The Book of Water

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  Lealé motions them toward the sofas in the alcove and mimes eating. “Rest, children, and we’ll talk later,” she says in her Glory voice. “I must return to my duties.” She draws heavy, embroidered drapes across the archway and lets herself out between them. N’Doch can hear her unlocking the big double doors and exclaiming in full-blown Glory persona, “My goodness, what is all the fuss about?”

  The reply is murmured and unintelligible.

  “What did you think?” Glory comes back. “Of course I’m ready! Are the afternoon candidates assembled? I hope you remembered to . . .”

  The thick wooden doors shut behind her. The big room is silent. N’Doch gets up to sneak a peek through the drapes, and feels the now familiar itch inside his head. He turns to reply out loud, but the apparition quickly raises a finger to its lips.

  —We’ll take no chances.

  N’Doch nods. It’ll be an effort, him not being real experienced at it, but he’s beginning to see real advantages in this silent communication. As soon as he goes to the right place in his head, he feels the big guy’s presence there again and hears his rumbled greeting. He’s surprised how glad it makes him.

  And now he guesses it’s safe to ask:

  —What’d you mean, your other brother?

  —Our brother Fire.

  —And he’s, y’know, like you? A dragon?

  —Of course.

  Her voice in his head is irritated, and in front of him, the apparition frowns. But its gaze is oddly distant and N’Doch’s almost sure it’s frowning at the possibility of Fire and not at him at all.

  —And if Fire were to take a human form, it would likely be as Lealé has described.

  The girl’s voice chimes in, softer than her spoken voice.

  —Surely not, Mistress Water! A dragon works only for good!

  —Whatever gave you that idea? Brother, perhaps it’s time to relieve this child of some of her illusions.

  The girl looks dumbstruck, and Earth’s reply, when it comes, is humble.

  —I did not recall what our brother Fire was like until just now.

  —We gotta go talk to this asshole, then!

  N’Doch turns to the hidden archway, where the paneling had swung inward so readily at Lealé’s touch. He presses on the wall and nothing happens. He feels around a bit, searching for a seam or crack to tell him where the hinges are. Nothing.

  “Damn!” he murmurs. He tries to picture exactly where Lealé placed her hand just before she vanished, and feels around some more. Still no luck. The apparition joins him but stands back after a while.

  —We will look very suspicious to anyone monitoring the surveillance system.

  N’Doch shakes his head. He’s beginning to understand why they need him around after all. He’s like their technical expert.

  —From what she said, I got the idea there was only sound sensors in this part of the room.

  —That doesn’t seem very thorough.

  He wonders how much detail he’s gonna have to go into.

  —But look at all these big plush sofas and things . . . maybe the big bankroll himself wants a little privacy in here from time to time . . . you know what I mean?

  The girl looks back at him blankly, but N’Doch feels Water’s knowing assent in a whole new corner of his mind, a place apart from where all four of them spoke together. He hopes the images that ran through his mind along with the thought of the bankroll on the sofas have stayed in that special corner as well. He figures they must have, or the girl would be blushing something fierce. What’s odd about all of this is he’s just recalled what Papa Djawara implied about Lealé preferring women. Maybe when he said her interests lay elsewhere, he meant she was hot for some other guy. Certainly now that he’s watched her operate, N’Doch’s inclined toward that explanation. He realizes now that Lealé’s a hard one to read. She’s like a whole lot of people rolled up into one.

  —So we can’t get back in there till Lealé tells us how. What’d you wanna do, then? You think she expects us to just hang around here?

  N’Doch looks longingly at his plate still mostly full of food. He sees the girl has edged herself closer to her own plate in order to pick at it surreptitiously.

  “You hungry, girl?” he asks aloud.

  She nods, and N’Doch grins. It’s beginning to feel like she really is his baby sister. “Then, first things first, I say. Let’s eat.”

  * * *

  It’s just about the best meal N’Doch can ever remember. He tries not to stuff himself so much it’ll slow him down, but it’s hard. His reflex is to eat when the food’s at hand, ’cause it’ll likely be a while before you see it again, especially food like this—safe, fresh and delicious, with such a variety of tastes and textures all at once. He’s not used to being able to choose to eat this instead of that simply because this might taste better.

  After a while, he looks up. The apparition is waiting none too patiently in front of a full plate.

  “Eat up,” N’Doch advises. “You don’t get it much better than this.”

  The kid makes a little Jéjé face, entirely out of sync with the voice in N’Doch’s head.

  —I can’t eat in this form. The parts aren’t all in the right place.

  N’Doch doesn’t know why, but it makes him laugh.

  —You mean, if I sliced you open right now, it’d be a real biological surprise?

  —Wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  —Kinda like it isn’t when you’re changing, huh?

  —Probably so.

  Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the sofa, struggling not to get lost in cushions too deep for his small body, the apparition’s really looking like his dead little brother. It makes N’Doch remember stuff he’d forgotten, moments of stupid kid-jokes, moments of shared conspiracy, the few moments they’d had to feel like brothers before Jéjé was gone. Moments sort of like this. He grins across the girl’s dark head, bowed over her plate.

  —Whadda ya say, think we oughta go exploring a little?

  The apparition nods, and the girl looks up. She’s been listening in.

  —As soon as is possible, we must find some place for Earth to join us.

  She’s right, of course. N’Doch gives it some thought.

  —There’s a big garage out back.

  —What about the park you and Mistress Lealé spoke of? Is there cover?

  —Not much. Besides, I got a weird feeling about that place.

  The apparition hops to its feet.

  —Let’s go take a look.

  The girl’s been eating slowly. N’Doch waves at her to keep at it.

  —You stick close and hold the fort, case Lealé comes back.

  Her eyes widen in protest.

  —She won’t expect you to talk to her or anything. Just keep an eye on her, y’know? Follow her around like you’re glad for another woman’s company.

  He thinks it’s a pretty clever ruse, but the girl nods so pensively that N’Doch suspects he’s touched a true nerve. It makes him wonder about her a little. Like, maybe she’s got a mother somewhere worrying about where she is, like his mother worried about all her sons, and lost them anyway, all except him. What would it do to poor Fâtime, so worn and numbed by loss, to see the spitting image of her youngest standing right in front of her the way the apparition’s there in front of him now, ready for an adventure? He thinks it might just finish her off.

  He jerks his head at the kid gruffly, the way older brothers get to do, and lifts his hand to the girl.

  —You can always just pretend you’re asleep. And if you need us, just give a yell. We’ll come running.

  She nods. She doesn’t look all that worried, actually. She knows, as he does, that she can monitor them every step of the way through the big guy.

  N’Doch turns and parts the concealing draperies with a finger. He surveys the outer room, counting a camera port in every corner.

  —No way we’re gonna get outa here without them seeing. Better just lo
ok like we know where we’re going. I’ll go first, see if I set off any alarms.

  He pushes through the heavy curtains and wanders across the room to the food table. It’s all still there, laid out like a gang leader’s funeral supper. Though he’d been sure he couldn’t possibly cram in another bite, N’Doch finds a few things he hasn’t tried and starts nibbling. It’s a good enough cover, and so far, he’s heard no bells or sirens, no Jean-Pierre flapping down the hallway, screeching like some big white bird. Course, all the most expensive systems give silent alarms: some bright red readout below a bank of sleek monitors in an office somewhere full of fast guys with guns.

  The apparition joins him and pretends to pick at the food for a while. Neither of them have any trouble producing the right body language of two bored young men tired of being cooped up inside.

  —You ready, bro?

  The apparition grins at him. As one, they turn and head for the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was odd, Erde thought, the lassitude that came over her when she was left alone in the alcove, enclosed by its thick draperies and its strange furniture, as softly cushioned as a feather bed. The cool air smelled faintly of perfume, and the light was dim and golden, like a dying fire but as miraculously steady as the sun’s own light. This, she supposed, was Master Djawara’s “electricity”, which she had not yet seen close up. The lanterns that made it were tall and thin, like brass bells turned upside down on the top of pike poles, and did not flicker. For the first time since arriving in this world of 2013, she was not hot and sweaty, she was not uncomfortable or dirty, and she was not hungry. She thought perhaps she should be a bit more nervous than she was about being left on her own in a strange house, but the rich food and the sudden comfort were making her irresistibly drowsy.

  —Dragon, I need to sleep a little. Will you watch over me and wake me up within the hour?

  —I will, as best I can from such a distance.

  —Not so far, really, and they will find a place here for you soon.

  —I am eager for that.

  —As am I, dear Dragon.

  Erde settled herself into the deepest cushions, in the farthest corner. Perhaps if someone looked in here, they wouldn’t even notice her. Her last thought, swimming up through the layers of drowse just as she fell asleep, was: I hope I don’t dream.

  But of course she did.

  * * *

  She thought she woke in darkness, but then the darkness showed a dim light through a crack across from her bed. A lantern in the outer room, she decided sleepily.

  —For shame, Dragon! You’ve let me sleep far too long.

  She yawned and stretched, awaiting his reply, his expected excuses about how badly she needed her sleep. But the dragon’s answer did not come. Then she realized that, stretching, she could not feel her body. She tried to sit up and had no awareness of limbs. No sensation at all except a creeping dread. She was not awake. She was dreaming, and the air in the room was damp and chill, and full of the snap and groan of wind among tent ropes.

  She watched the lighted crack, her only anchor in the blackness, and understood she was looking through a slit between lowered tent flaps. Outside, the light dipped and flared in the breeze. Torches, then. One at least. And no other sound but the wind.

  Suddenly, as if she’d arrived in this dream just at its moment of crisis, she heard the soft thud of running feet, feet trying not to make noise, encumbered by the weight and rattle of weapons and armor.

  She heard a frightened voice cry, “Halt!” and heard it just as quickly hushed, followed by a hurried conference, low and urgent.

  The tent flap was snatched aside.

  “My lord!” A half-dressed squire, painfully young, stood in the opening. “My lord baron! Are you awake?”

  “What? Yes!” growled a voice so close to Erde’s side that the shock alone nearly woke her up, a voice shaking off sleep like a dog shakes off water. “Yes, fool, I’m awake. What is it?”

  The boy hissed to the man behind him, then took a torch from him and stepped aside. A tall and burly soldier stooped into the tent and went down on one knee. The torch at the opening lit his mud-spattered face and heaving chest, and the grim rage in his eyes.

  “Wender. What . . . ?” The man on the cot came up warily on one arm. The edge of the torchlight touched the rough gold of his beard, and Erde could confirm what she already anticipated: Adolphus of Köthen.

  “My lord, they’ve taken the Prince.”

  “What? We had men guarding his tent.”

  “Dead.”

  Köthen sat up, swinging his legs to the ground. “All?”

  “Throats cut, all three of ’em, with the Prince’s own dagger, my lord, conveniently left behind.”

  “What of the priest’s men?”

  “A showy mess of surface wounds, but all likely to recover, probably by morning if circumstance doesn’t intervene. I’m tempted to let it. Each claims to have seen the Prince fighting ‘like ten thousand demons.’”

  “Ah, Carl, poor lad.” Köthen ran angry hands through his sleep-matted hair. “Is there a trail?”

  “Two, my lord. The one we’re supposed to find, and then the other. I sent six of our best to follow the second, and came to fetch you.”

  “All this without arousing notice?”

  Wender smiled, and Erde pitied the man who got on his wrong side. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Pray they find him. Pray six will be enough. Have you horses ready?”

  “In the copse.”

  “Tell that silly boy to douse the torch before he announces us to the entire camp. His little fire should be enough to keep the dark away.” Köthen heaved himself out of bed. “Help me dress.”

  Before the torch could be extinguished, Köthen walked into its flickering light. He was naked. Erde tried to look away, but the dream-state did not allow her the luxury of modesty, and in the slowness of dreams where a few seconds can seem an eternity, she found herself made breathless at the sight of him. She’d never seen a grown man naked. She thought men were probably ugly without their fashionably form-altering clothes. Even Rainer, that fine figure of a young man she’d convinced herself she was in love with, even in her most romantic fantasies she’d always pictured him fully dressed.

  But this man was beautiful, naked or clothed. She could not help but notice his efficient grace, or how the muscles moved under his skin as he bent to snatch up his clothing, or how the failing torchlight glimmered gold on the hair of his arms and chest and thighs. The intimacy of the moment shamed her. Surely Baron Köthen would be appalled if he knew. But she could not look away. She thought she could look at him forever.

  Then he moved out of the light and threw on his shirt and undertunic. Erde was released from her disturbing fascination and had a moment to consider the dire news about the Prince. She wondered where her father’s hand was in this latest plot.

  Wender shook out Köthen’s mail and held it high for the baron to shrug into, easy enough as he was at least a head taller than Köthen and several stone heavier. “It seems this priest will make you King, my lord, whether you like it or not.”

  Köthen laughed sourly. He slipped on his blue-and-yellow tabard, then bent to pull on his boots. “And when Otto and his mysterious champion are dead on the field, and I’ve rallied the people around me with the promise of victory and peace, how long do you think I will survive?”

  Wender grunted. He turned away and came back with Köthen’s sword and dagger. Köthen took them wordlessly and buckled them on.

  Outside the tent, the torch had been upended in the squire’s little campfire. The two men hesitated, straining through the high sighing of the wind to pick out other, man-made noises. The moon was bright. Köthen squinted at it suspiciously.

  “Back to bed with you,” he murmured to his waiting squire. “Or at least pretend to be, as if I were still inside asleep as usual. Have you your weapon handy?”

  The boy shivered and patted the long kni
fe on his hip.

  “Good lad. Protect yourself if the need arises.” Köthen nodded to Wender then, and followed him off into the night.

  The horses were waiting with another dozen men in a copse of aspens out of hearing of the encampment. With the moon to light their way, they quickly picked up the trail of those who had gone ahead along the muddied road.

  “He hopes they’ll mingle with the track of ordinary travelers,” noted Wender. “But only brigands and soldiers travel in a time of war.”

  Köthen grinned. “Well, we know which of us are the soldiers. . . .”

  Erde found herself galloping through the moonlit darkness as if she were a hawk on Köthen’s shoulder. She could almost forget she was dreaming, but for the rock and rise of Köthen’s body on his racing horse, in such sharp contrast to her own smooth surreal flight.

  But cushioned as she was by the unreality of the dream, she could not shrug off the lurking dread. Köthen’s presence somehow held the dread at bay. She recalled how he had protected her from the priest in the barn at Erfurt, even though she was a stranger and the ally of his enemy. Being with him flushed her whole body with warmth and a sense of well-being. But she knew that this strange euphoria was but a thin tissue between her and the terrible things she sensed were about to happen, and could do nothing to prevent. The dread was real and could not be avoided forever.

  They rode hard for a good while until Wender judged they might be closing on the men he’d sent ahead. The ground was half mud, half ice, and pocked with puddles frozen just enough to make a noise when horses’ hooves crashed through them. Where the trees folded over the road, straining out the moonlight, Wender slowed them to pick their way along more quietly, listening ahead. Soon Wender pulled up, his hand raised for a halt. Köthen rode up beside him.

  “A light, my lord, though the trees off to the left.”

  Köthen cocked his head. “No sounds of battle.”

  “No. We’ll go in on foot, in case our men are yet waiting to engage.”

  The baron nodded. He seemed to have no difficulty taking direction from an older and more experienced adviser. “Quickly, though, in case they’ve been taken unawares.”