Abduction

by Alan Baxter

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Well, I hope so. I guess until I know what it is …’

  ‘Brace yourself. I need your help and I don’t want you flaking out on me.’

  ‘Whatever it is, you can rely on me.’ She stood up taller, hoping her resolve truly matched her words and posture.

  ‘Good girl. When’s the rock cutter arriving?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow. Following your email I gave them the location and they said they’d be here before nine. Took a huge bonus in their pay to get them to come right away, but you said cost was no object.’

  Darvill nodded, lips pursed. ‘Black Diamond coffers can cope. Let’s hope this crew is up to the job. They’re going to have to cut deep.’ He stared at the ground by his feet.

  Jean followed his gaze. ‘What’s down there, sir?’

  Darvill sniffed, met her eye with an intense gaze. ‘My father, Chang. And he’s in a lot of pain.’

  Jean stared into Darvill’s eyes and could think of nothing to say.

  Silhouette sat among the stones of the circle of protection that had proven to be anything but. For nearly two hours she had stewed, worrying. When Gwen called out, she was up and running to the house instantly.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  Gwen’s face was grim. ‘Definitely Faerie.’

  Silhouette nodded. She had known in her heart that would be the answer. ‘No question?’

  Gwen shrugged, moving aside as Jack and Dan packed up their gear. ‘There’s always doubt. This is magic, not science, however much we bring technology to bear. But it’s a very slim doubt. Everything points to the Fey dragging Alex here, unconscious we think, and from here they performed a ritual and travelled back to the Other Lands.’

  Silhouette gripped her blonde hair back with both hands. ‘Fucking how? The thin day was past.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Silhouette slumped onto a kitchen stool. ‘Without their anchor stone, how did they do it? Something must have changed.’

  ‘Or something we didn’t know about is happening.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we have had evidence of it before? Well, wouldn’t you, Armour? Isn’t that Armour’s fucking job, to know this stuff?’

  ‘Yes, it is. And maybe someone higher than me in the organisation does know something.’

  Silhouette stood decisively. ‘Let’s go. I want to talk to the Commander.’

  Gwen nodded, turned to the other operatives. ‘Load up the chopper, lads. We’re going back.’

  Silhouette looked around herself, bereft. She felt terrible leaving the house, but staying was pointless. Alex was long gone, taken to the worst place she could imagine. Even as someone who had been to Obsidian, the thought of Faerie filled her with a darker terror. Regardless of her concerns, it looked like she was going to the place she feared most and Armour had better have ways of helping her.

  The chopper journey was frustrating. She wanted to be doing something. Gwen radioed in once they were airborne and gave the Commander a full rundown of what she had learned. She told him Silhouette was coming in.

  The ride over the beautiful rolling hills of the New South Wales south coast and on over sprawling Sydney suburbs didn’t take long, but Silhouette worried and fidgeted the whole way. She cursed herself again and again for leaving Alex. If she had stayed, perhaps they could have fought together. Or perhaps they would have both been overwhelmed. At least she was in a position now to help him.

  The chopper settled briefly in the Sydney Botanic Gardens to drop her off and left the moment Silhouette was out. Gwen and the others were returning to the hangar with their gear. Silhouette ran through the grounds, past open-mouthed tourists and office workers, staring as the helicopter swept up and away over the picturesque and famous harbour. She jogged out of the gardens and on through old streets to the magnificent edifice of St Mary’s Cathedral. She slowed as she made her way around to the Armour HQ secret entrance at the side of the building and stood beneath the cold eye of the camera above the door. After a moment, the door clicked and she pushed it open. Dark steps went down to the small anteroom which led to the operations room. Silhouette swept through, nodding to the people there. They all returned her greeting stoically. She wondered if they had heard about Alex. If they cared. Maybe some were glad, like Dan and Jack.

  The Commander stood as she knocked and strode into his office. He stepped around the desk and took her into a firm embrace. He was a giant of a man, with grey-white hair cascading over his shoulders and a huge handlebar moustache. He pressed her against his chest for a moment, planted a fatherly kiss on top of her head, and returned to his seat. She sat opposite him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sil,’ he said, his eyes dark. ‘This is messed up.’

  Silhouette nodded, determined to not give in to the grief churning inside her.

  The Commander poured them both tea, pushed a cup across the desk. ‘How did they so easily get by our barriers?’

  Silhouette sipped. It tasted like metal. ‘I don’t know. How much do you really know about them? How effective were your wards, really?’

  ‘Clearly not at all. We thought we knew better, but they appear to have power beyond our ken.’

  ‘And how did they travel back? We thought they were waiting for the next thin day to take him away. We would have had weeks to hunt them down. But Gwen is convinced they went directly back.’

  The Commander nodded, staring into his cup.

  ‘Fucking how?’ Silhouette yelled.

  The Commander raised his eyes to meet hers and his gaze was filled with sadness. ‘The great power the Fey had was in their anchor stone. When it was in this realm, it made every day like a thin day. They came and went between here and the Other Lands at will. That’s why the Eld cast that anchor stone out into the Void.’

  Silhouette nodded, impatient. ‘Yeah, except there were members of the Eld who were greedy and built Obsidian around that stone and used it to live large in their own pocket world. Alex fucked that for them. He truly cast that stone into the Void, destroyed Obsidian. It’s all gone. That’s why they hate him.’

  The Commander sat with his tea cupped between massive palms and stared patiently across the desk, waiting.

  Silhouette narrowed her eyes, anger rising. What the fuck was he waiting for? A terrible realisation rose in her like a rush of adrenaline. Alex’s power was primarily through his bond with the Darak, a stone of power. It was a part of him, embedded in the flesh of his chest, beating with his heart. But the Darak was a piece of the Fey anchor stone, removed from its host by massive Eld magic, used to cast out Uthentia. The Darak was what started all their problems, then the Fey used it and Alex to get to Obsidian. They wanted their anchor stone back, used everyone to that end. But Alex had beaten them. They had all been concerned the Fey would come for revenge, but that wasn’t it. ‘They want the Darak,’ Silhouette whispered.

  The Commander nodded. ‘We should have thought of that, eh? They must have used Alex himself to travel back, his bond with the Darak making him a living version of their stone, at least a part of its power. Alex did indeed finish the work of the Eld, casting the anchor into oblivion forever. Except he didn’t cast out all of it.’

  Silhouette paled, anguish washed through her. ‘But Alex and the Darak are one. They can’t be separated. It would kill Alex if they took the stone, but it would kill the stone too. He gave it life — isn’t that what your scholars said when they examined him after the Incident?’

  The Commander nodded again, set his cup down. ‘So I’m guessing they maybe know something about it we don’t. Or they plan to use Alex as their tool.’

  Silhouette trembled with fear and rage. ‘We can’t let them have him.’

  The Commander’s face was grim. ‘But what can we do? I’ll have to talk to some experts about this.’

  ‘The same experts who came to our house and posted those wards? Who built a stone fucking circle in our garden?’

 
‘Silhouette, I know this is upsetting …’

  ‘You have no fucking idea how this is, Commander! All Armour has so far done for Alex is send him on a mission that nearly killed him and, as a result, has led to his abduction to about the worst place imaginable. You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you or your experts any more.’ She knew her anger was really at the Fey, but she honestly rued the day Armour had entered their lives. Certainly Alex had been lost and seeking direction after the business with the Darak and Uthentia, and she had thought maybe that direction was to be found with this shadowy organisation. Now she just wanted to have Alex back and all these people could go to hell.

  The Commander reached across the desk, took her hand. ‘Silhouette, I understand your rage, really I do. But the Fey would have found a way to Alex with or without us. Once he had recombined the Darak, created that power to get their influence into Obsidian, they would have found a way to make that happen. And, if I might be so bold, only through our help did you all get out of there again as cleanly as you did.’

  Silhouette barked a laugh, shook him off. ‘Clean! Alex is traumatised beyond belief. He’s felt the Void, Commander. He has the deaths of thousands on his conscience and he knows how terrible those deaths were!’

  ‘And he saved thousands more and we have to help him come to terms with all of that. My point is, we can still help. Don’t hate us for what happened. Let us help.’

  ‘How? What are you going to do?’

  ‘We have sages, bookworms and brains who specialise in the Fey. Firstly, let’s consult them. Get an idea of how we might proceed.’

  Silhouette stood. ‘They’ve taken Alex to Faerie and we can only assume they want the Darak. If they have a way of getting it, that will almost certainly be bad for Alex. And even if taking it didn’t kill him, they would kill him afterwards anyway because they’re evil and they hate him. Or they’re just going to use him like a living key. Fuck that. I’m going to find a way there and get him back.’

  ‘I can’t allow that, Silhouette. Not yet.’

  Silhouette’s mouth fell open, incredulous. ‘Allow it? Who the hell do you …?’

  ‘You’re part of Armour now, whether you officially work for us or not, and I have a responsibility to protect you and the organisation. We need to move carefully, strategise.’ The Commander pressed a button on his desk. The office door opened, two black-clad operatives blocked the way.

  ‘You can’t hold me here!’ Silhouette yelled.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Silhouette turned to the door and the two operatives moved as if they planned to tackle her. Behind them the looming form of Jarrod appeared, his enormous Maori frame, a head bigger than either of them and twice as wide, imposing. His brow creased in concern. ‘Silhouette?’

  She had never been so pleased to see her half-brother. ‘If you have any love for me, Jarrod, get me out of here.’

  The Commander’s chair scraped as he stood. ‘Stand down, Jarrod.’

  The big man looked past Silhouette to his commander, then back to his sister. Silhouette pleaded with her eyes, silently begged him to intervene. With a subtle nod he grabbed the operatives around their necks and hauled them back. Without pausing for a second, Silhouette bolted forward. ‘Thank you!’ she said as she passed him.

  A klaxon blared and the Commander yelled, ‘Hold her, for her own sake! Jarrod, you fool!’

  Silhouette pushed through a suddenly confused and milling operations centre and dove for the door even as security grilles dropped. She felt something clip her heel as she ran, ignored the stab of pain. She took the stairs in a headlong rush and burst out into the busy plaza of St Mary’s Cathedral. Without waiting to see if she was being chased, she ducked left and right through the crowd and kept running until her lungs burned. Whatever Armour may or may not suggest, her course was clear. The last twenty-four hours had proven Armour knew next to nothing about the Fey and the Other Lands, not really. But she was Kin. First generation at that, a full half-Fey. And she knew people. Alex needed her and she planned to find a way to go to him.

  6

  Jean Chang waved the huge excavator over to one side of the site. What had been nothing more than open scree and a clutch of rocks, snow and ice the day before was quickly becoming a major work effort. It had taken some serious paperwork and no small number of bribes to circumvent the various bureaucracies involved in an operation of this scale, but Black Diamond pockets were deep.

  The excavator was followed by an enormous vehicle bearing a huge circular saw on an extending arm. Its hooked serrations were frightening to behold as it cruised past and hissed to a halt. The driver hopped down and looked quizzically in her direction. She pointed to Darvill in conversation with a small group of contractors.

  As the man nodded and moved away, Jean checked her tablet for details of arrivals. Everyone booked was here with the exception of the government overseer. And screw that guy. She had tried to assure the pen pushers that he wasn’t needed and now he wasn’t here anyway. If he showed up late, she’d deal with him, but certainly didn’t plan to wait for him before letting the work commence. Claude would not stand for that, and more money would motivate the contractors to ignore protocols.

  She strolled towards the group who were deep in discussion. Claude had insisted she use his first name, told her to treat him like a partner, not a boss, even though she was tasked to do everything he asked without question. She was okay with that, happy to serve and rise in the organisation. She wanted to learn more, extend herself and her experience. But this was a sudden and disconcerting change of direction. Mr Hood was in the rock, Claude had said. In agonising pain, inside the very ground. How was that possible? How could he live down there? How had he got there? Claude had no answers for her and simply wanted to get his father out, and she could understand that, but there was something more bothering her. She had tried to bring it to Claude’s attention, but he had not been interested to listen. It still bothered her. If Hood was down there, and somehow still alive, what would getting him out again mean? No man could survive being buried in solid rock. So what, exactly, would they be letting out? She knew Claude recognised her concerns as valid, but he deliberately chose not to think about it. Filial love or insatiable curiosity? Maybe both.

  ‘I don’t care if you have to get a new fucking star in here,’ Claude was saying as she joined the group. ‘Find a way to get light in, use generators and whatever else you need. Screw the expense. Daylight is too short here right now. This site runs twenty-four seven and that area gets excavated as soon as fucking possible.’

  One of the men turned to his companion, rattled off something in Icelandic. The other man hurried off. ‘He will organise arc lights,’ the contractor said in English. ‘What about the excavated material?’

  Claude’s brow creased. ‘What?’

  ‘The rock and earth we clear from the area marked. Where do you want it?’

  ‘I don’t give a shit. Just pile it up somewhere. You can always shovel it all back in afterwards.’

  Uncomfortable murmuring ran through the group. ‘What are we excavating?’ one man asked.

  Claude shook his head. ‘It’s too complicated for me to explain right now. Suffice to say you need to dig in the area marked.’ He pointed to a section of loose shale and pale grasses, a square some ten metres across marked with tape and spray paint. ‘Keep digging until I tell you to stop. I understand it’s confusing, but you’re getting well paid to do what you do. Just dig a fucking hole.’

  ‘How deep?’

  ‘Until I tell you to stop!’

  ‘The loose material on top is only about a metre thick. Below that it’s solid rock. It’s going to take quite an effort to clear the area marked to any depth, but even then it’s not a big footprint and this is very volatile country …’

  Claude held up one impatient hand. ‘I don’t care!’ He pointed to the giant rock saw. ‘That’s here for a reason. The area is big enough. Start digging, right now.’ />
  The contractor turned to his fellows, spoke again in Icelandic. They muttered resigned consent and moved away to their vehicles.

  Claude turned to Jean. ‘Finally! Well done organising this lot.’

  She nodded, smiled. ‘No problem. What now?’

  ‘We wait.’

  ‘What are we waiting for exactly?’

  Darvill narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are we really waiting for your father to be dug from solid rock? It’s really Mr Hood?’

  Claude laid an arm across her shoulders and turned her towards their cave camp. ‘I know it’s hard to understand, Chang. Trust me. Let’s have a cuppa.’

  7

  Silhouette walked along King Street, bustling as it always was at any time of day or night. Traffic crawled bumper to bumper and every tribe of Sydney trod the pavements, passing second-hand clothing and bookshops, every other doorway leading into an eatery. Back before the Obsidian Incident, when Silhouette had asked Wilhelm the fight organiser where she could get Fey ingredients for her healing concoction, he had directed her to a fetish shop in Newtown. That dealer had Fey connections and it was the only lead she had anywhere in Australia. She checked Wilhelm’s card again, her memory hazy after her time away, and turned into a side street.

  The narrow road was littered and dirty. Graffiti and primary coloured posters advertising gigs and protest rallies overlapped each other on the walls between shops. Residential terraces started half a block down, but right before her stood a black-painted storefront with a square plate-glass window. The same cursive script as the card adorned the space above the window, Leather & Lace, while mannequins inside modelled exactly that. The fashion du jour seemed to be a kind of Victorian/sub-dom hybrid. One mannequin wore the same outfit as last time she had visited with Alex. Emotion welled in her as she remembered the day.

  Alex had pointed to the fitted leather bodice, red laces pulled tight across the front. ‘You’d look great in that.’