Outside, something flitted by; he barely saw it out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, peering more closely. There it was again, just a flicker—but enough to need checking! He pivoted in his chair and pressed a touchpoint on his desk. "Check the visual scan, northeast quadrant, quickly!"
"Checking," the guard's voice responded.
The captain waited, glaring out the window. There it was once more—still a flicker, but lasting a little longer this time. He could almost make out a form…
"Nothing," the guard stated.
The captain cursed and whirled back to the window.
The shape danced between two tree trunks a hundred-feet
from the house, at the edge of the security perimeter. It was pale, glowing, and vaguely human in form. In spite of himself the captain felt the hairs trying to stand up on the back of his neck. He was a materialist—he knew nothing could exist if it couldn't be weighed or measured. If he saw it but the cameras didn't, it couldn't really be there; it had to be an hallucination. And that meant…
Unless somebody else could see it, too. He stabbed at another touchpoint and barked, "Sergeant! Come in here!"
Two minutes later, a third man stumbled in through a side door, hair tousled, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "What… what's moving, Captain?"
"Ghosts," the captain gritted. He pointed out the window. "Tell me what you see."
The sergeant stepped over to the pane, puzzled. Then he stared. "They're not real!"
"Well!" the captain heaved a sigh. "At least you see them, too!"
"What?" the sergeant turned to him. "Did you think you were dreaming, sir?"
"No, just hallucinating. Now, you've seen them—go look on the monitors, will you?"
Frowning, the sergeant turned and went out into the hall. A few minutes later, his voice sounded right next to the captain's ear. "Right you are, sir. There's nothing on the monitors."
"That's what I thought." The captain stared out at the darkness, numb. There were three of them now, flitting from one tree trunk to another. Or else it was just one, moving very quickly… "Check all the sensors."
A few minutes later the sergeant reported, "Nothing on infrared, sir," and the guard's voice said, "No radiation… no new concentrations of mass… no RF reflection…"
"They're not real." The captain glared out at the glowing, dancing forms in indignation—but under that emotion was a growing dread. The things were there, no doubt about it—it wasn't only him; the sergeant had seen them, too. But how could they be there and not leave any trace on the sensors?
Gregory looked up at Magnus and Geoffrey. "Canst thou sus-tain this illusion, brothers?"
The two bigger boys knelt side by side, sweat starting on their foreheads, deep in concentration. "Long enough," Magnus answered.
"'Tis hard, casting this picture into their minds," Geoffrey muttered. "The groaning was easier."
"Then make them hear it again," Magnus grunted. He waited a moment, then asked, "How doth it work on them?"
"They do begin to fear," Gregory reported. " 'Tis not great, and buried deeply—but it hath begun."
"So much the worse for them," Cordelia declared. She turned to Fall. "Hast thou the spiders?"
"Aye, a thousand for each door. They have begun spinning a giant web before each portal."
'"'Tis well." Cordelia turned back to Magnus. "Are the elves in place?"
Her brother looked the question at Kelly. "Aye," the lepre-cohen grinned, "and greatly delighted they are."
"Then let them laugh," Cordelia declared.
A hideous cackling rang through the house from every nook and cranny.
"Trace!" the guard shouted. "That sound shows a waveform, Captain!"
"At last! Something real!" The captain hit a touchpoint on the wall beside the desk and a siren whooped throughout the house. Agents tumbled from their cots, bleary-eyed and fuzzy-brained, hearing the captain's voice booming near their ears, "Search every place large enough to hold a loud-speaker!"
They searched. Behind the terminals, behind the stacks of boxes of organic powder, throughout the storerooms they searched—but they found nothing more than spiderwebs, cur-iously without spiders. As the siren faded, they heard what they were looking for—or its evidence; shrill, manic laughter, at exactly the right pitch to set their teeth on edge and make chills crawl up their backbones. Inside the closets they searched, around the hearth and inside the chimney—but they didn't peer into the crannies between the stones. Down in the time-lab, up on the landing pad, under each cot they searched —but they didn't pull out the wainscoting. Inside every desk drawer, behind every toiletry, inside the cabinets they searched—but they didn't look inside the pipes, or behind the mirrors in the bathroom.
It was just as well they didn't. They wouldn't have be-
lieved what they found, anyway. Even if they had, it wouldn't have made them feel any better.
In every nook more than two inches wide with a foot of space behind it, an elf crouched. Inside the walls, in back of the baseboards, and behind the food synthesizer hid pixies, shooing away mice—and from every minute crack and each open grille echoed their laughter, growing more and more hilarious with every passing moment.
"It's mass hallucination!" the captain bellowed. "It couldn't be anything else!"
"How about sabotage?" called a civilian official.
"From where?"
"Bid them coax the mice to where they can see these fellows," Magnus instructed Kelly.
The elf protested. "Why not the Wee Folk?"
"We dare not let the Big People find them! 'Tis too dangerous," Cordelia explained.
Geoffrey nodded. "And, too, if they did find something that could explain the noises, they might become able to bear their fear."
"Assuredly, we do not wish that," Kelly grinned, and he turned to instruct an elfin courier.
Inside the house, elves coaxed mice into mouseholes that the men didn't know existed. Quivering, the mice stared out at the huge beings who were hurrying from place to place, peering and seeking, growing more and more frantic with each passing minute.
Cordelia closed her eyes, opening her mind to the kitchen mouse. "Aye, I can see them. That cup, there…"
The cup shot off the counter and flew through the air, narrowly missing a plainclothes agent. The agent's head snapped around watching it; he winced as it smashed itself to smithereens against the wall. He looked about with a sudden stab of foreboding…
… and saw the saucer spinning right toward his nose.
In the watch office, the captain heard a crash. He spun about to find the terminal cover in a dozen pieces and molecular-circuit gems strewn about in a circle.
-
At the guard station, the terminal beeped. The guard turned toward it, wide-eyed, and saw a mass of print scrolling frantically upward on its screen.
The print stopped abruptly.
Slowly, the guard stepped toward it, scanning the letters. "Regulations concerning surprise inspections…" He darted frantic glances at the screens, but they were all blissfully peaceful. He stabbed at a touchpoint and called, "Captain… I think somebody's trying to tell us something…"
But a civilian agent down the hall suddenly ducked as a vision pickup wrenched itself out of the ceiling and went whistling past his ear to smash itself to bits on the wall. The agent screamed, "Poltergeist!"
With sweat dripping off his brow, Magnus asked, "Have the gnomes tunneled under the foundations?"
"Aye," Kelly reported. "A score stand under each comer —and the Puck is with them."
Magnus nodded. "Tell them the contest hath begun."
"It's enemy action!" the captain said to an agent, white-faced and trembling. "That High Warlock has to have figured out where we are, and he's sending an army of espers against us!"
"The High Warlock is missing," the agent snapped. "Remember?"
The whole room shivered.
The agent looked up, white around his eyes. "What the hell was that?"
At the guard station, the desk suddenly heaved upward as the floor bucked beneath. The guard toppled over, howling, "Earthquake!"
"If it's an enemy action," the agent said to the captain, "it's a damn good one!"
The floor again heaved upward a foot, then dropped back down. The agent and captain tumbled shouting to the floor.
Out in the hallway, a civilian agent grabbed at a door frame for support, but the jamb jumped under his hand.
"Enemy action, supernatural, or just unexplained phenomena—it's lethal!" The agent jumped to his feet and stabbed a touchpoint on the desk. "Everybody evacuate!"
"They might come out at any number of places," Geoffrey said angrily.
Gregory shook his head. "They wished the house to be proof against burglars— so they filled the windows with slabs of glass so thick they cannot be broken, and cannot be opened."
"Then there are but the two doors," Magnus said, grinning.
"They come!" Cordelia cried.
The door slammed open and the men came running out at full speed—and slammed into a huge net that had been spun by a thousand spiders. It stretched, but it held. The men flailed about, howling, but the web closed behind them, netting a bagful of a dozen agents at each doorway.
Then up to the front doorway strode the High Warlock.
Higher than usual—he was nine feet tall if he was an inch, crowned with flames where he should have had hair, and his eyes were glowing coals.
The chief agent stared up at him in horror. "But you were kidnapped!"
"Didst thou truly think any trap could hold me?" the High Warlock boomed.
The agent plucked up his nerve. "One of our traps might have—but what can you expect of an anarchist? Of course their trap didn't hold!"
In the gully, Cordelia read the man's mind, and whispered to Magnus, "He doth speak truth—he knoweth not how Mama and Papa were captured."
The High Warlock boomed, "Yet thou didst collaborate with them! Even now, thine agent doth seek to seize power!"
"None of our men are trying a damn thing," the captain yelled, and the agent said, "Go talk to SPITE about it."
"They lie," Cordelia said. "Their thoughts leapt to the Shire-Reeve; he hath been their man for many years, and they have told him exactly what they wished him to do when the chance came."
"As it hath." Geoffrey frowned. "But that chance was not of their making?"
"Nay," Cordelia answered.
Magnus was silent, face screwed up in concentration, staring over the rim of the gully at the house and the nearest bagful of agents, into whose minds he was casting the simulacrum of his father.
"Who doth support thy Shire-Reeve in the other counties?" the High Warlock boomed.
"How the hell did you know about…" the captain burst
out; but the agent silenced him with a gesture. "We aren't supporting any locals.''
"Yet a dozen came to his mind," Cordelia reported, "faces, and some names, one for each dukedom and earldom. And the Shire-Reeve is above all of them."
"Thou dost lie poorly," the High Warlock sneered, "yet thou wilt be in no further danger this night. Farewell." He turned, and stalked away into the darkness.
The VETO agents watched him go, stupefied.
After awhile, the captain looked up at the house. "Everything seems quiet."
The agent shook his head. "That doesn't matter. The High Warlock knows about this HQ. We'll have to abandon it and build another one."
"Sir!" the sergeant hollered. "The net's loose!"
"Loose?"
"Let me see!"
"Let me out!"
"Rank!" the agent bawled. "Squirm aside! Out in order of seniority."
He scrambled out of the bag with the captain right behind him. The agent stood, dusting himself off, but the captain looked up at the house, frowning.
"Don't get ideas," the agent growled. "We can't stay here."
"Y'know," the captain said, "that guy was awfully big, even for the High Warlock."
"What are you saying?" the agent asked.
"And his voice was kind of low-pitched for a human being, you know?"
"Yes, sir, now that you mention it." The sergeant stood up beside him.
"And come to think of it," said one of the junior agents, "the High Warlock speaks modern English, not Elizabethan."
A mile away, the children sat down with Puck, Kelly, and Fess to try to make sense out of the new information.
"'Tis not our VETO enemies who did kidnap them," Magnus stated.
Cordelia nodded. "That much is clear. Therefore we must seek elsewhere for them."
"But what will happen an we do not find them before Groghat and the barons have brought down Their Majesties?" Geoffrey asked, frowning. "Or the Shire-Reeve hath taken the throne?"
The children were silent for a moment.
Then Gregory said, "We must prevent that."
"Nay!" Puck cried. "There be some matters that be too dangerous even for witch-children!"
"But we cannot let them ruin our land, Puck," Cordelia pleaded.
"You cannot stop them, either," Fess murmured. "Puck is right in this, children. You can be of great assistance to adults —but you cannot fight such powerful, grown enemies by yourselves. They will defeat you, and you may be slain."
"Heed him," Kelly advised.
They were silent for a moment. Cordelia rose and went to her unicorn, hugging it for comfort.
Then Geoffrey rose too, dusting off his hands. "Well, then! If we cannot find them of ourselves, we must find Mama and Papa, that they may do it!"
"Aye," Magnus looked up, his eyes kindling. "And we may begin by seeking out Papa's enemies from SPITE."
"There is none," said Summer, "not in all this forest, nay, nor any of the farmlands about."
"Truly," Fall agreed, "not in all this earldom of Tudor— neither a great house, nor a warren of caves."
"Sure, and 'tis as they say," Kelly agreed. "In all the King's lands, 'tis the same—in all of Runnymede, no sign of any sort of a 'headquarters,' as ye call it. I've sent for word from the fairies there, and I know."
"Nor is there one in any county in Gramarye," Puck added. "I, too, have called for word from all fairies, aye, and elves, too, and nixies, and pixies, and pookas and sprites; from bu-chawns and kobolds, from gnomes and from goblins…"
"We do believe thee," Magnus said hastily, to cut off Puck's listing of spirits. "Yet surely these 'anarchists' do coordinate actions. Must they, therefore, not have a center?"
"A geographical center is not necessary," Fess reminded them, "any more than it is for the witches and warlocks. Just as any of you can communicate with a leader, no matter where he is, so can the anarchists, with their transceivers and view-screens."
"Yet the folk of VETO could have done so, too!"
"True," Fess admitted, "but a central administrative base is more in keeping with their pattern of thought. SPITE's anar-chists have the goal of destroying central coordination, so they are much more likely to manage without its physical symbol."
"Yet they must have a leader," Geoffrey insisted, "a commander! No action can be taken in concert without one!"
"It is theoretically possible," Fess demurred, "though it has never occurred."
"What manner of men are these," Cordelia said in disgust, "who embrace the very thing they abhor, in order to destroy it?"
Fess tactfully forebore to mention that she was not the first to have had that particular insight.
"An they have a commander," Geoffrey said stoutly, "we have someone to question. How can we find him, Fess?"
"That will be extremely difficult," Fess admitted. "In fact, if they adhere to their usual pattern, they will have several commanders, each of whom has all the data that the others have, and any one of whom is capable of coordinating the entire operation."
"They are nonetheless commanders," Geoffrey said staunchly.
"'Tis their pattern in all things," Fall said. "Fairies from other cou
nties have told us of plowboys and shepherds who go to join the forces of bandits; and of giants and ogres, who have begun to wreak terror, but do not leash outlaws; of sorcerers who do seek to seize power, and counts who do battle one another, but never the bandits. Each county seems to have one of each of these, and a monster, too. If 'tis not a dragon, then 'tis a manticore or a cockatrice."
Geoffrey reddened with anger. "Commander or not, they have been well enough guided to unleash this chaos on our land in a day!"
"'Tis horrible," Cordelia stated, pale and trembling. "Oh! The poor peasant folk, who must suffer the woes these evil ones do inflict!"
Gregory clung to her waist, round-eyed with horror.
"And we can do nothing," Magnus breathed, "for this is beyond what four small children can do."
"Aye," Puck agreed. "That is work for thy mother and father, when they do return."
"But will they return?" Cordelia said in a very small voice.
"Oh, they shall!" Gregory looked up at her with total certainty. "They shall find their way home again. None can keep them from us."
Somehow, no one even thought of doubting him.
Then Magnus's face hardened, and he turned to his brothers and sister. "Yet in our own country, we need not allow so much misery! In Runnymede and in this southern tip of Tudor, we can hold sway! Not of our own doing, 'tis true —but by bringing the Wee Folk, and the other goodly creatures…" he nodded toward Cordelia's unicorn "… to act against these… these…"
"Nasty men!" Gregory cried, his little face screwed up in indignation.
Magnus froze, trying to look severe. Then Cordelia giggled, and Magnus grinned. "Aye, lad, these nasties! Yet we have brought Puck and Kelly and their folk to league 'gainst these 'nasties,' and we can do it again and again, till they are all rendered harmless! Runnymede at least can be kept safe, and the King shall have a sanctuary of peace into which to retire!"
"Aye!" Gregory shouted. "We shall seek out the nasties, and lock them in gaols!"
"And while we are about it," Geoffrey said grimly, "we can ask certain questions of them."
"Out upon them!" Cordelia cried. "With which shall we begin?"
They all fell silent, staring at each other in consternation.
"Who," Gregory asked, "is the greatest of nasties?"
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