by Lorijo Metz
“Really, Bewfordios—”
“Call me Provost!”
“Ah well, if you insist.”
“I do. And what’s more, I don’t have time to speculate on what, or who, or anything about an entity. I know as much as you, that for some reason it chose to delay our progress and—Concentric help us—we may already be too late!”
“Then I suggest you focus your energy and get us to Circanthos toot-sweet.”
“Toot-sweet? TOOT-SWEET? YOU suggest—”
“Please, Principal Provost, I would like to see my daughter, and my body, again.”
“Not that you were invited along, mind you.”
“McKenzie is my daughter!”
“I’m well aware of that. Moreover, it’s now clear to me where your daughter derives her total disregard for authority. However, as you ARE her father, whether I like it or not, if you wish to see your daughter and your body again, I suggest that you and the professor stop sending thoughts my way. I must concentrate on our destination or I’m afraid we shall all remain bodiless, lost in space, for the rest of eternity!”
“Oh No!”
“James, my boy, try to concentrate on McKenzie. It may help. I’ll assist Bewfordios—”
“Into a hole, Petré! Right into a blasted black hole!”
“I mean, I’ll assist B.R. by concentrating on my laboratory.”
“Can I ask one more question, Principal Provost?”
“WHAT?”
“How do you know McKenzie made it to your planet?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh! Well, then I’m going to concentrate on McKenzie.”
“Please do.”
“Don’t leave me behind.”
“QUIET!”
“Sorry, I’m thinking, thinking, thinking about McKenzie…”
Chapter 40
Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm
Wednesday, March 18th
Just outside Avondale
Headquarters is refusing my calls. Clearly, the government has already gotten involved. Which means, like all good government investigations, the phenomenon will soon “officially” cease to exist.
Ha! Not if I have my way!
***
KEEPING UP WITH THE TSENDI
Wednesday, March 18th
Still dizzy from the portal, McKenzie tried to take in the swollen mass of purple and blue bruises that covered her friend’s face. At least he was smiling. McKenzie squeezed his arm and turned. Many of the Tsendi had fled; the remaining ones huddled behind Wells. They’re afraid of me, she realized. And they should be. It was taking every ounce of her willpower not to particle-weave H.G. Wells and his bug-eyed followers right out of existence. “UNTIE him!”
Wells smiled. He looked calm and not at all surprised she had just woven a portal over his head. “Abacis,” he said.
Abacis? Right—she’d forgotten about him. McKenzie turned and, sure enough, Abacis was standing not two feet behind Hayes, the leash, for lack of a better word, held firmly in his hairy Tsendi grasp.
“Untie him you FOOL! But don’t let him out of your grasp, and do not let the girl near him.”
Abacis bent down, as if to follow Wells’ orders, but before he had a chance to touch the rope, Hayes stood up, his hands inexplicably free. He grabbed the back of McKenzie’s chair and pulled her backwards, while at the same time another group of Tsendi rushed out of the forest and surrounded them—only they didn’t face McKenzie and Hayes, they faced outwards.
Hayes motioned McKenzie to be quiet, leaned closer and whispered, “It’s all part of the plan. By the way, I know where the cortext is.”
Apparently, Hayes was doing very well without her. “Me too,” she whispered. “How do you know?”
Hayes shook his head. “Long story. But that’s great, so you’ve got it.”
“Not exactly. But all I have to do is get back into Wells’ bedroom.” McKenzie grabbed Hayes’ arm. “First, I’m getting us out of here.”
Hayes pulled himself free.
“You don’t have to be afraid of particle-weaving.”
“I’m not. Look,” he whispered. “These guys are protecting us. They’re on our side. Abacis wants us to take H.G. Wells back to Earth. He’s gonna help us get the cortext.”
McKenzie hesitated. Hayes seemed so confident. “Maybe we should—”
“I don’t have time to explain,” he whispered. “Trust me, whatever happens, go along with Abacis.”
The blockade of hairy Tsendi backs opened up, exposing them. Abacis was standing in front of their group facing Wells. The number of Tsendi supposedly on their side was few in comparison.
“…over one hundred loonocks and are we better off?” Abacis was speaking.
“Ungrateful mongrel,” spat Wells. “Before me you were nothing but a tribe of-of-of—uncivilized apes!” he sputtered. “I’ve given you order, a thriving sobolis skin industry and controlled rations of cobaca froot.”
Abacis sneered. “Before you arrived, no one controlled our rations.”
Tsendi hands flew to their cobaca-filled pouches. Abacis had hit a nerve.
“How many Tsendi were slaughtered each loonocks fighting over cobaca froot?” said Wells. “I have brought order where none existed. It is for your own good that I impose—”
“For our OWN GOOD that we are little more than slaves?”
Murmurs from both sides confirmed H.G. Wells was losing ground.
“The Advitor was meant to free us,” Abacis continued. “But, what have you freed us from? From the Circanthians? From the trees? Or have you made sure that we will never be free again?”
“BLASPHEMY!” Wells’ hand flew to his chest. His face turned a splotchy, peptobismally shade of pink and every Tsendi, including Abacis, held his breath and leaned forward.
McKenzie grabbed Hayes’ arm and whispered, “Time to go!”
Suddenly a serene, almost fatherly smile replaced Wells’ scowl.
The Tsendi released a collective sigh of relief. Being the Advitor, it appeared, still meant something.
Hayes pulled free of McKenzie’s grasp.
“Poor, poor Abacis,” said Wells. “Patience, I’m afraid, is something you’ve always lacked. The Circanthians are almost extinct and you would have soon had your precious freedom. Had you only waited—”
“We are tired of waiting.” Abacis’ voice was frighteningly cold. “Tired of your lies.” Then for some reason he pointed at McKenzie. “This human,” he said, “is the real Advitor!”
“How, D-D-DARE you!” Wells sputtered.
Tsendi on both sides began jumping up and down, hurling insults at each other. And before McKenzie knew it, Hayes had pushed her forward, grabbed her wrist and was now waving her hand back and forth. “Go along with it,” he whispered squeezing her shoulder.
“Are you crazy?” McKenzie yanked her hand out of his.
“This human can perform Circanthian magic—the arac-telae,” Abacis said.
All eyes turned towards McKenzie.
“Not only has she come here through time and space as the legend foretold,” he continued, “but she has the ability to fight the enemy on their own terms. And she has agreed to fight for us!”
The crowd went crazy.
McKenzie reached back and grabbed Hayes before he had time to give her another squeeze. “What’s going on?”
“Just be cool,” he said.
“COOL? You really are—”
“Nonsense!” Wells laughed, though he looked far from amused. “She’s a child, Abacis. And only a girl at that.”
Only a girl? Wells had said the wrong thing. “Tell that to the President,” McKenzie shouted. “She’ll have your balls!”
Wells ignored her. “To think a child could be the Advitor? She traveled here in a machine of MY design. And as for particle-weaving, I have seen no evidence of such ability.”
“The demonstration at Aramedios was not enough?” said Abacis. “The demonstration
a few moments ago?”
“Circanthian trickery,” muttered Wells, “They must have taught it to her, besides, Soliis provided that little demonstration at Aramedios, not the girl. My only regret is that I ever trusted him. Apparently, I have been sorely lacking in judgment concerning those I should trust,” Wells fixed Abacis with a cold, accusing stare, “and those I should not.”
The large Tsendi who had been standing close to Wells stepped forward. He was not only taller than the other Tsendi, but scarier looking too.
“Mallos,” whispered Hayes, his voice noticeably shaking.
McKenzie backed up, bumped into Hayes and, unexpectedly, found herself staring straight into Abacis’ eyes. They seemed to be asking her something. Pleading with her. Why? Hayes put his hand on her shoulder, gently this time, as if to reassure her.
“You are wrong,” Abacis said to Wells. “It is the Tsendi who have been deceived. Soliis lost his magic. He could not have performed such trickery as we saw at Aramedios. This girl, the one true Advitor, will change one of your guards into a broshbonit and prove that she, and only she, is the one true Advitor.”
Almost as one, the Tsendi behind Wells began to retreat—all, except Mallos.
H.G. Wells stared at McKenzie as if trying to assess what she was capable of. Then suddenly, like a Baptist preacher condemning sinners to hell, he pointed at Abacis and thundered, “FOOL! You have compromised the Tsendi! Attack! Attack before it is too late!”
And once again, the Tsendi began to move. Only not in retreat, but towards McKenzie, spears held high, muttering something that sounded distinctly like “kill, kill, kill!”
“MY Advitor promises you all the cobaca froot you can eat and what is more—” Abacis paused. The throng slowed. “Freedom! Freedom from human rule. Freedom to rule ourselves. The legend says the Advitor will deliver us, not enslave us. I propose a true test of Tsendi leadership!”
Wells chuckled, while the throng converged nervously behind him. “A test?”
It was all McKenzie could do not to gag. What had Hayes gotten her into?
“A team of my Tsendi versus a team of your choice in a contest of Olt-tsoot.”
Now the Tsendi really went crazy. “Olt-tsoot, Olt-tsoot, Olt-tsoot!”
“QUIET,” yelled Wells. Mallos faced the crowd and the chanting ceased.
“You want to play a game?” Wells shook his head. “Forgive me if I seem…confused.”
Mallos leaned over and whispered something to Wells. Whatever he said was apparently interesting, for Wells leaned closer. “Really,” said Wells. “To the death?”
Had McKenzie heard correctly?
“Really?” said Wells, “Beheaded?”
McKenzie turned around, slugged Hayes and forced him to look at her. “Really?” She said. “Beheaded?”
Hayes shrugged.
“And what if our side should win?” said Wells. “What then, Abacis? Mallos tells me the consequences can be most unpleasant.”
“I propose only team members be bound by the consequences.”
“And you propose this contest even though Mallos would be on my team?” The crowd rippled with laughter and Mallos turned, shocking McKenzie with a smile so ugly, so mean, it made her stomach lurch. “Either you are a bigger fool,” said Wells, “or a better tsoot player than any of us realize.”
“It is the Tsendi way,” said Abacis. “You would not understand.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Abacis’ insult had been understood.
“I also propose,” said Abacis, “should my team win, you will accompany these two humans back to Earth. And should you someday choose to return…” Abacis paused and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation, “be assured my spear will not miss.”
Mallos dropped onto all fours and McKenzie could have sworn he growled. Just as there had been a collective holding of breath, there was now a collective “Ahhhhhh.” Wells’ face turned white, but whether with fear or furry, she couldn’t tell. He leaned over and whispered something to Mallos, after which the big Tsendi, reluctantly, stood up.
“Sooooo,” said Wells, “it is not the girl you would have in power, but yourself.” He laughed, his eyes sparkling with something that appeared almost a cross between triumph and pure hatred. “Power,” he said. “This, I understand, Abacis, much, MUCH better than you.”
McKenzie studied Mallos. If Olt-tsoot were anything like basketball, Mallos would definitely have an advantage.
“Very well, Abacis, Olt-tsoot it is. However, I too have a condition: should MY team prevail, your team must abide by the “traditional” rules and all your followers share in the consequences—including the girl. I cannot tolerate traitors in my kingdom.”
Abacis hesitated. Surely, he was going to discuss Wells’ conditions with his followers. “We accept,” he said, and by the low moans and grumblings behind her, McKenzie wasn’t the only one concerned with this decision.
“Are you certain? Your followers don’t appear as confident.”
“We accept,” Abacis repeated.
This can’t be happening, thought McKenzie.
“Then it is agreed,” Wells announced, loud enough so that even those hiding on the forest’s edge could hear. “We shall meet on the court when Cera san is next fully turned over the Cocombaca forest.”
Abacis turned. It was time to leave. “Mallos will, of course, need time to ready his team.” Another murmur arose from the crowd, now tinged with laughter.
“One moment,” said Wells. “I have one more, minor, condition.” He looked straight at McKenzie, “the boy must remain with me.”
“NO!” McKenzie reached for Hayes, but he stepped aside. “What are you doing?”
“If we are to allow the girl to leave with my Gate,” said Wells, “it is only fair that the boy remain in my possession.”
Abacis looked at Hayes. Hayes nodded and, before McKenzie could stop him, walked over to Wells. “HAYES! Don’t!”
“Very well,” said Abacis. “You must promise he will remain in your quarters, away from Mallos and unharmed.”
Wells placed his hand on Hayes’ shoulder like a benevolent, loving father. “You have what I want and I have what you want. In return, I must have your promise the girl, more important, my Gate will remain unharmed.”
Abacis nodded. “Come,” he said to McKenzie.
McKenzie felt helpless. What good was it being the Corona-Soter or the Advitor if no one would listen to her?
Hayes looked pale, a fact made worse by the bruises covering his face, but his voice never faltered as he said, “Go on McKenzie. I’ll be fine.”
Abacis took hold of McKenzie’s wheelchair, and much to her irritation, pushed her into the forest. Before she knew it, McKenzie was gliding under the trees, keeping pace with the Tsendi.
Chapter 41
Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm
Wednesday, March 18th
Just outside Avondale
Ventured out to observe the alien device. It had ceased to glow, which meant, I presumed, it was no longer operational. At first view, it was rather disappointing. A triangular shaped object with a few jewels. It hardly seemed complicated enough to cause three beings to disappear. Experience, however, has taught me to never underestimate simplicity. Rather than touch the object and risk being dematerialized, I made note of its location, camouflaged it with a few branches should my investigation become compromised, and returned to the van.
***
HIGH TEA
Wednesday, March 18th
H.G. Wells’ Private Chamber
“Guards—outside!” ordered Wells. “Mallos, bring us tea. Wait—bother. Abacis is the only one who knows how to prepare a proper tea. Very well, do your best. But, make it hot and do not forget the milk and sugar.”
“Milk?” said Mallos.
“Sobolis milk, idiot. Now get out!” Mallos bowed and backed out of the room. Just before he disappeared, he made sure to fix Hayes with a look that clearly said, �
�Wait until I get you alone!”
Hayes was left standing awkwardly in front of Wells’ bed.
“Have a seat, boy.”
“My name is Hayes.”
“As you wish, Master Hayes.” Wells was admiring himself in front of a small piece of glass hanging on the wall by his desk. Presumably pleased with what he saw, he turned around, smiled and said, “I believe we’ve gotten off to a poor start. I’ve underestimated you. You’re far more resourceful than I thought. Usually your kind—”
“What ‘kind’? You don’t even know me.”
Wells looked at Hayes as if, indeed, he didn’t know what to make of such a creature. Finally, his expression changed, a generous smile replacing the look of confusion. No, more than generous, thought Hayes, searching for a better word—magnanimous; a smile that managed to make Hayes feel both important and small at the same time. “You must forgive me, Master Hayes. I’ve made a grave error. In fact, I am quite certain you have been grossly underestimated your entire life. To that end, I intend to rectify that most unfortunate of circumstances.”
Mallos returned carrying a tray with some surprisingly civilized looking cups and saucers and a pitcher that obviously contained tea. The cups, saucers and the pitcher appeared to be made out of some sort of copper metal. It struck Hayes that they were they were the most civilized things he’d seen in Wells’ compound.
“On the desk, Mallos. Milk?”
“I hate tea,” said Hayes.
Mallos grunted as if he approved.
“Of course you don’t hate tea. You’re an American; you’ve probably never had proper tea. Mallos, five—no six lumps of sugar for the boy and heavy on the sobolis milk. I believe young gentleman, such as you, prefer it that way. I’ll prepare mine myself.”
Mallos prepared Hayes a cup of ‘proper English tea’ and then seemed to take great pleasure in handing it to him. Probably because he thought Hayes would hate it. Surprisingly though—most surprising to Hayes—he liked it and drank it down quickly.
Grinning, Hayes handed the cup back to Mallos and demanded more. It was probably stupid to be so brazenly happy about bossing the big ugly Tsendi around, but with the knowledge that Wells needed something from him, Hayes decided to get in some well earned revenge while he could.