"This is where the tourism departments from each attending world will set up their displays during the Conclave," Kooper announced to a crowd of two hundred agents and ASD supervisors. "You should have a list of names and associated members on your comp-vids already. Each of you has an assigned world to investigate, and be sure to listen carefully while you guide them through the process of setting up in here. You know already that most worlds will be represented, so make sure you act appropriately and be knowledgeable about their tourism industry and displays. Any information you find pertinent will be sent to the command center we set up upstairs."
"You suspect that some of them may be associated with the Prophet?" One of the supervisors asked. Kooper had already gone through that information. It had taken two hours to bring everyone up to speed, too.
"At this point, anything is possible. You know he's infiltrated one criminal element, and we're still working on whether he has connections to other legitimate interests. If you see or hear anything suspicious, send the information to the command center. Discreetly, of course."
"What's his endgame? This Prophet person?" someone else asked.
"That's something we'd all like to know. Figure it out and I'll double your salary and hand you a promotion."
"Does Randl have anything to say about this?"
I recognized that voice—Chief Markus.
"What do you want to know?" I asked after Kooper motioned for me to come to the front of the gathered crowd.
"What you know, I suppose," Chief Markus said.
"This is what I have," I said and formed a three-dimensional, life-size image of the Prophet, complete with hooded cloak, before me.
I heard Kooper's intake of breath behind me, but I wanted these agents to know what they were dealing with. "You can come close and touch," I said. "I can't say for sure what his skin feels like, so I've extrapolated, somewhat. You can believe me when I say, however, that you never want to come this close to the real thing. You'll either die or become ensnared."
"Are those fine scales on his skin?" One of the first agents to approach the image asked after looking closely at the lower half of the Prophet's face. The rest was covered by the hood of his cloak, and wouldn't be seen by most.
"Yes. I have no idea whether he is a mutant or some race I haven't seen before."
"My guess is mutant," Kooper rumbled beside me. "Think about Lee'Qee," he added.
"I was thinking about it, Director. That doesn't mean he came from there, though. He could be from elsewhere."
"True." He was thinking the same as I—that I had a coin from Vogeffa II that was supplied by the Prophet. It could be a coincidence. More and more, I didn't believe that.
I'd seen him on the streets of Gungl in a dream. Whether that had already happened, or had yet to happen, I didn't know. I only knew that he was familiar with the city and at least one of its residents.
That's when it hit me. I would recognize the place of that meeting well enough. All I had to do was locate it and place my hand on a nearby wall or other structure to see what I wanted to see.
When this meeting is over, I need to visit Gungl, I informed Kooper.
Take someone with you, he warned. Don't stay gone too long.
No worries, I repeated one of David's favorite phrases. I'd take David with me—Vik and Dori, too, if they wanted to go. They could stand guard while I did my business there. As it turned out, Travis and Trent insisted on going with us, too, and Travis asked to be included in my visions, if any came.
With a reluctant sigh, I agreed.
Gungl, Vogeffa II
Travis
David grumbled at Randl when we arrived in Gungl—a heavy rain fell and our breaths plumed outward in the subsequent cold as we huddled against the wall of a building. Half the roof was gone, but a slight overhang above our heads kept some of the rain off.
The pounding of the rain against broken street stones became so loud after our arrival that I couldn't hear Randl's reply.
What are we looking for? Trent sent.
He says it's a place he saw in his dreams—where he saw the Prophet speaking to another man.
This place looks even more decayed than when we were here last time, Trent observed.
He was right—in part. The rain wasn't helping our view or opinion of the place. Gungl was falling quickly.
I can do this alone, Randl said.
No, Trent and I sent at the same moment. Our orders from Kooper were to stay with Randl the entire time.
Then I'll have to shield and warm us while we search the city, Randl cautioned.
He still hadn't forgiven me for taking information to Kooper last time. Then do it, I said. Trent and I could warm ourselves, but David, Vik and Dori couldn't.
The effect was immediate. No rain dripped on us and we were dry and warm. This is what I'm looking for, Randl sent, while an image accompanied his words.
All of us saw the place—and the Prophet's meeting with another man, whose back was turned toward us. I struggled to hold the image long enough to recognize the street location again—because the Prophet and his minion wouldn't be there when we arrived.
I worried, however, that what we might see in Randl's vision afterward would be frightening.
There's a chunk out of that nearby wall that looks like a face, Dori pointed out.
She'd looked more carefully than I had.
And a cross-pattern in the empty spaces between street stones, Vik added. Clearly, he'd been the outstanding agent Kooper said he was. Vik's observation skills were excellent.
There was something else to this, however. My attempt to use my Looking skills failed.
Looking was a gift Trent and I received from our mother—that of focusing on a single thing and either finding it or discovering more about it. I had a feeling that if we'd been Looking for anything else in Gungl, we could have found it.
This—the Prophet and perhaps a Sirenali or their bones were involved somehow. That meant we had to search for it like anyone else—by walking the streets to find it.
I had a feeling Randl knew the same thing—and had the same sort of talent, whether he called it that or not.
The rain hadn't let up, and still sent rivers of water down the streets we walked, since any bare patches of ground were already filled to the brim and overflowing. Even though I was warm enough and dry enough beneath Randl's shield, I still hunched my shoulders and trudged beside my comrades, looking for elusive signs of a place where the Prophet had met an unnamed man.
Avii Castle, Le-Ath Veronis
Quin
"You asked to see me?" Brandl stepped onto the library balcony, where I sat on a comfortable bench, reading a book Daragar had brought to me. It was a history book, written by his father, Nefrigar, about an ancient world that had died long ago.
"Yes," I set the book aside and smiled at Brandl. "My mother left a gift for you. She gave a similar gift to Randl—to protect him."
"I already have plenty of protection," Brandl began. I knew all about the disguises and the ones charged with impersonating Brandl, to throw anyone off. Those protections would work—against normal evils.
The Prophet wasn't a normal evil, or so Zaria told me when she left the small box with me at breakfast.
"I will be leaving soon to attend Conclave, and it's important that you have this now," I lifted the small box from the bench beside me and held it out to him.
"What is it?" he asked, taking the small box in hands that were used to hard work.
"It's a medallion. Randl wears his always, as should you, even in the bath. Never take it off. Please. It will protect you—and the knowledge of your son."
"It has my name on it," Brandl pulled the medallion and chain from the box. The gold glinted in the late afternoon sunlight as he studied it. "I've never worn jewelry," he added, his eyes focusing on me again.
"Wear this no matter what, I beg you," I said.
"Very well." He pulled the chain over his neck and allowed the medallion
to slide beneath his shirt. "How does it work?"
"I have no idea. Zaria does. Perhaps you should ask her," I smiled at Brandl. "Be safe—always. You are family to us."
"Thank you—and thank Zaria."
"You are welcome."
New Fyris, Harifa Edus
Morrett
"Morrett? When did you arrive?" Amlis rose from behind his desk and blinked at my sudden appearance in his study. If Quin hadn't healed him from his madness, in addition to his mortal wounds, Zaria would never have asked me to perform this errand for her.
I signed to tell Amlis my arrival was recent. He nodded his understanding. I was grateful to be communicating with a sane man instead of what he'd been a year earlier. Pulling two boxes from my trouser pocket, I set them on Amlis' desk.
What's this?" He studied the boxes for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine again.
Gifts, I informed him in fingerspeech. From Zaria, I added. For you and Rodrik.
"Why would she send anything to us?"
I shrugged. Open, I signed to him.
He opened the one bearing his name and pulled out the medallion. It was quite fine and fit enough for any Prince to wear.
Wear always. Never remove, my fingers moved deftly. Zaria says so. Protection.
"Protection from what?"
Evil. Death. Many other things.
"I suppose this has something to do with the upcoming Conclave?"
Yes. I nodded to emphasize my signing.
"Very well." He slipped the chain around his neck. "I suppose I'll have to convince Rodrik to wear his, now."
Yes. I nodded again.
"Thank you, Morrett. I don't suppose I could convince you to work for me again?"
No. That sign indicated my final answer. I enjoy working with King Rylend and his son, Prince Bel Erland. My fingers flew through the spellings of their names.
"I understand. A little, anyway. Thank you for bringing these," he tapped the boxes. "Will I see you at Conclave?"
I gave a half-nod. I would accompany the King of Karathia to Campiaa. I was sure we'd see Amlis in passing—somewhere.
Gungl, Vogeffa II
Randl
It took nearly two hours to find the place, and by that time, we were all weary of the rain, the search and the rising tension, which I hadn't contemplated yet. At least I didn't feel eyes on us this time, but that absence also worried me.
Where had the people of Gungl gone?
Travis echoed my thoughts as we approached the cross-shaped gap in street stones, not far from the wall where Dori had pointed out the hole resembling a face.
Where is everybody? he asked, squaring his shoulders as if warding off a chill.
That worries me—that I don't feel anyone watching, I replied, before stopping short several feet from the empty, cross-shaped gap.
Let's get this over with, David complained. He felt it, too, whatever it was.
Follow me, I told the others, giving the cross-shape a wide berth. Something about it bothered me, but I couldn't explain why.
Not yet.
With Dori at my back, Travis and Trent beside her and Vik and David two steps away from the twins, I set my hand on the wall next to the face-shaped gap, before including my companions in what appeared in my visions.
Holding Facility, Campiaa
Kooper
"The one who saved you and your crew also saved your dog," I handed the photograph from the bedside table to Charla. "Now, why would you have a photograph of Jewl Yarro beside your bed?"
Charla's face paled when I mentioned her mother, but other than that small sign, she didn't show any reaction.
"Barkins is all right?" she asked instead.
"Yes, he's fine and being cared for by someone who loves animals. Now, what I need from you is the reason someone posing as you took over your home."
"I don't have an answer," she lied.
"Yes, you do."
The IV was still taped to the back of one hand, delivering much-needed fluid to her body, and she'd eaten solid food for the first time at breakfast that morning. The physicians on duty said she was well enough to answer questions.
She sat in a chair beside her infirmary bed, while I sat in another, brought in for the purpose of questioning her.
There would be no regular visitors for this patient. "Most people believe you're dead—that you died in the fire that consumed your house, instead of the one posing as you."
"I don't care about that." Her voice was sullen.
"I believe your mother cares about that."
"My mother is dead."
"Your mother is Jewl Yarro. The last I checked, she wasn't dead."
This time, my accusation caused her body to jerk—a reaction to the hidden truth I'd spoken. "We have Poll Endicutt in custody, too," I added. She turned her head away before I could see the recognition in her eyes.
"What do you expect me to do about that? I don't know anybody by that name," she snapped.
"He knows you," I said.
A hissing breath escaped her lips. If she weren't in custody herself, I imagined that Poll's life would be over quite soon. If she couldn't accomplish that feat, her mother surely would on her daughter's behalf.
"I'd like for you to contact your mother," I held out an unregistered comp-vid. "Tell her what you refuse to tell me—that someone kidnapped you and tried to kill you, to take over your criminal empire. Tell Jewl we want to make a deal with her regarding these usurpers."
"Hmmph."
"Don't you want her to stop grieving? For Barkins to stop grieving? He saved your life, you know, by scratching on the bedroom wall and leading my rescue party right to you."
"How the hell did you even find out I'd been replaced?" Charla demanded.
"I have resources you have no knowledge of," I replied. "Some of them—let's say they defy the imagination."
"I'll bet you do. Why is the ASD even here? This is the jurisdiction of the CSD."
"Jett and I know one another very well. I doubt you'd prefer to be talking to him right now. He's extremely upset, and may not be so willing to cut a deal with you—or your mother."
Jett was upset—that part was true. As for his willingness to cut a deal, we hadn't really discussed it yet. Charla had been operating as a legal, upstanding citizen of Campiaa, so he was certainly angry about that. He and his team were only now beginning to make discoveries and assumptions regarding what Charla's and Jewl's relationship could accomplish without anyone the wiser.
Charla knew I couldn't charge her with a crime in the Campiaan Alliance—I had no real jurisdiction over Campiaan citizens. I was here as a go-between, to convince Charla to cooperate.
"At least tell me about your kidnappers. Anything could be helpful," I coaxed.
"Hmpph. That filth? I'm glad they're all dead. Losing my house was worth it, just to kill all of them."
"Did they say what they wanted? What their purpose was? Did they ask for money?"
"They wanted my contacts in Campiaa City. I gave them that and they still locked me in that room."
"Now we're getting somewhere," I said. "I need those contacts, too. Give them to me and I'll see that Jett doesn't charge you for concealing information regarding known criminals."
"I want to see Barkins, first. You could be lying about him."
"Susan?" I tapped the comp-communicator on my wrist.
"I'll be right there, Director."
Moments later, Susan walked into the infirmary room carrying Barkins in her arms. He was as happy and healthy as could be expected. He yipped and struggled to get out of Susan's arms when he saw Charla.
Susan set him down and let him run to his mistress. Susan stepped forward and held out a small container of treats for Barkins.
Charla reached out for them, before rising to her feet and striking out at Susan. My chair was sent flying backward as I rose to my feet, but what came next I had no explanation for.
Susan became the buff orpington hen that s
he was; her clothing dropped to the floor and she squawked and flapped her wings in Charla's face before pecking her on the nose.
"Make it stop! Make it stop," Charla shouted, while Barkins began to bark at both his mistress and the offended hen.
"Bakaaaww," Susan squawked again.
"I'll tell you everything, just make it stop," Charla begged as Susan continued her assault.
"Susan," I snapped. Fluffy, golden feathers floated in the air about me as Barkins continued to bark.
Susan, who'd been flapping furiously to stay aloft and continue her attack, dropped to the floor and ruffled her wing and tail feathers as only a chicken could, before stalking out of the room, her chicken toenails ticking on the tiles indignantly.
"You'd better tell me everything," I said as Charla snatched Barkins into her arms and retreated to her chair. "Or I'll bring back the hen."
Mountain Retreat
Wyatt
"Randl told her that Charla was afraid of birds—all kinds of birds," Flyer grinned at Jayna and me as he carried Susan the buff orpington into the kitchen and set her down on the island.
"My love, are you all right?" Flyer touched a gentle finger to Susan's comb atop her head.
She clucked the affirmative, and ruffled her feathers. "Of course," Flyer responded to her mindspeech. "She wants to get dressed and have some fruit," he said, before lifting Susan in his arms again and disappearing.
"That was useful information," I turned to Jayna and leaned in for a kiss. "When this is over, will you marry me?" I bumped my forehead against hers.
"But I," she began.
"There are no butts that matter—just ours," I teased. "Dad keeps wondering what's taking us so long."
"But you're royalty," she pointed out.
"And you will be, too. Say yes, baby."
"All right, then. Yes. And may the gods help you," she smiled at me.
Gungl, Vogeffa II
Travis
At first we only saw the back of the unknown man as the Prophet approached him, his face hidden as usual by half the hooded cloak he wore.
Randl moved—it broke contact with the vision for a moment, before it cleared again and we saw the stranger's face.
MindMage: BlackWing Pirates, Book 2 Page 18