It also helped that he was tall, muscular, and somewhat ugly. Whether or not he’d be of any use in a fight she had no idea, but if things turned to violence she would have already lost. Glen’s entire purpose was as a stage prop for the role she played.
The butcher’s son saw her looking at him and he met her eyes, then glanced longingly at the glass of wine in her hand. Given his part, she hadn’t bought him a drink or allowed him to sit at the same table. Instead he sat at the next table, looking thirsty and uncomfortable.
Rose didn’t feel bad, though. She would pay him enough to enable him to drink as much as he wished for several days.
She watched the room while she waited, wondering about the other patrons. Almost any of them could be the Roach; she had no idea what the man looked like. He might well be studying her before coming over to speak.
Lady Rose passed slightly more than half an hour that way before a small, slender man approached. She had taken note of him earlier, as he sat at the bar, but he was easy to dismiss. He was short, with lanky hair that looked as though he oiled it. There was nothing special about his clothes, his face, and certainly not his stature.
When he pulled the back the chair across from her and twirled it around, Glen stood up as a warning, but the man didn’t even glance at the looming butcher’s boy. “Tell your dog to sit down or this meeting is over before it begins.”
Rose nodded at Glen, and he resumed his seat. “You’re much as I expected,” she observed.
The stranger’s brows went up. “I don’t hear that often. Usually people say the opposite.”
“Which is exactly what you strive for, I’d wager,” said Rose.
“I’ll have to disappoint you, milady,” said the rogue. “You expected the Roach, but I am merely his messenger.”
Rose sipped her wine, then replied, “I doubt that very much.”
“Oh?” said her visitor with some surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“The Roach is known for his skill and efficiency. Unlike some in his position, he’s created a reputation for being quicker, smarter, and more effective than his competitors, and more importantly, his underlings. Having someone like you in his employ would counter that reputation. I have trouble imagining two men such as you in one small city such as this,” posited Rose.
“You have an active imagination,” said her guest, before reaching across the table and taking her wine bottle. He turned it up and took a healthy swallow of wine.
Glen had been watching, and he stood once more at this affront. “Watch your tone with the lady,” he warned.
Perfectly played, thought Rose, but she gave Glen a harsh glance. “Sit down,” she ordered.
The stranger smiled, then swept his arms out wide as he performed a mock bow while sitting. “Thank you, milady. Few such as yourself would show such concern for an insignificant cutpurse.”
Rose stared at him without blinking. “I simply don’t like having to replace good help.”
The butcher’s son took his role too seriously, however. Stepping closer, he leaned over the small rogue. “I’d make short work of a jackanape like—erp!”
His words were cut off short as a blade appeared at his throat, held in the stranger’s slender hand. Glancing down, he saw another, larger piece of steel threatening his manhood. Glen tried to step back, but the rogue used his leg to slide his chair behind the large man, causing him to stumble and fall, crashing heavily to the floor.
The small man recovered the chair and resumed sitting almost before Glen hit the floor. He took another swig from her bottle and then lifted it in her direction as though making a toast. “I salute your powers of observation. You were right to be more worried about the boy than me.” The large knife had vanished, but the smaller dagger twirled around his fingers before coming to a stop. He then began to trim his nails.
Rose’s bodyguard got up, red-faced and angry, but she pointed at his chair and he found enough reason to obey her this time. Then she lifted a hand and waved at the serving girl. “Another bottle, please.” While the server went to fetch it, she turned to her guest. “You’ve only confirmed your identity.”
“Think what you will,” said the rogue, but then he paused. “Did you plan that?”
She smiled. “You’re terribly paranoid, even for someone in your line of work.”
The thief stared at his dagger thoughtfully, then glanced up at her. “You’re taking a big risk coming here. That shows desperation.”
Rose felt a chill run down her spine. She had underestimated the man, a potentially fatal mistake considering that her only real leverage was a bluff. She kept her features smooth, but her hand inched toward the long, enchanted blade hidden in her skirt. Another stupid idea, she reminded herself. From what she had just seen, the man sitting across from her could kill her and Glen both in the blink of an eye. It wouldn’t even cause him to work up a sweat.
As if to underscore his point, the rogue twirled the small dagger in his hand before making it vanish with a move so quick her eyes couldn’t quite follow. “Why don’t we cut the shit and speak honestly,” said the thief. “After all, you’ve already guessed my identity. Why don’t you tell me who it is that you represent?”
Maintaining her composure, Rose answered, “My employer is in Lothion, more than that I’m not allowed to say.”
“Unlikely,” responded the Roach. “No one would send a woman such a distance to attempt to negotiate with me. There are far more reliable channels.”
“Manfred is dead,” she stated flatly, gratified by the look of faint surprise on the stranger’s face. “The usual channels are no longer satisfactory.”
The Roach leaned forward, his face thoughtful, then he sighed. “I’m starting to understand why you came in person.”
Rose frowned. “In person?”
“Don’t be coy,” said the thief, then he tilted his head back and opened his mouth in an expression of mock surprise. “Did you think you were the only one who could act? I’ve known about Manfred’s death for more than a week now, but your knowledge of the same tells me everything I need to know about you, Lady Rose.”
“You’re mistaken.”
The Roach grinned. “I don’t think so. There aren’t many noblewomen from Lothion who would dare the road to come here. Not only that, but you’re desperate and bereft of allies and assistance. Your Queen has declared you an outlaw and there’s a significant bounty on your head. Why else would you come here and try to lie to me?”
The man’s face darkened as he added, “I dislike liars, milady, even when the lies come from the lips of someone as beautiful and intelligent as yourself.”
“I’m not the only one with a bounty on my head,” reminded Rose.
“Threats do not become you,” said the Roach. “You’re a cat with no claws. You could scream my name to the rafters and it wouldn’t matter, not here, not now. Look around the room. Who do you think these people are? Customers of Red Tom?” He laughed. “I could cut your farmhand into little pieces and one of them would clean up the mess for me. After that, I could do whatever I wished with you and no one would object. You’re alone here. The only real question left is whether you have anything more valuable to offer me than the price on your head.”
Rose’s mind raced as the man spoke, searching for something, anything, that might salvage the situation. She needed more information to work with, and she knew little about the man across from her other than what she had been able to glean from her recent observations. Smiling confidently, she spoke even as her thoughts solidified, “You sound a lot like Manfred did. Are you really so sure of yourself? It didn’t do him much good.”
The Roach said nothing for a moment, staring intently at her, but his eyes betrayed him for a second as they darted to one side to scan the room. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, trying to double down when you’ve already been caught in your bluff. You sure you want to try that tactic with me?”
She refilled her glass, grateful that h
er hand was steady as she poured, then took a sip before replying, “You’ve already guessed who I am, and you know my reputation. You should know better. You know who my friends are and, more importantly, you know what they’re capable of. If you really think I came here unprotected, you’re welcome to test the theory, but I won’t be held responsible for the consequences. It would also be unfortunate if I had to find someone else to do business with.”
The Roach studied her as she spoke, silently impressed with her performance. Her words gave him pause, for over the course of their conversation he had come to realize he was dealing with someone whose wits were just as sharp as his own. That in itself was something of a novelty, and combined with his own native caution, he was tempted to accept her words, but he hadn’t climbed out of the gutters by playing it safe. Rose Thornbear was worth a great deal of money.
He decided to call her bluff, and he felt the familiar joy of adrenaline surging in his blood. The muscles in his body tensed almost imperceptibly as he prepared to move. In the blink of an eye he went from sitting to standing, and then he was flying through the air in a leaping somersault that would put him behind her bodyguard.
It happened so quickly Rose had no chance to react; even her eyes were barely quick enough to follow his movements, and her heart shot into her throat as she saw the Roach sail into the air, steel glittering in his hands.
***
“She’s going to die.”
I ignored the voice. It was simply another sign of my impending madness. At first, I had thought it might be Penny, whispering to me from whatever crevice she occupied in my heart, but over time I had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t her.
“Don’t you want to do something?” it suggested.
No, I cautioned myself. The voice was always tempting me to do more. In some way it was connected to the gift I had inherited, but it was anything but benign. At first it had been subliminal, almost subconscious, but now it was ever present and easy to hear, like a friend whispering in my ear. And it was always urging me to act.
But with every action, the power within me grew. Soon I would no longer be able to contain it. That was why I had come here. Or rather, that was why I had created this place, an empty pocket hidden away between dimensions.
After saving my children, I had continued onward in my quest to eradicate ANSIS from my world. Whether I had succeeded was an open question, but gradually I had come to realize that with every exercise of the powers I held, they grew stronger, as did the voice. It had fed me hints and knowledge, giving me the locations of hidden places where ANSIS thought itself safe.
And for a while, I had listened, gladly accepting its help and destroying them at every turn. Eventually I had come to realize its intention, however. It was egging me on, urging me to greater uses of power to hasten the end.
An image flashed in my head, and I saw a man leaping up from a table, twin daggers in his hands, but his target wasn’t Rose, it was the large man that sat nearby. He isn’t going to kill her, I thought silently.
“What do you think will happen to her after he kills her bodyguard?” asked the voice. “Shall I show you?”
No! I screamed within my mind.
“Don’t you want to save her? You’re in love with her.”
“If I do she’ll die anyway,” I finally answered, speaking to the brilliant void that surrounded me. “Everyone will. They’re only safe if I remain here.”
“That isn’t remotely true,” argued my invisible antagonist. “The process you’re undergoing is irreversible and unstoppable. Even if you do nothing, your struggle to contain it will only slow it down a little. You might as well do as you wish while you still can.”
“If it happens here, it won’t affect them,” I responded.
A chuckle sounded in my ears. “In that you’re mistaken.”
“I don’t take advice from mysterious spirits,” I replied. “It’s a long-standing policy.”
“That can be remedied.”
My tiny little private universe vanished, replaced by a wood-paneled office. The agony of straining to contain my power also disappeared, causing me to gasp with relief. Looking down at myself, I saw my body was much as I remembered it, before my transformation.
Two large, padded chairs with small side tables beside them occupied the center of the space, and the walls were covered in shelves loaded with books. A man sat in one of the chairs, sipping a cup of tea and looking up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Is this better?” he asked. His face was familiar, though I had no idea who it was. It felt as though I should know his name, but my mind was blank on the subject.
“None of this is real,” I said flatly.
He nodded. “Neither are you, or your world, or even me for that matter. What’s your point?”
I grimaced. That was a philosophical rabbit hole I wasn’t in the mood to jump down. “I don’t feel like sophistry at the moment. Who are you?” I demanded.
“You already know the answer to that,” said the familiar stranger.
“Piss off,” I replied. “I didn’t put up with mysterious doublespeak from my now deceased spell-twin, Brexus, I’m damn sure not putting up with it from you. Answer plainly or leave me the hell alone.”
The man put his cup down with a frown. “Since you insist on being unpleasant, I don’t have a name. Are you happy? I may have had one once, but its long lost to me.”
“Then what are you?” I asked.
“I could say ‘God,’ but that isn’t really satisfactory. I could also say that I’m you, but that wouldn’t convey the meaning you need to understand. ‘The Dreamer’ might suffice, but I prefer to think of myself as an author, or maybe a storyteller,” he answered.
I chuffed in annoyance. “For an author you’re terrible at names. I’ll just call you Tim.”
“As you please.”
“So, from what you’ve said, you’d have me believe the world is just a dream you’re having. Is that correct?”
Tim nodded. “That’s the easiest way to describe it.”
“And what does that make me?” I asked.
“Part of the dream.”
“You’re a twisted son of a bitch,” I accused, not bothering to hide my anger.
He smirked faintly. “I can’t really deny that.”
“If you’re God, then you’re responsible for all of this, all the suffering, all the evil, all the deaths. Why would you put us through such things?”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “I’m also responsible for your family, your loves, every sunrise—every bit of joy you’ve ever felt.”
Staring at him, I felt a sense of sorrow, or perhaps wistfulness, and my curiosity began to get the better of me. “The real question is why. Why would you do these things? If you’re that powerful, why don’t you put things right? Why should people suffer?”
“I wish I could tell you the answer,” he replied. “I have spent eternity watching you and those like you, and still I do not know. I think I once held hope that by observing, I could finally discover that secret, but at some point I gave up. I no longer believe the answer exists. All we can do is make the best of what we’re given.”
Faced with someone who claimed to be an all-powerful being, I found a sour taste in my mouth from his answer. “Then leave that aside. You could still do something about it. You could do away with the suffering.”
“Can I?” he asked, his mouth quirking up on one side. “You’ll see, when your time comes.”
“My time?”
Tim nodded. “What’s happening to you is not the end, at least not for you. The destruction will bring an end to me, and all my willful stubborn dreams, except for you. It will also be a new beginning. The new world will be a product of your dreams, and hopefully, I will finally be at peace.”
With those words, I finally understood his motivation. “You want me to kill you. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You want out, so you’ve been pushing me to bring about this apocalyps
e of yours.”
He sighed, then picked up his cup and took another sip. “I wouldn’t put it that strongly. Let’s just say that I don’t object. Since you’ve put things in motion, however, I see no reason not to move on to the conclusion.”
Something else occurred to me then. “Is this how you got here? Were you like me once?”
Tim shrugged. “Probably, though to be honest my memories of before are vague at best.”
As I chewed on my lip another thought came to me. “Let’s say this does happen.”
“It will,” he said immediately.
Impatient, I waved my hands at him. “Suppose I believe that, for the moment. What if I recreate this world? Could I fix the things I think you’ve screwed up?”
He looked intently at me, his gaze piercing me and driving a spike of sudden sadness through my heart. “What you really mean to ask is could you bring your friends back, your wife, your father, all those you’ve lost.”
Defensively, I replied, “Well, among other things, but yes.”
“No, not really,” he said frankly.
“Why not?” I challenged.
“When you lie down to sleep at night, do you choose your dreams? Can you control them?” he responded. When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Neither can I.”
Agitated, he stood and approached me, his form blurring before me, his face changing, until Penny was in front of me, looking down. “Do you think I would choose to leave you, or our children?” A second later, Dorian had taken her place. “Do you think I would choose to suffer, if I could avoid it? Or that I would leave Rose for another man to love?” Next came a face I had seen only in a painting, Elena di’ Cameron, my long-dead mother. There were tears in her eyes. “Would I choose to leave my only child behind?”
They appeared and vanished, one after another, leaving their questions hanging in the air like accusations. “Stop, please. This is too much,” I begged. The pain in my chest was unbearable.
His form changed once more, and Marcus was before me. Returning to his chair, he sat down and lifted the cup. He sniffed it once and his lip curled in disgust. Then he waved his hand, causing it to vanish. A moment later it was replaced by a glass of wine. “That’s better.” He took a long drink from the glass. “If I have to do this, I might as well have something good to drink.”
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 10
