She also knows that one of the Lesser Males (her name for all males who are not the Changer) has been wounded. He does not move often and sweats sour when he does. That he is unfailingly kind keeps her from fleeing him as wild things often do from illness, but his hurt intensifies her lonely fear for her father.
The lilac bush sways alarmingly as she weakens its roothold on the sandy earth. Shahrazad stops digging, tries the newly dug earth for size. She fits. It will do.
Wrapping her tail (just beginning to show the promise of an adult bush) around her nose, she tries to sleep. Even as she does, her oversize ears remain perked for the sound of one hoped-for, dreamed-for, prayed-for (if coyotes do pray), voice.
Its curving walls are of coral, its towers decked with pearls, its pennants of seaweed: green, red, and pale gold. About it, drifting jellyfish glimmer with faint phosphorescence, animate candles or perhaps living embodiments of the stars’ reflection on the waves above. Set on the top of a sloping hill of white sand, its gardens landscaped with anemones and angelfish, the palace of the monarchs of the seas is far more elegant than Arthur’s hacienda in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Following a glittering white narwhal, the unicorn of the oceans, the Changer and Lovern have come here, dolphin and man. The arched entryway to a great hall opens in a cloud of bubbles.
Brown seals, their large, liquid eyes infinitely sorrowful and almost human, join their escort, their lithe swimming slowed to match Lovern’s stubbornly human pace.
The Changer maintains his dolphin shape, knowing from the presence of the seals that there is magic in this place to enable air-breathers to subsist on the oxygen trapped within water. He wonders if Lovern realizes this, decides that even if he did, the wizard would not trust another’s magic over his own.
There is light here, light that is an intensification of the sea’s own power to give its deepest dwellers lanterns to carry. It is pale and mysterious compared to the light of the sun, but rather than seeming weak, it makes the sun seem garish.
In this ocean light, the hoards of gems, gold, carved ivory and marble, carpeting the sandy floors and hanging from the lacy coral walls, shimmer faintly. The shadowed faces of the broken statues regard them with ancient sorrow.
“Magnificent,” Lovern murmurs, his tones so soft that doubtless he expects to go unheard. However, magic to enable conversation is in place. His words carry to the couple enthroned at the far end of the great hall.
“Thank you, wizard,” says Duppy Jonah. “We are pleased.”
The Sea King has changed from his Midgard Serpent shape and now is a triton to complement his wife.
Like hers, his skin is pale with pastel nacreous undertones. His long hair is dark green. Where she is slim and pliant, however, he is broad and powerful. Both monarchs embody their realm. She is its invasive, subtle self: death in a teacup. He is the hurricane, the crashing tsunami, the earthquake.
Like Poseidon, Duppy Jonah holds a trident in one hand—the traditional scepter of the ocean’s lord.
Lovern is too old a conniver to show surprise at being overheard. When he reaches the supplicant’s dais at the foot of the thrones, he bows. “Your Majesties, thank you for granting me audience.”
“We are always pleased to receive embassies from the dry lands,” Duppy Jonah replies, “and more so when my long-landed brother accompanies them.”
The Changer cannot bow in his current shape, but he whistles his thanks.
Mother Carey’s smile reveals teeth, which are, unsuprisingly, like pearls. “We have considered the terms on which you will be permitted to bear from our realms in safety the thing which you have secreted in our keeping.”
Lovern bows again. “I await your ruling.”
“The Lustrum Review,” Duppy Jonah says, “comes soon. Our desire is that you escort my queen to the Review. Sea-born as we are, we have never attended in person. Long ago my brother and I toyed with landed shapes, but only he exploited them.”
“I,” Mother Carey says sadly, “have never managed the gift. Even the shapeshift that permits the selkies to go between the sea and water is not mine. Although I cannot imagine forsaking the waters, I would like to go upon the land as land folk do.”
“And I,” Duppy Jonah adds, “would like to have my queen represent our Realm. For too long we have needed to trust to minions or to mechanical devices. As trusted as the former may be, they cannot debate policy with the full freedom of a ruler. The mechanical lacks intimacy.”
Lovern strokes his grey beard thoughtfully. “I could work such magics, but they would take time to design.”
“Take the time,” Duppy Jonah says.
“Now?”
“Now. Do you think we would let you have your toy without first paying its ransom?” Duppy Jonah’s gaze glints stormy and dangerous. “You secreted it here when you believed the Midgard Serpent beaten, its power no longer a thing to concern you. I will not permit a similar oversight to delay your workings.”
“But the Lustrum Review begins in less than two weeks!” Lovern protests. “My lord Arthur will need my counsel before that time, especially with Edward wounded.”
Mother Carey smiles, a shark’s merciless grin. “You boast of your abilities, wizard. Are you saying that your talents are not equal to your boast?”
“I…” Lovern swallows further useless protest. “I am equal to the task, but the work will take some days.”
“Take those days,” Duppy Jonah says. “If harm should come to my queen because of your carelessness, I should swamp the lands with such storms that King Arthur would have no choice but to turn you over to my vengeance.”
Lovern stiffens. “My magics would not fail her!”
“Indeed not,” Duppy Jonah says, “nor will your watchfulness. My queen is not a creature of the land. I shall insist that you assign yourself guardian of her safety.”
Darting a glance at the Changer, Lovern realizes that there will be no rescue for him from that quarter. The Changer simply drifts, grinning a broad, pleased, dolphin’s grin.
“Am I to understand then,” Lovern says with exquisite formality, “that the price you place on me is twofold? First, I am to design magics to permit Mother Carey to be as a land creature for a time, then I am to appoint myself her personal guardian during the time she remains on the land?”
Mother Carey nods. “I would prefer human form, Lovern, for most of those who will attend the Review will be as humans. Second, I will not require your constant attendance, nor will you be held account for every stubbing of a toe (a curious concept, that), but for my overall safety and care.”
“I have duties to King Arthur,” Lovern states. “If these interfere, will I be permitted to assign another to escort you?”
“If that one is acceptable to me,” Mother Carey says.
“And if you realize that the ultimate responsibility remains your own,” Duppy Jonah rumbles.
Lovern considers, no longer stroking his beard, but nibbling at the tuft beneath his lip. After several minutes, he nods.
“If you will help me acquire certain elements and give me a place to work and a space of days, I believe I can do what you wish. The transformation would not be long-lasting, but I believe I can craft it so that Mother Carey could break it at will. Once broken,” he hastens to add, “it could not be easily renewed, but then she can regain her natural forms.”
Sea King and Queen exchange glances that speak of excitement, decision, and anticipated sorrow at their separation.
“We can give you those things,” Duppy Jonah says.
“I would need for Mother Carey to grant me audience so that I might mate my sorcery to her particular needs.”
“I will grant you that,” she says, her voice thrilling with anticipation. Then her eyes narrow. “And the spells must do what we have asked, no more. If you seek to control me in thought, in belief, or in action, I shall wreak such vengeance upon you that what my good lord has threatened will be as nothing. Do you understand?”<
br />
Lovern nods hastily, knowing the power of a furious woman.
“Then we are agreed,” Duppy Jonah states. “I shall have chambers made ready for you and place selkies at your disposal.”
“One more request,” Lovern says obsequiously. “Might I have leave to call my liege lord and tell him that I shall not return for some days yet?”
“You may.” The Sea King grins. “We have tapped the phone cables that run through our realm. Useful tools, these. Speak to your lord.”
A seal escorts Lovern to a phone, and the monarchs of the sea turn their attention to the Changer.
“We would be pleased if you would bide with us,” Duppy Jonah says. “It has been too long since you visited.”
With a single, eye-blurring surge, the Changer takes the form of a merman, his scales blue-green, his upper torso like to that of the man he has been ashore, although with less body hair.
“I would be pleased to do so, brother,” he replies. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Two days have passed since Lovern’s call. At that time, the wizard had also requested a room be reserved for the Sea Queen. After some thought, Vera decides to give her the room that shares a bath with her own temporary quarters.
“From the little Lovern explained,” she says to Arthur, taking a seat in his office beneath a piece of her own weaving, “I don’t think that Mother Carey has ever been on dry land—at least not for long. Someone should be on hand to advise her about human customs, and as I am the only female resident of Pendragon Estates…”
“Very good, very good,” Arthur says hastily, not wanting to be reminded of this imbalance in his establishment.
Vera has not seemed to mind, but some of the more militant females among their people have complained about the inequity. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that a representative sort of government needs to be set up. Only the fact that none of them particularly wants to be a representative or to relocate has kept that proposal from becoming law. It’s certain to be brought up again this Review.
Arthur sighs. A king must be answerable to his subjects, but sometimes he longs for the days of absolute monarchy—and a much smaller, less opinionated group to reign over.
“Have you decided where we will put… Sven?”
Vera colors a very pretty rose beneath her coppery skin. She hasn’t quite forgiven herself for letting the fiery trickster into Arthur’s establishment, although Eddie himself has assured her that she had only done what she must.
“I thought that we’d put him in the room that shares a bath with the Changer,” she answers. “The Changer does not like him overmuch, but I don’t believe he dislikes him as actively as some of those who will be staying here.”
“A good point. The Changer is tough, too. Sven would need to behave himself with such a one in proximity. If annoyed, the ancient is as likely as not to take Sven’s red head off.”
Vera relaxes a bit. “That was what I thought. I had considered putting Sven with Katsuhiro, but I couldn’t decide whether they’d hate each other or hit it off.”
“Either alternative is pretty frightening,” Arthur agrees, drumming lightly with the rubber end of his pencil. “It’s a pity, as Katsuhiro is at least firm in his loyalties.”
“Except for this current rivalry with Dakar,” Vera reminds him. “Dakar hasn’t requested shelter here, but I’m certain he’s going to attend the Review in person.”
“Another problem to deal with when we must. Have the South American contingent made their wishes known?”
“Yes. They’re staying in the Crowne Plaza Pyramid. I think they’re making a statement about their unhappiness with athanor policy on the ecological situation by not accepting shelter here. I suspect we’ll be having a difficult time with them.”
“That’s no surprise. My problem is that I cannot help but sympathize with some elements of their position.”
“I know.” Vera glances down at her notebook. “Lovern won’t be pleased, but Louhi is attending. She’s not staying here, though. She’s requested a hotel room.”
“Lovern can put up with her attending. We all meet old lovers and old enemies at these things.”
“True. And Lil Prima says to tell you that Tommy will be glad to perform if you’d like. They’re driving down from Santa Fe and staying in a hotel, but she says they can bring his gear.”
“That would be nice.” Arthur drums a riff from one of Tommy’s old pieces. “We’ll let him choose the selections. Perhaps we can have him play at the reception on the twentieth.”
“I’ll call Lil.”
“Thanks.”
“Eddie has been handling the catering arrangements via telephone. Anson keeps him from overworking, but your loyal sidekick is miserable at being laid up.”
Arthur grins, knowing full well how sour Eddie’s mood has been. “I’ve been grateful to Anson. The Spider manages to maintain a good mood no matter what he’s up against.”
“Remember your gratitude,” Vera says, “when next he annoys you. Is there anything else? I need to double-check some of the details on the Review agenda.”
“It’s stupid but…” Arthur pauses, uncertain whether to continue.
Vera cocks an eyebrow at him, surprised to see the usually decisive king hesitant. “Yes?”
“I was wondering…” Another pause, then the words come out in a rush. “What are we going to do about the puppy?”
“Shahrazad?”
“Yes. She’s tearing up all the plantings in the courtyard. We need it for small meetings and as a place where people can gather. I know we have other conference areas, but…”
“We can’t exactly cage her up,” Vera says, her tone making this a suggestion.
“No.” Arthur shudders at how the Changer would react. “Do you think we could get her father to keep her in his room?”
“Maybe. She’ll ruin anything there. Shahrazad’s not only a puppy, she’s a coyote puppy. She’s only sort of housebroken.”
“Can you talk with the Changer about her?” Arthur asks, hastening to add. “It’s not that I’m afraid to talk with him, but if I say something, it takes on the tone of a royal edict or a request from the head of the house. I don’t want to offend him.”
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.” Vera nods. “Yes, I’ll talk with him when he gets back. Meanwhile, we can have the landscapers set up some small tables and benches in the external gardens. It’s not as if you don’t have other grounds.”
“I don’t suppose…”
“That we should put Shahrazad out there without her father’s permission?” Vera draws herself up indignantly. “I should think not! If you were worried about the courtyard, you should have mentioned this sooner.”
“I didn’t know how long he would be staying away,” Arthur replies lamely, “but you’re right. Pity his current room doesn’t open to the exterior of the house.”
“It doesn’t, and I really can’t move him without first speaking to him. Do you want me to call him at Duppy Jonah’s?”
Arthur thinks, then nods. “Yes, tell him that we’ve decided to empty the ground-floor rooms bordering the courtyard so that people can meet there. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Vera smiles. “It does.”
“Good.” Arthur drums a satisfied tattoo, then sets his pencil aside. “I need to get back to setting up the video cameras before my meeting tonight. There are times I wish we could have servants.”
Tucking her notebook under one arm, Vera starts out, “But that would mean that more people would need to know what we’re doing here. The days when our own would do menial labor are long past. Those who don’t have much money would rather serve mortals than humble themselves before other athanor.”
“True.”
“Still,” Vera says, sticking her head back through the doorway, “you might try contacting the Smith. He loves gadgets.”
“Good idea.”
Each is so immersed in their immediate p
roblems, needs, and responsibilities that neither spares a moment to think about their mysterious enemy. Eddie’s accident and the subsequent attack had been a week before. There have been no problems since. Neither considers how very strange this is; even Eddie gives the date only a passing acknowledgment.
There is so much to do.
Rather to Chris Kristofer’s surprise, Arthur Pendragon refuses to be interviewed. His polite but firm letter intensifies Chris’s desire to get the man’s story.
With an avidity that endears him to his editors, he covers the city’s public forums, especially those dealing with the issues raised on the Pendragon Productions website. In the second week of June, his perserverance is rewarded.
The issue under review is the Albuquerque city government’s hopes that the contradictory aims of limiting water use and encouraging city expansion can be achieved. Officials wax eloquent on incentives for reducing residential water use, but Chris’s “people sense” can tell that many attendees aren’t buying the tidy arguments.
When the officials open the meeting to questions from the floor, one of the first to speak is a bearded man of medium height. His reddish gold hair just brushes his collar, and his clothing is expensive but understated.
“Even an idiot,” the man begins in a British accent, “can see that no matter how many homes put in low-flow toilets and showerheads, no matter how many people tear out their bluegrass lawns and xeriscape, new construction eliminates the gains.”
“I think you exaggerate, Mister…” the official on the platform hesitates.
“Pendragon,” the man says. “And I think not.”
“Perhaps someone else would like to speak,” the official says desperately, glancing about the listening crowd.
“He’s doing just fine!” someone shouts.
Mutters of agreement force the official to wait in silence as Pendragon moves to the front of the hall, where he coolly appropriates an overhead projector.
“These water-use figures,” Arthur Pendragon begins, “were obtained from publicly available sources. I would be happy to share my sources and a copy of this handout after the meeting.”
Changer (Athanor) Page 20
