“Even if it’s immediately?”
Collins saw no downside. He could still reconsider on the walk to the portal; and, even once there, it was not an irreversible choice. It seemed safer to discuss any matter with a horse somewhere other than the middle of campus.
“Why don’t you pack a few things,” Zylas said. “Just in case.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, though it made Collins wary. “I can leave Barakhai any time? Even immediately?”
Zylas opened his lids wider, making his fiery eyes seem to bulge from their pink-rimmed sockets. “You’re repeating yourself.”
“It’s called reassurance.” Collins crinkled his nose. “And don’t do that eye thing. It’s freakish.”
“Thanks.” Zylas restored his features to normal. “I love it when my friends call my looks freakish.”
Collins dodged the all-too-wide opening. The “eye thing” barely touched the “transforming-into-animals thing.” Without another word, he scooped up his backpack from the workstation chair and dumped its contents onto the bed. Books, notebooks, and pens tumbled out, along with an assortment of pipettes, a compartmentalized container filled with plastic balls and stems for making models of molecules, and sundry other small accessories. He tossed two packs of TGI Friday’s matches back inside, added a mini mag light, his new multitool, three T-shirts, four pairs of underwear, and two pairs of blue jeans. He dashed into the bathroom, Korfius trotting along at his heels. Opening the medicine chest, he snatched up a bottle of Tums and another of Tylenol, dropping them into the sink. He tossed in a bar of soap, a toothbrush, a razor, a plastic bottle of shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste. Seizing the hand towel, he folded all of his gathered things into it, bundled it up, and headed from the room. As a last thought, he scooped up a roll of toilet paper. Dashing back to the bedroom, he unceremoniously dumped it all inside his backpack.
“All right—” Collins started, then stopped, thinking of another potentially useful item. He jerked open his desk drawer to reveal his new personal organizer, a programmable calculator, a mini tape recorder, fold-up binoculars, and his working snacks. He had gone after the binoculars but grabbed the recorder, three Snickers bars, a handful of beef jerky, and an open bag of dog biscuits, too. He was just adding these to his now bulging backpack, when a pounding knock at the door startled him. Collins’ mind had already returned to the nearly inscrutable world of his companions, with its weird violations of physical law and its strict and cruel legalities and punishments. He forced his muscles to uncoil, his breathing to slow. The worst thing he faced here was expulsion or bankruptcy, a far cry from hanging.
“Hide,” Collins hissed at Zylas; who, accustomed to doing just that, disappeared in an instant. Without bothering to give a similar command to Falima, he headed toward the door, just as another fusillade of knocking exploded through the room. Loud as thunder, it left no doubt about the mood of the person on the other side.
Collins pulled open the door, only then remembering he wore nothing but boxers.
Professor Terellin studied him from the hallway, and several people peeked from partially open doors on either side. The proctor of Collins’ building, the gray-bearded philosophy professor usually handled problems in a calm, rational manner that left little room for discussion. Now, his hair hung in a lopsided auburn-and-white scraggle, rather than its usual neat comb over. Long-legged, slender, and distinguished, Terellin reminded Collins of John Cleese playing the barrister in A Fish Called Wanda. He glanced around the hallway, and the doors hurriedly shut. “May I come in?”
Collins stepped back. “Of course, Professor.”
Terellin glided inside, closing the door behind him. He studied Collins in the dim light, then turned his gaze to Korfius who lay in a stretched-out position of doggy comfort on Collins’ rumpled bed. The man cleared his throat. “We ignore your dog, Mr. Collins, despite the no-pet policy, because he’s a hero.”
Collins nodded, well aware of that information. He had never taken great pains to hide the animal, though he did not go out of his way to flaunt the dog either. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“But a horse, Mr. Collins?” The professor made a bland gesture toward the window. “That’s going too far.”
Collins’ heart rate quickened, and he followed the professor’s motion with his gaze. Possibilities paraded through his mind, the most compelling to deny knowing anything about Falima’s presence. He discarded the urge, however. For her welfare, he could not abdicate responsibility. “Yes, Professor Terellin. I agree.”
The man grunted.
“You see, we need the horse for . . . physiology experiments and . . .” So far, the explanation sounded plausible, and Collins struggled to keep it that way. “. . . and . . . I . . . well, I did the ordering. I certainly didn’t expect them to deliver her to my home . . . but . . .” Collins battled through the sleepiness that dimmed his thoughts. “. . . well, here she is. I jumped right out of bed and started making some calls, but it’s hard to get anyone to answer this time of night.”
Professor Terellin’s expression softened immediately. “Any luck at all?”
Collins rubbed a hand along his other naked arm, a nervous gesture. “I found a stable that’ll take her.” He deliberately avoided saying where in case anyone checked the story. “I just have to get her there.” He gestured to his backpack. “I was just getting ready for the trip.”
“And dressing?” Terellin suggested.
Collins blushed. He wore boxers to bed rather than his usual briefs out of modesty, but it was still underwear. “Just getting to that, sir.”
A bit of testiness returned to the professor’s demeanor. “Well, hurry, please, Mr. Collins. I don’t want to have to explain this to the board. Or to the next fifteen people who want to know why they can’t keep a finch but I’ll let you turn the quadrangle into a barn. What’s next? Pigs?”
Collins tried a joke, though he was too nervous to make it a good one. “We’ve got some of the guinea variety at the lab.”
“No, thank you.” The philosophy professor turned on his heel. “Just get that horse out of here.”
“Right away,” Collins promised.
The professor glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you want me to let your department know you won’t be in today?”
Collins considered, imagining the philosophy professor delivering his cockamamie story to his crusty biology preceptor. The explanations that followed would probably turn wilder, enveloping him in an inescapable twist of increasingly outrageous lies. Ultimately, he would have to come up with a logical experiment involving horses or lose his fellowship. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll do it by e-mail.”
“All right,” Terellin said. “You just get that smelly animal out of here ASAP.”
“Consider it done.” This time, the professor crossed the room and exited into the hallway without looking back. When the door clicked shut, Collins sank down on the bed, feeling as tired as if he had jogged three miles. A furry muzzle jostled his hand, and he reached down to pet Korfius, only to realize the dog lay sleeping beside him. He opened his eyes to Zylas.
“You’re quick with words,” the rat said.
“A quick liar,” Collins grumbled. “Something to write home about.”
“So long as it’s for the right reasons.”
Collins simply shrugged. It was not the way his parents had raised him. The same parents who pretended to love one another throughout my childhood, then divorced and forgot all about me as soon as I left home. He realized they might not serve as stellar examples either.
Apparently sensing Collins’ continued consternation, Zylas elaborated. “So long as you don’t start equating whatever you want to ‘right,’ you don’t have a problem.”
Collins looked at the albino rat, who returned his stare, whiskers twitching earnestly. Deceive the philosophy professor, then talk philosophy with vermin. Mobilized, he rose, throwing up his hands at the whole ludicrous idea. “I’m getting dressed.”
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Collins pawed through his clothing, emerging with a green pocket tee, comfortable jeans, gym socks, and a clean pair of briefs. Turning his back to the window and Falima, he removed his sleeping boxers, then pulled on his briefs and last night’s jeans. He shook out the T-shirt. “This warm enough for the weather there?” He did not worry about his packed clothing. Barring a sudden attack of insanity, he would not be staying in Barakhai long.
Zylas bobbed his head. “Though you might want something with sleeves in the woods. For protection.”
“For protection?” Collins knew Zylas meant from weeds, branches, and bugs, but he could not help adding, “What I really need for protection is Kevlar.”
“Kevlar?” Zylas repeated.
“Never mind.” Collins finished dressing, then pulled on his running shoes without bothering to untie them. He tossed the backpack across his left shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Zylas sprang to Collins’ shoulder. Falima whinnied, and Collins cringed. He whistled sharply. “Come on, Korfius.”
The dog leaped to immediate attention, then sprang from the bed to caper merrily at Collins’ feet. Usually, the dog did not get to accompany him in the morning, when he attended classes. Collins reached for the knob, then froze in mid-movement. “I’d better send that e-mail. And I’ll need something to lead Falima with.”
“Not necessary,” Zylas said in his ear. “We can ride her.”
Without a saddle or bridle? Like that wouldn’t raise any more suspicions. Collins snapped on the power-strip switch, then scanned the room for something ropelike while his Gateway EV70 and its accompanying paraphernalia ran through their opening sequence. “I know that. But no one’s going to believe my story if I hop up on a strange horse without anything to control it and don’t worry about getting bucked to China.” As his gaze fell across the familiar sparse furnishings, he mentally discarded using electrical cords, rubber bands, and duct tape. His desk filled one corner of the room, most of its surface taken up by the computer with its screen, speakers, CPU, and his Hewlett-Packard LaserJet printer perched upon the familiar, black and white cow-spotted box that had contained the shipped computer. An empty coffee can held pens, pencils, and markers and his assorted hard rock tapes and CDs. On the shelf above sat the combination CD player/double tape deck/radio that played them. Beside the desk, the television offered him nothing. He considered twisting up the bedsheets or rifling the dresser to find some clothing to sacrifice to the cause.
“Falima doesn’t need to be led.” Zylas’ whiskers tickled Collins’ ear. “She’ll come along.”
Focused on the rope hunt, Collins jumped at Zylas’ voice. “True, but it’ll look really weird if a horse follows me around like a puppy.”
The speakers blared out the six beats of music that indicated the computer’s readiness. Collins leaned over his chair, grasped the mouse, and clicked on the internet icon. The hourglass appeared, the icon darkened, and the globe whirled in the upper right-hand corner. Finally deciding he might have some rope in the kitchen junk drawer, Collins started to head back in that direction. A roll of speaker cord caught his eye as he moved, and he grabbed it instead.
The high-pitched dialing notes rang from the speakers, followed by the intermittent static and up-and-down resonances of the connection.
“What’s wrong with looking weird?” Zylas stared at the computer.
Collins seized the coated wire, then returned to the keyboard. “Nothing, if you’re a total geek, I guess. Mostly, I don’t want people asking a bunch of questions. If I start blathering on about other worlds and animals who turn into people, I’ll wind up locked in a loony bin like that first guy you lured to Barakhai.” Dropping the coil into his pocket, he tapped out a quick, vague e-mail about a family emergency, clicked off-line, and initiated shutdown. “People already think I’m too tight with my dog. Imagine what they’ll think if a horse just—” Abrupt realization bombarded him. “—or if I’ve got a rat hanging out on my shoulder!” He patted himself down for a suitable pocket and realized that the one in his T-shirt would prove way too flimsy and small and the ones in his jeans seemed equally unsuitable, mostly for anatomical reasons. Collins found himself wishing for the loose, coarse weave of Barakhain clothing. “You’ll have to go in the pack.”
“Great,” Zylas muttered with a discontented sigh. Nevertheless, he did as Collins bade.
Only then, Collins thought to mention, “Hey, you’re talking to me without your translation stone.”
The pack muffled Zylas’ reply. “I am.”
Collins had believed the rest of the question was implied; but, when Zylas did not go on, he asked, “How?”
“Prinivere.”
The response confused Collins, but he did not press Zylas for more information now. He would have the opportunity to ask all of his questions when he no longer had to worry about getting a horse out of the quad before anyone else saw her.
When the monitor went blank, Collins flicked the power switch. Walking to the door of his apartment, he opened it and stepped into a hallway empty except for the other doors and Professor Terellin who waited with his arms folded impatiently over his chest.
“Sorry.” Collins flushed. “Had to send that e-mail and pack a few things.”
The professor bobbed his head without speaking.
Collins hurried down the hallway and out the back door into the quadrangle, and Korfius followed. The false dawn painted red shadows across the benches spotted randomly around the central garden. Pathways crisscrossed the courtyard, leading to a dormitory, the English building, and the Student Union. Falima still stood peering into his window.
“Horse,” Collins whispered, not wanting to use her name for fear of exposing his lies.
Falima’s head jerked upward, then tipped sideways as she searched for him.
“Over here, Horse.”
Falima found Collins with one eye, then trumpeted out a welcoming whinny.
Cringing, Collins took out the speaker wire and unwrapped a length.
Falima ran to him with a speed that seemed unstoppable. Collins back-stepped and pressed against the building, but need not have worried. The horse came to an abrupt halt in front of him, prancing and snorting in greeting.
Collins wrapped the soft, pliable wire in a loop around Falima’s neck, guiding her away from the quadrangle, around the graduate student housing building, to the main walkway through the campus. Surreptitiously, he looked for droppings and noticed none. He did not know whether doing so might insult his friends, but he could not afford to leave such an obvious telltale. He could imagine the students trying to puzzle out a huge animal flop appearing in the quadrangle in the middle of the night. At the least, they would be watching for a major prank; at the worse, it would spark the very protest about pets that Professor Terellin wanted to avoid. I can’t have a gerbil, but you let someone walk their cow?
The cord proved as unnecessary as Zylas had claimed, but Collins continued the charade. The other professors and students already marveled at the close bond he shared with the dog who had run for help while he lay, seriously wounded, on the laboratory floor. Collins’ sudden ability to speak every human language had confounded his doctors, who had plied him with CT scans and MRIs, none of which had revealed anything abnormal. Apparently, magic doesn’t show up on X-ray. One more eccentricity would likely push him over the edge from a curiosity to an object of aversion. Students tended to tolerate diversity, so long as it had a logical and rational basis.
Collins continued through the dark toward Daubert Laboratories, willing the hulking buildings to pass by more swiftly. The walk seemed longer than usual, the sidewalk harder, the buildings less friendly. It all passed in a dim blur of light and shadow that little resembled the cheery, student-filled pathways of Algary’s days and evenings. The clop of Falima’s hooves echoed strangely between the buildings.
A security guard approached, gave a habitual cheery wave, then stopped short. He waited for Collins to reach him.
Though tempted to veer away, Collins kept to the concrete walkway. Anything else would appear suspicious. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” The stout, dour-faced guard studied the horse. “Interesting companions you have there.”
“It’s a horse.” Collins stated the obvious, so as not to appear to be hiding anything. As if I could stuff a horse under my shirt. He followed the security guard’s gaze with his own, only to notice a red eye peering through the inky curtain of Falima’s mane. Damn it, Zylas, I told you to stay in the pack. Suddenly, Collins realized the man had said companions, plural. Did he see Zylas? He tried to come up with a plausible explanation for a lab rat crawling freely over an unperturbed horse.
“And a dog,” the guard added, as if in answer to Collins’ concerns. His attention turned to the patchy hound, whose tail flopped back and forth like an overwound pendulum.
“The dog’s mine. Name’s Korfius.”
The guard’s gaze returned to the horse.
Glowering at Zylas, Collins answered the unspoken question. “I’m taking her to the lab.” This time, he spoke the truth, though he made no attempt to avoid the implication that he intended to use her in experiments.
The guard grunted. “You wouldn’t be planning some sort of practical joke, now, would you, kid?”
Collins gave the only answer anyone would, whether or not he intended such a thing. “No.”
“Can I see your ID?”
Collins didn’t fight, seeing no reason to prolong the encounter with argument. Preferring the guard’s focus to remain on him rather than the animals, he took his wallet from his pocket and presented his graduate student identification card.
The guard took it from him. “Collins,” he murmured. “Benton Collins.” He handed it back to Collins. “Now why does that sound familiar?”
Collins replaced the card and his wallet. “I’m the one who got beat up in the lab a year and a half ago at Thanksgiving.”
The guard snapped his fingers. “Right. We took a lot of flak for that.”
The Lost Dragons of Barakhai Page 2