Faline groaned. “Can’t we just get out of here and go home, since you got your magic?”
“If we do, they’ll come right after us,” Clair said. “And anyway, you really want to leave all those people here without helping?”
“Can we help?” Faline asked. “So far, we’ve had about as much success as Phonay’s fleas got brains.”
“Smarter than Phonay,” Christoph said — laughing that we Mearsieans still used an expression left over from Christoph’s first life. But though we’d never met the evil Phonay, and there were no fleas in this world, we adopt good expressions anywhere we find them. “C’mon, Faline. We can do it — we got Clair and her handy-dandy magic on our side.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be OUT of here?” I whispered fiercely.
Faline sighed. “Oh-h-h-h-h-kay.”
“All right, then. Come with Christoph and me.”
Faline looked from them to me and then gave a nod, and they took off.
Several times they encountered people, but before anyone could question them Faline — at first — and then the others — catching on — would yell, “Your part in the Plan!” and the people all zombied, talking rapidly to nothing as the three zoomed by.
They ran down the street otherwise unhassled, hoping they wouldn’t see Alsaes or Kessler. So far, the two head garbanzos seemed to be busy elsewhere.
At Dejain’s, they paused.
Clair grimaced. “Very bad magic here. Lots.” She grinned at Christoph. “Your turn.”
“No,” he gasped. “Not that.”
Clair nodded. “Everything CJ said points to the fact that Dejain has already given herself to Norsunder. I’ll bet anything that’s what that place was — where the diamond was. And if so, we need shock power. And she’s already afraid of you. Something in her spells must have singled you out as different. You now have to be very, very different.”
“Not ... the wings ...”
“Wings. And harp. The whole picture — we really need shock.”
Christoph made the world’s sourest prune-face. That combined with the yellow birds nest of overlong hair nearly made Faline’s ears explode as she fought to hold in nervous laughter.
Clair did the spells and Christoph appeared in symbolic angel garb, all illusory, but very effective. That and his “atmosphere” (dark magic people can sense it, just like they give us the creeps) were enough to give old Dejain quite a jolt when he walked into the inner room.
She never saw Clair, or felt the freeze spell.
Clair didn’t know how long her spell would last, as the place was loaded with dark magic spells that leached other magic away. She looked at the frozen woman and was about to open her mouth when a voice hailed from the outside room, “Kessler is ready for you, Dejain.”
The three exchanged What now? looks, then Clair pointed at Faline and tipped her head in Dejain’s direction.
Faline mouthed the word yuk! and waved at them to turn around. Clair and Christoph did; when they turned back, Faline had changed shape, and though her clothes had changed size along with her — that was part of the Yxubarec magic that she had inherited — she was still in knee pants and grubby shirt. Clothes that Dejain would never wear. Clair cast a quick illusion over her clothes, so she appeared to be dressed like Dejain. Faline then rolled her eyes at the two (which looked very odd on Dejain’s pretty, grownup face) and started out.
Clair motioned her to a halt.
Faline stopped, looking around in wordless panic.
“Props,” Clair whispered.
She whirled to the shelves and grabbed a few books at random, scanning pages in each. Finding one that was specifically on poisons (and thus useless for Clair’s purposes now) she handed it to Faline, who clutched the book to her and went out.
Clair and Christoph watched from the window as Kessler’s messenger led Dejain up the street toward the assembly square.
o0o
When Faline disappeared, the girls were scared. They were sure that Kessler had somehow found them out, and had made Dejain summon Faline by magic transfer. Why Faline? Since there was no obvious reason, her disappearance seemed extra sinister.
“Better disperse,” Dhana said after a protracted silence.
“We’ll all look for some way to slow things up,” Diana suggested. “How’s that?”
“Say ‘Plan’ over and over — interrupt everything,” Gwen put in. “That ought to help. A little.”
“It will help until we can think of something else,” Seshe said, looking sick with apprehension. “We have to think of a way to get CJ out. If she could get into Dejain’s magic rooms, can’t we?”
“And so what? We don’t know how to use whatever we’d find there,” Irene snapped, opening the door to peer out. “This is useless — ”
Just then one of her group mates spotted her, the girl’s face going from worry to relief.
“Oh, there you are! Was there a seek-and-find? You’ll have to stop it now, because Alsaes is going to inspect our group himself!”
Irene cast a look back at the others, then shook her head. They all knew that Alsaes had seemed omnipresent in the past couple of days, and they’d figured he was looking for any excuse to toss the girls — and especially Irene — in jail.
Seshe had been afraid that Alsaes was suspicious about Dejain’s magic not affecting everyone; she’d told Irene to be bland and blank, no matter what Alsaes said or did, or they’d all end up under the spell. Dejain would guess about the medallions in the space of two breaths. If she took those away, the girls wouldn’t be able to resist her nasty spells.
The gang separated, Dhana with a nasty grimace and Seshe looking more and more worried. They joined their groups, which were preparing to converge on the main square — for transport to their places of attack.
It was too late to ‘Plan!’ anyone — too late for anything.
Seshe marched in her group quietly, tears dripping down her face, not just in self-pity, but in sorrow, for the entire world.
o0o
Back at the jail, Rel and Puddlenose freed all the other prisoners, some of whom grabbed weapons and fell in with the plans, and others of whom were too messed up to do anything but go back and wait in their cells, with the doors open, until everything was over — one way or the other.
I stayed out of that. I didn’t know anyone down there. I’d never even seen them, and though they had listened to me, not one had ever spoken in my presence. Puddlenose and Rel knew them all, and who could do what, and who wasn’t capable of anything anymore.
I stayed in that first cell, staring across into the other one, now empty. The two brothers were down in the dungeon trying to encourage the rest of the ex-prisoners who were waiting to be told what to do; I could hear earnest voices rising and falling, as they tried to find common languages.
I sat with my knees under my chin, my arms gripping my legs tightly. How long since I’d eaten last? Felt like forever — but I was too scared to feel hunger. All I felt was lightheaded, as if reality had taken yet another turn, this one into dreamland.
Clair was here. Oh, what relief that was. She was here and helping. It was no longer my disaster. Could we manage — no. I didn’t let myself think too far ahead. I sat and stared through the two open doors, watching the dust motes swarming in the bright gold shafts slanting in through the other cell’s window.
Then I heard quick steps, and Rel and Puddlenose reappeared. “I’ll find Kessler,” Rel said.
Puddlenose’s face was grim. No smile, not even a hint — I almost didn’t recognize him. “Leave Alsaes to me.”
I jumped up. “You should just find them, don’t — ”
Puddlenose looked at me. No, he looked through me, and then he turned away and plunged through the door and started up the street at a trot.
I took a couple steps to follow, worried that he was going to do something dangerous, but a grip on my wrist caused me to whirl around.
It was Rel. He lifted his fingers
before I could yank my wrist free, stepped into the doorway to block it, and said, “Let him go.”
“But he might — ”
Rel shook his head. “You don’t know what happened. What it was like. Let him go.” He closed his mouth and stared down at me, his dark eyes watchful and patient. He obviously wasn’t going to explain — nor was he going to move until I agreed.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll wait here for Clair.”
“Good.” He gave a quick nod, and stepped outside, moving swiftly and silently across the street toward the office in search of Kessler.
I sighed and sandbagged down again.
o0o
Back at Dejain’s magic workroom, Clair slammed her way along the bookshelves, searching in a frenzy for that black book I’d described.
It wasn’t where I’d first seen it — that she was certain. That shelf she’d gone through book by book, just in case Dejain had altered its appearance by illusion. Nothing.
Christoph, now looking like himself, felt the pressure of time, and wondered what he could do to help. It was hard to think. We often kidded about how he was a ghost, but he wasn’t one in the real sense. He had a body, which had needs just like first-lifers. Weakened by lack of food, and long weeks of inaction, he felt his vision veer one way and his balance the other. Some of the vertigo was coming from a faint but pervasively nasty smell. He saw some evil-smelling potions on the big table.
He leaned closer, sniffed — and felt a horrible sensation, like a clawed hand had scraped across his eyes from inside his skull.
He jerked back, staggered against the table, clutched at it to keep from falling.
One of the bottles teetered. His fingers snatched at it to keep it from overturning, but only brushed against it, sending it spinning wildly before it fell, splashing brownish liquid over Dejain, who sat, still as stone, on her stool.
Green fire flashed.
“Hey — ” Christoph exclaimed. “I — ”
“Don’t touch,” Clair commanded sharply. “She’s got magic on her — ”
As they watched, the two magics cancelled one another out. The potion frothed and then zapped into greenish bubbles, vanishing. Meanwhile, Dejain aged rapidly right before their eyes, turning withered, old, and very evil-looking.
At the end her eyes opened. She stared at them, and disappeared.
“What have I done?” Christoph asked.
Clair bent over, studying the burnt flooring where the potion had dripped before it vanished, then straightened up. “I don’t think you did anything,” she said. “She did it herself. That is, she had a dark magic age spell on herself, and whatever was in that potion — meant for someone to drink — was going to do something evil. Age someone against his will? I don’t know, but the two spells were enough akin to cancel one another out.”
“Uhn,” Christoph said. “What now?”
“She’s gone, I suspect to Norsunder,” Clair said to Christoph. “If so, it’s a bargain she made. You didn’t make it for her. Therefore we have one less creep to worry about. But we’ve still got her magic to undo.”
o0o
Poor Faline.
There she was, standing on the platform, facing rows and rows of waiting people. The sun was hot overhead, and everyone watched expectantly.
She looked around, wondering when Kessler and Alsaes would show up and get suspicious. Until then, she had Clair’s instructions to follow: Keep ’em busy.
So she opened her book, which was written in some lingo that looked like chicken tracks.
She looked up.
Everyone was waiting.
She took a deep breath, then intoned in a low, sonorous voice, “Seittibafrabnoobagobof ...”
Stopped. Looked around.
Everyone waited respectfully, the lines straight, weapons ready.
Making some mysterious signs with her free hand (or what she hoped looked mysterious) she started droning, as slow as possible, Mearsiean pocalubes — backwards.
o0o
Puddlenose was almost ready to pass out after three streets. He clutched his side with his free hand, nearly dropping his knife. His fingers were slippery with sweat.
He paused in the shade of a building, leaning against a wall, fighting the waves of reddish shadow that floating over his vision.
He had promised himself once that if he were to get away, he would make certain that Alsaes would never do again what he’d done down in that jail.
Clair would disapprove. CJ would be horrified.
To them, justice was always a compromise, and to be attained without violence. Puddlenose knew there was no compromise with people like Alsaes. During his life so far Puddlenose had seen things that Clair had never seen, and he’d never told her. What happened to Alsaes was going to be one of those things.
He shoved away from the wall, and kept moving. He’d only have one chance, he knew. No way could he get involved in a fight.
He’d learned where Alsaes’s building was, and he made straight for it. Already he was near the limits of his strength. He didn’t question whether or not Alsaes would be there — he just knew.
And so it was.
He saw the familiar uniform. Alsaes ransacked his own office, slamming drawers as he sought something.
Puddlenose leaned against the wall, took a deep breath. Readied himself.
“Alsaes,” he said.
The creep recoiled, faced round — and just as he recognized Puddlenose’s bruised, bloodstained form in the doorway the knife that Puddlenose had already thrown buried itself squarely in his chest.
Their eyes met; but before Alsaes could say anything, he vanished.
Puddlenose was not surprised. If anyone would have promised his soul to Norsunder before he’d died, it would be Alsaes.
Now he belonged to them.
Puddlenose turned around and left.
o0o
Rel had gone to Kessler’s office, but found it empty, so he left again, moving up the street. In the distance he saw Puddlenose making his way toward Alsaes’ office. He followed, in case the kid would need backup.
Unseen by both, he watched what happened, and when the man vanished, Rel moved on toward the training areas in search of Kessler.
Two down, one to go.
o0o
Bringing things back to me.
I stayed alone in the jail’s upper cell, listening to the murmur of the former prisoners’ voices in the dungeon below, until it seemed that time was stretching out to infinity. Actually it was probably a very short time, but it seemed terribly long.
My mind ranged back through the horrors of the day before, despite my attempts to ignore it.
Then I remembered my diamond. Magic was on it — maybe Clair could figure it out.
Time to get it.
I sighed, loathing the idea of stepping into Kessler’s building one more time. Outside, the air was just as hot as always; except for the fast-vanishing puddles here and there you would never know it had rained.
Hungry as I was, I was also nervous and afraid, and fear and nerves make me fast. So does heat, if the prospect of getting out of it is before me. I fazoomed across the street and into the building. Cringed as I peeked into Kessler’s office. Empty! Was I — finally — in luck?
Of course I wasn’t in luck. When had I had any luck in that place?
I dashed down the hall into my room, my eyes still dazzled from the glare outside, slammed the door, reached for the mattress — and froze when I saw that the corner had already been thrown back.
My vision cleared. I looked up, and there was Kessler standing three paces from me, just straightening up, the diamond on one palm. His other hand moved and suddenly held a black-handled knife.
Terror turned my blood and bones to stone. I couldn’t move.
“You lied to me, Cherene,” he said. “From the beginning.”
“I know,” I said numbly, my voice squeaking.
‘Good luck’ and ‘bad luck’ are pretend
things. They don’t even have the word ‘luck’ here. I had to take it directly from English. ‘Luck’ is what you make through your actions, intersecting with the actions of others. I’d made all my bad luck through my lies.
Would it have made any difference in his plans if I’d told the truth from the beginning, that being Clair’s heir was a choice made out of friendship and trust, not out of the desire for power?
It’s too easy to say, Oh, of course — it would have changed Kessler’s life. Probably it wouldn’t have. But who knows? There’s even a chance he might have permitted Shnit’s young enemy to live — but I don’t think he would have extended it to the boys. Or to the other people in his jail.
Or maybe he would have killed me himself.
There is no easy right and wrong. Wasn’t then, isn’t now.
At the time, I just stared, unable to say anything more.
He raised the knife. “Now I have to keep a promise. I will give myself over to the Land, but you are going with me. You made the choice for me, and I’m going to make it for you.”
He threw the knife at the very moment I whirled and tried to make a break for it. I was facing the door, and the knife sprouted in the wood where I’d been standing.
After all that practice, hours and hours of it, my movements were automatic. With one smooth, unthinking gesture I yanked the knife free and sent it flying right back at him, just the way the tutors had taught me was most effective.
And stared when too late his hand moved — I saw something sparkle — then the knife blade buried itself in his lower ribs. His hand closed over it just after.
“It’s true,” he said, blood welling over his fingers. “Dejain was right.”
He staggered.
Numb with shock, my brain seemed frozen, but I guess somewhere in there thoughts were still working because I saw that communicator thing in his back pocket.
He stumbled against the cot, the communicator jarred loose from his pocket and fell.
He vanished.
Did I kill him? I thought. I killed a person.
Keening with misery I bent down, picked up the communicator, scrabbled at the door, yanked it open, and dashed out, down the hall, stumbling out in the fierce sunshine where I almost ran down Puddlenose.
Poor World Page 17
