by Carl Sargent
“We can be tracked,” Geraint said.
“Well, of course, hut that’s better than being a bunny staying down a hole and waiting for the ferret,” Michael said sagely.
“Ferret?” Kristen asked. It didn’t feature among African fauna.
“Polecat,” Michael offered. That she’d heard of.
“He’s got a point,” Streak said thoughtfully. “It’s a good principle, to keep on the move, Especially when there’s more than one bunch of hostiles out to box us. They do keep muttering about final warnings.”
“I’d better see about flights,” Geraint said.
“Can you wangle airspace permits?” Streak asked him, “I think so, yes, I’m sure I can,” Geraint said after an initial hesitation. “Barnaby Smythe over at the MoD owes me a favor on a business deal I cut him into last year. Why do you ask?”
“I can arrange a slamming ‘chopper deal with a pilot who’s the dog’s bollocks,” Streak offered, “Fly in real comfort.”
“Including airline food?” Michael said, chuckling.
“Including some of the very wizzer weaponry available,” Streak said gleefully. “That’s what I mean by comfort.”
“What do you think?” Michael looked at Geraint. “We’d need to make for Toulouse if we could, that would be nearest. Or even Andorra and we could nip over the border.”
“Let’s go for Toulouse and cut the border crossings down by one,” Geraint said. “One fewer database with any information on it. We don’t have time for fake ID, not for everyone. I had better set the wheels in motion for that in case we have to hit another place later.
“How long will you need, Serrin?”
“Allow all night,” the elf said quietly.
“Can you have the chopper here by dawn?” Geraint asked Streak.
“Given your credstick codes, yes, no probs. Pick it up at Taunton, I think.”
“Taunton? Taunton has an airport?” Michael said doubtfully. The small English country town wasn’t a likely candidate for such a facility.
“Airport? Who said anything about a bleeding airport? Since when did a chopper need an airport?” Streak replied pointedly, adding a choice selection of tutting.
“All right, all right,” Michael said, raising a hand as if to ward off an angry hornet. “We’ll get there as soon as we can pick Serrin up and drive down. It’s going to be an early start, then. What time is it now?”
“Half past ten,” Geraint told him.
“I think I can sleep now,” Michael said. “I slept long enough last night, but it wasn’t exactly restful sleep. And as for Kristen…”
They looked at her in the corner. She was curled up on the sofa, one arm bent under her body a little crookedly, already fast asleep. Serrin walked over and, with an effort, picked her up in his arms.
“We won’t be needed then?” Michael said, reassuring himself once more.
“Thanks to your second recent blood donation and that lock of your hair, no,” Serrin told him again.
“Tell me I won’t feel a thing,” Michael invited him.
“You won’t feel a thing. Honestly. Apart from the ever-present possibility of instant but agonizing death evaporating from your aura,” Serrin grinned. With Kristen asleep and wrapped securely in the protection of his arms, he felt able to jest. He was certain that Hessler would be able to deal with the problem. The joking was a way of defusing his own anxieties about the ritual, and what it would cost him.
“Spirits bless you,” Michael said with some feeling. “And now I’m going to get some sleep. Polish up my French”
“Drek, that’s a point,” Serrin said. “How many of us actually speak French?”
“No self-respecting Englishman speaks French, other than deliberately badly,” Geraint pointed out.
“Good job for you I got no self-respect then, ain’t it, mate?” Streak grinned.
“You speak French?”
“I can tell you to rakk off and die or your mother was a no-good alcoholic whore who serviced rottweilers in five different European languages, not counting English,” Streak said with some pride. “S’a legacy from intelops work. Got a gift for languages, I have. I can even handle Languedoc dialect, too. Been down Toulouse and worked in Marseilles, of course. I mean, who hasn’t, in my line of work. Even picked up some Arabic down there.”
“Who’d have thought it?” Michael said incredulously. Serrin grinned and took his burden to their room. A yawning Michael was already shrugging off his tweed jacket as he followed him out.
“That leaves just you, me, and your credstick,” Streak said purposefully to the room’s only other occupant. “You don’t know how refreshing it is to work for someone with an unlimited budget, Your Lordship. I always said the aristocracy was class.”
Geraint was beginning to warm to the elf. The pun was neat enough and his straightforwardness was refreshing, especially to a politician.
“I never said ‘unlimited’,” he pointed out.
“Whatever,” Streak said. “Just tell us when the dosh is about to run out. Now, did you want chemical weapon grenades or will you settle for the ordinary gas and frag varieties on board?”
“Wait a minute. We’re planning on talking to people Streak,” Geraint protested.
“Of course, but I always find backup is so useful when discussions just won’t come out right.”
“Well, anything that’s capable of neutralizing large numbers of the French will be altogether welcome, I must admit,” Geraint joked.
“I’ll see to it,” and the elf was gone into the night. A few minutes later Geraint heard the car speed away. He went to his room and undressed, then opened the small, high window and lit a good old-fashioned candle at his bedside.
He had just a little of the talent himself, though it wasn’t something he knew how to master or make answer to his call. He knew that one or two of his speculative business deals had been startlingly successful because of that old Celtic gift, and he was superstitious enough that when it served him well, a good chunk of the money found its way anonymously to what he considered to be worthy causes. And sometimes, when the gift came uncalled and unhooked for, it guided him to other benefits.
He opened the mahogany box carved with the images of dragons; dragons of Wales, the dragon land itself. Unwrapping the silk bundle, he shuffled the large cards a little awkwardly and his thoughts naturally concentrated themselves on the theme of a dominant image, here and now.
The Hirophant. The open-handed symbol of wisdom and understanding stands as a guardian and advisor to the seeker and initiate. This is Hessler, Geraint thought. The one Serrin will soon be with. I would like to meet with him, sometime. When this is all over, perhaps.
What are we being guided toward? he wondered. We think we know who our enemies are, out there. But of the central figure, this decker. we know nothing. All we have is icon and enigma. Show me something.
A card slipped easily from the oversized deck. Ace of Swords. The brilliant emerald of the runesword glittered at him from the candlelit card, the tip of the blade piercing a crown of yellow rays, the sword bathed in the yellow sun and blue-tinged clouds of the heavens. The beginning of some great new idea; genius. But not a person. An inanimate object revealed itself to him. Of the person he sought, the deck gave him no sign.
What does he want? What is his goal, then? What drives him to the Ace?
Adjustment. In most decks, Justice. The beautiful, grave splendor of the masked female figure, the alpha and omega, beginning and end of all things, balanced in the scales of Justice on each side of her tall, taut body. Her strong hands rested on the hilt of a great sword driven into the ground.
Geraint knew that, for once, the deck’s designer had deeper understandings than most. Justice was not the answer here, not truly. The meaning was deeper, a rebalancing, an establishment of a deeper equilibrium, the revelation of a Truth.
What is this man seeking? he thought, I knew, I knew, early on that this was more than it ap
peared to be. The interest being taken in us only confirms that. So, it began as a potential hijack of the Matrix and, heaven knows, that would affect me enough, but what it’s leading to…
He wrapped up the deck in its silk and yawned, leaving any further intuitions to insinuate themselves into his mind from the realm of dreams.
They hadn’t known what to expect, not really. Michael had had fanciful notions of bolts of lightning breaking in a great storm around the cottage in the distance, of distant rumblings under the ground and thunder from the heavens. Of the four of them, only Geraint had uneasy sensations as they waited by their car in the pre-dawn chill. Unable to assense the astral, he still registered churnings within his guts from the struggles of power so near and so far from them. At moments he felt like an animal sensing the first dim seismic shocks of an impending earthquake and felt panicky, longing to run from the place. Cigarette followed cigarette into the promise of daylight. He paced up and down like a caged beast.
Serrin came shambling up the driveway a few minutes after dawn began to break. His jacket collar was pulled up around his neck, and his usual limp was more exaggerated. He looked as if he could barely make it as far as the gate. Kristen broke ranks and ran forward, flinging her arms around him, helping him to the car. The others stayed silent, unsure of what to do or say.
Geraint took one look at him and offered him his silver hip flask. Serrin didn’t speak, just raised the flask to lips that seemed as bloodless as his face and Look a huge draught of the brandy. When he had mostly stopped shaking, he drank the rest.
“Are you all right?” Michael said lamely, just to say something. Serrin’s gray eyes looked dully up toward him.
“I will be. I think,” he said in a voice as shaky as his legs. “Yes. Maybe. What are we doing?”
They looked at him blankly.
“He’s disoriented,” Streak said helpfully. “Get him into the back. Roll the window down. Fresh air will do him good.”
“I mean, what are we doing?” Serrin said urgently. Kristen clung to him tightly, gently murmuring words of comfort. He was wild-eyed now, staring around in all directions.
“It’s all right, Geraint said, taking the elf’s face in his hands and staring intently into his eyes. “We’re going to take a short drive, and then a flight, and we’ll be out of here. You can sleep, and you’ll be all right when you wake.”
“Sleep. Yes,” Serrin said blankly. He had to be helped to the car, Kristen getting in beside him, cradling his head on her breast as he slumped over toward her.
Down the driveway, a young man wearing a nondescript overcoat approached them with long-legged strides.
“He’ll be all right soon,” Merlin said affably to Gemint. “He’ll be confused for a bit, and then he’ll be amnesic. My master thought that was a good idea. The struggle was quite powerful and its better that he not remember it. Not that he’ll suffer any permanent draining or damage from it.”
“You’ll be safe now,” he continued, bending down to look at Kristen through the lowered back window. Keep well. I did enjoy talking with you, very much. I hope you will come back to us when this is all begun.”
“Don’t you mean all over?” Geraint asked.
“I meant what I said,” Merlin said coolly and placed a hand on the girl’s forehead.
Sometimes, rarely, people experience something that could be called, for want of a better term, a quasi-Eureka moment. It isn’t that thing that made Aristotle leap out of his bath. It isn’t the answer. It isn’t there in black and white, in everything but the fine detail. What it is is a sudden switch in the way some problem, or things in general, are perceived. It’s the possibility of Eurekas to come. It’s the realization that there’s an entirely different range of options available from those one knew existed until that very moment.
The touch of Merlin’s fingertips had all that. Kristen’s eyes shone in surprise and wonderment and she did not shrink back from him. He smiled gravely, but with a little touch of mischief in his own eyes, and then he blew her a kiss and wrapped his woolen scarf about his neck.
“Thank you for the Rain Queen and the tales and stories,” he said. “They helped me. Come back soon.”
As he strode back up the driveway, she had no idea what he meant by her helping him. She knew the night had too many mysteries only half-hinted at to think it through now, and thinking wasn’t the answer anyway. Instead she wrapped herself around the pale, forlorn figure of the elf beside her, and waited quietly while the others buckled themselves into the car and Streak started up the engine. Streak turned and looked at Geraint, Kristen, and Serrin in the back.
“This is weird drek, isn’t it?” he said, eyes narrowed and his face very serious.
“This is, indeed, weird drek, as you so eloquently put it,” Geraint agreed.
“Fine by me,” Streak said, guessing that those would probably be the last words spoken until they reached the chopper, and he was dead right.
An hour later, an elf considerably older than any of them had imagined stood staring up into the sky, leaning on his staff for support, a much younger figure standing quietly beside him. He could hardly see the chopper headed for the English Channel, and he wouldn’t have risked any assensing. It had been a long, hard struggle to find the well-masked body tokens, and the spirit he’d employed, though formidably strong and with the benefit of his own masking and concealments, had perished very shortly after it had done its work.
“I wonder whether they’ll find him, Merlin,” Hessler said quietly.
“They’re looking in the right place,” the spirit said amiably.
“Perhaps. It will depend on the reaction they receive when they get there.”
“Well, that you can do something about,” Merlin pointed out. “After all, you’ve been a member of the Priory for some time.”
There is that.” The old elf smiled. And my voice has not gone unraised in the current debate.”
“And your messenger is already gone before them,” Merlin said. All in all, I think they have every chance. I do hope so. The girl is a happy spirit, and I would like to see her again. She is happy when she smiles and dances. I like people when they are like that.”
“Merlin, there are times when you lighten the heart, you really do,” Hessler said gently, and hurried back to his home. At his feet, a black cat purred over the remains of an unfortunate field mouse.
14
Serrin fell asleep in a car in England and woke up in one traveling through the south of France. Squinting at the sunlight, he rubbed his stubbly chin and tried to focus his vision. The delicious aroma of hot coffee offered itself to his senses. He grabbed the plastic cup and drank greedily while Geraint resealed the flask.
“Oh, spirits, that was good,” Serrin said with real gratitude. “Where are we?”
Ten minutes out of Clermont-Ferrand and what looks like a pretty decent rural chateau, judging by the trid picture library,” Geraint told him. “You’ve been asleep since the night with Hessler.”
“Right,” Serrin said doubtfully, trying to marshal his thoughts. “Er, right.”
“What happened?” Michael spoke with an artificial cheeriness that Serrin didn’t detect.
The elf rubbed his chin, sat up and stretched to get the stiffness out of his back, and smiled at Kristen.
“Hmmm?” He thought deeply for some seconds. “Frag me, I can’t remember a thing. Honestly. It’s a complete blank.”
He turned back to Kristen and, ignoring the rest of them, leant and kissed her on the lips.
“Ugh, morning breath,” she giggled, then grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him long and hard.
Merlin was right, Geraint thought to himself. Whatever magic Hessler had used to banish the memories, he must have added something to stop him worrying about the amnesia too. That was good of him.
“Stop shagging in the back there!” Streak berated them jokingly. “Puts me off my driving. I have this horrible tendency to voyeurism.”
“Frag off,” Serrin said cheerfully, giving Kristen a hug.
He was in unusually good humor this morning. More after-effects of whatever magic Hessler used on him, Geraint thought. From what he knew of Serrin, mornings were usually good candidates for avoiding his company.
“Here it is. Must be this whitewashed one at the end of the road,” Streak said happily.
“That’s not whitewash,” Michael complained, peering through the windscreen.
“Well, whatever it is, we’re booked into it. Now give me a hand with the guns and grenades in the back,” Streak said as he unbuckled himself and opened the driver’s door.
“Seeing the look on Michael’s face, he laughed. Only kidding, mate. Honest.”
“That’s a relief,” Michael said. “We came here to talk, not wage war.”
‘Nah, I mean I can handle ‘em myself,” Streak said with an evil grin and hefted the first of the metal cases.
Within the hour they were close to the small village, their hired car-much humbler than the Westwind that Streak had left to be collected in Taunton and returned to the rental firm-negotiating the narrow roads with no little difficulty. The rockiness of the hilly terrain was stark, even with the green coat of spring on the hillsides. The land looked, somehow, as if reluctant to allow the new growths of the season. There was something unforgiving about the hills and mountains, the ragged treeline, the harshness of the light here.
Their plan was for Michael and Geraint to take an initial stroll into the village, to climb the ascent to the place that had come to be known as Sauniere’s chapel, and to observe what they could. They would formulate further plans on the basis of those observations. Serrin didn’t want to risk any astral assensing, since he’d been forewarned of the likely presence of mages watching for anyone doing just that. Kristen would stay with him. As for Streak, they didn’t plan to need his French for conversing much with the locals at this stage.
