Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men

by Robert N. Charrette

It was an animal. It looked like a pony, but it wasn't any breed she'd ever looked at in her vids. She didn't notice the long spiral horn on its forehead until the animal stepped around the fallen tree.

  It couldn't be a unicorn; they were just in fairy stories.

  With delicate, almost hesitant steps, the animal that couldn't be a unicorn came up to her and folded its front knees until it was kneeling at her side. She smelled the warm animal scent of it as it stretched out its neck toward her. The weight of its head was heavy as it rested its chin in her lap. Even through her jeans its breath felt hot and moist on her thigh. She stroked its mane and was amazed at how soft and silky it felt. Afraid that she would break the illusion, she reached out and touched the animal's horn. Hard, rough, and very, very solid.

  It was real!

  She buried her head against the unicorn's neck and cried for joy.

  "Your report is somewhat lacking in detail, Mr. Sorli." Pamela Martinez shook the hardcopy report at him. She was not pleased, and she didn't mind letting her anger show. "Given the week you've taken to submit it, I expected something more substantive."

  "Some things are best not recorded," he responded blandly.

  "Such as your responsibility in the death of William Tobias?"

  "It was unfortunate."

  "It was unnecessary."

  "Unfortunate," Sorli repeated emphatically. "There is no reason for the truth to be recorded where anyone can read it and learn of our investigations. Let the record show that his death was the result of an industrial accident, and that the body was sufficiently mutilated to preclude an open-coffin ceremony. No one will question such statements. Will you be attending the funeral service tomorrow?"

  She ignored his question. "You perpetrated this He without my permission."

  "He died honorably and well. His family deserves the full benefits of his sacrifice. Without the lie, your generous Mit-sutomo would dispense no benefits to his family."

  True, employees killed or injured while engaged in illegal activities were divorced from the Keiretsu's family. But, she added, "That is not the issue."

  Sorli had a ready answer for that. "I acted in accordance with your mandate that we conceal the true nature of our operations."

  Damn the man! It did make sense, if only to cover their own butts. Still, she wanted to see him squirm over it; he deserved to squirm. "A good man has died and you have achieved nothing."

  "Oh, not nothing." He folded his hands casually. "You have no head on your wail, but I think that you no longer doubt the existence of the otherworld. This is not only desirable but necessary. The stakes have increased and the task has grown more difficult."

  "I'm not in the mood for your riddles." Or for his manipulation. But he was right, she did believe. God help her. He knew more of this matter than she did. She still needed him, but she'd be damned if she'd let him think he was in charge. "1 am not satisfied with the results you have achieved."

  "Nor am I," he interrupted.

  "You have implicated a Mitsutomo dependent in these events, but there's nothing in the report of a substantive nature. More things best left unrecorded?"

  "For the moment. I have ascertained that John Reddy was contacted by an agent of the otherworld operating under the name Bennett at least once prior to the museum breakthrough. Likely his presence that night was arranged. This incident and his subsequent disappearance confirm his collusion. We should have been more vigilant."

  "Vigilant?"

  "His name was on one of our lists of possible agents. Admittedly, a low-priority listing. Our enemy achieved a success against us with his placement."

  "And who is this enemy?"

  "That remains an open question."

  "I want answers, not questions."

  "There is more work to be done. More preparations to be made. You have my requests for funding. Grant them."

  "You'll give me answers?"

  "Whether you like them or not."

  The requests were all listed on her monitor. All were reasonable in their phrasing, all looked legitimate. All were euphemisms or outright lies. She hit the execute key, authorizing the expenditures. "It's done. Now get out of here and do your job."

  Damn! He'd thought he'd tightened that bolt.

  The vibrations from working on the others must have loosened it. Carlos shook his head and set to it again. Once he got the battery bolted down, he could crawl out from under the car and go inside for supper. Oh, for the good old days when cars had real engines instead of these electric motors.

  Down the street he could hear some kids giggling. Probably laughing at him. Why not? Everybody around his new neighborhood thought old Carlos was a little odd for doing his own mechanic work, but where Carlos had grown up there hadn't really been any choice. He had gotten used to it. He actually enjoyed it most of the time.

  But he hadn't gotten used to the cramped quarters under these electric jobs. His hand slipped and skinned his knuckles on a strut. Wrenching his hand away, he banged it again. Damn, damn, damn! Heedless of the dirt and grease, he sucked on his bruised knuckles.

  Above his head, the nut he'd been working on dropped from the bolt, pinging on the concrete beside his head. The car above him rocked. Damn kids! He started to shout at them to take off, but stopped, eyes wide, as he saw the battery shift, sliding free of its mount. It couldn't be! He had tightened the other bolts.

  The kids were still laughing when the heavy battery slid free and crashed down against his head. The pain almost put him right out, but he held on.

  Concussion for sure. Maybe worse. His vision was graying, tunneling down. Had to crawl out, get Morena. She'd call the ambulance. He tried to move, but all he could do was roll his head to the side.

  A pair of tiny, naked legs ran between the front and back tires. Scrawny legs, ending in broad feet with splayed, homy-nailed toes.

  Hallucinations. The pain was causing hallucinat—

  Spae's screech brought Holger bounding across the sitting room, Glock in hand. He hit the wall by the door, ready for trouble, but found her railing at her computer screen. He stayed by the door, out of the angle of the pickup, where he could see her monitor reflected in the mirror. Holger would show up if the people on the other end analyzed the image, but they probably wouldn't bother, and even if they did, it probably wouldn't matter; he was Spae's security, after all. Still, he thought it advisable to keep his presence discreet; she was talking to Charles Magnus.

  "It's been two bloody weeks! Why wasn't I informed?" Spae's voice was pure outrage.

  Magnus's response was calm, exaggeratedly so. "There is still debate concerning the meaning of the data we have acquired. Certain individuals didn't want you told anything, but I thought it best that you be brought in."

  "Certain individ— Dagastino, I'll bet."

  There was a sputtering noise from off screen on Magnus's side, and Holger knew Spae had named her chief adversary correctly.

  "Let us leave personalities out of this and stick to the business at hand. Your perspective on recent events could be valuable, but your opinions will not be looked upon favorably if you will not confine yourself to business."

  "Business, eh? Ail right Business. Have you finally realized that there's a connection with the incident here and having the Cornwall project blow up in your faces?"

  "The timing is suggestive," Magnus agreed sourly. "Have you learned anything new?"

  "I'm certain now that it was an important awakening. There were other forces involved."

  "The team here agrees."

  Spae went on to detail her procedures and their results. Magnus nodded and made encouraging murmurs, but Holger caught him glancing off to one side where, no doubt, one or more specialists were advising him as to the validity of Spae's procedures. No doubt the antagonistic Dr. Dagastino was among them.

  "And the sleeper's identity?"

  Spae snorted. "You know that as well as I."

  "I know nothing of the sort, Doctor. I merely speculate
, as do you. Until we can question this sleeper, we will not know."

  "That's Dagastino talking. He wouldn't know his own name without questioning his mother under Pentatel!™."

  "We must be above petty rivalry, Doctor. If this sleeper is Arthur, we must acquire him."

  "If you're so anxious to get him, send me some support. If I didn't have to do everything myself, I could be getting closer, faster."

  "Frankly, Doctor, given the size of the energy fluctuation, several of us here feel that more than one sleeper may have been woken. There is no telling who your sleeper may be, but given your physical location, it seems unlikely that he is who you believe. Without solid data, we must continue to consider your operation in the USA as only one of several vital operations. Our resources are stretched trying to cover alternative possibilities."

  Meaning that no more bodies were coming.

  "Dagastino's got you tossing all of Wales and half of England, doesn't he?"

  Magnus ignored her comment. "You and Mr. Kun will have to continue on your own for now. You will, of course, continue to have the Department's full computer and financial support."

  "I'm sure."

  "Bring your sleeper in, Doctor."

  "Right." She cut the connection. Without turning she said, "We were close, Kun. So very close. And they're so far away, they have no idea at all. Won't even look at the evidence. It's up to us, Kun. We've got to find him by ourselves."

  "Is he really Arthur?"

  "Who else would he be?"

  "Why here, then? This is America, not England."

  "1 don't know." She shook her head, her face empty of its usual arrogance. "I wish I did. It might tell me something that I could use."

  "Maybe he can explain it."

  "Maybe, but I doubt it. In any case, we have to find him before we can ask him."

  He didn't want to, but he knew he had to ask. "Can you track him magically?"

  "No. I have nothing of Ms to use."

  "Nothing from the museum will help?"

  She turned to face him, smiling slightly. "You know more about this stuff than you like to let on. Normally, one would expect that something in the exhibit was used as a key to call to the sleeper. Law of Contagion and all that. But I couldn't feel any resonance with any particular individual."

  "Could the resonance have been blocked? You said you sensed more than one hand had shaped energies there."

  "Perhaps." She thought for a while. "I don't think so, though. I didn't feel like I was facing a block. Maybe the connections were just too old, too tenuous for me to feel."

  "So you can't find him with magic."

  "No."

  Good. They'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. His

  way.

  * * *

  Charley Gordon hated it when his beeper went off in the middle of the night. He ordered the lights on, wincing when the computer obeyed him efficiently and blasted with full wattage. "Lower lights," he pleaded, then ordered it to connect a line to whoever wanted him.

  "Captain Milton," the machine informed him.

  "Charley? You there?"

  "Yeah, Captain."

  "Sorry to wake you."

  I'll bet. Milton didn't sound apologetic; he sounded as if he enjoyed it. "What is it?"

  "The slasher's hit again."

  Huh? "Two days early. You sure we ain't got a copycat?"

  "Don't think so."

  "Be right down."

  "Coram Ave. The park," the captain said before he cut the connection.

  Charley passed the word to Manny while he dressed. Manny said he'd meet Charley at the scene.

  Two days early? Had to be a copycat. The Barrington slasher was a real stickler for timing.

  When he got to the scene and saw the bodies, he didn't need the forensics boys to tell him that this was the real slasher. Nobody but the cops knew what body parts the slasher took away with him. Charley found a trash can and gave it Ms breakfast. He should have known better than to have eaten.

  "We got a witness this time," Milton said to Charley after he'd stopped puking. "Said he saw the killer."

  The captain didn't sound as though it was the break they'd all been hoping for, and once Charley talked to the witness, he understood why. No DA was gonna buy in to an eight-foot-tall, bat-winged lizard.

  "I am tired of being interrupted," Sorli said as he sat in the chair. "Can't you think of some better way to ask your

  incessant questions other than demanding these pilgrimages to your office?"

  Pamela noted that the monitors in the chair reported that Sttrli was truly agitated and not just putting on a show. Good. Maybe he'd let something slip.

  "You come because I call. You work for me, remember. I want answers."

  "You have answers," he snapped. "You even have reports. Against my better judgment. Read them. They have your answers. Otherworld intrusions have increased by four hundred percent. Magic is on the increase. For now, it is mostly manliest in desolate and wild places, but if the trend continues there will soon be fairy beings and monsters haunting the cities. We face a crisis, and it could grow worse quickly."

  Damn him! He had taken and twisted things around on her before she'd gotten half started, raising her fears to where she had to ask, "What do you mean?"

  "The incident at the Woodman Museum was only the first part of a two-part shift in the balance. The first part you know, the awakening of a man long held in magical bondage in the otherworld. With his release, more of the energy the agents of the otherworld need to operate here has become available. You are seeing the results in the reports you demand so insistently. These strange happenings are only a prelude. As dangerous as these intrusions are, the man himself poses an even greater threat."

  "This man! This man!" Damn, she was flustered. "It's been a month since his—what did you call it?—awakening and you still haven't learned who he is."

  "Untrue."

  Bastard. Always with a trump card. "All right. Who is this dangerous man?"

  "His name is Artos."

  "That's it? Not even a family name? Or is that a family name?"

  "Just Artos. Other appellations have been applied, but none was used with a clear preference. He was a warrior once. A ruler, too. Some thought he was very good at what he did. There were songs sung about him."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "Confidential sources."

  Was he baiting her on purpose? "You work for me, you little bastard. You will tell me where you are getting your information."

  "For the moment I work for you, Ms. Martinez. Since you have been expressing something less than satisfaction with my work lately, I feel that I need to maintain my independent assets."

  "Who else are you working with?"

  "You wrong me. You are the only one paying me. But employment isn't what binds us, it is the threat of the other-world. I suggest that you consider the data I have given rather than worrying about its source. Truth is truth, even when spoken by a habitual liar."

  How was it that he got calmer as she lost control? Well, he wouldn't get away with it. She forced herself to sit back and rest her arms on the arms of her chair. Calm, she told herself as she pressed the stud that activated her chair's relaxation routine. It took effect almost immediately, and her voice was down to its normal register when she said, "The problem with habitual liars is that you can never believe anything they say."

  "Do you consider me a habitual liar, Ms. Martinez? Is that why you use this chair?"

  In the grip of the relaxation routine, she didn't start. Her voice held only curiosity. "You know about the chair?"

  "I do. I take no offense from it because it is a sensible precaution. You are wise to take precautions."

  "Am I wise to trust you?"

  "I am not the one to ask. I have not led you astray."

  "Not yet."

  "It is not in my interest to do so. We have a common enemy and we need each other. Especially now."

  A surg
e of fear threatened to overwhelm her relaxed state. She forced it away. Information. She needed information to control the situation. "Why now? Something to do with the crisis you mentioned?"

  "Yes. The second part. In the past, this Artos has been associated with a magical artifact of significant power. through close association with this talisman he has become, shall we say, dependent on it. Now that he is free, I believe he will seek it out. Should he do so and successfully retrieve it, there will be a significant increase in the otherworldly energy permeating our world. Such an increase will be enough to cause a radical shift in the balance. Society will fragment and civilization as we know it will devolve into a new dark age."

  "So you want to find him and kill him before he gets this talisman."

  "No. Ultimately, that will change nothing. The talisman is the key. It must be destroyed."

  "And what will happen if the talisman is destroyed?"

  "The energies enwrapped in holding it will be forever bound. Having curtailed further disruption, we may be able to deal with the current effects and minimize the damage."

  "Return the balance to where it was."

  "Possibly. I can make no promises."

  "Can I trust you, Sorli?"

  "We are working for the same goal here, Ms. Martinez. I no more want to see my world controlled by the beings that rule the otherworld than you do."

  Truth, the monitor said. Rock-solid truth.

  Pamela would not let her world be destroyed by magic.

  "All right, Mr. Sorli, do whatever you have to. Destroy this talisman thing."

  Astrid was relieved to see the wan light illuminating the emergency phone box. She knew she hadn't been walking for more than a quarter mile, but the dark made it seem forever. Her heels didn't help either; the gravel by the roadbed was safer than the slush-covered ice on the road, but too unstable for comfortable walking. Not for the first time she chided herself for not taking reasonable boots. She'd heard the forecast; she knew better.

  But the car wasn't supposed to get a flat tire and she wasn't supposed to be here slogging along a deserted highway at eleven-oh-bleeping-thirty at night.

  There was a dark, shadowy lump by the phone box. Her first thought upon seeing it was that it was some derelict or wino huddled against the cold. Silly girl, she told herself. Too much city living. It was probably just a pile of debris collected from along the highway, put here by the cleanup crews for easier spotting by the truck that would haul it away.