by Garon Whited
One of the things I noticed during our practice was my overdrive thing. At night, I can go into a sort of overdrive where I think and react at the speed of dark. It’s like watching everything in slow motion—including me—but I can consider what’s going on, how I want to move, all that. Sometimes it borders on a pause, rather than merely slow-motion.
It happens during the day, too. Not to the same degree, of course, but when the excitement starts, the world begins to slow down. Is it an effect of a superconductive nervous system? Suitably stimulated, can quasi-mortal neurons reach an excited, ultra-high-speed state that overclocks my brain? How far can this go? And is it damaging? It’s certainly draining; I was hungry afterward.
While I’m curious, let’s class that with the whole bone-strength testing idea. I don’t really want to conduct extensive trials to determine what it takes to hurt me and how long it takes to recover. Yes, I’m a crybaby. I’m okay with that.
I made it home slightly ahead of the sunset. I was a bit worried, but my overnight bag has a roll of heavy-duty plastic trash bags in it. They’re for emergencies, but I keep them on hand because you never know when they’ll be useful. I haven’t yet had to wrap a body in them, but it might not be my body that needs to be wrapped.
Suitably showered and changed, I got to work again on my interdimensional bench model.
Monday, October 26th
I’ve got a bench model that should work. I built it and immediately had to go catch a plane. By the time I get home, I should have enough charge in the basement to test it!
The flight out to California was uneventful. I wonder… does Google have anything to do with flight scheduling, these days? Or in this universe? They even managed to keep my luggage with me. In this case, my luggage included a transport case for Firebrand. Bronze stayed home to keep an eye on the place.
That was a unique experience, Boss.
Since I was alone in the cab, I answered aloud.
“I hope it wasn’t a bad one.”
Different, at least. I thought this place was low on magic?
“It is.”
But people fly?
“It’s complicated. I’ll give you a basic rundown on how that works, if you like.”
If it’s too complicated, skip it, Boss.
“Just the basics.”
I didn’t quite get the psychic mutter, but I think it was something about “once a teacher.”
We checked into a hotel. I put away my luggage but brought Firebrand along in its case. It wasn’t that I was terribly worried about needing a sword, but Firebrand is excellent at spotting when someone tries to put a spell on my mind.
And, yes, I might need a sword. You never know. If not, then it was a vital part of the ritual. I could fake that.
The cab hummed to a stop in the hills, outside an estate. I could already feel a change in the air. This place was a power center, at least for this world. It wasn’t even close to the norm for Rethven, but it was a perceptible increase over the usual background level. When the gate opened and the cab hummed up the drive toward the house, the sense of power continued to rise. It leveled off—and this is only a subjective feeling, little more than a guess—at about half the strength of the magical field of Rethven, maybe a little less. Of course, my perception might be off; it’s been a while since I’ve been in Rethven, after all.
A polite man in sunglasses, suit, and earpiece greeted me. He did so with formality, deference, and a complete lack of warmth. He escorted me into the house and I met Johann Fries—pronounced “Frees,” but don’t ask me why. He was an elderly fellow, not at all spry, but seemed good-humored. An oxygen bottle and mask stood beside his chair, ready but not in active use. At his other side was a tea trolley with one china cup and a paper cup with pills. He didn’t get up to greet me, but I didn’t mind. The lap-blanket and cane, liver spots on his bony hands, and other clues told me getting up might be less of a gesture and more of a project.
There were two other gentlemen in the room, keeping out of the way and quiet. Somehow, they did not seem to match the stereotype of a geriatric nurse. From the crew cuts, suits, and earpieces, they might have been products of the Acme Clone-A-Tron Home Bodyguard Kit.
“You’re the young man with the revolutionary new ritual, eh?” he asked, without preamble. His voice was clear and crisp, although soft.
“I am, sir.”
“My grandson seems to think we need one. You’re rather expensively here. Tell me why you think we need one.” Although direct, he didn’t seem upset about it. I thought he was at least slightly amused and maybe a little curious.
“Have you ever had a moment when you wished you could put more push behind a spell?”
“Naturally.”
“This will only work once, but there, you get your wish,” I told him. Johann’s bushy eyebrows—the majority of the hair on his head—rose markedly.
“So if I spend the time and energy to get that house-preserving ritual fired off, this will make it work longer?”
“I would presume so,” I agreed, carefully. “I don’t know that ritual, specifically. Mine will enhance any ritual you perform in it in some way. Turn more lead into gold, restore more youth, or move a bigger mountain—provided you use all of the power inside the circle. That brings down the circle and allows the effect of your spell to manifest outside. The effects should be enhanced as though you were drawing power from a nexus. Or so I’m told; I haven’t had much experience with nexuses. Nexii? Nexae? Whatever.”
At this point, a much younger man entered the room. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and smiled constantly. He immediately approached, hand outstretched.
“Master Smith, I presume!” he declared, shaking my hand with both of his. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t available to greet you—all sorts of things being difficult, today. I trust my grandfather hasn’t been chewing your ear too hard.”
“Not at all. It’s been a pleasure to chat with him.” I turned to the elder Fries. “Who is this?” I asked. Johann chuckled, almost cackled.
“I like him, Jason. He has a sense of humor. Master Smith, this is my eldest grandson, Jason Fries.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I offered, smiling. Jason shook his head in mock sadness.
“Forgive me again, please. It’s been that sort of day. Grandfather, if you’ll excuse us? I’d like to show Master Smith what I have in mind.”
“You youngsters run along,” Johann agreed. “I’ll either go mountain climbing or continue to sit here.”
As we walked out, I told Jason to call me Vlad. He reciprocated while we picked up a new pair of well-dressed guards.
What were they worried about? Me? They weren’t concerned about an assault on the place; that would call for men in body armor, helmets—the whole tactical getup. Suits and concealed weapons implied they were more concerned about individual people sneaking in. Maybe they were cautious about allowing visitors near members of the family. Did they lose someone, recently? Or was this a type of family paranoia? Or was it more general to magi as a whole?
I decided it would be rude to ask. Tempting, but still rude.
We toured the garden area of the house while we discussed what he wanted. He was already informed of the general limitations of the spell. That helped in working out where to put it. The largest open space available was desirable, but I pointed out it didn’t need to be empty space. As long as we could draw a circle, it didn’t matter if there were flowers or trees inside it.
There were three gardeners on the payroll; they started work rearranging the landscaping. Jason promised more help would be on the job before the day was out and they’d work through the night. This told me a great deal about how he felt regarding my spell. Was it because the spell was unknown? Or because of what it did?
He gave orders to a servant and turned back to me.
“Is there a specific time of day when you have to start this?” he asked.
“Not as such. After either sunset or sunris
e, usually. Since this is going to be a big circle, I’d probably like to start a little after sunrise. But don’t unnecessarily chew up the garden to make that deadline; I don’t mind waiting until the day after tomorrow. Besides, they have to figure out how to put it all back together.”
“Good point, good point,” he agreed, nodding. “I’ll have a guest room prepared.”
“Oh, no,” I protested, thinking of the potential disaster of being a guest in a house of magi while going through multiple undead transformations. There was no telling what sort of magical things were lurking, waiting to go crazy at the presence of a vampire. “I’ve got a hotel room already—I’m all unpacked and comfortable. I’ll be back tomorrow, though, to help plan the layout.”
“Well, if you’re sure?”
“Positive. I’ll be useless during this part. I’m no gardener. These gentlemen appear to have the situation well in hand. I’ll have dinner and then straight to bed to rest up for the job.”
“Very well,” he agreed, and insisted on sending me to my hotel with his own car and driver, rather than permit me to call a cab. I thanked him and made my exit.
I stayed in my room that evening and explained about aircraft to Firebrand. It seemed more interested in rocketry than in airplanes, but that’s understandable. The hotel shower wasn’t as hot as mine, but they probably wanted to avoid lawsuits; it was still perfectly adequate for my death. Then we watched some cybertelevision while I lay on the bed.
Beds are a real problem. It’s one thing to weigh five hundred pounds or so; it’s another thing to weigh that much in a package the size of regular guy. The dent in the mattress is like an impact crater. Maybe I should get a water bed and see if that works. I may want to take a nap, someday.
I remembered Fred and thought to check under the bed. Turns out the hotel bed didn’t have an “under” portion. It was some sort of solid mounting. Ah, well.
Uh, Boss?
“Hmm?”
Do you still care about damsels in distress?
“Generally, yes.”
There’s one about a floor up that’s hurt and crying and stuff. She’s alone, though.
“So much for my pleasant evening,” I muttered. I put Firebrand back on the foam, closed the case and latched it. “Walk me through this,” I told it.
Got it, Boss.
We went up the elevator and down the hall, Firebrand guiding me.
This one, Boss, it told me. She’s behind that door.
My supernatural hearing agreed, so dark, invisible tendrils felt around through the door and the room beyond, confirming Firebrand’s evaluation. I knocked. The crying choked, then stopped.
“Who is it?” I heard through the door.
“First aid,” I replied. “Bandages, ice packs, painkillers—you name it. Complimentary service, ma’am.”
There was a long silence, then the clicks and thunks of a door coming unlocked. She opened it a crack and peeked out at me.
“You don’t work for the hotel.”
“I didn’t say I did. I said it was a complimentary service. Do you need stitches?”
She stood there for a while, obviously thinking about it. Then she stepped back and opened the door.
She didn’t need stitches. She did need quite a number of bandages, though. Nothing on the face, but quite a bit on her body, ranging down to her elbows and ankles. Long, shallow cuts—deep scratches, really—interspersed with long, thin bruises and the occasional small, circular burn.
It’s marvelous how helpful a major hotel chain will be. Call down to the concierge and ask for a first-aid kit and they give you one. No questions asked. Remarkably helpful. It’s almost as though they want to avoid a lawsuit by being able to deny any knowledge of the incident. I resolved to leave the maid service a healthy tip and the hotel an excellent customer review.
We didn’t talk much while I applied the sprays—the first to disinfect, the second to coagulate, and the third to cover it all in a layer of pseudo-skin. I love this high-tech medicine. She changed position when instructed, held still, and let me work.
I noticed there was no luggage, nothing put away in drawers, not even a toothbrush—just some scattered articles of female clothing on the floor. Even the robe was a hotel robe. The bed was a mess, though, and the scents in the air were not all hers. My guess was she was a working girl and her customer had been less vanilla than she hoped.
Finally, I packed the remains of the kit together and put it in the closet. I picked up Firebrand’s case and unlocked the door.
“Hey,” she called, still sitting on the bed.
“Hmm?”
“Is that it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is there a bill? Or something?” she asked, half-afraid of the answer.
“Complimentary,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but you don’t work for the hotel.”
“True. I work for me.”
“And that’s what you do?” she asked, puzzled. “You wander around and bandage people?”
“I do lots of things. I’m complicated.”
“Don’t you even want to know what happened?”
“Nope. It’s your business.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
“You’re weird.”
“But a nice weird, I hope.”
“There aren’t any nice weirdos,” she stated, flatly, coldly.
“Then you may safely ignore me as a figment of your imagination.”
The door bleeped as the electronic lock came open. I stepped back as the door swung inward and a man came in.
“Leaving?” he asked. “Nice.” He looked past me, at the woman. “Did he pay?”
“No, he’s not—”
The guy, a short man with an expensive-looking “fashionable” outfit—don’t ask me; I don’t understand fashion—chose that moment to grab me by the shirtfront and push me back into the room. I let him.
“You don’t go nowhere until you pay for this,” he snapped, and slapped me. I was glad of the high-grade makeup. It doesn’t rub off; you have to use alcohol and scrub a bit.
I felt an urge to see how tough the window glass was. How hard would I have to throw a pimp to send him to the parking lot by the express route?
I didn’t. I wanted to, but I didn’t. That would cause trouble for me and for the nice prostitute. Likewise, cracking his skull against the floor would cause long-term trouble for her. Pimps don’t like it when their merchandise has muscle on their side.
“Of course,” I replied, instead. “I wouldn’t dream of it. How much do I owe you?”
He glared at me as though he wanted to push me around some more, but he held himself in check. I would guess it’s bad for business to continue roughing up the customer when he agrees to pay. He named a figure. I looked at the woman.
“How much did I already give you?” I asked. She caught the emphasis and didn’t argue about identity. She fished money out of the bedside table, counted it out into the guy’s palm. I counted out the difference—hookers are expensive, it seems—and added another hundred.
“My way of saying I have no complaints at all,” I told him. I turned to her. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. Goodnight,” I finished, and walked out the door.
With the door shut behind me, I stopped and waited beside it, listening. She didn’t sound in trouble; he seemed more upset by the delay than by anything anyone did to/with/for her. Their business. I went back to my room with the firm intention of minding my own.
Boss, you always think you’re going to mind your own business.
“Shut up.”
Still want me to tell you if I hear a damsel in distress?
I muttered something about smartass swords.
Is that a yes or a no, Boss?
“Yes.”
See?
“Did I already say to shut up?”
Firebrand shut up.
Wednesday, October 28th
They rearranged the desig
n of a big chunk of garden. A large, squarish section was suddenly redone in a geometric sort of thing—a square with a circle inside it. The circle touched the square on all four sides. Is that circumscribed? Or is that an incircle? I always get those confused. I draw a thousand magic circles and containment diagrams and I still can’t remember which is which. Jon would doubtless have something sarcastic to say about it. Then again, Jon would have something sarcastic to say about anything.
Watching them lay down paving stones gave me a couple of ideas. While the circle itself was a gravel path—hard to break that without a shovel and determination—I still needed to put symbols or runes around the thing. I started scratching them on concrete paving bricks. It took longer, but that was fine by me. I would have to spend another night on the West Coast, anyway; I wasn’t going to try and fly back while undead. I don’t know how well I’d react to airport security, or them to me.
Once we had the paving stones laid in, I finished some preliminary work, went away for an hour or two to change, and came back after dark. I waved Firebrand around at bit; it obliged by flickering a little flame for theatrics on the big, sweeping gestures. Anyone trying to copy my “ritual” was going to have a bad time of it.
Still, I got it done. They seemed happy with it, although the garden itself still needed work. We had a brief introduction on the uses of an Ascension Sphere, they checked the magical levels inside and out, confirmed it was working, thanked me, and shook hands all around. They seemed quite pleased.
I went back to my hotel, made sure of my early flight, and watched more television.
It seems to me I’ve been working pretty constantly on everything. Spending some time sitting around doing nothing at all is pretty nice, too. Maybe I should make more of an effort to relax. There’s so much to do, though… but, really, is there so much that needs doing right now? Or am I trying to get ahead of the curve?
Sure, I want to work out a cheaper, easier gate between worlds. But Karvalen isn’t happy with me and won’t be for a while. Finding a universe with enough magic to be useful, enough technology to be comfortable, and people who don’t hate bloodsucking monsters might take a while—do I have to get right on it? Or will a few days, or a few weeks, really matter?