Heroes at Risk

by Moore, Moira J.

  “He’s going as fast as he can.”

  That wasn’t good enough. I pounded on the side of the carriage. “Hey!” I shouted. “You have to go faster!” I reached for the window so I could shout through it.

  LaMonte grabbed me by a handful of hair and pulled me back into my seat. “Derek knows how to do this. You do not. Let him work. Your sole task is to Shield Shintaro. You can’t properly do that if you’re worrying about what everyone else is doing. Settle down.”

  Bastard. Damn him for being right.

  Street after street after street. And despite the fact that we were going slower, the ride was much bumpier. A couple of times I was sure we’d lost a wheel and I’d have to swallow down a spurt of panic.

  Finally, we stopped. Finally. “Are we there?” Wherever there was. LaMonte was between me and the carriage door. Why wasn’t he moving? Was he really going to make me climb over him?

  The door opened, and LaMonte still didn’t move. Beatrice was standing in the way. “There’s something strange going on,” he announced. “There’s a group, about six, I’d guess. They’ve got fires lit, and that’s never a good thing. Shintaro’s there, and I think he’s alive. I couldn’t see too well, but he seems to be tied up.”

  “They’re doing this out in the open?” LaMonte asked in disbelief.

  Beatrice shrugged. “They don’t seem to be worried about being seen.”

  “Good,” I said, frustrated with the chatter. “So let’s go.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Beatrice objected. “We should bring the Runners here. These people obviously mean harm and they outnumber us. We could just end up tied like Shintaro.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not wasting more time looking for Runners. They’ll kill him before we can get back. Or move him.” And if I had to bite and pull hair to get out of that carriage, I would.

  LaMonte spared me that humiliation by saying, “I agree with Dunleavy, Derek. We should at least keep watch while you get the Runners.”

  Beatrice sighed gustily. “Fine. We circled around after we spotted them so we wouldn’t be noticed. You take this street up two blocks and then you go left. Follow that street until it ends. They’re all gathered up against where the rivers meet, down by the wall. It shields them from the river traffic.”

  They were at the hub.

  And we were, at long last, getting out of the carriage. I let LaMonte lead me down the proper streets. The ground was shaking, but not enough to do significant damage. Taro was developing a delicate touch with that.

  There were no hiding places to allow us to stand and watch. The buildings just stopped suddenly and there were no trees, just dead, flattened grass between the last rickety building and the solid stone wall that stood where the three rivers met. Moving any farther would bring us out in the open.

  I didn’t care. Nor was I concerned about the lack of cover. I didn’t need to hide. I knew what Taro could do.

  So I started running toward the group. That was surprisingly difficult, running while Shielding Taro, and I couldn’t run as fast as I normally could.

  “Dunleavy!” LaMonte hissed in horror.

  I ignored him. He’d have to run and tackle me if he wanted to stop me, and that would get everyone’s attention as easily as anything else.

  I didn’t want to take the chance he’d try, though. “We’re here, Taro!” I shouted. “Bury ’em!” I could barely see him, between the thickening darkness and my focus on my Shielding, but there was his form huddled against the wall.

  The forces grew stronger, just for a few moments. There were varying shouts of alarm. But there were also people running around. Whatever Taro was doing, he wasn’t burying people. That was something he had done before, and it was the easiest way, I thought, of dealing with these people. But maybe he couldn’t bury more than one at a time.

  I was hit from behind and struck the ground with a painful pounding. That hurt a hell of a lot, and I got a mouthful of dirt out of it. The weight was heavy on my back. I kicked out and connected with nothing.

  “Stop channeling,” I called out. I couldn’t think while I was Shielding.

  The tremors stopped.

  That seemed to surprise the person on top of me, who gasped. I pushed at him, and his shock enabled me to wiggle out from under him. He grabbed at my legs and I kicked him in the face. I thought I heard a crunch.

  I scrambled free, but I was merely tackled again, by two people. And when we were all on the ground, I heard a voice say, “How fortunate. You were the one we wanted anyway.”

  That made no sense.

  The two pulled me to my feet and then dragged me to the wall next to Taro. And then I saw the problem. Taro was blindfolded. He couldn’t see to bury people.

  I had little strength left, but I saw a rope in someone’s grip. I kicked and I scratched and I bit, and I was able to reach out and pull the cloth from Taro’s eyes.

  His protections went down, my Shields went up, and the ground began to heave, sharply. Everyone fell, and that was all Taro needed to sink each person far enough into the ground that they couldn’t easily escape.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Heh. We made LaMonte swear.

  Six people. Three men, three women. One of them was Ben Veritas.

  He really had been trying to kill me.

  There were two bonfires going. A table had been knocked over, dumping books and rods and bowls of powder on the ground. Taro was naked except for the ropes that bound him. That wasn’t as shocking as the bruises on his face and body. Had he acquired those in the course of his abduction or after his capture?

  I thought about suggesting he bury his captors all the way.

  Then LaMonte was beside us, and apparently he was one of those people who was always prepared, because he was draping a cloak over Taro’s lower half while I worked on the bloodied ropes binding his wrists.

  “They wanted to kill me for my ashes,” he said. “You were the preferred target, and when that didn’t work they went after me.”

  How could they be so stupid as to try to murder a Pair? Was the alleged power they received from the ashes supposed to prevent them from getting caught? Had that worked for anyone yet? My attack could be explained away as a freak illness, maybe, but how could they disguise this much more blunt assault?

  I looked at Ben, who was sunk to the ground up to his knees. He appeared to be wearing some kind of robelike garment of a deep blue. I would have expected him to be angry, glaring at us and shouting. At the very least, he should be trying to free himself as his collaborators were, digging up the soil with fingernails. Instead, he stared down at the ground silently, his shoulders hunched, sort of collapsing in on himself. He seemed pale. I noticed he was trembling.

  “It was for my daughter,” he said suddenly. “For Sara. She is going to trial. She is going to be hanged.”

  Only if she was found guilty. And how the hell were our ashes going to influence that? Was there honestly some spell out there that could determine the outcome of a trial?

  “Are you claiming she didn’t kill the mayor?” Taro demanded.

  “What difference does that make?” Ben demanded in return with a flash of heated anger. “She’s nothing but a servant. She has no money and no one to speak for her.”

  In another flash, the anger disappeared, and to my horror, Ben started crying. Loud, hacking sobs that had to hurt. It was painful to watch. It was difficult to believe that he was acting purely to garner our sympathy.

  “It’s not right,” he blubbered. “You have everything, easy lives and food and clothes and everything you ever wanted, just because you’re born what you are. You don’t even have to work, if you don’t want to. And you’re not even needed here. High Scape’s gone cold and isn’t getting any more events. You’ve all said it. So where’s the harm?”

  “For gods’ sake, man, shut up!” one of the women hissed. Ben didn’t even glance at her.

  Where’s the harm? Was he craz
y? “So you used me to get to Taro.”

  Gasping, Ben raised wet eyes to me. “I didn’t need Source Karish,” he said. “His death would merely be an unfortunate consequence of yours.”

  “I thought you needed the ashes from someone lucky.”

  “A woman of no birth, beauty or exceptional talent,” he said, “Paired with a highly skilled, noble Source. Who is more fortunate than you?”

  It was unfathomable that a man who had been trying to kill me had the power to make me feel insulted.

  It wasn’t that what he said didn’t make sense. I was the lucky one, wasn’t I? Maybe not for the reasons so many people thought. Family connections didn’t matter to me. I didn’t care what family Taro came from. In fact, I could really do without his mother, and I thought he could, too. And while I admired his abilities, I didn’t think skill in anything made anyone a superior or inferior person. But he was a good man. He was someone I could trust and rely on and feel comfortable with. And those were the qualities that made him a superior Source, partner, friend and lover.

  So maybe I should just appreciate all that, instead of worrying about the fact that I didn’t deserve it. So I didn’t deserve it. I was lucky. There were worse things.

  It was made clear to me how very stupid I’d been by believing in Ben’s innocence for so long. But Ben had worked for the Triple S for decades. He had always treated me so kindly. So what if he’d made me uncomfortable? That had just been my own foolishness. So what if his daughter was suspected of murder? Why did that mean I was supposed to suspect him, too? There was no sense in that.

  Every time I’d assumed the worst of someone, I’d been embarrassingly wrong. And a lot of times when I’d trusted someone from the start, I’d been dangerously wrong. There was just no winning. Understanding people should have been part of the formal curriculum at the Academy.

  People had planned to kill me before, and I’d never imagined having to say that about myself. But with Ben it felt so much worse than the others. Because we lived in the same house, and he acted like he thought well of me. Really, what was wrong with me that people were prepared to do such things to me?

  LaMonte called out when he saw the Runners approaching, and Taro unearthed all the crazy people. They immediately began gathering up all their casting gadgetry in the hopes of running away. All except Ben, who sat on the ground and stared into space. There were a solid twelve Runners galloping through the shoddy streets, because Taro had always been considered an important person. Ben’s group was easily rounded up.

  They claimed they had been buried by Taro. Taro claimed he saw them all snorting something. Taro was believed.

  We took Taro home, where he was pampered and spoiled. Everyone was outraged that a man of criminal tendencies had been living among us, going so far as to attack two of us. The fact that no one else had suspected Ben didn’t make my oblivion any easier to accept. Would I ever reach a point where I could see what was right in front of my face?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Cree residence was located in the North Quad, on a long winding road with very few other houses. It was small, but the wood used for its construction had a deep dark red tint that I hadn’t seen before, and I assumed it was rare and expensive. The door was opened by a very pretty young man, and the first thing I saw beyond him was a silver sun set into the opposing wall, its rays stretching out to touch every edge of the wall. And like the house of Trader Fines, there were similar suns over every window we passed as we were led straight to the dining room.

  Again, everyone else was already there. Gamut, Ahmad, Fines and Williams. They were all enjoying some comment made just before Taro and I entered the room. I was pretty sure they weren’t laughing at us. Still, I felt awkward. I didn’t like being the last to arrive at a party any more than I liked being the first.

  I felt the muscles in Taro’s forearm tighten under my hand.

  “Dunleavy, Shintaro,” said Cree, rising gracefully from her chair. “I’m so pleased you could join us. Dunleavy, you are looking hale.”

  “Thanks to you,” I replied. Cree took my hand and led me to the empty seat beside Fines. That left the seat beside Gamut, at the opposite end of the table, for Taro. The table was set in the same manner as Fines’s had been, but the food had not yet been placed. The clay pots were there, though.

  “We understand Ayana has made a convert of you,” Fines commented.

  “Convert.” I’d never liked that word. To me it had always suggested coercion and a weakness of mind. “Even I can’t deny the evidence of my own eyes.”

  For some reason Taro found that funny, if his snicker was any indication.

  Fines smirked. “Perhaps it is our definition of evidence which differs.”

  Smug bastard.

  We were still rubbing the paste into our hands when the door to the dining room opened and several servants entered the room, two of them pushing trays piled with covered dishes. A bottle was placed before Taro while I was given a tall, narrow pot. “It is not wise for you to drink alcohol so soon after your treatment,” Cree explained.

  Well, I had been drinking wine with no noticeable effects, and it was a little annoying to be dictated to like a child, but the woman had saved my life, and she was my hostess. Besides, the tea smelled wonderful, fresh and clean, and was light in color as it was poured from the pot.

  The other servants placed covered plates all around us and withdrew. Clearly, we were once more to rotate the dishes about the table. It kind of reminded me of the Academy, only much, much quieter. And the food was better.

  “We heard that distressing news about Ben Veritas,” said Ahmad.

  It was, I thought, an odd sentence to speak and just leave out there, hanging entirely on its own. The logical assumption was that she was commiserating with us on the fact that Ben Veritas had tried to kill us. But it could be an expression of sorrow over the fact that he had been caught, for all I knew.

  “It is certain, then, that he gave you the niyacin powder after learning of its effect on you?” Cree asked. “That he was doing it deliberately?”

  “He’s all but admitted it,” Taro answered, rather shortly, I thought.

  Trader Fines made a sound of disapproval in his throat. “To engage in such behavior toward a member of one’s own household is highly inappropriate.”

  I put a spoonful of soup in my mouth to make sure I didn’t ask if he thought it was less inappropriate to engage in such behavior with a person not a member of one’s household. I was in a snarky mood that evening, for some reason.

  “Is he being charged with attempted murder or purveying ashes or both?”

  “I haven’t been told,” I said. “Wait a moment, a purveyor of ashes? We know that was his plan, ultimately, but I don’t know that they could accuse him of selling ashes. He didn’t get a chance to do that.”

  “Actually,” said Fines, “he’s well-known as a supplier of ashes.”

  There was no way to respond to that without sounding like an idiot. He sold ashes? He was well-known? Who was this person who had lived in our home and seen to our every need? How blind was I?

  “How could he be well-known?” Taro asked. “People haven’t been doing it for so very long.”

  “People have always done it.”

  “I thought it was only for the last half year,” I said.

  “It only became so very popular in the last year, but trust me, it’s always been done.”

  How did he know that? “Always since when?”

  “Always since the Landing. Before that, I have no way of knowing.”

  “But more and more people started doing it recently,” Cree added. “And that enabled the Runners to decipher the pattern.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that Ben has been doing this for years,” said Taro. “He doesn’t have any money. He wouldn’t still be working for the Triple S if he was making a lot of money selling ashes.”

  “I don’t know how much the ashes garner for the digger
s,” said Fines.

  “They’re the ones who do the digging, who risk getting caught.” And here I was arguing the economic unfairness of a criminal activity that nearly resulted in my death. It was ridiculous.

  Fines shrugged. “Suppliers often get the least of any profit. It is the way of things.”

  I thought about what had been said as I, following the example of the others, placed my empty soup bowl in a sort of repository in the center of the table. “You knew Ben Veritas before he was arrested?”

  “Knew of him. I’ve never met him.”

  “But you knew him as a source of ashes.”

  “Yes. He was well-known as being able to supply good ashes.”

  Good ashes. From the luckiest people? Was that what that meant?

  “I don’t know that anyone realized he was stepping into killing anyone, though,” said Williams.

  “Of course not,” said Gamut. “It’s ridiculous to think effective ashes can be harvested from a murder victim. Being murdered eliminates any luck the person enjoyed previously.”

  I kept my eyes on my plate, which had to be less rude than staring at Gamut. What kind of language was that to be using about the lives and the remains of human beings?

  Maybe it was easier to speak that way when one wasn’t a potential victim. Though why the others at the table were not potential victims was a bit of a puzzle. They all appeared to be enormously successful in their respective fields.

  “How do you know about all this?” Taro demanded.

  “Ashes are an important part of casting, Shintaro,” said Fines. “This is what we do.”

  I didn’t know why that surprised me. Cree obviously used spells. I supposed I just never considered whether the others did, too.

  “You’re a trader,” said Taro.

  “That is merely how I make money,” Fines responded. “It is not what I am.”

  “And your interest in spells, that is what you are?”

  “Not quite, but it is an important part.” Fines smiled. “Being a Source is an important part of what you are, wouldn’t you say?”