La connivance diplomatique. Cunctando regitur mundus.
Reeling with shock, Ellery clung to Dani’s chair. That was his plan. Right from the beginning, he kept my eyes fixed on a small spot of color while he made vast sweeps across the canvas! Until decay, the litany proclaimed, but once placed in a freezing cube, there could be no decay, no return to dust; should that body cry out for life, the soul would respond.
Her thoughts raced. Down through the ages, Munoz's return as Munoz, unchanged in face or form, would bear testimony to his claim of Messiah. She could not let that happen. When revival time came, a Dakotan must be waiting. A Dakotan with flawless memory.
settled like a blacksmith's anvil into the ventricle of her heart,
No, she cried silently. Not yet. Not yet. She slid her arm down Dani’s shoulder, her fingers searching. She felt the soft touch of the little girl’s hand taking firm hold of hers, felt a prickling warmth as the life and times of Ellery Dakota Jensen slid from her mind into the child's.
Dani whispered, "See, Grandma? I told you my way was easy."
Ellery tried to smile, but couldn't. She did indeed see. In the hands of this child lay the hope of the world. She couldn't intercept what the Pope and his consort had already put in motion, but there would be Dakotans who could. Neither Munoz nor Bianca could stop that. Ellery heard footsteps on the stairs and realized her nemesis had gone.
She listened to the stillness gathering round her.
From far away the sound came, full and rich and golden. The great circles of living time were coming together, leaping apart, rippling across the web of Eternity.
She belonged there.
and pounded the white hot metal of her soul into the shadow shape of Life.
She cried out once, then slumped to the cold, sterile floor. As if in a dream, she watched the shadows below her. So, she thought. This journey was finished, but they would meet again, she and Bianca, in other lands and other times.
She had no complaints.
That was the way of the house with twelve rooms.
That was the way of the shadows who dwelt there.
That was the way of life.
Chapter 67
Shadows Going
"Stop dawdling, Sefura," Bianca said. "What cool air there is in this monstrous room will be dissipated into the desert wind if I have to hold this door open much longer. George will wake up soon enough and the men still have to get him positioned in the dunes. We can't release him here."
The young woman ran up the broad steps and through the bronze door Bianca held open. "I know the iron cage can't hold him when he's awake, Bee, and I understand he had to be sedated while we were traveling, but he's so close to freedom, I couldn't bear it if something happened to him now. Are you sure you didn't give him too much of the sedative? He looks like he's dead."
"I assure you, he isn't. An hour or two in that heat and he'll be moving around again. You'll see." Setting down a small bag, she called out. "Mace? Are you here?"
Sefura stared at the rows of blinking lights. "Are those the computers that control the freezing vaults?" She took a step forward.
"Yes. Stay away from them. They're not for you." Bianca's eyes glittered with reflected lights. "Perhaps when Mace—"
"You can look, Sefura, just don't touch anything." Bianca's assistant strolled up beside the two women, still wiping a glasslike substance from his hands. "And don't go beyond the boards."
"I won't." Sefura turned away and walked toward the mass of lights.
Bianca watched until the girl was out of earshot, then she nodded toward Mace's hands. "What were you doing?"
"Just finished sealing the interior walls of your vault." He stuffed the cloth into his hip pocket. "That concoction of Wyland's is easy to work with and dries fast. Where's George?"
"Outside, and that's where he stays until she's down." A frown wrinkled her forehead. "He was okay until we got off the plane. I had to give him a triple dose of the sedative to keep him unconscious. It's almost as if he read my mind, knew my plans for her—and him."
"Want to place him in the powder first?"
"No. Her first. It's safer that way. She's too protective of that creature out there. Sefura would open that cage this instant if she thought George was in harm’s way. As for him—" Bianca shuddered. "Nothing in this building would stop him if he should wake long enough to sense any danger for her. Once she's down, of course, it won't matter."
"Well, shall we get started then? Your time window is running out. As it is, we're going to cut it pretty close."
Nodding, she squatted beside the bag, removed an injection tube, and prepared it. Slipping the tube into her pocket, she strolled to Sefura's side, brushed a strand of red-gold hair from her sister's cheek.
"Come. I want to show you some new bugs we've discovered here in the desert. I think you'll find them interesting, maybe even give you a new slant on your language translation patterns. The microscope is in one of the labs."
As they walked down the corridor, Sefura said, "How long before Dane joins us? You never did say exactly."
"A week, perhaps. He’ll join us as soon as he completes his last assignment. In the meantime, you can catch up on your reading while Mace and I finish our business. Then it's off to Venice, just like I promised." Bianca stopped before an open lab door. "In here." She stepped aside.
Sefura trooped through, her eyes bright and curious.
Bianca moved up behind her sister, swift and silent.
In the desert heat, a topaz eye jerked open. Sefura! Clawed limbs battled against sedative bonds. A howl of rage fought to escape the drug-closed throat to no avail. Moments later, his frantic struggling ceased. George knew he could never stop what had been set in motion. The whore had taken her sister's life. Soon, Sefura would be set in the powder. As would he, quietly and without a fight, for he would not let the girl he loved go into the future without him. Time enough to deal with the Pope's consort when the revival came. He had listened to Munoz's thoughts and he knew the plan. The eye closed, the Sandman slumbered.
The sun hung just above the horizon like a great orange ball when Bianca strolled to the central computer board, her faltering step no longer of consequence. Her hand fondled the injection tube she'd slipped into her pocket when Mace was looking elsewhere.
It was time.
In the burial room behind her, George, like Raphael and the two technicians, rested in his Thua cocoon. Sefura slept in the powder like a child who has played too hard. Her case, clear and glistening, emphasized the fine, gold script etched across the end: Sefura Raborman, 2110-2139. The last case, empty and waiting, was as clear and as glistening, and just like all the others, was identified: Bianca Raborman, 2095-2139.
That was easily changed.
Raphael and his sacred Plan. Willingly, he walked to the edge of the abyss, fool that he was. Not so, she. No one would hold her life in their hands, to do with what they would. Oh no. She cast a furtive glance across the room. Mace stood beside an open door, watching her. She fought to keep her laughter buried deep. There must be nothing to pique her assistant's curiosity. That would never do. Never do at all.
Bianca reached out to caress the one button on the board that could never be overridden: the Triune Center control button. Even as she did so, the steady green light blinked warning red. Her black eyes glittered and her olive skin glowed with the flush of knowledge that all over the world, lights were flickering, machines were laboring, and brows were raised with question. Oh, Raphael, she thought. The thrill of conquest is in the participation not the weak rewards that follow. You will miss it all.
Abruptly, warning red turned black.
Chaos had begun.
She sniffed at the air as if she could smell the blood spilling, could smell the flames of nation destroying nation. All the while, she would be there to guide, direct, and rule, and rule without interference. Not until her throne was secure would she rouse those in the crypt—allow them to serve her
.
She had one regret.
She wouldn't see the look of despair on Dane Wyland's face when he woke. The drug she had administered in Ellery's lab was nearly as potent as what she had used on George—Dane should have slept at least forty-eight hours. She chuckled to herself. At least that long. A smile on her lips, she limped toward the open lab door and Mace Williams.
"Are you ready, Bianca?" Mace said.
"Absolutely. Nothing can stop me now that Ellery Jensen's out of my world for good. The future belongs to me." She followed Mace into the lab. Her hand tensed with anticipation. Suddenly, he whirled to face her, a syringe raised high.
Stunned, Bianca stood as if hypnotized. "Mace?"
"You made a promise, Doctor Raborman. So did I."
She felt the prick of the needle; she would sleep in the powder after all. How did he know? She had been ever so careful and still . . .
The edges of her mind curled in upon themselves. His face faded from view.
Six thousand miles away, Dane Wyland drifted in and out of the dream. "With this ring, I thee wed," he muttered in his sleep. "You may kiss your bride, Mr. Wyland." Never had words sounded so sweet. "I love you, Vickie," he said, lifting his bride's veil. "I'll always love—" He stepped back in horror. The gown was empty, he held only silk. "No," she screamed. "No, no, no." Who was crying out like that? Behind him, someone roared with laughter.
His eyes snapped open and he tried to focus. Where was he? He swung his legs over the side of his bed, groaning as pain cracked through his head and sliced through the dream. My quarters? How did I get back to the island?
He shot off the bed. Vickie. She was lost. He had to find her before . . . before . . . before what? He couldn't remember. He shook his head. Using the pain, he tried to dislodge the cobwebs. Plunging into the dusk light, he ran two steps and skidded to an abrupt stop. Bewildered, he peered at darkened buildings, listened to the silence.
He was alone.
Bianca had left him alone on the island. Why? Did she think he would die, shrivel in his bed, eventually found by some unsuspecting fool who was curious about the abandoned buildings? Retreating to his quarters, he sank onto the edge of the bed. No, he thought. Bianca's mind didn't work that way. She had expected him to wake. Had wanted him to know that he was alone. But why? His mind began to clear. Where was Sefura? He had promised to protect her. Dane stiffened. That was what Bianca wanted him to know! She had taken her sister to the City of the Dead, the one place where he could not protect her.
In the night air, the chugging of an ancient fishing boat, a replicate, echoed across the island. Grabbing a jacket from the coat closet, Dane raced toward the boat dock in time to see a trawler rounding the island's edge. He yelled and waved his jacket at the men he could see on deck. One pointed in his direction, and the boat began to turn. As it pulled up to the dock, a stocky man who smelled like fish leaned over the rail.
"Well I'll be damned. How did you get out here, Mr. Wyland? I've been patrolling these waters ever since the Pope's whore left, trying to keep looters away until we can get ourselves settled in."
Dane recognized Tom Logan, one of the Aristocrat's blockade leaders. He, Tom, and Jack Harmon had swapped many a tale on running nights. "It's a long story, Tom. Can you give me a lift over to the city?"
"You bet. Climb aboard."
"I'm sorry about Jack's death," Dane said. "I guess you miss him. Especially his sailing yarns."
"Happens, Mr. Wyland," Logan said gruffly. "Why don't you go up to my cabin? Air's a little sweeter there." Dane nodded agreement.
Once in the cabin, he picked up a greasy newspaper. The date leaped off the page—Monday, June 8, 2139. "My good God. Two days. Gone!" Sweat popped onto his brow. "I could have died," he muttered to himself. "One more drop of whatever she shoved into my veins would have killed me." His hands trembled as he thought how close to death he'd come.
His stomach twisted into a knot of fear. Vickie. What had she done to Vickie? Ellery had said Bianca would only take the gift, but had she taken more? His stomach lurched with sickening dread. It cannot be, Dane thought. It must not be. He had to find her.
The trawler pulled alongside the dock and with a shouted thank you, Dane raced to find a taxi. Twenty minutes later, the cab turned onto Sand Hill Road, a block long street with a lopsided cul-de-sac.
"Stop," he said. "I'll walk the rest of the way."
He strode down the brightly lit street, jumped puddles of light flowing through clear windows, and came to a halt before a familiar walkway. He followed the sound of murmuring voices, his footsteps silent on the moon-lapped sand. Rounding the corner of the deck, he glanced up at the silent house and knew instinctively that Ellery would never again tread its rooms.
Eyes misting, Dane looked back to the beach and heaved a deep breath of thanks. Near the water, a woman and a child sat with heads tilted back, gazing into a starlit sky. He started to call out, but stopped when he heard Vickie's soft voice.
"Those are some of the rooms in God's house, Dani. There are twelve in all. Each one has an Angel guardian to care for the souls who are waiting to be born." With great animation, she named every constellation and the Angel who resided there—Gabri-el, Anu-el, Razi-el, and more.
"Does it look like Grandma's house, Mama? Grandma's house has twelve rooms." Dani's solemn voice wafted across the sands.
"Yes, just like Grandma's house."
"How do they know when to get born?"
"They just know."
"Which room did I live in?"
"You lived in the sixth room," Vickie answered, hugging Dani close. "The best room of all because it's the room of Truth."
The child's head tilted to one side as she stared into the heavens. "I've been watching and watching but I don't see them playing or anything. How come I can't see them?"
"Because it's dark, Dani, and far away."
"Can I see them in the morning, when the sun comes out?"
"No. God made them invisible to human eyes."
Dane moved closer as the little girl leaned over and dug her fingers into the sand. Vickie sat quietly, staring at the washing foam. Dani finally said, "Do they really have a shadow to play with like Grandma said?"
"When did Grandma tell you that?"
"When I held her hand. Do they?"
Vickie pulled her daughter close. "I don't know if they do or not, but if Grandma said so, then it must be true." Her head tilted back up to the stars. "We have shadows following us around, so it makes sense that souls would too."
As he listened to the whimsical tale, the questions and answers, Dane shifted his gaze to Ellery Jensen's rambling home. His heart leaped and he strained to see, to hear. For a moment, he fancied he saw shadows in the house with twelve rooms, was certain he could hear them laughing, crying, playing the games of mortals. He nodded to himself. They are there, he thought. Shadows of the past, shadows of the future.
The lights flickered.
He glanced across the water. All over the city, lights were flickering. He could almost hear the machines of commerce struggling to function, could feel his brows lifting as his mind questioned.
As one, the lights blinked out.
The shadows were no more.
Staring at the horizon, he wondered if Sefura was afraid of the dark. His face saddened. She was beyond his help now. In any other place, any other time, perhaps he could have—but not now.
His gaze turned to the woman and child at the water's edge. They were his to care for. That's where his destiny lay.
"Vickie?" he called softly.
She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Jumping to her feet, she brushed sand from her jeans, her gaze never leaving his face.
Her eyes questioned.
Dane opened his arms.
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