Differently Morphous

by Yahtzee Croshaw

  Archibald’s eyes rolled back and he stretched out the bottom corners of his mouth in exaggerated consideration. “Eeeeeesh. Yes, theoretically. Practically, I wouldn’t put money on it. I mean, look at this sequence here, look.” He ran a few feet of the string through his fist. “Think of it like computer programming, if that makes sense to you. Creating a wall is easy. It’s just ‘Project force in this direction.’ Only needs six runes. Dispelling’s easy, too. It’s the magical equivalent of a break function. With what we’re talking about, you’d need to detail the chemical composition of salt, how much you want, where you want it, what shape to make it . . . one sequence might fit on a string this size, but that’s without notation.”

  Alison’s shoulders sagged. She had been making a concerted effort to convince herself that perhaps Diablerie made at least some sense as a suspect—where had he been during the second killing, anyway?—but it wasn’t looking good. “Not completely impossible, then,” she said.

  “And that’s not factoring in the chant. We’d be lucky to get it under a minute. And it usually needs to be recited more than once. Don’t know if a fluidic could be persuaded to hold still long enough. I’m assuming this is related to the fluidic killings.”

  “They are very polite,” said Alison distractedly, before cringing slightly at herself. “Thanks, Mr. Brooke-Stodgeley. I need to head back up.”

  “Of course, sorry to bore you with all my wizard nonsense,” said Archibald. “But if you want to come down and talk about runecrafting again, it would always be nice to have someone as lovely as you brightening up the lab.” The elevator door closed behind her.

  He returned to his laptop with a contented sigh but was only settled for a few seconds before something on the other side of the room hurled itself across its cage angrily. Archibald tutted and reached for the bucket of spiders.

  56

  Excerpt from Dr. Nita Pavani’s curriculum for the DEDA Academy for the Extradimensionally Gifted and Diversity Studies:

  First level—Students will be provided a safe and welcoming environment in which to explore their interdimensional gift and elevate their abilities to a practical level. During this process, students will learn about the history of oppression faced by interdimensional sentients at the hands of mundane humans throughout the ages. Students will also be required to make contact with the interdimensional sentient that provides their gift and open preliminary dialogue. When their ability is sufficiently advanced, students may proceed to:

  Second level—Students are invited to explore whether or not entering a dual consciousness is right for them. Students will learn how to set appropriate social boundaries over which a fulfilling discourse can be had with their interdimensional sentient, and will be educated on the advantages and disadvantages of a dual-consciousness identity, until a fully informed decision can be made. Students will also learn how to respond appropriately to any aggression an interdimensional sentient displays, while also learning how to place such behavior within the context of an interdimensional sentient’s frustration from a lack of corporeal privilege. After the decision is made, students will proceed to:

  Third level—Students who choose not to pursue a dual-consciousness identity will learn to maintain the boundary and to use their abilities with appropriate respect, as well as be trained in dealing with their dual-consciousness fellows with sensitivity. Students who have chosen to take a dual-consciousness identity will be given a safe and supportive environment in which to adapt to their new existence and will attend several supplementary classes, including a relief course on human morality and etiquette for the benefit of the interdimensional component of their psyche. There will also be workshops available for those dealing with physical changes, covering topics such as clothing modification and tentacle grooming.

  57

  “Did you see Dr. Pavani’s new curriculum for the school?” asked Elizabeth, appearing at Richard Danvers’s office door.

  Danvers looked up from his computer. “I could hardly have missed it. She sent it to three of my email addresses. I didn’t even know I had the third one.”

  Elizabeth passed through the door and softly pushed it closed with her walking stick, not turning away from Danvers. “She wants it published to a new website. What do you think the reaction will be?”

  Richard crossed his legs under his desk. “She’s stirred up some public support for overhauling the school. But I think she overestimates support for the pro–demonic possession side of it. The usual newspapers will probably cause a stink. What are you going to do?”

  “Do? What else can I do? Anderson’s threatened us with closure if we don’t show a united front. I’m going to let her publish it.”

  Danvers nodded. “So Anderson can’t blame you if it goes down like a lead balloon. And since Pavani has very enthusiastically made herself the face of this campaign, it goes down right on top of her. And you’re counting on that.”

  Elizabeth paused for thought, then reasserted eye contact. “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, what do you want me to say? Congratulations?” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “You’re well on your way to creating a new Hand of Merlin to hide behind and pretend runs the place?”

  Elizabeth didn’t reply. She kept her gaze locked, tilting her head slightly in scrutiny.

  “Tell me,” continued Danvers. “Have you ever even considered the possibility that she may be right? Maybe the Ancients aren’t all hostile. Maybe there might be something to gain from trying to start a dialogue.”

  From Danvers’s perspective, Elizabeth still didn’t move, but various parts of her started to tremble almost imperceptibly. Her hand tightened around her walking stick, making the handle creak like an old door hinge. “You weren’t with us ten years ago,” she said, through her teeth. “Even if that Ancient was in a minority, I’m not willing to take the risk.”

  Danvers scowled unsympathetically. “So you’re just going to stonewall anything Pavani tries to do.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any particular reason you’re being so upfront?”

  Elizabeth took a step forward, Richard having unwittingly given her her cue. “To encourage you to be upfront when I ask you why you’re leaking information to your father.”

  Danvers didn’t break the gaze, but the light expression dropped from his face, like ice cream melting away from the stick. His hands slowly came away from the back of his head and clamped tightly around the armrests of his chair. “What . . .” he began, but that was as much as he could manage.

  “Lionel Danvers knew where the Fluidic Killer video was filmed. He was the one who sent Mike Badger there. He also knew that we had agents investigating, and he knew they were coming to his estate,” said Elizabeth nonchalantly. “Lionel Danvers is a confused old man with no power, no political savvy, and no intelligence network. The only leverage he has is familial guilt.”

  Danvers squirmed in his seat. “Yeah. He’s a stupid old man, and he wanted to keep playing make-believe with his only friends. I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think there’d be any harm in . . .”

  “Didn’t think that he’d pass it on to Badger,” finished Elizabeth. “Or that Badger would share it with his son, our new suspect. Or that Badger’s son would enlist Mr. Cockburn to harass our operatives—”

  “All right!” shouted Danvers, pulling his chair in suddenly to make it bang loudly on the desk. “This was my mistake. It’s already stopped. Trust me.”

  “I would like to,” said Elizabeth meaningfully. “I thought you hated your father.”

  Richard glanced away, tossing his head from side to side. “It’s family. It’s complicated.”

  Elizabeth put one hand on her hip. “Is that all?”

  He looked up. “Do you need anything else?”

  She gave the facial equivalent of a shrug, then turned towards the door. She stopped with her hand resting on the handle, then looked over her shoulder. “You suspected him of having a hand in what
happened to your company.”

  “Sometimes, in my paranoid moments,” said Danvers. “You wouldn’t expect me to completely cut him off just because I—”

  “Your suspicion is correct,” said Elizabeth, her tone as flat as a carpet-bombed city. “Lord Baran was also on the Hand of Merlin at the time. Your father persuaded him to buy you out. He wanted you in a position to take over his seat on the Hand after he passed away. I can direct you to the minutes of the relevant meeting, if you need proof.”

  Danvers shriveled in his chair, his shoulders hunching forwards, as if he’d been impaled through the stomach. “And of course you’re only telling me now because you benefit from it,” he mumbled into his lap.

  Elizabeth opened the door smartly. The buzz of conversation and clacking keyboards drove out the tense silence like a swarm of wasps scaring away picnickers. “I didn’t realize you were still placing trust in someone so dangerously unworthy of it.”

  “Yeah,” mumbled Danvers, after she left. “I’ll try not to make that mistake again.”

  58

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” said Sean Anderson, holding court in DEDA’s largest meeting room, spreading his arms out like Jesus at the Last Supper. “Seems like once again I haven’t been making myself clear, so sorry if that was my fault, but when I said, ‘Stop embarrassing the government,’ apparently what you heard me say was ‘Put arrest warrants out on your own agents and alienate the entire country.’ ”

  “Diablerie was always more Ministry than Department in his attitudes,” said Elizabeth, sitting straight backed with hands clasped on the table in front of her. “There was a shortage of talent after we were forced to—”

  “Yes, all right, shut up,” said Anderson, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s the least of things right now. You’ve named a suspect; that’s all the papers care about. Would be lovely to actually have him in custody, o’ course, but the police are on it, so you’re off that particular hook for now.”

  “Well then?” prompted Elizabeth.

  Anderson waved a bulky arm over the newspapers that were splattered across the table like a train-platform suicide victim. Most of their front pages were displaying lurid color photos of Aaron Weatherby’s face. The more upmarket papers were dryly informing the reader that the British government intended to encourage young people to model themselves on his appearance. The tabloids expressed their bias a little more openly, posing large, capitalized rhetorical questions concerning the reader’s hypothetical children. “Well then, let’s talk about how we deal with this. Nita?”

  Pavani was mimicking Elizabeth’s pose almost exactly, except her nose was a little higher and her dignity was a little more forced. “I just think it’s sad how backward some people’s thinking can still be, in the twenty-first century.”

  “Or indeed, most people’s,” said Sean sarcastically.

  “Yes!” said Nita. “These are the same people who went around saying that vaccines cause autism. The facts will leave them behind on this, too.”

  Anderson was being remarkably even tempered, but when he let out a sigh, everyone could hear something bubbling at the back of his throat like a dormant volcano. “Look, you can’t just tell the majority of the nation that you’re right and they’re wrong. This isn’t the Iraq War. This is their kids.”

  Nita huffed, folding her arms. “Why can’t they be as accepting as they were with the fluidics?”

  “Because the fluidics are so completely nonhuman,” said Elizabeth. “It’s the human qualities that make the children disturbing.”

  “I think we’re all in agreement that the secondary school should be phased out,” said Richard Danvers, laying an open hand on the table. “A big part of its main purpose was snuffed out when magic went public. With the leftover resources, the primary school could probably cover infusion refinement and warding off . . . erm . . . dual consciousness.” His gaze did a full circuit of the room, glancing at every other person present, before he continued. “I think we should concentrate on that for now, and give people time to become open to . . . everything else.”

  “Don’t you think the interdimensional sentients deserve a say in this?” said Nita haughtily. She turned to her right. “Aaron-Byhagthn?”

  Aaron-Byhagthn was sitting by her side, wearing a shirt and tie whose collar had been specially widened to accommodate the green growths running down his neck. The tentacles on his face had been smoothly tucked behind one ear to match the brushed-back hair on the other side of his head. When he heard his name, he stopped gazing dreamily at the fluorescent lighting and focused on the table. “All we want is a chance to live,” he said, in his eerie dual-throat voice.

  “People like Aaron-Byhagthn have been suppressed and victimized by this government for centuries,” said Nita, patting his hand like it was the head of an eager dog. “What you’re suggesting, Richard, is like banning the lynching of homosexuals except on weekends.”

  “All right,” said Anderson, throwing up his hands. “Now we’ve heard from Slytherin and Gryffindor, maybe I could throw out some boring old normal-person wisdom here. As far as I see it, the main issue we have is PR, yeah? This is my turf. So listen up. The people don’t like you, what do you do? You arrange to hang around with someone they do like. Preferably somewhere very public with good lighting. Down here in the mundane world, we call it a photo op.”

  “With whom?” asked Elizabeth suspiciously.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Anderson. “The fluidics. Everyone loves fluidics. You lot get onto Wollstone’s people, book a nice contingent of the bastards, and I’ll call up all the journalists I know.” He waved his phone, displaying the section of his contacts list clearly labeled arseholes. “In fact, yeah. Perfect. When’s the school reopening?”

  “Hopefully within the next few weeks,” said Nita.

  “Great! We’ll do it there. Make an event of it. School-open day. You can get your, er”—he waggled his fingers vaguely at Aaron-Byhagthn—“friends over there to make a speech. You know. Let everyone see their human side.”

  The optimistic smile that had been burgeoning on Nita’s face suddenly plunged back into a disapproving frown. “Sean, that’s actually quite an offensive thing to—”

  “You really think you can turn public opinion around?” said Danvers. “Just by having him and the fluidics get together and shake . . .” His train of thought experienced a delay of several seconds. “Hands?”

  Anderson blew out his cheeks and gave a huge shrug that made his shoulders ripple like a bay full of humpback whales. “Look, if it was that easy to figure people out, we wouldn’t need an election budget, would we. But right now I’m not hearing any better ideas.”

  “Are you sure it’s wise?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Wise? Of course it’s wise. Why are we even still discussing it?” Anderson had his hands on his hips. “All the magical lads get together to show the world how lovable and nonthreatening they are, and DEDA gets to show off how completely unprejudiced it is. The UK magic sector: one big, happy, barking-mad family.”

  “I mean, with the Fluidic Killer still at large . . .” said Elizabeth, twiddling her thumbs decisively.

  Anderson’s complexion was starting to shift from sunrise pink to klaxon red. He rounded on her like a farmyard rooster to a potential love rival. “Yeah, but fortunately you’re all going to be there to protect everyone, aren’t you? I want to see you, all the senior staff, and as many agents as you can spare in support. Because the other thing we want to show off is how wonderfully efficient DEDA has become, don’t we? Don’t we, Liz?”

  By the end of his speech, Anderson’s face was inches from Elizabeth’s. She hadn’t moved, but everyone else on her side of the table was leaning a good thirty degrees away. “If you insist,” she said, with absolute calm.

  “Great! Bloody marvelous.” Anderson stood, slapping his hands upon the surface of the table so hard that all the legs sank a good centimeter into the c
arpet. “Sorted. You’re welcome.” He began checking the messages and missed calls on his phone, which was his usual way of signaling his intention to leave.

  “A press event,” thought Nita aloud. “Yes, that could work. A speech, get some of the kids to do poetry readings, maybe even a local band.” She turned to Aaron-Byhagthn excitedly. “You know what we could do? We could reunite you with your sister onstage. That’s a great narrative.”

  “Jessica?” said Aaron-Byhagthn.

  Nita winced. “I’m so sorry, that was probably insensitive of me, wasn’t it. I know she’s only Aaron’s sister. What would you prefer I say, half sister? No, it might be more a three-quarter situation, I suppose . . .”

  “Jessica Weatherby’s whereabouts are unknown,” said Elizabeth, watching carefully for Nita’s reaction.

  She gave a smug little smile. “Not to all of us.”

  “The girl is a fugitive.”

  “From what? From an unlawful prison that’s being closed down anyway? I really don’t think it’s at all relevant anymore.”

  Elizabeth’s finger tapped measuredly on the tabletop like the timer of a ticking bomb. “So you have been deliberately withholding information from this department?”

  “OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE,” roared Anderson, thundering back into the center of the room. “Didn’t even get as far as the bloody door. Solidarity, people! Solidarity! The good kind, not like when labor unions do it.”

  Elizabeth glared at him. “How can we be expected to trust Dr. Pavani if she has—”

  “Who gives a toss?!” ranted Anderson, throwing newspapers into the air. “Pavani’s right! We’re rolling back the creepy torture dungeon anyway, so this is good ink. Now.” He held his phone aloft. “I have the CEO of Shield Solutions right here, all ready to call. If I hear one more disagreement on my way out of the nuthouse, then I’m pressing it. Got it? Right!”

  The attendees of the meeting sat in total silence as they listened to Anderson’s exaggeratedly loud footsteps echoing through the building with deliberate slowness. Finally, Richard Danvers cleared his throat. “How does next Saturday suit everyone?”