Trapped lop-6

by James Alan Gardner

  "And hauntings?" I asked. "The harp in the music room was more nanite activity?"

  "Right. Rosalind had nanites in her brain, just like everybody else. Under certain conditions, especially traumatic death, the brain nanites imprint some portion of the dying person's personality on nearby nanites in the air. It's not an accident — the aliens who set this whole thing up wanted to create ghosts, in accordance with human ghost stories. If Rosalind suffered enough emotional turmoil when she died, her nanites were almost certain to create a ghostly manifestation. The ghost isn't the real Rosalind, of course. It's just an artificial reproduction of some part of the girl's psyche: deliberately manufactured for melodramatic effect."

  I chewed on that a moment. What I'd seen in the music room had definitely been melodramatic — choreographed for heavy emotional impact. The soft weeping, the harp playing in an empty room, the blood… in a way, it was almost too faithful to the cliches of ghost stories. A real ghost (if there was such a thing) would probably be more original. Still… "These nanites are good at playing out scenes," I said. "Very smart."

  Myoko shrugged. "What can I say? There are trillions of the little fuckers everywhere. And they were constructed by aliens who knew a lot more science than the OldTechs ever did. The nanites are smart and very powerful."

  "Is there any limit to their power?"

  "They're only present here on Earth, so you can't use them to travel off-planet. Apart from that, they seem to up for anything humans can imagine. Transmutation of lead into gold… teleportation… time travel…"

  I gulped. "Time travel?"

  "Think about it," Myoko said. "How can the Caryatid get accurate premonitions if the nanites don't play fast and loose with time? Information travels from the future back to us in the present. And Yoquito said the nanites could make physical objects do the same thing. I don't know of cases on record… but then, the records would have changed, wouldn't they?"

  Ouch. Time travel always gives respectable physicists the screamie-weamies. Not that we're totally convinced it's impossible… but we know enough about the universe to realize just how much of the natural order time travel would screw up. The cliche of killing your grandfather isn't nearly as serious as killing the second law of thermodynamics. "I don't suppose," I said, "your analytic genius Yoquito ever mentioned how to avoid time paradoxes?"

  Myoko shook her head. "Yoquito didn't live long enough. When the nanites explained all this stuff, he decided he had to tell someone… and the nanites directed him to a school that housed people with powers just like his. My old alma mater: the school for psychics. It took Yoquito years to make his way out of the jungle and reach the school. After that, he told what he knew, and died from his tuberculosis within a month. One of those cases where a man with a terminal illness keeps himself alive by sheer willpower until he accomplishes what he wants to do. Then he just lets go."

  A short silence. After a while I had to ask, "If your school has known this for forty years, why haven't they told anyone else? Scientists would kill for this kind of information."

  "That's the problem," Myoko said. "Some scientists would kill for it. At least we're afraid they might. In case you haven't noticed, we psychics don't trust outsiders. The school where I trained has no incentive to divulge the truth, and every reason to play things close to the vest. If scientists understood how psionics worked, maybe they could use that against us somehow. We didn't want to take that risk. Anyway," she said, her voice suddenly brisk, "scientists will find out soon enough. Every psychic who goes through the school is taught what's really happening; when that many people know something, it doesn't stay secret for long. I'm surprised it's lasted forty years."

  "As you say, psychics don't confide in other people." I looked up and met her eyes. "Which makes me wonder why you're telling me."

  She dropped her gaze quickly. "Because Sebastian is missing. Because he might be in trouble and I want to save him. You're a smart man, Phil, and who knows, maybe if you understand the truth you can use it to help."

  "I'll try," I told her. "What did you say the boy's powers were?"

  "Everything. As far as I can tell, he's got every damned power in the book. Clairvoyance, clairaudience, telekinesis, telepathy… some more powerful than others, but he's got it all."

  "How can that be?" I asked. "Could he have initiators all through his brain?"

  Myoko shook her head. "Yoquito said that was impossible. If a baby already has an initiator, other initiators stay away."

  "Hmm. Did you ever ask Sebastian to describe what his powers felt like?"

  She nodded. "Like the world was filled with happy puppies, eager to do tricks for him. If he wanted something, he asked the puppies and they fell all over themselves to help him out… whether it was lifting heavy objects, displaying pictures in front of his eyes, or telling him the answers on exams. They'd even act without being asked — like once, he almost got kicked by a horse; but the air between him and the horse's hoof suddenly turned into a solid wall and stopped the kick before it made contact."

  "Okay," I said. "So the boy's happy puppies are actually nanites. And they want to do him favors: help him, protect him. Maybe the initiator landed in some part of his brain that deals with social relations. Friendships. Every bit of nano on the planet has become Sebastian's loyal pal." I pondered the idea a moment, then made a face. "No: that doesn't sound right. I'll have to think some more." I gave a sideways smile at Myoko. "Though it sure would be nice to have thirty percent of the entire world as my doting chum."

  Myoko gave my arm a squeeze. "Sorry, Phil, you'll have to make do with me." Quickly she turned away, toward Sebastian's door. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

  When I'd entered the room in the dark, I'd thought the place had been cleaned up. Now that I had more light, I saw it was not so much "clean" as what the maids called "boy-tidy": clear in the middle of the floor, with clutter shoved against the wall and arranged in balanced stacks. This was still an improvement over the usual state of the room; Sebastian must have spent hours picking things up (or having his nanite friends do the work). That showed the boy hadn't run off on the spur of the moment — he'd put things in order first.

  Myoko, standing in the doorway, surveyed the piles of oddments around the edge of the room. "What do we think we're looking for?"

  "Clues to where he went," I said.

  "Like what?"

  "Coach schedules perhaps. Or a note from some priestess willing to many two teenagers without parental consent."

  "No one in Simka would perform such a wedding," Myoko said, "and if any kid asked, the church would inform the academy. Opal makes hefty donations to all the local chapels to keep them on our side." Myoko shook her head. "If I were eloping, I wouldn't make wedding arrangements ahead of time; I'd just hightail it to a big city, then look for someone bribable. Heaven knows, Rosalind has enough cash to smooth the way — I've heard kids talk about how much gold she carries. Almost as much as you do."

  I thought about that. "It would be nice to know where Rosalind's gold is. Is it still in her room, or has it gone missing?"

  "The only way to find out," Myoko said, "would be to search Rosalind's room for her money-belt."

  "And entering Rosalind's room," I said, "is an unhealthy thing to do." I turned back to the jumble heaped around Sebastian's dorm. What were we looking for? The boy was too smart to leave obvious hints of where he was going. If we did find a coach schedule with a destination circled, it would likely be a red herring to send us in the wrong direction.

  Still, we couldn't give up without looking. Maybe we'd be brilliant enough to deduce where he'd gone from the things he took with him. If, for example, he'd left behind all his warm clothes, we could assume he was heading for the sunnier south.

  Either that, or he was a typical teenage boy who didn't think ahead when packing.

  Myoko and I began to search: she rummaged through the closets and drawers, while I checked miscellaneous stacks of paper. Five mi
nutes later I was scanning some barely legible history notes when Myoko called, "Phil, can you give me a hand?"

  She was kneeling beside the boy's bed. Tucked underneath was a polished wooden case, half as long as the bed itself and thick enough that it just fit between the floor and the bed frame. The case had bright brass handles, gleaming in the lamplight; I grabbed one handle, Myoko took the other, and together we dragged the case out.

  There were no markings on the exterior… and no lock either, just a small hook-and-eye to keep the box shut. Myoko slipped the hook and lifted the lid to reveal an interior lined with plush green silk. A light fencing foil lay in a pre-shaped cradle amidst the silk; beside it were three more cradles, empty but obviously intended to hold other swords. Judging by the size of the cradles and the indentations in the silk, I guessed the missing weapons were a saber, a rapier, and a broadsword.

  "Pretty," Myoko said, looking at the foil. "Nice workmanship." She tapped her finger on the button at the end of the blade, the little nubbin that prevented the sword from impaling opponents during a friendly fencing match. "Odd that Sebastian would have such a good weapon. I thought his family was poor."

  "Only in comparison to the rest of our student body. The Shores run a local metalworks… and they make good money catering to the lordlings of our academy. Custom weapons, repairs, that sort of thing." I gestured toward the case. "When Sebastian was accepted at our school, I'll bet his family gave him a set of their best blades. So he wouldn't feel outclassed by the other kids."

  "Hmm." Myoko looked into the case again. "Where are the other three swords?"

  "Good question." I ran my fingers over the empty silk cradles. "He probably took one with him — a reasonable precaution if you're wandering the countryside at night. Maybe he brought one for Rosalind too."

  "Surely she had a sword of her own," Myoko replied. "People talk as if her mother armed the girl with every weapon under the sun."

  "That was the real Rosalind. A false Rosalind might not have access to the real one's arsenal."

  Myoko gave a grudging nod. "All right: one sword for Sebastian, possibly one for Rosalind. What happened to the third blade?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe he hocked it. He often complained about needing cash to keep up with the other kids."

  "He said the same to me," Myoko agreed. "That's why I thought he was poor. But he despised himself for feeling that way, and refused to go on spending sprees to impress what he called those rich nobs."

  "But what if he needed money for something special?" I asked. "Like eloping with Rosalind."

  "Yes," Myoko said slowly, "he might pawn the sword then. If he needed money to get away. And he'd want to pay for everything himself, without using Rosalind's gold."

  I nodded. Sebastian might have been a psychic prodigy, but he was still a teenage boy. Romantic, proud, and stubborn — to prove he was a man, he'd want to finance the entire elopement by himself. So why wouldn't he decide to sell a sword or two?

  Again I looked at the box's empty cradles: a saber, a broadsword, and a rapier. Sabers and rapiers were practical weapons, but broadswords were too heavy for anything but ceremonial combat. (Of course, the academy trained its charges in ceremonial combat as well as normal fencing — many of our students were destined for ceremonial lives.)

  If I were Sebastian, I'd sell the broadsword first. But where? Not to another student: too much risk someone would blab to a teacher. Selling the sword to a store in Simka would also raise problems. People there knew the boy; if he tried to hock a high-class sword, word would get back to his family. Sebastian was smart enough to avoid such trouble. So where had he…

  I smacked my head with my palm. "What?" Myoko asked.

  "Those fishermen tonight," I said. "That Divian with the broadsword — he had no idea how to use it. As if he'd never had one in his hands before. And it was a fancy-looking weapon: more ornamental than practical."

  "You think he got the sword from Sebastian?"

  "Maybe."

  I closed my eyes to think. The sword was easily worth enough to purchase passage for two on any fishing boat in the Dover fleet. The boat captain involved would demand payment in advance — well in advance — so Sebastian must have gone down to Dover immediately after classes ended in the afternoon. He'd just have time to go to the docks, hand over the sword to pay his fare, then return to the school for supper. Meanwhile… as soon as the boat captain got the sword as payment, he'd send away any crew members who wouldn't be needed for the trip. That would be about five o'clock: plenty of time for the fishermen we'd met to make their way to Simka and get rip-roaring drunk before they showed up at The Pot of Gold.

  And why had the Divian been carrying the sword? My guess was that the captain wanted the little blob-eared swamp-rat to sell the blade in Simka — hock the weapon and turn it into cash. Either the Divian hadn't found a buyer, or he wanted to swagger around for a while with the sword in his hand before he had to part with it.

  Yes. It all made sense… and the timing held together.

  "Let's find Pelinor," I told Myoko. "He saw the weapon close up… and our noble knight knows about swords."

  "Quite right," Pelinor said. "The sword was unquestionably from the Shore metalworks. Distinctive etching on the pommel: their top-of-the-line model." He sucked his mustache. "But every sword in Simka comes from Shore's. They're the only weaponsmiths from here to Feliss City."

  We'd found him with Annah in the academy's vast stables. Following the chancellor's instructions, our armsmaster and musicmaster were searching for Sebastian… and naturally, Pelinor had wanted to check out the horses: "Just to see if one's missing."

  Pelinor was a maniac about horses. He didn't own one himself — he told everyone he was "between mounts" — but when he wasn't drinking at The Pot of Gold or shouting at less-than-eager students not to let their foils droop, he was in the school stables badgering the grooms.

  We had a lot of grooms. Every paying student at the school kept at least one horse, and most had more: a hunter, a traveler, a "steed" who looked pretty on official occasions, a war-charger, a pack-animal or two, and perhaps several others of varying colors, to make sure one always had a mount that matched one's clothing. At times, we had more than five hundred animals under the stable roofs, many of them high-strung, and all in need of pampering — heaven forbid if a single stallion showed the least little mange. Therefore we employed an army of stable-staff, all of whom gritted their teeth when they saw Pelinor coming.

  Pelinor asked questions. Pelinor gave advice. Pelinor wondered if that roan in Stall 42 was favoring his right foreleg, and if they should add minced chestnuts to the fodder of that pregnant palomino. He was correct often enough that the stablemaster didn't lock the old boy out… and Pelinor was happy to shovel stalls or do other gruntwork, so workers didn't chase him away. Nevertheless, the hands paid for the help he gave; they paid by putting up with the old duffer's enthusiasm.

  There were no grooms in sight at the moment: just hundreds of stalls filled with quiet horses. The nearest animals stared at us with equine curiosity — they seldom saw people in the middle of the night, especially people they didn't recognize. One beautiful chestnut gazed at me with particular soulfulness, no doubt hoping I was the sort of person who carried carrots in his pocket. Alas, I wasn't; I was the sort of person who had to investigate a murder.

  "So," I said to Pelinor, "could the sword have been Sebastian's?"

  "Perhaps. He owned one like that. But so do a dozen other people in town."

  "Unlikely for a Divian slave to be one of them."

  "Yesss," Pelinor said with another mustache suck, "it does seem strange. A broadsword decorated that much would be quite pricey… and impractical in a street fight. Better to buy a rapier or saber. Then again, the Divian may not have bought the blade himself. He might have stolen it. Or won it playing Beggar-My-Bum."

  "I still think the sword was Sebastian's." I glanced at Myoko. "We'd better tell the chancellor."

/>   "We'll come with you," Annah said softly. "We've discovered something too."

  "What?"

  She didn't answer. It was Pelinor who said, "Two of Rosalind's horses are missing. Her favorite mare and a nice quiet gelding. And Rosalind's saddle is gone from the tack room. Also the saddle Sebastian used in his riding classes."

  Myoko made a face. "How can two kids walk off with a pair of horses in the middle of the night? Don't the stablehands keep watch?"

  "The horses weren't taken in the middle of the night," Pelinor answered. "The head groom says Sebastian and Rosalind went riding this afternoon — the same time as every other student." That made sense to me; they probably went down to Dover to pay the captain for their boat trip. "With riders coming and going," Pelinor continued, "none of the grooms noticed that the two children never brought their horses back. On evening rounds, the hands saw the animals were missing; but someone had put notes on the empty stalls saying HORSES ON LOAN. The staff didn't know what that meant, but there was no reason to raise an alarm."

  "So Rosalind and Sebastian might have disappeared this afternoon?" Myoko asked.

  "No," I said, "they were both at dinner. In the afternoon, they must have taken the horses and tethered them somewhere. Sebastian's a local boy; he'd know hiding places where the horses would be safe. Then he and Rosalind walked back to put those notes on the stalls. That way, they wouldn't have to smuggle out their mounts later on."

  "These kids planned ahead," Myoko muttered.

  "So it seems," Pelinor said, "but there's one part that bothers me." He was looking toward the chestnut who'd been eyeing me earlier; he might well have been speaking to the horse rather than us humans. "If these students prepared so meticulously, why was Rosalind in bed?" He turned to me. "That's how you found her, correct? So why did the girl go to sleep instead of getting ready to elope?"