morning Star, doesn’t it?”
“Ehecatl was somewhat annoyed by that,” Sigrun put in.
“Yes, but that’s not exactly new in any subject kingdom,” Kanmi noted. “I’ve heard the same line repeated in any number of taverns and street markets in Carthage.”
“Yes, but this is slightly different, in that he wants to unite all of the disparate petty kingdoms of both Aquilonis and Australis under one roof,” Sigrun replied, her tone grim. “And naturally, he wants that roof to be his own. Nahautl.” She picked at her salad with her fork. “Tawantinsuyu has their mountain gods, completely separate from any other religion in the new world. The Quecha have their own gods. Some of their gods overlap with Nahautl’s, but just as many don’t, and they wouldn’t care to be forced into worshipping Nahautl gods, or in Nahautl fashion. And of course, the kingdoms in the north don’t follow the same gods at all. Tototl is tip-toeing just along the line of the Edict of Diocletian. He’s not advocating for conversion so much as . . . integration. But only for the indigenous provinces and kingdoms.” She sighed. “It’s not so much religion, I think, as politics.”
“Throw out Rome,” Trennus said, tiredly. “Of course, once you throw out Rome, you have to have someone else be in charge, and why not the Nahautl?” The young Britannian looked sober. “He seemed to have the ear of the emperor up in Tenochtitlan. Do you think the emperor endorses this?”
Sigrun shook her head. “Above my pay grade,” she replied. “No way to know at the moment, either.” She sighed and stretched. Kanmi’s eyes went, appreciatively, to the full press of her breasts against the laces of her scoop-necked bodice; she’d been unable to wear a shirt today, thanks to the heat, but hadn’t been out much in direct sunlight, the way Trennus had been; as such, she was only lightly pink in some places. The fact that the bodice was also cut short, to allow her freedom of movement in combat, meant that her taut midriff was also exposed above the line of her jeans. It wasn’t hard to notice that ben Maor’s head actually tipped towards her for a moment as she stretched, ro
lled her shoulders, dipped her head to loosen the long muscles of her neck . . . or that Adam’s gaze lingered on her for longer than he’d focused on the scantily-clad waitress.
“And now that I’ve eaten, the propraetor wants me to head right back out again and . . . keep watch over your ley-tower that isn’t a ley-tower to make sure no one does any digging tonight.” Sigrun sighed and finished her stretch.
Trennus’ head snapped up. “You’re going to drive three hours through the jungle? There are no lights. The road was barely a road during the day, let alone at night.” His voice was concerned. “Take one of us with you, at least. Me, anyway. I . . . literally can’t get lost.” The younger man chuckled, ruefully. “I always know which way magnetic north is, and I can orient myself by the local ley-lines.”
Sigrun chuckled. “Actually, Trennus, I was going to, you know . . . .” She pointed upwards. “Fly. It’s faster than driving, and they won’t notice me, the way they would notice a car arriving.”
Trennus flushed again. Kanmi saw a delightful opportunity here, and jumped on it. “Oh. I see. Caetia, you absolutely should take Matrugena with you. Just sweep our lad here up in your arms and fly off with him. It’ll be romantic, and he clearly is smitten with you, as it is.” Kanmi fought down the grin as Trennus’ mouth dropped open in complete horror. “It could even work out. I’ve never seen two people more in need of getting laid in my life.”
The fact that the temperature dropped ten degrees at the table, Kanmi registered as a local loss of energy in the air, and made him laugh almost as hard as the cold stare he received from Sigrun. Trennus put a fist to his forehead and rubbed there for a moment, his massive shoulders quaking, in between what sounded like an impassioned apology to Sigrun in her native language, to which she returned a few words in the same tongue. Impenetrable as a secret code, and Kanmi could read the irritation growing in ben Maor.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 33