“We aren’t after money.”
Every other option was worse. Keep calm. Keep calm. There might be only one chance to escape. She must think clearly. “So what do you want?”
“As I said. We have a task for you.”
Lori forced her hand to steady enough to pick up the tankard. The beer was cool in her mouth. “What sort of task?” Tamsin and her gang clearly had no regard for the law. “I’m not a hacker.”
“Hacker?” Tamsin looked thoughtful. “You’re in computing?”
“Yes.” What did they think she did? “You want me to write code?”
“It involves code. But not in the way you’re thinking. Do you have much experience in encryption?”
She took another mouthful of beer while gathering her thoughts. “Umm…I’m familiar with the relevant IEEE standards, and I’ve implemented routines for SHA-2.”
Finn muttered under his breath, “That’ll be a fat lot of bloody use.” The first thing he had said so far. He had a strong Irish brogue. Maybe Finn really was his name.
Tamsin grinned at him. “He means it’s a little less high-tech than you’re used to. As a child, did you play with secret codes?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“You want me to encrypt something?”
“Other way round. Our queen has a document written in code. She needs you to unravel what it says.”
Queen? The loony index was creeping up. They might be a cult—one rich enough to place the puzzles in Zettabyte. However, money did not rule out drug fuelled orgies and human sacrifice. Lori glanced at the door, but the barman was lurking in the darkness. She abandoned any thought of making a run for it.
“What sort of document is it?”
“Queen Rianna will tell you everything you need to know when we get to Caersiddi. And don’t worry about being paid. She’s very generous. I think you’ll be happy with your reward, if you succeed.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Let’s worry about that if it comes to it.” Tamsin’s smile carried little comfort.
“Supposing I say I don’t want this job?”
“That’s not an option.”
Their eyes met and held. Even in the circumstances, Tamsin was an extremely attractive woman, but Lori did not need Adam to tell her that a deranged kidnapper would mark a new low in poor girlfriend selection. Was there any chance this was all part of some TV show? Was a B-grade celebrity about to leap out of the shadows shouting, “Surprise!” Some of Lori’s previous lovers had turned out to be acting a part, presenting a facade of being sane and normal. Pretending to be crazy would be a first—and weighing up Tamsin as if she could be a potential girlfriend was crazy as well.
“Where are you taking me?” And would there be a chance to escape on route?
“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m mad.”
As if I don’t already.
Tamsin drained her tankard and grimaced. “Dammed rat’s piss. Come on.” She sidled from behind the table and stood.
The ice in Lori’s gut erupted in ripples up her spine. From the dimensions of the sheath on Tamsin’s belt, the knife it held would classify as an illegal combat weapon in the eyes of any policeman who saw it, although possibly it could be passed off as a costume accessory, if she was on her way to a historic re-enactment. However, the same would not apply to the modern pistol on her other hip. The sight of the grip protruding from the black leather holster transfixed Lori. Things had just got even more serious.
A jog to Lori’s shoulder broke her out of the horrified daze. Finn was also on his feet and standing beside her. “Shift yourself, or I’ll shift you.”
Lori hastily downed half of her beer, partly to bolster her courage, and partly because her mouth felt like she had been chewing sawdust.
Rather than take the front door, Tamsin disappeared into a dark opening at the rear of the bar. Lori’s legs were rubbery and she had to steady herself with one hand on the table before following. The short passage was unlit, but daylight glimmered at the end. Finn positioned himself at the back, blocking any hope of escape. They passed through a storeroom stacked with sacks and barrels before emerging behind the pub.
While she had been inside, the clouds had cleared and the sun had come out. The glare was dazzling after the gloomy bar. Through half closed eyes, Lori squinted at the small cobblestone courtyard, lined with low buildings. Most old pubs had either knocked down their stable blocks to make a car park or turned them into B&B accommodation. These were still in use for their original purpose. An open wagon and two shaggy carthorses awaited them. This was not going to be a high-speed getaway.
Three more cult members were seated on the open tailboard of the wagon, dressed in the same white shirts and black leather as the others. All were armed. They had been chatting in the sunlight while they passed around a bottle. One immediately jumped down and stood in front of Lori. He was tall, well over six foot. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. He had a long, rugged face and an untidy mat of red hair that stuck out at angles. He studied her as if she were a piece of equipment, or a racehorse, then spouted something in a flowing musical language.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I said, so you’re the wonderful code wizard, we’ve been waiting for all this fucking time.” He spoke English with a rolling Scandinavian accent. “Do you think you’re up to the job?”
“That’s what we’ll have to find out,” Tamsin answered for her. “Everyone, this is…Laura?”
“Lauren.”
“Lauren. Right.” Tamsin placed a firm hand on Lori’s back and propelled her toward the wagon. “Widget’s laying a trail. Shorty, you and BH wait for him while the rest of us head back.”
“Sure thing, Captain.” The tall man snagged the bottle from the tailboard and sauntered into the pub, ducking to get under the doorway. Shorty? Maybe the gang wanted to avoid using their real names, but could they not manage a little originality?
Another cult member, a woman who presumably went by the initials BH, hopped down from the wagon and followed him in. The letters undoubtedly stood for something equally witty. Her skin was dark, almost blue-black in the shadows around her eyes. The set of her cheekbones and the hint of natural gold in her hair suggested her ancestry lay in Australia rather than Africa. Her age was hard to guess. She possibly had a few years on Finn, though she moved with the grace of a dancer.
The last of the group remained seated. Smiling broadly, he extended a hand to help Lori onto the tailboard. “Hiya. I’m Hippo. Good to have you along.”
Another stupid nickname. Hippo could not be older than thirty. His features were Arabic, although his accent was far harder to place. He had square shoulders, a barrel chest, and bull neck. His heavy build might be the origin of the name, although his weight was all solid muscle rather than flab. He was the only one wearing a sleeveless shirt, revealing biceps that could have featured on the cover of a weightlifters’ magazine.
The cult was doing well on multicultural credits. It was also scoring highly in the eye candy department. All the leather clad cultists could have found work as fashion models. Were they actors? Was the wagon a prop? Lori rapped her knuckles on a panel. It felt like solid timber rather than painted plywood.
A bench ran along either side of the wagon. However there was little space to sit, due to the piles of crates and sacks. Assuming the kidnap was for real, Tamsin was obviously planning on a long siege. Up at the front, Finn hopped into the driver’s seat and loosened the reins.
Tamsin climbed in and raised the tailboard. She gestured to Hippo. “Go ride shotgun with Finn. I’ll keep an eye on our new recruit.”
“Right, Captain.”
Hippo clambered over the cargo, stopping briefly to reach behind a sack and pull out a double-barrelled shotgun. Not just a turn of phrase then. Lori closed her eyes. How far would they get before they were surrounded by a police armed response t
eam? And what was the chance she might be hit in the crossfire?
Tamsin settled on the bench opposite, then turned her head and gave a sharp whistle. Four huge mastiffs emerged from the stables. The dogs had spiked collars, brindled coats, wide, slobbering mouths, and red eyes. Lori looked again to be sure. Red eyes? Could it be genetic? Given their size, she did not fancy anyone’s chance of getting them to wear coloured contact lenses.
With a jolt, the wagon started forward.
“Where are you taking me?” Maybe not the most important question, but the one most likely to get a sensible, honest answer.
Tamsin leaned back, stretching her arms out along the side of the wagon. “There are many names for it—Alfheim, Elysium, Kalapa. Take your pick. The locals prefer Annwyn. I just don’t advise calling it fairyland.”
So much for sense and honesty. Lori buried her face in her hands.
Chapter Five
After a couple of minutes, Lori raised her head and looked around. Already the houses of Dorstanley were out of sight. She could not even see the smoke rising from the chimney of the Halfway House. In fact, she could not see much of anything.
The weather continued acting strangely. The sun shone brightly overhead in a clear blue sky. However, thick fog blanketed the horizon. Visibility was good for fifty yards or so, and then there was a billowing wall, as if the wagon was in the middle of its own private clear patch. Obviously, this could not last long. When they re-entered the fog, she could jump from the wagon. Except guns were not the only problem. The vicious looking dogs went a long way to explain why the gang had not bothered tying her hands and feet.
Lori peered into the fog, hoping for sight of something comforting—something like a nice blue and yellow police car.
The small region she could see was unexpectedly barren and windswept, open heath rather than farmland. The pastures, wheat fields, and hedgerows she had passed on the way to Dorstanley were gone. The road was a rutted dirt track. The route had obviously been chosen for stealth, but Dorset was too well populated to stay out of sight for long. Soon they would have to reach a village or main road.
“Here. You’ll need to wear this.” Tamsin was holding out one of the torcs.
The style was similar to artefacts seen in museums. However, the metal was dull grey rather than gold. It was also heavy and cold in her hands, and most definitely not something Lori wanted to wear. Was it a cult symbol, like the silver birds on the gang’s belt buckles?
“Why?”
“Believe me. You need to wear it, and never take it off while you’re in Annwyn,” Tamsin’s tone was absurdly insistent.
“You think wearing cheap reproduction jewellery is a matter of life and death?”
“It’s more than that. It’s made of iron, so it will block magic. A chunk like this, close to your head, will protect you.”
“Oh, of course.” Silly me not to have known.
However, giving free rein to sarcasm was not a good move. Tamsin had a gun, and challenging her version of reality was unwise. Bloody typical. Tamsin was an incredibly attractive woman and completely off her rocker. Although her obvious insanity was maybe a good thing. If Tamsin were just a little less deranged it would be very easy to give in to a hormone-driven interest in her. This would be dangerous for two reasons. Not only was she an armed criminal, she was also most likely straight. Who knew how she might react? But supposing she isn’t straight?
Lori stamped on the thought and concentrated on the iron torc. The band was a half-inch thick, but the braiding made it flexible enough to twist open and slip around her throat. The ornate ends lay heavy on her collarbone. Despite what Tamsin said, there was no way she was going to sleep wearing it.
Tamsin was watching her in a way that was unsettling, for some of the right, and an awful lot of the wrong reasons. When Jess said about meeting new people she should have specified sane ones—or at least ones who would at least give their real name.
“You said I could call you Tamsin. Is that short for something?”
Tamsin’s face hardened. It seemed as if she would not reply, but then she said, “If you must know, it stands for Thomasina. It’s a name I hate. The only person who could get away with calling me it was my mother, and she’s long gone. Tamsin is fine. If we get to know each other better, and become friends, I might let you call me Tazer.”
Don’t hold your breath. “Do you have a last name?”
“I did once.”
“And now?”
“I’ve got six passports. If you’re really interested, I’ll let you see them and you can take your pick.” Which was the sort of line that could sound intriguing, even sexy, in a spy movie, but not in real life, when spoken by a crazed kidnapper. Why couldn’t she be a sensible, law-abiding, chartered accountant? Although Jess had not turned out too well.
The wheels hit a series of bone-jarring ruts and there was no padding on the seats. Lori’s teeth cracked together. The vehicle was quaint, but neither comfortable nor quick. “Why the horse drawn wagon?”
“We get stuff delivered to the Halfway House. Might as well pick it up while getting you, and it’s too much to carry on horseback.”
“Wouldn’t a transit van or large SUV be better?”
“It would. Except there’re no petrol pumps where we’re going.”
“And where is that exactly?”
“I told you already. Annwyn.”
The name was not anywhere she recognised…or did she? Hearing it a second time, pinged a memory. “Isn’t that from the Mabinogion?” It was not a real place, but why should it be? Tamsin was off with the fairies.
“It’s mentioned there. Have you read the book?”
“No. But a guy I worked with had. He wanted to insert references into a fantasy game we were developing.”
Tamsin’s easy smile returned in full. “Probably just as well if you aren’t familiar with it. Most of the stories are unreliable.”
“Most?” Really? “And which bits are reliable?”
“Some names. For instance, Powel was one of my predecessors.”
“Your predecessor?”
“Captain of the Silver Ravens. The first branch of Mabinogion is a garbled account of one of his missions.”
“You’re captain of the Silver Ravens.”
Tamsin nodded.
“Who are?”
“The elite squad in the army of Rianna, Queen of the Fay.”
There was no answer to that. Fairyland special forces. She should have guessed. The belt buckle now made sense, but things were not getting any better.
Tamsin continued. “I’ll understand if you’re having trouble taking what I say seriously. Once we get to Caersiddi you’ll find it easier.”
“Caersiddi?”
“Queen Rianna’s castle. It lies in the middle of Annwyn.”
“Right.” Talking was pointless. She needed to concentrate on watching for a chance to escape.
However, Tamsin had not finished. “You think I’m crazy.”
You’ve got that much right.
“But I might as well run through some things you ought to know. It’ll save time later, when you’ve seen that I’m just as sane as you.”
Which might be quite some way off.
“Earth and Annwyn are linked worlds. Once, there were dozens of portals between them. Now there’s just the standing stone in Dorstanley. The easiest way to cross over is by going round it three times widdershins at noon on one of the quarterdays.”
“Quarterdays?” Why was she even bothering to ask?
“Beltane, Samhain, and the rest. The four big Celtic festivals are when the barrier between the worlds is weakest. But if you know what you’re doing, you can step through anytime. The quarterdays are when people stumble across by accident. Normally, Jimmo takes care of them.”
“Which one is Jimmo?” She ought to keep the names clear, in case she ever got to make a statement to the police.
“The barman at the Halfway House. He was
the first person I met when I was young and foolish enough to walk around the stone for a stupid dare.”
At the front of the wagon, Hippo twisted round and gave Tamsin a huge grin. “Good job you’ve grown up, Captain. Can’t imagine you taking a stupid dare now. I mean, it must be my memory playing tricks—that fuss last month over the bet between you and Captain Cheng.”
“I wasn’t going to cave in to an Iron Raven. It was a point of honour.”
“It was a dragon.”
Lori glanced between them. “Dragon?” Seriously?
Tamsin shrugged. “Just a small one.”
Hippo laughed and turned back to the road.
Dragons. The cultists had to be on drugs. Lori stared into the fog. It was not lifting, and nor were they any closer to leaving the clear patch. If it were not a ridiculous idea she might have thought it was travelling with them. The effect had to be a coincidence.
“You don’t need to worry about dragons.” Tamsin spoke like someone giving well-meant reassurance.
I’m not. Just the crazy people who believe in them.
“You won’t be seeing any at Caersiddi. They stick around the borders.”
“That’s good to know.” Might as well humour her.
“There’s plenty of other dangers in Annwyn, but as long as you wear the torc, and follow Queen Rianna’s orders, you’ll be safe.”
“That would be Rianna, queen of the fairies?”
Tamsin drew a sharp breath. “You don’t believe a word I’m saying. To be honest, I don’t blame you. You’re welcome to be as cynical as you like for now, but keep Queen Rianna out it. None of us will find your attempts at humour funny. She deserves nothing but respect.”
So that was how to push Tamsin’s buttons. Useful knowledge, if only for knowing what to avoid. Provoking armed lunatics was not a safe hobby. “Okay.”
“You’ll understand when you meet her. Queen Rianna is…” Tamsin’s expression softened. “Without her, Annwyn would be in chaos. Fay can be disloyal, cruel, destructive. They’d turn their world into a bloodbath in their petty wars. They’d make all humans slaves…worse than slaves, and believe me, that option exists in Annwyn. The fay are masters of magic, but Queen Rianna is strongest of all and protects us. If not for her, I might not be dead, but I’d be wishing I was. I owe her everything. My life is hers, to do with as she wishes. Every one of the Silver Ravens would willingly die for her. She is everything a queen should be—noble, kind, wise, and fair.”
Silver Ravens Page 6
