by Phil Stern
Focusing the glass on his own vessel, pennants proudly flapping in the stiff breeze, Sathron now cast her a sidelong glance. “The witch?”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re imagining things. Anyway, why would she bother to soothe your ill-behaved nags?”
“To taunt us, perhaps?” Rhapsony thoughtfully tapped her lower lip, eager snake eyes beaming out from her ring. “We need to deal with her, and the sooner the better.”
By now the Lord’s section was two-thirds full, the purely human nobles uncomfortably mixed among the demons. Sitting next to a strapping young man less than half her age, Lady Ingrith looked back and gave them a tense nod. Lord Volt miserably perched near the bottom, hands nervously fluttering all about.
“Many of our colleagues clearly feel the same.” Sathron idly tapped his cane on the floor board. “It’s almost like they imagine the Haven girl by their side, holding a knife to their throat.”
“Poor Ingrith.” A sudden gust blew Rhapsony’s hair about. “I see the latest boy toy is failing to properly divert her.”
“I do so like your catty side. Quite the turn on.”
The lady demon rolled her eyes. It had been many decades since she’d inhabited a male body, but Rhapsony could still remember the constant tug of sexual desire coloring almost every word and action. Being a woman, she’d long ago decided, was a much more balanced existence. “Not catty, but observant. There’s a difference.”
“Speaking of observing...” Again sweeping the racing yachts with the small telescope, Sathron grunted. “That’s odd.”
“What?”
“Wendily’s fine craft is apparently not competing this year. What a shame. I was so looking forward to beating her.”
Rhapsony lightly stroked her snake ring, the reptile’s tongue slithering out to lick her finger. “That is odd.” Suddenly snatching the glass back from her companion, she focused on the inner harbor.
By now Wendily’s launch had left the dock, pulled by a half-dozen oarsmen working in perfect unison. Wendily herself sat stiffly in the rear, the huge safe weighing down the middle of the small craft.
Tracing outward along the boat’s course, Rhapsony saw her fellow demon’s yacht anchored way out by the entrance to the harbor itself. Nearly two miles off, the trim craft was well-positioned to simply dart through the hundred-yard gap between the encircling arms that was the only break in the otherwise enclosed bay. Once out to sea, she and her mysterious cargo could go anywhere.
Catching her breath, Rhapsony now let the glass drop. Conceivably, the safe was strong enough to properly contain an earth stone. Or a person, for that matter. If Wendily had somehow captured the witch already, and was even now secreting both the girl or her power source away from Donlon...
“Come on.” Jumping to her feet, Rhapsony felt the temporary stands sway about. “We need to find out what’s going on.”
*****
The higher vantage point did indeed provide a better perspective of the harbor area. Carefully keeping her balance on the low wall, squeezed tight from both sides, the enchantress focused once more on the foreign magical signature.
It was still moving out from the dock area at a slow, steady pace. Perhaps it was in a boat? Coolly sweeping the water, left hand shading her eyes, Caylee’s focus was immediately drawn to the arrogant young noblewoman’s small craft.
Of course. Taking a deep breath, she tried to see the safe more clearly. But by now her view was partially blocked by the demon’s back and fashionable hat. A harbor launch puffing oily steam also got in the way. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to see much at all.
“Ten minutes to race!” boomed out a voice near the Lord’s viewing stand, eliciting yet another exited spasm from the crowd. Despite the early hour, by now everyone was more or less drunk. Roughly jostled from both sides, it would soon take all her concentration just to remain on the wall.
Leaping down to ground level once again, Caylee began thrusting her way through the dense mass of people. One way or the other, she had to find out what was in that safe.
*****
Still gnashing on a toothpick, George was one of the few people with his back to the water. Focused entirely on the crowd, the demon intently searched for any sign of the Haven bitch. In the pocket of his threadbare, dirty coat crouched a miniature gargoyle, silver eyes pulsing in pure hate.
Two days ago, as the imperious Lord Jarton, he would have flooded the harbor with bobbies. Grand Regatta or not, they’d roust anyone who even remotely fit the witch’s description. Filling the paddy wagons with hundreds of suspect young women, he’d either find the sorceress or sanitize the area trying.
Yet now, with the singular perspective of a lower-class roughneck at his disposal, the merged being saw the flaw in that approach. All the chaos would simply make it easier for her to slip away. Such heavy-handed tactics might also reveal how frightened the ruling classes really were, further emboldening a burgeoning revolutionary ardor.
But with George’s street-wise instincts at his disposal, he could stalk the witch at his leisure...
There! Straightening up, the demon saw a flash of blonde hair jump down from the back wall. Swallowed up by the undulating masses, she was immediately lost from view.
Experiencing a surge of excitement, the demon roughly knocked two men aside as he wildly plunged into the crowd.
*****
Though tempted to pivot about and survey the dock area, Wendily made a point of staring straight ahead. Surely the witch had both noticed the safe and gotten an exhilarating whiff of it’s contents. Her curiosity hopelessly aroused, she’d soon find a way to follow Wendily out to the ship.
The five-minute warning boomed out from the reviewing stand behind her, prompting more mindless yelling from the masses. Paralleling the closer shoreline to port, Wendily’s strapping rowers were gradually approaching her own yacht anchored near the head of the bay,
Sitting at the front of the craft, huddling in his collar and chains, Max dully stared about. Accidently catching the eye of his mistress, her slave nervously looked away. The son of her family butler made a fine boy toy, even if he was prone to naughty thoughts from time to time.
Smiling to herself, Wendily now glanced off to starboard, where the races were about to start. What a shame that she couldn’t participate. Her own vessel was one of the finest yachts in all of Donlon, and might very well have won this year’s Regatta Chalice.
Oh well. If everything went according to plan, she’d be compensated with a far grander prize. Shifting about in growing excitement, the lady demon barked at her rowers to pull even harder.
*****
Methodically threading her way through the throngs of revelers, Caylee was soon wandering out along the curving strip of land bordering the left side of the massive bay.
Really, you couldn’t have designed a better setup for a major port. The two encircling arms generally protected the entire area from bad weather, while any seaborne attackers would be easily repelled by two forts located on bluffs covering the narrow entrance. Big enough for an entire fleet...or a race course for the Grand Regatta...this perfect natural harbor was obviously a key reason Donlon was settled in the first place.
Yet as she paced Wendily’s craft towards the head of the bay, the young enchantress was struck by an odd coincidence. “Regatta” was a specific term utilized on Earth when talking of a boat race. She and Tiffany had seen a regatta in London during their visit a few months before, which stuck in her mind because she thought it was a funny word.
Come to think of it, they also used “minutes” and “hours” to describe time here, along with what seemed to be the exact same round clock face and mathematical system. And if you take Donlon and just switch a few letters about...
Stepping around more half-drunk racing fans, Caylee tried to quell her own excitement. Earth and Donlon must be directly connected! Of course she’d already noted the general similarities between worlds, yet it was all fairly typical
of human societies rocketing through low-tech status. Expanding industrialization, a strict class structure, overcrowded cities, poor sanitation, lack of medical care, and much more. If the pattern held, about a half-century of massive social and political upheaval lay ahead.
But she should have connected the specific dots before now! Without question, the two dimensions were tethered in some fashion. There was simply no other explanation.
Yet Donlon was still using carriages and cobblestoned roads, while Earth had already been to the moon. What could account for that kind of technological time lag? And were there actual Earth natives here now? She’d have to question any danders she ran into more closely...
Half-tripping over a loose board on the plank walkway, Caylee fell down to a knee. Partially spun about as two young men roughly hauled her back up, the enchantress froze. George was energetically pushing his way through a mass of regatta fans about thirty yards away, beady eyes locked on her.
However, this wasn’t the simple, impatient ruffian she’d first met in the empty factory three days before. George’s body language was completely different, his facial expression far more focused. Upon seeing that he’d been made, an angry flash of silver briefly crossed his gaze.
There was no time to think about how and why. Taking a deep breath, Caylee turned and dashed around a stout post. Lightly weaving through the now-thinning crowd, the sorceress tried to give herself as much space as possible.
But she was fast running out of room. A short distance ahead the planked dock came to a sudden end, abruptly dropping off to a sandy beach. This, in turn, stretched out and around to the fort.
Marginally slowing, the undercover operative coolly assessed the tactical situation. Jumping down and running along the beach wasn’t much of an option. Out in the open, without any cover at all, she’d be fully exposed to attack. George would pile right into her, sparking a nasty magical battle. Quickly reinforced by other nearby demons, she’d be driven up the narrow peninsula and trapped against the manned fort.
So what to do? Glancing to her right, the enchantress saw that the water-borne lady demon was heading straight for a yacht anchored by the bay entrance. Clearly, this was where she was taking her magically-tinged cargo. Once safely aboard, the contemptuous young patrician could leave both Donlon and Caylee far behind.
A roar of cannon burst out from the forts, accompanied by sharp pistol shots from the floating judge’s dock in the middle of the bay. With the race finally underway, the frenzied crowd lustily cheered their favorites. Even out here, at the very end of the spectators area, the noise was mind-numbing. One man even began pounding on Caylee’s shoulder, screaming right in her ear.
Impulsively breaking into a run, Caylee leapt into the air. Diving over the low railing bordering the pier, she sliced cleanly down into the bay. In all the excitement of the race, she doubted that anyone even took much notice.
Safely hidden from view beneath the water, the sorceress magically changed into a modern diving suit, complete with mask and compressed air tank. Taking a moment to coat her flippers with a magical sheen, Caylee then struck out for the anchored yacht.
Cruising along twenty feet beneath the surface, she quickly zoomed way out ahead of the demon’s launch.
CHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T KNOW.” Surveying herself in the full-length mirror yet again, Tiffany Smith frowned. “Honestly, they’re all beginning to look alike.”
“Nonsense.” Briskly walking around her half-sister, Valensa Smith appraised the blazing white dress. “I like this one. Not as much as the one before, but I like it.”
Standing several feet off, the sixty-something shop lady mechanically grinned and nodded once more. Clearly, after three hours and ten different dresses, she didn’t much care.
“Why don’t you try it with these shoes?” Holding up a pair of lacy, expensive high heels, Valensa beamed. “I found them while you were changing. Aren’t they divine?”
“I don’t know, Val.” Actually, Tiffany thought, divine would be curling up on her living room couch with a snuggling cat and good book. “Look, I think I’ve had enough for today.”
Instantly, the shop lady’s features fell into an intense frown, as if Tiffany had just revealed some horrible diagnosis. “When is wedding?”
“Six months from now,” the brunette beauty tightly replied, even as she pointedly stepped off the slight platform back to ground level. “Plenty of time yet.”
Sighing, the old-world shop lady folded her arms. Clearly, modern brides just didn’t get it.
“You sure you don’t want to just try them on?” Valensa held up each shoe by a single finger. “They’re awfully cute, right?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Tiffany took a deep breath. “But right now...”
“Cute? No cute.” The older woman had obviously had enough. “Young girl cute. This is wedding. You become wife, yes?”
Rolling her eyes, Valensa turned away.
“Yes, of course.” Hiking up her long skirts, Tiffany gave a tired smile. “That’s what my sister meant.”
“Virtue. Dignity. That’s wife.” Sighing in grand disapproval, the shop lady walked off towards the front of the store again. “And six months nothing. You see.”
*****
Half-an-hour later the two magical sisters were sitting in a nearby coffee shop. By now it was mid-afternoon, beams of sunlight already slanting through the front windows at a sharper angle. Half-heartedly nibbling on an expensive pastry, Tiffany tried not to openly yawn.
Never before had she felt pulled in so many different directions. First of all, being the Coven’s lead sorceress on Earth was a full-time job in of itself. There were now thirty operatives permanently stationed around the globe, each requiring varying degrees of supervision. Even with the conveniences of an advanced mid-tech world at her disposal, all the calls, texts, and emails were a hassle.
Of course, the increased operational tempo was in direct response to their new treaty with Zarth. Finalized just a month before, it guaranteed the ruby witches open travel through Terra out into the universe-at-large. In return, Zarth’s coven leader would remove all surveillance posts and hardened positions from Earth, while also promising not to stir up trouble in other worlds.
They’d also reached a compromise regarding cross-dimensional contraband. Within reason, Claire could continue building up her Zarth-based business empire by means of goods transported via the direct contact points with Earth. However, advanced technology and weapons were strictly prohibited.
Tiffany had even managed to convince Claire that fermenting mass upheaval on Zarth itself was a bad idea. Yes, Earth’s fractured, parallel world featured some very bad governments, most notably the Zarth Confederacy and the California Reich. But plunging an entire dimension into war, even for the best of reasons, wasn’t the way to go.
Still, something did need to be done. So as part of the final agreement, Haven would provide assistance in actively subverting the worst of the totalitarian regimes, but only on a localized, contained basis. In other places, like Vanington, they would all work together to change things through the existing political system. Tiffany had also promised to tutor Claire’s people on the finer points of navigating the Boundary, while also helping them to set up small outposts in two bucolic, undeveloped dimensions. In time, this effort might even be expanded to other worlds.
Still, it had all been a tough sell for the Coven Council. Within a series of closed-door sessions lasting nearly a week, Tiffany had passionately argued her treaty not only satisfied the long-term goals of both covens, but in many ways actually aligned them. After all, they too believed in protecting human societies from oppressive, predatory forces throughout the universe. Didn’t those core values naturally extend to Zarth as well?
In private, she would admit it all wasn’t perfect. Even between parallel worlds, an official endorsement of cross-dimensional contamination set a very bad precedent. And helping ferment actual revolution went far b
eyond anything they’d ever done before.
Yet in the end Eleanor had little choice but to endorse Tiffany’s efforts. An older cabal within Haven itself had plotted to unseat the Coven Leader in favor of a strict isolationist policy. Even with the plotters themselves banished forever, continued unrest with Zarth might revive such sentiments.
So the Council finally signed off on the accord. Now it was up to Tiffany herself to make it work.
Just a week ago, mixed Haven/Zarth teams had begun tearing down all the ruby infrastructure on Earth. Coordinating these efforts had been surprisingly difficult, as many operatives from both sides were unfamiliar with specific Earth geography and time. And while Tiffany herself was well accustomed to it by now, the odd practice of splitting the entire planet into twenty-four time zones certainly didn’t help. Several squabbles had broken out requiring her personal intervention.
Then last night Tiffany had received an imperious message from Claire, demanding that joint resistance efforts on Zarth begin right away. The ruby leader would swing through Philadelphia two days hence to discuss precise scheduling and specific personnel.
The timing was atrocious, as her own Deputy Coven Leader was dropping by tomorrow for a general update. Since they didn’t get along, she’d simply have to find some way of getting Barbara back across the Boundary before Claire arrived.
To top it all off, Blake had some distant relatives flying in this evening for a meet-the-extended-family dinner. With some difficulty, she’d finally managed to convince her fiancée she was just too busy to pick everyone up at the airport. Actually, they’d just have to wait until this weekend for the formal introductory dinner.
Looking around the cheery coffee shop, full of people just reading or relaxing, Tiffany impulsively wondered what it would be like to just have a low-key, mundane life.