by John Daulton
“Fear is the child of imagination and ignorance,” she said as they cleared the worst of the crowd.
“I know. But that redhead is an X-ranked teleporter. I’ve worked with her. She’s a combat teleporter, the kind they send into dangerous stuff. What if they sent her in to get Orli and Altin out? What if that blood was her kneeling next to one of them? You know? Checking on them.”
“The child grows strong, and the parents are proud of what you say.”
Roberto frowned. It took him a moment to get it, and when he did, he forced himself to let the unprofitable what-ifs go. “Fine,” he said. “But it’s still bullshit. The Queen isn’t going to do anything. That much is obvious. She says to trust her, but when it comes to the lives of my friends, I don’t trust shit. We have to do something. We can’t just leave them to … to whatever. And don’t tell me I have a contract and job to do. You said that the last time we were here, over two weeks ago, and look what we’ve gotten—what Orli and Altin have gotten—for my efforts of not doing anything. If I thought I was getting the whole truth, I might be okay going back and hawking coffee for another few days. But right now, I feel like I’m drowning in lies.”
“Captain! Wait,” came a labored voice from behind them. “Captain, please, a moment.”
They stopped and turned back. The fat figure of the Earl of Vorvington was just pushing through the last of the crowd plugging up the hall. His cheeks were florid, and he was huffing as he approached. He wiped sweaty hands on his red-and-gold doublet, and then reached out to shake Roberto’s hand in the Earth-people style.
“Captain, I could not help overhearing some of what you were saying just now, as you passed through the assemblage there. I apologize for eavesdropping, but … well, it is a habit one acquires after a century or two at court.”
Roberto cocked an eyebrow to Deeqa, who shrugged and looked down at Vorvington, waiting for whatever came next. “Yeah, I get it,” Roberto said. “No worries. What can we do for you?”
“I am under the impression you are as concerned and frustrated by the lack of information regarding our incredible Galactic Mage as I am. And his sweet wife, of course, whom I understand is your old crewmate.”
Roberto knew perfectly well that Vorvington knew perfectly well that he and Orli were close. He might not know Vorvington at all personally, but he did know the man had been present for most of the goings-on here at the Palace since this whole Prosperion adventure began. Goddamn nobles. They were worse than the politicians back on Earth. If that was possible. “I am,” was all he gave as reply.
“Well,” said Vorvington, “I should think that makes us something on the order of confederates.” He moved in close. “Or at least prospectively so.” He reached fat-fingered hands around and placed one each in the small of Roberto’s and Deeqa’s backs, for which he received a you-are-about-to-lose-that look from the latter. He smiled and gave them each a gentle shove toward the end of the hall anyway. He glanced back over his shoulder once, and said, “Come, let me not slow you down. We can talk as we move along.”
Vorvington chattered on the whole way down the long hallway, guiding them swiftly and efficiently out while deftly avoiding saying anything of importance. The man had an ability to redirect conversations that was astonishing, and by the time they were at the front gates of the Palace, Roberto was actually distracted, and amused, by how good he was at it.
They reclaimed their weapons, and soon after, Vorvington had them in a carriage, heading toward the city’s northern gate.
“Have you ever had wooly rhino ribs braised in orange-rind and sorsopal-root glaze? I know a place—out of the way and quiet—that will leave a mark on your very soul when you are done. The proprietor, a discreet man, swears the sorsopal root’s real magic is not the illusionary swarms of bees, but a touch of something more in keeping with a love elixir of some kind. I assure you, you’ll enjoy nothing so much on all of Prosperion, excepting perhaps prospon, of course, but how rare are the gifts of the novafly?”
“I think your nephew Thadius did enough damage with love elixirs for my lifetime, Mr. Vorvington,” Roberto said. “How about you get to the point? We’re out of the Palace now, so let’s just cut the shit and get to it.”
Vorvington’s wide face stacked atop the retracting rings of his jowls and fleshy neck as he recoiled from the remark, unused to such treatment from any but the Queen and the marchioness. “To begin, young man, it is not ‘Mister’ but Lord Vorvington, and secondly, keep your voice down. We cannot trust everyone on the street to be as discreet as the man at the Rhino’s Horn.”
“You’re the one who brought us here. You’re the one calling me ‘young man,’ and you’re the one who brought up the love elixir. So if you want to keep me mellow and in the mood for title games, then stop jerking me off and tell me what we are doing here.”
“Yes, I suppose that elixir comment was a bit insensitive. And while I admit to no wrongdoings on the part of my nephew—he was framed by his man Annison, I’ll have you know—I do apologize. As for the rest, well, then let us get ourselves out of town.”
He leaned back in his seat, and stared out the window then, in absolute silence and without looking the least perturbed. They might have been taking a leisurely sightseeing trip around Crown City.
At length they were out, and soon the carriage was making its way along the smoothly paved river road, heading west in the direction of Leekant.
Roberto and Deeqa exchanged glances but remained silent until finally Vorvington spoke. “There’s something Her Majesty is not telling us,” he said. “You and me both. And I make it my business to know what is happening.”
“Yeah. We covered that already back there in the hall.”
“Well, Captain, you are privy to things she does not discuss with me. And, if I’m being perfectly candid, you are also privy to information about what’s happening on Earth. I can only assume, after all your years in the fleet, you have many friends and acquaintances here and there throughout the NTA.”
Roberto offered a mild sort of smile, patient, and he lifted his eyebrows, encouraging the earl to go on.
“I’m offering you a trade, Captain. An information exchange. If Her Majesty won’t tell me what is going on, then I must piece it together myself. I am in hopes that, between what you know and what I hear, I—we—can discover what is occurring on that red planet up there, and just why our mutual friends Sir Altin and Lady Meade continue to be in absence.”
“If I knew anything, I’d tell you. I don’t need to be hauled out into the middle of the prairies to some rhino cafe to tell you that. If you got something I can use, can’t you just out with it? What is it you want to tell me … Lord Vorvington?”
“Citadel hasn’t been anywhere near that planet.”
Roberto’s encouraging brow dropped like a deadfall. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I saw those three Citadel sorcerers come out of the throne room. Two guildmasters and an X-class teleporter. They were covered in filth.”
“Yeah, go on.”
“And what did they tell you?”
“They said Altin and Orli are alive. That the hole isn’t deep enough for the aliens to get to Yellow Fire yet. That’s it.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“You’re sure. They told you nothing else?”
“Lord Vorvington, if I wanted to dick around with you, I’d just whip it out, okay?”
“By the gods!” he said, again stacking up all his neck fat. But he recovered quickly. “My point, Captain, is that if indeed that is all the news you heard, do you not think it a bit overkill to summon two guildmasters and an X? She could have told you all of that herself.”
“She was trying to, but I wasn’t buying it.”
“She could have summoned Master Aderbury.”
“If Citadel is in battle, I don’t think pulling the captain off it makes sense.”
“I assure you, two gui
ldmasters and an X have less time to spare than one transmuter captain. Conduit Huzzledorf is more than capable of doing what needs to be done in the course of … how long were the three of them in there with you? Three minutes? Five?”
Roberto sent a sideways glance to Deeqa. She won most of the poker games on the Glistening Lady for a reason.
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, if Citadel wizards are being brought out of … whatever has them all looking like that, just so that they can assure you that everything is fine, well, one has to wonder what isn’t fine.”
“That’s pretty much the way I see it. But, I have to be honest, Lord Vorvington, we’re still wading through the land of shit I already know.”
“A land with which I am also familiar.”
Roberto looked back to Deeqa again. He felt like they were going in circles. Deeqa actually beat him to the question.
“Lord Vorvington, what, specifically, do you want from us? An answer in under ten words is best.”
“I want to know where Citadel is.”
Roberto rolled his eyes and slumped back into his seat. He knocked on the ceiling of the carriage and called out, “Hey, driver, take us back.”
“Captain, please,” Vorvington said. “As I said, bringing those three proves something. There’s a fight somewhere, perhaps a war. I don’t know where it is, but I have reasons to suspect it is not on the red world. And if it is on that world, if we’ve got people doing battle with those aliens on Yellow Fire, we need to know. We need to know either way. The truth is that Her Majesty’s political hold is tenuous. The people are still reeling from the last war. If she is trying to single-handedly take on an alien enemy, anywhere, without adequate support—and I assure you that none of the nobles have been asked to send troops—then we should be in a position to force her to include us in that decision, or at very least in formulating the strategy—not only for the sake of Sir Altin and Lady Meade, but for the troops on Citadel, and possibly for all of Prosperion. We have to find Citadel, Captain. Our work starts there. Her Majesty is a brave and honorable woman, but she can be secretive, and she can be brave to the point of recklessness. We want her success, even if we have to force it on her.”
“Right,” said Roberto in a tone that suggested otherwise.
“I am in earnest.”
“I’m sure you are. But I don’t know where Citadel is. That’s why I’m here, remember? You do understand it flies around on magic, right? It’s your ship, not ours. It doesn’t show up on radar or any other scans, including my satellite probe—unless it wants to. And last I heard, they aren’t logging their flight plans with the NTA.”
“Yes, but you could still tell us if it really has gone to Yellow Fire.”
“Did you even hear what I just said? The only insight I have into what’s going on up there is a standard probe, in orbit no less. I can’t control it without being there. Hell, I can’t even see the damn thing on my own from here because it hasn’t got its own entanglement array. I can only communicate with it when it’s in range of the surface relay that we hooked up to the entanglement trigger—the one the NTA required that we wire into the explosives nest—and since that is their system, not mine, I can only do that through the NTA on Earth or through the general at Little Earth. In short, I got a limited view with limited access.”
Vorvington made a show of leaning back into his seat, a display of patience. “Surely you’ve already done all of that, of course. Lady Meade’s father and all that rot.”
“No shit. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know jack. Citadel isn’t there, at least not above the dig site or in orbit somewhere obvious. I can’t even get a good reading into the hole for all the goddamn sand blowing everywhere, and I know right where to look. Even if Citadel was there, it could just go all invisible or whatever and I’d never know. It could be parked right in front of my probe and I’d never know it. Bottom line: I haven’t seen anything.”
“Be that as it may, what if I could give you information that you could use in your machines to calculate where she’s sent it? So we can determine if it really has gone there.”
“Where else would it be?”
“That is what we would like to know as well. Like I said, I have information that I cannot make full use of without your help.”
“What kind of information?”
“Lady Meade, before she became so, did some work for some associates of mine who were in turn working with a pair of students from the university in Crown. The youngsters were able to work out some maps and some magic that Lady Meade was then able to use to calculate the location of the red planet you now call Yellow Fire.”
“Yeah, we heard. It was a star map and an illusion spell. Tribbey Redquill and Caulfin something.”
“Caulfin Sunderhusk. Yes, those are the two. That is the idea.”
“So what, you want me to check out a map and a 3-D image spell?”
“I do.”
“And you actually have a map and a spell?”
“Very nearly, yes.”
“Why me? Why us? They just did a big student exchange at the university, a thousand of them last I heard. Why not get one of them?”
“There are numerous reasons, the most important one being a matter of scrutiny. The reality is, Captain, that you are the only person from Earth who has as much liberty as you do. Not simply in your access and activities, but in your, well, in your freedom from prying eyes.”
“Yeah, we know. Mainly thanks to Altin casting all that protective magic stuff on my ship after those douchebags were trying to sneak aboard and spy on me.”
“Yes, well, he’s done a fine job of it. And, since we are being open about these things, Her Majesty enacted some prohibitions about casting divination spells at you and your ship as well. A direct invasion of royal privacy. You’ve got more working for you than you know.”
Roberto glanced to Deeqa, who let him see that she was, as he was, surprised and yet not surprised.
“Fine, so I look at your maps. Run a few cross-references on some star charts. Second-year-at-the-academy stuff. Then what?”
“Then you discreetly hand the information off to me.”
“And what if Citadel is not at Yellow Fire? What if it’s at Earth? Or somewhere else?”
“That’s what we are hoping to learn.”
“You know what, Lord Vorvington, whatever you really want is still nowhere near the tip of your tongue. So I’m just going to say no right now unless you tell me what you think she’s doing. Seriously. Where do you think Citadel is? And like Deeqa said, ten words or less.”
Vorvington’s eyes darted to the tall Somali, then back to Roberto. He made a point of slumping, defeated. “There are those who fear she has gone to the world you call Blue Fire and begun the work of harvesting Liquefying Stone.”
“She what?” Roberto turned to Deeqa, who did not look even marginally surprised.
“I am afraid that is my concern, and that of others as well. My diviner discovered it. A clear indication that Her Majesty is after more Liquefying Stone.” He straightened himself, pushed his hands flat over his velvet breeches, and pressed out the wrinkles along his fat thighs. “If the alien excavation on the red world is as we believe it might be, then there is a source of Liquefying Stone being threatened by a very large and very unknown agency. So, we feel, I feel, that Her Majesty may be hedging her bets and going after the only other abundant source available … before it is too late.”
“That could kill Blue Fire,” Roberto said. “Or piss her off real bad. The Queen knows that. She wouldn’t do it, no way.” He glanced to Deeqa and back to the earl again. “Would she?”
“They do call her the War Queen.” It was not a question. “And the diviners saw clearly that she’s gone after a source of more of the yellow stone. It is certain.”
“Well, shit.”
“Indeed.”
He stared out the window for a time, thinking. “Fine,�
� Roberto said. “I’ll read your star maps to confirm it. But you need to do something for me.”
“Of course. I had no intention of being the only beneficiary of our luncheon on the river.” He looked out the window at the alders and cottonwoods going by. The river was a wide blue stripe running easy and smooth, the channel deep this far from the source and heavy with the late spring rains. There was still no restaurant in sight.
“I need harbor stones. And I need a lot of them. I can’t sit there with my thumb up my ass trying to clear NTA customs and then dealing with the damn TGS bureaucracy. It took us a day and a half sitting on our hands just to get back here today. Nobody will even talk to us about going to Yellow Fire. Orli and Altin will be in specimen jars in some damn alien laboratory before we ever get back there at this rate.”
The gilded earl held up his hands, palms up and out at his sides. “I can’t get you through the TGS system any faster than you can. They are Her Majesty’s people, not mine. And if I’m being honest, only barely that.”
“I thought you guys were on the same side.”
His cheeks colored a little, and he looked out at the river again. “Yes,” he said, as if speaking to the terns flying over the water, “but they are an entity apart. Frankly, I doubt she controls them as well as she thinks she does. I have no pull there. Not anymore.”
Roberto harrumphed and shook his head. But that was rather the point. “That’s the problem I have. Which is why I need harbor stones. You guys made them for the fleet ships before. So I know it can be done. I need a bunch of them. I need at least ten each way, here and back to Yellow Fire. Maybe another ten each to go back and forth between Earth and Prosperion. Hell, make it an even sixty and get me ten apiece back and forth from Yellow Fire to Earth.”