robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  He was dressed flamboyantly and looked every inch the part of a fairy-tale elven prince, from his features to his clothes. The pointy ears, flowing silver hair, and slanted, opalescent eyes were familiar, but John had never seen the glittering mail, green thigh boots, and flowing cape. The tall elf bowed in an out-of-place, courtly way to Sue.

  "Bennett is the name," he said. "In time to be of service, I trust."

  John couldn't believe it. He'd never seen Bennett dressed so oddly, but he had no trouble recognizing him. But the outfit? The elf might have stepped out of a bad fantasy vid, except that Bennett was not an actor, and the swirling colors behind him were no Hollywood special effect.

  Nor was the hulking gray thing that emerged from the rainbow vortex and stood behind him. Sue grabbed onto John and made sure he was between her and it. The monster looked like an unholy crossbreed between a lizard and an ape. Gray scaly skin covered its wedge-shaped, reptilian head and burly anthropoid body, with arms longer than its legs. Judging by the wings that sprouted from its shoulder blades, there was a bat in the gene mix somewhere, too.

  "Toold you dwaarves toook heem," it grated.

  Sue squeaked when the creature spoke, but Bennett ignored it and spoke to John.

  "I'm glad to see you finally got this far, Jack, although it took you rather longer than I'd hoped. I had begun to think I'd never hear from you again."

  "I'd been hoping the same thing." Why did this feel like leaving the frying pan for the fire? "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm here to help you escape, of course."

  "Ya hear that, Jack?" Sue said, emerging from behind John. She gave the lizard-ape a wary glance, then beamed a megawatt smile at Bennett. "Look, mister, I don't know who ya are, but if ya got a way outta here, we're going your way."

  "Who's your charming companion, Jack?"

  "Spillway Sue's the handle," she answered for herself. "Look, mister, we got some truly pissed hardcases on our asses. We gotta move. So, like, where's the exit?"

  "There's no need to be in such a hurry. Your pursuers have taken a wrong path."

  "Your doing?" John asked.

  "A trifle. Nothing you won't be able to do, with training." "Dwaarves," the creature said, crouching low. It stared down the trail behind John with the intensity of a cat waiting Hi a mouse hole.

  John thought he could hear the faint sounds of running feet. So much for the dwarves having taken the wrong path. Despite the danger, he was pleased the elf's spells weren't working the way he'd expected them to. "Your trifling spell doesn't seem to be working too well for you."

  "Surely you've noticed things are a bit more difficult in this domain."

  John didn't know enough about magic to tell hard from easy. Just to annoy Bennett, he said, "Not really."

  Bennett raised an eyebrow, but whether in disbelief or acknowledgment John didn't know.

  "I will set the matter to rights," the elf said, closing his eyes and beginning to hum softly.

  John thought about running. With Bennett concentrating on fixing his spell, and the lizard-ape totally absorbed in watching the path, they might slip past. Sue tugged on John's arm, pulling him down to whisper in his ear.

  "Where do ya know this Bennett guy from?"

  "Let's just say that he and I have met before."

  "So like, who is he?"

  "He's a lying, murdering bastard," John replied, not bothering to whisper.

  "Now, Jack," Bennett said in a hurt tone. Apparently he had finished retuning his spell; John could no longer hear the dwarves coming closer, and the batwinged monster had relaxed. "Is that any way to talk about your father?"

  CHAPTER

  18

  Charley pulled over in front of the Settawego Building, stopping at the edge of the police line. As expected, Manny asked, "How come you're parking over here?"

  "I'll just be a minute," Charley told him.

  "This ain't the Hilton. We're supposed to be at the Hilton."

  "I just want to look."

  "The locals aren't gonna like it," Manny warned unnecessarily. "Especially after Vuong and Falerio signed off on it."

  "I won't get in their way."

  "That's what you said last time."

  As it turned out, Charley was right; he didn't get in the way of the local investigating officers, because they weren't around. But then, he didn't learn anything either. The scene looked like hundreds of other violent crime scenes: yellow tape, body marks, the vid security monitor, the stains that wouldn't go away fast enough. Somebody had already cleaned up most of the glass. Charley was careful to stay out of the monitor's line of sight.

  Caspar claimed that this was related to Modus 112.

  Charley looked up at the hole in the Settawego Building's facade. It was too easy to see the reasonable explanation here.

  Explosion, the prelim said. Scuttlebutt had it that a major suit had been killed, too major to make the news as a victim of violence. Betting at the station said that the exec would be "dead" within a week; opinion was split on whether it would be from a medical situation or a sporting accident. Nothing weird here. Just more collateral victims of the megacorps playing their games.

  God, he hated the corps.

  "You gonna stand here all day?" Manny wasn't happy. The day hadn't warmed up as predicted, and he was shivering in his light overcoat. Manny didn't like cold weather even when he was dressed for it. Charley didn't understand how the man could have grown up in New England without learning how to be prepared for the weather.

  "You could've waited in the car."

  "I coulda waited in the lobby of the Hilton if you'd parked where we were supposed to go. 1 coulda been doing what we're supposed to be doing. Something you might consider showing some interest in. I coulda already been done talking to the tight-assed manager at the tight-assed Hilton. I coulda already started logging our report on the damn tight-assed polterghosties. I coulda—"

  "All right, all right. Let's go get it over with."

  "The captain'11 be so pleased."

  "Hancock can suck rocks."

  The manager kept them waiting once they got to the Hilton. '1'hey helped themselves to the office coffeepot. The manager finally got around to them, and they started the interview in a quiet corner of the lobby; Charley set his belt unit on record. It was all pretty tiresome and it all could have been done over the lines, but Captain Hancock's "face-to-face" policy sent him and Manny here for the interview. In among the manager's repetitive complaints was the information that the hotel desk had recorded a new high in numbers of guests and staff complaints about poltergeist events in the last twenty-four hours. However, the only real crimes were a couple of petty larcenies; the hotel's insurance would cover them if anyone decided to ignore the "not responsible" signs and pressed a suit. There hadn't been any new reports for the last six. It sounded like the incident had played out—a conclusion they could have reached by phone. The trip was pointless and aggravating, actually. If Captain Hancock's policy hadn't been Captain Hancock's policy, Charley would have thought that the old fart had sent him and Manny here to suffer.

  Hancock could suck rocks.

  Traffic noise burst in on them, overriding the hubbub from the lobby. Charley felt a gust of cold air.

  "Jesus, who's the damn fool who opened the door?" Manny's tone promised mayhem for the "damn fool" if Manny caught him.

  "Check it out," Charley suggested. More to get Manny out of earshot of the manager than anything else. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do to protect Hancock's "professional image" policy. Charley watched out of the corner of his eye to make sure Manny didn't start more trouble than he ended.

  Manny's "damn fool" wasn't one, but half a dozen: six guys wrestling four heavily laden carts in through the open doors. The huffers weren't using hotel luggage carts, and they weren't in hotel livery. When Manny began harassing the workmen, threatening to cite them for violations of the Urban Environmental Resources Conservation Act, Charley ask
ed the manager, "What's up?"

  The man took a little too long to give his answer. "A private party. They must be with the band."

  They didn't look like roadies. "What band?"

  "I don't recall the name. Ah, excuse me, I have to take that call."

  The perscomp on the desk had been buzzing, but it had buzzed unanswered several times before. The manager had ignored it then, preferring to continue complaining about the department's lack of results in resolving his problems. He hadn't found any "need" to take any of those other calls. Judging by where he went, he needed to take the call in his private office.

  Made a person wonder.

  Charley gave the boxes another look. Metal, with locks and reinforcements, the kind of cases electronics got moved

  around in. From the way the guys were straining, the stuff was heavy. Charley watched them roll the carts to the elevator hanks. One of the huffers punched for a car from the bank that went up to the guest floors. Not the activity rooms? After they muscled their loads aboard, Charley watched the board. The elevator stopped at the forty-second floor.

  Manny came back. "Tight-ass run outta steam?"

  "Found something more important to do with his time."

  "Good. Let's go back to the station house."

  "I think I'd like to take a look upstairs first." He started for the elevators.

  "Not so good." Manny clumped up beside him. "Don't tell me there's some meat this time."

  There was a car waiting in one of the shafts. Charley and Manny boarded.

  "Okay," Charley said. "I won't tell you."

  "Floor, please," the car asked.

  "Forty-two," Charley told it.

  The car let them out on the requested floor. Manny had I men silent during the ride, but when the doors closed behind them he asked, "What are we looking for?"

  "I want to poke around."

  "You've got that look."

  "I just want to poke a little, okay?"

  "Should I call for backup now?"

  "What you should do is shut up."

  "Come on, Charley. What are we doing up here? There ain't been any reports of polterghosties up this high."

  "Maybe there will be."

  Manny wasn't buying. "Highest floor with a complaint is twenty."

  "Call it a hunch."

  "Maybe I should call for backup."

  "Funny. Why don't you take a look around the north wing, and I'll take the south." The carpet leading to the south wing still showed ruts depressed by the passage of heavily laden

  wheels.

  "You think we oughta split up?"

  "This isn't a horror vid."

  "Light up your belt anyway," Manny demanded.

  The belt units could be set by partners to monitor each other's position and, at a code word, transmit vid-aud of their surroundings. The video didn't do much good while you were walking around yourself, but with the audio you could listen to your partner's progress if you wanted. A potential lifesaver if there was trouble in the offing. It was an unnecessary precaution here in the Hilton, but when Manny got it in his head to be a hen, there was no point in arguing. Maybe that was the way Manny felt about Charley's hunches. Charley popped the compartment that held the ear receiver and felt the custom-molded piece fall into his hand. He snugged it in his left ear and ostentatiously set up the belt unit.

  "Okay? Feel better?"

  "Much," Manny said. "Now you can go get yourself shot, and I won't get my ass up before a board."

  They split up to walk the floor. As Charley walked around the first corner, he caught a glimpse of a man wearing a leather bush jacket entering a room halfway down the hall. There were two empty carts in the hall near that door.

  Charley hadn't gotten a good look at the guy's face, but something about him fired some memory circuits. He'd seen the guy somewhere before. More than once. Then he remembered who wore a jacket like the one he'd seen: David Beryle.

  If Beryle was here, maybe there was something of interest.

  The door to the room was still open. Charley walked down the hall, deliberately taking his time maneuvering around the carts so that he could check out the room. The occupants were all busy, giving Charley a chance to get a good look before somebody spotted him. There was some sort of apparatus set up near the window. Two guys in gray coveralls were fussing over it. Two more were unpacking one of the metal crates, taking out more electronics.

  A woman, mid-forties Charley guessed, was looking out the window. Though she wore a business suit and had her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense arrangement, she didn't look straightline corp. Odd. Odder still that the huffer who walked up to her didn't act particularly deferential. Maybe he wasn't a huffer? Whoever he was, he launched into a soft-voiced

  monologue that Charley couldn't make out and started pointing out the window. Charley shifted position, trying to see what the man was pointing at. He couldn't quite get the angle, hut just before the doorway cut off his view, he got a glimpse of the dark hole in the Settawego Building's face.

  Were these people connected with that business?

  How was Beryle connected?

  Beryle played the odd stuff, fanning the fires that SIU was supposed to put out. The reporter's presence suggested that this might not be just intercorp rivalry. Vuong and Falerio might have been hasty. Caspar thought so.

  Maybe it was a good thing that Charley had decided to be nosy.

  On the other hand, Vuong and Falerio wouldn't like having the Settawego incident pulled into an SIU investigation after they'd signed off on it.

  The next door down opened and Beryle emerged. There must have been a connecting door. Charley had been standing l lat-footed; it was too late for him to pretend that he was just walking down the corridor, so he decided to take the offensive.

  "Well, well. If it isn't 'News from the Edge' Beryle. Found any good alien ax murderers lately?"

  "Hello, Gordon. Didn't expect to see you here. Where's your shadow?"

  "Manny's around."

  "Didn't know there was a donut shop on this floor."

  "Old joke. Been guesting on the Nostalgia Comedy Channel™ again?"

  "Not since you hosted it. What are you doing here, Gordon?"

  "Was going to ask you the same thing."

  "Beat you to it."

  "You asking professionally?"

  "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

  "No comment."

  Beryle looked like he was sucking rocks, which suited Charley.

  "David, who are you talking to?" The woman emerged from the room to collect her answer personally. She had a stern stare that evaluated Charley; he was startled to note that she had mismatched eyes, one green and one blue.

  "This is—still just a detective?" Beryle asked. Charley nodded. "This is Detective Gordon, one of the more distinguished members of the Cooperative's Spook Squad."

  Charley hated that nickname. "Special Investigations Unit, ma'am." Beryle seemed satisfied with a one-way introduction; Charley wasn't. "And you are?"

  "Elizabeth Spae."

  "Doctor Elizabeth Spae," Beryle clarified. "She's an authority in certain obscure matters."

  Dr. Spae furrowed her brow at his description of her area of expertise, making Charley wonder what she considered herself to be an authority on.

  "Pleased to meet you, Doctor. I must say you're a step up from the usual 'authorities' Beryle drags around with him."

  The doctor looked even more puzzled. "Thank you, I think."

  Beryle edged his shoulder between them. "So what are you doing here, Gordon?"

  "Just poking around."

  "The poltergeist thing?"

  "You know about that?"

  "My business, remember? That shouldn't get you up here. There have only been incidents on the first twenty floors."

  He was well informed. "You know me, 1 like to be thorough. Can I look around your suite?"

  "Got an investigation warrant?"

  "Do I need one?"

 
"Yeah. This time I think so."

  Charley's turn to suck rocks. He gave Beryle a tight smile. "I'll remember."

  Beryle ushered Dr. Spae back into the suite. This time he shut the door. Charley headed back toward the elevators, wondering where the connections were.

  Anton Van Dieman of the inner circle provided the vehicle, He called it a LeRoyale™, describing it as the finest limousine in the world. The car was not as large or elaborate as the Mitsutomo limousines, but it was sufficient for Quetzal's needs. The ambience of the vehicle was far less important than its ability to carry him from place to place. There was only one amenity that he found indispensable: the darkened windows that shielded him from the burning sun.

  Soon it would be night again and he would not need the shield.

  Van Dieman sat beside him, answering his questions as to the followers' activities and resources. Oblique questioning revealed that Nakaguchi had yet to take action to disrupt Quetzal's plans. The Asian had it in his power to arrest certain operations. Quetzal hoped the man understood what any such delays would ultimately cost him.

  When the Glittering Path opened, great would be the suffering of any who hindered those who would walk the Path.

  Until that time there were steps which could be taken to minimize the difficulties.

  "Nakaguchi is unreliable," he told Van Dieman. "He is no longer to be considered an intimate of the inner circle."

  "But Master Jeffries trusted him implicitly."

  "Jeffries did not understand the division in Nakaguchi's loyalties. I do. You must as well. As long as his actions are in our favor, he may live; but we must be vigilant. He will betray us. His heart is not truly on the Glittering Path."

  "He shall be watched carefully, Venerated One."

  Quetzal liked Van Dieman's attitude much better than Nakaguchi's. This man would have a place in the new order.

  Outside the limousine darkness was gathering.

  His departure from Mitsutomo's imprisoning palace had lired him more than he expected. The energy he'd taken from diose at the foot of the tower had dissipated more quickly than he had expected. He had a hunger that the limousine's stock of delicacies could not assuage.