“It’s only been three days. Four, at most.”
“So? Traumatic experiences hasten the formation of deep interpersonal bonds.” The pedagogical tone of her voice dredged up distant memories of a schoolhouse in a place he could no longer name. She indicated another post, and he turned slightly in the direction it was pointing.
“Was that traumatic for you?”
The girl shifted position. “Listen, buddy. I had to pee in a bottle, alright?”
“Point taken.”
A sharp breeze kicked up, causing her to nestle her head down into the hollow of his shoulder. “Why is it so damn cold here?” she complained, to no one in particular. Then she said, “Sorry I’m whining. Nothing about this trip went as planned.” Her voice softened a little. “But I’m glad I found you.”
“Because otherwise, you’d be struggling through the snowbanks with two hundred extra pounds of gold.” A dry smile had found its way onto Rai’s lips. He had always been possessed of a quick, caustic wit, and he appreciated the chances she gave him to exercise it.
She made a fist and pounded his deltoid lightly. “I did not know a hermit like you would know so much about cracking wise. I’m trying to say something nice about you, idiot.”
“Go ahead,” he said, still smiling. “I’m sorry.”
Iris ejected a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “I’m glad I found you because I like you and you probably saved my life. There. That’s all I wanted to say.”
Rai didn’t answer, but she felt him squeeze the back of her leg, where his hand was flush against her boot.
Chapter 6
At the behest of Serberos, royal notices were put into production in every kingdom with which Volikar shared a border. Steward Tarnslen oversaw the process, making absolutely certain that every inhabited inch of the area would be covered. If the necromancer somehow managed to slip through their fingers at this late stage, chances were that they would never find him.
Tarnslen was afraid the king might not survive news as bad as that.
The notices were being printed in the afternoon of the third day since the break-in. By the morning of the fourth, distribution would begin. He had elected to utilize several squadrons of low-flying aircraft which would literally drop packets of the flyers over predetermined routes. It was, he thought, the fastest, most all-encompassing method. Within hours, the streets of Volikar would be coated with the information. And then, all they had to do was wait.
There was no photographic evidence of the necromancer’s companion; this was their only setback. Though he had questioned everyone in the castle extensively, as ordered by Serberos himself, he had received no new intelligence. He hadn’t been expecting any. The climate on the night of the theft was abhorrent, which, he admitted, added to the daringness of the feat. No one could possibly have seen her, even if they were mad enough to be standing outside.
Ever diligent, Tarnslen compensated for this deficiency by ensuring that a large portrait of the necromancer was displayed across the top half of the page. The boy was effectively ageless, a fact that currently worked enormously in their favor. He would not die of exposure, nor would he ever tire in his flight, but Tarnslen knew for certain that he was clad in little more than rags. Unless he and the woman made it out of the vicinity fairly quickly, he would not be in disguise. In fact, the tall, steely-eyed sorcerer would stand out like a sore thumb.
Tarnslen was pleased by the thought of recovering Serberos’ necromancer soon. Since the day he had discovered his prized treasure lost, the king’s health had seemed to be in a steady decline. The old man spent more and more time alone in his room. He didn’t eat. When he did rarely emerge, his face looked spent with age. Shadows lurked under and behind his eyes. Nothing touched him any longer. Among the soldiers, the bets—of which Steward Tarnslen strongly disapproved—were raging. But he, too, had to concede that the outlook on Serberos’ already waning life looked grim. The only thing to bolster him was the reinstitution of his precious sorcerer. This, Steward Tarnslen was determined to do.
The telephone beside him gave a tinny ring. He picked it up, cradling it between chin and shoulder. “Yes.”
On the other end, an indistinguishable voice issued words that seemed to satisfy the steward, whose stern face eased into something resembling a smile.
“Excellent. Move out. We’ll have these fugitives found by sundown.” He hung up the phone, straightened his tie, and went to inform his master.
---
From a distance, Volikar’s most major thoroughfare looked like little more than a sled run. Great tracks were carved into the dirty snow, punctuated by a mess of hoofprints. “Isn’t it glamorous?” Iris asked, her voice a caricature of dreaminess. “Isn’t it everything you imagined?”
“I’m putting you down,” said Rai. He noticed that her hands lingered on him for a second after her feet were safely on the ground. She came to stand at his side.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s hitch a ride.”
Volikar’s reputation, or the reputation of its king, preceded it, and so it wasn’t exactly a popular destination for tourists. If people had to pass through the snow-ridden nation for any reason, it was usually qualified with a statement such as, “Oh, we’re not staying there.” Nonetheless, the fruits of King Serberos’ early conquests were many, and the resulting empire was sprawling enough that it was extremely difficult to avoid in any direction, which gave the roads a false veneer of business at any given time. Iris knew these things. Her whole plan was dependent on them.
Judging by the sun, it was around midmorning when they arrived at the side of the road. Despite the questionable street conditions, the girl knew that eventually, passersby would happen along. Not even a global catastrophe would be enough to keep anyone in Volikar for one minute longer than necessary. She smiled. If it weren’t for the king’s widespread infamy, they might be stuck indefinitely. And if it weren’t for Rai, no one would care about King Serberos. There was a kind of poetic justice in the way things had worked out.
In the way they’re working out, she reminded herself. We’re not home safe yet. “Remember,” she said to Rai. “As soon as you see someone, don’t talk.” He nodded.
Traffic picked up as the sun climbed higher, but few of the carriages seemed to notice them. Briefly, Iris wondered if Rai was recognizable, if pictures of him had ever been seen by the public. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. That’s ridiculous. Who advertises a necromancer? She’d just have to hope the ones who passed were full, or busy, or simply didn’t care. Still, to be safe, she told Rai to “look less threatening.” He pursed his lips, and then he sat down in the snow by her feet. “That’s better,” she said, patting his head. The look he gave her would have dried out a cactus.
Finally, Iris’ persistence won the day. The vehicle that stopped was a large, chunky affair, like a horse driver towing a fancy box. The sides were unpainted, but the wood was polished to an almost incredible gleam. As it drew slowly up alongside them, Iris hauled Rai to his feet and approached the opening passenger door.
“Oh, I’m so glad you stopped!” she said breathlessly, putting on an air of dainty helplessness. “We’ve been trying to get out of here all morning, but no one will take us.” She could see the carriage held two elderly, upper-class occupants, clearly a couple. The wife’s face was generously made up, and the smell of gardenias wafted from her person. A heavy string of pearls rested on her bosom, which completely overshadowed the wraithlike form of her husband. He appeared to shrink when Iris glanced at him. Maternally, the woman clucked her tongue.
“You poor dear. How did a nice girl like you get all the way out here?” She gestured dismissively with her hands, which were gloved in a material that looked like mink. Privately, Iris was overjoyed. She’d had a lot of experience with the snobby rich.
“Well, Daddy sent me to check his traps in the forest on the other side of the road, and I guess I lost my way. Thank Gods my manservant came with me, or else I’d probably have
frozen to death.” The woman’s periwinkle eyes shifted to Rai for the first time. To Iris’ relief, she was more perplexed than suspicious.
“Goodness, look at his clothes!” How long have you been out?”
“Since last night. He doesn’t feel the cold. It was an accident, you know. When he was younger.” She tapped the side of her head, indicating a brain injury. “His sense of touch is gone and he can’t talk. But he carried me here on his back.” The lady beheld Rai with a fresh expression of respect.
“It’s so hard to find good help these days, isn’t it?” Iris nodded solemnly, somehow managing to keep both her laughter and her disgust contained. Next to her own wealthy family, this woman seemed like a parody. Next to Rai, she was an abomination. But she was also their ticket out. “Come inside, darling,” she said. “There’s plenty of room.” Glancing over her shoulder, Iris motioned to Rai, and he ducked carefully in behind her.
“Sit there,” she told him, giving his hair an affectionate caress. Once again, he sat by her feet. Iris turned to the woman and her husband and smiled. “I can’t thank you enough. I was beginning to worry. Sometimes people find him so intimidating that they just won’t get anywhere near him.”
“Well, you know how judgmental the public can be. He looks perfectly harmless. It’s always the tall, silent ones who have it the worst, isn’t it?” The woman gave Rai a simpering beam.
Oh my God, thought Iris. Is she flirting with him? She glanced at Rai, rubbing his back comfortingly. I hope he knows how sorry I am. In an effort to change the subject, she turned her attention to the husband, whose heavy salt and pepper mustache concealed a mouth that looked to be thin with displeasure. He hadn’t said anything and didn’t even appear to know they were there. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” she prompted.
“Oh, this is just my husband.” The woman said it in the same manner one would use to discuss a piece of furniture. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s not a good traveler.” She paused. “Where exactly are you headed, dear? I do hope your father will be there to receive you.”
“You can drop us off at the city station,” said Iris. “That’s generally where he picks me up.”
“I see. Is he in the fur business?” A keen light in her hostess’ eye suggested that that was her industry as well. Iris did not take the bait.
“No, no, he’s just a sport hunter. He likes challenging terrain, as he calls it. I really don’t know what he does with the pelts.” The trick was to appear as airheaded and ignorant as possible so that this woman would think she was just a silly girl and wouldn’t ask her too many probing questions. She was satisfied when the beatific smile returned to the woman’s face. It was working like a charm.
Rai was not listening to the idle conversation; he was concerned that if he paid too much attention, he would undermine Iris’ story. It was a stretch to say he appreciated the role he had to play, but in her defense, she hadn’t had much leeway. How else was she to explain the presence of a haggard, dirty man? So he stayed quiet, mirroring the blank expression of the husband. Iris’ hand kneaded soft furrows in his shoulder as the carriage bumped along over the frozen path. If he turned his head, he could kiss her fingers. He wanted to, but he didn’t.
For the first time, he was actually thinking that he might get out.
When the carriage halted at the entrance to the transit station at Olyn, the largest city in Volikar, Iris disembarked quickly, leading Rai by the arm. After the discussion of her father’s business, the last leg of the ride had been in near-total silence, and she was worried that the woman who’d stopped for them was beginning to grow leery of her new passengers. But the lady waved, a delicate flourish of her furred fingers. “Good luck to you!” she said.
“Thank you very, very much!” Then, without further ado, Iris and Rai hurried into the building.
The first thing he said to her was, “Manservant?” She stifled a giggle.
“Hush. It did the job. Now come this way. We’re going to dress you before we go any further.”
---
The skies above Olyn buzzed with small, fly-like aircraft sent on order of the king. Each carried a slew of parcels in a hatch on its belly which was controlled by a switch inside the cockpit. The instructions were simple: Release the notices over the city, making sure to cover as much ground as possible. Finding the royal necromancer was to be considered a public service.
Cruising low above the squat, bare buildings, the pilot of Unit 11 flipped his switch. He banked at the last minute, just as the signs were beginning to fall, so that they would be spread over a wider distance by the draft from his plane. Flanking him, the other members of his squadron did the same, drawing designs in the air as if the papers were smoke. A few turns later, they closed their hatches and zoomed off to seed another sector of the metropolis. On the maze of streets below, a single carriage trundled over the pavement.
Mariela Detroia hummed softly to herself, watching the bleak scenery of Olyn roll by. She was thinking about the two young people who had departed their car at the station. There was something strange about the man, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way he didn’t seem attached to the world around him. Maybe it was the listless expression in his cold blue eyes. The girl had obviously been of a higher breeding, and she had called him her manservant, but Mariela thought perhaps the reality was something different.
“I bet they were eloping,” she said to her husband. “Don’t you think they made a handsome couple?”
He grunted. His attention was focused on something outside the cabin, barely visible through the tiny, artful windows. “Stop,” he said suddenly. He leaned forward and rapped once on the divider between their compartment and the coach driver. “Pull over.”
“What’s the matter?” His wife was worried that he was going to be sick. Her Henrei was, as she had told that charming girl, not a good traveler. More than once, he had had to stop to empty his stomach on the shoulder. The coachman was new; she had hoped rather much to avoid a scene. But, she thought, if it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped.
The carriage stopped, and Mr. Detroia unfolded himself out the door, skipping the steps entirely. His foot landed with a crinkle atop one of the leaflets he had spotted fluttering down out of the sky. He grumbled. “Look at this government paraphernalia. I didn’t know it was still legal to trash public property.”
Waiting in the car, Mariela rolled her eyes. Henrei was always railing against the monarchies, even when they weren’t passing through one. “Is that all you wanted to see? Come back to the car, dear. It’s cold outside.” Henrei stamped around for a few moments, gathering up a sheaf of the papers, and then he slipped back into his seat, still grousing. As he unfolded one of the sheets, Mariela patted his arm consolingly. Her eyes flicked over the notice in his hands.
She froze.
There, spread across half the dampened page, was the sallow, inscrutable face of the manservant. Deprived of their striking color, his eyes looked lifeless, empty. A handful of words marked the lower half of the poster, printed in bold, commanding type.
DANGEROUS
ESCAPED NECROMANCER WANDERING VICINITY
REPORT SIGHTINGS TO ROYAL GUARD IMMEDIATELY
Along the bottom margin, a line of smaller type was accented by an asterisk: MAY BE ACCOMPANIED BY A FEMALE OF UNKNOWN DESCRIPTION. The blood in Madam Detroia’s veins ran frigid. “Mother of the Gods,” she whispered.
Henrei looked at her. “You still think they’re eloping?”
“She seemed so…nice,” said Mariela, her voice small and shell-shocked. “And so refined.” What could she possibly have been doing with a necromancer? “You don’t think he kidnapped her, do you?”
Her husband scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was sitting at her feet like a damned marionette. If anything, she kidnapped him.” Although it pained her to admit, Mrs. Detroia knew he was right. It had been obvious the young man wasn’t the one in control.
&
nbsp; “I don’t feel right about reporting her,” she said. “She had so much potential.”
“You’d give every spoiled rich person a pardon if you could” Henrei settled back against the leather upholstery. He slid open a small door in the carriage divider. “Take us to the post office,” he told the driver. “We’re going to report a crime, and then we’re going to get the hell out of this godforsaken place. Preferably forever.” As the vehicle made a cumbersome U-turn, Mariela Detroia felt sick in the heart. Such beautiful people…such terrible choices. Sighing, she stroked the gloves in her lap for comfort. Perhaps her husband was right. The things that went on in vulgar countries were none of their concern.
---
The Olyn Transit Center sat beneath a two part shopping mall, its entrance gaping from the floor like a mouth. Iris led the long way around to the west end, where she knew there was a door. Rai followed, feeling as though he had just stepped into a different world. The sight of the storefronts and the smooth tile floors brought back yet more memories of a childhood spent in places similar to this, wandering the corridors hand in hand with…someone. He couldn’t conjure the face, and he supposed it didn’t matter. Walking past others, brushing shoulders with strangers, felt so incredibly ordinary that he thought he must seem conspicuous. Couldn’t they tell how out of touch he was, how much he didn’t know?
Iris’ hand caught him in the stomach. “Stop staring,” she said softly. “You look like you’re casing the joint. If security sees you, they’re gonna have questions.”
“Sorry,” he murmured. She slipped her fingers down his arm, wrapping them loosely around his.
“Just act normal. Once we get you some regular clothes, we’ll be fine.” She gestured to the line of shops they were passing. “These are all the little boutiques where people go when they have too much money.”
The Man In The Wind Page 6
