“Did I really look that ill?”
“For sure! You don’t look a hundred percent even now.”
Meeka joined us late, midway through the soup course, choosing her place carefully so that Lyall was between us. She showed little interest in the food, shuffling it from one side of her plate to the other, but she watched me warily throughout the meal. I ignored her and enjoyed my roast pheasant, undoubtedly fresh out of the culture vats this morning and none the worse for that. I followed it up with pears in hot chocolate sauce, sharing the nuances of taste and texture with Zenni, who was much more of a dessert fiend than I. The waitress cleared our table and delivered a further order of drinks, and only then did Jansen’s widow deign to speak to me.
“You didn’t find them.” It wasn’t a question.
“Not today.”
“You’re meant to be EI’s best, their prime-pair, Chandre’s darling.” She fanned herself with a napkin as anger flushed her dark cheeks. “What a joke!”
Her scorn forced me onto the defensive, just as she meant it to. “SantDenis didn’t make any progress either. I met him in the forest just before dusk. He’d been given the runaround by a score of witnesses, but at least now he accepts that Chandre and your baby have been abducted.”
“And isn’t that a step forward!” she said, her tone and expression a fair impersonation of the investigator. “I am so relieved!”
“We’ve heard nothing more from the kidnappers.” Lyall added, a needless reminder to fill the space between us. Our mutual hostility was probably giving him indigestion.
“We have an hour or two yet before midnight.”
“What if those notes were fake, just a bad joke?” Meeka’s lips set in a harsh line. “My Angel might already be dead!”
“Chandre’s still alive.” The telepath insisted. “Asleep, delirious, even half-dead, I would have felt the loss if she’d died.”
“How do you know that? How can you be so terribly sure?”
“Weren’t you aware of your husband’s death?” I demanded, ignoring Lyall’s pained look.
“No.” She clasped her hands in her lap, armouring herself against the cold of the memory. “He collapsed and died all alone, so suddenly that he didn’t even have time to summon help. I didn’t know anything was wrong until they called from his office to say that they’d found him.”
The image of Jansen dead exploded in my skull like a grenade, a sheet of iced-fire, uncalled-for and unwanted. The words were out before I could stop them, beyond calling back, and even my partner gasped at my cruelty. “Really? Then perhaps you didn’t love him enough.”
“How dare you!” Meeka surged to her feet, jarring the table. She drew one fist back to strike me. I turned my own hands palm down on the tabletop and waited for the blow to land.
“Meeka!” Lyall caught the girl’s wrist. Feeble he might be, yet his panic gave him enough strength to push her back down into her chair. “Don’t be a complete idiot! Nobody picks a fight with a pair, not without an army standing at their back and then some!”
“She doesn’t scare me!” Meeka shook herself free. “Her Zenith won’t let her harm me.”
“You don’t understand!” The telepath lowered his voice. “Her Zenith will do whatever she damn well tells it! That’s the deal with pairs. The human half controls and wields the power and, believe me, Anna wields more than most!”
“Oh, shut up! She’s so bloody wonderful—I’m sick of hearing it!” There were tears in Meeka’s eyes, imprisoned, impotent fury. “I don’t need her to walk on water or piss wine! All I want is for her to find my daughter!”
I couldn’t call up enough energy to answer her with anger. A day of fruitless searching had left me drained, and my twilight conversation with SantDenis seemed to have clouded my wits, an odd sensation that troubled me because it was naggingly familiar. “I’ll do just that, if it’s humanly possible—”
To my right, someone coughed politely. “Oh, heavens, I hope this isn’t too bad a time?” The voice was that of a woman, hesitant and unsure of her welcome. “I know that you wanted us to meet your companions, Madame Jansen, but I said to Amy that we shouldn’t interrupt until you’d finished eating. Might we sit down, please?”
Two figures hovered in the arch of the pergola, indistinct against the lamplight of the terrace. They were a little too tall for Tambou—human then, both of slight build, slender and frail, with pale, wispy hair scrunched up into untidy chignons. Zenni’s scan slotted into my mind; close to Earth-human, female, middle-aged, no weapons.
Meeka’s aura blazed suddenly, a candy-stripe of dull crimson fear with the white-heat of hope. Lyall was as aware of the change as I, divining it in his own fashion. “Do you know these people?”
“Yes.” Fear in retreat, swamped by triumph, Meeka smiled broadly and indicated the spare seats. “Be our guests.”
They came into our circle of light, two women, tourists by the look of them. Their features were cast from the same mould, aristocratic and solemn, so alike that they must be sisters, grey-haired, and in their fifth or sixth decade of serene and simple life. Both were dressed in billowing blouses thick with ruffles and lace, voluminous skirts of light cotton lawn and delicate hand-knitted shawls, with multiple strings of beads wound around throat and wrists, one a vision in pale lavender and the other in rich pomegranate red. They settled themselves at the table, untroubled by our curious stares.
“We had a long talk with Madame Jansen this afternoon, but I’m afraid you don’t know us.” The apology was directed at me, delivered by the one in red, and I saw that her eyes were also that colour, hidden behind the affectation of rose-tinted spectacles. “We are the Misses Treebone. We’re staying at this establishment, out on the grand tour from Siobhos. I am Garnet and this is my sister, Amethyst.”
“That’s Lyall, Chandre’s fellow traveller from Earth,” Meeka said, without preamble. “The other is Caron, from Barnard Three, Chandre’s god-daughter.”
The telepath smiled a luke-warm greeting. “What can we do for you, ladies?”
“It isn’t that, exactly, it’s what we can do for you,” Garnet said quickly. “As I told your young friend earlier, we’re psychics, you see, real ones, not cranks. Used by the police, we are, on our own world, for all sorts of serious cases, murders and so forth... not that I mean to suggest that there’s been a murder, of course. Oh no, no indeed!”
Oh, really! muttered my partner. And which loose board in the woodwork did this pair crawl out from?
“Why do you think you can help us?” I directed my question at the second Miss Treebone, looking into her eyes which were, of course, as violet as the rest of her costume. They were also utterly vacant, as if no-one lived behind them.
“She’s not one for the talking, my sister.” Garnet diverted the conversation smoothly. “Comes of being too tightly wired into the other side. She’s a medium, you see, which isn’t a skill that I possess—goodness knows, I wouldn’t wish to! I’m not about to make you any promises, mind, but we may be able to help you find the ones you’ve lost, the woman and the little girl.”
Before Lyall or I could say a word, Meeka jumped in. “She knew all about it, before I’d told her anything. Uncanny, isn’t it?”
“Tea-leaves, this afternoon,” Garnet said, all business now. “The message was ambiguous and the ambiance was bad, but as soon as I saw Madame Jansen sitting on the terrace and looking so sad, well, I knew that she was the focus of the ill omen. After I talked to her and found out what the trouble was, I went back to our room and tried dowsing over a map, but my pendulum doesn’t know north from next Tuesday on this alien world!”
“You shouldn’t have told anybody about this.” Lyall glared at Meeka. “How could you be stupid enough to blurt everything out to a pair of charl... I mean, to two total strangers, when we’ve no idea if we can trust them.”
“My dear young man, you simply don’t have our measure!” Garnet shook her head and another wisp of hair was liber
ated from her bun. “We aren’t charlatans or fakes. We are real psychics. The Treebone family has always had second sight and our talent is documented back for seven generations! And, lest you suggest it, we never ask a fee for our services, never! We serve without reward. These gifts have been freely given to us and we give as freely to others.”
Lyall dropped the problem my way. “Caron, what do you think?”
Meeka glared at me, defying me to forbid it, so I shrugged. “Where’s the harm in it? Are we to let our scepticism get in the way of finding them?”
“Good.” Garnet smiled at me, as vague and kindly as any maiden aunt, and pushed her rosy spectacles back to their notch on the bridge of her nose. “I like an open attitude—it helps us work. Psychometry, that’s my main talent, reading the past, present and future from objects. Do you have anything of your daughter’s that I could use?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring anything with me,” Meeka said, flustered. “Back in the room...”
“I have something.” Under the table, I worked my sleight-of-hand, watching both the Misses Treebone for a reaction to my use of psi. Neither of them twitched so much as an eyelash. “Here.”
It was Angel’s ribbon. I hadn’t shown it to Meeka and her eyes went wide at the sight of the bloodstains. Garnet rubbed the fabric between her thumbs, humming tonelessly for effect. She spun the performance out for as long as she dared, then spoke. “I see a little girl, two or three years old, with bright blonde hair, wearing a blue dress.”
“Is she hurt?” demanded our distraught mother.
“No, this isn’t her blood.” Garnet coiled the blue satin into a ball, pressing it into her palm. “It isn’t anyone’s—perhaps it came from an animal? Your daughter is tired and hungry, and a little scared, but she is safe. Someone’s trying to play with her but she doesn’t want to. She wants her mother. She cries for a short while and they give her something sweet, some chocolate, I think.”
“Meeka must have told you most of that and the rest is supposition and make-believe!” Lyall exclaimed.
“Who do you see with her?” I asked. “Focus on that.”
Garnet concentrated, the tip of her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth. “A man and a woman, human, not Tambou. There’s a small animal there too, some kind of pet, a cat perhaps?”
“Where is she?” Meeka asked, clinging to the hope.
“A small room, or is it a cave?” Garnet squeezed her eyes tighter shut and touched the ribbon to her forehead. “Definitely underground.”
“Everywhere in Krystallya is underground! It’s carved out of a mountain, for God’s sake!” blustered the telepath. “This is ridiculous!”
I kept my mouth shut, looking past Garnet’s flim-flam and into her head. This was no trickster; this was an honest woman trying with all her arcane skills to help us.
She believes that she can do this! Zenni said, in wonder.
And that’s all you need, isn’t it, the faith?
“I’m sorry.” Garnet let the ribbon trickle through her hands and fall to the tabletop. “I can’t see anything clearer than that.”
Lyall snorted in contempt. “What about you, Miss Amethyst? What do you see?”
Awareness fluttered briefly behind those odd violet irises. “The child will not speak to me, so she must be alive. The woman dreams, her eyes fast-closed, thus I cannot see where she is.”
“Very glib! I congratulate the pair of you for using so many words to say so little!” Lyall sneered. “I told you it was a waste of time talking to these fairground fortune-tellers.”
Amethyst turned her gaze on Meeka, the move so sudden and in such contrast to her previous stillness that it seemed a threat. When she spoke, her voice had dropped by an octave. “Madame Jansen, what do you seek?”
“Why, my baby daughter, my Angel, of course...”
The medium stared the girl down into silence. “You have no daughter.”
“Amy,” Garnet clutched at her sister’s bony wrist. “These people don’t want our services, love. Let’s go back to our room and have a nice reviving cup of chamomile tea.”
The violet eyes swept round like a searchlight and settled on me. “You, the woman who calls herself Caron, why aren’t you afraid?”
I was as thrown by that question as Meeka had been by hers. “What? What of?”
“Loss, pain, betrayal, growing old and dying. Those are the five-fold demons that haunt humankind, are they not? Why don’t you fear them?”
I tried to scan the woman’s mind and found armour enough to turn my probe back. Whatever hid behind it wasn’t Amethyst Treebone.
“She’s slipped into trance.” Garnet explained, to quell Lyall and Meeka’s confusion. “Isn’t it exciting?”
The word I would have used was ‘disturbing’. Lyall hid his misgivings behind a snap decision that this was more of the eccentric woman’s play-acting.
This isn’t a game, Zenni said, his voice as dull as lead. She’s possessed, isn’t she?
As I understand it, the theory is that a medium acts as a conduit to other planes and allows the spirits who live there to speak through her. I’d seen several misguided folk who’d claimed to be mediums, never witnessed the real thing. I wish I could tell what manner of beast she’s channelled through to us.
His frustration matched mine. You mustn’t risk scanning her. Short of burning out the woman’s brain, you can’t crack through that kind of defence.
“We must ask the visitant spirit some questions now.” Garnet continued, as if this was all part of the service. “First of all, please tell us who you are.”
“Do you think to command me?” Not-Amethyst leered at us. “I am a spirit of place, a djinn from the Forest of Dreams!”
Some instinct told me it was lying; that and the slimy tone of its voice goaded me into annoyance mode. “Why should we deal with a cowardly ghost? Give us a name or begone!”
A twist of teasing humour sparked in those borrowed eyes. “I am the oak tree and your lost babe sleeps in my lap. I am the demon who walks unsuspected amongst the living. I am the walrus, koo-koo-ka-joo!”
“There’s no need to be uncivil.” Garnet scolded. “Do you have any information concerning those who are lost?”
“Perhaps.” The thing using Amethyst’s voice paused. “What are you willing to trade for such a valuable thing?”
I didn’t need prescience to know that Meeka was about to open her mouth and say something devastatingly stupid, so I nailed her with the glare that had once frozen her husband to the spot. “Don’t say a word. Don’t even think it!”
The woman in red glanced at me, then smiled at the girl. “It’s often unwise to bargain with the dead, my dear. They have little incentive to keep promises.”
“This is horrible!” Meeka shuddered. “I don’t know what you mean to achieve, playing out this charade, but it isn’t amusing any more. Make her stop!”
Garnet frowned and patted her sister’s cheek. “Amy, come out of it, love.”
Amethyst bared her teeth. “And if I do not choose to relinquish this mouthpiece, what will you do then?”
The other Miss Treebone drew her hand back with an anxious intake of breath. “My sister is strong, and besides, she’s a skilled medium. You can’t hold her against her will.”
“Stay, and tell us what we want to know.” I matched the spirit’s stare. “Or go, and keep your secrets safe.”
Malevolence swirled within Amethyst’s dilated pupils for an instant, then it was gone and the woman slumped back into her vacant state.
“Oh dear, that did no good at all!” Garnet sighed. “No help to you, and now she’s drained and she’ll need to sleep for a few hours... no good at all. Sometimes you get these mischievous spirits, nasty little imps who jerk at your emotional strings just for the spite of it. Petty creatures they are, nuisances, naughty but harmless—pay no attention to anything it said. We’ll have to go now, so that poor Amethyst can rest.”
“Will she be all right?” I ignored Lyall’s sneer at my concern.
“Oh yes, dear, she’s taken no harm, no harm at all.” Garnet helped her sister to her feet. The woman moved with an odd, slack gait, allowing herself to be guided like a puppet. “We’ll keep our minds on your case, of course, and if we have any insights we’ll contact you at once.”
“Thank you.” I called after them. Garnet glanced over her shoulder and smiled vaguely.
“What a bloody performance!” Lyall settled back into his wheelchair, the wicker creaking under his shifting weight. “Psychics indeed! Two senile old spinsters more like, a pair of nosy witches too ready to interfere into other people’s business. What a waste of time!”
“It almost scared me.” Meeka hugged her knees up to her chest, hiding the fact that she was shivering. “They almost had me convinced they were for real!”
I watched the two of them retreat from the fringes of the unknown, back behind the walls of everyday logic, safe there even if a brick or two had been knocked askew and the cement was crumbling in places. It wasn’t in my nature to let them hide in such complacency. “They were. That was twenty-four carat authentic.”
“You aren’t serious?” Lyall’s other senses brushed across the topmost level of my mind. “You are!”
“Absolutely.”
A grey bloom of pallor washed over Meeka’s face. “I thought that was Miss Treebone we were talking to—if it wasn’t her, what was it? A spirit, some dead person, what?”
“I’ve no idea. I couldn’t touch its mind or lack of one without hurting Amethyst, and I can’t make any sensible guesses as to its identity given such a dearth of hard data.”
“That sounds like the machine in you talking!” She grimaced. “If the Zenith you’re saddled with is your intellectual equal, I’d be shocked to discover it could add one and one to make two!”
My restraint finally snapped. Most of the fury was mine but by no means all of it. “Oh, no you don’t! Insult me as much as you like, but leave my partner out of it! You just reached a line, girl. Cross it again at your peril!”
The Beauty of Our Weapons Page 12
