Chigoes looked like giant bugs with human faces. They were inherently horrifying.
Leonid found himself wondering for the first time if chigoes found human beings just as horrible. Perhaps that’s why there were so few of them in Dracoheim.
At the bottom of the hill was a clearing of sorts, a wide patch of bare rock without any stone spires. Sitting in the middle of the clearing was an enormous beetle, the size of a cargo van, with metal lockers of some sort hung along its sides.
“We will administer the question, now,” the captain said. “Magus, if you please?”
Leonid had no idea what to expect as he walked forward. He made an effort to keep his stride even, his expression relaxed. His students were looking to him for leadership. He had to maintain calm. If he panicked, the boys were sure to follow.
“What are you going to do?” Leonid asked. His voice was even, despite the ice in his guts.
“You will be searched,” the captain said, and opened one of the lockers.
What came out of the locker was a swarm of insects. They buzzed like flies but were larger. The captain whistled, a series of shrill notes like a calliope.
The swarm engulfed Leonid. The small insects buzzed around him, not touching his skin, but flying close enough that he felt the wind from their wings. He forced himself to stay very still.
After what felt like a very long time, he heard another series of whistles, and the swarm retreated, buzzing in a cloud close to the giant beetle.
“You are clean,” the captain said. “Now your students.”
Leonid looked back at the two young men. They exchanged a worried glance, and then Kent said, “I’ll go next.”
He walked to where Leonid was standing, a little shakily. Leonid smiled to reassure him. “It’s not so bad,” he said.
“If you will step back, Magus?”
Leonid walked back to where Shotwell was standing. Together they watched the swarm engulf Kent.
“What are they searching for?” Shotwell whispered nervously.
“Contraband,” Leonid whispered back. “I assume. If they are looking for smugglers from Nivose, probably drugs of some kind.”
“What kind of drugs?” Shotwell asked.
Leonid shrugged. “I don’t know what would effect a chigo.”
The captain whistled his odd tune again and the swarm left Kent, who looked pale. Shakily he walked back to join them. Softly he said, “That was pretty creepy.”
Shotwell was staring at the swarm in horror. “I don’t think I can do this,” he said.
“You have to,” Leonid said. “It’ll be over quick, and we’ll be right here.”
Shotwell swallowed hard and walked slowly forward.
The captain whistled, and the swarm engulfed the young man.
Almost at once, Leonid could see that something was different this time. The swarm clustered around Shotwell’s left hip, and many of them landed on him, covering his uniform pants to halfway down his left leg. Shotwell started brushing them off in a panic.
The captain whistled, and the swarm retreated back to the giant beetle. Two of the chigo troopers came forward, weapons aimed at Shotwell.
“You will disrobe now,” the captain said.
Shotwell threw a terrified look at his teacher and Leonid started forward. Instantly, two more chigoes with weapons aimed came between them.
“Let me help him,” Leonid pleaded.
“Allow the magus to assist,” the captain said. “Magus, recall your oaths.”
Shotwell was trying to unbutton his uniform shirt, but his hands were shaking so badly that he hadn’t managed more than a single button.
“Hey,” Leonid said softly. “Mr. Shotwell—Thodd. Relax. We’ll get through this, okay?”
Louder, he addressed the captain. “Why don’t we just empty his pockets, first?” Did these chigoes even understand what pockets were? “Maybe whatever you are looking for is one of those items.”
Leonid helped Shotwell remove his wallet, watch, pocketknife, a cigarette case, putting them all on the hard ground.
The captain gave his whistle, and the swarm came forward. This time, the insects lighted on the ground, and, in moments, they were clustered on the young man’s cigarette case.
Leonid had a chilling thought. “What’s in there?” he whispered.
“Maiden tears,” Shotwell whispered back, his voice a near-inaudible croak.
“Oh, son,” Leonid said softly, “how could you?”
“I didn’t know I was coming here, now did I?” Shotwell’s reply was bitter.
Leonid felt a twinge of guilt at that. The boy had been wrong to have the maiden tears, no doubt about that. It was an unlawful drug imported from Nivose and being caught with it would have meant expulsion. But in Dracoheim, it probably wouldn’t have resulted in anything worse, not with a small quantity and a first offense. It was common on the streets. In humans, it produced euphoria and a heightening of physical sensation and—so they said—a lowering of inhibitions.
Here, though... ? Leonid didn’t know what its effects would be on chigoes, but judging from the captain’s reaction, they were probably severe.
As would be the penalty for bringing it into this realm, even unintentionally.
The cigarette case was put inside a very ordinary looking white paper bag, which the captain sealed with tape and a glyph he traced with a steel scribe.
“Thodd Shotwell,” he said formally, “you are being charged with the crime of transporting a proscribed substance into the realm of Ventose. You are hereby ordered, upon pain of death, to report with us to the Malignium for trial.”
A pause. Then, “Do you understand the charge being brought against you?”
“Yes.” The young man’s voice was flat, toneless.
There was movement coming down the slope, and Leonid turned to see Kravitz Welsh, the Dean of Magic, along with an armed security guard.
Strike that—a disarmed security guard. The man’s holster was empty. A trio of chigoes who were very much armed followed the humans down slope.
Leonid took a step in that direction, and the chigoes beside him lifted their weapons. He raised his hands and stepped back.
“After the question, you may meet with your colleagues,” the captain said.
The dean and his escort were subjected to the insect swarms, but the bugs didn’t signal any contraband. After that, the chigoes allowed Leonid and Kent to join them.
Shotwell stayed back, the guards watching him alertly.
“What’s going on here?” Welsh asked.
“Smuggler trap,” Leonid explained. “Evidently, some criminals from Nivose have been using this place as a transport site.”
“And you just happened to get caught in it,” Welsh concluded sourly. “Well, Tucker’s going to reactivate the grid every twenty minutes, for two minutes at a time. Let’s get back.”
“There’s a problem,” Leonid gestured at Shotwell. “He had maiden tears on him.”
“Oh, that poor fool,” Welsh said softly. “What are they going to do?”
“Take him to the Malignium.” Leonid said. “I need you to get word to the consulate. Maybe they can intervene somehow.”
Welsh sighed. “For all the good it’ll do.”
“You take Mr. Kent back with you,” Leonid said. “I’ll accompany Mr. Shotwell.”
Welsh gave him a long look, then nodded. “It was your screw up,” he agreed. “You know there’s going to be a full inquiry when you get back.”
Leonid nodded. “One thing at a time.” He looked back at Shotwell. “Right now, that boy needs me.”
“I’ll get word to the consulate. They should have someone waiting when you get to the capitol,” Welsh said, then to Kent. “Come on, let’s get back home.”
The chigoes returned the security guard’s pistol, then waved for them to go back to the transit site.
Leonid walked back towards Shotwell, calling to the captain, “Will you permit me to accomp
any my student?”
“Of course,” the captain said.
Shotwell was staring down at the bare ground. “I’m dead,” he whispered.
“No, you’re not,” Leonid said firmly. “This is a bad situation, no doubt about it, but help is coming. You’re a citizen of Dracoheim, and Lord Chimiculeon isn’t going to risk an incident with the Lord Mayor.”
“What does the mayor care?” Shotwell asked miserably. “He’s not even human.”
“Listen to me, Thodd,” Leonid said. “I care. You are my student, and it’s my fault that you’re in this mess. I’m going to see this through.”
Shotwell looked away and spotted the captain standing by the huge beetle. “Hey!” he shouted. “Can we get moving? Let’s get this cursed thing over with!”
The captain looked back. “We will not travel on the walker. I have called a flier. It will be here soon.”
“What does he mean, a flier?” Shotwell asked.
Leonid shrugged. They’d find out soon enough.
The flier announced itself with high-pitched engine whine and a sudden wind. It was the size of the cargo beetle but built long and equipped with two sets of gleaming steel wings. It seemed to be partially insect and partially metal, the organic and mechanical parts fused together somehow. Along its back was a line of saddles. The guardsmen ushered them forward.
“Ever ridden on one of these before?” Shotwell asked Leonid.
“I’ve never even seen one before,” Leonid answered. In truth, he had no idea that the Chigoes could manufacture flying machines. “Just hang on and try not to fall off, I guess.”
The saddle was adjustable to accommodate the varied bodies of chigoes, and one of the vehicle’s pilots moved bits of it around until it was fairly comfortable for a human.
The two humans took their seats, with guardsmen in front and behind them. The high-pitched whine of the motor increased and a hot wind blew from somewhere underneath the vehicle, and then, quite gently, they were airborne.
The Stone Forest dropped away from under them. The view was breathtaking, miles of twisted spires of rock in all directions. The vehicle turned smoothly, rotating in place until was facing back the way it had come, and then it accelerated away.
Shotwell laughed delightedly. “I need to get me one of these,” he shouted over the rushing wind.
“It wouldn’t work in the Midworld,” Leonid pointed out. “Different cosmological constants.”
“Pity.”
Under them, the spires of the Stone Forest gave way to rolling hills green with vegetation. From this height, it was impossible to tell what the plants were, but they seemed to be cultivated.
There were buildings, too, wood and stone, ordinary-looking cottages, at least from this height, except that most of them were round or six-sided instead of being rectangular. The chigoes seemed to have little use for right angles.
The buildings became both more numerous and larger, and then they were over a city. Here, too, the concept of a right-angled grid seemed to have escaped the locals. The streets were laid out in hexagons, and each hexagonal block was dedicated to a particular purpose. Some were residential, others open parks; some structures the humans couldn’t identify.
There was traffic now, too, chigoes walking or riding beetles of different sizes. Many of the things on the road were constructed like the flying machine, a mixture of organic and mechanical parts. There was also traffic in the air. An enormous airship drifted by overhead, a dozen or more gasbags supporting a shape of gleaming chitin the size of an ocean liner.
Behind the city a dome rose up on the horizon, dwarfing the city that sprawled around it. It looked like the polished skull of a titan, half-buried. The upper surface was pockmarked with round holes leading into its interior, shadowed like the empty sockets of a hundred blind eyes.
Shotwell’s delighted smile faded and his face grew grim. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Leonid nodded. He’d never seen it, but from the descriptions he’d heard it couldn’t be anything else. “The Malignium.”
Traffic streamed around it, both on the ground and in the air. The scale of the thing was hard to gauge. It seemed too large to be real, something that would have collapsed under its own weight in the Midworld.
The flying machine headed for an opening on an upper level that seemed at first comically small, but as they grew nearer the scale resolved itself into a cavern that could have held a dozen fliers. A squad of the warrior class stood in formation on the floor of the hanger. Next to them, looking very small, was a single human figure, a man in a suit.
When the machine landed and the whine of its engines shut off, the man approached, holding out his hand.
“Seth Werner, Parliamentary Diplomatic Corps,” he said. “Magus Vetch, Mr. Shotwell, come with me, please.”
The warriors formed up around them, Mr. Werner seeming to not notice them. They went through a short, twisting corridor. It was nearly circular in cross-section, flattened on the bottom to form a sort of floor. The walls were a yellowish gray, disturbingly bone-colored. Leonid felt as if he were walking inside the body of some titanic creature.
A circular door led to a small room, hemispherical in shape. There were no windows, but the upper third of the walls glowed with a yellow light. Inside the room was a table and four chairs, very human looking, and Leonid suspected that they were imports provided for the use of human visitors.
The man from the Diplomatic Corps took a seat and waved them to the other chairs. The warriors took up station outside the door silent and immobile.
“Well, young man,” Werner said with a smile, “you’ve made my day much more interesting.”
“I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused, sir,” Shotwell said, looking miserable.
Werner shrugged. “It’s my job. Cursed bad luck you happened to have maiden tears on you. It’s a powerful narcotic for the locals—they used to use it for an anesthetic, in fact, but it’s also highly addictive, so they’ve switched to other drugs.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Leonid asked.
“Well, you are clearly not the smugglers the sweep was intended for,” Werner said. “They freely admit that. But on the other hand, you did bring an interdicted substance into the realm. Right now, I’m working on having you remanded into CPS custody for trial in Dracoheim.”
“Does the Committee for Public Safety have jurisdiction?” Leonid asked.
“Use of magic to transport a class two controlled substance,” Werner said. “You won’t be charged, magus, so long as we convince the courts you had no knowledge of the contraband.”
“He didn’t,” Shotwell said firmly. “This is all on me.”
“The trip was unintentional, in any event,” Werner went on, “the administration backs you on that. So there’s no intent to distribute.”
Werner paused, then looked at Shotwell, his face grim. “Young man, this is going to go hard for you. You understand that we cannot afford to dismiss the charges—representatives of Lord Chimiculeon’s court will be following the case.”
Shotwell nodded. “I understand.”
Werner stood. “I have a meeting that I must attend. There are certain political ramifications here that I am not at liberty to discuss. Your hearing should take within a few hours. Do not attempt to leave this room. The warriors will feed you and escort you to the facilities as needed.”
Leonid and Shotwell both nodded.
To Shotwell he said, “We’ll get you through this. Just try to relax.” Then to Leonid. “You’re a good man for sticking with him. I’ll get you home for dinner tonight.”
The hours passed slowly.
At first, Leonid tried to make small talk, but he quickly realized that all he had in common with the young man was the school, and with his expulsion inevitable at this point, that was a sore subject. Shotwell made a few attempts to start a conversation about books, but Leonid didn’t really read aside from professional journals.
After a long silence Leonid said, “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
Shotwell shook his head. “It’s my own damned fault.”
There seemed to be nothing more to say after that.
At last, Werner returned, hurrying along the corridor with a squad of warriors. “Come on,” he said, “we’re being summoned to the presence.”
As they moved through the maze of twisting corridors, Werner spoke softly. “I have to warn you, it’s going to look bad at first, but I need you to trust me. Don’t speak unless you’re asked a direct question and give short answers. Don’t volunteer any information.”
Teacher and student both nodded.
“It’s going to be all right,” Werner went on, “I promise. Just... trust me.”
The corridor quite suddenly opened out into a vast open space, a spherical chamber dozens of stories high, lit by hundreds—no, thousands—of lamps affixed to the curving surface of the wall. A railed walkway girdled the chamber at the equator, with a few dozen figures spaced along it, lost in the immensity of the room. In the chamber was...
Lord Chimiculeon. The Seventh Lord of Nightmare, called The Many and The Armored King. It, or they, clung to the walls all around. The Nightmare Lord had uncountable bodies, millions certainly, crawling, flying, hopping, a gargantuan swarm of insects of all description. The sound of the swarm was a constant rumble that made the stone walls vibrate. The three humans walked into the presence and were the focus of ten million faceted eyes.
The swarm was in motion, and as they watched, the tiny bodies flowed down the walls of the chamber, pooling in the bottom of the sphere like a liquid and then surging up. A mass of crawling insects, surrounded by swarms of flying creatures that shrouded it like fog, rose up from the bottom of the sphere, taking on shape as more and more of the tiny bodies joined the swelling mass.
Within minutes, it had taken on the semblance of a single form, a jointed body the size of a railway locomotive. A dozen long legs lifted the mass until the front of it—bodies crawling over each other to form a face, huge black eyes above the chasm of an open mouth—was level with the equatorial walkway.
It—or they—spoke. The voice came from all around them, echoing from the walls of the sphere.
Fantastic Schools: Volume 2 Page 24
