A Tapestry of Fire (Applied Topology Book 4)

by Margaret Ball

  Ben shot a glance at Harper. She appeared to be serious. She must have meant it when she said she didn’t do math.

  This time Harper had also brought a significantly larger plastic tub and a dipper for scooping water out of the aquarium tank. They hoped that the increased amount of water would keep the captive in fish form comfortable while they lugged the tub into the cubicle area and closed the doors to the lobby, and Harper hoped that the slight added distance would mean that less heat got sucked out of the water left in the aquarium.

  They hadn’t thought enough about the fact that the large tub would be a lot heavier when it was filled with water. After they netted and transferred a machalee fish, it took both of them to drag the tub and its furiously thrashing prisoner into the office space beyond the lobby doors. Water splashed on the lobby tiles and soaked into the office carpets, and the tub hung up on something every few inches.

  “Next time,” Ben groused, “let’s bring something on wheels so we can just roll the thing in here. My back!”

  “You should do yoga,” Harper said. “My back is fine.”

  “You,” Ben pointed out, “did not have to bend nearly double to accommodate your much shorter partner.” Actually it wasn’t Harper’s fault that he was nearly breaking his back to grasp the low edge of the tub; the two of them couldn’t begin to lift it off the floor once it was full of water, so that was that. But he felt like blaming somebody.

  “Oh, quit complaining and give me the bolt cutters!” Harper snapped.

  “Nope. This tag is still pretty solid, just beginning to rust; it’ll take a man’s strength to cut through the bar.”

  Ben stood a moment, frowning down at the mud-colored fish in the tub, while Harper knelt and got a grip on it.

  “What are you waiting for?” she demanded once the fish was trapped in her hands.

  “I don’t know. Seems like we ought to have some kind of ceremony. This is deep magic; much stronger than we’ve ever done with applied topology, even using the stars. Well, apart from the time-travel incident, and I wasn’t in on that one.”

  “I thought you couldn’t do time travel.”

  “Oh. Well. It might be more accurate to say, we’re never doing it again. We nearly lost four people last time.” After which it had been agreed that time travel was not going to be part of the Center’s research. “And maybe we should have brought the other research fellows.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “No, he’s only support staff, can’t do applied topology to save his life. I mean the other topologists in the office this week – Ingrid and Colton. Even Prakash, if he’s around. What if whoever we liberate isn’t any more our friend than Chayyaputra’s? We don’t know who else he transformed – or why.”

  “If you’ll get on with it, we can find out. Come on! I can’t hold this guy forever, you know.”

  Ben fitted the bolt cutter blades around the iron bar that joined the two flat tags and squeezed.

  “A little harder, Mr. Masculine Strength?”

  “I liked you better when you were this shy, mousy little thing who kept apologizing. What did you do, take assertiveness training overnight?” Ben exhaled hard while pushing the handles of the bolt cutter together.

  There was an audible click as the cutter blades met; the two halves of the tag fell back into the tub and the machalee fish writhed under Harper’s hands. She let go and jumped back, and the eerie sequence of the previous day repeated; lights dimming, a film of ice on top of the water in the tub, something growing and swelling and taking form before them.

  Something relatively short and slight, compared to Renata Rivera.

  Well, mostly slight, anyway. Some parts were… impressive.

  Her long, wet hair clung like seaweed, partially obscuring her most impressive assets. There wasn’t quite enough of it for a full Lady Godiva effect, though.

  And she too was screaming.

  “You let me out of here this minute, you ugly little creep!”

  Maybe this one would calm down once she had some clothes on. Ben stepped behind the girl and threw the terry-cloth robe over her. She thrashed like the fish she’d been a moment earlier, landed an elbow on Ben’s nose and knocked his glasses off.

  “Cut that out,” Ben panted, “we’re friends!”

  “Get your hands off me!”

  Harper reached out to take one of the girl’s hands. “We really are your friends,” she said in a soft, unthreatening voice. “Whoever was just attacking you, it wasn’t Ben. Turn around and see. Does he look like the guy you were screaming at?”

  The girl turned her head, gasped and relaxed at the innocuous sight of Ben on his knees, feeling for his glasses. “No,” she said. “He doesn’t look like somebody who’d attack anybody. But if he’s a friend of that son of a bitch…”

  “I am not,” Ben said stiffly, rising with glasses in hand, “in any way friendly with, or associated with, or helping Shani Chayyaputra. I assume that’s who you mean?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “Dark guy, kind of short, uses scented hair oil?”

  The girl nodded slowly. “Then you’ll let me go?”

  “If you want to go,” Ben said, “you’re free to do that.”

  “But you might want to let us give you some better clothes first,” Harper suggested. “And shoes.”

  “Oh. Yes.” The girl looked down at the edges of the bathrobe and pulled it around her. “Shoes… My feet are freezing! Why am I standing in a tub of ice water?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Ben, offering her a hand to help her step over the side of the tub, “and better discussed elsewhere than in the middle of Chayyaputra’s office building.” He was beginning to think that he should have written a little explanatory pamphlet that could be handed to rescued victims of the fish transformation. Oh well, after this explanation he’d only have to repeat himself two more times.

  “You want to drive? Or go… the other way?” Harper asked. “Or you could take her now and I’ll drive over.”

  The girl dropped Ben’s hand. “Excuse me, but after what that creep just tried to pull on me I’m not going anywhere alone with a man. Not even this guy. No matter how nerdy and harmless he may look.”

  Harper looked at Ben’s indignant face and snorted. He definitely preferred her mousy, apologetic incarnation.

  “Okay, we’ll drive.” Harper made Ben put away her aquarium tools in a corner of the lobby while she pulled the van around so that the girl wouldn’t have to cross the parking lot barefoot.

  It did occur to Ben that some people would consider getting into a van with people you didn’t know even more risky than going somewhere alone with him, but he didn’t mention that. He knew the girl was safer with them than inside the SCI office building, and he didn’t want to spook her.

  On the way back to Allandale House they learned the girl’s name, or at least what she was currently using for a name. She claimed to go by Faelyn, and spelled it for them. It was probably only a mark of Ben’s suspicious nature that he thought “Faelyn” might be an extra-creative rendering of “Fay Lynn.” A Texas accent and a body like that didn’t seem to go with faery names.

  She told them that she’d been working a face-painting gig at Eeyore’s Birthday Party when some creepy old guy started trying to pick her up. She laughed him off and the next thing she knew she was in a bedroom with him and the door was locked. He made a move on her, she swatted him, and then…

  “He must have drugged me,” she said with a shiver. “But how? I wasn’t stupid enough to take the cup of beer he offered me in the park… but I still don’t know how he got me into that room… and right after I hit him, everything got real strange.”

  “You were on the floor?” Ben suggested.

  “You couldn’t breathe?” added Harper, turning to look at her.

  “For pity’s sake, look where you’re going, Harper! You thought you were swimming?” Ben said, returning to Faelyn’s story.

  “How
did you know? Are you sure you aren’t working for that guy?”

  “He’s done something similar to other people,” Ben said. “Friends of ours. We’re trying to stop him. At least…” Would Faelyn have described Shani Chayyaputra as an ‘old guy?’ He prodded her for a description. Darkish skin, check. Slicked-back black hair, check. Wearing too many rings. And yes, she said emphatically, he was old, definitely over thirty!

  “Um… how old are you, Faelyn?”

  She was eighteen.

  “When we get back to the Center,” Ben grumbled, “I’m going to check for grey hairs.” He had just turned twenty-five and suddenly that felt like the beginnings of middle age. What with that and Faelyn’s characterization of his appearance as ‘harmless and nerdy,’ he felt his ego shriveling by the minute.

  “I can drop you off and take Faelyn back to my place to get her something to wear,” Harper offered.

  “Uh, no. I, she, it would be more efficient if we debrief her while you’re going for clothes.” Ben had just managed to push his injured ego aside long enough to realize that Faelyn could offer the Center researchers something that might be extremely useful.

  Once they got to the office, Ben’s first step was to demand Ingrid come out of her nice quiet office on the private side to help him explain what was going on to Faelyn. She definitely relaxed more when there was another woman in the room.

  He and Ingrid managed to “explain” what was going on to Faelyn without actually mentioning teleportation, transformation or anything else they weren’t supposed to talk about. They kept it on an abstract-ish level of “This man hurt our friends and we’re trying to help other people he may have hurt,” and Faelyn accepted that without too many questions. She didn’t want to talk about her experiences as a fish, brushing them off as some kind of hallucinations caused by “the old creep.” Her main concern was learning that several days had passed since Eeyore’s Birthday Party; she had a second face-painting gig for one of the upcoming Cinco de Mayo parties and since she hadn’t been paid for the previous job, she really needed to do this one.

  “Cinco de Mayo isn’t until Saturday,” Ben reassured her. “This is only Tuesday, you’ll have plenty of time to prepare. And meanwhile, you could do us a big, big favor… if you would.”

  On the previous day, he’d told Jimmy that the security on the second floor of the SCI building was beyond his lock-picking skills. That was still true… but if his guess as to the location of the room Faelyn had found herself in was correct, they now had a second way to get there. Using applied topology.

  But suggesting that she return there with him would be… tricky. The girl was understandably nervous. Ben drew Ingrid aside and suggested that she try and talk Faelyn into helping her teleport into that room.

  It wasn’t easy, but by the time Harper came back with jeans and a lacy blouse more or less in Faelyn’s size Ingrid had persuaded Faelyn that she owed the people who’d rescued her this favor.

  “I’m only asking you to show me the way,” she said. “I can’t do it by myself because I’ve never seen the place. But if you can close your eyes and try to remember exactly what Shani’s bedroom looked like, I can take us both there… and then I’ll take you right back here. I promise.”

  Annelise came back from lunch just in time to see Ingrid and Faelyn step out of the air and back into the third floor of Allandale House.

  “Who’s she?”

  “Another of Shani Chayyaputra’s victims,” Ben said.

  Annelise sniffed. “Well, I can certainly see the appeal of that one!” She looked down at Faelyn, who was filling out Harper’s blouse and jeans with considerably more exuberance than Harper would have displayed. Seams stretched, buttons strained, fabric pulled taut over curves, and all in all the clothes only emphasized Faelyn’s dramatic figure. Just to make matters worse, her long blond hair was still wet, and now the blouse was wet as well.

  “Now, now, let’s not start that again,” Ben said nervously. “Yesterday Ingrid jumped to conclusions, don’t you do it today.”

  “We’re just wondering,” Ingrid said, “why all the people you’ve rescued from Shani just happen to be short, busty blondes.”

  “Um… they’re his type? And it’s not like we can pick, Ingrid. All the fish look alike.”

  “What have fish got to do with anything?” Faelyn demanded. She seemed to have completely repressed any watery memories by now.

  “Uh, not important. Ingrid, did you get a fix on the room? Good! Harper, can you take Faelyn home?” Ben wiped his forehead as the two girls left. Conventionally. By the staircase. Even given Faelyn’s demonstrated ability to not notice anything paranormal, Ben felt happier knowing that she wouldn’t have to ignore any more odd events. “Believe me, Annelise,” he said, “I would rather not have to deal with any more rescued females.” He brightened. “But then, I won’t have to. There are only two machalee fish left, and they have to be Will and Eli. It’ll be a nice change, rescuing somebody rational. I can hardly wait.”

  “Unless there are more prisoners in his private apartment,” Ingrid pointed out.

  “What, has he got an aquarium there too?”

  “I didn’t see one,” she admitted, “but then, I was barely there long enough to memorize one view of the bedroom. Faelyn was in a hurry to get out of there, and I don’t blame her.”

  “By contrast,” Ben said, “I’m in a hurry to get in there. We can’t spring another fish until tomorrow, might as well spend the time searching Shani’s private quarters. You up for a return trip?”

  “The sooner the better. I really need to take more time and get a better fix on the place. You know what, we should take Colton too,” Ingrid suggested. “The more of us know how to get into Shani’s rooms, the better. Is Prakash here?”

  “Of course not.” Ben called to Colton and he joined them. The three of them linked hands, funneled stars into the teleportation, and let Ingrid define their final location.

  “A round bed?” Colton shook his head. “Never saw one of those outside the movies.”

  “I wonder how you make it?” Naturally that would be Ingrid’s first question.

  “This one might be in some movies.” Ben had spotted a discreetly placed lens. He opened a pair of intricately carved cabinet doors and revealed a state-of-the-art digital video recording system.

  Ingrid picked up the black remote that was lying on a bedside table. “Remote-controlled video? I wonder if all his playmates knew they were being filmed.”

  “The more we learn about this ‘god,’ Colton said, “the less he resembles a god. To me. I guess I don’t understand Hindu theology.”

  “Ok, his bedroom arrangements are sleazy, and we already know from Faelyn that he’s not particular about how he gets girls in here, and I could have predicted all of that from the way he tried to treat Annelise last winter,” Ben summed up briskly. “How about looking for something we don’t already know about?”

  They looked, but kept getting distracted by the over-the-top décor and furnishings. The furniture was upholstered with red and purple velvet, with gold-stamped designs and gold braid trim. Anything that could be made of wood was carved into exotic shapes and painted in brilliant primary colors. Drawers opened out of strange places – they found one underneath a chair, two shallow ones in a door, and a whole set of tiny drawers spiraling up a carved post in the living room. Hanging fabrics rich with embroidery released clouds of musky scent when they were pushed aside. Stained glass windows shed rainbows of light on the rooms, creating confusing shadows.

  “This apartment reminds me of a rajah’s palace,” Ingrid said.

  Ben blinked and Colton stared. “Exactly when did you ever tour a rajah’s palace?”

  “Prakash talked me into going to Jodhaa Akbar.”

  “Jimmy didn’t mind?”

  “He went too.” Ingrid saw their expressions and flushed. “Look, it was right after that business in January, okay? Prakash was depressed because he’d finally under
stood that Thalia was never going to go out with him, and Dr. Verrick asked me to try and cheer him up. But after Thalia’s experiences, I wasn’t about to go to the movies with him unless Jimmy sat between us.”

  “The things we never guess about our colleagues,” Ben said. “Fascinating insight – well, at least we know what Shani’s decorator’s inspiration was. Isn’t there anything useful in here?”

  There didn’t seem to be. The spiral of miniature drawers housed some unfaceted stones that might have been sapphires, which was interesting in a way but didn’t give them any insight into Shani’s latest dirty tricks. Neither did the stack of frozen curries in the freezer in the kitchen nook, the decorative wrought-iron grille that partitioned off the dining area, or the iron trident hung high over the velvet couch in the living room.

  “That thing makes me nervous,” Colton complained of the trident.

  “It’s just a decoration.”

  “Yeah, but why’d he hang it with the points facing down? Would you like to sit under something sharp like that?”

  “I wouldn’t like to sit down in this place at all,” Ingrid sniffed, “unless I were wearing a Hazmat suit. One more tacky decoration doesn’t make that much difference. Why do you suppose anybody thought it a good idea to embed blue crystals into an iron trident? It looks like some piece of junk to sell to tourists.”

  “The whole place looks like that,” Ben said gloomily. “If we ever dispose of Shani, his employees could make money offering guided tours of the apartment.” He thought of a bright side. “At least he’s not keeping any prisoners in here. So those last two tagged fish have to be Will and Eli.”

  8. Headstrong, reckless and irritating

  Wimberley, Wednesday

  For once, I was first on the deck for breakfast the next morning. The crunchy granola wasn’t the attraction; it was the coffee urn. I hadn’t been getting my minimum daily requirement of coffee since coming to Wimberley, and I’d finally made a connection between that and the persistent headache that had been bothering me. I was there before Margo had even finished setting out the day’s ration of cardboard and raisins. On this cloudy morning I had hopes of being able to caffeinate myself adequately before, say, Webster showed up to intensify the headache.