The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  Aaron raised his hands. "Sorry. Right now my mind is a blank."

  Amanda's smile became thin and unhappy. "So we have to bluff our way through this thing."

  "We?"

  "You're coming too. This decision affects you more than it does me."

  "Gods," Aaron groaned. This was why he liked to hire people. He hated politics and slimy politicians. "When do we leave?"

  Amanda glanced at her watch and stood up. "Thirty minutes ago would have gotten us there fashionably late. If we leave right now and arrive by conventional means, we'll be unforgivably late. That won't make a good impression. Do you know where the Assembly Building is?"

  "Been in the area a few times."

  "Good. Get us someplace close so we can make it on time."

  Aaron sighed. He hated using his Talent to transport to unsecured places. In a big city like N'Ark, the chances of being seen were fairly high. True, his picture was not in the papers, and he kept a low profile. The chances of being recognized by sight were slight. Still, that chance did exist.

  Then again, if he lost the books he would have to start closing Houses. That he would not allow. Sometimes the knowledge that he had created the Houses was the only thing that held him together.

  "Let's go."

  Amanda walked over to join him. Closing his eyes, Aaron concentrated on the secret part of his mind that wanted to take him someplace else.

  Flicker

  * * *

  Crash

  "Son of a--Where did you two come from? Look, I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

  "Forget it. Forget it," Aaron sputtered from the ground while frantically brushing garbage off his chest. A mostly empty garbage can lay a few feet away. The woman who had dropped it stood over him. "We shouldn't have been here anyway."

  The woman helped him to his feet, and then assisted Amanda. Amanda glared daggers until they left the alley Aaron had transported them into.

  "My suit is ruined," Amanda said in an unnaturally reasonable voice. Her lips twisted in distaste. "Mister Turner, there is stinking trash all over us. We can't go to a meeting like this. It will make entirely the wrong impression." She shook her head unhappily. "We're supposed to be at the National Assembly in a quarter hour. They won't let us in the building if we look like this. Can you just--you know--move some of the stuff off our clothes?"

  Disbelieving, Aaron looked at her. "Miss Bivins. I am not the Lady or Her Lord. That kind of discrimination I don't have. We'll just have to do the best we can. After all, accidents do happen. They'll accept us or they won't. Either way we'll do our best."

  She grimaced, nodded, and led the way from the alley. Aaron followed. Once on the sidewalk, Amanda stopped and peered around to get her bearings. She smiled when she saw the gold brocade of the Freedom Monument, suddenly her old confident self again.

  "Very good. Remember to watch your language once we're inside."

  "I'm not in the habit of--." Aaron began.

  "Speak clearly. Impressions are important. We don't want them to think we grew up on a farm." Amanda stepped out onto sidewalk abutting the main thoroughfare.

  "You did grow up on a farm," Aaron pointed out as he followed.

  "Yes, but we don't want to shove that fact into people's faces. Watch me carefully and say as little as possible. Okay?"

  "No," Aaron answered, but she did not hear. Instead, Amanda struck out with a purposeful stride that dared any passerby to get in her way. Aaron had to hurry to keep up. They reached the Assembly Building with ten minutes to spare.

  The doorman gave a pointed sniff before barring their way. "There are no public tours today. You can come back in two days if you are cleaned up. Until then, go away."

  Amanda drew herself up. Her eyes probed into the doorman's, daring him to further impede her path. Aaron admired her presentation. He had seen that same stance do her well in court. It might even have been effective here if she had carried a few extra years on her shoulders. Unfortunately, Amanda looked exactly her age, and that age was several years younger than Aaron's twenty-seven. The doorman did not look impressed by either her attitude or her stained clothing.

  Amused, Aaron watched her try to cower the fellow for a few more moments. Seeing Amanda at a loss felt refreshing. She usually carried herself with such an air of competence that most people were overwhelmed by her. This man appeared merely annoyed.

  "You will leave," he said, "or I will call for guards to remove you."

  "These are public buildings," Amanda spat, "and you are a public employee paid by my taxes. I have a right to enter this building, and you have a duty to allow me entrance. My name is Miss Amanda Bivins. With me is Mister Aaron Turner. We have an appointment in eight minutes to see the Subcommittee on Domestic Affairs. It will cost your job if you make us late."

  The doorman studied her as if she were a chicken he was about to turn into a stew. "You go right after my job. I'll be fired as soon as you make your complaint. After I'm fired, I'll get a two-week vacation while my guild threatens to strike. Then I'll be back on the job with back pay plus grievance money."

  Aaron caught the man's attention with a subtle gesture. It was time he showed Amanda that he was more than capable of handling some of these small difficulties himself.

  "Dom Verilago et Burrauge will not be happy when he discovers you are keeping us from our appointment," he said while peering at the doorman's lapel. "I'll be sure to let him know that Mister Issac Penfrost is the gentleman responsible for this outrage."

  Laughter leaped into Penfrost's face. "I'm sure the Dom will be glad to hear from you. He needs the company. According to the morning papers, he was found head down in his own well yesterday."

  "Oh." Damn. The next time Aaron pulled the name of a crime figure out of the papers he would have to make sure the person still lived.

  "Mister Turner." Quick footsteps clacked across the floor as a well-dressed woman rushed toward them. "I have been waiting for you. The assembly members asked me to show you the way since we have met before and thus were most likely to recognize each other." Stopping before them, she took a long look at their clothes. Her nose wrinkled. "I must say, you have a novel approach toward addressing the assembly. Most people leave their peculiar odors behind."

  "Most people don't have garbage cans flung at them while they're on their way to an appointment," Aaron noted. "Good morning, Mistress Bestrow. I don't believe we've spoken since we saw each other in Last Chance."

  "Good morning." She gave the doorman a perfunctory glance. "Admit them, Mister Penfrost. Catlow wants to see them."

  "The minister?"

  "Yes, the minister," she replied impatiently.

  "B-but their clothes," he sputtered.

  "Their clothes are perfectly acceptable for someone the minister wants to see. The matter would be different if they were petitioning her, but that isn't the case."

  "Yes, Mistress Bestrow. Sir, madam, you may enter the Assembly Building."

  "Thank you." Amanda swept through the door like she was royalty visiting the commons. "Mistress Bestrow, you may show us the way."

  Aaron followed in a more sedate manner since he could not attempt Amanda's regal charade without laughing.

  Mistress Bestrow smiled faintly. "Perhaps you could follow me then?"

  "Perhaps so."

  Amanda managed to look as if she were leading the way while being guided along. Aaron happily took up a position in the rear. Only a fool of a client would try to one-up Amanda Bivins at this point.

  They walked down several long corridors, passing people who appeared to know the business they had been sent to do. Mistress Bestrow used the magic name of Mistress Catlow to get them past two other sets of doorway guardians. She led them down an ornately decorated hallway and into a large sitting room.

  "Wait here," she said. "I'll be back after making sure everyone who is supposed to be at the meeting actually bothered to show up."

  She left with a fast clicking of her heels.

&
nbsp; Aaron looked to Amanda and saw she had the same problem he did. They stood in an immaculately clean room, looking at some of the most comfortable-appearing chairs it had ever been Aaron's privilege to see, and they could not decide whether or not to sit down while wearing their garbage-strewn clothing.

  Amanda decided the issue.

  "Always bold," she said just before plopping down in the plushest seat in the room. "Mister Turner, do make yourself comfortable."

  Aaron chose the chair that seemed to be covered with the most cleanable material. Settling in, he released a faint groan as the chair seemed to wrap itself around him. "This is one nice chair."

  "Isn't it? I have to confess, when I attended law school I never thought I would find myself dealing with the movers and shakers this early in my career. I thought it would take at least another four or five years to make it this far."

  "So you always assumed you would be one of the country's top business lawyers?" Aaron asked.

  He understood her confidence. Amanda was very good, and she seemed to live for her law books. Still and all, she was also a virtual nobody. Her parents had paupered themselves putting her through school. Large sections of the family farm were sold off and several of her siblings took on extra jobs to bring in the needed money. Since taking on Aaron as a client, Amanda had made amends to the family. Her parents now lived in a larger home, and she was putting two of her sisters through college. Still, she was a woman who had sprouted out of common ground. She had no political connections, and her parents knew nobody on the inside of the power scene.

  "I always knew I would own one of the top law firms in Isabella," Amanda replied. "I have since expanded my plans. I now know I will own the top firm in Isabella. In a few years I will expand my influence into several other countries." She smiled. "I think I will like that."

  Aaron shook his head. "If that's your idea of fun, then I wish you all the luck in the world. Personally, I want something a lot simpler. I want as little stress as possible, as little notice as I can get, and I want to be left alone."

  Amanda chuckled. "Not much chance of that happening. You are rather at the center of things. Not many people know exactly who you are, but you hold more potential power in your hands than many of our elected assembly. I suspect that is why we are here today. Somebody wants to pull your claws before you start flexing them."

  She stopped speaking at the sound of approaching voices. Standing, she brushed her clothing straight, then gestured sharply for Aaron to rise.

  A number of women and one man entered just as Aaron pulled himself erect. Curious eyes fastened on him, took in his slight build and his trash-stained clothes, and dismissed him. However, one scar-faced woman and the man stared at him with ill-disguised distaste. They were dressed much like the others, wearing power suits and crisply cut hair, but they held themselves distant from the others.

  "Do you have business here?" one severe woman demanded. Her face made Mistress Bestrow's humorless features look soft. Disapproval of the world stared from her eyes, making Aaron think that this was a woman who knew where the bodies were buried. She had probably shoveled some of the dirt herself.

  "We have a meeting," Amanda told her. "Mistress Bestrow bade us to wait here."

  "That one," the woman sniffed. "It figures. Wait then, if you must. Just keep your eyes off your betters while you do so--and keep those filthy clothes off our furniture."

  Placing a hand on her arm, the man shook his head.

  "What do you--?" she began, but his hard stare silenced her protest. "You handle it then, if you must."

  The man did not walk forward. He glided with an unconscious grace that would shame a professional dancer. His female companion glided forward with him. If anything, her movements were smoother than his. Glancing at Amanda, they dismissed her.

  "You are the small man," the woman said with a carefully controlled voice. Her accent sounded thick and heavy, yet her meaning was clear.

  Aaron looked at her. "I suppose I am small, yes. Not much I can do about that."

  "Your size is greater than your inches," the man said gravely. Both angry and respectful, his voice was filled with firm dislike. "You have taken much from us. For that you owe a great debt. I am Delmac. She is Tremon. You are the Chosen. We will see more of each other." Turning, they went back to their group. The group moved toward one of the side doors.

  Just before walking through the open door, the surly woman paused to give them one more distrustful look. "The furniture," she reminded. "Keep off it."

  Miss Bestrow came back at that moment. Her eyes turned hard when she saw the woman's retreating back. "I see you've met Assemblywoman Sporlain. I advise you to stay clear of her. That one is never happy unless she is making trouble. She is also one of the forces behind this drive to circumvent our agreement. Come along. People are waiting."

  "Those two knew you," Amanda whispered to Aaron. "What did they mean? You have done nothing to them. Nothing. I know of all your dealings since you came to Isabella."

  "You don't know everything," Aaron murmured while guilt battled with the hatred he felt for anyone associated with Haarod Beech. The thought of Beech brought forth the memory of his wife, Sarah, and his son, Ernest, burning in Beech's Talent made fire. Aaron's Talent for teleporting could not save his family when set against the multiple gifts of a Talent Master.

  Gods, he missed them.

  He turned his eyes back on Amanda, not caring that she saw his tears. "They're clanspeople I've encountered before. I helped them lose a war; then I murdered their messiah."

  He looked back to the now empty doorway and thought of the deaths his weapons had brought to those people. He remembered the feel of Sarah's steel sword slicing into Beech's body, and he remembered his son's dying screams.

  "I don't regret it," he said thickly while raising a hand to swipe at his eyes. "Not any of it."

  "They are ambassadors for the Thirty Clans," Mistress Bestrow said. Her mouth turned down in a frown. "I'm afraid they are here only to further determine how we will subjugate them. We do not have a good record when it comes to dealing with native peoples. Treaties are something we hold them to while ignoring our own obligations." Her frown straightened into its customary thin line. "Come along. Important people are waiting."

  Aaron nodded and pulled himself together. "Let's go."

  "Fill us in while we walk," Amanda said.

  "Of course." Mistress Bestrow led the way. "You know Mistress Catlow, of course, Minister of the Interior. She supports your arguments because she was behind the government's original deal with you. Probably the person you most have to beware of is Mister Alfred Harrison. He started this entire procedure. For reasons beyond my ken, he has formed an intense hatred for you, Mr. Turner. Some of the others are unswervingly on his side, but a few are riding the fence. Some might slip over to your side. The leader of the largest hostile contingent is Miss Wanda Andrews. In fact, now that I think of it, she might be more dangerous to you than Harrison. Her political power in the assembly is not as great as his, but she represents a tremendous amount of financial and social power due to her position in her family. I think that if you--."

  Her voice droned on while Aaron thought back to the two Clan ambassadors. The Thirty Clans had been supporters of Beech, but in a way, they had been his victims, too. They had brought war. They had killed settlers and soldiers, but they killed to gain freedom from an encroaching nation. They had gone to war on the orders of an egocentric madman. Now the war was lost because Aaron had given modern weapons to an invading army. The freedom they sought was lost because he had also given that army Talent Stones.

  Aaron's stomach knotted. He had a strange feeling Delmac and Tremon expected him to get their freedom back.

  Damn.

  Chapter 2

  She slid into the chair across from him in the restaurant.

  "What are you drinking?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "I said what are you drinking? I'll buy you one."


  Aaron rested wine-blurry eyes on a woman who filled the exact description of an Amazon. If she stood less than six feet three inches, he was a poor judge of size. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, she had enormous arms that pushed out the material of her shirt. Trapped above her muscular body was an absolutely beautiful face. Soft-sculpted planes and angled facets were fit together to create something that was exotic and exciting.

  "I'm married," Aaron told her. His head felt thick.

  She shrugged. "Isn't every man once he gets past twenty? Look sweets, I didn't come over because I thought you'd be an easy lay. When I looked over here I saw a fellow having a difficult time. Now I ain't no do-gooder, but I've been up against it a time or two myself so I have some idea of what it's like. I thought maybe there was something I could do to help."

  Aaron lifted his glass and tried to take another drink. He was thwarted because the glass held no wine. After studying the situation over for a while, a solution came to him.

  "Runeburg White," he said, speaking carefully. "I'm drinking Runeburg White." He gave her a sloppy smile. "I think I'm a little drunk."

  She smiled back. "I think you're more than a little drunk. Why don't we skip the drink, and you can just get on with telling me your problems?"

  Aaron raised his hands. "I'm surrounded by thieves. Everywhere I go people have their hands out asking more, more, more. The more I give, the more they ask." He lowered his hands, leaned forward, and whispered. "I don't know how much thinner I can get. I've been counting myself for years. I'm only one man."

  She gestured a waitress over to the table. The waitress arrived in her own good time, ambling over only after making sure her shoes were tied, she had no wrinkles in her dress, and her hair was perfect. She sidled up to Aaron, leaned her hip up against his arm, and delivered her best sultry look. "What can I give you?"