Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Great.” Tim fastened his seatbelt as the truck ground into gear. “I really appreciate this.”

  “Sure thing.” The driver held out a slender yet muscular hand. “My name’s Sam, but they call me—”

  “Old Coyote?”

  “How’d you know? I give you a lift before?”

  “No, I just saw the drawing on the side of the truck.”

  “Saw that in my grandson’s coloring book. Thought it was kind of funny.”

  “It sure is.”

  “So why you out here hitching?”

  Tim thought for a moment and tried to come up with a lie. “I got a bus to Sharonville, but then it broke down and they said it’d be a while before another one could come out. I’m kind of in a hurry, so I thought I’d try hitching.”

  “You got some kind of emergency?”

  “My sister’s sick. She lives in Ram—New Stockholm. I’m not really sure what it is, but just in case, you know?”

  “That’s nice.” They drove along for a couple of minutes; the only sound came from the country music on the radio. This female version of Old Coyote finally turned to Tim and asked, “You just get out of prison recently?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to someone with experience in spotting it.”

  “Were you in prison?”

  “Me? No. My no good husband did a few stretches though. He’s in there right now for breaking some asshole’s jaw.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Ain’t your fault. So what were you in there for?”

  “I sold some robots to the wrong people.”

  “Robots? You some kind of rocket scientist?”

  “Just a grease monkey now.”

  “No shame in that.”

  “Very true.” They lapsed into silence again as the truck rumbled along the highway into the city. They passed a sign that indicated New Stockholm was still ten kilometers ahead. Apparently this universe used the metric system. He wondered what other surprises he would find. He glanced over at Old Coyote with her ponytail and saggy breasts inside her T-shirt and thought he might not want to find out.

  ***

  Old Coyote dropped him off a block from the main branch of the public library. “I should be able to get a bus from here,” Tim said.

  “Good luck with your sister,” Old Coyote said. She tipped her hat to Tim as he climbed out. With a final blast of its horn, the truck roared away towards the waterfront. Tim let out a sigh of relief. Old Coyote had been nice enough, but it made his skin crawl every time he heard her voice.

  The library was exactly where he thought it would be, except of course it was called the New Stockholm Public Library. He also noted the stone wolves mounted on the steps instead of eagles like in Rampart City. He hurried up the steps to go inside.

  The interior of the library was laid out in much the same way, so that he had little trouble to find the reference desk. A very fat old woman squinted at him from behind her bifocals. “Can I help you, young man?” she asked.

  “I just need a telephone book for the area,” he said.

  “Certainly, sir. I think I have one right here.” As the old woman rummaged around her desk, Tim noticed her nametag identified her as Becky. Given how fat she was, he wondered if this was Becky Beech, Emma’s friend.

  He thought better than to ask as she handed a thick phone book to him. Unlike in his world, the phone book had light green pages instead of yellow. He took the book over to a cubicle and flipped past the commercial listings for the residential ones. When he found the Ks, he realized his mistake.

  There were at least two-dozen Kims listed in the phone book. There were no Renee Kims, but he found four R. Kims that could be her. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be under any of these others if she were married or living with her parents. Or for all he knew, she might be in an old folk’s home or—in a twist of irony—in jail.

  With a sigh he realized he would need to do more research on the topic. Before he returned the phone book to Becky, he couldn’t resist trying to look up some other names. He turned to the Bs and found a Rebecca Beech listed. Was it the number for the elderly librarian at the reference desk? He didn’t see any Chiostros listed. He turned the pages and found a listing for Emma Earl, which he noted had the same address as Becky Beech.

  Then he turned to the Js. He found two listings under the name Joubert. The first was for an Annabelle Joubert. The second prompted his heart to race. “S. Joubert,” he whispered. That could easily stand for Steve or Sam or Stephanie or Sylvester for all he knew. Or it could stand for Sylvia.

  With the rush back to get here and look for Renee Kim, he hadn’t considered the possibility Sylvia might still be alive in this universe. Of course in this universe she might be a hundred years old or a hundred days old; he really had no way to know. Even if he called the number for S. Joubert and it was Sylvia, it wouldn’t really be his Sylvia. His Sylvia had died almost three years ago. As when he’d kissed Renee Kim on the bus, this would just be another flimsy substitute for the genuine article.

  Despite this, he memorized the address. He didn’t recognize the street name, but he supposed he could always ask someone or find a map of the city. How long would it really take to track her down and make sure?

  Except he knew he couldn’t waste time like that. Every moment he spent here was another moment that Isis had Emma and the rest of his Rampart City under her thumb. It meant another moment for her power to grow and expand. And it meant another moment that Akako and the Reds Joanna was contacting had to wait.

  With a sigh he knew he had to get back to work to find Renee Kim. There might be something about her on the Internet that would help him, a clue to where she worked or went to school. Anything he might turn up would have to be better than to call every Kim in the phone book and hope to get lucky.

  He was about to take the phone book back to Becky at the reference desk when he heard a familiar voice. It was a little higher than he remembered, but still he recognized it as that of the woman on the bus. “Hi Miss Beech.”

  “Hello, Renee. I’ve got your books right here.”

  “You do? That’s great. Thanks, Miss Beech.”

  “Honestly, young lady, we’re going to run out of books for you before long.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some help with those? That pile’s almost as big as you.”

  “I can handle it. Thanks, Miss Beech. Say hi to Miss Earl for me.”

  “I will, sweetie.”

  Tim peeked over the edge of his cubicle at the end of this exchange. The phone book slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a dull thump. He saw not the young woman from the bus, but a little girl with turquoise pigtails. As Becky had said, the pile of books the little girl carried was almost as tall as her. She didn’t seem to mind this as she glided past Tim’s cubicle to the front desk.

  He sagged back onto his chair and shook his head. That was Renee Kim? The one who would help him? He was in big trouble.

  ***

  The turquoise hair made Renee pretty easy to track. Tim plunged both hands in his pockets as he trudged along; he felt like a creep to follow a little girl. Still, he didn’t have any choice but to follow her since he didn’t know where she lived.

  She had dumped the stack of books into a pink backpack that by all rights should have doubled her over, yet like a soldier she marched along with the heavy weight on her back. As befitted her age, she didn’t bother to look around to see if anyone followed her; she assumed no one would hurt her. She didn’t have any idea that someone was following her, in desperate need of her help.

  What kind of help could she possibly offer? He asked himself this as he followed her from the library to a bus stop two blocks away. There he mingled at the edge of the crowd while she leaned against a lamppost and took a cell phone from her pocket. He worried for a moment she might be calling the police on him, but over the street noise he heard her chipper l
ittle voice say, “No, Daddy, I was just going to the library. I needed some more books. No, I finished those days ago. No, I’m taking the bus back. I do it all the time. Really, you worry way too much. Well, I’ve got to go; the bus is coming. Love you.”

  She hopped up the steps of the bus as if she didn’t carry fifty pounds of books on her back. Tim let the others at the stop get on ahead of him and tried to look casual as he trudged up the steps. As he did, he reached into his pocket and then realized he didn’t have any change. He checked both of his front pockets and then felt those of his jacket. Nothing.

  “Hey buddy, no free rides,” the driver snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” Tim said. “I’m sure I’ve got—”

  “What did I just say?”

  “Here you are young man,” another familiar voice said. It sounded a little raspier, but he could still recognize that shy voice that had spoken up for him at the parole hearing.

  Tim turned around, his eyes wide. At the parole hearing he had mistaken Emma for an old woman because of her white hair; now she had the face to go with the hair. She held out a wrinkled hand and dropped three quarters into his palm. “Thank you,” he said.

  “It’s not a problem,” Emma said. He took a step back so she could put her money into the box and then shuffle forward onto the bus. Her tall frame had become stooped with age, but her steps were still confident.

  “Miss Earl, over here!” Renee called out. Tim saw the little girl in the middle section of the bus, the backpack on her knees as she patted the seat next to her.

  “Thank you, dear,” Emma said. She sat down with a weary sigh beside Renee. Tim slipped along the aisle to the back of the bus and planted himself on a middle seat so he could watch his quarry. He wished he had a newspaper so he might attempt to appear more discreet. At least that’s what they did in spy movies.

  He didn’t have to strain his ears to hear Renee and Emma talk over the sound of the bus engine. Renee practically shouted, “Were you visiting Becky?”

  “We had lunch around the corner at this lovely café. They had marvelous tea. If I’d known you were here we could have invited you.”

  “No, that’s all right. I don’t really like tea.”

  “You know that soda will rot your teeth.”

  “Then I’ll just get dentures like you.”

  Emma shook her head and clucked her tongue. “These things are nothing but a nuisance. I’d give anything for a nice smile like yours.”

  “Thanks. Daddy took me to the dentist last week. I only had two cavities.” Renee frowned for a moment. “The dentist said I’m going to need braces, but I’m not going to do it. I don’t care if my smile is crooked; it’s better than looking like a geek.”

  “Now, dear, you don’t look like a geek. You look adorable.”

  “Adorable is for five-year-olds.”

  “Oh my. I’m sorry, dear.”

  Renee twirled the end of one turquoise pigtail around her finger. “What do you think of this color? Isn’t it cute? Aggie thought I should try the darker blue, but I like this better.”

  “It’s very…unique.”

  “I still have some left if you want to use it.”

  Emma chuckled at this and then patted her white bun. “I think I’m a little old for that.”

  Renee rummaged through a pocket of her backpack and finally produced a piece of paper. “I was going to bring this to school to show you.”

  Emma lifted the bifocals that dangled from a chain around her neck to her eyes so she could read the paper. Her face broke into a grin. “That’s lovely, dear.”

  “Daddy said the math scores were too low. He wants me to take it again.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. These are very good, especially for a girl your age.”

  “That’s what I said. He wants me to get a perfect score, I think.” Renee looked down sadly at her black combat boots.

  “Now, dear, I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

  “I guess.”

  “Have you started applying to schools yet?”

  “Yes. Daddy wants me to go to Harvard or Oxford.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to go someplace where it’s warm. Like Miami or California. I want to be able to have some fun.”

  “I think you’re a little young for that, dear.”

  “That’s what Daddy says.”

  “Maybe he’s right.”

  “He’s always treating me like a little kid. Then he pushes me into skipping grades. It’s not fair.”

  Tim tried not to stare as he listened to this conversation. From what he gathered, Renee had taken her SATs and was applying to colleges despite the fact she couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Now he understood why Akako had wanted him to find her: she was a genius, just like the old woman she sat beside was in his world.

  “I’m still not sure what I want to major in,” Renee said. “Daddy thinks I should be a doctor or a lawyer.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

  “What about medicine? I’m sure you’d be good at that.”

  “Maybe. I don’t like blood, though.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be a surgeon. You could be a researcher.”

  “Oh boy, I can sit around a lab all day. Fun.” Renee snorted at this and then looked down at her feet again. “How did you know you wanted to be a teacher?”

  Emma thought about this for a moment. “I suppose because back when I was your age girls could either be teachers or secretaries. I never liked typing much.”

  Renee smiled at this, but then said, “I’m serious. Was there a moment where you knew that’s what you wanted to do?”

  “Oh yes. Back when I was a wee little thing, just three years old, my mother took me along to pick up my brothers at school. Miss Graves, the teacher there, gave me a piece of chalk and let me draw on the board. I knew then that’s what I wanted to be.”

  Renee nodded along with this story. “When I was three Daddy took me to the Founder’s Day festival and I saw this jazz band. I thought that might be neat, to be a musician and make people happy.”

  “You could do that, couldn’t you?”

  “No. Daddy would be mad. He thinks music is a waste of time.”

  “Now I know that’s not so.”

  The bus screeched to a halt. Emma got to her feet with a groan. She looked for a moment as if she might fall back over, but then steadied herself. She patted Renee’s turquoise head. “Keep your chin up, dear. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

  “Bye Miss Earl.”

  Tim thought to switch seats to sit beside Renee, but he worried if he tried to talk to her now, in public, she might raise a ruckus. It would be best to talk to her in private, where he wouldn’t have to worry an angry mob would descend upon him and turn him over to the police as a pedophile. He looked down at the floor to watch out of the corner of his eye as Renee took a thick book from her backpack and began to read.

  She seemed to have made a sizable dent in the book by the time she got off the bus. Tim waited a moment before he climbed down the back steps to follow her. She’d gotten off on a tree-lined street populated by houses that must cost a minimum of a half million dollars. Again she walked along with no fear of being followed. She even took her cell phone from her pocket again, though this time she didn’t talk to her father.

  “I’m just getting back home. You want to come over? Why not? For what? That’s bullshit. Just wait until your mom’s gone and then sneak out. So just kick her whiny little ass. You want me to come over and do it for you? Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Renee snapped her phone shut just as she reached the front gates of a community called Woodbridge Heights. “Hi, Floyd,” Renee said. She waved to the guard in the gatehouse.

  “Hello, Miss Kim. I like the new color.”

  “I’m thinking of getting a dress to match it for prom. What do you think?”

  “If I we
re forty years younger I’d ask you out.” The gate yawned open. “Have a good evening, Miss Kim.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  Tim ducked behind a tree and contemplated how he could get past the security guard and through the gate. He could probably knock Floyd out, but then someone would raise an alarm and he’d be trapped inside. He could try to bluff his way inside, say he was a repairman, except he didn’t have any tools.

  His salvation came in the form of a lawn care truck that pulled a commercial lawnmower in a trailer. While Floyd the guard checked the driver’s credentials, Tim leaped into the trailer and flattened himself against one side of the mower. Unless Floyd actually looked in the trailer, Tim would be able to slip through.

  As he hoped, Floyd opened the gates and then waved the truck through. Tim waited until he was certain the guard wouldn’t see him before he stood up and then jumped off the trailer. He landed on the grass beside someone’s mailbox; the truck went slow enough that he didn’t hurt himself. Then he looked around for Renee Kim.

  Despite the load she carried, she was a quick walker. He didn’t hurry to catch up with her; he kept far enough back so he could see her turquoise hair and pink backpack. She strolled up to an enormous house at the end of the street and paused to take some papers out of the mailbox. She sorted through these as she walked up the front steps, still oblivious to him.

  He loitered by a tree in front of another house for a couple of minutes before he headed for Renee’s house. He tried to look casual, as if he belonged here. Along the way he worked out his strategy. Lying had never been his strong suit and he doubted Renee would fall for it if he knocked on the door and tried to pass himself off as a repairman or someone in distress.

  He wondered if Renee had any servants, a maid or gardener inside with her. This certainly seemed like the kind of house that would have servants inside. That would make things more difficult. He would just have to hope for the best.

  The first window he tried on the ground floor was locked. He tried another with similar results. He looked up and saw a balcony that overlooked the spacious backyard. There was a trellis that seemed like it would accommodate his weight. As he scrambled up the trellis, he thought of Romeo and Juliet, only this was much different. He doubted Renee would give him a kiss or a sonnet when she saw him. She would probably scream and run for the phone to call the cops.