"Sit down first," Wilson suggested.
"Where?"
The dwarf pointed behind John. There was a padded chair that looked as if it had escaped from a passenger airliner. Where had that come from? It hadn't been there when they entered the room. Wilson smirked as John eyed the chair suspiciously.
"It's not magic," the dwarf said.
And John believed him. He wasn't sure why, but he did. But if not by magic, how had the chair appeared?
"Just a sufficiently advanced technology," Wilson said in answer to the unasked question.
Like the doors, he supposed. They appeared in seemingly solid walls. The chair must have come up through an opening in the floor. John looked for a crack in the floor and couldn't find one. He hadn't seen any sign of a door before the white-coats had entered either, but it had to have been there; even with their "sufficiently advanced technology," it seemed unlikely that the dwarves were manufacturing an aperture anytime they needed one. Most likely they just had a very good camouflaging gimmick. Holographic screening, maybe? Whatever the system was, Mitsutomo or one of the other megacorps could make a fortune marketing it.
"Put the helmet on and sit."
John did as he was told. The whitecoats busied themselves with something on the back of the chair. After several minutes one of them said, "Ready."
Another stepped around into John's view and said-, "Close your eyes."
John did so.
"Open them."
For a moment John thought he was back in one of the forests of the otherworld. But only for a moment. It was different here; and at first John wasn't sure how he knew that. Then he listened. There were none of the strange sounds and the soft stirrings he had felt, as much as heard, while traveling in that other realm. This forest, for all its multitude of trees and plants, its flitting small animals and birds, was dead. Or rather, it had never been alive. It was a virtual forest, a computer representation of a landscape. John wondered how far it extended. Was it manufactured anew as he changed his line of sight, or were all the individual trees stored in discrete locations? Were the forest creatures random or did they run on their own programs, living virtual lives in the virtual forest? Did the little animals reproduce virtually, or did they just go into reruns? However this virtual world worked, it was light-years ahead of the best he'd seen in the malls. It was just sight and sound there; here he could smell the leaf mold and feel the breeze against his skin; that was Senzaround™ stuff like in a theater.
He realized he was standing. He had no memory of getting out of the chair. Try as he might, he was unable to feel any sensation of his meat body sitting in the chair. Even better than Senzaround.
He held a hand up. His, all right. Down to the scar by his third knuckle that he'd gotten when he'd been three and tried to punch out a bad guy on the vid set. He looked down at his body. The shape was familiar, but the clothes weren't. He appeared to be wearing a baggy tunic, belted at the waist, and sandals, an outfit out of a medieval costume drama, and one of the better ones too; it looked like real clothes. He even had a sword strapped to his side. Surprisingly, the outfit felt comfortable, all broken in and livable like an old T-shirt and jeans. Even the weight of the sword on his hip felt comfortable. His old classmate Will Brenner would have been green with envy. Or maybe Will wouldn't be; he hadn't ever had much interest in virtually, preferring his anachronisms to be physical.
At the very least, Will would have gotten a thrill out of having a sword belted on; Will had never been able to afford one. Thinking about the sword, John couldn't resist. He took hold of the hilt and drew the blade. It was long, almost a meter, and the balance was a little awkward. The blade was double-edged and had a somewhat rounded point. Not much good for thrusting; the sword was definitely tip heavy. The ridged grip reminded him of something; the familiarity nagged at him.
When he saw the eagle cast into the crosspiece, things seemed to click into place. The sword was a Roman cavalry sword, a spatha-, John had seen one at a traveling exhibition in the Woodman Armory Museum. This weapon looked just like that one.
He swung it a couple of times, just to get the feel of it. It moved as he imagined it might. It was not the sort of sword he preferred, but it would serve a horseman well. He imagined riding hard, charging toward a foeman, blade upraised. Then—
Then he put it away. He wasn't a horseman and he wasn't charging anybody. Wandering about with your sword out was what heroes in bad fantasy books did. Walking around with a drawn sword was a good way to get yourself shot or skewered by people who might otherwise be friendly. Although he supposed he really didn't have to worry about things like that; the dwarves were controlling this simulation, and they weren't expecting him to fight anybody.
Or were they? They'd given his virtual self the sword, hadn't they?
He looked around the forest glade. There was no one here to fight. Or to talk to. What was going on? Kranekin had said that the environment was supposed to be familiar to Bear, which John guessed a forest would be, but Bear wasn't here. What was John supposed to do? He tried asking the question aloud, assuming that the dwarves monitoring him could hear. I le got no answer.
So, he was supposed to figure it out for himself, eh? For helpful friends, these dwarves weren't very helpful.
He looked around again. Off to his left the trees seemed to thin. There was a break in the brush that seemed to be a path.
Okay. I can take a hint.
He followed the path. After a couple of minutes it brought him to the edge of the woods. He stood overlooking a landscape of rolling, low hills dotted by trees, both individually and in small and large clumps. It looked like farming country, but he saw little sign of man's hand on the land, save for a handful of huts clustered near a stream. Smoke rose from all of the huts, but not from cookfires. The remaining straw and wattle were blackened. Several huts still poured forth smoke columns, broad and fitful.
John looked for people, live or otherwise. At first he saw none, but then a man emerged from behind one of the huts. The man walked about, inspecting the devastation. He was a burly fellow, a familiar fellow.
Bear.
John started walking toward him.
Bear looked more like himself, vital and strong, not the slack-faced hulk floating in the tank. He was wearing a red tunic with a skirt that hung almost to his knees. On his feet he had boot-sandals that wrapped and laced halfway up his calf. A broad leather belt, studded with metal, cinched the tunic at the waist. A half-dozen more studded straps dangled down from the center front over his crotch, while another strap ran from his right shoulder to his left hip and supported a scab-barded sword. With a shock, John recognized the hilt of Caliburn; the sword looked in a lot better shape than when he'd seen it in the otherworld.
"Artos!"
John recognized his own voice, but he hadn't spoken. He guessed the dwarves were opening their scenario.
Bear's head craned around; he was looking for the person who called his name. He saw John. Bear squinted and scratched at his beard as though trying to recall a half-remembered memory. There was no flash of recognition, but Bear put on his polite-for-company face and walked toward John. When he was a couple of meters away, he asked, "Do I know you?"
John was vaguely disappointed. This time, he spoke for himself. "Don't you?"
"I think not."
"This is John, Artos," Wilson said, having suddenly appeared at Bear's side.
John turned as Bear did. Where had the dwarf come from? And why was he dressed as Bear was?
"And who might you be?" Bear asked.
"I am the son of Will."
"In truth?" Bear cocked his head to one side and scrutinized the dwarf. "You do have his look about you."
Wilson smiled. "As my father served you, so am I come to serve you."
Hear nodded. "Will the Dwarf was one of my trusted men and stood high in my regard."
"I hope to deserve the same." Wilson and Bear shook hands—well, wrists actually; each man gripped the other's
i ight wrist. When they were done Wilson grabbed John by the arm; his grip was painfully strong as he turned John to face Hear. "John here hopes to serve you as well. He is a stout and i ight brave fellow."
"Is he?" Bear gave John an appraising look. "Is it your wish to serve with me?"
"I guess so." John looked down at Wilson. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"
"It is," Wilson said.
"Well, I am in need of stout men. If the son of Will speaks for you and says that you are a worthy companion, then you may join my band." Artos turned and shouted. "Bedwyr! Pwyi! Look you here! The son of Will the Dwarf and young John have come to join the fight."
CHAPTER
11
Spae woke fully alert, quivering from a dream in which David, dressed as the Knight of Wands, had swept her up and ridden toward the sunset. She'd felt safe in his arms. He'd bent his head to her, his lips brushing her nose and sending a thrill of electricity through her. Then his lips had sought hers and she'd—awakened.
She felt a little like a schoolgirl again.
But schoolgirls weren't trained mages and covetously guarded by the Department. She was. And that was why she was awake now instead of dreamily lounging in Sir David's arms. Someone was probing her wards. She felt the touch as that someone tugged on her wards, testing them, and recognized the clumsy hand of Dagastino in the manipulations. She sent a charge through the field, repulsing him.
Take that, you prying bastard!
Had Magnus approved the probe?
Did it matter?
They didn't want her to leave and they weren't going to let her sulk forever in her cottage bastion. How long would it be before they sent in the bullyboys to drag her back for a real in-terrogation, with drugs and any other persuaders they thought
necessary?
The cards had said that turmoil and distrust framed her present and immediate past. They'd pointed at David as the solution, and maybe he was. She just wished she could be sure. Sure of the truth of the reading, sure of her feelings toward 1 )avid, sure of what she should do. Most of all, she wished she could be sure of getting away from Chardonneville and the Department.
The tarot had promised her a resolution and David was a part of that resolution.
The cards said change. David said get out. What bigger change could she make than getting out of the Department and leaving it all behind? She was getting nowhere here.
She grabbed her bag and stuffed a few more things in.
Either they'd manage the escape or they wouldn't, but at least they'd have tried.
She set out to meet David as they had arranged.
Chardonneville's cafe was nearly deserted, most of the locals having gone off to their underground work and most of the rest off to their aboveground deceptions. Granvie, the village's putative mayor, gave Spae a sour look as they passed at the entrance. The old man's attitude was a matter of the merest momentary concern, because almost immediately she saw David. He was seated at the table where they'd eaten together the day before. He looked bright and rested and hopeful as he waved her over. She went happily; just seeing him raised her spirits.
They chatted as chance-met acquaintances might, until the waiter took Spae's order; then David said, "We have to leave Chardonneville now."
"Now?" Spae had expected him to say as much, but she was suddenly unsure. There was so much she'd be leaving behind.
"Yes, now. They're onto us."
She didn't want to believe it. Maybe it was a mistake? " How do you know that?"
"Someone searched my room this morning while I was in the bathroom. I assume it wasn't the maid. Damned if I know what they were looking for. Incriminating evidence of my association with you, I suppose."
Guilt by association. Just talking with her had contaminated him in the Department's eyes, and they hadn't done anything more than talk. She hadn't decided to go along with David's plan. But they were pushing her. "Dagastino tried to probe my defenses this morning. I thought he might have been acting on his own."
"Unlikely. They're suspicious. It'll be more than probes soon."
She was afraid he was right. But surely there was a little more time. In her impulsive rush to cram things into her bag this morning, she'd missed a few things she didn't want to leave behind. She wasn't prepared. Neither was David; he didn't have his knapsack. They couldn't leave yet.
"We can't leave from here. I don't have everything I need and you need to get your things."
"We have to leave from here. We'll both have to get along with what we have, because if I go back to the B&B and you go back to your cottage, we'll be in trouble. Once we separate, they'll pick me up. They're not afraid of me."
"We could stay together. Go to your room and then out to my cottage."
"That would eliminate any doubt they might still have that I'm trying to help you. While we're packing, they'll be acting. It's no good; we've got to go right away. We'll have our best chance if we go now, before they get organized."
It all seemed so precipitous. David smiled and touched her arm. His grip was reassuring.
"It'll all work out. We're smarter than they are."
He didn't know Magnus. "How can you say that?"
"Easy. / never worked for the Department, and you're leaving."
She was, wasn't she?
David's hand left her arm, retreating to his side of the table as the waiter arrived with her breakfast. David pretended the hovering waiter wasn't there.
"It's such a wonderful morning," he said. "And the countryside is so lovely. Most of the folk around here haven't had the- time of day for me, but you've been so nice. I was hoping I might prevail upon you to show a passing stranger one more kindness."
"And what would that be?" she asked, playing along.
"As I said, the morning is so nice, and I did come here to France to see the sights. Perhaps I could talk you into showing me some of the local points of interest. I'm particularly partial to anything from before the Revolution. Surely, there must be something ancient around here. Didn't I read somewhere that this village dated back to the Middle Ages?"
"The site goes back at least that far."
"Good enough," he said. The waiter disappeared inside and lie took her hand, squeezing reassuringly. "Good enough, indeed. A sight-seeing walk will get us started on our way out of here."
She hoped so. "Think they'll believe we're just going for a
walk?"
"We can only hope. If I leave my pack here, it'll help. Avoiding your cottage will help, too. But you must eat your breakfast, and I must finish my coffee, or they will be sure to be suspicious."
The waiter appeared again, fussing with the table settings on the empty tables near them. They talked about the region and the weather while Spae ate. David finished his coffee just as she finished her meal. They settled their account and departed; as they walked along the lane, he kept having to prompt her to point out the supposedly interesting sights. They were heading up the hill which offered the best overlook of the village when David announced, "We're being followed."
He told her where to look. It was Granvie. The mayor was inspecting the wooden footbridge they'd crossed to the path up the hill. Granvie looked innocent enough, if one didn't have reason to suspect him. But Spae knew he was Department.
"I guess they're onto us," she said.
"We can't be sure of that. They might be, they might not. There seems to be just one watcher, and we're out beyond where they've let you roam before. This fellow could just be ordinary surveillance."
They were farther from the village than she'd been since resigning. If the Department wasn't already coming down on them, maybe they didn't know she and David were intent on running away. Running away? What was she thinking; it sounded so childish. But childish or not, she was running away; or if the tarot was to be believed, running toward something. Yes, she liked that better. But whether running away from or toward something, she would soon be committed; the Department wouldn't let her go
much farther without taking action.
"If we keep going, Granvie will call for help, and we won't get very far. They'll have vehicles. We won't be able to outrun them."
David's mouth grew taut. "Then we can't let him report."
"You don't mean ..."
He looked surprised. "What? You didn't think I was talking about killing him, did you?"
Actually, for a moment, she had. She'd been around the bullyboys of the ECSS too long.
"I may be a lot of things, but I'm not some fictional action hero. Actually, I was hoping you'd have some magic trick to put him to sleep or something."
She knew the recipes for several sleeping potions, but she would hardly be able to get Granvie to drink one, even if she had one to hand. "I'm not a fictional magician either."
"Too bad. Isn't there any magic you might use?"
"I don't have a lot of field experience." Except for her blowup in the interrogation room, her successes with her improved ability had all been in the laboratory. She was fairly confident that her emotional level had contributed to the strength of that magic. Here, now, could she do anything effective? It seemed unlikely; she didn't have anything of Granvie's to focus any spell she might attempt.
"Could you distract him?" David asked. "Or make him think we're going in the opposite direction?"
She shook her head. "A moving illusion would be impossible to maintain."
"What about a stationary one, then? Something to get him looking the wrong way."
"It wouldn't work for long."
"Then you can do it."
"Maybe. But I think I just got a better idea. Sit down, as if you're tired."
A questioning look on his face, David did as he was told. She walked a short way down the sparsely wooded hill, looking about. She spotted some stray branches. There were i lumps of tall grasses and a goodly number of old leaves caught under the bushes. All to the good. She spotted a stand of small willows growing near a hollow in the ground. As she ambled past, she looked back up the hill. David was still sitting there, looking back at the village.
There might be something she could do.
"Now lie down," she called softly up the hill. "And go to sleep."
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain Page 17