by Frank Hurt
As each changeling entered the room, Elton shook their hand. With each handshake, he sent a seed of Deference Spell into the changelings. The seed would quickly grow and take over in minutes. Then, he would give them a little nudge and let the dominos fall.
There would be plenty of witnesses when the rampage began. The Eighth Floor embassy office workers were all back from lunch. If he acted quickly, Elton would be able to contain the carnage to the boardroom, far away from NonDruws’ ears and eyes. With the horror of their psychopathic revenge plot revealed, the changeling community would turn against the so-called Mandaree Scouts. It was a tidy plan—aside from the bloodbath itself.
“Well, we’re here,” a bald, red-faced man said. He stood with his arms crossed as he glared at Elton. “You said you had information that would help us but we had to all come now, this afternoon. Well, you’ve got us here.”
Elton forced a smile. “Roy, you said your name is? Roy, please, have a seat at the table. As I said, I’m your Director of Wellness, and this is Deputy Viceroy Shadbolt. He’s the one who phoned you and organized this meeting.”
Geoff looked small at the end of the ellipse-shaped table, surrounded by the changelings. He tapped his fingers together before holding a hand up weakly and saying simply, “oh hi. You can call me Geoff. I mean, if you want.”
Roy grumbled, “okay, Geoff. What’s the big breakthrough that you told me about on the phone? You’ve been jerking us around for nine years. Now you suddenly call us up to your fancy offices like you pretend to give a shit about us?”
A haggard-looking woman who smelled like an ashtray and resembled the contents of one coughed. Her voice was gravel and phlegm. “At least let the man speak, Roy.”
Elton took a chair nearest the door. He nodded at Geoff, and then watched the changelings’ expressions as the Deputy Viceroy recited the explanation he had been taught. Even the most sullen of the disgruntled changelings began appearing ever more placid. The Deference Spells were working.
The zaffre blue ring felt heavy on his finger. It was one of the strange paradoxes of magic, that such energy had a contradictory response to gravity. As the Leystone ring exhausted itself of mana, it became heavier, denser. It didn’t matter to Elton, as he would recharge the Leystone by leaving it overnight at the Ley Line, exchanging it for another such battery.
Geoff finished parroting the speech he’d been told.
It was the emaciated changeling—the one who looked like a junkie, complete with fingernails that bled from being pared back too far—who summarized. “So, wait…you’re saying that you have a cure for our disabilities. But…but you refuse to let us have it?”
Geoff swallowed once and nodded, his absinthe green eyes blinking nervously. “Yep. Yep, that’s about the short version of it.”
The room smelled of body odor and cigarette smoke, was too hot, and was getting hotter by the minute. The agitation among the changelings was visible and audible. Roy swore, spittle flying from his mouth like a rabid dog.
Elton hid a smirk. And now to tip the domino and walk away. Before he did that, he needed to verify they were each fully under his Deference Spell. No room for mistakes. He cleared his throat pointedly and said, “gentlemen, ladies. If I could have you each be silent for a moment and look at me. That’s it, each of you, look at me.”
Ten faces silently obeyed. Ten pairs of eyes locked with his, dull and entranced. Nine changelings and a mage, seated around the ellipse table, staring back at their master.
Wait—nine changelings?
Elton glanced around the room, hoping a tenth changeling had somehow been overlooked. He felt his neck grow flush as he fought to keep his cool. “I thought you said you were all here? There’s only nine of you. Who’s missing?”
When nobody immediately volunteered an answer, Elton looked up at the ceiling and spoke through clenched teeth. “I said: who is missing?”
“Um, Arnie, sir,” Roy said timidly. His bark was gone, the feral junkyard dog turned into a whimpering, beaten mutt. “Arnold Schmitt.”
“I told you—the Deputy Viceroy told you, rather—that all of you were to be here. All ten of the Mandaree Scouts.” Elton cursed. “Why isn’t Arnold Schmitt here?”
Roy looked like he was afraid he would be kicked in the ribs. He cowered, his arms to his side. “Sir, he—Arnie—he’s been helping his brother with their welding business. We couldn’t reach him in time for this meeting.”
Elton growled, “for fuck’s sake. Everything was going so well.” He paced the room, encircling the meeting attendees who remained seated at the boardroom table, though they each continued watching him. A backup plan formed in his mind. “Looks like today is your lucky day, Geoff. You might just get to finish your song after all.”
The Director of Wellness took position by the door before continuing. “Whatever I tell you people today, you will remember as coming from him—from the Deputy Viceroy. If you understand, I want you to say ‘yes, Director Higginbotham.’ Understood?”
Nine voices said, “Yes, Director Higginbotham.”
“Very good. I’m going to tell you a story. When I say it is me in this story, you will hear it as ‘Geoff Shadbolt’ if anyone ever asks.”
“It was decades ago—in the seventies, if memory serves—when I visited the Druwish colony in Eritrea. A dusty, undesirable place to colonize truth be told, but that is where the Ley Line was found, so that is where the colony was founded.”
“With business matters tended to at the colony, a local Malvern governing official decided to treat me to a little getaway. Now, I have very little knowledge of the interior of Africa, but this man knew of my interest in the obscure and he shared that interest. We boarded a private charter plane and flew to the Congo. Deepest, darkest Africa, smack in the middle of a red-earth airstrip in the jungle, that’s where we ended up.”
“There, at the air strip, we were met by guides from a local Bantu warlord who supplied us with transportation and fully-automatic AK-47s and all the ammunition we could ever want. He was paid well by my friend, naturally. Safe passage was given to us along with a security detail to escort us through the jungle as we hunted anything that crept or crawled. Big cats, apes and monkeys, birds of every sort. It didn’t matter to them if they were endangered species, and we didn’t mind either.”
“Where things really got interesting was a few days into our safari. We’d reached a river that the Bantu said we couldn’t cross. The soldiers said the lands across the river belonged to the Pygmy, which were in a state of nearly constant war with the Bantu. Violent little motherfuckers, we were told.”
“Of course, my friend and I were only more intrigued, and we insisted on crossing the river. The Bantu escorts stayed on shore, while we traveled across by boat with our translator, half-drunk from three days of nearly non-stop drinking and killing in the jungle. It didn’t take long for the local Pygmy chieftain and his little halfling warriors to meet up with us. They were little guys, as you might imagine, but armed almost exclusively with machetes and bows and rusty, old lever-action rifles.”
“We were able to coerce them with our charm—and a good dose of magical influence, you could say. The Pygmy chieftain not only allowed us to hunt in their lands, but they showed us where we could find gorillas. Big beasts with a terrible roar when they are mad. But they went down just as easily as anything we’d hunted earlier on that impromptu safari. We must’ve killed two dozen of them in one day, between the two of us.”
“The Pygmy were so impressed with our fully-automatic rifles, and they made use of the monkey meat from our hunts. We finally got tired of killing things and were ready to head home, so my friend and I decided to gift the AK-47s to the chieftain.”
“The Pygmy chieftain was clearly honored to be given such powerful weapons as gifts from such powerful men as ourselves. As was their custom, he had to provide an equally valuable gift in return. So, he gave us two of his daughters.”
“Imagine that, two white E
uropeans, returning home with a couple of Pygmy girls? That wasn’t something that interested us. We tried to refuse the gift, but our translator explained to us that it would be a great offense to the chieftain to do so. The girls would be shamed by being rejected, and probably would be stoned to death or whatever it was they did in their tribe.”
“We were running low on whiskey as well as our patience. A weeklong spree it had been by then. So, we agreed to take the girls and together, we all boarded the boat to return to the Bantu warlord’s lands. We waited until we were about halfway across the muddy river, then we tossed the two Pygmy girls overboard.”
“It was our intention to set them loose and let them swim back to their people. Sure, they’d be shamed and beaten, but that wasn’t our problem. What we hadn’t accounted for was that these Pygmy girls, they couldn’t swim. They sunk like rocks, and in our hungover state, we weren’t able to be of any assistance to them.”
“So you see, those two girls were no longer a burden to us, nor to the chieftain. Not the solution we’d planned, but it worked out in the end.”
Elton smiled wistfully as he finished his tale. Dull faces with vacant expressions watched him, mesmerized by his every word. They were like lambs at a petting zoo, feeding from his hand. Not that a man like him would ever set foot in a petting zoo.
“Do you understand how this story relates to your situation?” Elton toyed with the heavy Leystone ring on his finger. “No, I can see you don’t. The theme of this story is about culling weak specimens from the population, for the greater good. Your sacrifices will allow your families to move on. For our colony to move on. You don’t have to be a burden anymore. I commend you on your decisions to do this. No—not me—the Deputy Viceroy commends you. Remember that.”
He gestured at the bald changeling. “Roy, you’re something of a leader of this little pack. The Deputy Viceroy will appoint you in charge.”
“Yes, sir,” Roy nodded, unblinking. “But…in charge of what?”
“Your instructions are simple. You have access to firearms, don’t you? Of course, you do. After this meeting, you are to fetch yourself some guns. You are all to go to Arnold Schmitt’s house. There, you will wait for him to return from work. When he does, you will kill him.” Elton paused, making sure each of the nine Mandaree Scout changelings understood.
Satisfied that they did understand, Elton added, “you’ll make sure Arnold is dead before you kill yourselves. And if anyone tries to stop you, be they family or friends, you’ll just go ahead and kill them, too.”
19
Take Me With You
She heard them well before she could home in on their position. They formed a V-formation, high up in the nearly cloudless sky above her. The geese were heading south for the winter, honking vociferously as they encouraged one another along.
“Take me with you,” she pleaded to the geese.
Ember held the notepad in her hands. She was sure she followed the directions correctly—as best she could translate the crow’s flight path into navigable roadways. It didn’t take long for her to explore this abandoned farmstead; it was little more than the decayed frame of a long-collapsed windmill, a few thorny shrubs, and the sandstone foundation of a small building that might have been the farmhouse once upon a time.
Unless they employed an invisibility cloak, there was no trailer house here. No meth lab hidden within the invisible trailer house.
Her Motorola accompanied the honking geese with its glaring ring tone. The number on its display announced was one which she recognized.
“Hello, Mummy,” Ember answered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Emberly, darling,” Benedette Wright’s voice sang. “How is the world’s finest and most famous Senior Investigator this delightful evening?”
Ember held the phone away from her face, giving it a bemused look. She did read the number correctly, and the voice did sound like her mother’s. The words her mother were uttering didn’t sound like anything she had heard either of her parents voice, however.
She answered haltingly, “I’m…well? It’s still early afternoon here. I’m just working a case right now in fact.”
“Oh!” Benedette sounded enthused. “Is it a case like the Changeling Hunter?”
“It’s a missing persons case, Mum,” Ember shook her head. “I’m trying to track down a location described by a witness, but they weren’t very clear directions. Who knew there would be so many abandoned farmsteads to search.”
“It is a frontier out there, you must understand,” Benedette said, as though she were an expert on rural Americana. “The poverty must be soul-crushing. Difficult to eke out a living from the dirt. In any case, I’m certain you will find it, darling.”
Ember thought of the industrialization of the small towns she had driven through. The derricks of drilling rigs peppering the countryside. The vehicles and equipment, moving en masse in a coordinated effort to tap into the rich shale formations beneath her feet. If poverty existed in these lands, it wasn’t presenting evidence of itself to her.
She propped her elbows on the hood of her Ranger, holding the phone to her ear with one hand while she pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. “Is there anything new happening in England, Mum?”
“So thoughtful of you to ask,” Benedette said. “We’ve just met your supervisor tonight. He’s quite the charmer.”
Ember’s perplexed mind went to Duncan before realizing who her mother was referring to. “Ah. The Viceroy. So you’ve met him, yeah?”
“Met him! We hosted him, darling.”
“You—wait, you had a party for the Viceroy?”
“Certainly, we did. It was a casual affair. A tasteful gathering of our closest forty peers for wine and entertainment. Your sister captivated us all with a song she wrote and performed for the occasion. You recall how talented Cynthia is with the piano, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mum,” Ember sighed. “Cyn is gifted.”
“The caterers are still cleaning up, if you’ll pardon the noise in the background.”
“I’ll try not to be bothered. Why am I not surprised that you hired caterers for this shindig?”
Benedette tsked. “Shindig. Listen to yourself! No, I didn’t hire the caterers. My event planner did. She also hired the decorators, who pulled a marvelous coup by bringing in an Elementalist to create ice sculptures. Quite a talented young apprentice from Eritrea.”
“You convinced an Elementalist mage to practice his craft as a party favor for a bunch of snobs.” Ember shook her head. “That’s the real magic.”
“Everyone needs to feed their families, darling. You might be interested to know that the Viceroy spoke highly of you.”
“He did?”
“You didn’t tell me how perilous things were with the Changeling Hunter, Emberly!”
“It wasn’t…that dangerous,” Ember lied.
“The Viceroy regaled us all with a recount of the case. People were quite interested to know more about the young Investigator who took down the infamous colonial Changeling Hunter. It would have been uncouth for me to boast about my daughter, naturally, but it was well proper for the colony’s own Viceroy to do so.”
Benedette continued, “he told everyone about how you tracked and faced down the deranged madman all on your own. He told us that while most people would have been terrified to confront such a bloodthirsty monster, you were calm and cool. Completely settled. A true professional, doing her job, sans fear. I honestly cannot begin to surmise how you did it, Emberly. I am retroactively frightened for you just living the tale secondhand. I completely understand why you didn’t tell your father and me these details. You knew we would have been worried beyond words.”
“He said I was calm and cool? That I wasn’t afraid?” Ember glared at the rusted remnants of the collapsed windmill. “How the bloody hell can he make such a claim? He wasn’t there!”
Benedette was undeterred. “He told us about your Ascension Test. The youngest eve
r to take and pass a Level Three on the Investigator Track. He admitted that he was the one who sponsored you to take the test; he saw the potential in you and knew you wouldn’t disappoint. He said that you impressed the tribunal with your quick wit and cleverness.”
“Quick wit and cleverness?” Ember echoed. “That makes it sound like I was on a game show.”
“Now that you’ve reached the top level of your Track, there’s nowhere for your career to go unless you play the game of our stations. You would do well to seek advice from your father and me.” Benedette paused, allowing her daughter to appreciate the wisdom she was imparting. “We know people, and important people now know you. You’re quite a rising star in Druwish society, whether you will admit it or not. But that sparkle can fade if you fail to leverage your position.”
Here it comes. She’s going to tell me about an eligible young bachelor.
“It’s a narrow window of opportunity that this fame you’ve attracted will afford you,” Benedette said. “I’ve discussed this with your father, and he agrees with me: we think you should make your desire for the Viceroy known to him when he returns to the colony. With some luck, he doubtless will find you desirable in turn. With our blessing, a courtship shall commence.”
Ember blinked, then she emitted a noise that might have passed as a laugh. “The Viceroy? What, Farquar isn’t available anymore?”
“He certainly is, and he’s a lovely young man. But I think you could set your sights higher than a midlevel bureaucrat now.”
“Mummy, William Roth has to be 200 years old.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He’s quite youthful, a spry man. Ageless, really. I feel self-conscious around him, even. His skin is remarkably healthy. Exceptional genetics and healthy living, I would have to credit. The children you would give him would be models of Malvern society. And think of the status this would bring you!”
