by Garon Whited
“Perfect! Torvil, show me to Tort’s quarters. I’m looking for some gems she used to have. Or maybe T’yl’s quarters. I’m not sure who had them last.”
“Can I come?” Mary asked.
“I’d rather meet you. Could you run up to our quarters and find Diogenes?”
“You mean your computer drive?”
“Yes, please.”
“What on earth for?”
“We’re not on Earth,” I pointed out, “and I’d rather show you.”
“You better bring a lot of rope when I get back from this business trip,” she warned. “I plan to put up quite a fight.”
“I’ll have some straps made. Dazhu leather is stronger than you’d think.”
“Deal.” She skipped off and Torvil led me to Tort’s chambers.
I liked them. Not very lived-in, though. This wasn’t her residence. This was someplace she occasionally inhabited. It had the feel of a backup apartment, a crash pad, a place to go when you don’t want to go home. Maybe a vacation cabin, something that only sees use every other year or so. I’m not sure why I had such a feeling, though. A lot of close work with Tort’s psychic resonance, maybe? I could be oversensitive to impressions she left behind. Come to that, I could just be oversensitive.
Whatever, it was only a feeling. I turned my attention to searching the place. Torvil cautioned me about a particular box. I left it alone for the moment and searched for the quantum computer cores. I didn’t see them, so I did a quick spell to scan for them. Still no sign of them.
Which left me with a heavily-warded and sealed box.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t go through Tort’s stuff, especially anything as heavily protected as this. The magic on it was of a different order than the type I was familiar with. It reminded me of some of the magician-class things Tort and T’yl did—spells I didn’t understand, like flying, phasing through walls, and so on. I could tell some of what the wards on the box did, but the mechanism of action was something of a mystery.
I’m one hell of a wizard, but as a magician I need a lot of work.
Fortunately, I didn’t see the need to open it. All I wanted was to find out whether or not the gems were in it. So I x-rayed and radar scanned it. I put a spectrum-shifting spell on either side of the box, shone a light at the upshifting side and looked at it through the downshifting side.
Nope, no computer cores. What it did have was a trio of large, heavy keys. All I saw were silhouettes, so I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected they were keys salvaged from the ruins of Telen. Magical keys the Church of Light—well, the Hand—used to open gates to my world.
It was immensely tempting to bash the box open on the spot. I resisted it; I didn’t feel like dealing with whatever unpleasantness the wards did. Besides, T’yl used one of the things in his attempt to send me home and he still missed! Obviously, they weren’t foolproof. Or maybe they needed to be used in particular ways. Regardless, these three weren’t going anywhere. They’d been left alone for months, possibly years.
I asked the mountain to hide the box for me. It started sinking into the floor. That would work.
We moved on to T’yl’s rooms.
These looked much more… lived-in. I don’t want to call T’yl a slob. I’m not sure what else to call him, though. Don’t misunderstand; his rooms and everything in them were clean. No dust, no dirt, no grime, nothing. But the blankets and furs on the bed-platform were in a bunch. Scrolls and books were stacked haphazardly where they weren’t in piles. Several plates were scattered around the room—cleaned of any trace of food, to be sure, but still implying a rather lackadaisical housekeeping. I can understand why no one entered the professional magician’s rooms to clear away dishes, but I would have thought his animated suit of armor could stack the mess in neater piles.
Come to that, where is that suit of armor? Tort might still have it, I suppose.
There was no way I intended to search the chaos by hand. I went straight to my sensor spell. It registered hits, so I started digging. I came across his flying carpet, the magical rope I salvaged from the assault force that attacked Karvalen, a number of animated image crystals—video recordings, basically. Yes, I found his porn stash, which told me a lot more about him than I really wanted to know—and some magical underwear. Enchanted socks, shorts, that sort of thing, made to keep the wearer warm or cool, dry and clean. I also found several regular crystals—nonmagical, but high quality—as well as the computer crystals.
T’yl never truly understood what they were, but he knew I valued them. He went to the trouble of having a box made with little niches and velvet lining. Very thoughtful. Of course, then he put it down somewhere and forgot about it. It was pressed up against a heap of scrolls, keeping the pile of them stable.
The box contained eight crystals, quantum computer cores salvaged from a post-apocalyptic world with advanced computer technology. I brought back a dozen. Did they break some? Did they find a use for them? I know they tried to put me in one when the initial stages of my exorcism went wrong. Are they good for containing spirits you don’t want wandering off?
Hurray! More questions I can’t answer.
I tried to ignore the angry feeling. I don’t like not knowing, but you’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’m probably a little more sensitive than usual, these days. I know I’m getting better, but will I ever be back to my old self? I’ll never again be the mild-mannered professor who poured students out of the car and onto their various lawns, but maybe I can be less of a rage-monster.
In some ways, it would be easier to turn green and wake up somewhere else, afterward. People would know when to run, at least, and I wouldn’t feel so responsible for the mess. I think.
Another quick scan of the room failed to find any magical keys. Which doesn’t mean there weren’t any, only that they didn’t show up on a scan. They might be in another heavily-warded, magically-sealed box… buried under a pile of stuff. I couldn’t take time to put the room in order and inventory the place. If there were more keys, I’d find them later.
With the box of crystals in hand, I headed back to my workroom. There were a lot of things to do.
Mary was already waiting. Diogenes was on a table.
“Thanks. Now, let’s get you set up.”
“In what way?”
“Versatility, wealth, and stealthiness. And a letter of introduction.”
“Have you a plan?”
“I know a family of magi who seem exceedingly polite. Two, actually, but only one of them strikes me as trustworthy. The Etienne family seem like reasonable people; the Wilmont family would probably sell us out if they could get a good enough price. If push comes to shove, we might try the Stuarts.”
“The Etienne family… they’re in France?” Mary asked.
“Yep. Avignon, if I remember the return address right. Will that be a problem?”
“Bien sûr que non. Je peux me débrouiller assez bien.”
I looked at her for a moment while she grinned at me.
She said it won’t be a problem, Firebrand translated. She’s sure she can get by.
You know, I almost understood her?
“I’m sure you can,” I told Mary. “Remind me to eat some more French.”
“Delicious.”
“I wasn’t asking for an evaluation.”
“Your loss. Anything else I need to do?”
I hesitated for several seconds. I had an idea, but I didn’t like my idea.
“Mary, we don’t know how things have gone over there. It may have been minutes or years. The world may have barely changed, or there might be craters with a bluish glow at night. If the world is even remotely functional—economically, that is—I want you to get a yacht.”
“I’ve always wanted my own yacht. Don’t you hate boats, though?”
“No, I simply despise their tendency to sink when I get on them. But get the yacht—something seagoing, with engines; I’m no sailor. Wait, can you sail?”
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“I spent several of my pre-college summers on a sailing yacht.”
“Figures,” I said, disgusted.
“But I’m by no means a professional. I know what I’m doing, sort of, but we’ll want something you and I can drive. Where do you want to go in it? Or do you want it as a floating hideout?”
“We need something we can take all over the world, preferably without refueling.”
“That’s called an expedition yacht. They make all sorts with a wide variety of power and propulsion. I’ll see what I can find.”
“I’d favor endurance over comfort. I’ll get you a list of specialty equipment, too.”
“Speaking of equipment, what have you got for me, Q?”
“First off, Jane Bond, we get you the usual sort of stuff. Clothes, money—mostly gold and gems—a letter to the Etiennes, and your weapons. I’ll enchant something to keep you off the magical detection radar. I’m not sure we can risk inter-universal messages; Johann might notice gate activity, especially if we keep doing it. We may have to rely on rendezvous points. Once we’re daylit on this side and not likely to fry by accident, I hit the big gate, drop you off in France, and you do your thing.”
“Assuming you open it and we don’t see a boiling wasteland?”
“Exactly. Or a ton of death-squad goons taking aim at our portal.”
“Okay. What do you want, exactly, from the Etiennes?”
“I’d like to know how they feel about Johann and his magical Kingdom of the Dome. If they’re against it, I’d also like to know if they’re willing to help me out when I try to turn Johann into pâté de foie grouch.”
“Sounds good. Any ideas on how they can help?”
“The very first thing is to get suggestions, because I have no idea what they can do. I’m prepared to pay for any help, but first see if they’re willing to come at this from the standpoint of allies, rather than mercenaries for hire.”
“Ah, yes. Appeal to their self-interest first, then greed.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
“What if they want to have an open nexus of their own?”
“Again, it’s a last resort, assuming they even know about opening a nexus. I don’t really relish the idea of unleashing more soulless monsters of enormous power on the world. I’d rather not, if it can be avoided.”
“Do I need to know how to do the nexus thing?”
“Remember seeing the process?”
“I watched. There’s no way I can do it.”
“Step inside; we’ll go over the spell. If you think you need to open a nexus, you should be able to.”
“No, I don’t think so. Your tendrils are big, angry things. My tendril is more delicate, as befits my feminine nature.”
“More vicious and quick instead of brutal and strong?”
“Exactly! See, that’s one reason I like you so much. You get me.”
“Come inside,” I countered. “You’ve got a spell to learn.”
“No way,” she countered, shaking her head. “I’m not going into a coven’s lair with that kind of knowledge in my head. They might pry my skull open to get it out. Besides, I’m certain it wouldn’t do any good. I can’t do it, not even if I do learn the spells.”
“Really? Does it seem so difficult?”
Mary laid a gentle hand on my arm. I cocked my head at her.
“Halar, one of your more adorable failings is your complete and utter lack of perspective. You don’t have a sense of scale, much less a clue, do you?”
“I had a clue, once, but I put it in a box so I wouldn’t lose it. As soon as I find the box, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m serious. You really don’t understand how dangerously powerful you are, do you? How people look at you and see something so fiendishly terrifying they would rather jump into a swimming pool of angry rattlesnakes than attract your attention?”
“Sure I do. I’m a moster, a king, and I know all sorts of dangerous spells—”
“Sweetheart?” she interrupted. I stopped and blinked at her.
“Yes? Dear?”
“What’s the most difficult and powerful spell you know?”
“That’s easy. Gate spells. Awful things, especially the full version. You can use an abbreviated form of one for point-to-point within a single world, but crossing—”
“Stop talking. Now, this full gate spell. How many people do you know who can cast it?”
“Uh… me?”
“Could you teach it to someone?”
“Of course.”
“And could that someone cast it?”
“Sure. Magicians in Zirafel even built a permanent gate with the complicated version. Why, I don’t know. Even modern magicians have an extremely simplified version for local movement. Of course, they don’t have to account for the rotation of a spherical world or the change in orientation when—”
“But,” Mary cut me off, “this short and simple version is something the average magician just fires up and uses?”
“Well… no. It’s usually something they spend several days enchanting and charging. They don’t cast the spell directly because of the complexity and power demands of—”
“Then how do you manage?” she interrupted.
“Oh, I’m a vampire. I have an enormous capacity for channeling energies. My flesh doesn’t boil away like mortal flesh does, so it can handle higher loads. I’ve also spent a lot of time in an Ascension Sphere, accidentally training up to endure higher powers. And there was an incident with the temporary transmogrification to a higher plane of existence, but I managed to get out of that.”
Mary nodded, looking expectant.
“And?” I asked.
Mary shook her head, sighing.
“I think you may not be equipped to understand.”
“There are a lot of things like that,” I admitted. “I still can’t tell the difference between eggshell and off-white. I think it’s a guy thing.”
“Just take my word for it. You’re much more terrifying than you suspect, and I shouldn’t know the spell. All right?”
“Well… if you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Trust me.”
“I can do that.”
Torvil shoved open the door while we were talking and stuck his head into the room.
“Sire?”
“What’s the trouble, Torvil?”
“Sire, the high priest of the lights has been arrested and is waiting.”
“Oh, excellent! Where is he?”
“In the dungeons, Sire.”
I took a moment to absorb that.
“I have dungeons?”
“Indeed, Sire,” he assured me. I gave Mary a sidelong look.
“I have dungeons,” I told her, raising my eyebrows. Mary poked me in the ribs. I rubbed the sudden sore spot.
“Keep your mind on business,” she advised.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear that from you. I mean, dungeons.”
She poked me again. I resolved to keep my mind on business.
“Well, I guess I should go see the dungeons. Is he the only prisoner?” I asked. Torvil chuckled.
“Have you ordered anyone else arrested, Sire?”
“Good point.”
The dungeons in question aren’t part of the palace proper, but they are in the undercity. They serve as holding cells for use by the city guard. To reach the dungeons, one goes through chambers used by the city guard, in fact—I’d call it a police station. Under normal circumstances, the cops are all over the station, effectively guarding the dungeons, and today there was also a sizable contingent of people in black, fancy armor. The black armor came in two sorts, average (for the grey sashes) and ridiculously big (for the red).
Everyone in black came to attention and drew swords, saluting. Everyone else either did the hands-over face thing or the fist-on-floor thing. Mary seemed quite pleased and held on to my arm.
“Torvil?” I asked, quietly.
“Sire?”
“How many of these people are my knights?”
“Several. The big ones, red sashes.”
“And the rest?”
“Temple of Shadow. Grey sashes.”
“Why did we involve them?”
“You said to get people I could trust. Dantos didn’t think the knights of the local baron fit the bill for something this sensitive, so I got volunteers from the Temple. They aren’t your personal knights—you didn’t knight them—but they’ve taken the vow before the Lord of Shadows and they’re under Lord Beltar’s command.”
“Ah.”
I gave them an empty-handed salute and they resheathed weapons. One of the regular-sized figures came over to me, went to one knee, and did the thing Salishar did, the cross-hands-over-the-face thing, before putting a fist on the floor.
“Your Majesty, I am Ariander, priest of the Temple of Shadow, First Blade of the Order.” I noticed his name started with a vowel, a gata indicator, but I didn’t feel like chasing that rabbit just at the moment.
“Pleased to meet you. Get up. Where’s the prisoner?”
“If Your Majesty will follow me?” He rose and led the way. A tide of armored figures flowed aside. It was like parting a deep sea of ink. We went into the chambers behind the guard offices, passed by the equivalent of minimum-security, went through medium-security, and finally came to the maximum-security holding cells—the dungeon.
It was a long, wide hallway with a path on one side and a number of pivot-doors in a row on the other. Most were open; one was bolted to keep it closed. I looked down through an open one. Below it was a square pit, smooth-sided, fifteen to twenty feet deep, about ten feet across. The floor was a slant, smoothly sloped from one wall to another. A small trickle of water dribbled down the deeper side; it drained through a narrow crack at the bottom. There was no furniture, nowhere to sit, and no toilet. If the prisoner was thirsty, licking water off the wall was the only option. It was also poorly ventilated and probably colder than most places under the mountain.
Yeah, this wasn’t someplace you wanted to stay. It was someplace you stayed because someone really wanted you to. Someone who didn’t like you.
As we went to the closed floor-door, I saw a hole in it, about two inches in diameter.