Pathspace: The Space of Paths

by Matthew Kennedy

  Damn! He un-wove the pathspace and light flooded back. She was facing away from him, but he could tell from her stance that she was annoyed. “You wouldn't really do that would you?” he asked. “It would be a nuisance to Daniels and put me at risk for further infection.”

  She turned to face him. Her front was just as annoyed as her back. “I'm worried about Lester too,” she said. “But I'm not about to lose a wizard as well as an apprentice, just because an old fool won't give himself enough time to recover from a near-fatal wounding.”

  “He needs me,” Xander growled.

  “You don't even know if he's still alive,” she said.

  “Well, how am I supposed to find out if I'm trapped in this infirmary?” he demanded.

  She eyed him. “The future of Rado,” she told him. “is more important than a mere apprentice. I'm sorry if that seems cold, but we both know it's true. If you run off while you're still in a weakened condition and get yourself killed, your school is finished before it's even started. You're too valuable to risk like that.”

  “I need him, damn it!” He glared at her. “We need him. I can't have a school without students, and I can't stay here and teach them while I'm out trying to find more.”

  “You can't do either one if you're dead. And you won't have the chance to do either one if Texas invades and conquers us.” She stood there, studying him to see if he was hearing her. “If I have to, I'll station guards inside the room as well as outside it. They'll bring you a chamber pot, and watch you squat and pee into it if that's what it takes to make sure you finish your recovery. Don't make me treat you like a child. Start behaving like an adult, wizard!”

  He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. “My only apprentice,” he said, “is in a hostile country, run by a man who lets the Church burn wizards at the stake. How can I just sit here and do nothing?”

  She sat down next to him. “You won't be doing nothing,” she told him. “You'll be planning the defense of Rado. I've been getting some very alarming reports from my operatives in the Lone Star Empire. It appears that the Honcho has been making plans to produce massive quantities of fuel and ammo for the Ancient motorized war vehicles he uncovered under Abilene.”

  “If he succeeds in making enough fuel, we're in real trouble.”

  “Yes. So stop worrying about Lester and help me come up with a plan.”

  Chapter 56

  Lester: “Do you see nothing?”

  He spared a glance through the transparent wall to make sure no one was coming, than focused on the wooden tray on the floor, trying to weave the pathspace.

  After a minute, it wobbled, and rose an inch from the floor.

  Lester wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his robe and pushed the weaving tighter. The tray rose another inch and rocked, as if in a breeze.

  It had been a day since Jeffrey returned with more metal tubing. This time he had brought a couple of old coins as well. Obviously, he was hoping that Lester would find a way to make everflames, too. But why? Whatever the reason, it couldn't be good for Rado. He had to get the hell out of here, and soon.

  Movement in the corner of his eye alerted him. Quickly, he un-wove the pathspace that was levitating the tray and mad the wall opaque again. As the key turned in the door, he dropped to the floor and began doing push ups.

  A new guard, whose name he didn't know pushed the door open and brought in his dinner on another tray. As he set it down and reached for the old one Lester struggled to his feet and then sat on the edge of his cot wiping sweat off his face.

  “What's with the workout?” the guard asked. “Are you cold in here?”

  “Not at the moment,” Lester said. “But it's hard to get proper exercise in a room I can cross with a few steps. When do I get to spend time out in the exercise yard?”

  “How should I know? From what I hear, you're lucky they don't let Brutus visit you in here.” He swung the door open to leave. “Word is, he's still having headaches from that rock you bounced off his head. He'd love to have a chat with you about it.”

  “That wasn't me, that was the wizard who did that.”

  The guard shrugged. “Whatever.” He shut the door and locked it.

  Lester made the wall transparent again and watched him leave. “You've got that backwards,” he muttered. “Brutus is the lucky one. For now.”

  After the guard was gone he waited to see if there would be a visit from Jeffrey. Unless the Runt appeared, he might have a few hours before the watch changed and the new guard glanced in the barred window in the door. Time to get to work.

  He had discovered that the key to moving objects with pathspace was circular weaving. The pathspace was more effective if it consisted of closed paths – like the multitude of circles that made up the donut-shaped vortex that made the swizzle work. Straight line paths were temporary, and faded. But closed circular paths tended to regenerate, to maintain their strength. And if you wove them tighter, they seemed to get stronger in the push they imparted to whatever was within their paths.

  To make the tray rise, all he had to do was imagine a tube sticking up through it, and weave the donut pathspace. Matter in the center of the pathspace vortex to move upwards, so the effect was as if something pushed the tray up against gravity.

  Now it was time to see if he could use a similar weaving to manipulate the lock in the door. Standing up, he paced over to the door and made a portion of it near the doorknob transparent. By fuddling with the weave, he found he was able to control how deep the transparency went. Instead of seeing all the way around the door, he experimented until he could see the locking mechanism inside it.

  Now for the hard part. This was going to be trickier. He had to make the pins engaged by the teeth of the guard's key push into their slots without the key to do it. He'd gotten a look at the key several times, so he knew it wasn't very complicated. In the days of the Ancients, this would have been harder, maybe even impossible. From the books he'd seen in Xander's room, many of the locks of the Ancients used electronic keys. He had no idea what that meant, but obviously it wasn't something he could manipulate with pathspace. Fortunately, no one used locks that anymore, since the electricity of the Ancients was a thing of the past.

  He imagined tiny donut-shaped pathspace weavings, their holes pointing toward the edge of the door, one for each of the lock's three pins. He had to do this individually at first, playing with each of the three spring-loaded pins separately, until he could hold the images well enough to try to do more than one at a time.

  It took more than an hour to do. By the time he was ready for the next step, he was drenched in sweat and had a splitting headache.

  Taking a break, he drained the water the guard had brought and devoured the bread and meat, striving to replenish his strength. After what seemed like fifteen minutes or so, the worst of the headache was fading, and he was ready to try again.

  Once more he wove the three donuts of pathspace, this time leaving each one in pace as he continued on to the next. After a minute or so he turned the knob and opened the door.

  That's another thing Xander never showed me, he thought with satisfaction. But there was no time to waste breaking his arm patting himself on the back. He faced down the corridor and wove pathspace again. This time he did it from behind him, making the light from behind bend around him so that he would be hard to see from the front, but could see the light coming toward him so he could see where he was going. As long as no one came up behind him, he ought to be able to pull this off.

  He edged down the corridor, ears straining for the faintest sound that could be a guard coming. As he passed another door with a barred window, he did a quick transparency-weave to see if it was occupied. It wasn't, and neither were the next three.

  After a while he realized he was going the wrong way, heading deeper into the prison.

  He realized this because the corridor came to a dead end. Cursing under his breath, he turned and rewove the pathspace to let him see bac
k the way he had come and make himself invisible, or at least very transparent, from that direction.

  He was wasting time. He headed back the way he had come, picking up the pace. In less than a minute he was passing his own door. He knew that because it was the only one open.

  He passed it and continued down the corridor. There should still be hours before the guard came back. There was still time to make his escape.

  He should have known better. Coming around another corner, he near walked right into the guard, who was seated at a little table, sharpening his sword with a whetstone.

  What prevented him from running into the guard (whose back was too him), however, was not his own caution, but a wall of bars. In it, directly behind the guard, was a door. It was locked.

  He could open that lock, he knew, because it was probably opened by the same key that opened his cell door. But unless the hinges were oiled, the man would hear the door opening behind him. And there was no way to slip past him without touching him.

  Cursing mentally, Lester went back to his cell and closed the door. He threw himself on his cot and nearly forgot, before he forced himself to get up and un-weave the pathspace keeping the door unlocked. He tried the knob to make sure it wouldn't turn, then flung himself back on the cot and tried to get some sleep.

  Chapter 57

  Jeffrey: “He who has seen what has happened”

  The guard unlocked the door for him and stood aside as Jeffrey entered the cell. He heard the click as the door was re-locked behind him. It didn't make him afraid he would be trapped in the cell with Lester. Nor did it fill him with reassurance that the prisoner would not escape. All it did was engender amusement in him. As far as he could determine, the apprentice did not appear to be desperate enough to attempt forcing his way out of the cell.

  Like a domino striking another as it fell, the thought triggered another: why isn't he? If I were in here, aware that the pope wanted to turn me into a human torch to illuminate the dangers of trafficking with “demons”, I'd certainly be desperate to escape!

  Lester was sitting on his cot, staring at the breakfast tray in the middle of the floor. Oddly, there seemed to be a trace of perspiration on his forehead. He wiped it with a sleeve self-consciously when he noticed Jeffrey looking at him.

  “I thought you might like some donuts,” Jeffrey said, lifting the cover off the dish he was carrying. Twin wisps of steam arose from two cups of cocoa beside the stacked toroids.

  Lester stared at the donuts, then his gaze raked Jeffrey's face, as if searching for something. “Thanks,”he said, lifting one from the dish and turning it over in his hands, regarding it as if it were something mysterious he had never seen before.

  Jeffrey picked up one himself. “What? You don't have donuts in Rado?”

  Now the apprentice looked puzzled. “Of course we do,” he said, taking a bite. “We have everything you do here,” he paused, “except the TCC.”

  At the mention of the Church, Jeffrey grimaced, but only momentarily, because he saw with some surprise that he and Lester shared a secret vice: they were both dunkers. After taking a bite of his own, Jeffrey immersed the broken ends in the hot cocoa, letting the sweet mystery of it soak into the cake before he took another bite. What, after all, was the point of having donuts and coffee or cocoa if you couldn't combine them? Dunking sweetened the cake (for these were the old-fashioned cake donuts, and not the lighter, sugar glazed 'raised' variety) and simultaneously cooled the beverage as it permeated the dough.

  “I see,” he remarked, “that we have this is common.”

  “What?” mumbled Lester, his mouth full of soggy donut.

  “Dunking. Did your mother try to discourage it? Mine always said it was a vulgar affectation. I could never get her to appreciate the pleasure of it.”

  “No,” said Lester, picking up another one. “My whole family dunks. Even Gerrold.” As he said the name, a shadow seemed to pass over his face. But the donut soon fixed that.

  “Who's that? Your father?”

  “No,” said Lester, regarding the half-eaten donut pensively before adding, “He's my stepfather. My Dad was killed by Texas men.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” said Jeffrey, recalling his own sense of vicarious violation when he had seen Brutus's men savaging the farmer and his family. He felt soiled, stained by it, even though the only surviving witnesses were the perpetrators and himself. “War always involves killing. But they're only supposed to attack the other soldiers, not harmless farmers.”

  “Not all farmers are harmless,” Lester pointed out. “Mine certainly wasn't, when he saw his crops burning. If they hadn't used their crossbows, his pitchfork would have gotten at least one of them.”

  Jeffrey picked up the last donut and broke it in half. “It's wrong to waste food like that,” he said, handing Lester half of it. “But you know how it is. Armies burn what they can't take with them, to deny food to opposing armies. It's a double curse. First killing, then famine. I hate it myself. But it's even worse when commanders let them murder and rape civilians.”

  “I'm glad we agree on that,” said Lester. “I could tell you and Brutus were not made from the same mold. Apparently you don't agree on everything.”

  “How could you know that?” After what you saw, probably years ago in the last war, I wouldn't blame you for thinking all Texas men were animals.

  “From your argument with him in the cell, back in Rado,” Lester said. “I was listening in the corner, invisible. Back then, it was the only magic I knew.” He dunked his piece and finished it, then picked up the cup.

  Back then? “So I was right in thinking you learned how to make a swizzle here in prison? Without a wizard showing you? How did you do that?”

  Lester sipped his cocoa. “It's complicated,” he said, eventually. “Considering how your Church feels about it, It'd be a bad idea for you to know too much of what they call “demonic lore.”

  “Well, it's still impressive that you were able to do it.”

  “Not the word your Pope would use, I'd imagine.”

  Jeffrey grimaced. “He's not my pope. Don't you have churches in Rado?”

  “Sure,” said Lester. “Every village has one. In fact, that's the old definition of the word 'village' – a community big enough to have its own church. Places smaller than that are called 'hamlets'. But ours don't listen to the Pope.”

  “Well, neither do I,” said Jeffrey. “Dad and I argue about that. He says the TCC helps us to control the people. I say it's a bad idea to be in bed with superstition-mongers.”

  Lester leaned back on his cot. “There's another thing we agree on,” he said. “I haven't been to church since my father died.”

  Jeffrey was surprised by this. He thought people raised to be religious generally stayed that way. “Why not? You said your churches have nothing to do with Texas.”

  “I guess I got tired of the old 'God watches over us' line. After what happened to Dad, it got clear to me real fast that even if God does watch, He sure doesn't reach into our world to help much. He might make it rain, for all I know, but he doesn't provide umbrellas. He doesn't stop arrows or armies. We have what you might call 'irreconcilable differences' on the value of human life.” He stared at the floor. “I couldn't watch cruelty and no do anything about it. But He can...if he exists.”

  When he looked up again, Jeffrey avoided his eyes as a pang of guilt made him close his own for a second. I couldn't save them by myself, he told himself. You didn't even try! I know, but it wouldn't have accomplished anything.

  He opened his eyes and look at Lester, who was watching him. “My father values Brutus as a field commander,” he said. “I tried to bring him up on charges,” but my father won't let that happen.”

  “Don't worry about it,” said Lester. “When the time comes, I'll take care of him for you.”

  Jeffrey didn't have to ask what he meant. “But you weren't even there!”

  “I was, ten years ago,” Lester told him. “Wh
en he killed my father.”

  Chapter 58

  Enrique “In ignorance and in knowledge”

  His meeting room was brightly lit, by candles, so many that individual flickers from random air currents could not noticeably diminish the illumination. Despite this, His Holiness could feel darkness closing in. The Devil never gave up trying to snuff out the light of the world. But he will not succeed, Lord, for I am here to be Thy servant.

  “I'm sure you were surprised at my summons,” he told his guest. “Does anyone know you came here?”

  “No,” she said. “I sometimes leave the house on errands. I'm sure nobody wondered where I was going or followed me. But I was surprised when Father Dominic slipped the note into my hand during communion. Why now? Have I done something wrong?”

  Instead of answering immediately, he poured wine for both of them. “Not at all,” he told her, handing her the goblet. “You've done quite well. There does not appear to be the slightest suspicion that your insertion into their household was deliberate.” He sipped the wine. “As a domestic, your position allows you to be near the ruling family without attracting attention. And now it is time to use your unique access to help the Church.”

  She downed her wine. “How can I help, your Holiness?”

  “The Honcho has a prisoner that needs to be turned over to God's justice,” he informed her. “We have made it clear to His Excellency that it would be in his interests to do so, but has begun to drag his feet. He hasn't actually refused to hand him over, but We get the distinct impression that he is artfully stalling. We need you to find out why this is so.”

  For the first time she appeared troubled. “I can't exactly ask him why, Holiness. What sort of incentive have you offered him? If I knew that I might have a better chance of learning from what I overhear whether he has decided to go elsewhere for it.”