by Phil Stern
“That there girl came from the lake!” the old lady now yelled, vigorously pumping a finger in Caylee’s direction. “She’s one of them people, I’m sure!”
As vague as this sounded to Caylee’s ears, the police officers now ran even faster. “Get down, you scum!” the first bobby yelled. “On the ground!”
Without breaking stride both men pulled out truncheons, menacingly raising them. Continuing their charge unabated, it was obvious the lawmen intended to just rush over and strike Caylee down. In all likelihood, a lively beating would be administered whether she followed their instructions or not.
So instead, the sorceress merely sidestepped the initial overhand strike aimed at her head. Grabbing the lumbering man’s weapon arm on the way down, she easily twisted the truncheon away, all while simultaneously tripping and flinging him into the lake. Crashing head first into the mucky water near the bank, he lay unnaturally still.
The second bobby used a little more technique, flicking the end of his stick at Caylee’s face with a quick backhand. Still, Caylee was faster. Blocking his blow with her stolen weapon, she then landed a hard cross on his jaw with her left fist. As he stumbled backwards she politely swept out his near knee from behind with the truncheon, thus saving his kneecap for another day.
Landing flat on his back, the air almost audible whooshed from the officer’s lungs. A mere tap to his stomach with the truncheon ensured he wouldn’t be getting up for at least a menlar, maybe two.
Which is all the time she needed. Languidly dropping the stick beside him, the enchantress merely turned about and jogged off through the park.
Ducking around a large oak tree, Caylee was relieved she’d been able to rely on purely mundane tactics. One never knew what was common or acceptable in any new world, and keeping magical abilities secret was often an advantage. As far as the authorities knew, Caylee was just another bit of inter-dimensional flotsam swept up through the lake. Depending on how things developed, this could be rather important.
Cresting the small rise over which the bobbies had first come, Caylee looked out over the near section of a city. As she’d suspected, the park was indeed in the middle of a large urban area, with turn-of-the-century architecture and technology. Surrounding roadways were cobblestoned, with horses and fine carriages trotting by. Yet the inherent dichotomy of these types of societies was also in immediate evidence. Even at this distance, she could see the haughty, upper crust vehicles passing right by run down buildings, complete with street beggars eagerly holding out tiny cups.
Caylee frowned, thoughtfully looking all about. So this was Lord Balen’s underworld? While clearly a society in flux, Lysandy’s mythology was a bit exaggerated.
Still, there was an almost pathological opposition to newcomers. Inter-dimensional visitors were apparently beaten on sight, with those returning to Lysandy showing similar abuse. Thus, a more detailed reconnaissance was in order.
She’d stay a day or two, long enough to interact with some locals and get a real sense of the place. It would be nice to find a Boundary portal, but if worst came to worst she’d just dive back into the lake for the return trip. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as rough as the way here, but posed little difficulty.
Now smiling broadly, Caylee realized that she’d actually discovered a new world! Junior or not, the Coven Council would be very interested in her report. No doubt, Eleanor herself would be quite pleased.
Eagerly spinning about, the sorceress then lightly ran down the other side of the rise, slipping from the park at a seldom-used corner.
*****
Back down by the lake, a bedraggled tiger cub dragged herself from the water. Hesitantly looking about, the young feline was just in time to see Caylee disappearing within the light tree cover, making her way up a hill.
The cub mentally called out, but the human was very limited, and she was already too far away to hear. That was very annoying.
With a great sigh and a vigorous shake, Pend tried to get rid of all that annoying water. But her fur remained unduly wet, and without any sun was likely to remain that way for awhile. This, Pend decided, was not at all pleasant.
Why, of all the means of travel available, had Caylee chosen to swim to this other world? The next time her friend tried to slip off without her, she might not even follow.
Irritably wiping her face back with a huge cub paw, the tiger princess took stock of her surroundings. One man sat coughing and gasping on the bank nearby, while another lay very still, his head completely submerged in the water. Pend thought he might be dead.
That was sad, but sticking one’s head in a lake wasn’t very smart. Cautiously sniffing the breeze, the tiger princess almost immediately crinkled her nose in disgust. Neither human smelled very good. Maybe that’s why the dead guy had tried to bathe in the first place.
Indeed, a veritable cacophony of smells hit her tender nose all at once, including horse dung, rotting flowers, garbage, dirt, and mud. The odor of burnt wood and oil also swirled about, along with untold humans and smaller domestic animals.
This wasn’t at all like clean, barely-populated Lysandy! Sitting back on her haunches, the cub glanced about in renewed distaste. Of all the places to go, why had Caylee wished to visit here?
But events close by once more grabbed her attention. Many more men, most with odd hats, whistles, and sticks, were rapidly approaching the two downed bobbies. Everyone was very agitated, pointing and yelling. Hiding behind a tree, Pend wistfully peered out at the growing mob some fifty feet away.
She really wanted to meet everyone, but now didn’t seem to be the time. First of all they smelled really, really bad, even worse than the first two men. And somehow, the tiger princess suspected these new humans weren’t at all nice.
So instead of socializing, the disappointed cub turned about and loped off through the grass. With any luck she could circle around and join up with her friend some distance away. And wouldn’t Caylee be happy when she saw how Pend had followed her here! No doubt she’d give her a good head scratch and lots of tuna fish before they explored this new world together.
Of course, the young human should have invited her along to begin with, but she’d overlook this obvious transgression. Royalty, her mother always cautioned, should be forgiving of failures in other creatures. Pend tried to remember that, even though it was hard sometimes.
Dashing up a tree to chase a squirrel away, she then teleported directly back down to the ground. Picking up Caylee’s faint scent on the morning breeze, the cub then dashed off to find her magical friend.
*****
With long, powerful strides, a tall lord approached the crime scene by the lake. About forty years old, he was dressed in a fine jacket, pants, and top hat. In an odd burst of color, his hands were covered in blood-red gloves. Two bodyguards trailed respectfully behind, suspiciously glancing all about.
By now the immediate area had been cordoned off, with this general section of the park cleared of idle gawkers. Surprised at his appearance, an outer layer of uniformed police and investigators melted from the lord’s path, respectfully touching their hats. Without acknowledging them at all, the grim-faced newcomer ducked underneath the crime scene tape and stopped on the very edge of the bank, before it sloped down into the water. All conversation now ceased, the large group of law enforcement nervously awaiting the aristocrat’s reaction.
The dead bobby hadn’t been moved, his head still submerged. Contemplating this for some moments, the lord raised an eyebrow. “And the other man? Where is he?”
“Here, Lord Jarton.” Nervously stepping forward, the second bobby took a deep breath. Hatless, left arm hanging painfully in a sling, he still gave a slight bow. “Constable Ben Updike, at your service.”
“At my service?” Jarton softly repeated, now fully turning to Updike. “And who’s service were you in when your partner was killed?”
“If you please, my Lord.” First helplessly nodding at the dead man, Updike then nervously peeked up i
nto Jarton’s haughty visage. “The girl was very quick, she was. Took Joe’s truncheon clean away from him, then threw him in the lake. Hit his head, he must of, on a rock.”
“That’s quite the analysis, Constable Updike.” Eyes narrowing, Jarton nevertheless smiled. “And where were you during all this?”
“I was here, my Lord! But she hit me with Joe’s stick, threw me down, she did. By the time I came to…”
“By the time you recovered, your partner was dead,” Jarton finished. “That much I see.”
“But, my Lord…”
“This girl, Updike. Did she display any powers? Special abilities? Think, man.”
With almost comical concentration, Updike considered the matter. “Not that I could see, my Lord. And yet…”
“And yet what?”
“She was a dander, sir.” With a helpless shrug, Updike nodded at the lake. “When they come up from there, who knows? That’s why we beat ‘em down first, ask questions later.”
“Indeed, that’s why we do,” Lord Jarton pleasantly agreed, briskly pulling off a single red glove. “Or, at least, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Without warning, Jarton’s eyes turned a blazing silver. Naked hand darting out, he grabbed the unfortunate bobby around the neck.
Instantly in great pain, head desperately twisting to one side, Updike screamed as his flesh began burning. Choking and gasping, he could only feebly swipe at Jarton’s iron grip. Effortlessly lifted several inches off the ground, Updike’s face now turned a deep purple, his arms sporadically twitching about. No one made a move to help the constable, everyone just impassively watching.
With a twitch of his wrist, Jarton finally sent Updike crashing head first into the lake, right next to his dead partner. Head also completely underwater, his feet and arms twitched spasmodically for some moments before becoming still. Violent undulations emanated out over the surface of the lake, gradually dying away into nothingness.
“Find this girl.” Turning to the senior officer there, Jarton’s eyes were still burning silver. “Make it a priority. She killed two officers without provocation.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The police captain hesitated, trying not to retch from the stench of burned human flesh. “But if this dander indeed has some dark powers, then we might…”
“Use your best men,” Jarton instructed. “I’ll help if necessary, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Brusquely turning on his heel, Lord Jarton quickly left the scene of the now-double homicide far behind, his two men again in tow.
*****
That afternoon newsboys stood on nearly every corner, frantically waving the latest edition about.
“Read all about it!” they gushed. “Dander Kills Two Bobbies! Wild Girl On The Loose! Donlon In A Panic!”
A thin, lanky youth, dressed in plain clothes and worn shoes, watched this for some moments. Seeing a high and mighty lord buy a paper, glance at the headline, and then almost immediately throw it away, the 21-year old quickly swooped in to retrieve it from the trash.
Returning to the nearby recessed doorway, Peck thoughtfully perused the article. Sourced primarily from the account of a Lady Lothbury, who happened to be walking her dog at the time in Nellon Park, it told of a beautiful blonde dander single-handedly killing two bobbies by the lake. Supposedly, the girl had somehow blown up into twice her own size to slay the officers, breathing fire and casting lightning bolts all about. The two constables, the paper’s readers were clearly given to understand, hadn’t stood a chance against this supernatural apparition.
“What you got there?” Strolling up, a young woman about his own age stood up on her toes to glance at the paper as well. “Reading the funnies, are you?”
Peck raised an eyebrow. “Not very funny for two lids in the park, that’s for sure.”
“Wow! Really?” Molly peered at the copy with great interest, even though Peck knew she was barely literate. “They’re dead?”
“As doornails, luv.” Closing the paper with a snap, the working-class youth tucked it inside his old, worn jacket. “Done in by some fire-breathing girl, they say.”
Molly considered this. “She come from the lake in Nellon Park, she did?”
“The very one.”
“Don’t normally get much fight from that crew, do they?”
“No, they don’t.” Watching the people stride by on the street just beyond their slight alcove, Peck considered the matter. Though visitors from the Other Worlds could appear in any of a dozen lakes scattered throughout the city, the poor sods popping up in Nellon were usually quite meek. Generally, the police beat them down without much bother. “This is one dander I’d like to meet, that’s for sure.”
“Why? ‘Cause she’s pretty?”
“That so bad a reason?”
Molly shrugged. “You might get scorched too, I’m thinking.”
“Not much risk of that, I’ll bet, unless you’re a lid with a stick.” Putting an arm around Molly’s shoulder, Peck pulled her out onto the sidewalk. “Come on, luv. The boss will be scorching us if we’re late again.”
Molly giggled, easily falling into step beside him. Ducking around all the finer folks sharing the same sidewalk, they soon turned down a darker alley, making their way to the watch factory for the beginning of their ten-hour shift.
As he toiled away in the hot, dank factory, Peck couldn’t help thinking of the strange girl from Nellon Park. While the newspaper account was obviously laden with wild exaggerations, it no doubt did contain a kernel of truth. Clearly, in order to vanquish two bobbies that easily, this newcomer possessed not only some type of special ability, but also the gumption to use it.
Someone like that could be very, very useful to him, in any number of ways.
*****
After escaping Nellon Park, Caylee faded into the fabric of the city. Getting a quick sense of Donlon’s class system, she soon ducked into a dark ally and conjured typical working woman clothes. Now attired in a worn skirt, blouse, and shoes, hair tucked underneath a faded cap, and even a spot of grime strategically placed on one cheek, the sorceress looked no different from any one of a thousand girls skulking about the urban streets.
And what a city it was! Essentially sight-seeing the rest of the day, Caylee passed by hundreds of elegant brownstones, large manors, and even a small castle. A river ran right through the center of Donlon, spanned by ornate bridges in a dozen places. Cobblestoned boulevards were lined with more lamps and benches, while additional small parks and statue-adorned squares were scattered about. All in all, a very impressive low-tech society.
Yet along with all the architecture and fancy clothes, a definite squalor permeated many parts of this new world. There were flop houses and overcrowded apartment buildings, greasy taverns and dirty factories. In some places, slop was simply dumped into the largely un-sewered streets. Beggars and prostitutes were surprisingly common, at least in certain areas. Even with a large number of soup kitchens and indigent housing available, poverty and homelessness was obviously a chronic problem.
But that wasn’t even the most shocking thing about Donlon. Turning a corner late that afternoon, Caylee was stunned to find a manacled work crew hand-scouring a city street.
Four bobbies surrounded the dozen prisoners, menacingly tapping truncheons against their own legs. The eight men and four women, all connected by chains, were pathetically scrubbing away at the cobblestones. It was obviously grueling work, with several of them painfully shifting about on bloody knees and worn palms. Without question, they’d already been at it for quite some while.
One girl, close to Caylee’s own age, was trying not to cry as she ineffectively dabbed at a darkened stain. A bobby soon slapped her on the shoulder with his stick, yelling vague threats. Now openly sobbing, she nearly fell face first into the dirty street.
Yet no one seemed to care. Flowing by the work crew on either sidewalk, fine gentlemen and ladies pretended not to notice the degrading specta
cle. The only overt reaction came from a particularly ponderous old woman who merely paused long enough to mutter “dirty danders!” A constable respectfully touched his cap as she lumbered on her way.
Even the working class, in their near-rags and obvious ill-fortune, walked past the chain-gang without any obvious emotion. No doubt, they’d learned long ago to mind their own business. If anything, perhaps, this virtual slave-labor served as a stark reminder that life in Donlon could be far worse than their own current situation.
Taking a deep breath, and doing her best not to draw any undue attention, Caylee wandered closer to the street cleaners. As she suspected, the Coven operative plainly saw a wavy line behind the right ear on one prisoner, the same native mark she’d seen back in Alya’s village.
“Get a move on, girl!” one of the bobbies now barked at her, swiping vaguely to one side with his truncheon. “Nothing to see here!”
Hesitating only a moment, Caylee respectfully touched her cap and walked away.
Of course, her first instinct was to toss the bobbies aside and free the poor souls cruelly toiling away. But in the long run, she knew, that would accomplish nothing. A single episode, even one as dramatic as freeing a dozen prisoners in full view of the city elite, would do nothing to change overall conditions here.
Indeed, the Coven’s firm policy in these situations was to work underneath the surface, agitating for change in a gradual, organic manner. Oh, they certainly stepped in to protect women and children on an individual level, no matter what level of technological or magical sophistication a world might boast. But every effort was made to hide their own involvement, generally leaving the society none the wiser.
On occasion, the Coven openly fought to protect isolated human enclaves, especially against predatory, magically-powerful creatures. In an extreme situations, operatives might even assassinate a particularly evil leader. Yet those were exceptional actions, and were only undertaken after much debate by the Coven Council itself.