"Please activate anchor," a metallic voice said from the necklace.
"Give me ten seconds."
Dreamsinger reached toward her waist. To my eyes, she was grabbing at nothingness a short distance in front of her bare navel. A belt pack, I thought; her armor must have pouches and attachments that I couldn't see because of the Chameleon spell. A moment later, she pulled a small device from thin air — a black plastic box the size of a book, with four metallic gold horseshoes arranged in a diamond on its top face.
"Dearest sister," she called to the Caryatid, "could you come here, please?"
The Caryatid hurried forward.
"Do you see this switch?" Dreamsinger pointed to a toggle on the box's side. "When I'm gone, please push that; it turns the anchor off. Be careful not to turn it on again — just keep the anchor safe, and I'll come for it someday."
"Yes, milady."
"Good. Keep faith with me." Dreamsinger kissed the Caryatid lightly on the lips. Then she whirled and told the rest of us, "Only my sister on the Burdensome Path may touch the device. Everyone else stand clear."
Without waiting for an answer, she stepped away from the Caryatid, pushed the toggle-switch herself, and laid the box on the ground. "Spark Royal, attend," she said to empty air. "The anchor is active. Take me home."
A tube of creamy white lashed down from the sky: the same ectoplasmic smoke we'd seen at Death Hotel. It glinted with color, buffed gold, sea green, peacock blue… and again I tried to imagine what it might be. An energy beam projected from an orbiting satellite? Ionized particles like the Aurora Borealis, curled in a shimmering sleeve? Or perhaps a living creature, some ethereal worm hundreds of kilometers long, ready to lower its tail whenever a Spark commanded?
The thing stabbed down like a lightning bolt, straight for Dreamsinger's anchor. The device must have worked like a magnet, for the instant the smoke-tail made contact, its tip adhered to the box; then the tail's mouth spread wider, until its edges touched all four golden horseshoes on the anchor's top surface.
The tip was locked down and secure. But the rest of the smoke-tail flapped wildly, making no sound but whipping through the darkness in ghostly frenzy. A fluttering wraith reaching high out of sight.
Beyond the house, dogs began to bark — Xavier's guard pack, finally noticing something was amiss. Why hadn't they come running when Dreamsinger made the windows explode? Idiotic beasts. Then I realized the explosion had taken place inside the antiscrying shield; since the dogs were outside, the antiscrying sorcery would make them ignore the din of smashing glass. They wouldn't react till something became visible on their side of the shield.
Something like a big smoky tube sprouting from the lawn to the stratosphere.
Three German Shepherds dashed snarling into view; then they stopped in a doggy double-take. They paid no attention to those of us still within the antiscrying shield: all they saw was a pillar of ghost-smoke flicking around the yard, sweeping past the bare-branched trees, occasionally billowing out over the bluffs before whisking back to the house again. The tube's random swooping soon took it in the dogs' direction… and they backed off, whining in their throats. The smoke didn't touch them — it didn't touch anything, not the house, not the trees, not a single blade of winter-parched grass — but it came within a hair of grazing everything in sight, skimming past my face, darting at the Caryatid's feet, even looping once around Impervia's neck before uncoiling again and careening off. As if it were stalking each of us in turn, trying to make us flinch.
Flinch we did… and the smoke-tail wagged itself happily, heading off to scare the dogs again.
The metallic voice spoke from Dreamsinger's necklace. "Anchor established. Ready for transport to Spark Royal."
"Dear sister, I must go," Dreamsinger told the Caryatid. "Turn off the switch when I'm gone."
The Caryatid nodded. Dreamsinger smiled back, then squatted beside the anchor box. She slid one finger under the tethered end of the smoke-tail, slipping her fingertip into the mouth of the tube… and suddenly her whole body was sucked inside, her bones, her flesh turning as malleable as clay. It looked like something from a comic drawing, a woman's body pulled thin as a garter snake, then rammed into an aperture no bigger than a mouse hole; but there was no humor in seeing such grisly distortion for real. The whole thing lasted less than a second, and made no sound except a soft swish of air — otherwise, I might have been sick on the spot.
The Caryatid, looking equally queasy, forced herself to press the anchor's toggle-switch. Click. Immediately, the smoke-tail slipped free, jerking loose from its tether and bounding high into the sky like a taut rope suddenly cut. It soared halfway to the clouds, dropped down once more to the treetops, then flew straight up out of sight.
Mission accomplished. The tube had removed Dreamsinger to Spark Royal — whence, presumably, she'd ride a similar tube to Niagara Falls. There'd have to be an anchor device somewhere in the Niagara area, ready to catch hold of the tube's tail end… but I suspected there were anchors all over the world, planted in out-of-the-way corners, waiting for the day a Spark Lord needed to get somewhere in a hurry.
There'd been one in Death Hotel — a place the small device could lie undisturbed for centuries. It was probably radio-controlled, ready to activate itself when a signal came…
My train of thought was interrupted by someone behind me seizing my arm. I looked around. Elizabeth Tzekich was there. "The Spark Lord's run off," she said. "Leaving you to my tender mercies." Her eyes flashed. "Now you're going to tell me what's going on."
12: DEMON, DEMON, LOVER
Tzekich pulled me across the parquet littered with glass. I tried not to tread in the blood of the dead… but Knife-Hand Liz walked straight through. When she reached a clean section of floor, she left sticky scarlet slipperprints.
Back at the windowsill, the Caryatid and Impervia climbed inside. Staying loyally with me, even though they could have run off into the night. My friends.
Meanwhile, the surviving bully-boys from the Ring un-holstered their pistols. Behind the enforcers, Xavier broke into a wolfish leer — he must have regarded us all as human punching bags, here to help him forget the humiliation of submitting to a Spark Lord. Lucky for us, Tzekich outranked the old bastard… and she was so irked by Xavier's stupid intransigence, she treated Impervia, the Caryatid, and me with utmost gentility. She obviously wanted to annoy her deputy as much as he'd annoyed her.
"Please sit," Tzekich said, gesturing toward a black leather couch. "Tell me everything you know."
We sat, we talked. The facts, but no interpretation. I didn't recount Chancellor Opal's encounter with the Lucifer, nor did I mention what Dreamsinger whispered to me before she left. I'd have to ponder her words some time soon, but not with Elizabeth Tzekich and two armed guards hovering over me. For now, I just stuck to the bioweapon version of the tale; suddenly changing my story might antagonize Knife-Hand Liz to the point of violence.
She was angry enough as it was — during my recitation, Xavier made a constant nuisance of himself with pointless intrusive questions, aggravating Tzekich to the verge of fury. I couldn't understand why she didn't toss him from the room… or borrow a gun from an enforcer and create a new opening in her organization. But she tolerated Xavier's petty interference with clenched teeth, only once giving him a lethal glare and saying, "I am trying to find out about my daughter."
Of course, Tzekich asked questions of her own — and from their tone, I realized she didn't want to believe her daughter was dead. If there were two copies of the girl, why couldn't the one still alive be the real Rosalind? Perhaps an enemy had created a sorcerous duplicate of her daughter as a way to infiltrate the Ring of Knives. But Rosalind had defeated the double by using the impersonator's own cottage cheese bacteria; then the girl had run off with "that Sebastian boy" to escape before more enemies arrived. Elopement was so utterly ridiculous at Rosalind's age, it must be a ruse to throw off pursuers.
That made sense, didn't
it?
No one wanted to argue — not even spiteful Xavier. There are some things it's not safe to say when a mother is being willfully blind.
Tzekich rose from her chair and snapped her fingers toward her men. "We're leaving now. Let's go."
Xavier grunted. "Just like that, we're off?"
"To Niagara Falls. Get your fastest boat."
"Ach… it won't be as fast as that Spark Lord."
"No," Tzekich said, "but it might be fast enough to catch the Hoosegow."
Xavier shook his head. "They got a good wind, a long headstart, and the Falls are only ten, twelve hours away. Hoosegow will beat us."
"We'll still be close behind." Tzekich headed for the door. "I refuse to sit here while my daughter's in danger."
Xavier's expression was easy to read: The girl's not in danger; she's dead. But he simply pointed a thumb at Impervia, the Caryatid, and me. "What do we do with them?"
Tzekich stopped in the doorway. She turned back to consider us. Impervia and I tensed, ready to put up a fight… but the Caryatid simply toyed with the anchor device Dreamsinger had left in her keeping, idly tracing one finger along the inlaid gold horseshoes. Did Tzekich want to mess with a Spark Lord's "dear sister"?
A tense silence. Then Tzekich said, "Forget them." She glared in our direction. "Get the hell out."
We didn't need to be told twice. Before Tzekich vanished from the doorway, before Xavier could have us roughed up behind his boss's back, we three teachers were out the window and scurrying into the darkness.
The guard dogs raised a ruckus on our way off the property; but with the Caryatid waving flames in the dogs' faces and Impervia swinging a fallen tree branch as a club, the animals soon decided their duty lay in snarling from a distance rather than outright attack. They saw us to the gate, yapping all the while and continuing long after we were gone. Dogs on other estates took up the barking, making an awful racket… and I cringed at the noise until I realized it was harmless.
We'd survived.
After running afoul of a spike-armed enforcer, a Sorcery-Lord, and the Ring of Knives, my friends and I had survived. We were also cut loose from our burdens: the Sparks were on the case, and didn't need help from mere schoolteachers. We'd even told Knife-Hand Liz her daughter was dead… and once you've informed the authorities and the parents, what more must a teacher do?
Quest over. Home to bed.
But even as these thoughts passed through my head, Impervia asked, "So how do we get to Niagara Falls?"
I groaned.
Arguing with Impervia was futile. Besides, my heart wasn't in it — though part of me wanted to run back to Simka, another part oozed with guilt at abandoning Sebastian. If I could believe Dreamsinger, it seemed certain the boy was now in the clutches of a Lucifer. Furthermore, the Sorcery-Lord was in hot pursuit of the couple; even if she saved Sebastian from the shapeshifting alien, I doubted that she'd treat the boy kindly. A lunatic like her would probably consider Sebastian the Lucifer's partner-in-crime.
Boom.
Besides, if we went home now, we might never learn what was going on… and despite my past deficiencies in scientific curiosity, this time I wanted to know everything. Therefore, when Impervia began preaching about our divine calling to see this business through, I put up only a token protest: I just pointed out that Dreamsinger and the Ring might both slit our gizzards if we meddled, and that by the time we got to Niagara Falls, all the excitement would likely be over.
Impervia admitted the risk of gizzard-slitting but not that we might be too late to affect the final outcome. We'd been called; therefore we had a part to play. God and the Magdalene had summoned us, and if we stayed true we would end up where we were supposed to be. Holy foot-soldiers in a divine battle plan.
I had no answer to such rock-hard faith. My own sense of religion had never developed one way or the other: I was too embarrassed to say I believed in God, but not angry enough to say I didn't. Neither hot nor cold. I'd always longed to receive a clear vocation ("Philemon Dhubhai, this is your purpose!") but mistrusted anything so pat. When Impervia said we'd finally been called, all I could do was dither.
"Yes, but…"
"No, but…"
"I see that, but…"
"I know that, but…"
I was saved by the arrival of Myoko, Pelinor, and Annah.
They'd been down on the docks when they saw the milky tube descend from the sky. Hard to miss on a dark silent night. So they'd left their fruitless questions about Sebastian — in a port full of smugglers, no one would divulge anything — and they hurried up the cliff-road to the mansions of the rich. Dreamsinger's travel-tube had vanished by the time they arrived; instead, they followed the howling of dogs and found us at the epicenter.
Myoko shook her head ruefully as she approached. "What did you do this time, Impervia?"
Impervia only sniffed.
Tales were quickly told. Myoko said she envied us for finding so much excitement. The Caryatid suggested where she could put that excitement… and much crude-mouthed banter ensued.
Annah, of course, did not take part — not quiet, doe-eyed Annah. She merely listened with a polite smile, glancing my way from time to time. I couldn't tell if those glances meant she was glad I'd survived or if she was having second thoughts about me, my friends, and this whole crisis-prone outing. Before I could draw her aside and ask, Impervia's voice cut through the chatter.
"Enough! We have to find a boat for Niagara Falls. A fast boat. Did you see any possibilities in the harbor?"
"Not among the fishing boats," Pelinor answered. "For speed, you'd want the marina; the expensive pleasure yachts that rich people keep here over winter."
"I'll bet," Myoko said, "we could find a yacht that wasn't securely locked up…"
"Don't even think it," Impervia growled.
Myoko pretended to be surprised. "We can't commandeer a boat in the service of God?"
Impervia only glared.
"I know people in town," Pelinor said. "Horse breeders with money. They probably own boats."
"If we're thinking of people with money," said the Caryatid, "there's always Gretchen Kinnderboom…"
Everyone turned toward me — even Annah, who I'd hoped might not have heard any gossip about me and Gretchen.
I sighed. "Yes, Gretchen has a boat — and she claims it's the fastest in Dover. That's likely just idle boasting, the way she always…" I stopped myself. "Gretchen has a boat. It's supposedly fast. Come on." Silently, I led the way forward.
Kinnderboom Cottage was thirty times the size of any cottage on Earth; but Gretchen reveled in twee diminutives, like calling her thoroughbred stallion "Prancy Pony" and the three-century oak in her side yard "Iddle-Widdle Acorn." (Gretchen had a habit of lapsing into baby talk at the least provocation. She was that kind of woman… and beautiful enough that I often didn't care.)
Like all houses in this part of Dover, the Kinnderboom mansion squatted in the midst of a pointlessly large estate overlooking the lake. The building itself was an up-and-down thing, equipped with so many gables it seemed more like a depot where carpenters stored their inventory than someplace people actually lived. Wherever you looked, there was an architectural feature. Each window had a curlicued metal railing; each door had a portico, an arch, or an assemblage of Corinthian columns. And everything changed on a regular basis: an army of construction crews, landscapers, and interior decorators passed through each year, ripping out the old, slapping up the new. I don't think Gretchen really cared what any of the workers did — she just hired them so she could have more underlings to boss around.
The workers were always men.
The grounds of Kinnderboom Cottage were surrounded by a wall; but I had a key to the gate, plus a good deal of practice sneaking in under cover of darkness. I let my friends enter, locked the gate behind us, then motioned everyone to stand still. Ten seconds… twenty… thirty… whereupon an unearthly creature appeared from the shadows, his stomach pincer
s clicking as he walked.
"Ahh," he said. "Baron Dhubhai."
Myoko turned toward me and mouthed the word Baron? I shrugged. I had no title in my native Sheba — no one did, except a few old men, indulgently allowed to call themselves princes — but Gretchen knew how rich my family was, and she fervently believed such money would make me at least a baron in any "civilized" province. Therefore, her household slaves were obliged to address me in that fashion.
As for this particular slave, he was the size of a full-grown bull but built like a lobster. Eight legs. Fan tail. Chitinous carapace — colored cherry red, though it looked nearly black in the darkness. His body angled up centaur-style to the height of a human, so his head was a hand's breadth higher than mine. He always had a light smell of vinegar, faint here in the open air but still quite noticeable. His face: flat and wide with dangling whiskers and a spike-nosed snout. His arms: two spindly ones almost always folded across his chest and two nasty pincer claws at waist level, jutting forward at just the right height to disembowel an adult human. He was still clicking those claws idly as he looked us up and down.
From past visits, I knew this alien's name was Oberon. He served on guard duty every night; Oberon was one of Gretchen's most trusted "demons."
All of Gretchen's staff were extraterrestrials. In fact, the Kinnderboom fortune came from "demonmongery": breeding and selling alien slaves. Gretchen didn't dirty her hands in the family business — she didn't dirty her hands with any sort of work — but she kept more than a dozen ETs in her household "for the sake of appearances." Foremost among those ETs were Oberon and his family, who came from some species with human-level intelligence but an antlike predisposition to follow the commands of a queen. Even though Gretchen couldn't have resembled the queens of Oberon's race, she still filled that role in his eyes. After all, Oberon had never seen a queen… and he'd been raised from the egg by Gretchen herself, brought up to obey her every whim.
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