Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “Intend,” Mary repeated. “And if we have to? Why no guns?”

  “Because guns are loud and have no other purpose than to kill people. Firebrand can be passed off as an antique and a work of art. Besides, we don’t have any guns that don’t scream ‘Anachronism!’ Yours are automatics, made of space-age materials and hold more shots in the magazine than there are vital organs in the body. Besides, where would you keep them?”

  “I could find places.”

  “No doubt. And we will, later, after we determine if it’s legal to carry a firearm, and after we get you some local guns. Right now, our only purpose in going there is to take a pleasant walk down the street. If we can, we’ll talk to a bullion dealer, get some money and a feel for the culture, that sort of thing. Then we come back and compare notes. If we get into any sort of fight, we’ve screwed up badly.”

  “I don’t think I like your logic.”

  “I don’t expect you to. Would you rather stay here and monitor me through Diogenes?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Then figure out what knives you want to bring and how to hide them perfectly. I haven’t seen a single picture from this Jazz Age world where the citizens are armed. For all we know, they may all be carrying concealed weapons, but they’re well-concealed, and therefore ours should not stand out, either.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  I agreed with her and started working with Diogenes on how to monitor us remotely. My idea was to use the Diogephone micro-gate as a data connection. It was small enough we might be able to power it from the Apocalyptica side with enough transformers. It would certainly keep us in contact. Plus, it could act as an existing gate I could manipulate in case we had to leave in a hurry. Switching it from the phone to a local doorway wouldn’t be difficult on my end. Doing it here at the same time was a little trickier. I had to build a separate spell at the Apocalyptica end for that. It wouldn’t do to go through a doorway and get squeezed through a pinhole at the other end.

  Come to that, what would it look like on the doorway side? Could you walk through such a door? Or would the spell permit it? I don’t think it would, but it’s possible the spatial distortion would result in a thin stream of high-pressure person coming out the smaller gate. All I know for sure is I’m not going to test it with my face.

  The other purpose the ongoing connection would serve was calibration. Twin, enchanted, specially-linked iridium rings were probably the best-case scenario for inter-universal gateways. How long would a magical charge keep them connected? It would be another data set for Diogenes to use in calculating a thaumaturgic energy scale.

  I brought a spare power crystal, just in case. According to Diogenes, Jazzworld was very low on magical flux.

  Jazzworld, Thursday, July 8th, 1926

  Mary has a nice dress and a hat like a bucket. I get a two-piece suit and a fedora. Her outfit is breezy enough to tolerate the sweltering heat. I get to slow-roast like beef in a crock pot.

  We fired up the orichalcum cable-arch, stepped through and down, exactly as if we stepped off the bus—which, of course, was what the far end of the portal locked on to. Fortunately, the bus was sitting at the station, unoccupied. According to the map on the wall inside, we were in San Antonio, Texas. Mary salvaged a San Antonio Daily News from a station bench and we discovered the date.

  July. In San Antonio. I don’t know if it hit a hundred degrees today, but I wouldn’t risk money against it.

  We strolled through the city while trying not to bake in the morning sunshine. It wasn’t easy. At least our outfits didn’t stand out. Most people wore less fashionable clothes—trousers, shirts, caps, that sort of thing—but we fit in as part of the respectable middle class. Mary noticed the hairstyles and makeup on the women, commenting about finding a beauty parlor and getting a perm.

  Of course, we needed money, first. I asked a passing policeman—walking his beat and twirling his nightstick—if he could give us poor, lost visitors any help. He was very friendly, possibly because of our clothes, and directed us to a bank to discuss gold exchange rates.

  A bank. Not a bullion dealer. Apparently, banks can handle gold. When did that start? Or, perhaps more accurately, when did that stop? Did banks ever handle gold and silver in my world? Or is this world still on some sort of gold standard, or something?

  There are drawbacks to not having a background in history and finance.

  But Mr. Perkins, the bank manager, was very helpful, almost eager. Changing some old, worn, antique gold coins into modern cash wasn’t a problem, no sir, not a bit of it. Of course, there’s a small transaction fee, et cetera, et cetera. I smiled and nodded and waited until he stopped talking. There followed some functionaries, some walking back and forth, and finally a fistful of money.

  In banknotes. Not dollars, as such, but paper money issued and backed by the bank itself. I didn’t know they could do that. Where I’m from, I’m pretty sure they can’t. The Federal government takes a dim view of anyone else printing money.

  Our objective in visiting this world was to find out things about it, and this certainly counted. I thanked the nice Mr. Perkins, shook his hand, recovered my hat, and we departed.

  Hotels don’t have air conditioning. They have fans. At least, the fancy-looking place we picked was like that. However, if you’re willing to pay for it, they’ll send up a bucket of chipped ice so your fan can blow air across it and over you. Other than that, the place is quite nice.

  “What do you think?” I asked, once we had the door locked. I stripped out of my jacket, tie, and overshirt as quickly as was decent.

  “I think I like the look,” Mary said, lounging by one of the electric fans—all metal, I noticed. It would never pass modern safety standards. On high speed, it could remove fingers.

  “I’m not too crazy about the lack of air conditioning.”

  “Me either, but I’m sure it’s been invented. The movie theater had a sign out front.”

  “I didn’t notice. Maybe they haven’t gotten around to upgrading the hotel.”

  “No doubt. And I’d be very pleased to hold up the bank we just visited.”

  “What, after Mr. Perkins was so nice to us? I don’t even know if I like this place enough to live here.”

  “Well, maybe another bank. First, we need a getaway car and some Tommy-guns.”

  “Do they have Tommy-guns?” I asked, firing up the other fan and leaning forward to let it blow down the collar of my undershirt. The heat was stifling.

  “I don’t know, but we can look.”

  “Let’s find a bank that deals in government money,” I suggested. “Dollars, not banknotes.”

  “Good thought. We can take those anywhere. Maybe we should get our banknotes changed to dollars—we can use it as an excuse to case the joint.”

  “You’re starting to sound like you belong here.”

  “I like the style—everything except that silly permanent wave thing they’re doing with their hair. They look like helmets!”

  “You can get away with being ahead of your time,” I assured her. I patted my face and neck with a wet cloth, then fished out my inter-universal roaming phone. “Diogenes? Have you been listening?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “How are things going?”

  “The connection continues to be stable, although the demand is slightly higher than the supply. Projected thaumic battery life is on the close order of fifteen hours, with twelve remaining. However, I intend to add additional ruthenium transformers in proximity to the Apocalyptica gate to extend the connection time.”

  “Good man.”

  “Technically, I am a good integration of expert systems running in a complex of quantum computer cores, but I infer you mean it as a compliment.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Excellent. I enjoy successfully interpreting your statements.”

  “And teasing me?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I’m surrounded by snarks,” I observed. />
  “Better than boojums.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “I shall endeavor to be more helpful, Professor.”

  “Thank you. Should I do anything at this end?”

  “If you could avoid anything magical, it would make the measurements and calibration at this end more precise.”

  “I usually have a spell to deal with overwhelming heat,” I complained. “At least, in any world without air conditioning. This long-term absence of cooling is starting to make me nauseous.”

  “Are you dizzy, Professor?”

  “No, but I have a headache.”

  “These are early signs of heat stress. Please cast a spell to cool yourself.”

  “I’ll consider it. Hey! You said ‘thaumic battery life.’ What’s the battery life on the phone’s powerpack?”

  “At this level of demand, it will require recharging within seventy hours, Professor.”

  “Ah. Then I won’t worry about it. But I do have an idea. Do you think you could build me a set of fake glasses based on the designs we’ve seen? Something in a zero prescription, but with a built-in hidden camera, so you can watch as well as listen?”

  “I will get right on it, Professor.”

  “Thanks, Diogenes.”

  I put the Diogephone back in my pocket and turned around, letting the fan blow over the back of my neck.

  “You look miserable,” Mary told me.

  “I don’t like the heat,” I admitted, “but I want Diogenes to have a long baseline for his readings.”

  “Why is the heat such a problem for you?”

  “I’m guessing it has to do with my body mass versus surface area. Not enough area to cool my mass efficiently.”

  “I’ll call room service for more ice, then get you another wet towel while we wait.”

  “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “I don’t keep track of your sins,” she replied, from the bathroom.

  The day only got hotter, of course. Mary ran a tub of water, aimed a fan across it, and I soaked in it. One good thing about the hotel bathroom was the sheer size of the tub. The modern tubs I’m used to involve folding repeatedly to get wet everywhere. I could use the thing as a coffin if only I had a lid.

  Mary dumped half the cracked ice into the tub and left the other half on a stool beside it. She left me to cool while she went out to find another bank. I let her, mainly because I was feeling the heat and it was becoming more and more tempting to use magic. I didn’t want to disturb Diogenes’ readings, so I simmered and suffered.

  In retrospect, I should have had Mary take the Diogephone with her so I could cast a cooling spell. I didn’t think of it at the time, though. I blame the heat and the way my brain was sweating.

  When Mary came back, she was less than pleased. I heard the door slam and a sort of growling noise.

  “Problems?” I asked, sitting up. She stuck her head in the door and threw down her hat.

  “I’ve changed my mind. This is not the place for me.”

  “I’d rather live farther north, myself. This heat is killing me and I’m not sure I’m being figurative.”

  “Poor dear.” She poured the rest of the ice bucket into the tub. “But I’m talking about the people, not the temperature.”

  “Oh? What’s wrong? I’d think there would be a lot of gentlemanly behavior in this day and age.”

  “Oh, there is, there is. A man coming out of the bank held the door for me, which I thought was a nice gesture. Everyone calls me ‘M’lady,’ instead of ‘Ma’am,’ though. It’s not what they say that bothers me. It’s the way they treat me!”

  “Um. How is this not a good way to treat you…?” I trailed off, sitting up in the tub.

  “Do you know what the bank manager told me?”

  “Not from here. Even my ears aren’t that good. Besides, I’m not sure they’ve invented the muffler for cars, yet.”

  “He said he would be happy to exchange the banknotes—after all, his competitor was a sound financial institution and they routinely honor each other’s notes—but shouldn’t this be something my husband did?”

  “Equality is a struggle,” I noted.

  “Oh, I handled it. Politely,” she added. “All it took was iron will and grim determination. First, it was my husband who needed to do it. When I insisted, then it was a case of getting a written note from him. When I pointed out I didn’t have a husband, he told me my father would do as well. When he finally got it through his thick skull I didn’t have a man to do it for me, there was a good fifteen minutes of harrumph and ‘This is most irregular,’ and similar noises. Of course,” she continued, shifting her voice to mock some pretentious banker, “we, as an institution, routinely deal in such minor money matters as a typical housewife may be expected to handle, keeping track of her egg money for her and the like, but it is hardly a routine matter to handle such a large sum for a woman in her own name.”

  “We only changed a pound of gold,” I protested. “The bank used troy ounces, twelve to the pound, and at about twenty dollars to the troy ounce, that’s only two hundred and forty dollars, minus some expenses. He had problems with two hundred dollars in a woman’s hands?”

  “The ‘egg money,’ whatever that is, is nickels and dimes, from what I gather. Literally. Nickels, the coins. Dimes are the large denominations. I’m thinking we should think of the local dimes as dollars. They actually buy things with pennies!”

  “I see. How did you get him to see things your way?”

  “I sat there, smiled a lot, and asked him if he would rather explain it to my lawyer or to the newspapers.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “So, you’re a major bank and refuse to do business with a woman? You have no professional ethics? And you won’t change your competitor’s banknotes? I’ll be happy to walk into the Daily News office and tell them all this. Or I can have my lawyer—who has no problem taking a woman’s money, I might add, nor yours—how you refused to perform your job. And then I can tell the newspapers. Or you can get rid of me in two minutes by doing your job. You pick.”

  “He did his job?”

  “With much grumbling and snorting and disgusted sounds. I suspect he believes me to be quite ‘unladylike’.”

  “So, if you don’t want to live here… you found the perfect bank to rob?” I asked, still in the tub. Mary’s face flicked quickly through surprise and shot straight on to evil glee.

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Daring daylight robbery? Or do you think we can get into the vault?”

  Mary started to answer, stopped, looked thoughtful.

  “They don’t have security cameras, nor much in the way of alarms. And the time lock on the vault—if they have one—will be mechanical. I can tendril-tweak it right through the vault door and lock it again the same way.”

  “So we can do it either way,” I agreed. “Take your pick. Do we hold the place up in broad daylight for the fun of it? Or do we rob the place blind and leave Mister Grumpy’s nameplate in the vault in place of a stack of cash?”

  “I hate it when you present two fantastic options and I can only pick one.”

  “No hurry. I’m not going anywhere until after dark. Or until it cools down. Besides, we need to case the place better. I want to research the target and arrange our getaway before we try anything.”

  As the sun set, we closed up the bathroom, drained the tub, and I sat under a lukewarm shower while we had our transformations. Afterward, we did a mundane wash and dry, dressed again, and went out.

  Streetlights aren’t plentiful, but they’re there. People are out and about, but not many. This world—at least, in the evenings—seems quieter, less hectic. It reminds me of Karvalen at night, sort of. The overcity calms down a lot after the sun sets. The undercity never really sleeps, but the undercity has better public lighting. This San Antonio is a different city, but it doesn’t exactly go to sleep at night, either. Dozes fitfully, maybe.

  Mary a
nd I walked arm in arm down a sidewalk. I enjoyed it, now that the heat of the day was no longer trying to bake me in my own skin. The temperature was still way up, but without a living metabolism, I didn’t mind.

  “So,” she asked, quietly, “how about we empty the vault?”

  “Suits me.”

  “Can we please do a daring daylight robbery, too?”

  “I only promised you one bank robbery.”

  “Please?” She fluttered eyelashes at me and laid her head on my shoulder.

  “Sheesh. All right. But vault first. Then we can go back to Apocalyptica and get bulletproofed. I don’t want to start a robbery and find out the security guard served in the Great War and isn’t afraid to use his weapon.”

  “Suits me. But I want a Tommygun for the robbery. I checked. They make the things here, or something very like them, and civilians can buy them.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. Fully automatic, drum magazine, the works. They’re about two hundred bucks.”

  “They’re taking their Second Amendment rights pretty seriously in this day and age,” I observed. “We’ll also need a getaway car. Any thoughts on that?”

  “Not yet, but I haven’t checked out a car dealership, either. Can we steal a car, too?”

  “As a getaway car for a bank robbery? Seems logical. But we may want to buy one just so we get what we want—one that starts reliably, for example. I’m hoping for something with an electric starter so we don’t have to hand-crank it.”

  “Oh, fine. Be all practical.”

  The bank in which Mary had her difficulties was a three-storey thing, masonry, on a corner, with some decorative pillars out front. We walked past it on two sides, then went around behind it through an alley. There were no windows on the ground floor, of course, but there were windows on the second and third floors—presumably for light and air, since there was probably no air conditioning system.

  I gave Mary a leg up, flinging her all the way to the roof. I sat down, leaned my head back against the building, and waited, listening for anything untoward. My hearing was sufficient to detect a couple of meaty thumping sounds from within the building—marble echoes nicely. After about ten minutes, Mary opened a second-floor window and whistled. I leaped up, caught her hand, and she pulled me in.