Five Magic Spindles: A Collection of Sleeping Beauty Stories

by Rachel Kovaciny

  Tanza threw her arms up in exasperation. “I don’t want to commit a crime with the virtue prince next to me.” Virtue names might be meaningless, but Prince Auren’s legend hadn’t lost all its power over her.

  “I can give you a cut.”

  Tanza’s arms fell to her sides. “How much?”

  “Fifteen percent,” Keffer said

  Tanza examined the hovering datapad display and did some mental math. She needed the money, especially after such a bust of a tomb. Auren wouldn’t approve, but he’d be out of her life in a few days, and her work would keep her fed for a lot longer.

  “Twenty percent,” she countered. “Verith’s had higher Cornerstone activity this month.”

  Keffer waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll be fine. You’re not human.”

  “That doesn’t matter if we’re in a group Cornerstone considers ‘morally tainted.’”

  “All right, twenty percent. Just because I like you.”

  “Deal. Put it in the hovercar for me.”

  Keffer snorted. “I am not wasting a hovercar on a delivery run. Do you know how much fuel costs?”

  Tanza threw a hand toward the map. “How am I supposed to get there?

  “You have a car, don’t you?”

  “A ground car! I pulled it out of a tomb! I’m lucky if it gets me to the market!”

  Keffer shut down the datapad display, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. “Then hope you’re really lucky.”

  Keffer had already compromised on Tanza’s payment. If she pushed him any further, she would lose her chance to go to Alogath. “Fine,” she said, storming out of the office. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  “Have a nice trip,” Keffer called after her just before she slammed the door.

  Chapter 5

  TWO DAYS LATER, TANZA sat on the blue and orange elastifoam floor-covering of her house’s gathering room, shoving supplies into two giant backpacks. Auren emerged from one of the bedrooms wearing boxy gray clothes that made him look like any modern laborer. Though Prince Auren had owned palaces larger than her entire neighborhood, he had adapted to Tanza’s cramped home surprisingly well. He hadn’t even cringed at the eye-searing flooring or the feathered window coverings that Tanza’s human landlord insisted upon. Perhaps the house wasn’t worth comment in a world full of much stranger changes.

  Tanza added a fishing set into one pack, forced the zipper shut, then turned to the other pack.

  Auren hefted the first pack and groaned. “Are we going to Alogath or crossing the Nightmare Wastes?”

  “I like to be well prepared,” Tanza said, her voice tight. She had long ago learned that it was better to be over prepared than stranded without supplies, and she had no patience for teasing while she tried to make ready for such a long journey.

  The pack was half Auren’s height, and he bowed beneath the weight. “Will it fit in the car?”

  Tanza shoved a small radiant heater into her pack, next to a bundle of clothing. “Why don’t you find out?” she snapped.

  Auren swiped a hand across his forehead, but since Tanza had cut his hair almost to the scalp, he found nothing to brush aside. He turned it into a royal salute and staggered out the front door with his burden.

  As the front door sealed shut, the back door opened and Keffer strode into the house. “Good, you’re still here!” he boomed. “I’ve got a package for you.”

  Tanza sprang to her feet and whisked Keffer into a back bedroom. “Not so loud,” she hissed as she shut the door. The room was in disarray due to Tanza’s packing efforts, and she hated that Keffer had entered her house the one time it looked as disorganized as his own office.

  Keffer smiled, and Tanza couldn’t tell whether he was amused by the mess or by her demeanor. “Oh, that’s right. You’re ashamed to show me to your high-and-mighty friend.”

  Tanza sighed. “I don’t want to announce my crimes to the virtue prince. What do you want? I already have your package.”

  He whipped a small green paper box from behind his back. “Got another one. This package goes to Alogath.”

  “You said one package!”

  “It’s worth ten times the other one. A simple dropbox. I sent you the address. Just set the box inside, the sensors will chart it, and we’ll get filthy wads of cash. Two minutes of your time.”

  “Give me the hovercar,” Tanza said.

  He eased the box back. “I can always find someone less demanding and keep you here in Lorantz.”

  Tanza snatched the package. “Fine.”

  He smiled. “Oh, and change of plans on the Verith box.”

  “Again?” Tanza moaned. The client had already changed the delivery site three times.

  “He wants it delivered straight to his house,” Keffer said. “I sent the address to your datapad. He wants you to come alone, and he wants it in two days.”

  “Two days?” Tanza screeched. “I’m driving a ground car that was built before the revolution! Tell him I’ll get there when I get there.”

  Keffer crossed his arms. “One doesn’t say no to Denfor Berimac.”

  Tanza almost dropped the box. “He’s still alive? And willing to deal with a human?”

  Denfor Berimac was the last living heir of the family that had manufactured the lumiscopes and security nets for most of Arateph, including the tombs that Tanza robbed. When Arateph joined the Interplanetary Coalition, Berimac had holed up in one of his many houses and rarely emerged since. He viewed humans as a security breach on a planetary scale.

  “He doesn’t know I’m human,” Keffer said, “and he’s desperate for what I’m selling.”

  “I won’t even ask.”

  “Good girl.” He pointed to the package in her hands. “Alogath.” He pointed to the main room, where the original package waited in her luggage. “Verith, two days. Remember that.”

  Tanza rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

  The front door slammed, and Auren called from the main room. “Tanza? Where are you? We do not need anything more. I’ve sent off platoons with fewer provisions.”

  Keffer smirked at Tanza. “No, you’re not, but you’re traveling with one.”

  Tanza stuck a finger between his eyes. “Do not let him see you,” she growled, and slipped into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

  “Coming,” she called. She bustled into the main room, forced the green box into the pack, and threw the pack over her shoulder before Auren could ask any questions. “Let’s go,” she said, and led Auren out the front door.

  Tanza’s pack still held the power cell from Auren’s healing bed. If she sold it, she could buy her own hovercar, but Keffer would suspect something if she made such a huge purchase after giving him nothing from a tomb job. Thus Tanza was forced to drive an ancient ground vehicle. It was a classic High-Runner, with large, narrow wheels, high, rounded fenders, raised headlamps, and no roof—a car for rich people driving on sunny days through flat country, not for cross-continent trips. The car was prone to breakdowns, and replacement parts hadn’t been manufactured in a century; but with careful driving and constant maintenance, Tanza might be able to make it to Verith in two days.

  She threw the pack into the front storage compartment, checked the engine in the rear, then climbed into the driver’s seat while Auren settled into the passenger’s place. “Ready to go?” she asked.

  The front door to Tanza’s house burst open. Keffer raced outside and skidded to a stop in front of the car, nearly tumbling over the windshield.

  Tanza’s glare could have melted aurolith, but it didn’t make a dent in Keffer’s smile. He presented Tanza with a brown wallet. “You forgot something.”

  Tanza glanced at the wallet and her insides blazed. She needed this, but she wouldn’t have forgotten it if she hadn’t been so concerned about hiding Keffer from the prince.

  She handed the wallet to Auren, not trusting herself to look at Keffer without exploding. “This is yours,” she said. “It’s that ID
we talked about. Just in case.”

  Auren looked inside the wallet and his face twisted. “Arthur Lateph,” he said, choking on the sounds of his new name. Tanza had given him a human alias, since a tephan of his apparent age would have been born in the height of the human-naming craze. He’d yet to forgive her for it.

  Keffer quickly surveyed Auren’s features. “You look like an Arthur,” he said.

  Auren glared. “It’s the name of a beast,” he said in a voice that could have killed plants. “How savage is Earth, that you name your children after beasts?”

  “What is he talking about?”

  Tanza rolled her eyes. “He insisted on looking up the meaning. The name Arthur means ‘bear.’”

  “A brushbeast with legs!” Auren moaned, as if this proved his entire point.

  Keffer gave him an amused, condescending, and slightly offended look. “People naming their kids ‘Arthur’ aren’t thinking about a bear. More likely thinking about a king.”

  Auren relaxed, though only slightly. “Is that so?”

  “Honest,” Keffer said, putting up a hand the way humans did when taking oaths. “King Arthur. Legendary king of England. Code of honor and all that stuff.”

  Tanza fought her history-loving urge to investigate this claim. “Well, isn’t that a nice, civilized namesake?” she said, waving Keffer back while starting the car. “Thanks for the history lesson.”

  The car roared forward, leaving Keffer standing alone in the street.

  Auren’s face, bright with relief over his assumed name, became darker as they drove through the city. So far, Auren’s every impression of this modern, space-faring Arateph had included disappointment. He found the architecture dull and utilitarian (modern society loved its clean, practical lines), found the clothing drab and shapeless (modern fashion considered the clothing of Auren’s time unspeakably gaudy), and was dismayed to find tephan traditions obscured by human customs and technologies. The city’s spaceport, with its vast landing strips, forests of control towers, and several hundred varieties of spaceships, left him nearly ill from the effort to comprehend it.

  Eventually they left the city for the countryside. Farms were larger now and tended by giant automated machines, but a century hadn’t changed the crisp snap of a fall morning, the rush of the wind, or the rustle of seedpods ready for harvest—or so Tanza guessed as she watched the strain melt from Auren’s face.

  Auren savored a lungful of fresh air and smiled. “Now this is worth waking up for,” he said. “There’s nothing like a drive through the country in a High-Runner.” He ran a hand along the curve of the door. “This is the first thing that seems familiar since the tomb. If there were a couple of guards in the backseat, I could almost pretend . . .”

  He stroked the dashboard instruments, and his hand paused near the center of the car. His smile disappeared. “Did this car come from a House Eckler tomb?”

  Tanza’s throat went tight. “What makes you think that?”

  He pointed at one of the power gauges. “It’s stuck on zero,” he said, “and the glass is cracked. I did that to the elder Lord Eckler’s High-Runner when I was eight years old.”

  Tanza tried to brush aside the implications. “Those instrument panels are so easy to break.”

  Auren traced his finger along the web of cracks. “No, it’s exactly the same shatter pattern. I remember—I thought Lord Eckler would kill me for scarring his beloved High-Runner. Instead, he had it buried it with him a few years later. He didn’t even replace the original glass—he was a purist.”

  Tanza sighed. “It did come from a tomb.” She made her next words sharp to mask her embarrassment. “I don’t think he’d mind. I needed a car. I never thought you’d recognize it.”

  Auren’s lips made a thin, tight line. “I knew you were a thief. I just didn’t know it so . . . clearly before.” He watched the fields fade in favor of forests. “Have you robbed many tombs?”

  “Enough to get good at my job.”

  “Your job.” His smile was halfway between humor and horror. “That’s all it is to you. You’re happy to make your living off the bodies of the dead.”

  “I don’t steal bodies,” Tanza snapped. “Just the stuff they’re greedy enough to hoard after death.”

  “And that you’re greedy enough to take.”

  Tanza slammed the brakes. Auren’s head nearly hit the windshield.

  She set the handbrake and leaned close to Auren, venom on her breath. “Listen, Lirishan.” She pronounced the term of royal respect without its naming tongue undertones, turning it into an insult. “Your fourteen virtue names don’t give you the right to lecture me. I wasn’t born in a palace. I didn’t get buried in a tomb more expensive than most houses. I do what I need to do to survive. You know what sort of work I do, and if it bothers you so much, you can get to Alogath without my help.”

  Tanza rejoiced when she saw the terror in his eyes. “Are you throwing me out?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

  Her smile was hard. “I am very close.” She let him wait through two frantic breaths before adding, “You can stay if you don’t mind the taint of the criminal classes.”

  Auren nodded. “Understood.”

  Tanza stomped her foot on the accelerator, but instead of roaring ahead, the car spluttered, rumbled, and fell silent. Tanza swallowed a mountain of curses, slammed her hands against the steering column, and then climbed out and stormed to the back of the car. She looked over the engine, fetched the tool kit, and fiddled with the engine’s usual trouble spots, but the car stayed silent each time she tried the remote start.

  “Have you tried the overload inhibitor?” Auren asked.

  Tanza snapped, “There’s no such part.”

  Auren sprang from his seat and came to her side. “Yes, there is.” He pointed to a loose square metal piece buried behind a fluid pump.

  Tanza tapped the piece into position and clicked the remote start. Nothing. She smiled. As if a prince knew anything about engines. “Didn’t work,” she said.

  “Of course not,” Auren said. “You need to reset all the energy points.”`

  The words held no malice, but all Tanza heard was a proud royal condescending to the hired help. This day had been stressful enough, and she didn’t need Prince Auren standing over her shoulder being helpful.

  She slapped a wrench against his chest. “If you’re such a genius, you fix it.”

  She stormed off before she did any more damage. The virtue prince might not have a throne, but killing him would probably still count as assassination.

  Twenty paces from the road she disappeared into a clump of trees, dropped on a pile of leaves at the base of a whisper tree, and buried her scream in the foliage. Why had she agreed to this? Keffer was right: She should have left him to shift for himself in Lorantz. Prince Auren was much more impressive in chronovids or lumiscopic dramas. In real life he was nothing but a spoiled, self-righteous scion of a royal house that had rested upon virtue names while sneering at starving widows.

  Who cared where the car came from? It wasn’t as if she’d stolen it from a family of fifteen with infants to feed! She’d taken it from a man decades dead, rich enough to bury whole cars with him. She noticed that Prince Auren, who’d been so ready to condemn the vehicle’s acquisition, was more than willing to help repair it when he had somewhere to go.

  She fumed in this way until she heard the High-Runner’s engine roar. She wouldn’t have cared if Auren drove away without her except that the packs were in the car and it would be a long walk back to Lorantz. She shifted her tingling limbs and rose from the leaf pile.

  And heard a scream above her head.

  A red-furred quadruped hung from a tree branch, the poisonous spikes of its tail a hand-span from Tanza’s nose. The deathtail was not happy to wake up and find an intruder in its territory.

  Tanza inched away from the long, thin whip of a tail, but the rattle of the leaf litter pushed the deathtail into a crazed frenz
y. It plummeted to the ground and charged, tail flying.

  Tanza took off running and plunged through the trees with the deathtail on her heels. She emerged into the clearing at the edge of the road just as Auren closed the car’s engine cover and lifted his head.

  Tanza had no breath for a warning, but an angry deathtail wasn’t easy to overlook. Auren raced to the front of the vehicle, where the raised cover to the storage area still blocked the windshield.

  Five strides from safety, Tanza slipped on a patch of wet leaves and fell. Almost instantly the deathtail’s claws tore into her right ankle.

  She swallowed a scream. The claws hurt, but only the tail was poisonous.

  The tail swung back, gathering momentum for a strike.

  Tanza would die in convulsions.

  At least Auren would be safe. He knew how to drive and he had the supplies. He could survive without her, but he’d never survive a deathtail.

  The tail arced, a fiery red streak. Tanza turned her head, unwilling to watch her own death.

  A shadow loomed over her, and she heard an awful crunch. When she dared to look, she saw Auren several paces away, standing over the motionless deathtail with a tire-lift in his hand.

  “I don’t think it’s dead,” Auren said. “We’d better get out of here.”

  He lifted her into the backseat then sprang into the driver’s seat and drove away. When the deathtail was out of sight, Auren stopped the car and turned to Tanza. “What just happened?”

  Tanza said, “A deathtail and I wanted the same tree.”

  He glanced at the rivulets of blood flowing from her ankle onto the beige upholstery. “You should have let him have it.”

  She laughed wearily. “I tried.”

  Auren jumped out of the car and retrieved the medical kit from the storage area. Then he helped Tanza hobble from the car to a grassy patch at the side of the road, well away from any trees. He propped her foot on a thick fallen branch and peeled back the shredded, blood-soaked bottom of her pant leg, sending a flash of hot, stinging pain through Tanza’s wounds. Three cuts spanned the outer half of her right ankle, barely visible through the pooling blood.