“Numbers can be made to lie. People are inventive that way.” The voice had an unfamiliar accent, and Minori’s eyes snapped to the right of the Britannian, and she finally took note of the much shorter man beside him, who sort of . . . faded into the background among all the exotic-looking Goths and Gauls in the room. Short-cropped hair, olive skin. Dark eyes, narrowed. No hint of a smile at all. “People lie all the damned time.”
Minori’s temper flared—the temper that her mother had always told her, would have made her a better son, than a daughter. She felt as if the man were accusing her of being a liar. “Yes. They do. But find the lie in my numbers. Show me where they are wrong, and I will look for more data to repair them. I do not have an agenda. My company has no financial stake in the western hemisphere at this time, Professor . . . ?” Again, the pause.
“Oh, I’m not a professor, either, Doctor. Kanmi Eshmunazar. University of Athens. Sorcery and technomancy.” His words were sharp and clear, and the emphasis on her title was . . . sarcastic? He was suggesting that she hadn’t earned her degree? “And let’s face it. Everyone in this room has an agenda. Some academic axe to grind. Some industrial machine to feed.”
Various of the audience members shifted and laughed a little, but it was an uneasy sound. Minori stood there, fuming internally, but not letting it show on her face. She was far too well-trained for that. “I am not one of them.”
“And your company isn’t interested in providing alternative energy sources?” the man asked, dryly. “And you’re not making your name, staking out some obscure academic ground to make it your own?”
“My company provides ley-energy facilities, first and foremost. Most of my managers have suggested that in taking this position, I might actually decrease the chances of our receiving contracts to build such facilities in Caesaria Aquilonis or Caesaria Australis,” Minori said, lifting her chin and making herself meet the man’s eyes. “I am, in fact, quite certain I have been denied a raise in the last year because I persist in asking questions.” She was shaking, and her stomach roiled with nausea. Minori hated confrontation of any kind, but she’d at least been trained for combat. Confrontation in the social arena was so much worse. “Now, unless you have specific questions to go with your ad hominem attacks, Master Eshmunazar . . . ?”
“Oh, if it’s a specific question that you want,” he said, his eyes sharp, “here’s one for you. If the energy spikes you’re discussing are derived from the ley-system itself, how on earth can more be getting put back into the system than originally came from it?” He paused, and then went on relentlessly, “Systems always have losses, even ley-taps, Doctor. Where is your extra energy coming from?”
Minori took a deep breath to keep her mind clear, as murmurs rose from the audience. “I am not sure,” she said, as calmly and evenly as she could, when the man had just more or less kicked directly at the central point of her working thesis, and made the whole structure wobble. “I am not even sure that there is extra energy entering the system, or if the energy liberated from the system is changed in amplitude or resonance and then re-enters the system in . . . wrong places. No one has ever, to my knowledge, studied what happens when we add energy to the ley-system. Only what happens when we take from it. In the end, it doesn’t matter if I come up with all the answers, Master Eshmunazar. My only agenda is the truth. And my numbers speak only the truths that I have been able to find so far. I invite anyone with superior information to add to the growing picture. That is, after all, what science is for. To point out areas where we have questions, and to search for answers. I fully acknowledge that the questions I have been asking may not have been the right ones.” Minori lifted her chin. “But at least I’m asking them.”
She stepped back from the podium, feeling numb. She’d been laughed at—politely, of course—in writing over the past few years. Her numbers had been scoured and savaged through several courses of peer-reviews. She’d had colleagues in this very lecture hall question the correlations she’d found . . . but she’d never been called a liar before.
An hour later, Minori was more than ready to go home for the night, make herself a cup of tea, and try to forget about this horrible day. However, Belator Camulorix stopped her on her way out of the hall. The aging Gallic professor had white hair, and a noticeable tremor in his hands as he used his cane to navigate through the crowds; stoop-shouldered, he would have been taller than she, had he been able to stand fully upright. Now, however, he met her eyes at level. “You handled the interruptions well,” he told her, his Belgae-inflected Gallic gentle.
“I have never heard of either the Britannian or the other one before.” Minori was still seething. “I haven’t read any papers by them. What were they even doing here?”
Dr. Camulorix put one shaking hand on her forearm. “They were here because I invited them.”
Minori stopped in the crowded hallway and stared at her colleague. On the one hand, science was self-correcting, and the questions had exposed weaknesses in her arguments that needed to be addressed. On the other hand, she’d just been savaged in public by two strangers, and knowing that Camulorix had invited them felt like personal betrayal. So she remained silent for a long moment, but her expression probably spoke volumes.
“Now, now, I didn’t expect young Eshmunazar to jump up and down on you like that. I’ve heard a good deal about him from some of my colleagues at the University of Athens, however. And he and young Matrugena are precisely the people we need to talk to about some of our little problems of late.” He tugged gently at her arm, guiding her out of the main hall, and towards the darkened corridor where his office was. “They’re going to meet with us in my office shortly.” Camulorix dug in his poke, which swung from his belt, came up with his keys, opened the door, and turned on the light.
Chaos. Every book had been torn from the bookcases, the shelves themselves ripped from the walls. Most of the books had been rent in half, along the spines, pages loose and flying freely in the wind and light rain gusting in from the open window. Camulorix stood in the doorway and swayed for a moment, and Minori slipped a hand under his elbow, discreetly, trying to keep him from falling. “Oh, gods,’ Camulorix murmured, and hooked his cane over his opposite wrist to cover his eyes for a moment. “My books. My notes. Minori, please, look in the file drawer, and make sure that they didn’t destroy my notes.”
“Wait,” a voice said behind them, sharply, and Minori spun. On edge already, she raised a hand to set up a spell out of pure reflex, the patterns and structures of it instantly leaping into her mind in lines of white light.
Behind them, the Britannian loomed like a giant, and the smaller man, at his side, flicked his fingers . . . and Minori could feel an energy charge seethe in the air. No, not quite that. He’s a counterspeller, she realized. He’s ready to pull the energy from anything I give him. She closed her fingers in a tight ball, crushing the shape of the construct in her mind. “Don’t touch anything yet,” the Britannian finished, and peered into the office. “Esh, got a camera?”
“No. Too bulky to fit in my pockets,” the shorter man replied, acerbically. “Have one of your spirits draw you a picture. Sniff around for scent.” He looked at the professor. “When was the last time you were here in your office, Doctor?”
“Earlier this evening. Before the panel began . . . ah . . . five postmeridian.” Camulorix mopped at his forehead now with the sleeve of his shirt. “Yes, I’d just come back from an early dinner with a colleague. Dr. Sasaki met me here, and we walked over to the lecture hall at . . . fifteen after five.” He paused. “Please, can we not at least close the window?”
Minori nodded. She didn’t like the way in which the shorter man was looking at her. “Was Dr. Sasaki with you the entire time? She didn’t leave your sight until you entered the lecture hall?”
“No, not at all.”
“Do you mean to ask,” Minori said, slowly, her temper starting to heat up once more, “if I had time to run back down the hall and destro
y my colleague’s office, before running back down to the lecture hall to begin my presentation without being out of breath?”
“I’ve learned the hard way not to take anything for granted,” the man told her, his eyes still narrow. “Matru, I’m going to take a walk around the back. I might not see anything with all this rain, but we might get lucky. The asshole in question might have left incriminating footprints in deep mud and a neon sign that reads ‘I went this way, and here’s my name and address.’” He disappeared down the hall, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound on the floor.
Minori stared now as the Britannian held out a hand and whispered to empty air, and a little wisp of mist rose from his hand. “Go close the window, please,” he told the coil of fog . . . and it fought its way to the fall wall, struggling against the wind. Grew darker. Denser. Wrapped itself around the handle . . . and slammed it shut, before returning to coil lazily around his hand and wrist. Just for an instant, she thought she saw blue eyes in the middle of the mist, as he gave it a small piece of candy for its pains. “You really are a summoner, then?” she asked, turning her head to watch the vapor creature . . . surely a water elemental of some sort . . . dart off down the hall with its prize.
“Yes. Among other things.” He stepped lightly into the room, and a piece of paper and a pen rose from the debris on the floor. Minori watched, her eyes widening, as the pen began to move and skate on the foolscap. Drawing. Sketching. She’d met summoners before, but not one who appeared to have multiple different spirits at his heels. The big man now turned and frowned. “I’m going to need a little light. There’s something on the wall here.” He held up his hand again . . . and this time a phoenix appeared on his outstretched hand, radiating brilliant light in every direction from its peacock-like tail of flame.
It is really far too wet for me to manifest.
“The window is shut now.”
That doesn’t matter. It almost feels as if Stormborn were in the vicinity.
“She and Adam are in Judea.”
I know. It’s been two weeks. I miss them.
“They deserve their first holiday in years. Not that fixing up the house they bought is likely to be very relaxing.” The Britannian crooked a finger. The paper and pen floated over obligingly, and he pointed to something on the wall. “Get this, too, please,” he told whatever invisible hand held the pen.
Minori craned around the corner, and instantly wished that she hadn’t. She hadn’t caught the smell before. Blood. There was writing on the wall, in blood, in Latin. The letters were crooked, and in all capitals, as if the writer had forgotten the invention of the miniscule case, and read, clearly, SI TACUISSES, PHILOSOPHUS MANISSES. If you had stayed silent, we would have thought you a philosopher . . . or, less literally, in silence, there is wisdom.
Minori’s eyes widened. “Is it . . . is it . . . ?”
“Human?” The Britannian cocked his head to the side. “The spirits say not. Probably cow. Whoever did this, dropped a pot of it behind that shelf. It got all over the books—” He looked up as Camulorix swayed again. “I’m sorry, professor. Let’s get you somewhere that you can sit down.” The Britannian deftly climbed back out of the debris now, and helped Camulorix back down the hall and found him a seat on a low bench there. “Now, I know this isn’t the first threat,” he said, kindly. “But could you detail the others for me, please?”
Minori shot confused glances back and forth between them. “Professor? You . . . you invited them here because of the threats?” She didn’t know what to think at this point. The two were a summoner and apparently some sort of technomancer, but she could throw a rock out a window and hit four or five people of that description on the campus right now.
“Yes, but you were on my radar already, Doctor Sasaki.” She whirled, and this time, her hand dropped to the sash that belted her wrap-around jacket to her body. She’d successfully lied to people before and told them that the kaiken knife tucked there was a nail file, and they’d believed her, much to her shock. From the hard gaze that this Eshmunazar man was giving her, she didn’t think he’d believe it. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Let’s back up a little. First of all, how long have you been a member of the Source Initiative?”
Minori blinked. “What has that to do with the threats?” she asked. It was about the last question she would have expected. “And . . . I’m sorry. Forgive me. Who are you two again?” She didn’t want to say no to them. It would be rude. But twelve years in Gaul had left marks on her manners, and she’d learned to be . . . uncomfortably forthright with people when needed.
The shorter man reached into one of his dozens of pockets, and produced a leather wallet. Flicked it open, showing a silver badge there, with the fasces and the eagle on it. “Kanmi Eshmunazar. Praetorian Guard. Carthaginian branch, lictor to Propraetor Antonius Livorus. Now, please, answer the question. How long have you been a member of the Source Initiative?”
“A . . . about four years?” Minori had to stop and think about that. “They’re a professional organization. They publish an academic journal about energy production to which I subscribe, and they have a conference once a year in Novo Gaul. It’s good for networking . . . and why am I even justifying this?” she asked herself, out loud, in disbelief. “It’s not a crime to belong to an organization.”
“No. It’s not.” His gaze was as hard and blank as the marble tiles underfoot. “About when did the threats start, Doctor?”
Behind her, she could hear Camulorix answering similar questions, though more gently posed by the Britannian. “Last year,” Minori said, slowly. “Right after the last conference, actually. That’s when I presented my first set of results linking earthquakes and the ley-grid in Nahautl. Just the local earthquakes. I hadn’t been able to show results elsewhere in the globe, yet.”
“And the fact that there are no ley-interrelated earthquakes elsewhere on earth?” Eshmunazar asked her, sharply, and, off-balance, Minori blinked. “You haven’t looked at the entire Ring of Fire. Ley-power is just as common as electricity in Nippon. Why haven’t there been ley-interrelated earthquakes and eruptions there?”
“I don’t know. I have looked at the data. But all of the ley-stations in Nippon are over a century old!” Minori finally snapped back at him, tired of defending herself from what felt like accusations from a dozen directions at once. She pointed a finger at him. “Do you know what seiches are?” She swept on, seeing his blank look. “They’re the waves that occur in an enclosed body of water, such as . . . a frigidarium pool, or a mountain lake, in response to seismic activity in the earth. I see seiches. I see them everywhere. They must originate from somewhere, and my job is to find their point of origin and stop them before they get worse.” Minori realized, suddenly, that she’d raised her voice, and she flushed, ducking her head for a moment, regaining her calm.
“Oddly enough,” the Britannian said, from behind her, “that sounds more or less like our job description, some days.”
The other man hadn’t let her off the hook yet. “So why do all the old-world stations, the ones that already exist in Novo Gaul, not cause the earthquakes? Your data is flawed, Doctor—”
He opened his mouth to continue, but Minori cut him off, heatedly, “My supposition has been that the new technology that resulted in the collapse of the Pyramid of the Sun is responsible. That is why it’s not affecting older installations. . . . ” She stopped. Blinked. Rapidly reassessed information from entirely disparate sets in her head. He asked where the extra energy was coming from . . . “Gods,” she murmured. “There was something different about the ones in Nahautl. I remember reading about human sacrifices being buried on the sites . . . but that can’t be it. That wouldn’t change the technology.”
She raised her eyes. Eshmunazar gave her a coldly considering look. “No,” he said, after a moment. “Murder victims being buried there shouldn’t change the technology at all.”
Wait, why did he just shift my words? Minori opened her mouth to
ask him a question, only to be trampled on by another question from him, instead. “Can you explain to me, Doctor, why it is that in my research on you and your connection with the Source Initiative, it appears that you don’t exist before 1948?”
Minori froze in place, blinking rapidly. This was a hit from a completely different direction, yet again. Verbal jujitsu, she thought. He works me to lean in one direction, and then another, and then another. Destabilizing the base. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she replied, carefully. Knowing what he was doing helped her to keep her voice steady. “Obviously, I existed before 1948. I’m hardly a twelve-year-old. My passport reads Minori Sasaki, born, Hokkaido, Nippon, 1930—”
“I’m aware of the lovely work of fiction that is your passport, yes.” The man’s eyes narrowed once more. “I actually do my research, Doctor. I’m thorough. Minori Sasaki did not exist before 1948. Your school records are another lovely work of fiction, considering the fact that the various teachers and classmates that I’ve contacted have no recollection of anyone by that name.” Minori’s mouth had gone dry as he revealed how carefully he’d been scrutinizing her past. “The school administrators insist that your name is in the rolls, but not one of your supposed classmates remembers you. What you liked to eat. Who you were friends with. If your parents were strict. Which boy wanted to get a look under your robes.”
Minori realized that she’d backed up against the wall, and she had her hands up in a prime spellcasting posture, and that the man hadn’t so much as moved. He hadn’t taken a step towards her, but his words loomed. “I cannot account for what other people do and do not remember,” she managed. “I was quiet.”
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 87
