Uncle turned and continued on his way, back to his tiny driftwood shack heated by coal, back to his single bed, his single room, and the junk and treasure he scavenged and sometimes sold. As the sun moved down below the bluff above town, one last flicker of light caught a shiny something on the beach. Uncle reached down and picked it up. At first he thought it might have been a childs marble, ground cloudy by the beach, but when he held it up to inspect, the marble rolled into his empty socket and became his eye.
Uncle looked at the world in stereo again, the world no longer flat but wider, although a bit fuzzier with the cataract in his old and weathered eye. Well, he thought, thats the last of it, the last bit of flesh returned from the sea. His cabin and his bed awaited him, and he wondered if hed bother to make a fire for the night, or if he even needed to.
Must have made my peace with the sea, he thought, with the seagulls.
And Buster, born as Percy, now known as Uncle, went home, perhaps to die, perhaps to live another day, but never, ever, ever to chase seagulls.
Palimpsest
LAURA ANNE GILMAN
“That had better be coffee.
“Hazelnut. Double.
“Youll live. Wrens arm reached out from under the blanket and snagged the cup out of her partners hand. Without spilling a drop, she raised herself on her elbows and took a sip.
“God. I may be human after all. She peered out from under a tangle of mouse-brown hair at the man standing in the dim light of her bedroom. He looked broad-shouldered and solid and reassuringly familiar. “What time is it?
“Nine. A.M., he clarified. “Rough night? Sergei sat down on the edge of her bed, forcing her to scoot over to make room.
“No more so than usual. The Council came down hard on the piskies who were dragging people under the lake, so thereve been some minor temper tantrums in protest, but other than that everythings quiet. Well, quiet for them, anyway.
There had been the equivalent of a gang war in Central Park earlier that year between water and earth sprites. Fed up, the citys independent Talentslonejacksand the Mages Council had declared truce long enough to make sure things didnt get out of hand again. Wren, like all lonejacks, distrusted the Council on principle, and the Council and their affiliates thought lonejacks all were troublemaking fools, so it was an uneasy truce to say the least.
Wren took another sip of the coffee and decided that there was enough caffeine in her bloodstream to move without breaking apart. She got out of bed, cup still in hand, and staggered to the dresser to pull out a clean T-shirt.
“You know if the Cosa ever did get itself organized...
“Bite your tongue. She ran one hand through her hair and peered at herself in the mirror. “Oh, I look like hell. Thank God I dont have another stint of babysitting for a couple of days. I could sleep for a week...
Suddenly his presence there clicked, and she turned to glare at him, the effect in no way diminished by the fact that she was naked save for a pair of pink panties.
“Sorry, Zhenechka. Weve got a job.
Wren closed her eyes tightly, seeking balance, then kicked back the rest of the coffee with a grimace and handed the cup to him. “Shower first. Then details.
She stopped halfway to the door. “Is it at least going to be fun?
“Would I sign you up for anything boring?
“The last time you said something like that, we spent two nights in a Saskatchewan jail. And if you say it wasnt boring, so help me Ill fry your innards.
The sound of the shower started up, and Sergei allowed himself a faint smile. “Wasnt boring.
-
Under the pounding of steaming hot water, Wren swore she could feel the particles of her body coming back into focus. She ducked her head under the stream of water, then reached for the shampoo, massaging it into her scalp with a sigh of pleasure as the deep herbal scent wafted through the air. She could rough it with the best of them, but after a night wrassling with earth spirits peevy at everything that moved, a little luxury was nice. And if the coffees any indication, this may be the last luxury I get for a while. He only buys the Dogs coffee when he wants to soften me up.
Rinsed, dried, and dressed, she walked out of the bathroom drawing a comb through her hair, wincing at the tangles. Her partner leaned against the counter in her tiny kitchen, drinking a mug of tea and reading the newspaper. “All right, you know youre dying to tell me. So spill.
“Seven grand down. He gestured to the counter where the coffee machine was just starting to send out scented steam. “Another ten when you retrieve their package.
“Were working cut-rate this week, I see. They had three price scales. High-end was the stuff that was snore-worthy: divorce settlements, insurance reclamations. Situations that required thinking and ingenuity were slightly cheaper. Sergei knew, by now, what would pique her interest, and was willing to dicker a little less sharp for them. And third...
Dont think about the third. If you think it, theyll call.
Third was working on retainer for the organization known as the Silence. Wren had been with them for a little more than a year now, Sergei for far longer than that. Human, nonmagical, and utterly without mercy or compassion, the Silence were nonetheless one of the Good Guys. She thought. She hoped.
“So, whats the deal?
“Stow-and-show. Special interest group, wants nine-tenths of a particular display. Translation: Several someones, acting in concert, wanted her to steal somethingpossession being nine-tenths of the lawfrom a museum, the “stow-and-show.
“You have got to stop watching those god-awful heist movies. Lifes not a caper, Serg. The coffee machine finished perking, and she grabbed a mug from the sink and filled it. “Paperwork?
He jerked his chin at her kitchen table, and she noticed the sheaf of papers awaiting her perusal.
“Theyre organized, Ill give them that.
“Organized, and chatty. Guy wanted to tell me every detail of his life, his job, and the weather in Timbuktu.
Coffee in hand, Wren sat down at the table and drew the blueprints toward her. “And how is the weather there, anyway? Oh Christ on a crutch, the Meadows. She had hit them twice in four yearsby now she and the alarm system were old friends. “And still people loan them exhibits. I just dont get the world, I really dont. Whats the grab?
“Painting. Smallish, should be easy enough to stow in the tube. In and out, seventeen minutes, tops.
“I can do it in eleven, if its in the main gallery. It wasnt ego if you really were that good. And she was. Possiblyprobablythe best Retriever of her generation.
He waited a beat, then dropped the other shoe. “And we got a Call.
She heard the capital letter in his voice, and her head lowered to rest on her crossed arms on the table. “Of course we did. Because my life just wasnt full to the brim with joy already.
“Beats unemployment.
“Easy for you to say, Mister Stay at Home and Cash the Check.
Which wasnt fair, she knew. Sergei had warned her about working for the Silence. They wanted first call on her time, always and ever. But it had seemed a worthwhile trade-off at the time.
And their checks always, but always, cleared.
-
“You going to need to charge up?
“ Now you ask? They were sitting in the cara yellow sedan, mocked up like a cab, the quintessentially invisible car in Manhattanoutside the Meadows. Although she knew the answer, Wren reached deep inside, touching the roil of current that always rested within her, the sign of a Talent. A gentle stroke, and it uncoiled, sparkling like glitter in her veins. “No, Im fine. Soaked up a bit when the last batch of storms rolled through, in case things got ugly in the Park.
She had loved storms since she was old enough to lurch against the windowsill. “ Youre a current-user, kid. Youre always going to crave the storm. Her mentors voice, years and lifetimes gone. You could recharge current off man-made sources, and there were lonejacks who preferred that. Safer, more readily
accessible, and no hangover if you pulled down too much. But Wren went to the wild source every chance she got.
She didnt have much chance to rebel, these days.
“If you draw down too much, remember that theres a secondary generator over here. And his index finger stabbed the blueprint on the seat between them.
“Yeah, saw that. Theyd been over the plans half a dozen times already. But it made Sergei feel better if they rehashed everything just before she went in. Normally he wouldnt be anywhere near the scene on a simple grab like this, but the transit workers had gone on strike, and she couldnt risk hailing a real cab to get home. So he would drop her off, go drive around for a while, and come back for her.
“Try not to pick up any long-distance fares while Im gone.
“Not even if they offer to tip like a madman, he promised.
She laughed, touched his cheek for luck, and slipped out into the darkness.
In some ways, the strike was a nice bit of luck. In her dark grey tracksuit and black sneakers, if stopped by anyone she could claim to be heading home from a late night at the office. A knapsack slung over her shoulder held a lightweight dress and strappy heels to back up the story, plus a thin, strong nylon rope coiled in an inside pocket, her lockpick set, and a wallet with realistic-looking identification and enough cash to get home for real should something go wrong.
Pausing just beyond the reach of the closed-circuit cameras, Wren took a deep breath, let it out. Ground. That was the key. Focus. Center. Ground.
As though she had grown from the earth, Wren felt the weight of its comfort rise up through her, from bedrock into flesh and bone. Soothing the serpent of energy and coaxing it up her spine, into her arms, down her legs. It was like an orgasm, a muted one, pleasure sparking every nerve ending until she was completely aware of everything around her, but not so much that she was overwhelmed by it. Balance. Balance... There was a thin line you had to ride, when you directed current. It wasnt enough to be able to sense it, or to be able to direct it. You had to convince it to do what you wanted, when you wanted.
Taking the faintest hint of current, she lifted her hand, drawing the cameras attention. It was like weaving without a loom. Flickers left her fingertips as she concentrated on the circuits and wires of the camera system. Too much, and you burned it out, setting off alarms. Too little, and a sharp-eyed watchman might spot her. Just a hint of static, something that could be brushed off, so long as it didnt go on for too long. Just long enough for her to move, crouched low and flowing across the grounds like the low-flying bird she was named for, until she reached the relative safety of the decorative overhang. God bless old buildings . The Meadows had started life as a mansion, and still boasted any number of odd architectural details that created enough shadows for Wren to wrap herself in.
Letting her heart rate slow down to normal, Wren pictured the assignment in her mind. It was a small thing, barely twelve-by-twelve, set in a severe silver frame. Part of a traveling exhibit of paintings that were as of yet unattributed but considered by a number of experts to be “rediscovered works by various Impressionist masters. The art world was wild over the find; Sergei had been to see the exhibit twice even before they got this gig. If she knew her partner, hed want to hold on to the painting for a few days until they handed it back, just to have one of the so-called Fabulous Finds in his possession.
Actually, if shed been prone to liking artwork, she thought she might want to own something like this too. The colors were almost alive, creating a wash of light on the landscape that reminded her of the photograph Sergei had in his own office, the black-and-white nature photographer, the guy who took all those pictures of national parks.
Art critique later she told herself. Clocks tick tick ticking...
The thing about museums is, they werent stupid. They knew that technology was fallible, and that humans were fallible. But most of them also had serious budget restrictions. The Meadows had a top-of-the-line electrical alarm system. It would probably have stopped any casual intruder, or at least alerted the police to the incursion. But the Board of the Meadows had one serious disadvantage. They had never heard of current, the magical kind, or the Cosa.
Magic wasnt the fairy dust and wild imaginations science liked to claim. It was real, and tangible... if you were part of the small percentage of the human population able to sense it. An even smaller percentage of those humans, like Wren, were able to direct the current into anything useful.
And Talents like Wren, who honed her skills for the specific purpose of larceny, were called Retrievers.
A light touch to the door, and she felt the tingle that meant elementals were around, drawn to the current that was bound into electricity, no matter what form. A quick push of current bridged the gap in the alarm system long enough for her to open the door and slip inside. She started to move in the slow-slide fashion she had perfected for not creating footfalls, when she stopped and returned to the lock. Placing her hand on the alarm pad, she waited. Elementals had the reasoning ability of inbred hamsters, but you could use them, if you knew how. She did.
Come on, you know youre bored with that stale, man-made electricity... come taste some of mine...
They came to her tentatively at first, then swarming in their eagerness. Natural current “tasted better to them. She let them feed for a few seconds, nibbling around the edges of the current curling up from her belly, twining around her spine. All right. Earn your keep. She visualized clearly what she wanted them to do. A faint hesitation, and the swarm was off, splitting into a dozen different directions as they moved along the museums state-of-the-art wiring.
A pity they couldnt call back to warn her if someone else was in the hallways; but if a person didnt have current, elementals didnt know he or she existed.
The painting was in a little alcove off gallery #11, in a space that had probably once been a servants room. Or a closet. What did she know, Wren thought, listening with part of her Talent to the sounds of the elementals causing chaos in other parts of the building. She grew up in a double-wide trailer, for Petes sake. They didnt even have any mansions in Redwater.
Palms held over the frame, and the current surged, creating the illusion again that the alarm hadnt been breached. Moving quickly, she fit a small ceramic knife into the frame and slit the painting carefully along four sides, sliding it out and rolling it up. Tucked into an aluminum tube, the tube stowed in her backpack. And then it was time to go. She checked the digital readout on her knapsack, far enough away from her body that the current didnt futz it too badly. Fourteen minutes. Damn. Getting old, Valere. Youre getting old.
-
By the time she made it out to the edge of the museums property, it was almost twelve-thirty. She perched in the vee of a large oak and contemplated the street. The empty street.
“Dammit, Didier... Shed had to duck and wait while a guard went by her; too close, that one. They were getting smarter. Shed have to put a no-go on any jobs here for at least two years. Maybe three.
Not for the first time she wished for a cell phone. But even if they hadnt been too riskytoo easy for someone to check the last few numbers dialedshe still couldnt carry one. No cell phone, no PDA... even the odd watch was prone to strange fluctuations under current, and when she pulled down a surge, all bets were off.
Another fifteen minutes, and she had to accept the fact that Sergei had probably been forced to call it a night. The glitches she had the elementals set off might have caused a patrol car to take a swing by, even though none of it had been enough to trigger an actual alarm.
“Good thing you wore the comfy sneakers, she told herself, swinging herself down from the tree and landing with lazy grace on the grass. It was going to be a long walk back.
-
It might have been the night air. Or the current still running high in her system. Or, as Sergei claimed, just a natural-born stupidity. But at the time, the idea to kill two jobs with one evening seemed just a matter of common sense and practi
cality. She had to walk by the site anyway, so why not?
“Why not, Sergei said over his tenth mug of high-test tea, the first five of which had cooled while he was waiting for her, “is because a) you were carrying a retrieved object. And b) because you hadnt done anything more than a cursory glance at the job write-up.
She knew he was mad, then, when he called it a job instead of a situation.
“And c) because you got caught!
Wren winced, fighting the urge to duck under the diners table. “Not so much caught, she protested meekly. “More like...
-
“Whos there?
Wren swore, wrapping herself in current and fading into the shadows. The store was a hodgepodge of clichés, down to the motheaten thing stuffed and mounted on the counter, its crystal eyes reflecting light back at her. At least, she hoped it was just crystal reflecting light...
“I said, whos there? An old man to match the shop stomped downstairs, a megapowered X-Files -quality flashlight in one hand. Wren closed her eyes so she wouldnt reflect the light. The beam flashed across her face, passed on... then came back.
“I know what youre here for, the old man cackled. “But you cant have it. Cant, cant cant!
Nobody said anything about the guy being a Talent she thought with irritation, then common sense reasserted itself. He wasnt a Talent, or a seer, or anything that would have allowed him to sense what she was or what she intended. He was just old-fashioned bugfuck. Crazy had a way of messing with the brain in ways even current couldnt work around.
“Yeah, old man? Her voice was low, dangerous. Shed copied it from Blue Angel, practicing until she had it down just right. If anyone reported her to the cops, theyd get laughed out of the station for claiming theyd been robbed by Marlene Dietrich.
“Yeah. Its mine. Mine I tell you. I bought it, I got it, and Im going to keep it.
Any moment Wren expected him to break into a round of “mine, my precioussss. If he did, she was out of there, and the Silence could keep their damn retainer that month.
Stabenow, Dana - Powers Of Detection (Editor) Page 13