Lucky Dave

by Pam Uphoff

  Lucky Dave

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright © 2019 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-08-5

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover art:

  Geralt on Pixabay

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Luck can be Good or Bad

  Chapter Two

  Mother and Daughter

  Chapter Three

  On the Road Again

  Chapter Four

  Hitchhiker

  Chapter Five

  Just a Harmless Fellow

  Chapter Six

  Three for the Price of One

  Chapter Seven

  Lunch Break

  Chapter Eight

  Car Thief

  Chapter Nine

  &$*^@!!!

  Chapter Ten

  Stowaways

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from the next story

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Chapter One

  Luck can be Good or Bad

  At the babble of voices, he grabbed the dried slices of goat. Rolled them in a stained but mostly clean shirt and dragged himself one-armed over to the side of the little clearing in the heavy brush.

  Probably looking for his goat. I'm sorry. Reduced to a thief.

  I just hope it's enough food to last. It'll be hedgerows and rice fields from here on.

  Dave ibn Daiki edged himself carefully into his father's Bag, and finger walked the handles under the thorn bush.

  He watched the two men who entered the clearing and found the butchered remains of the goat. Studied their clothes, their language, haircuts, clean shaven . . . I'm a little lighter skinned than they are, but I could pass . . .

  He closed the handles and checked on his fellows. Davos was sleeping . . . he had to check carefully to be sure that Nicholas was still alive.

  I got broth into him yesterday.

  Dave looked at his own splinted leg. It's healing hideously slowly. I should look and see if the infection has returned. Six weeks and I can still barely drag myself around. But my shoulder feels better. Maybe I can try crutches again.

  He looked at his poorly set right arm, tried to move his shoulder and winced at the stab of pain.

  "Lucky Dave my ass. I think I need a new nickname."

  He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

  Chapter Two

  Mother and Daughter

  "It's just not fair that the boys get to go first!"

  Rael looked over at her niece-except-she's-really-my-daughter, and giggled. "The trick is to not let them see that you're upset. In fact you should act smug. And when you go back home in two weeks, you'll be showing off all the things you learned hanging around a bunch of Princesses . . . hmm . . . we should just happen to sneak in some sightseeing as well." She inched her car forward in line. We really need to double up the Montevideo to Paris Corridor.

  Ryol paused in mid huff . . . "You mean, look around Paris?"

  "Anywhere." Rael shot her a quick grin. "What or where will put you one up on Arno?"

  "Oh . . . he's been making a big deal out of having been to Embassy, and how he's going to use his own photographs in his Social Studies' report. I didn’t even think to take pictures when I was there last summer. I think my report is going to be on the Rangpur survivors." She wiggled around and raised her eyebrows at Rael.

  Dear One! Did I really have anything to do with producing this gorgeous young lady? My hair would look a lot like that mop of curly red if I let it grow, but my nose and chin are pointy where she's somehow managed a nice straight regular nose, and a perfect chin. And cheekbones. And at sixteen she's already got a better bosom than mine.

  Raod must be frantic with worry—I mean both of us were, umm, dating a lot earlier than our parents knew.

  Or maybe it's Ox who's worrying.

  Heh. I can just hear him. "She's Ryol's biomother, they deserve time together. So let's send her off to Rael before she starts noticing men, and Rael turns into a bad influence.

  "So . . . I was wondering if you'd met any of the Survivors. The President only mentioned two. The old guy and that really, really cute guy. Rah ad . . . "

  On the other hand, she is sixteen.

  "And you want me to introduce you to them, well, the ones who are still around Paris? No problem. And also no cute Ra'd, he’s with External Relations."

  “Well, he’s kind of scary. And practically married to Nighthawk. I want to meet the rest of them”

  Wait . . . The other kids that survived Rangpur . . . Hakim and Abbas are . . . 22 and 24? Ali's 17, but he's pretty lanky . . . Hafez and Hafiza are fifteen . . . Am I insane to even think about introducing Ryol to them? Too damn much romance attached to the Bags of the Prophets . . . Dimensional bubbles with handles attached . . .

  "Hmm, you know . . . Ryol . . . can you detect the difference between ordinary bubbles and bubbles that are being used? That are attached to things?"

  "Like the one you've got? Sure. I can even see what's in them, sort of. Yours has a rifle and two pistols, and bunch of clothes and a picnic basket with sandwiches and a bottle of wine." She tried to look innocent and failed.

  Oh. My.

  "Well, I happen to know all the Rangpur survivors, so you can one-up all the millions of other kids who are also doing their reports on the survivors." Rael considered that . . . and another thing she'd been pondering as she researched the old Warriors. "How far away can you detect bubbles?"

  Ryol's hand clenched as Rael sped up and bumped through the dimensional corridor. Switched on the air conditioner. It had been a pleasantly brisk winter night in Montevideo. Paris in the summer was a whole different animal.

  "Ooo! That is so weird. And you can't feel it at all?"

  "Just a little bump and squirm." Rael curved off and took the crosstown corridor. Bump, squirm. Then she turned south. "That was the last one. Versalle is about six kilometers away."

  Ryol closed her eyes, then smirked and pointed. "There's about a dozen anchored bubbles right over there."

  "Yes. They’re very handy for toting weaponry and emergency supplies. We’re trying to limit the spread, though.”

  “Just the price ought to do that.” Ryol sighed. “And Dad says I can’t make them and sell them until they’ve got some common sense regulations in place to keep them out of the hands of criminals.”

  Rael giggled. “Poor cop. Although I wouldn’t rule out terror at the thought of you two as teenage millionaires. But about the bags . . . You know, I've been studying the Warriors. They've lost about half the Bags of the Prophets."

  Ryol sat up, grinning. "We can go find them!" Her eyes widened. "What if there are people inside? Warriors!"

  Rael grinned back . . . then sobered. "At a ten thousand-to-one time dilation . . . umm."

  "Fourteen centuries since the Arrival . . . in a bubble the time dilation would cut that to a bit less than two months." Ryol paused. "Call it fifty days, because it isn't exactly ten thousand-to-one anyway. And the Fall of Rangpur was in the year 265 . . . But if they didn't come out in, um, forty days . . . Anyone in there's probably dead . . . eww. Skeletons."

  Rael swallowed a comment that six weeks wouldn't get them down to a nice clean skeleton, especially since there'd be no insects or rodents to . . . She shut that thought down. Quick. A reason to find the bags but not open them . . . "Actually, you know scientists and historians would prefer that amateurs not fool with evidence, well, not contaminate irreplaceable . . . stuff."

  Ryol looked relieved. "And I could do my pap
er on The Search for the Lost Bags of the Prophets . . . Wow, that would be really cool!"

  "Sure would. I'll show you the research I've got." Rael turned into the entrance to the Barracks and barns, and stopped for the guard. "But first, the tour."

  The barns (lots of noses petted and wistful looks). The barracks (lots of raised eyebrows and silent whistles. And slinking away as Rael gave them the eye). And finally, the mansion, ending in Rael's office.

  "A far as my tracking down the bags goes," Rael popped the list up on the wall. "Emre One has his own—as far as I know. Then Isak ibn Isak has his father's, ditto Ra'd ibn Nicholas."

  Ryol eyed the list "And they have eighteen more in Makkah. So fourteen are lost."

  "Yep. This map shows where each of the Prophets died. Green dots. Some of the old journals mention which son inherited the bag. Red dots where they died. Practically all the tall tales have the Warrior with the bag he inherited from his father or grandfather. Blue dots. One only knows if they actually died where the tales said."

  "Oooo! Two here in Paris . . . Oh at the Arrival."

  "Right. Benjamin and Chloe. The battle was off and on for three days, and while the Islamic Army retrieved their bodies, all their equipment and clothing was gone. Probably taken for study by the Chinese. Possibly just ground into the dirt somewhere."

  Ryol bounced in her chair. "We ought to tour the battle-site tomorrow! Can we? How far away is it?"

  "Twenty kilometers. It's all a big park now, semi-continuous with the Old Paris park." Rael eyed the girl. "I've ridden all over most of it. One! I hope you don't live on horseback like Paer did."

  Ryol shook her head. "I liked the lessons and all, but I'm not horse-mad like some of my friends. Arno," she rolled her eyes, "is gaga over the Comet Fall horses on Embassy. He was an all right rider, but he didn't go crazy until he went to Embassy."

  "Good. I mean, if you'd like a ride through Old Paris we'll do it. But I'm glad that's not going to be all you want to do." Rael zoomed in on the map. "We'll drive out and let you get a good look at it tomorrow."

  Ryol was frowning at the map. "You didn't put any dots on Fort Rangpur."

  "Because I know where the two . . . of course there might have been more of them there. I'll ask Isakson . . . if I get up the nerve to ask him about Fort Rangpur. He doesn't like to talk about it." Rael glanced at the time. "Today, well, we've lost six hours so why don't we get dressed for dinner at Government House."

  Ryol's eyes got wide. "Am I really going to meet the president?"

  "Yep. So let’s go to my place first, and change. Then Government House. Then back home to crash for the night."

  ***

  Rael sighed. "Raod threatened to kill me if I infected you with my fashion sense. I suppose I'd better dress a bit . . . normally."

  Ryol peeked into Rael's closet. "Ooooo! Let me see! Oooo! I've never seen you wear this dark blue silky blouse! It's the same color as my dress. And surely you've got a skirt that doesn't actually clash somewhere in here!"

  "Oh One! I've spawned a Fashionista."

  Ryol giggled in a terrifyingly familiar fashion and started digging way back, into her old "I'm just a ditzy secretary" outfits.

  "We do look spectacular, don't we?" Rael eyed their reflection in the big mirrors as they headed in from the front entrance.

  Ryol cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. "There were people with cams out there."

  "Newsies."

  "Am I going to get my picture in the Paris Sentinel?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised. Think of how that will look in your report."

  Ryol bounced, grinning. "Nope. That's for rubbing in Arno's face. The report is going to be so businesslike and totally cool."

  The gathering room outside the dining hall was sparsely populated, nothing resembling a formal receiving line, but the President was fairly close to the entry and spotted them immediately.

  "Ryol. What a pleasure to meet you."

  Ryol was actually speechless as she shook his hand. Dipped her head like she was shy.

  Rael giggled. "I'm afraid my 'niece and nephew' have been mentioned rather frequently. And now with all the fuss last year, they all know you're my daughter." She put some pride in that, and was amused to see Ryol blush.

  Orde looked amused. "Sixteen, so you're in high school?"

  Ryol gulped. "Yes sir, starting my second year in a few months, umm, here in Paris. It's, umm, going to be interesting, being in with a bunch of new people."

  Rael winced a bit as the girl's tone wobbled a bit. Yeah, no more cozy little high school in the Enclave. Now it's a prep school in Paris. And they'll all know who and what you are.

  "We had Orientation last month, and they gave us homework! Books to read, and we're supposed to spend the break researching things for social studies and history." Indignant tones.

  The president suppressed a smile. "You sound like Paer. At your age she thought anything that didn't involve horses was a waste of time." He led the way into the dining room and sat her beside him. "Have you figured out what you're going to research yet?"

  Ryol snapped back to her usual chatty self. "Oh yes. Actually I'm helping Aunt Rael with a project of hers. She's researching the Warriors, and has a list of battle grounds where the Bags of the Prophets might have been lost. Since I can see the bubbles, we're going to go see if we can find any of them."

  That caught everyone's attention.

  Interior Director Ajki, sitting across from Rael, brightened. "What a fantastic idea!"

  His Subdirector of Criminal Investigations nodded. "If you find one, call me, I'll send a crime site team to, hmm, probably need some digging. At any rate, we can keep the object uncontaminated for . . . huh. I'll talk to some professorial types and see what they'd be looking for. Drat. It'll probably turn into an archeological dig and I won't get to play." The old man sat back with a dissatisfied huff as the waiters hustled the salads out.

  He’s retiring in two months, and Ox is taking his place. It’s going to be fun, having the kids so close. I hope.

  "Indeed." Orde stabbed lettuce and paused to talk. "Isakson probably knows if there were any other bags at Rangpur. But if you're going to check Rangpur, best do it first. The monsoon season is getting close."

  Rael grinned. "We'll look over Seine Park tomorrow. Then Rangpur if . . . Heck, you'll need to look at it anyway, researching the Rangpur survivors." Her gaze drifted down the table to Qamar.

  Qamar chewed a fingernail, shrugged. "I was too young to know who had one. Since they were pretty much a reminder that their father was dead, the Warriors tended to be quiet about it." She caught Rael's eye. "Is Daiki's Bag among the missing? One of the Deadly Dees might have had it."

  Now everyone was staring at Qamar.

  Rael hid a grin. Just outed yourself, girl.

  Ajki turned to study her. He'd been the Interior Director for . . . well, over four years now, but with Qamar at University in New York, he obviously hadn't realized she was one of the Rangpur Survivors.

  "The Deadly Dees?" Rael asked.

  "Oh, they were brothers. Dave and Davos. Daiki's sons and their mother was a daughter of . . . William? I think. At any rate, Lucky Dave was her oldest son, and Davos her youngest, with fourteen years and three daughters in between. At least that’s how my mother tells the story."

  "Lucky Dave, like in the vids? Was he really that funny?"

  Rael couldn't tell who was speaking, but Qamar grinned, then sobered. More people gone so long ago it doesn't matter to anyone else here.

  "Were they both Warriors?" a question from someone down the table.

  "No, Dave didn't get the Oner gene, but he had the priest gene, of course. So his magic use was limited and subtle. He was in the Army. He traveled a lot with my father." Qamar paused, took a deep breath, and kept going. "He commanded Dad’s bodyguards. Captain Dave ibn Daiki. He told the best stories! And yes, he did outrageous things and got away with it.

  "Davos was a Warrior. His wife and t
heir two-year-old son were also at Rangpur and survived with us."

  A middle-aged woman halfway down the table looked outraged. "Are you saying that the Prophet Daiki One was married to a Halfer for fourteen years!"

  Qamar blinked. "Yes. She was his seventh wife. All the Prophets started off marrying into the Multitude, of course, after the first battles. The first generation of their children were all Halfers, and they usually kept to the three wives custom of the Arabs. Mind you, the Emirs of the time tended toward scores and sometimes hundreds of wives, but the Prophets traveled a lot and they weren't rich. Nor from a polygamous culture."

  "Excuse me young lady, who are you?"

  "I am Qamar ibn Nicholas ibn Victor ibn Carl. I was twelve years old at the fall of Rangpur."

  An excited squeak escaped from Ryol. "Can I meet her, Rael?" she whispered.

  "You bet. We'll invite her along to Seine Park tomorrow."

  ***

  Seine Park had a self-guided tour of the battle site.

  Or . . . the historians best guess at where various things happened.

  Rael eyed the girls cautiously. Well, Qamar was twenty-eight, give-or-take eleven centuries. A young woman. Usually cheerful, but she’d quieted down and looked a bit sad as they walked the paths from Arrival Hill to the Ambush and then followed what might be the path of the Retreat to where the Islamic Alliance Army had jumped into save these odd strangers . . . who used magic shields to block the Imperial Chinese Army’s artillery while the Islamic Army’s lighter artillery managed to pound them into a retreat.

  “Nothing.” Ryol looked glum for two seconds. “Well, this is just the first site. Where should we look next?”

  Qamar laughed. “You are so much like Rael! Go check the three sites in the subcontinent before the Monsoon rains start. I remember what they were like!”

  “I wish you could come.” Ryol sobered again. “But I guess Rangpur doesn’t hold many good memories.”