“Squire Donald a’ Benton,” Raven named the next. His bow was more perfunctory than Stoddard’s, his green tunic considerably cleaner, his boots newer. He seemed about half Stoddard’s size, and in fact was no taller than Nancy’s five foot four, Pel realized. Like Raven and Stoddard, he bore a sword.
His green eyes darted about curiously.
“The mage Valadrakul of Warricken,” Raven said, gesturing at the last member of his party. “Now sworn to Stormcrack Keep.”
The wizard did not bow at all, but made an odd gesture with one hand instead. Most of his dull brown hair trailed loose, halfway down his back, while the rest hung in two narrow braids in front of either ear; he wore a long black vest, ornately embroidered in red and gold, that reached to mid-calf and mostly concealed a plain black tunic and breeches. The sheath on his belt was too small for a true sword, but held a good-sized knife.
“Mage?” Pel asked.
“A wizard,” Raven said. “A magician. One who works spells and brings forth wonders.”
Pel nodded, and tried not to stare. “This way,” he said, motioning toward the family room, herding the visitors ahead of him.
Valadrakul did not fit Pel’s image of a wizard. He was neither tall and imposing, nor small and wizened; his face was not long and hawk-nosed. He wore no robes, nor pointed hat, nor long white beard.
Instead, he was of medium height—five-nine, perhaps, or a bit over—and a little fat, with a pale, round face and a full brown beard, clipped short. His hairstyle reminded Pel of Val Kilmer playing the warrior in “Willow,” though it wasn’t exactly the same, and his outfit didn’t seem like anything in particular. There were no moons and stars, no pentagrams; the embroidery was a graceful floral pattern.
Pel stepped down into the family room to find three of the four strangers standing in the center, staring in all directions. Raven stood with the others, but smiled politely at his host and did not stare; after all, he had been here before.
“Have a seat,” Pel suggested.
Raven nodded and settled on the couch; the wizard, whose name Pel had not caught, took the other end. Squire Donald started toward the recliner, but threw first Pel and then Raven a questioning glance before sinking gingerly into it.
Stoddard ignored the invitation completely; he stepped back toward one wall, but continued to stand, arms crossed over his chest and feet braced apart.
Pel looked at his stolid pose and decided not to argue. Sitting down in that leather barrel the man was wearing might be difficult, and he looked as if he were accustomed to standing.
The man-at-arms looked incredibly out of place in that room, in his rough and archaic clothing. The other three weren’t so bad, but Stoddard simply didn’t fit in such a setting.
With a final glance at him, Pel decided against taking a seat himself; there were no good ones left. Sitting on an endtable seemed undignified.
“So,” Pel said, addressing Raven, “what brings you back?”
“Why, the same portal as erstwhile, of course,” Raven answered smoothly.
“No,” Pel said, “I mean, why have you come back?”
Raven smiled an acknowledgment of his slip. “As before,” he began, “we seek your aid. Have you heard aught of the sky-ship the Imperials sent hither?”
“No,” Pel replied. “And we should have, if it’s really there.”
“Oh, ‘tis real, beyond question,” Raven said calmly. Then he stopped abruptly and glanced at Valadrakul for confirmation.
“’Tis real,” the wizard said. His voice, which Pel and Nancy had not heard before, was a pleasant tenor. “We’ve not been deceived, I assure you.”
“It wasn’t on the news,” Pel said doubtfully.
“Nonetheless, the ship is real, and it reached your world,” Valadrakul said. “However, its magic did not work here; it plummeted to the earth and has not moved since. Its crew has been taken prisoner by the Earl’s men. This much we have learned.”
“The Earl’s men?” Pel asked, puzzled.
“The Earl of Montgomery,” Raven explained. “’Twas the county constabulary apprehended the Imperials. Are we not in the County Montgomery here?”
“We’re in Montgomery County, yes,” Pel said, still puzzled, “but there’s no earl. You mean it crashed, and the county police picked them up?”
“A county with no Earl? A Countess, then?”
“No, Montgomery County’s democratic,” Pel explained. “Or Republican, depending. We have a county executive, not an earl.”
Raven and Valadrakul exchanged glances. Pel looked at the others; Stoddard was staring straight ahead, paying no attention to anything so far as Pel could determine, while Squire Donald was studying the shelves beside him, fascinated, and might or might not be listening.
For the first time Pel noticed that Nancy wasn’t in the room; he turned, and saw Rachel watching from the door to the kitchen. Listening, he could hear Nancy moving about in the kitchen.
“Why call it a county, an there’s no count?” Raven asked, annoyed. “Neither earl nor countess, then where’s the county? Why not call it a shire?”
Pel shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “We do have a sheriff, I think, so yeah, shire would make more sense, but we call ‘em counties anyway.”
Raven waved it away. “It matters not a whit, then, who rules here, save that you understand your county police have taken prisoner the ten Imperials who came hither. And yes, their ship fell, and could not fly in your skies.”
Nancy leaned through the kitchen doorway and called, “Would anyone like a beer? Or anything? I can put the kettle on if you’d like tea or coffee.”
Stoddard turned a questioning look at Raven; Squire Donald glanced up from the bookshelves. Raven looked around quickly at all his companions, then up at Nancy.
“Beer would be most welcome, good lady, and our thanks.”
Nancy nodded and disappeared.
“All right,” Pel said, “so the cops picked up these Imperial stormtroopers. Why wasn’t it on the news? It’s not every day a bunch of people from outer space crash-land around here.”
“I know not,” Raven said, turning up an empty palm. “Perchance whoever retails your news has not yet learned of it.”
Pel considered that. If a spaceship really had landed, the government might try to hush it up—but he would be surprised if they actually managed it. He had never bought the Hangar 19—or 18, or whatever the number was—stories for a minute.
“Where’d it land?” he asked.
Raven looked at Valadrakul, who turned up his hands and said, “How are we to know the name of the place? It lies perhaps half a day’s journey to the north, traveling on foot.”
“But it’s in Montgomery County?”
“That, or your shiremen crossed the border.”
If the ship had come down somewhere out toward the Howard County line, that might explain how it had stayed off the TV news, so far; there was still a good bit of fairly empty countryside up that way, as Pel knew from driving the back roads to Baltimore on occasion.
“What are they charged with? I mean, why were they arrested?” he asked.
“The charges we were told are trespassing and vandalism,” Valadrakul replied. “I fear we have no such word as ‘vandalism’ in our tongue, so we know not what it means.”
“It means wrecking things just for fun,” Pel explained.
The story didn’t sound quite right to him; why would the county cops arrest a bunch of aliens on charges like that? Why weren’t the feds all over the place?
Then an explanation occurred to him, one which made the whole thing make sense, including the fact that the news media had not reported anything.
“They don’t think it’s real, do they?” he asked.
“Your pardon, sir, but what do you say?” Raven replied.
“Nobody thinks the spaceship is real,” Pel said. “Whoever found it thinks it’s a hoax, right?”
“Indeed,” Valadrakul answer
ed, “you may have the truth of it; our reports cannot tell us everything, but ‘tis hinted your constables think the crewmen mad. Certes, they do not accept them as envoys.”
Raven turned to the wizard. “You’d said naught of that to me,” he said, clearly irritated. “I had thought the captors mad, not the prisoners!”
“My apologies,” Valadrakul said, bowing his head. “There was much to tell, and in my haste...” He turned up a palm.
“I’d like to see these guys,” Pel said.
“Guys?” Donald said, looking up.
“A gnomish word,” Valadrakul told him. “From a trickster of days agone, one Guiler by name, called Guy o’ the Mews, who was famed for harassing the little folk.”
This bizarre false etymology caught Pel’s attention for a moment, distracting him.
Just then Nancy stepped in with a tray, carrying five foaming beer mugs. “I didn’t think cans would go over well,” she said to Pel.
The entire conversation seemed to be going in half a dozen directions at once, and Pel was becoming thoroughly confused. Reversing his earlier decision, he sat down on the edge of the stereo cabinet. “Fine,” he told Nancy.
She smiled, not very confidently, and handed Raven a mug. He thanked her, as Pel wondered where she had found five beer mugs, since he only remembered owning four. Taking another look, he realized that the fifth was actually a small vase that they never used. It was about the right size and shape, though it lacked a handle.
She handed the vase to Stoddard, who nodded his head in polite acknowledgement.
Valadrakul and Donald accepted their mugs gratefully, and Pel himself took the last. He held it without drinking while the others sampled the brew.
He could tell they weren’t impressed, but that wasn’t anything he cared about just now.
“Let me see if I have this straight,” he said. “The Galactic Empire sent a ship, with ten men aboard, to make contact with our government—in Washington, I guess?”
He glanced at Valadrakul, who made a sort of one-handed shrug while sipping beer with the other.
“They found out the hard way that some of the machinery doesn’t work here, and the ship crashed, somewhere north of here, but still in Montgomery County. Right so far?”
Raven nodded.
“Then the county police came and arrested them all for trespassing,” Pel continued, “and hauled them away somewhere—the county jail in Rockville, probably.”
Valadrakul nodded this time.
“And they’re still there, and the cops think they’re crazy, they don’t believe any of this stuff about spaceships and galactic empires.”
No one objected to any of that.
“All right,” Pel said, “I’ve got all that—so what are you people doing here?”
Raven put down his beer—what little was left of it. Pel noticed that Nancy was collecting an empty vase from Stoddard. “More?” she asked.
He nodded, and she slipped away to the kitchen.
“The Empire,” Raven explained, “has given up their men as lost—aye, and the lady, as well, for the ship had a woman aboard. The man who has charge of the matter has decided against any attempt at rescue, or any further expedition hither. Thus, these ten are abandoned, at the mercy of their captors. ‘Tis a coward’s decision, say I, but ‘tis made, nonetheless.”
Pel nodded.
“The thought came to us,” Raven continued, “that perhaps we might find a use for these abandoned men, ourselves. They might tell us much about the Galactic Empire. We might find a worthy ransom, should we offer to send them home. Failing all else, we could at the least find ourselves with nine more brave men in our fight against the creatures of Shadow.”
“And a woman,” Pel added.
Raven ignored the interruption; his speech rolled on as if Pel hadn’t said a word. “We know naught of your world, however, and finding and freeing these Imperials could be a fearsome task. Our portal opens in your cellars and is not so very easily moved, nor can its point of arrival be precisely determined in advance; further, you seemed a good man and kindly disposed toward me. Thus, we came hither to seek your counsel.”
Nancy reappeared with the vase refilled.
“You want me to tell you how to get these people out of jail?” Pel said. He saw smiles and nods starting, and asked, “How would I know?”
The smiles vanished and the nods never came. Raven and Valadrakul exchanged an unhappy glance. “We had thought,” Raven said, “that you might perchance know something of this prison—its strengths and weaknesses, perhaps, whether a warder might be bribed, somewhat of that nature.”
“You want me to help you get these guys out of jail?” Pel asked again.
Nancy looked up from the tray. “Have you talked to their lawyer?” she asked.
Raven and Valadrakul stared at her, startled.
“What’s a lawyer?” Raven asked.
* * * *
“Maybe I should talk to them,” Amy said, uncertainly, as she toyed nervously with a ballpoint pen.
Susan looked up from the forms she was reading. “Why?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t want to be vindictive or anything,” Amy explained, “I just want everybody to get their stuff out of my yard and leave me alone.”
“And pay for your hedge and your tree and all the other damage,” Susan pointed out.
“Yeah,” Amy admitted. “That, too.”
The desk sergeant shook his head. “I don’t think those guys are gonna pay for anything, lady,” he said. “They didn’t have a cent between them, they haven’t called anyone about getting bailed out, nothing.”
Amy stared. “They still haven’t?” she asked.
“Nope. Not one of them. They’re all sticking to their story about this Galactic Empire, and most of ‘em won’t give us anything but name, rank, and serial number.”
Amy looked at Susan, who shrugged.
Amy frowned. “If they’re real,” she said, “then they can’t pay for anything, can they?”
Susan answered, “Who knows? If they’re for real, then it’s all beyond me. If they’re not real, though, and they’re carrying it this far...”
“If they’re not real, then screw ‘em,” Amy said, grabbing the pen. “They’re carrying it much too far, and as far as I’m concerned they can rot here. Where do I sign?”
The desk sergeant pointed.
* * * *
Prossie heard someone calling her name, or at any rate something intended for her; she sat up and listened.
To her ears the cell was silent, save for the distant hissing of the highway that passed near the jail. It was her mind that had been touched.
“Carrie?” she said, whispering to make sure her thoughts were in words. “Is that you?”
Her ears still heard nothing, but the words reached her. “Yes, it’s me, Prossie,” the telepathic voice replied. “How are you doing?”
“Better,” Prossie replied. “Much better. That woman filed formal charges against us this morning, so they sent an attorney for us, whether we wanted one or not, and he explained some things—oh, Carrie, I wish I’d asked for an attorney sooner!”
Carrie’s response was a wordless questioning.
“They aren’t going to keep us here,” Prossie said. “They can’t keep us. They have all these complicated rules they follow, and guarantees of rights—it’s really incredible, if it’s all true. We should be free in a few days, I think.”
After a moment of mental silence, Carrie asked, “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” Prossie admitted. “But I’m sure we’ll manage somehow. We can work, or live off the land, and find some way to get back to the warp eventually, I’m certain of it. It’s just a hundred yards above where the ship crashed—that can’t be all that inaccessible.”
Prossie paused, and listened.
She sensed uneasiness on the other side of the conversation, as if Carrie doubted her, or as if she knew something Prossie did not. She ce
rtainly wasn’t sharing Prossie’s relief.
That troubled Prossie, but she thrust it aside as a new idea struck her.
“Listen, Carrie,” she said, “once I’m free, what if I were to track down some of the people we contacted—Miletti, or Blaisdell, or Aldridge? Wouldn’t they help us?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie answered, startled. “I hadn’t thought of that. Are you sure they’ll free you?”
“Well,” Prossie admitted, “I have no way of being sure the attorney didn’t lie to me—I don’t have my telepathy here, so I couldn’t check. I hadn’t really thought about it—why would he lie? And if he told the truth, they definitely won’t keep me here more than, I think he said thirty days, at most. They might try to send me to a madhouse, though—I think that was what he meant, anyway, though he didn’t come right out and say so. But I’m not mad, and I ought to be able to avoid that.”
“I see,” Carrie said, and again Prossie sensed doubt. “There’s something else, though; I don’t know if any of the contactees are near where you came out. Some of them were thousands of miles apart. I’ll have to see if we have any maps.”
“Do it, Carrie, please—for me.”
“Sure, Prossie. Hey, whatever happens, it’s good to hear you sounding so much more cheerful!”
“It’s good to be more cheerful, Carrie. Do check those maps for me, please. And thanks.”
The contact broke.
Silent, Prossie sat on her bunk, puzzled.
She had been so pleased with her conversation with Jerry de Lillo, the attorney from the public defender’s office, that she had not really considered the possibility that it was all a fraud, or that things might not work out as well as Mr. de Lillo said. Carrie, however, seemed to be taking it for granted that there was something wrong somewhere.
Why?
What could Carrie know that she, Prossie, did not? Had they been reading other minds here in Montgomery County, or whatever this place was called?
Out of This World Page 7
