by John Zakour
I cast a quick glance toward Sturm’s monitors. Sure enough, the images were clear to my left eye and they were an interesting array of sights: the main entrance, the guard post, a line of coats on a rack, an overhead view of the compound, the hallway leading to the dining room, a thirty meter long shoe tree, the kitchen, the pool, a four-story high rack of designer dresses.
“Every third image is clothing-related,” HARV said. “I’m cataloguing the sequence for future reference.”
I nodded and turned my attention back to the Pfauhans.
“So you think the murderer was someone inside the house. Not an intruder?”
“All we’re saying,” Drang replied, “is that no one snuck into the compound. The murderer was either a resident or a guest.”
“Or an employee,” I said.
“Or an employer,” Sturm spat.
“You think Ona killed her own sister?”
“He’s saying no such thing,” Drang replied.
“Not officially anyway,” the cousin muttered.
“All we’re saying is that there was no love lost between the Quads.”
“I understand that,” I said. “But was there any love lost between you and the Quads?”
Drang turned his gaze back toward me and quickly buzzed back to the window.
“Do you have something against us, Mister Johnson?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “The question is, do you have something against me?”
“What do you mean by that?”
I reached into the pocket of my trenchcoat and pulled out the glove from the suit of armor that had attacked me.
“I was attacked yesterday in this house,” I said, showing them the hand. “Maybe the attackers were friends of yours?”
Sturm got up from his workstation and took the glove from me. He gently fingered its robotic innards, inspecting the workmanship. Drang floated over to the window and looked at the glove through the glass. Then they turned to me.
“You think we built this?” Drang asked.
“It’s up your alley, isn’t it?”
They turned to one another and then burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“This isn’t up our alley,” Sturm said, holding the glove to his forehead “This isn’t even in our neighborhood.”
“Yes, it’s a whole other city…”
“Another province entirely…”
“Try not to stretch the metaphor too far,” I said. “Just get to the point.”
“This technology is prehistoric,” Drang laughed. “We built better stuff than this while we were still in the womb.”
Sturm snapped his fingers and half a dozen golf ball-size metal spheres immediately flew from his workstation and hovered in the air before him.
“This is the kind of bot we use today,” he said motioning toward the spheres. “A hundred times smaller and about a thousand times more powerful than whatever used that metal hand.”
He tossed the glove in the air. The six spheres buzzed after it as it flew, encircling it like a team of stunt planes. The lead sphere cast beam of green light on the glove and stopped it at the apex of the toss. It gently spun the glove around and wiggled its fingers in a silly, little wave-like motion. I took the glove from the green field and stared at the sphere as it hovered before my eyes.
“Impressive,” I said. “Is this what you use to monitor the compound?”
“We have thirteen hundred spheres currently in use,” Drang said with a nod. “One thousand in the ziggurat alone. They monitor, they track, and, if need be, they defend.”
“They’re armed?” I asked.
Sturm tilted his head ever so slightly. I saw tiny red lights on the five spheres still above him flash three quick times then the spheres fired thin blue laser blasts at the sixth bot hovering just in front of me. The tiny beams hit the metal surface and I felt a quick blast of heat as the sphere was enveloped, whisper-silent, for the briefest of nanos. Then it was gone. The only things that remained of the tiny bot were the miniscule gray ashes that gently floated to the floor.
“Yes,” Sturm said with a smirk, “they are very armed.”
“Great,” I said. “It’s always nice to end an interview with a thinly veiled death threat.”
28
The entrance to Vyrmont was an apparent brick wall beneath a stone gargoyle in a rundown building on Mission Street. In order to activate the portal, I had to recite an incantation, which I won’t repeat here because it contained a lot of touchy-feely earth mother stuff that would ruin my tough guy image. Suffice to say that I had to wash my mouth out with bourbon and nails afterward.
And, for what it’s worth, HARV wasn’t buying the whole mystic portal act.
“It’s a teleporter, with pre-set coordinates and a voice activation system. The rest is just atmosphere.”
But real magic or not, the mystical route was the only way I was going to get any information from Threa, so I said the incantation, clicked my heels together and stepped through the brick wall. A nano later, HARV’s hologram and I were standing on a misty patch of moss.
“Nice place,” I said. “Any idea where we are?”
“Probably a sound stage somewhere,” HARV replied.
“Close to Frisco, I hope?”
“Strangely, I can’t tell. It seems that our present location isn’t registering on the GPS. There may be a cloaking system.”
“Or we could be out of range…like maybe in another dimension?”
“That’s a rather quantum leap of logic.”
“It’s been a quantum leap kind of week. Let’s look around.”
We stepped through the thin layer of mist and then beheld Vyrmont.
The first thing that struck me was that it was very…soft. Not the texture but the appearance. It had that fuzzy, slightly-out-of-focus, softcore-porn look to it. And there was a lot of mist around. Odd patches here and there that looked like they were decoration. I had to admit though that the place was nice to look at (if you’re into ferns and things). The forest was lush, filled with evergreen trees, moss covered earth and big-leafed plants. It also smelled nice. Musky and rich, which I found somewhat tranquil.
“Well, this isn’t so bad,” I said.
The second thing that struck me (unfortunately) was a giant reptilian tail.
It swung out of the mist like a moray eel after a fish, its deep green scales moving effortlessly through the air in fierce undulation. Meter long spikes of muddy turquoise dotted the top side, clustering at the tip like a saurian morningstar. It swatted me with the blunt of its tip, sparing me the spikes but it knocked me hard to the ground. The moss and my armor took the brunt of the blow but, still, it was a sensation that I would have preferred to live without.
“What was that?”
“A giant reptilian tail,” HARV whispered in my head.
“Is it attached to a giant reptile?”
“Not exactly,” HARV replied.
“What do you mean by that?”
That’s when I felt the ground begin to shake. It wasn’t the low rumble of an earth tremor like we hear every so often in Frisco but rather terrible rhythmic rumbles, like someone banging the earth’s core with a drum hammer.
Or like footsteps.
Something very large was coming out of the mist.
I lifted my head and turned as the vapors parted, pushed aside by the great form emerging from within. It was green and gray, six meters long and carried a steamy smell of ash, brimstone and death.
And that was just the head.
I lay back down on the moss and looked wistfully up at the gray, starless sky.
“It’s a dragon, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” HARV said.
I popped my gun into hand and rolled over onto my knees.
“You know, I’m getting really tired of all this medieval crap.”
“Actually, dragons are more mythical than medieval,” HARV corrected.
; The dragon kept its head low to the ground, the majority of its body still hidden by the mist, and stretched its neck toward me slowly. Its nostrils, big enough to snort bowling balls, flared like hungry black holes and trails of smoke and yellow spittle seeped from its giant mouth.
“Be you a knight,” it said in a gravelly, though distinctly feminine voice, “or acolyte.”
“Neither,” I said. “I’m here to see…”
The dragon’s tail whipped around from behind me, and knocked me again to the ground.
“Speak in verse,” it growled, “or feel the curse.”
“What was that?”
The tail hit me again, this time a hard cuff to the head (although, I assume, gentle by dragon standards). It knocked me flat to the ground and pinned me there with its weight.
“Speak in verse,” it growled, “or feel the curse.”
“It wants you to answer it in rhyme,” HARV whispered.
“What?”
“Answer it in rhyme.”
“What is this, the mystical realm of Dr. Seuss?”
The tail pushed on me a little harder and drove me a couple centimeters deeper into the moss.
“One last chance, ignorant stranger. Then you’ll be in mortal danger.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have come to talk to Threa. Can I make that any…clear-ah?”
“Ugh,” HARV said. “You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t squash you for that.”
The dragon moved its head closer and sniffed me.
“Your rhymes are of the simplest rudiment,” the dragon said. “But do you have an appointment?”
“Threa is expecting me. Go and ask her, you will see.”
“Don’t command me, little man. What do they call you in your land?
“Zachary Johnson is my name…um, solving mysteries is my claim to fame.”
“You know, I might squash you for that one,” HARV quipped.
The dragon pulled its head back into the mist and left me pinned to the ground beneath its tail.
“This is so embarrassing,” I said.
“I don’t know,” HARV replied. “You’ve been in worse waiting rooms.”
“Name one.”
“There’s the DMV.”
“…Name another.”
The dragon’s head reappeared from the mist before HARV could speak.
“Mr. Johnson, you are free to enter. Pithea and LeFee will guide you to the center.”
“Who and what?”
Two more forms emerged from the mist. One was a winged horse that was so white, it hurt my eyes to look at it. The other was a familiar-looking, silver-hued tiny nymph. They both landed beside me as the dragon slid its tail from my back.
“Hello, ugly male oppressor,” the nymph said tugging gently at my nose with both hands. “Ready to supplicate at the dress hem of the ethereal mistress of Vyrmont?”
I rubbed my temples gently and let out a heavy sigh.
“You know, I’m starting to think that these nymphs have issues.”
Threa was apparently some distance away and had sent me an escort. The horse, folded its giant wings to its side and motioned, rather communicatively, for me to climb onto her back.
“I don’t suppose I can just walk.”
“Sorry, oh, ugly one,” the nymph said. “But we have to traverse the scrying pools of little girl dreams, the forests of maiden tingly feelings and the canyon of lost estrogen. Trust me, you do not want to walk through that.”
“I guess not,” I said, climbing onto the horse. “But I warn you, I’m not much of a cowboy.”
“Good,” said the horse in a beautiful throaty tone. “Because you’re going to ride side saddle.”
“What? Why?” I was more thrown by the side-saddle request than by the talking horse, which should indicate right there how strange things were getting.
“Because everyone rides side-saddle in Vyrmont.”
I sighed and swung both my legs to one side of the horse, crossing my legs, daintily, at the ankles. (Yes, daintily. There’s just no other way to do it).
“Of course they do.”
29
We found Threa on a mist shrouded mountain top, carefully moving several large, oddly shaped rocks about the grounds. Now, I use the word “moving,” in a very non-traditional sense here, because she wasn’t actually lifting the rocks herself, at least not with her hands. She was laying her fingertips gently upon the kiloton size rocks one at a time and, at her touch a gentle green light would emanate from her palms, the stone would be bathed in the glow and then just sort of rise into the air, floating a meter or two off the ground and go wherever Threa’s hand would gesture it.
“Neat trick.”
“She’s using hidden anti-grav apparatuses and some pyrotechnics,” HARV said inside my head.
“Can you register any energy levels from the anti-grav devices?”
“Actually, no,” HARV said. “They must be cloaked.”
“Or non-existent,” I said.
I have to admit that Threa cut a very striking figure in this setting. Her gown caught the hint of breeze on the air and moved gracefully about her body, hugging its curves in places, sliding aside to reveal teasing bits of skin in others. There was a radiance to her here, making her a gentle beacon of beauty surrounded by the mist and she seemed to emanate a strength of both body and spirit. I thought I detected a trace of sad desperation about her as well (but the air was pretty thin at that altitude so I might have been a little light-headed at the time).
The second of Threa’s surviving nymphs buzzed busily about her mistress’ head (doing no discernable work as far as I could tell). She saw me as the flying horse approached and made what I can only assume is an obscene gesture by land of fairy standards. But it got Threa’s attention who greeted me and sent the winged horse on its way.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Zachary. How goes things in the land beyond the mist?”
“Not so good, I’m afraid, Threa. Word is out about Foraa’s murder and there’s some pressure to charge Ona with the crime.”
“Surely, they don’t think she could have done such a thing.”
“They have no evidence at this point. They don’t even know for certain how Foraa died but there’s still some pressure.”
“You think she’s innocent, don’t you?”
“What I think doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s what I can prove that counts.”
“I suppose so.”
She turned back to her work and gently lowered a huge stone into place on the mossy ground.
“You look pretty busy up here,” I said. “What’s with all the rocks?”
“They’re druid stones,” Threa said. “I’m positioning them to form a scrying portal to let me glimpse the future.”
“That would be very helpful, I guess.”
“I’ve cast the rune several times since Foraa’s death, trying to glean a glimpse of the future from the mists.”
“Find anything interesting?”
She shook her head. “All I can see is darkness, a great cold void, bereft of all light, joy and life. I think the stones must be out of alignment or something.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so. I was never fond of voids.”
She turned back to the stones and lifted one with the green glow.
“So, I’m trying a new configuration. You don’t mind if I cast a rune while we chat, do you?”
“Go right ahead,” I said. “Let me know if you need me to help you move any of the druid rocks or anything.”
The nymphs flew behind Threa’s back as she manipulated the stones and silently stuck their tongues out at me. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore them.
“I just want to check a few things with you if that’s all right.”
“Go right ahead.”
“It was Ona who invited you all to dinner that night, correct?”
“I don’t know about the others. But Ona contacted me three nights before the murder and invited me to he
r home. She said it was time that we put the past behind us and mended mountains.”
“You mean mended fences.”
“We never did fences in our family. Things were always on a grander scale.”
The nymphs buzzed past my ears and gave me what sounded like the fairy raspberry. I waved them away, like I would any pixie-dust mosquitoes.
“So Ona brought you all together to talk about a settlement?”
“I’m sure that settling the legal disputes was part of it but I like to think that she wanted us to be a family again. Perhaps that is naïve of me.”
“It’s a nice thought, nonetheless.”
One nymph flew right up to my face, stuck her tongue out then spun around and mooned me. I took a swipe at her. As I did, the second one flew by and snatched the fedora from my head.
“You know the police found your third nymph dead at the crime scene. Did they tell you?”
“Yes. Poor LeFaeu. She was such a little spitfire.”
“Odd thing, though, she seems to be fading away. Any idea why that is?”
I lunged after the nymph with my hat, who fluttered just out of my reach.
“She’s returning to the magic from whence she came,” Threa said with a shrug, as though the answer were obvious.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I said. “But I guess the police figure that’s a little hard to put on an evidentiary report.”
The nymphs began tossing the hat back and forth over my head. I sighed and popped my gun into hand. They laughed at the sight of it at first, obviously certain that they were faster than my aim. But they froze in fear when I pointed the gun at Threa’s back.
“Ladies, give Mr. Johnson back his hat,” Threa ordered without turning around. “He is our guest. I expect you to treat him well.”
The nymphs and I locked eyes for a nano and they begrudgingly brought the hat back to me. I grabbed it and swatted at them with it before putting it back on.
“You know you never answered my question, Zachary,” Threa said, with her back still to me. “Do you believe that Ona’s innocent?”
“It’s my job to believe that, Threa. My question to you is, do you believe it?”
Threa set the stone she was holding into place and then turned at last to face me.