She tried looking for him in the places he used to frequent, but no one had seen him for days. A chilling thought occurred to her after two weeks went by without hearing from him. Had Bogden been eliminated because he was looking into those unusual fires? If so, then that line of inquiry had been better than he’d let on.
That’s why she was here. This fire was too similar to the others in his special files. She was looking for clues, and one in particular, that might tie this fire to the others and might lead her to whomever had set the fires. If that person had something to do with Bogden’s disappearance . . .
She narrowed her eyes. Speaking of clues.
Hiking up the dress’s skirt, she squatted down for a closer look and said, “Sir?”
He stepped closer. “Yes?”
“Were candles used in any of the lighting fixtures in this space?”
“Absolutely not.” He looked mortified. “Not only was it against the insurance policy, they’re just too dangerous in a warehouse. Many times wooden or otherwise flammable items could be stored in here.” He shook his head. “No, miss. We use lightglobes for all illumination.”
She had noted several of their shattered glass globes about the place. Perhaps he wasn’t lying.
“Why do you ask?”
She pointed. “Do you see this stain on the flagstones, here?”
Bending over a touch to see, he said, “It looks like something flowed along there.”
“Exactly. An accelerant.”
“A what?”
“A liquid used to initiate or accelerate the ignition or spread of a fire.”
“Good gods.” He stood, eyes wide. “Someone started this on purpose?”
“Possibly. I asked about the candles because melted wax could flow in this manner. Although, looking at the extent of this pattern . . .”
“What?”
“It would take a number of candles to produce this much wax. Whatever it was appears to have flowed from over in that direction.”
She followed the stains several feet to the side of the large room, to an area where the patterning seemed to indicate that a pool of accelerant had been on the floor. A search along the wall around the entire room revealed other places where accelerant had spread from a pool. In each of those places, there was an air vent in the wall above.
Now back where she’d started, she stared at the metal ventilation grate.
“Just horrible.” The caretaker shook his head. “They poured acc . . . accelerant in all these places and lit it on fire?”
“Or perhaps . . .” On the wall, a thin stretch between the floor and the vent opening was strangely clean, a vertical strip of pristine-looking stone on the soot-covered wall. From what she recalled of Bogden’s many explanations, this was evidence of accelerant flow and burn. “Perhaps the liquid came from somewhere else. Where do these air vents originate? Is there a main air circulation room?”
“Yes. The thermal conditioners and air circulators are in the mechanical room on the second floor.”
This could be another similarity. Elizabeth smiled. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
She followed him up the stairs and down a short hallway. They passed a few offices, their scorched doors open—some apparently broken open by the fire squad—and stopped before a door at the end of the passage.
The caretaker grunted. “I suppose I won’t need my key.”
All that remained of the door was the charred bottom third or so.
She stepped past him and into the bright room.
It was in ruins. Everything was covered in soot, and small lumps of burned wood were everywhere. Singed roofing tiles, whole and broken, were scattered about. Most of the ceiling was missing and sunlight lit every corner. The open area of sky was centered above a large, scorched apparatus of metal.
Walking up to it, she began her examination. Air ducts, large pipes really, ran from it, along the floor, into the walls, and presumably, off to the vents in the rooms they maintained.
“The air circulator there, along with the thermal conditioners”—the caretaker pointed the three protuberances out—“keep the air in the warehouse at a constant, cool temperature. One of the selling points of this facility.”
The side of the circulator’s large air chamber was open. It’s metal door lay askew on the floor nearby. Circular bands of metal lay about as well, among charred bits of wood. The bands appeared to all be of three sizes, the largest of which looked to be something like two or three feet in diameter.
She stepped to the air chamber and looked inside. “They must have fed the accelerant into here somehow, whereupon it flowed through the air ducts to the various rooms and out the air vents.”
“How horrible.”
This might have been done by the same arsonist who’d started the other fires. According to the files, those were initiated in the mechanical rooms with accelerant, too. But if this was the same arsonist, there should be one of those strange, molten metal blobs somewhere around.
Elizabeth searched the room. There really wasn’t much to see. All tables or desks, workbenches or storage chests, chairs or stools—anything not of heavy metal or stone—had burned in the intense heat at the heart of the fire. Even after a careful quarter hour of walking about the ruined room, she did not find what she was looking for.
Once again staring at the open air chamber of the circulator, she wondered if perhaps this fire was unrelated after all. If so, this had been an enormous waste of her time.
She spun around to leave and stepped on the end of the air chamber door. The other side of the metal panel lifted, something beneath it acting as a lever.
Squatting quickly, she moved the metal door aside and grunted. What was this? She quickly removed a file from her leather case and compared a sketch within to the device on the floor. It was going to be difficult to compare them. The melted deformity in the sketch was hardly more than a pile of slag, while the device she found appeared to have only suffered a bit of superficial fire damage, though one end of it was a bit melted and slightly collapsed. The door from the circulator’s air chamber must have protected it from too much damage.
She pulled the odd device closer and noticed a length of thin wire trailing from one of two holes in its side. A short metal rod attached to the end of the wire with a small clip made a ‘tink’ sound each time it bounced along the flagstones.
Drawing her brows together, she looked back at the sketch. There was a short, curly line extending out from the melted heap in the drawing. She’d had no idea what it was, had thought it was some kind of flourish the artist had added, but it was a wire, and there at its end was a slightly thicker bit. The rod.
With a grim smile, she said, “It seems I’m going to be here a while longer.”
“You found what you were looking for?”
“Indeed I did.”
+ + + + +
After another glance at his wrist chronometer, Astin picked up his pace through the bank lobby. Customers stood in lines or sat, waiting, while clerks and other bank personnel walked about like the mindless drones that they were.
Behind him, the accountant for the seller hurried to keep up. Good.
According to Cadoc, there were exactly six minutes during which they could complete this task. If they took longer, it could end in disaster. Astin had gotten this man here a bit too early, and the conversation he’d started to delay them until the proper time lasted longer than he’d intended. He hoped the other two were ready, Cadoc and—
“Mason!”
A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. He stopped and turned back. “I’m so sorry, Gace, what were you saying?”
“Good gods, man, I called your name three times.”
Barbs and blades. He needed to pay more attention. “My apologies.”
“Where are you taking me? I thought I saw the manager’s offices to the left, there.”
“Hilberd is a vice president.”
“Oh. I see.” The
man looked impressed. “Carry on, then.”
Keeping the smile from his face, Astin turned and continued to the central lobby stairs.
Upon reaching the second floor, he turned to the right and saw them ahead. They were ready. Good and good.
“I don’t care who he is, Hilberd!” The taller man glared. “We will not extend his repayment schedule again.”
Gace had stopped to the left and watched the exchange along with Astin.
“But you’re a president. Can’t you get the board to allow one more extension?”
“No.” Tall man shook his head. “There have already been too many. Where is he right now?”
A sigh. “In my office.”
“Excellent. You won’t have to try to track him down again. Tell him the bank’s decision is final. Now, I need to get back to the meeting you interrupted. And Hilberd?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a vice president. If you’re going to manage some loans yourself, at least screen those better.” Turning on his heel, the tall man walked off.
“That was uncomfortable to witness.”
Astin glanced at the accountant. “Indeed.”
“Mason?”
He turned and smiled. “Hello.”
Hilberd scrunched his nose and put on an embarrassed smile. “Sorry you had to see that.” He glanced at the accountant and then back. “How can I help you?”
Astin gestured to Gace. “We’re buying another property, and the owner’s accountant here needs a form signed in order for us to proceed.”
Gace opened the leather case he was carrying and removed the form. “We merely need proof that Insurgo Industries does in fact have at least the listed funds deposited in this bank and available for use.”
Hilberd took the form. “Of course. I’d invite you back to my office, but, ah, it’s occupied, so if you could give me a moment to read this?”
“Take your time.” Gace smiled.
After less than a minute, Hilberd looked up and nodded. “All looks in order.” He pulled a fountain pen from a breast pocket, uncapped it, then looked about. Spying a small table to the side, he walked over and signed the document upon it.
Gace stared at the pen. “How . . . ?”
“Oh, this?” Hilberd held it up. “It’s the latest thing. Has copper tubing inside and a glass ampule filled with ink. The cartridge lasts about a day before it has to be refilled.”
“I see.” Gace accepted the form, though his eyes stayed on the pen.
“Did you want to have lunch?” Tucking the pen away, Hilberd looked from one to the other. “Once I deal with that account,” he frowned briefly, “I’ll be taking a late lunch. You’re both welcome to join me.”
“I really should be getting back to my office,” Gace said. “With this last impediment addressed, I can begin the final paperwork for the purchase.”
“Well,” Astin said, “as much as I’d like you to join us, my superiors will be happy to hear that we’ll be closing on the property today.”
“Indeed.” Gace bowed his head to each of them. “Mason, Hilberd, if you’ll excuse me?” He then turned and took the stairs down.
‘Hilberd’ headed for the ‘office’ that the ‘president’ had entered. “Did you want to come to my place to eat? Elke will have lunch ready by now.”
Astin followed. “I have to get home to change for work. I’ll eat there with Preeti before I head off.”
“Right.”
There was that ever-so-slight coldness again. Though it had lessened over the years, every time he mentioned his daughter’s name around Tobin, it was there. One day he’d have to ask why.
Cadoc was waiting in the stairwell. Once they were inside, he held out his hand. “The pen, if you would, Tobin?”
After it was handed over, the tall man said, “Well done, both of you. Though I grew concerned, Astin, you managed to arrive with enough time.” He glanced at his wrist chronometer. “The guard will make his round in less than a minute. We just made it.”
“Of course.” Astin put his arm around his brother’s neck and pulled. “And you two were perfect! I swear, Tobin, you’re picking up skills from where you work.”
Tobin shoved the arm away. “Leave off. Don’t you have to go change and eat? Cadoc and I will let him know that this part of his plan, at least, is proceeding well.”
“Not to worry.” Cadoc headed down the stairs. “The other part will be taken care of soon enough.”
Astin watched him a moment before following them down the bank’s back stairwell.
How had Cadoc learned so much information about this place? Its layout, its personnel, their names, what the timing of the guard’s rounds were, and more. Did he have someone, an insider, that had been placed here? It was a tactic they’d used often. Whatever the case, the man was a mystery.
Hells, everything about this group was a mystery. The multiple layers and misdirection it used in nearly all its purchases and in creating its slew of false companies and ghost individuals who were the faces of those companies was part and parcel of the group itself.
They paid well, though, very well. At least compared to the regular jobs that he and Tobin had managed to get and hold on to. While Stronghold was still the largest city on the continent, companies here weren’t exactly hiring all-comers at the moment. Even so, he once again wondered if it had been wise to get his brother involved.
Astin drew his brows together. And what of Preeti? The passing of her mother meant the two of them had only each other. What if something were to happen to him? His brother’s odd coldness worried him. Would Tobin and Elke take her in?
He shook off the morbid thoughts. With this afternoon’s success, the plan was still moving forward. That meant the money would keep coming and he’d continue to be able to provide for his daughter. Things were going well.
Chapter 1
Therday, Quartus 10, 1875.
Morning.
The consequences were violent and immediate. The moment the bolt of lightning destroyed the threatening sword, keeping it from plunging into Anaya’s chest, there came an irresistible, wrenching pull, and all around, the universe warped and twisted and was gone.
A realm perpendicular to existences, the tri-fold void appeared empty. It was not. At least one other presence was here, imperceptible beyond a distinct sense of determination and . . . concern?
Intense pain erupted like burning ice as power, abilities, memories, even portions of being were ripped away and sealed off. The transformation was excruciating and horrifying, like nothing experienced before. The intense agony ate and ate and ate—until it didn’t.
The pain slowly fell away and other sensations came to the fore, demanding attention.
He was . . . on his back, lying upon something soft, yielding, and cool. Birdsong and the hum of insects in flight surrounded him.
He opened his eyes.
Far above, sunlight played on the leaves of several trees. A gentle breeze was pleasant against his naked skin and carried with it scents heavy with damp leaves and earth, but overlaid with the light perfume of countless flowers. Beneath him, something pliant—moss?—covered the ground.
His eyes widened. This was Lethera. But he had never perceived it like this before. Was this how they experienced it?
Setting thoughts about all the interesting sensations aside, he wondered where exactly on the planet he was, and guessing at who had done this, when he was.
A cacophony of sound exploded around him. The terrible screeching shook his bones and battered at his mind.
Placing his hands—those were his hands?—over his ears, he screamed, “Stop!”
The discordant pandemonium ceased.
Panting, he let his arms fall to the ground. His very thoughts had been wrenched by that terrible din.
“YOU HaVE mY . . .”
He blinked. The clipped and distorted words had been almost unintelligible.
Another breeze, whispering through the leaves and bran
ches above, carried quiet but strangely distinct words. “You have my apologies.”
Incredible sensations and brief, horrible sounds notwithstanding, overall, his senses were greatly muted, and it seemed as if some were missing entirely. “What have you done to me, Father?”
“The proclamation is quite clear.” The wind picked up. “They are independent, thinking beings. As such, they deserve respect. The past will not be repeated. Visits continue to be allowed to this realm with the understanding that we now remain apart from them. Direct interference in their lives is no longer permitted.”
“None of them would have been able to, so I had to try to save Anaya myself. She was the first dragon to bond, to begin the purpose I set for them. I didn’t want her taken from me. I want to see what more she and Aeron might do.”
“They are not our playthings.” The sky darkened, the ground convulsed, and the air lashed at him.
He turned his head and raised a hand against the buffeting winds. Beyond the shaking ground and grass, beyond the swaying trees, roiling clouds lowered.
Straining, he tried to determine what was happening. All he felt was the whipping wind and the trembling ground. Why? He should be able to sense all of what was nearby, but there was very little he could garner about his surroundings. The way that made him feel—exposed and defenseless—was exceedingly unpleasant.
He shivered. “What is wrong with me?”
“I have made you human. All that we are cannot exist within them, however, so in the interim, I have diminished you in order to do so.”
He had no idea how long he lay on the ground, unseeing. It was long enough that the tremors and winds had calmed.
He swallowed. “W–When have you put me?”
“To them, just over a moon cycle has passed since your interference.”
“I’ve—I have spoken to them before. Why do this to me now?”
“You spoke to them in their dreams, yes, but not as you. Not as you were. Prior to this, you had never directly influenced events.”
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 2