by Carl Sargent
The elf smiled at that. Then he looked away, and the lines of pain were visible around his eyes. They were always his betrayal.
“It’s just that I wish I didn’t feel the beauty of things so much,” he sighed, the wind ruffling his hair as he stared out at the moonlight shining on the waters. “That’s what makes it difficult at times.”
“You are rather self-pitying today,” the spirit said in a very matter-of-fact way.
Niall laughed, his mouth curled in a wry smile. He got to his feet and glanced around himself in a wide circle. Maybe it was, after all, just water against stone, the endless struggle of the irresistible sea against the immovable rocks below, nothing more. If he hadn’t known that he’d seen the same scene for so very long, in ages before he had been called to the Center, it would have been easier to believe it. It was the sea calling him back to those happier, easier times that he could not ignore.
“I must go,” he said quietly. “Protect me. Hide my trail from my enemies.”
The spirit nodded assent. Niall drew his cloak around him and bowed his head against the promise of rain from the darkening clouds the eastern Atlantic brought in its airstream. He still had many preparations to make.
* * *
“Look,” Michael told the troll. Serrin had fallen into a restless doze induced by the wine served to the suborbital’s passengers; Tom had expressed disbelief at the poor excuse for food served up with it, and unable to take refuge in the alcohol, had stayed awake. His excitement was obvious. As the aircraft descended, Michael saw the first promise of the sun, and knew what Tom would see.
“This is beautiful,” he said simply. “I don’t care what any scientist says. You don’t see this anywhere else in the world. Not like this.”
The red orb insinuated itself into view, but almost as a hint, a suggestion rather than a reality. The edge of the sun was there, but it as yet was only a phantasm in the sky. Then the ring hit the horizon.
Light flashed around the world like the inspiration of hope to the desperate. The gentle blue of a new day rose in the thinnest of lines, traced out in a yellow-red shadowing, resolute and irresistible. The troll was stunned by it; no sunrise seen from the surface of the earth had ever looked like this, no matter how glorious.
“Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus, through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?”
Tom looked at Michael; he hadn’t understood a word. Michael grinned at him.
“An old English poet, dear boy. Can’t help remembering the lines when I see the sun like that.”
Tom leaned back in his seat, contemplating the Englishman. His eyes bored into him, but Michael just sat casually toying with his plastic mug of old, cold soykaf. The sounds of deceleration and imminent landing jerked Serrin into wakefulness, breaking the silence between his fellow passengers.
“Looks like we may have avoided the winter rains this morning,” Michael said cheerfully. Serrin grunted and rubbed his eyes, despising people who were cheerful at this hour of the day. The aircraft’s huge tires hit the runway with a disagreeable bump.
“Let me talk us through immigration,” Michael said earnestly.
“I hadn’t planned on anything else,” the elf said drily.
The cab got them to Indra’s just about the time almost everyone else was leaving. The ork bouncers told them the place was closing, but the combination of Michael’s clothes, accent, and money persuaded them otherwise. Swathed in cinnamon and silvered yellow, Indra herself appeared to check them out personally, half-smiling at their appearance.
“I know this is rather unusual, madam, but we’d be very grateful if we could stay here for, say, two days,” Michael said politely after introducing himself.
Indra was just turning away when he mentioned the willingness to pay. She changed her mind swiftly.
“I don’t know why gentlemen like you would want to stay here instead of an expensive hotel,” she said, addressing Michael and Serrin while pointedly ignoring Tom. “The rooms are clean, but nothing flash.”
“Precisely,” Michael said, a smile insinuating itself at the corners of his mouth. “However, we aren’t here to sample the delights of your, er, employees. There’s someone we want to see, who told us we could find her here. If you could send someone to fetch her, quietly and discreetly, of course, we would naturally pay well for such a service.”
“Yes?” Indra prompted, meanwhile gesturing to the orks to begin carrying the bags up the stairs. In moments the squeals of girls unwillingly being turned out of their rooms filtered down after them.
“Kristen. Kristen Makibo. She’s an, er. friend of ours. She called us from here,” Michael explained.
Indra looked them up and down. “That girl has friends like you?” she said disbelievingly.
“Most certainly. Mr. Shamandar here is her godfather,” Michael said quite seriously.
Indra burst into laughter and patted him on the shoulder as she ushered the group in.
“Godfather? Mr. Sutherland, you shouldn’t tell such wicked lies to an old woman. That girl ain’t got no ordinary father, nor mother, and sure as anything there aren’t any gods holding cards for her.”
Michael raised his hat to her, smiled mischievously, and headed up the stairs.
“She’s over at the doc. I’ll have her here within the hour,” Indra said determinedly. Michael guessed she’d give the girl a grilling before turning her over, and said it was urgent.
“Say fifteen minutes,” the woman agreed as he passed her a wad of bills. Having spent less than expected to grease the eager palms at the airport, he was feeling generous.
“And a gin and tonic, I think,” he said finally.
“It’s an act, Tom,” he whispered to the troll as they headed up the creaky, uncarpeted stairs. “She expects it. I know how to play my part. It’s just the way things are done sometimes.”
“I don’t understand you,” the troll said by the time they got upstairs.
“You haven’t spent much time with Brits, have you?” Michael didn’t waste a minute waiting for an answer. He was eager to unpack and hang up his clothes, and he just knew there wouldn’t be a trouser press in the place.
13
Dismayed at the condition of his room, Serrin still wasn’t sure whether he agreed with Michael’s idea about staying here. True, it would be the last place anyone in his right mind would consider looking for them—unless that someone had access to the phone and fax numbers that had brought them here. Later, he would want to cast some magic to conceal them, but he’d have to be careful about spellworking in case Indra went off the deep end about such things. He didn’t sense any magic around the place, but he also didn’t know much about Cape shamans and mages—and he certainly didn’t want to take the chance of giving offense if Indra did have one on tap.
* * *
Michael was halfway through his drink when the ork bouncer practically threw the girl into his room. So this was Kristen. Her appearance was appalling, with the crude stitches in her ear and her clothes covered with dried blood. Her hands also showed heavy graze marks and she looked like a frightened child expecting a beating for some guilty secret. Which, he suddenly realized, wasn’t so far from the truth.
“I’m Michael,” he said. “Serrin will be here soon.” He was trying to be soothing. “I’m sorry if you suffered some rough treatment being brought here.” She just stared at him, trembling slightly, neither speaking nor moving.
“Please sit down,” he said, smiling. “We’ve come all this way to find out what you know. It’s important.”
That seemed to help. No one had ever made Kristen feel significant in any way until this moment. Looking slightly less terrified, she sat down slowly in the rickety chair next to the table by the window, but still didn’t speak.
“The pocket computer you mentioned, the one where you got the names. Do you still have it?” he asked. She was halfway through shaking her head when Serrin a
ppeared in the doorway, apparently not noticing the presence of the girl.
“Michael, you must be out of your mind paying to stay here. When I put my shirts in the cupboard, the top shelf collapsed and I got a faceful of whore’s underwear and a couple of roaches. Frag it, can’t we stay at—”
His voice trailed away as the Englishman shook a finger reprovingly at him.
“Watch your language, old boy. There’s a lady present.”
As Serrin took a step into the room and looked around, it was his paleness and the gray eyes that she recognized. The slope of his forehead. The limp in his movement, the bad leg. Then she realized that she could have seen the eyes, the pallor, the brow, in the photograph. Nasrah could have read her the detail about the leg. But she couldn’t have known the way he moved from words and pictures on paper, and yet she did. She knew exactly how he favored his one good leg, how he tried to compensate, because she recognized it. And that truly frightened her.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” she managed to say, her own voice sounding distant and faint to her ears.
As he came into the room, Serrin was disturbed by the brief, uncanny sensation that he’d lived this exact moment somewhere before. But the feeling was short-lived, no more than fleeting. Her appearance was so startling, like she’d just been in an argument with a truck.
“I’m Serrin Shamandar. We spoke,” he said. “Have you been here long?”
“Just got here. Sunil was checking my stitches,” she said.
‘“Are you all right?” the elf said, alarmed. “Is it anything serious? We can—”
“Stop fretting,” Michael said coolly. “Kristen was able to walk in on her own two legs. I don’t think she's going to keel over imminently.
“But we should find somewhere safe to talk,” he said, looking disapprovingly at the open door. “Kristen, we could do with coffee and some real food, but let’s go somewhere we can talk without being overheard. Do you know a place like that?”
She smiled a little. “It’s still a little cold at the waterfront, but we could sit outside and it’li be quiet. Won’t be many people around. ! don’t have much money, though,” she said a little defensively.
Spirits, Serrin thought, she thinks we’re expecting her to invite us to breakfast. His heart warmed to her.
“Not to worry,” he said quietly, smiling at her. Suddenly he was aware of how intently she was staring at him, for all the world like someone studying a portrait in a gallery, searching for something hidden.
“We’d better worry about it,” Michael said laconically. “We’ve got a hungry troll to feed, for one thing. Let’s get Tom and finish the introductions. Then we’ll go and talk. There’s a lot to find out.”
* * *
Kristen changed her mind as they were leaving Indra’s. Suddenly, she didn’t want to take them to any of her usual haunts on the waterfront. Part of her wanted to show off in front of her chummers on the street, but that might only stir up resentment against her later on. Some of the harder cases might not look kindly on an uppity kaffir girl afterward. So, mischievously, she took them by cab to one of the plush places off the Strand. The money there would find her offensive, but with the company she was keeping today they wouldn’t dare try to throw her out. As they walked along past the flower market, she stopped to buy a tiger lily orchid, an absurd extravagance. She put it in her hair, over her untorn ear, as if it were something she did all the time, using her reflection in a shop window to position it just right. At least my face didn’t get ripped up, she thought. I don’t look too bad.
When they finally sat down to eat, Michael ordered most of the dishes on the breakfast menu, daring the staring waiter to say anything about Kristen by simply being as polite as hell. They were seated in a secluded corner that offered both quiet and privacy. By the time the coffee, juice, cereals, and toast arrived on a silver tray, he’d learned what had happened to the computer. He tipped the waiter generously to stop his glaring at the girl, then ordered bacon and eggs for Tom, who was staring at the healthy stuff on the tray as if it were a dead rat.
“You know where to find this man again?” he asked the girl. She nodded.
“But the machine will be in pieces by now,” she said sadly.
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s worth a train ride down the coast to find out.” He tucked a linen napkin into his shirt collar to keep any errant preserve off his tie.
“I’ve got this,” she said brightly, drawing out a ragged and dirty scrap of paper from her bag. She handed it to Serrin, who looked through the names, then passed the sheet to Michael.
“There are more names than the ones you gave me on the phone,” he said to Kristen.
“I couldn’t get them all read out,” she said a little worriedly, as if afraid she’d missed something important.
“It’s fine,” Serrin reassured her. “It just means we’ve got more than we thought.”
“There are some odd code symbols here too,” Michael said slowly. “More than just names and numbers. But you say the computer got glitched up somehow?”
Kristen explained again how she’d played with the little box and how it had suddenly seemed to malfunction. She also had to explain that she couldn’t read the messages flickering on the screen, and she felt bad about that. It showed, all too obviously.
“Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” Tom told her after chewing the last of the bacon. “We live in one of the richest countries in the world and half the people there can’t read nor write their own names. If nobody gives you the chance, it ain’t your fault. Don’t make you stupid.”
By the time they’d breakfasted, Michael had gotten everything he could from the girl. Her account of the kidnapping and killing made Serrin nod at the remembrance of some details, but she couldn’t give any close-up descriptions of the men who’d made the hit. There was no way of knowing if it had been the same people who’d tried to snatch him in Heidelberg, and he said so.
“Heidelberg?” She was confused. “But I thought you only just came over here. From America. You were in Azania a few days ago?”
Now Serrin looked confused, until Michael explained it to him. “You’ve forgotten your time in Johannesburg, term. Part of the megaplex is the old town of Heidelberg to the south. There’s a Middelburg out east too. Easy to get mixed up.
“Look, I'm going to get to work on this stuff,” he continued, tucking the paper into his top pocket. “My deck’s over at the Hilton in the hotel safe. I didn't want to leave it at Indra’s. I took a room over there as well so I can work, and it’s a place we can hole up if there’s any trouble at Indra’s. Not that I expect any, of course. Come on, Tom, we’ve got work to do.”
He gently kicked the troll in the shin under the table. Surprised, Tom gobbled down the last of his muffin and stood up beside the Englishman.
“You’re not going to get picked off here,” Michael said, looking around at the crowds growing along the street outside. “See you for lunch and a lovely siesta afterward, I think. Later!” Before the elf could respond, the Englishman had taken Tom’s arm and they were out through the doors and into the street.
“What was that all about?” Tom asked.
“She spent the entire time looking at Serrin," Michael explained. “She wants to talk to him. We’re the extras. We got what we wanted. Now let’s leave them alone.”
The troll was looking away, and Michael followed the direction of his gaze.
“Ah, the mountain,” he said quietly.
“What’s up there?” the troll inquired. He could see that the huge, flat-topped peak was a place of power. Anyone with a shred of talent would have registered that.
“The Rain Queen. The dragon Mujaji. If you want to go up top, you’ve got to be very careful and very polite and not go anywhere you’re not supposed to. The shamans up there are weird people. You can take the cable car up, but keep quiet and stay to the roped-off areas.”
&
nbsp; “Hmmm,” Tom grunted. “You didn't ask the girl about the mage. Um, Shakala?”
“For a very good reason,” Michael said, fiddling with his tie. “She’s Xhosa. Mixed race. It’s not polite to ask about a Zulu.”
“I don’t get it.”
“If you lived here you would—or else you’d be dead,” Michael retorted. “Take the Rain Queen for starters. Xhosa myth says she protects them against their great enemy, the Zulus. She sends torrential storms to ruin their crops, to make it impossible for their armies to march on the Xhosa. In her earlier manifestations as a woman, she played the Boers and Brits off against each other too.”
“I still don’t scan. Is she a dragon or a woman?” Tom asked.
“Both. The Xhosas distinguish between the Great Spirit of the Rain Queen and her manifestations. Both the woman and the dragon are manifestations of the same thing. But she’s theirs and she protects them against their enemies. No Zulu would be allowed to set foot on that mountain.”
“I want to put my feet on the ground up there,” the troll said slowly. The sense of power drew him, despite this sinister and forbidding tale.
“Then do it,” Michael replied. He hailed a cab and gave the driver instructions.
“The Hilton, please. Then please take my friend to the cable terminus for Table Mountain.”
* * *
Martin had finished the last of the analyses by the time the steel trunks arrived. He was stiff across the shoulders from hours hunched over the work station, and his eyes were sore from the night’s ponderings of printouts and screen displays. But the data looked pretty complete; the PET scans and NMR data from Azania were producing results that confirmed each other very closely. There just wasn’t enough in the way of an elven sample. Curious of Luther to be squeamish about that at this stage, Martin thought. Especially given what his hunger had demanded he do of late.
The phone from upstairs told him of the arrival. Excited, he almost knocked over his swivel chair as he raced for the door and up the stone steps of the old crypts. When he reached the hallway, its beautiful mosaic floors were half-hidden by the trunks. What they contained wasn't that big; most of it had to be padding and packaging to protect their fabulously valuable cargo.
