by Dave Duncan
"My secretary eloped with a sailor!” Stringer growled.
"Quite so. Love at first sight. The very morning I took up my new duties—"
"Excuse the interruption,” Exeter said softly. “But what do you do when you are not being my nursemaid?"
"Many things. I am with the organization you refer to as Head Office, of course. My portfolio is the British Imperial Government, excluding the Government of India. Mostly I burrow around Whitehall like an invisible mole, arranging this and that. For example, it was I who was responsible for your father being appointed D.O. at Nyagatha. That was an interesting challenge, as he was twenty-five years old, with thirty years’ experience."
She smiled her schoolmistress smile again—Smedley wondered what age she was. He realized that he could not tell. At times she seemed quite young, and at other times quite old. Dowdy and unattractive, she was yet lording it over all of them. Charismatic?
"We wanted to see if we could demonstrate the advantages of nondisruptive techniques in elevating the social systems of subject races. But I digress. As I said, that very first morning Captain Smedley came blundering in."
Exeter looked at Smedley and smiled fondly. “Bless him!"
"He turned out to be a confounded nuisance,” Miss Pimm said sharply. “But he has named his reward, and we shall see what he does with it."
Exeter's smile widened. “What did he do wrong?"
"He involved Miss Prescott. The Blighters have a mark on her. When she suddenly left London on a weekday, they were alerted. The rest, I think, you can work out. Right at the junction, Mr. Stringer."
The surgeon snorted. “You haven't asked me what reward I want!"
"I catch images of myself being burned at the stake,” Miss Pimm retorted, “so I shall not inquire about the details. Try to concentrate on the interesting weekend you are having."
"We must need petrol."
"No, we don't. We have a fair distance to go, and the Opposition will be after us. Did you get a good look at their agent?"
Exeter scowled. “If you mean that joker driving the fire engine, then I think so, yes. He had mauve eyes."
"Ah! Then it was Schneider himself. I thought as much."
"He's dead now?"
"Not at all. And as soon as a suitable vehicle comes within his reach, he will be on our heels. He has probably summoned reinforcements. You have bruised his vanity too often, Edward."
"I did warn him!” Exeter glanced at Alice. “And that is not all I should like to bruise."
"But you are a native here, so you have no chance whatsoever of doing so. You must leave him to us. Now I have to teach you all the key to the portal—"
"Not so fast! You want to cross over, Smedley?"
"All three of you will cross over!” Miss Pimm said sharply. “It is the only way to put you out of the Blighters’ reach. I have better things to do than guard you twenty-four hours a day, Edward."
"Not me! My duty is to enlist. I will not return to Nextdoor."
Miss Pimm's eyes narrowed dangerously, as if she considered ordering him to wash out his mouth with soap. “Then why did you go to Harrow Hill?"
Exeter was looking dangerous himself, or at least implacably stubborn. “I have a message to send, that is all. There is a traitor in Olympus, but if Julian is going, then he can tell them for me."
"Who?” she demanded.
"Jumbo Watson!"
"Absolute rubbish! I have known Mr. Watson for—for more years than you would believe."
Exeter sighed and shook his head. “I would very much like to agree with you, ma'am. I like Jumbo personally, like him a lot. But remember he was Home in 1912? Somebody tipped off the Blighters where the guv'nor was hiding."
"No, they didn't. Soapy Maclean came over by way of the Valley of the Kings. That portal had been compromised. We did not confirm that until much later. The only person to use it since was Colonel Creighton, in 1914, and there was so much confusion that summer that he managed to shake off the followers he had acquired."
"Really?” There was an oddly pleading expression on Exeter's face.
"Certainly. Jumbo was confident that your father would still oppose the Liberator prophecies and would try to prevent your fulfilling them—he had no motive to kill Cameron and Rona Exeter. Furthermore, the Blighters obviously believed that they had caught you in the massacre. They ignored you for two years after that. Jumbo knew you were at school in England, although I would not tell him where. You cannot blame Nyagatha on Jumbo, Edward."
Exeter sighed. “I'm glad! But he was the one who dumped me on the battlefield. It was a deliberate attempt to kill me, and it was certainly Jumbo who did that. Even if he wasn't the rat at Nyagatha, he's a rat now."
Miss Pimm frowned and bit her lip. After a moment she said, “I cannot recall anyone from Nextdoor ever crossing over by way of Belgium. That is not a portal known to the Service. So who told Jumbo about it?"
"Zath, I expect. The Chamber."
"Of course. Cannot we go a little faster, Mr. Stringer? We have a long way to go."
"I am a nervous wreck!"
"You will be a physical one also, if you try to resist me now."
Exeter caught Smedley's eye and grinned. Miss Pimm was a most formidable lady.
"Faster!” she said. “Undoubtedly the Chamber informed Jumbo, Edward. But how? They must have an agent within the Service, but who? If Jumbo were here, we could ask him who told him about that portal. We could ask him who taught him the key, and who assured him that there was a tended node at this end—which I assume he told you was the case? You were deceived by someone you trusted, but perhaps that person had been deceived also?"
Exeter was nodding.
"You are making charges of the most serious nature,” she continued. “Undoubtedly, the Service will bring whoever is responsible to trial and impose the death penalty if he is convicted."
"I will drink to that."
"But is Jumbo the culprit, or was he duped? Captain Smedley is an unknown on Nextdoor. He is also—forgive me, Captain—a man who has recently undergone a grave ordeal. If he turns up unannounced in Olympus mouthing accusations of treason against one of the Service's oldest and most senior officers, then he is not likely to receive a serious hearing. At the very least, the individual responsible will have enough warning to make his escape. If you want revenge, Edward, if you want justice, then you must deliver the message yourself. An accused person has the right to face his accusers."
Now that was telling him, Smedley decided joyfully. Exeter obviously agreed, for his frown was thunderous.
Alice was smiling. She was pretty when she smiled, not at all horsey.
Exeter said quietly. “My duty is to enlist."
A shadow of exasperation passed over Miss Pimm's crabby face. “Spoken like a true Englishman,” she said cryptically. “But to do so here would be rank stupidity. I cannot guarantee that I shall always be available to pull you out of the wreckage. I will make you a much better proposition. Do you know the sacred grove of Olipain?"
"In Randorvale? I know where it is."
"And you can get there from Olympus?"
"It's not far. Three or four days’ walk."
"Very well. I shall teach you the key to it. It leads to a tended portal in New Zealand. In fact, that was how your father came Home in ninety. Your mother was born not far from there."
She paused, but Exeter just waited for her to finish, eyes steady and unreadable.
"You will return to Olympus this evening, taking Miss Prescott and Captain Smedley. When you have laid your charges and given your evidence—when honor is satisfied, and I know I can trust your judgment on that—then you can make your own way to the grove of Olipain. You will not need to ask the Committee's permission, fair enough? That key requires no additional drummer. You will enlist in New Zealand. The Dominion forces are playing a noble part in this war. The chances of your ever being recognized in their theaters of operation are remote. That is a reasonabl
e compromise, is it not?"
"I have no intention,” Exeter said icily, “of sitting out this war guarding some bloody sheep farm on the wrong side of the—"
Smedley exploded. After he had outlined the Gallipoli Campaign and the reputation Anzac forces had earned on the Western Front, he subsided as suddenly as he began. He apologized to the ladies for his language. He had rather surprised himself, and he had certainly astonished Exeter.
"I didn't know!” He swallowed. “I'll have to swot up on all this! But I apologize. I accept your generous offer, ma'am."
"That is settled then!"
"Not me!” Alice roused herself for the first time, sitting up straight and seeming to pull herself together. “I stay here."
"Alice!” Exeter said.
Smedley wanted to tell him that he was being a fool. She kept a man's dressing gown in her flat. A woman had greater loyalties than cousins. For a moment nobody spoke.
At last Alice said, “No, Edward. I warned you. I have my reasons, Miss Pimm."
Miss Pimm nodded.
Exeter moaned. “Alice? Please? The Blighters may come after you!"
"No, Edward. If they are using me as a Judas goat, then I think I will be more valuable to them alive than dead. Correct, Miss Pimm?"
"I hope so. One cannot tell, but it may be so. You must go faster, Mr. Stringer. I shall warn you if there is any traffic coming."
"There is a car behind us. It has been there for some time, a Bentley, I think. Is it a threat?"
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Nobody I recognize. I shall watch them, though. Carry on. Now, do not be tiresome, Edward. Your cousin is quite old enough to make her own decisions."
"But—"
"No buts. Attend carefully, please, Captain Smedley. All portal keys are very ancient and very complicated. They involve rhythm, words, and a dance pattern. They arouse primitive emotions to attune the mind to the virtuality. Think of that as sanctity."
"Exeter described them.” Smedley had begun to feel excited again. “He mentioned beating drums, though, and I'm short a few fingers now."
"I don't think that will matter, as long as someone is drumming for you. Have you ever felt a sense of uplift in church, when the anthem soars?"
"Um. Yes, I suppose so."
"You are not tone-deaf, I hope? You can dance?"
"No and yes, respectively.” His leg was throbbing like the dickens, but he could move it.
"Then I foresee no difficulty. Your wrist has healed sufficiently that it will not open if the sutures are lost. We shall begin with the words."
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51
OMBAY FALA, INKUTHIN,
Indu maka, sasa du.
Aiba aiba nopa du,
Aiba reeba mona kin.
Hosagil!
The gibberish ran round and round in Smedley's head. Fortunately there were only three verses to that key, each ending in the same shout of Hosagil! He thought he had the words, but the beat was nastily complex and contrapuntal, and of course the steps and gestures would have to wait until they arrived at St. Gall's. Even a Rolls was not spacious enough for dancing.
Ombay fala ... Screw Hosagil, whoever he was.
Exeter ought to be in worse shape, because he was having to memorize two keys. Smedley could not imagine how he would manage that without mixing them up, but he had not changed a bit from their schooldays—cool, calm, and accomplished. He caught on to the rhythms right away, claiming a knack acquired during his Africa childhood, and he had always been a whiz at languages, which must help with the words. He would probably come first in the exam. Just like old times! In fact, Edward Exeter would be a downright pill if he wasn't always so straight and square, such a brick. No one could ever dislike him.
The sky was trying on pastel colors as evening approached. Stringer clung grimly to the wheel, rarely speaking. If Miss Pimm was not supporting her driver with spikes of magic, he must be well beyond the end of his tether. There had been no break for tea.
Now Exeter was prying information out of her, a process much like opening oysters with bare hands.
"And what is St. Gall's?"
"A church."
"Very old, of course?"
"Of course. There are,” she continued in an obvious diversion, “two standing stones remaining in the churchyard. It may well be that some of the keys we know date from megalithic—"
"Do you use this portal often?"
"Quite often,” she admitted with the reluctance of a biology mistress being asked to explain the function of reproductive organs.
"It leads directly to Olympus?"
"Yes."
"And back?"
She sighed. “Yes. We know keys for translation in both directions. That is rare."
"Then why are the Blighters not aware of it?"
"They are."
"They have sentries?"
"No resident stranger, no. No traps I cannot handle. Normally they don't care a fig about Nextdoor, remember! It was only the Chamber's appeal for help in destroying you that roused the Blighters’ interest. They care more who comes in than who goes out, in any case. Anyone departing who has not entered will be marked in some fashion."
"Will that Schneider man have guessed it is where we are going?"
"Oh, yes. He may have alerted others to intercept us there."
Cheerful thought!
The car wound down a steep hill. Now Stringer was being allowed to proceed at his own pace, for there were cyclists, horse traffic, and a few cars. With all the Ombay fala guff, Smedley had lost track of what county he was in, but the building stone was the right buff color for the Cotswolds, and the landscape was picturesque enough. A large plate of hash and a tankard of bitter would go down very well about now. Would there be such a thing as beer on Nextdoor?
Waves of unreality...
At times he believed. Then it felt like the night before a big push, with the barrage to begin before dawn. Then a man looked at his watch every half minute and wondered if he'd ever see another sunset. Not quite that bad, but his gut was tight and his palm damp. Aiba aiba nopa du ... Tonight he might meet the suspect Jumbo Watson face-to-face. Tomorrow go for a nice ride around on a dragon.
Other times he just couldn't. Then it all felt like an enormous leg-pull. Aiba, aiba, up your nose. Shamans and fakirs. Witch doctor dances moving people to other dimensions? What utter gullage that was! If such things were possible, then hundreds of people would have disappeared over the centuries.
But if they had, what evidence could there be? You couldn't prove it wasn't true!
Not in that direction, whispered his doubts, but when was the last time you read about a naked, shocked, bewildered foreigner stumbling out of the woods somewhere, unable to speak a word of the language? That ought to be easier to disprove, because at least you could demand to have a body produced. Habeas the bloody corpus!
"Sharp left at the end of this wall, Mr. Stringer,” Miss Pimm said. “There is room to park."
Smedley snapped out of his reverie, realizing that the spire he had seen over the trees a moment ago must be St. Gall's.
"The vicar is expecting us.” She did not deign to relate how she knew that. “But I ask both of you to be discreet in what you say to him. ‘Them as asks no questions isn't told no lies,’ or, ‘No names, no pack drill,’ as Captain Smedley is fond of remarking. This is a small parish, not well endowed. The Service supports his church with generous donations. He knows we use the building for unorthodox purposes, but it is easier for him if he can pretend to turn a blind eye. The current bishop is notoriously conservative in his views."
Exeter had twisted around to stare at her again. “You mean we are actually going to go through with this inside the church itself? Dancing around with no clothes on?"
Miss Pimm sniffed. “Would you prefer an audience? On a fine evening like this, the grounds are a favored locale for courting couples."
"Too many bodies in the graveyard,” Str
inger remarked loudly. It was comforting to know that he was still conscious.
She ignored the comment completely. “The node overlaps the building itself, especially to the east, so we could perform our ceremonies outside. However the center of the virtuality is just in front of the altar. That is where in-comers materialize, and you will translate more easily from there."
There was a stunned pause, and it was Alice who sniggered first. “Do they ever drop in on Sunday mornings?"
The old bag did not crack even a hint of a smile. “Olympus keeps careful track of the clock, naturally, and times its deliveries for the small hours of the morning. The vicar is accustomed to receiving unexpected visitors."
Stringer was braking. Smedley caught a brief glimpse of some houses about a half mile away, then the car turned into a narrow lane, lurching to a stop beside an iron gate set in a high stone wall. With a long sigh like a deflating tire, Stringer sprawled limply over the steering wheel. Miss Pimm uttered a snort of disbelief. About to say something cheerful to Exeter, Smedley took a second look at his expression, then at Alice's, and didn't. Instead he opened the door and clambered down. There would have to be an awkward farewell here. He had no taste for public sentiment.... She kept a man's dressing gown in her flat, dammit! He hurried around to open the door for Miss Pimm.
Someone had beaten him to it. As that someone was wearing a cassock, it would not be unreasonable to assume he was the vicar. He was short and plump, elderly and fatherly, white-haired and rubicund, obviously not a stranger but a native. Smedley's heart did a little jump at that thought. It meant that he really did believe.
Ombay fala, inkuthin...
He fumbled shakily for cigarettes and matches.
All five of the occupants had emerged from the car. Edward hovered very close to Alice, Stringer was stretching and rubbing his eyes. Miss Pimm and the vicar had obviously met before. They exchanged congratulations on the weather. She did not introduce her companions and he ignored them—extremely odd behavior for a cleric—then they all converged on the gate, with Miss Pimm and the vicar in the lead. Smedley found himself being squired by the surgeon, crunching along a gravel path. He could not hear Alice and Exeter following.