Steel and Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  The van drove for a few more minutes, now in territory Stone was sure he’d never seen before. It pulled up to what looked like a warehouse, where a roll-up door opened to admit them. The two Talented got out, and a moment later the van’s side door slid open as well.

  Any thoughts Stone might have had of escape departed. The two of them were standing there, and two more long-coated figures stood behind them. All of them were watching him closely.

  “Don’t try anything,” the woman who’d caught him said calmly. “If you do, we’ll be forced to knock you out.”

  “Just come along like a good little Dim boy, and everything will be fine,” said the man. The tone he used was the same one someone might have used on a child or an animal back on Earth.

  “Let’s get a couple of things straight first,” Stone growled. “I’m not ‘Dim,’ and I’m not a ‘boy’. Or perhaps all that magic has done something to bugger up your eyesight.” He knew he had no chance of escaping, so he didn’t waste the energy to try, but that didn’t mean he planned to let these conceited bastards get away with treating him like rubbish.

  The woman glared at him, and once again his arms locked at his sides. “Watch yourself, pig,” she warned. “We’re supposed to deliver you relatively unharmed, but…accidents happen.” She made a gesture.

  Instantly, Stone’s body felt as if they had hooked him up to an electrical current. He went rigid, gritting his teeth as sharp, jagged pain shot through him. It lasted only a few seconds; when it ceased, he slumped as much as he could in the magical grip, panting.

  “That was just a small taste,” the man said. “Best to just keep your mouth shut. You’ll have plenty of time to talk later, trust me. Now, are you going to walk with us, or do we need to bring you along?”

  “I’ll walk,” Stone said.

  “Good,” the woman said, smiling in satisfaction. “See, Yarian? Even the Dim can see reason when…properly incentivized.” She jerked her head forward. “Come on,” she told Stone. “Walk, then. Through the doorway over there.”

  The two of them took up positions on either side of him as the spell holding his legs immobile lifted. His arms still remained rigidly stuck to his sides. He glanced pointedly at each of them, paused just long enough to let them know it was his idea and not their order that moved him forward, then began walking in a purposeful manner—not too slow, not too fast—toward the indicated doorway. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

  “Just keep moving.”

  When they passed through the opening, everything changed. Instead of a dingy warehouse, they now stood in a hallway carpeted in medium blue. The walls, not brick but some smooth material, were painted a pleasant cream color, and sconces along the walls provided bright but indirect light. The two mages who’d met them in the warehouse hadn’t followed them through, but two more, both women this time, swept past them and disappeared through another doorway. They nodded and murmured polite greetings to Stone’s captors, but didn’t acknowledge his presence except to eye him in the same way one might examine a piece of furniture.

  “She said keep moving,” the man said. “Through the door there.” At the end of the hall, a blue door swung open.

  Something prodded Stone from behind, but it didn’t feel like the man’s hand. It occurred to him that during all of his encounters with the Talented, from his initial one with the bullies in Temolan to this one, not once had any of them ever physically touched him.

  The room beyond the door was large and airy, and didn’t look at all as if it belonged in the dark, dingy warehouse they’d entered. It had the same cream-colored walls as the hallway, but instead of carpeting, some pale granite-like substance shot through with metallic blue veins covered the floor. Stone glanced upward and was surprised to see a large skylight letting in a velvety-black night sky.

  On the far side of the room was a glowing disc on the floor. It was perhaps six feet in diameter, protruded above the floor for about six inches, and was surrounded by a waist-high railing. Its main structure was made of the same pale stone as the floor, and the inner diameter glowed with shifting lights: red, blue, green, yellow, purple. It looked somehow familiar, though Stone was sure he hadn’t seen anything like it since his arrival here. Beyond the disc, two more Talented sat at a table playing a game where they moved the pieces around using magic.

  They glanced up as Stone and his captors entered. One immediately went back to examining the game board; the other one looked Stone up and down as if annoyed that he was sullying their pristine floor. “Who’s the Dim?” he asked.

  “Just somebody the Council wants to talk to,” Stone’s male captor said.

  The Council. That sounded important, Stone supposed. Had his questions caught the attention of the higher-ups in Temolan?

  “The Council wants to talk to a Dim?” Bored contempt laced the man’s tone. “What are we coming to?” He waved them off and returned his attention to the game, where his opponent had just levitated four different-colored pieces, spun them in an intricate dance, and set them down in different places.

  Something prodded Stone again. “Move,” the woman said. “Onto the disc.”

  With sudden clarity, he remembered why the disc had seemed familiar before. “That’s a teleportation portal,” he said with a challenging glance toward her.

  “Well,” said the man, speculatively. He sounded surprised. “Seems there might be more to our Dim friend than we thought. Perhaps that’s why the Council wants to talk to him. Now enough talk, pig. I won’t warn you again. Step onto the disc.”

  Stone had never seen a teleportation portal that looked like that before—all the ones he’d seen on Earth had been vertically oriented, like doorways, but the shifting pastel colors were the same. Could the mages here have perfected some other kind of teleportation? He remembered odd flashes of light from the night he’d arrived here, when the Guard had taken him down to Drendell. Maybe this was how they got back and forth between Temolan and Drendell.

  He stepped forward and mounted the disc, stopping in the center. Nothing happened, beyond a faint buzz he could feel through his boots.

  The two Talented took positions next to him, one on either side. It was a tight fit, but they still stood as far away from him as they could, their noses wrinkling.

  “Sorry,” Stone said with obvious insincerity. “Trying to keep away from you lot means having to sleep in some unpleasant places. Do you think I could have a shower and some fresh clothes before I talk to your Council?”

  “Quiet,” the man snapped. His expression changed to one of concentration, as did the woman’s on Stone’s other side.

  The world shifted.

  It was over before Stone had a chance to think about it. Sudden disorientation gripped him, and he staggered forward, blinking. Something took hold of him and righted him before he could pitch forward.

  “Let go, I’m all right,” he snapped, blinking.

  This room looked similar to the one they’d just left, except it was larger, included two additional teleportation pads, and had no skylight. Stone didn’t get a chance to see anything else before they hustled him out of the room, down another hallway lined with shifting abstract prints, and through another door. At the end of the hallway, a large window looked out on a series of tall spires dotted with twinkling lights.

  One thing Stone noticed immediately was that everything here was clean. More than clean—utterly pristine. Everywhere he looked—the walls, the floors, the doors, the artwork—looked perfectly, glowingly new, with no wear, no fading, not even any stains on the blue carpet where someone might have spilled coffee or tracked in a bit of dirt from outside. The effect was disconcerting—though the place’s appearance had nothing in common with it, it reminded Stone of old-style science fiction television shows before they’d caught on that things people actually used would be more worn and dingy.

  So they’ve got magic enough to waste on keeping things spotless, he mused as they entered another small cubicle.
The door slid shut and the cubicle began to move, even though neither of his captors had given it an obvious command. In fact, if this was an elevator, it didn’t even have any buttons or floor indicators.

  “Nice trick,” he commented. “Magical elevator. You lot do like to show off, don’t you?”

  The man flashed him a warning glare, and a faint hint of the electric jolt from before shot through him again.

  When the door opened, it wasn’t on a pleasant cream-colored hallway with blue carpeting, but on a dark gray passage with a gray stone floor. No natural illumination showed here; Stone wondered if they were underground, if such a concept even made any sense in a floating city.

  Another door opened, and a woman came out to meet them. “Caught him, did you?” she asked. She was taller than either of Stone’s captors, with broad shoulders, a prominent jawline, and a shorter, less elaborate haircut than any of the female Talented Stone had seen around. She wasn’t wearing the typical long coat, but her spotless dark-blue shirt and light jacket sported pins and amulets bearing the same symbols as the others wore.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” his female captor drawled. “They’re picking up a few of the others at the Fisherman’s Rest too. They’re scheduled for execution in a few days, I hear, or possibly exile. Some of them might have gotten away, but they won’t elude us for long.”

  Stone tensed. Execution? Exile—to where? Had the Talented raided the Fisherman’s Rest, looking for members of the underground rebellion? Was that because of him and his questions? He bowed his head—if so, it meant more death or torment on his conscience, and not a damned thing he could do about it. Would they execute him too, when they found out he couldn’t give them the information they sought?

  “Good, good,” the new woman said. “I’ll take charge of this one and get him ready for questioning. Anything I should know?”

  “He’s got a mouth on him,” the man said. “Disrespectful. But…what does it matter? He’s Dim. He won’t give you any trouble, and you can always shut him up if he annoys you.”

  “True enough.”

  His lip curled. “Oh, and he stinks. I think he’s been sleeping in a garbage pile somewhere.”

  The woman glanced at Stone, then back at the pair, levitating a clipboard and stylus to them. “That’s the Dim for you. But then, the whole town down there is a garbage pile, isn’t it? It’s not like any of them can help it. Sign here, and then you can go collect your fee.”

  Fee? Bounty hunters, then, Stone thought. It made sense—it meant the real Talented authorities wouldn’t have to dirty their feet on Dim territory.

  “Thank you. Now off to something much more pleasant.” Without another glance at Stone, the two bid the other woman good night and departed.

  The woman turned back to him. “You’re what they were after?” she asked with contempt, obviously not expecting an answer. “Hard to believe, but I don’t ask questions.” She gestured, and Stone’s legs locked again along with his arms, then he lifted off the floor and floated forward in front of the woman.

  “I can walk,” he snapped.

  “Eh, this is easier. Shut up.”

  She floated Stone into a more brightly lit room with tile walls. On one side was a large open shower cubicle with three nozzles; the other side included a bank of lockers behind a long metal bench attached to the floor. A chill, several degrees colder than the outside hallway, hung in the air here.

  “Strip down and get into the shower,” the woman commanded. “They’re right—you do stink. You’ve probably got lice, too—half the Dim prisoners I get in here do.”

  The lock on Stone’s body vanished, staggering him forward again before he caught himself. “Am I a prisoner, then? What’s the charge? I haven’t done a bloody thing to set you lot on me.”

  “I said shut up and strip down. You can do it yourself, or I can help you.” She raised a menacing hand, indicating that her “help” probably wouldn’t be his more pleasant option.

  “Fine.” He slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on the bench. At least he’d get a shower out of the situation, if nothing else.

  “Hurry up. I don’t have all night to stand here and watch you.”

  For a second, he thought about trying to catch her by surprise—he doubted any of the mundanes these people captured had ever done that, so he might get the first shot in—but quickly decided against it. It wasn’t the time yet. Clearly they didn’t want him dead, at least not yet, so he could bide his time and hope for an opportunity later.

  With a sidelong glance toward the woman, he slipped out of the rest of his clothes and, making a show of not being the least bit self-conscious about being stark naked in front of a strange, hostile woman in a chilly room, he strode into the shower cubicle and waited under one of the nozzles. “No knobs,” he observed. “I guess you’ll have to—”

  The nozzle roared to life, hitting him with a high-pressure jet of cold water. Spluttering and shivering, he stepped out of the stream and found a bar of soap on a small shelf behind the nozzle. He scrubbed down as fast as he could, then rinsed off; when he glanced up, he saw the woman watching him with no expression, beyond perhaps faint impatience.

  As soon as he finished the nozzle cut off and the deluge stopped, leaving him standing there, dripping and shivering even harder than before. “G-got a towel?” he asked through chattering teeth.

  A gray towel levitated in his direction, but stopped several feet short of reaching him. “Come out here,” the woman ordered, pulling it back. Her expression was sharper than before as she stared hard at him.

  “Give me the towel,” Stone protested. “It’s bloody cold in here. If you see anything you like, you can look your fill after I dry off.”

  The electric jolt rocked him again, dropping him to his knees with a yelp of pain. “One more comment like that and I might just start picking more…specific targets. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” Stone bit out through gritted teeth.

  “Good. Now get up.”

  He slowly got to his feet and stood, still shivering. He glared at her, making his silence every bit the act of defiance that his comments had been.

  She moved in closer, looking him up and down like she owned him. She raised her hand and a faint buzzing sensation passed over his body. “There. That should take care of any lice.” Her gaze settled on his chest. “What is that?” she asked, pointing.

  He looked down, as if he didn’t know exactly what she was referring to. “What?”

  “On your chest. Where did you get that tattoo?”

  “Don’t remember. Got drunk with some mates one night and next morning, there it was.” He did his best to keep his aura steady, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t do him any good. At least the tattoo wasn’t glowing here—probably for the same reason his magic wasn’t functioning.

  “Those look like magical sigils.”

  Stone shrugged. “How should I know? I’m nothing but a Dim pig, remember? How would I know anything about magic?”

  Her gaze sharpened further, and for a moment, he thought she might follow through with her threat. Instead, she examined the tattoo for a moment longer, then stepped back and used magic to throw the towel at him. “The Council’s interrogators will find out what they need to know. No point in my wasting my time with you. Dry off.”

  As he caught the towel and began to dry himself, she turned toward his pile of clothes. With a grimace of disgust, she first used magic to remove his ID card and papers from his pocket, then gathered the clothes into a stack on the floor and ignited them in a flare of bright-red magical fire. Then she used another spell to move the ashes into the shower cubicle and rinse them down the drain. “You’ll find clothes that don’t reek in the locker.”

  One of the locker doors swung open, revealing a neatly folded set of tan clothing. “Hurry up,” the woman ordered.

  Stone did as he was told. The clothing was ill-fitting and even more poorly made than the stuff he’d bought back in Dre
ndell. It consisted of loose pull-on pants, a short-sleeved shirt similar to a scrub top, and thin slippers. The shirt had something across the back in stark black script, but Stone couldn’t read it. Temolan’s answer to a prison jumpsuit, apparently.

  The woman examined his papers and work card while he dressed. When he finished, she tucked them into her pocket and once again used magic to lock Stone’s arms to his sides. “Walk ahead of me,” she said. “Out the door and turn right.”

  He didn’t have a lot of choice, so still shivering from the cold shower, he complied.

  She directed him down one hall, then through a heavy door and into another one. “In here,” she said, opening a second door with magic and motioning him inside.

  He paused a moment to examine the room she was directing him to. It was, as he’d expected, a prison cell, and it had none of the comforting cream-and-blue elegance of the building’s other floors. Instead, it resembled what he might have expected a cell from sometime in the previous century on Earth to look like: metal walls and floor, heavy steel door with a small barred window set into the top and a slot at the bottom, and a steel sink bolted to the wall with a toilet next to it. A metal shelf with a thin mattress extended from one of the long walls, and a bright, bare light bulb protected by a metal cage hung down from the ceiling.

  “Nice place,” Stone commented, striding into the tiny cell as if it were the penthouse suite at the Waldorf. “I’d give it five stars for comfort, but I’m afraid I’ll have to knock one or two off for ambiance.”

  “Silence,” the woman said.

  “So how long will I get to enjoy your hospitality before this Council of yours turns up to talk to me?” He paused to inspect the sink, ignoring her. “Can’t imagine they’ll fancy being rousted out of their beds this late at night just to question some poor Dim sod, will they?”