“Drop her in here, Your Majesty,” he says. “I got this ready when Frank called to tell us what we were up against. The metal should dampen her magic at least somewhat.”
The King complies. “Good show, Chris.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur notes that Bill Irish has taken custody of the dazed Wayne—and is leading him toward the hacienda. Useful men, these two humans, full of initiative.
Most of his attention, however, is on the back of the pickup truck, where Shahrazad crouches, watching them from beneath the shelter of the griffin’s arched neck.
She is much smaller than she had seemed when snapping and snarling within the confines of the truck’s cab, hardly larger than a toddling child. The yellow eyes that study him are angry, not abashed, and her hackles are still raised. Arthur looks at the hands she rests on the edge of the truck bed for a long moment before turning to Lovern.
“I guess this answers one question, at least. She can shift shape. How long until Frank gets here?”
“Probably not until morning,” Lovern replies. “He had to convince the werewolves it was safe for a couple of them to come down and guard the ranch.”
“Great.” Arthur shrugs and moves cautiously toward the truck. “Hi, Shahrazad. Want to come inside with us?”
She growls and snaps at him, but the griffin purls something deep in her throat. Arthur waits, fascinated, as the two creatures talk. At last, her hackles receding to just a faint accent of her ruff, Shahrazad gives a very human shrug. The transformation is so swift that Arthur almost misses it, but when she jumps from the truck, she is a coyote once more.
“There’s room for you, too,” Arthur says to the griffin. “You can either fly over the roof and into the courtyard or come in the front door.”
This time Shahrazad seems to be doing the convincing and after a few more interchanges of bark, growl, and shrill, the griffin flaps to the ground and follows their small procession into the hacienda.
Finding Shango takes over twenty-four hours, but early in the evening of the day following that on which Taiwo had made his confession, the Changer pads silently into Oya’s conference room.
Eddie notes that, despite continuing as a “white man,” the Changer looks rather good in the loose traditional robes that Oya had procured for him. He wonders if the Changer might have made some subtle adaptations to his build to accommodate the clothing. He grins at the idea. Certainly someone as ancient as the Changer is immune to such human vanity. But then is vanity merely a human trait?
Further speculation on this matter is stalled when the Changer, reaching across the table for the pitcher of heavily sugared iced tea, says economically:
“I’ve found him.”
Eddie blinks. “Shango?”
“And someone who should be Regis.”
“Where?” Eddie holds up his hand. “No, wait. Let me call the others. There’s no need for you to report twice.”
The Changer nods, settles down at one end of the table, and methodically begins consuming slices of baked yam. That’s the only indication Eddie gets of how hard and how long the Changer had been searching.
Recalling the others takes several hours since the Changer isn’t the only one who has been out collecting data, but arrangements had been made for them to check in at various points. Aduke’s nieces and nephews are all too happy to earn a naira for running errands.
“Didn’t you ever consider,” Eddie teases Oya when she returns, “that taking out the phones would inconvenience us as well as Shango?”
She smiles back at him. “I had no control over what happened to the telephones. The wind has her own ideas.”
The Changer, who has said nothing since his brief report to Eddie, nods. “Naturals do have wills of their own, a thing too many forget.”
Eddie looks at the other, expecting to see one of his faint grins, but the Changer looks serious. He is remembering how very old the Changer is when the ancient continues, speaking to Oya:
“Have you considered that the wind may not wish to release the city? You have given her recognition that has not been hers since men stopped worshiping the elements.”
Oya seems calm, but Eddie, who has known her in many lives, notices that she is gently scraping the edge of the table with one fingernail and realizes that she is anxious.
“I summoned the wind,” Oya answers the Changer, “and I expect my power should be enough to disperse it.”
“That may be too much to expect,” is all he replies.
By common consent, the subject is dropped when Aduke arrives, followed thereafter by Anson, Dakar, and Katsuhiro. The latter two take seats at opposite ends of the table. Dakar is arrogantly smug, Katsuhiro aggravated. He hasn’t much liked the fact that his appearance keeps him from doing any scouting, but has steadily refused allow himself to be disguised as anything but Japanese.
“The Changer,” Eddie says, calling the meeting to order with nothing more than a glance, “has located Shango. Changer?”
“I would have found him more quickly,” the Changer says apologetically, “if I had realized sooner that he had reverted to ‘type.”
The athanor knows that the Changer means “to archetype,” but Aduke looks vaguely confused.
“When that thought occurred to me,” the Changer continues, “I started checking power plants. I found him at a secondary electricity-generating facility on the edge of town. A man who matches the description of Regis is with him. Moreover, the facility is heavily guarded.”
Dakar nods, his voice a deep rumble. “Scuttlebutt among the militia and police is that the mayor expects an internal coup. Therefore, all the sensitive points within the city are being guarded.”
“A good excuse,” Anson says, appreciative of cleverness even from an opponent, “since we know from Taiwo that there is a coup planned, only the mayor is one of those planning the coup and that it is to be against the central government, not within Monamona.”
“Plans can change,” Dakar says, “and I do not think that Shango ever meant the mayor to last long as president of Nigeria. The troops are quite captivated by him. I have heard his salute Kabiesi! on their lips. Rumors circulate freely that he is indeed Shango reborn, not merely the minister of electricity.”
Dakar seems torn between disgust and admiration at this last, and no wonder. Like Shango, he had once been hailed as a god by these people, but unlike Shango, he had not attempted to regain his deific stature once European influence made it dangerous to retain.
Again Eddie reflects on the strange psychology of the athanor, so many of whom crave both power and privacy. Arthur has managed both by setting himself up as king of the athanor, but there can only be one such king. He doubts that Shango will be the last to interpret the Accord’s more permissive view on interacting with humanity as an invitation to set up as gods.
“Many guards?” Katsuhiro asks.
“At least forty,” the Changer says. “As I scouted, I wondered at the number of troops I saw.”
Dakar rumbles, “Many are ‘reserve,’ not regulars. That’s why I had no trouble inserting myself into conversations. The regular Monamona police force is about what you would expect in a city of this size. The reserves, though.... By my estimate, they are at least triple the size of the police force and among them is where I found the greatest concentration of those who wear Shango’s badge.”
“Shango’s,” Eddie says, checking to make certain he understands. “Not Minister Omomomo’s?”
“That’s right,” Dakar agrees. “I had not thought clearly about it before...”
“You wouldn’t,” Katsuhiro mutters, but he does softly enough that Dakar can choose to ignore it. To Eddie’s pleasant surprise Dakar does, continuing as if there had been no interruption.
“It confirms Taiwo’s story that a coup had been being planned before Oya raised the wind. The wind has just moved up the timetable.”
Oya looks relieved until the Changer adds:
“The wind m
ay have done more than move up the timetable. I circled the city before I entered, and there is quite a force out there. Among the encampments, I saw a heavily guarded sector. No one guards against a bird, so I flew in and took a closer look. There are several national ministers present—and the president himself. If Shango is not stopped and his forces dispersed before the wind falls, then a coup attempt is inevitable.”
Anson shakes his head in mock dismay. “And you didn’t think to mention who waits outside for us?”
“Until now,” the Changer replies levelly, “it didn’t seem important.” Then he grins.
Eddie shakes his head and refocuses the meeting. “Now that we know where Shango is we can plan how to go after him.”
“Him,” Anson stresses softly. “I have no desire to kill men whose only crime is that they defend someone they believe is at least a great leader, if not a great god.”
Nods around the table answer this. Eddie notices that Aduke has full control of herself now, amazing in a woman who has suffered so many shocks so close together. Oya has chosen well.
“Our choices then,” he continues, “are sending in an assassin or luring Shango out. Let me add,” he says, raising his hand for silence, “that the Accord’s policy against assassination has not changed.”
He stares hard at Anson and the Changer as he says this, but the first merely gives him an innocent smile and the second his usual unreadable calm.
“So we don’t send in an assassin,” Katsuhiro prompts. “Then we need to get him out and, presumably, subdue him sufficiently that he can be assessed before the Accord.”
Eddie nods. “That would be ideal.”
Aduke raises her hand. “Eddie, should I be present for this? I am not unaware of the glances people have been giving me. If I am restraining your ability to speak plainly, then I should leave.”
Oya frowns, but before she can speak Eddie says, “Aduke, someone providing a little restraint is not a bad idea, believe me. The question is, do you want to hear things that you must realize by now will need to be kept secret?”
Aduke looks so serious that his heart aches for her. She is little more than a child herself, just a college girl, really, who has been forced to confront death, betrayal, and political intrigue within the span of a few weeks. Why should she choose to face more? Her answer surprises him, for he had expected her to gracefully retreat.
“I have helped raise Oya’s wind,” she says proudly. “I have heard the names of old gods used in familiar speech. My place is with you people, if you will have me.”
Eddie looks around the table. “Any objections?”
No one even looks doubtful. Anson appoints himself spokesman for the rest.
“No objections. Let the woman stay. She has already proven her wisdom in offering to depart.”
“Then,” Eddie says, “Aduke, we appreciate your concern, but we welcome your help and advice. We must ask, however, that you never speak of the more fantastic elements we raise.”
Aduke nods solemnly. “I promise. May I ask one question?”
“Yes.”
“What is this ‘Accord’ you have mentioned?”
“It is the set of laws that governs the group to which all six of us belong.” He glances at the Changer, but the Changer gives a slight nod indicating that he does not mind being mentioned as if he is a signatory, though he is not. “One of its cardinal tenets is that we will not—unless there is no other choice—kill a member of our own company.”
“And Shango is also one of you?”
“He is. Nothing he has done, thus far, has broken the Accord, although he has stretched certain new provisions rather farther than many will like.”
Aduke nods. “I’m glad to learn that this Accord of yours does not condone mass murder.”
Eddie forbears from mentioning that it doesn’t precisely forbid it. Aduke will be more comfortable if she doesn’t know just how little restraint the Accord puts on its members’ interactions with humanity.
Katsuhiro says impatiently. “Now that we’ve settled this, can we move on? The night grows no younger.”
Anson pokes him. “Stop fussing. I tink it no becoming in a samurai, eh?”
Glad that he didn’t need to chide the Japanese, especially when he’s in a bad mood, Eddie rubs his five o’clock shadow.
“Now, kidnapping Shango will not be easy if he stays inside that electrical plant. It can be done, but there will most certainly be casualties. Therefore, we need to lure him out.”
“Send Kehinde in,” Aduke suggests. “He looks just like Taiwo, and Taiwo is trusted by the minister.”
Eddie nods. “That’s not a bad idea. However, it would mean taking Kehinde into our confidence. I’m not prepared to do that.”
“Oh.” Aduke looks abashed. “I hadn’t thought of that. He would be easy enough to bribe. I know he longs to hear some of the stories he is certain Oya has. He would do anything for that.”
“Still,” Eddie says kindly, “I would not like to put an innocent scholar at risk. However, at least two of our company are masters of disguise. Anson? Changer?”
He notes Aduke’s surprise when he names the white man, and admires her restraint when she does not question.
“My Yoruban,” the Changer says, “is adequate but somewhat archaic.”
“I could do it,” Anson says. “I’d enjoy it, actually. If Taiwo remains repentant, I should be able to get him to tell me enough for me to pass as him.”
Aduke is obviously bursting with a desire to ask how Anson can disguise himself as a man far shorter and with a heavier build. Twinkling at her, Anson waggles a finger.
“Eddie did say that I am a master of disguise, did he not? Have faith.”
Aduke smiles. “I do, Eshu.”
“Where would be the best place for you to lure him?” Eddie continues. “Changer?”
“The electrical plant is at the edge of the city,” the Changer replies. “Normally, it would be somewhat isolated, since there are only factories and such around it. However, with the military cordon around the city, the area is swarming with men.”
“Even at night?” Katsuhiro asks.
“I suspect so,” the Changer says. “I can check when we are further along in our planning. Dakar, do you have any idea what guard shifts are?”
“I don’t know for the electrical plant in particular,” Dakar replies.
He has not touched anything alcoholic since the promise of military action began, and Eddie is astonished by the difference in him. He makes a mental note to tell Arthur that the best way to keep from having trouble with Dakar would be to give him more steady work of this kind, rather than the occasional troubleshooting/punishment mission.
“However,” Dakar continues, “they are using six-hour shifts right now: six to noon, noon to six, six to midnight, midnight to six.”
“Sounds like a charm of some sort,” Katsuhiro mutters.
“What time is it now?” Eddie says, ignoring him.
“Eight,” Oya supplies.
“Then we could move in after the midnight shift is on,” Eddie says. “That gives us the cover of darkness and a potentially tired group of guards.”
“It worked last night,” Dakar protests, “and for that reason, I don’t think it will work today. Shango must know who made that attack on Regis’s compound. He’s going to be shitting bricks tonight. We won’t catch him asleep, neither him nor his guards. They’ll be waiting for trouble.”
“Good point,” Anson shrugs. “So when then?”
Aduke raises her hand. “In the morning, when the streets are filled with people going to market. Soldiers won’t want to fire weapons, and civilians will not want to get involved in other people’s business.”
“Clever girl,” Anson says admiringly. “She’s right. Moreover, a visit from ‘Taiwo’ will seem more normal then. We could even send a note tonight indicating that Taiwo hopes to sneak to Shango later. He’ll spend all night asking himself questions and when Tai
wo arrives, Shango won’t be able to refuse to see him.”
The Changer nods. “I’ll carry the note when I go scout out the best place for us to take Shango so that we can restrain him.”
Dakar gets up from his seat. “And I will go learn if the guard shifts at the electrical plant are the same. Perhaps Oba-san can work out how to restrain someone who can throw lightning. I believe he and Shango share some talents in that area.”
Katsuhiro brightens at the prospect of making a useful contribution. “I will do that. Tell me, how do we get Shango out of the country without drawing unwelcome attention to ourselves?”
The Changer smiles. “If everything else is under control, I can send a message to my brother. He can certainly arrange for transportation that will not be questioned.”
Eddie bangs an imaginary gavel on the table. “Then this meeting is adjourned until we have more data.” He turns to Oya, who has been far too silent, and speaks to her in a lowered voice. “Oya, are you going to be able to lower the wind when we need to get out of here?”
She frowns. “Aduke and I will look into that. The Changer has raised some interesting points.”
Eddie sighs, noting from the other’s expressions that they have overheard, but that since he did not make the issue public, they will hold their questions for now. That won’t last, but he’s grateful for it now.
“I was afraid of that,” he says.
For a fleeting moment, he wishes he were back in Albuquerque, where the problems are little things, like wondering if sasquatches can go to rock concerts or satyrs sing and dance. Then he pushes that lovely thought aside and goes to make certain that Anson is not outclevering himself in the note he is composing under the Changer’s indifferent eye.
22
Love your enemies. It makes them so damn mad.
—P.D. East
The morning following Shahrazad and Louhi’s arrival in Albuquerque, Chris Kristofer watches Ian Lovern pace back and forth in front of the King’s desk. Chris, sitting discreetly in a corner, his laptop open, ready to take notes or send messages at the King’s command, thinks the wizard looks much more invigorated than he had when he had arrived at the Albuquerque airport.
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