by Sharon Lee
“All right, Kate,” Bob said briskly. “What can I get for you?”
I opened my eyes, but didn’t bother to lift my head. “Cheese omelet, homefries, grilled blueberry muffin, and a cup of coffee.”
He nodded, wrote it down, and looked at Borgan.
“Pancakes, egg over easy, bacon, coffee.”
Another nod, a note, and a glance at Ozali Belignatious.
“A grilled blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee, please,” he said sweetly.
Bob snorted. “You were gonna start eating something with that, remember?” he said, in that half-worried, half-scolding voice I’d heard from him—had it only been Monday morning?
Mr. Ignat’ raised his eyebrows. “A side of bacon?”
“That’s better.” Bob made the note and stuck the pencil behind his ear. “Coffee’ll be right out,” he said, and left us.
I turned my head to follow his progress into the kitchen. As soon as the door swung shut after him, I turned back to Mr. Ignat’.
“He didn’t see anything different,” I said.
He nodded. “Protective coloration. It wouldn’t do for old Ignat’ to disappear, when there are so many people looking after him.”
Not to mention that it might not be altogether smart for an Ozaliflame to suddenly appear, not when every trenvay in Archers Beach knew that Googin Rock had been empty. Still—
“Somebody’s going to smell the illusion,” I said. “Then what?”
“If it were an illusion, I would have cause for concern,” Mr. Ignat’ answered placidly. “As it is, I’m merely allowing people to see what they’ve seen for many, many years.”
I opened my mouth—and closed it as the kitchen door swung open and Bob whisked past on his way to the counter.
Next to me, Borgan sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Finn’s gonna get tired of fishing for me,” he said conversationally. “And he don’t do as good a job for Mary as he ought.”
I turned my head to look at him. “He stints her on the catch?”
“No, now, none of that. It’s just that he doesn’t put himself out in the matter of catching them.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “How long are you going to fish for Mary, now that Hum’s gone?”
“Contract’s for seven years,” he said. “Be done three this summer. I—” He stopped as Bob put steaming mugs and a generous handful of creamers on the end of the table.
“Food’s coming,” he said, and moved down to check on the first booth.
“Then what?” I asked Borgan.
“After the contract?” He shrugged, and slid a mug over to me, along with four creamers. “Might go back up to Halifax. Might not. Depends on where I’m wanted.”
Across from me, Ozali Belignatious claimed a mug, and wrapped his long, white hands around it. Mr. Ignat’ had always drunk his coffee black, even Bob’s coffee, and it appeared the full Ozali edition shared that preference.
Borgan had better sense. He dumped three creamers into his coffee, and looked pensively into the swirling depths, as if debating the merits of adding a fourth.
I sat up and dealt with my own mug, then slid it to one side so I could lean my elbows on the table.
“Mr. Ignat’,” I began, and shook my head in frustration. “I can’t keep calling you that.”
He looked up, smiling slightly beneath the flame-red mustache. “Why not? It’s what you’ve always called me, and I don’t mind.”
“I didn’t call you— Argh.” I put my head in my hands, fingers raking through my hair.
“I must say that it was very brave of you to try to absorb that fire, Katie,” he said, while I was still wrestling with philosophy—and losing. “Unfortunately, it was also foolish. Even I would hesitate to absorb such a fire.”
Fingers still tangled in my hair, I looked up at him. “What made that fire more dangerous than any other fire?”
“It was created in malice, and charged to consume everything in its path. Fire is quite sensitive to nuance. And while you were not strictly in its path, you did place yourself in a vulnerable position with relation to— Ah, breakfast!”
Bob clattered plates down, Borgan passed mine over, and the utensils rolled up in their paper napkin. Mr. Ignat’ had already started on his muffin, and I didn’t blame him one bit. Granted, we were all going to die, just as soon as Ramendysis got tired of waiting for us, but for the moment, I was starving. I broke the paper tape, pulled out my fork and got down to cases.
THIRTY-FIVE
Wednesday, April 26
We made short work of our meals, while the locals filtered in by ones, threes and twos. Raucous, subdued, and half-asleep, they dealt themselves out into their usual places, ordering, when it was their turn, without bothering to look at the menu. On WBLM, the overnight guy signed off and the morning crew signed in, maintaining a steady stream of classic rock in between the weather report, sports scores, and wisecracks.
“All right.” I pushed my plate aside and gave Ozali Belignatious a stern look. He raised his eyebrows.
“So fierce, Katie . . .”
“Gran is still missing,” I said, in case he hadn’t noticed. “Ramendysis is not happy with us, and he left in a flurry of threats. Even if he can’t get at Borgan through his jacket, which—” I let Borgan have some of the glare. “—it’s likely he can, even if only through association.” He raised an eyebrow and I sighed.
“Granted, it might take him a while. Even so—Ramendysis has Gran and he has my mother—or whatever my mother’s become. Also, he didn’t waste any time ratcheting up mischief, Joe Nemeier style. This morning’s little campfire was by way of a demonstration that he can do whatever the hell he wants to do, however the Law reads or the Wise forbid.”
“I don’t think that Ramendysis has Bonny,” Mr. Ignat’ objected. “He would have shown her to you if he did, to be certain you were suffering as you should.”
Which was a pretty accurate reading of Ramendysis’ character. “All right,” I conceded, “maybe he doesn’t have Gran. But we know he has my mother.”
“It is likely that Nessa is one of the matters in hand he referred to, yes,” Mr. Ignat’ conceded in his turn.
“But he didn’t show her, either,” Borgan pointed out.
“He probably thinks Gran told me all about it,” I said, gloomily. “He thinks she told me all kinds of things she didn’t; what’s one more, among enemies? Dammit!” I shook my head, and tried for some humor. “Why didn’t Gran ever get a cell phone?”
“She did,” Borgan said from beside me. I turned on the bench to stare at him.
“What?”
“Bonny had a cell phone,” he repeated. “You didn’t find it at the house?”
“I think hell just froze,” I said, and pulled my cell out. “You wouldn’t happen to have the number, would you?”
“Sure thing.” He flipped his phone open, worked the keypad and a heartbeat later I had Gran’s cell number in my phone book. “Right,” I said, and hit “send.”
What should’ve happened was exactly what did happen. I heard a couple rings, then an automated voice telling me that Bonny Pepperidge was out of range and would I like to leave a message.
Well, why not?
“Gran, it’s Kate. I’m back home and I need you to give me a call. It’s urgent.” I recited my cell number and hit “end” with a sigh.
“Okay, that was a dumb idea,” I said, flipping my phone closed and slipping it away. I looked between Borgan and Mr. Ignat’.
“If either of you has a better one, sing out.”
Not surprisingly, neither did.
Well. I leaned forward, and made earnest eye contact with the Ozali, suppressing a shudder at the blue flames dancing in his pupils.
“What does Ramendysis want?”
He gave me a beatific smile. “I’m sure young Borgan will be happy to pick up the tab, Katie. After all, you paid for breakfast yesterday.”
“That was Monday,” I told him; “and you’re dodgi
ng—”
“C’mon, Kate,” Borgan interrupted, sliding out of the booth and heading for the register. “Let’s take a walk.”
A walk, forsooth. I grumbled my way out of the booth, and paused to watch Borgan walk over to the register. Ozali Belignatious, on the other hand, seemed immune to pleasant scenery. He was already halfway to the door, and I wasn’t about to let him vanish without answering my questions.
I followed him, leaving Borgan to find us or not, as the whim took him.
But it appeared that Mr. Ignat’ was perfectly willing to wait until our team had re-assembled before continuing on. He was loitering near the curb, gazing up into the pale, cloudless sky and in imminent peril of tumbling into the street. Not that there was any traffic to speak of, but—
“If you fall and break your ankle, I am not carrying you home.”
“Of course not, Katie,” he said absently, “I would never ask it of you.” He snapped his fist into the air, and a feathered form burst out of the sky to land on it, light as a soap bubble.
The bird was once again the color of soot; seen in the light of day, it bore a passing resemblance to a common Maine raven, with its long-fingered wings and cruel, heavy beak. The eyes, though, were like chips of topaz, and alert beyond a raven’s intelligence.
“What’s his-or-her name?” I asked as the bird walked up the Ozali’s leathered arm and settled on his shoulder.
“Arbalyr,” Mr. Ignat’ murmured. “But it’s best, Katie, not to speak it aloud, except in times of great need.”
Great. Another secret I didn’t want. The bird cocked an eye at me, as if it had read that thought and found it amusing.
“All right, then.” Borgan came up on my right side, and jerked his head up Dube Street, toward the ocean. “Little walk on the beach to settle the digestion?”
“Excellent,” Mr. Ignat’ said dreamily, and gave Borgan a nod. “Lead on.”
This, Borgan did, leaving me to walk beside Mr. Ignat’.
“What,” I said again, and in my best brook-no-nonsense tone, “does Ramendysis want?”
Mr. Ignat’ flicked a flame blue glance along the side of my face.
“He wants the Opal of Dawn, Pirate Kate.”
“The . . . Opal of Dawn,” I repeated. “And that’s what, exactly?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “we should wait until we’re on the beach.”
I sighed, but took the hint, and eventually we were crossing the dunes, single file on the boardwalk, straggling out when we hit the beach.
The tide had turned, but the water was still ’way out. Borgan was standing on damp sand, looking—maybe at the islands, or the lighthouses, or the glitter of sunlight on the waves.
“All right,” I said when Mr. Ignat’ and I had reached his side. “No more dodging.
“Ramendysis,” I said to Borgan’s glance, “wants the Opal of Dawn.”
“Does he now?” he said politely. “And that would be what?”
“Mr. Ignat’ was just about to tell us,” I said and turned to give him a glare.
He smiled and raised his hand as if he were warding my power. Which was a joke. I hoped.
“The Opal of Dawn,” he said, “is a jewel of great worth, which rightfully lies within the honor of Mergine, High Queen of Daknowyth.”
“Hold it.” I held my hand up. “Ramendysis says that he’s looking for something that belongs to him.”
Mr. Ignat’ pursed his lips. “To be fair, he does have some reason to believe that the Opal is his. Mergine agreed that he might have it, if he met certain conditions, which he has.”
“Changed her mind?” I guessed.
“Given her choice, Mergine would have never pledged the jewel. However, she was in an untenable position, having taken a war into the Land of the Flowers so cleverly that she very nearly established herself before the Great Houses banded together and drove her back.”
“I remember my grandfather telling the story of the war with Daknowyth,” I said. “Ramendysis was a hero.”
“That’s very true; he was.” Mr. Ignat’ turned and strolled up-coast, and Borgan and I, perforce, went with him.
“Since he had shown so well in the war,” he continued; “it was Ramendysis whom the Council chose to carry the terms of defeat to Mergine.” He paused, reaching up to stroke his bird’s feathers, a line between his golden brows.
“The Council’s terms were harsh—harsher than many of us had argued for, reasoning that clemency might win us an ally where spite would only confirm a foe. However, there was wounded pride to be salved, and Ramendysis was one of those strongest in support of stern measures. In the end, the vote went his way, and he carried the terms to Mergine, who would have no choice but to accept them.”
I took a breath and put my hands in my pockets.
“But,” I said.
He smiled. “But, there was the Opal, treasure of Mergine’s house, and which Ramendysis, in his ambition, desired. He showed the Queen the Council’s terms, and offered to return and plead clemency—on condition that she cede the Opal.”
“Tough call. But I’m guessing she agreed to it, to spare her people what she could.”
“You were raised to be a princess, Katie. In fact, that was her reasoning. The Opal’s virtue is such that Mergine rightly feared what might happen to Daknowyth—and to the very forces that bind the Six Worlds—should Ramendysis come to possess it. So she bargained, and in the end she gave Ramendysis a Word as surety that she would deliver him the Opal when two conditions were met.” Mr. Ignat’ stopped and turned to face us, raising a slender forefinger.
“One. That Ramendysis win from the Council gentler terms for defeated Daknowyth.” The middle finger rose. “Two—that he achieve ascendancy in the Land of the Flowers, for only a master of men and of jikinap could hope to command the Opal.”
I closed my eyes, and took a step closer to Borgan. He put a hand on my shoulder and warmth radiated through stiff muscles. “This is why Ramendysis started snacking down Ozali, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Mr. Ignat’ paused. “To be just, Mergine believed he would either fall in pursuit of his goal, or that he would attain so much power that it would turn on him. In that light, her gamble wasn’t as wild as it may seem to you. No one could have foreseen that Ramendysis could have achieved and contained so much—”
“. . . without his head exploding,” I finished, and opened my eyes. “So Mergine realized that she’d misjudged, and hid the Opal?”
“In essence.”
“Great.” I rubbed my forehead. “And it’s in Archers Beach.”
Mr. Ignat’ turned away and recommenced his stroll. I glared at his back, then moved out from under Borgan’s hand, half-running to catch up.
“Gran agreed to hide it here. In fact—” Mr. Ignat’ stopped so suddenly I damn’ near fell on my nose. “In fact,” I repeated, breathlessly, “she talked it over with you—asked your advice. You do know where it is, don’t you? That’s why Ramendysis wanted to chat with you.”
“I knew where it was,” he corrected me. “Where it is now, and how it has responded to the virtue of this land—that I don’t know, Katie.”
“Responded—” I stared at him, realized my mouth was hanging open, and closed it. Briefly. “Mergine hid an Object of Power in the Changing Land,” I said, the meaning of that finally hitting me like it should, whereupon my stomach tried to escape through the bottoms of my sneakers. “Is she nuts?”
“No more than any of us who have achieved the heights,” Mr. Ignat’ murmured. “But it may be that she was crazy like a fox, Katie, and wished, rather than hoped, that Change is inevitable.”
“That way, she’d still spike Mr. Wonderful’s guns, even if he found the thing,” Borgan said, and lifted a shoulder when I looked up at him. “Gutsy lady.”
“Yeah.” I shook my head in equal parts admiration and frustration, and focused on Mr. Ignat’. “All right, where was the Opal?”
He tipped his head. “It may no l
onger be there. Bonny could well have moved it. In fact, it’s almost certain that she did.”
“I’ll take the chance,” I said briskly. “Where was it?”
“Would you give the Opal to Ramendysis, Katie, knowing that the Six Worlds may cease to exist if you do?”
I blinked. “Define ‘cease to exist.’ ”
Mr. Ignat’ inclined his head, but it was Borgan who spoke, in the ritual cadence he had used to tell me the creation story.
“The Wind that Blows between the Worlds will die, and the power of each World will crumble. The Shadows will eat our hearts and the stars will dance in our dust.”
“Right.” I took a breath. “And that’s what will happen, give or take a poetic allusion or two, if Ramendysis gets the Opal? Even if it’s been Changed?”
“Katie,” Mr. Ignat’ said reproachfully. “You know as well as I do that no one can predict what Change might work upon an object. It may have rendered the Opal useless, true. But it’s just as likely that the Opal has become . . . even more powerful.”
“Terrific.” I closed my eyes. “Just—If I don’t give Ramendysis something, Archers Beach is going to cease to exist, and it’s going to hurt like a sonofabitch, too. We can’t stand against him—”
“Maybe,” Mr. Ignat’ interrupted softly. “Maybe we can.”
I opened my eyes. “If you’ve got an idea, bring it on out where we can all take a look at it.”
But he shook his head. “Give me a day’s grace, child. It may be that our case isn’t as hopeless as it seems.”
“I don’t have—” I began, and this time it was Borgan who interrupted me.
“Let’s look at tactics, Kate,” he said, and glanced over my head to the Ozali. “If you give Mr. Wonderful what he wants, he’s got no reason to keep his side of the bargain, such as it is. He didn’t give you a Word to hang him with if he doesn’t behave himself. Not to mention there’s your gran still on the wrong side of the Wall . . .”
