“My staff, mine. Going to make me a wizard. Going to teach me how to talk to the birds.
“I think youre halfway there, old man, Wren said, relieved that he was nattering about something other than her goal. And if the staff that he was talking about actually was an Artifactan item used like a battery to store currentthe Silence would just have to hire her to come back and get it. Sergeis cat would have better luck working a manual can opener than the man in front of her actually accessing current.
“Whats that? You, stop there. Who are you? How did you get in here? The hand not holding the flashlight came up, the dark shape unmistakable even to someone as gun-shy as Wren. A sawed-off shotgun.
Think quick, Valere!
“Im a djinn, come to gift you with a treasure, she said, punting madly. Maybe, in her dark clothing, the shimmer of current still wrapped around her, visible or no, shed be able to pull this off. “A painting, through which magic you might transport yourself instantly.
A combination of Bugs Bunny cartoons and Star Trek reruns, but he leaned closer, the gun not focused quite so threateningly as a minute ago.
Moving carefully, she withdrew the tube from her knapsack, having to tug it free when it snagged on the dresss folds.
“All shall be yours... for one simple gift in return.
The old man checked himself, glaring at her suspiciously. The shotgun began to rise towards her face. “Whats that?
“A trifle, a trinket. One of no use to mortals but great significance to djinn. She was dancing as fast as she could, the sweat crawling under her scalp and running down the side of her face and back of her neck. “A bell, a silver bell with a golden clapper, a bell that does not ring. You have such a thing, I am told. Give it to me, and the magic painting shall be yours.
-
“You traded one job for the other. Sergei was trying, really trying, to be his usual hard-assed self.
Wren reached across the diner table and snagged the pseudocream in its little tin pitcher; poured it into her coffee until it went from mud to diluted mud. “Hey, no problem. Ill just go steal it back.
She drank her coffee, pretending not to hear the muffled, pained noises coming from her partner.
-
“Oh... hell. Disgust dripped from every word as she stared down at the body of the pawnshop owner. Someone had staved in the back of his head with his own staff. There was a moral in there somewhere, but the smell of stale blood and feces was rising off the body, and she didnt want to waste time thinking when she could be working. Wren wrinkled her nose, wiping her palms on her jeans as though there was something sticking to them. “If Id wanted to see dead bodies, Id have gone to work for the morgue, dammit.
Ten minutes since shed walked in the door. Daylight retrievals usually werent her thing, but it wasnt as though the guy was in any shape to report her.
She risked another look down. Even less shape, now.
Normally working current just required an internal adjustment and some finely focused concentration. But there were times that shortcuts were useful, and words were the surest way to focus current fast, if a little dirty.
“Picture gone missing hands not meant, not deserving
Retriever reclaims.
It wasnt great verse, but it didnt have to be. It just had to be meaningful, in form and function. Her mother loved haiku, and so using that form made her think of her mother, which made the form meaningful. And she needed to get that picture back. Which made the content meaningful. And... there it was. Her hands itched as the current she had generated reached like a magnet to lodestone, forcing her forward, stepping over the old mans body, to where the painting was tacked up with thumb pins Sergeis going to shit on the wall behind the counter.
“Looks like the old boy was trying to make a getaway ... pity he didnt make it. She took the painting down, the tingling fading once she made contact with the spelled item. She looked around for the tube, but didnt see it. Refusing to muck around any longer, she pulled the scrunchie out from her hair, letting the ponytail fall loose, and wrapped it around the rerolled painting. She was ready to get the hell out of there, but something made her look back over her shoulder to the body lying on the floor.
“Ah... hell. She sighed, tucking the roll under one arm and retracing her steps. Stooping low, she put her hand out, palm down and flat. A hesitation, a centering, and then she touched the corpse. Spirits fled in the moment of death, unless there was a damn good reasonor a very strong spellholding them in place. But while the animus might be gone, the body still had current caught in the biofield every living being generated, the natural electricity that made Kirlian photography possible.
“ What? No! No, mine, mine, mustnt take, mustnt... a fast-moving figure in front of him, angry, full of rage. “Where is it? She didnt have it on her when she left, which means you have it, now where? Where. Is. It?
Whimpering, then another heavy blow. The old man spins under the force, falls to the ground. “Useless old fool...
The sound of something whistling down a shock of red-flaring pain, and...
Nothing
-
Wren came out of the connection like a dog shaking off water, breathing heavy. “Damn damn damn damn! Hed been killed for the painting. Killed... and she might have been... No time to think about it, shed already stayed too long. Not that she was worried about cops showing up to investigate: Poor bastard had been dead a day at least.
Her eyes narrowed at the thought. “Ah... hell. Nobody deserved to rot like that. Slipping out the front door, she wiped the handle clean, then uncoiled a narrow rope of current from her inner pool and reached out with it, brushing the surface of the burglar alarm.
The loud wail of the alarm covered the sound of her bootheels on pavement, moving in the general direction of away.
-
The painting remained untouched on the coffee table where Wren had tossed it when she came in the door to Sergeis apartment. Wren was curled up on the sofa, while Sergei paced back and forth in front of her.
“Who the hell are we working for, Sergei? Because I get the feeling theres something they didnt tell us. Something that almost got me killed. And did get that poor bastard
“Bob Goveiss.
“Bob, killed. So give.
“Yes. Thats what doesnt make sense.
“What?
“The violence. He shook his head. “Those paintings were on loan from the French government. The same government thats about to splinter apart from the inside, which could have awkward repercussions on the current political scene.
“So sayeth CNN, amen, Wren said, but she was listening. “And... ?
“And, the organization that hired us was planning on holding that painting hostage, to force the various factions to come back to the table.
Wren stared at her partner. “Okay, huh?
He paced back and forth, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Its rare, but there have been a number of cases where an item is taken to force two sides to cooperate or risk being shown in public as the destroyer of a priceless work of art. Most recently in the theft of a Chagall painting: A ransom note was sent demanding peace in the Middle East before the painting would be returned. A useless demand, really, but it made a splash in the news.
Wren considered that, a small smile appearing on her face. “I like that, she said finally.
“Yeah. It does have appeal. But it doesnt always work. Anyway, it still doesnt make sense. Why would anyone who knew about the heist want to
“Play a round of Kill the Retriever?
“Yes.
“Dunno. Thats your job to find out. Im going home before I forget what it looks like, catch some sleep before my next turn playing peacemaker. Call me when you find out anything. She got up, stretched, looked at her partner. “But do me a favor? Lock the doors when I leave. And dont be careless.
Sergei shook his head, his squared-off face softening as he smiled. “Im always careful, Zhenechka.
W
ren thought briefly of the nasty little gun he carried on some jobs, and shuddered. “Right. Better them than us and all that jazz. She kissed him good bye, rubbing her cheek against his five oclock stubble, and let herself out.
-
The next evening he caught up with her on Park duty. A piskie had decided to pick on her, spluttering insults on her paternity, her maternity, and the general state of her underwear. Since piskies were, on average, twenty inches high and five pounds soaking wet, Wrens reaction was closer to embarrassed annoyance than anything else. She kept trying to kick it, but it would dance out of the way and come back a few moments later, still talking.
“Goid, youre annoying, she said to it.
“And you could use a drag into the lake. Wanna try?
“Remember what happened last time you tried dunking a lone-jack?
Clearly it did, dancing back again until it was just out of reach. “Annoying human. Spoil all our fun.
“Be glad thats all Im spoiling, you bothersome little wart.
“Want me to shoot him? Sergei asked, falling into step beside her.
“You got a bullet small enough?
“I hear tell thats all hes got, Goid crowed, then bit its tongue with an audible yelp when Sergei turned to glare at it. It was no secret in the Cosa that the Wrens partner had little love for the fatae, the purely supernatural creatures of the Cosa Nostradamus.
“Scoot, he said to it. Goid scooted.
“Damn. Next time the Cosa calls, you can answer, okay? Whats up?
“Nothing. His voice was sharp, and she could practically feel the irritation rising off him, now that the distraction of the fatae was gone. “As in, not a god-damned thing. As in, my contact seems to have disappeared.
“The rest of the payment got deposited?
One or two of the lines in Sergeis forehead eased out. “The rest was deposited this afternoon, soon as they got their hands on the painting.
“Well then. Wren let out a little sigh. “Whats a possible attempt on my life, so long as were paid.
He cast a sideways look at her. “You mean that?
They walked a few more paces along a tree-shrouded path, ignoring the faint giggles and rustling branches following them. “No, she said finally, on a sigh. “No, I dont. Not after... I felt him. And I felt him die. I cant walk away from that.
“Right. Lowell did a rundown on this organization for me. They check out clean, he saysbut he was very surprised that they had the money to pay us. Not a dime in their collective kitty, and no fund-raisers going on in their name.
“Breaks my heart, it does. She didnt like Sergeis assistant, but the twit did know how to do his research. “So they hocked the furniture to pay us? The giggles got louder as they reached a particularly large tree, and Wren put a hand on Sergeis arm to stop him. “Hang on.
She slipped out of her sneakers and planted her bare feet in the grass by the side of the road. Safely grounded, she opened herself to the current of the world around her. Colors swirled, electrons danced, and she sorted through the information tugging at her senses until she was able to discern the slightly off pattern twined around the tree. A tendril snaked out, stroking the ends of the pattern, then retracting in a flash as the pattern snapped out, attempting to snare her within its own tendrils.
She came back to herself with a blink, after confirming that the trap had been sprung. A chorus of disappointed “awwwws... trailed after them as she slipped her shoes back on, and they walked on.
“Okay. So: no money. And yet they manage to scrape together seventeen thou to pay us. So whats the deal? They borrow the money from someone to pay for the retrieval, then that someone decides theyd rather have the painting than the promise of money?
He shot her a sideways glance. “Maybe. Or it was never actually the organization who wanted it, at all. We might have been set up.
“But then why make the final payment? I mean, were tough, but were not that tough. Are we?
“More to the point, do they think we are? If so, not a bad thing.
“Also besides the point, your ego aside. And she squeezed his hand to soften the words. “Ignore who hired us for a minute. Who went after me? Did that same person kill poor old Bob? What do we have? An organization, poor as proverbial church mice, that still manages to retain us to retrieve an object that they claim theyre going to use to force political unity.
“Okay, heres a question for you.
Sergei nodded, indicating he was listening.
“Why did they bother to tell you what theyd be using it for?
He let out a huff of breath. They walked in silence through the park, past human joggers running in pairs, and the occasional biker in bright spandex zipping through at high speeds. If any of the fatae were still watching them, they were being quieter about it.
“Ive been wondering about that too. At first I thought the guy was just a talker. But then I started to think maybe his verbal diarrhea had a purpose. The assignment was the kind of thing you cant help talk about, because its so different from the usual. But we dont talk about clients outside the office...
“You would have if Id turned up dead. Especially if theyd done it in such a way to suggest that, rather than waiting to be handed the painting, theyd stolen it from us.
Sergei stopped like hed walked into a wall. “Chyort! Stolen it back, then used it to make peace. With your blood. Damn straight I would have talked. I would have blackened their reputation until they couldnt stand under the weight of it.
“And the talks would be undermined by doubt, maybe just enough to break them.
Sergei started swearing again, alternating between Russian and English, until Wren was certain that she could see blue current sparking and shimmering in front of his mouth.
“Were going to have to do something about them using us like that, she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. “Bad for business, otherwise...
-
Sergei had called the dinner date, his voice on the answering machine filled with such glee she could only imagine the retainer hed managed to con out of someone. She wasnt in the mood to party, her brain still filled with the annoyance of having been tricked into getting involved in politics, not to mention the attempt on her life, but dinner was dinner was dinner, especially if Sergei was buying. She threw herself into the shower, grabbed the first summer-weight dress she could find that wasnt wrinkled, and threw it on. Things had changed enough in their relationship over the past year that she slicked on lipstick and mascara, and tied her hair up in a looked-more-complicated-than-it-was knot before heading out the door. Not that any of that was going to turn her into a raving beauty, but Sergei appreciated the effort. And she appreciated his appreciation.
They were regulars at Mariannas, to the point where Callie, the waitress, didnt even bother getting up to show her to their table. Of course, it wasnt that large a place, either. She could see Sergei sitting in the back the moment she walked in. And he was grinning like he was about to choke on wee yellow feathers.
“Youre scaring me. What?
“I had a little chat with an old friend of mine who was shocked, shocked to hear that criminals had their hands on any part of the Fabulous Finds. A few hours later, this job came in. Since we are, after all, the only team who could pull something like this off...
He slid a piece of paper across the table to her. She picked it up, noting first the weight of the paper, then the fact that it was letterhead stationery; and then her mind took in the words, and she started to laugh as Sergei called Callie over to open the wine.
“The Meadows Museum board would like to make use of your services to retrieve a painting that went missing from our premises on the night of July 14...
Getting paid to take back what they took in the first place, and undercut any attempt the organization might make to go ahead with their plan anyway.
“I love this job, Wren said, raising her glass.
“To karma, Sergei agreed. “To karma, and the joy of being the
boot that gives it a kick in the ass. Zdorovye!
The Death of Clickclickwhistle
MIKE DOOGAN
“Is it dead?
Probationary Intern to the second assistant undersecretary Oscar Gordon looked around for the speaker, but the hallway outside the delegates quarters was empty. Even in a small, busy spaceship, the crew was giving the alien diplomats a wide berth.
“Up here, mudfoot, the voice said.
Gordon looked up. A pale, thin young man was standing on what was, to Gordon, the ceiling, his left hand wrapped around a gripfast to keep himself from floating away.
“Is it dead? he asked again.
Gordon shrugged. “How can I tell if its dead if I dont know what it is?
The man sighed, flipped himself off the ceiling, tumbled through the zero gravity to another gripfast, and oriented himself with Gordon.
“Mudfoots, he said to the air. Then, to Gordon, “Its in contact with the deck, isnt it? He didnt wait for an answer, instead raising his voice, and saying, “Computer, is the object on the deck near the location of my voice an organic?
“It is, a voice drawled out of the air, “if you mean the other object besides Probationary Intern to the second assistant undersecretary Oscar Gordon of the Federated Planets Corps Diplomatique.
Gordon laughed. “I guess starspawn dont know everything, he said to the young man.
“Probationary Intern Gordon, the voice drawled, “name-calling with ships fourth officer John Carter isnt really an occupation for a member of the Corps Diplomatique. You humans should get along better, whatever your superficial differences.
Gordon recognized the justice of the computers rebuke. His command of diplomacy wasnt all that it should have been. Hed only graduated from the academy at Alpha Cen six months before, and this was his first real assignment.
The sentient races were having a big powwow on Rigel A1101, called Ricketts by the humans who lived there. Protocol prevented any extraterrestial ships from approaching the inner system that held Ricketts, so the Chuck Yeager had been assigned, along with a dozen other ships, to meet the arriving interstellar vessels, pick up their legations, and ferry them to Ricketts. This was hardly a plum assignment, so the Brahmins had assigned the lowest-ranking and least-well-connected diplos to the ships.
Stabenow, Dana - Powers Of Detection (Editor) Page 14
