"Yeah? Well, I'm honored."
Patiently, Bear said, "You don't have to decide right now."
"I won't. Let me think about it."
CHAPTER
13
Trashcan Harry came sneaking back to MaxMix Manor about an hour after dark. Things had been quiet in the 'hood so there wasn't a forma! guard posted, but John was watching. Taking Faye's advice, he'd selected a place to the north side of the porch where he could keep an eye on the back door as well as the front. It was a good spot for lurking; River Street's currently operating lights threw shadows that wrapped the position in darkness. From those shadows, John could watch and remain mostly hidden.
Eyeing the darkened building suspiciously, Trashcan Harry deliberately bypassed the front door and cut around toward the back.
"What's wrong with the front door, Trashcan?"
The ugly little man jumped. "Shit, Jack! Don't do that."
"You're nervous tonight." But not nervous enough to go for a weapon. Things couldn't be too bad.
"Hell, anybody'd be nervous with you popping out like that. Just like—well, never mind. I was wanting to talk to you, Jack."
"About where you've been?" "Kinda." Trashcan Harry hesitated for a bit, as if he wasn't sure what he ought to say.
"Jack, are you happy here?"
That wasn't what John was expecting. Caught off guard, John answered with a question of his own. "What kind of a question is that?"
"It don't mean nothing. Just asking."
John's happiness was a strange sort of thing for Trashcan Harry to be thinking about. Wondering where it might lead, John fed him a line that was true but didn't commit John to anything. "I have to admit I never really saw myself spending my life as a lieutenant to a gang boss."
"Yeah, you were made for better." Trashcan Harry looked around, apparently to see if anyone else was in listening distance. He didn't find anyone. "I been hearing things, Jack. Not good things, either. There's trouble coming."
"The Jackals?" The east-side gang had a long-term enmity with the Dons.
"Not exactly."
"Cops cracking down again?" They'd tried a sweep to pick up indigents a month ago. It hadn't made them popular in a neighborhood where most of the people fit the cops' definition of indigent.
"It's Art—I mean Bear. He's gonna get us all in trouble."
Us? "Is he now?"
"Uh-huh. But we don't gotta let him."
We? "We don't?"
"We can get out of here before he drags us down with him."
Wasn't this down enough? "Getting out" had gotten John here. "Running is easy. Getting somewhere is hard. Where would we go?"
"There's this guy, Jack." Reacting to John's raised eyebrow, Trashcan Harry eagerly added, "He's a good guy, Jack. He can help us."
"Why would he want to?" "I, uh, I done some work for him before. He, uh, he owes me a favor. I'd call it in for you, Jack. Don't wanna see anything bad happen to you."
Why was Trashcan so worried about John? "I don't want to see anything bad happen to me either."
"Then you'll come talk to him?"
"Who said anything about talking to anybody?"
"Didn't—oh, shit—I was supposed to. Didn't I?"
"You know, Trashcan Harry, I think you just did. But you still haven't told me who this guy is."
"He, uh, he said I shouldn't. It could get him in trouble around here: But he's a good guy. Really!"
"A mysterious benefactor, huh? Do we have to meet him in a bar? Will he be wearing a hooded cloak? Speak in an obviously disguised voice?" Harry looked increasingly confused by the questions, so John cut out the teasing. "I suppose he wants to see me tonight."
Harry nodded. "That'd be good."
"Alone?"
"I'll be there."
"How comforting."
"Then you'll come?"
The whole deal sounded suspicious, but John didn't really like life in the sprawl's underbelly. If this was a legitimate offer of a way out, he'd be a fool to ignore it. And if it was some kind of plot to get an angle on Bear or the Dons, John would have a chance to uncover it. He could be a hero. He could be a dead hero, if things went sour. But then, he already had a gravestone.
"Sure, why not?"
The Friary was up Division Street and situated in the neutral zone between Don, Jackal, and Ferals territories. It had once been a church, deconsecrated after the economic slump had pushed its parishioners into penury and out of the neighborhood. In the last throes of an attempt to revitalize the area, an entrepreneur had remodeled it into a classy restaurant. He'd lost his shirt.
The current owner still ran it as a restaurant, and though the bar far outgrossed the restaurant part, the place still had enough pretensions that it maintained a few private dining rooms. Those rooms were made up to look like monks' cells, but the people who spent time in those rooms would have been more at home in other kinds of cells; a lot of the Friary's clientele didn't do business that was sanctified, or even legal.
The flickering electric torch on the wall outside the cell didn't shed much light, but it illuminated the long coat hung on the hook by the door. There was something familiar about the cut of the coat, but John didn't get time to dredge up the memory, because Trashcan Harry opened the door and ushered him into the small room. One person was seated at the table that filled most of the space. Electric candlelight flickered off his silver hair and chased shadows across his fine-boned face.
It was Bennett.
John halted in the doorway, ignoring Trashcan Harry's urging. Smiling, Bennett indicated the empty space opposite him with a wave of his long-fingered hand.
John hesitated. Well, if Bennett wanted to do something other than talk, they'd already be into it. Leaving Trashcan standing by the door, John sat.
"So you're the mysterious benefactor."
Bennett was silent for a beat, then said, "So I could be termed."
"Why the sudden interest? Or is it only that you just found out where we were?"
"Actually, John, the interest is not sudden at all. I wanted this meeting because I thought it was high time for us to have a serious talk about your future."
"If you're going to make a pitch for a career with the feds, forget it. I already know you're a fake."
"And did you reach such a conclusion by intuition or deduction? Or did someone tell you?" Bennett smiled disarm-ingly. "It doesn't matter. It's true, I am not a federal officer."
"They why'd you tell me you were?"
"I didn't. I merely let you draw your own conclusions from some general statements. At the time, I thought that the situation would be best served if you thought me connected with some agency in which you had faith. I did not think that you would have faith in a mere stranger off the street. I hope you will forgive such a small deception; it was well-intentioned. Surely you have seen that the woman against whom I warned you has proven dangerous, at least insofar as your life and lifestyle."
"Things haven't been what they used to be," John admitted.
"Nor shall they ever be again." An earnest look replaced Bennett's affable smile. "You watch the news? Of course you do. So you have seen that a lot of strange things, unbelievable things, are being reported these days. Most people think these stories are just that, unbelievable strangeness. Some find a reasonable explanation in mass hysteria, some sort of anti-technological psychosis. Others suggest special effects for some unspecified media campaign, or any one of n number of apparently plausible explanations. Whatever explanation they embrace, most people don't really believe that what they are hearing about is real. But it is, John.
"I don't have to tell you that, though. You know that the magic is real, that magic is becoming more prevalent. You've had personal experience with it."
"I saw you casting spells in the museum."
Bennett shrugged. "A minor thing. The issue is vastly greater than mere sorcery. Have you realized yet that there is another whole realm intruding on this mundane dimension?
"
John's wide eyes and open mouth seemed to answer Bennett's question.
"It's true, John. The otherworld, the place where magic dwells, is no longer as isolated as it has been for many centuries. It is once again connected to this world in which you have grown up."
"You're crazy. There's no such thing." "But there is. Can you explain what you've seen without recourse to magic?"
"Of course," John said. But did he really believe it?
"Then go ahead." Bennett sat back and allowed John to sit silently for far too long. "I thought not."
"Look, I'm just a college kid. Or was, anyway. I'm no scientist, but I know that there's got to be a reasonable explanation to what's happening. There's a scientific explanation for everything."
"Such as your friend Faye?"
"How do you know about her?"
"Dr. Bloch has a scientific explanation for her, an explanation that you don't find reasonable because you know better. You know that Faye is real. And you are correct. She is real, very real. She's from the otherworld, John."
"I asked you how you know about her."
"No need to get hostile, John. I'm not your enemy. I know quite a bit about you. More than you know yourself. For example, I know that you yourself were born of the other-world."
"No way!"
"Most definitely the way. Haven't you ever had feelings of displacement, feelings that you belong somewhere else? Of course you have, and rightly so. You were born in the otherworld, John. You are what folk of this realm call an elf."
"You're crazy. There aren't any elves outside of books."
"You're not being very accepting of your heritage, John."
"I'm a man. So are you."
Bennett smiled indulgently and shook his head. He held his hand up, palm outward and fingers spread. Passing his hand downward across his face, he rotated his wrist and raised his hand with a flourish.
And he no longer looked as he had. His hair was finer, and of a softer silver. His skull was narrower and more sharply boned. His eyes were more elongate and slightly slanted, their irises the pale unearthly blue of deep ice. His ears were more prominent and, yes, pointed. John had no doubt that this—man?—was still Bennett, but there was no way he could mistake him for Homo sapiens,
"This is how I really look, John. The other is just illusion, to allow me to walk more freely in this realm."
Stunned, John heard himself say, "I don't look like that."
"You are a changeling, John. An elven child left in place of a human one. You look like a human because when you were left in this realm, there were spells placed upon you. The spells slant your appearance, rather than changing it entirely. No greater effect was possible while there was so little ambient magic in this realm." Bennett snapped his fingers and his "human" appearance was restored. "You can easily see how closely we resemble each other when I appear as a human."
John remembered imagining when they first met that Bennett might be a long-lost cousin. Could it be true? "If I really am an elf under a disguise spell, show me. Take the spell
off."
Bennett looked saddened. "I would love for you to see yourself as you truly are. I would love to see your true appearance myself, but for the moment we are both denied that pleasure. The spells that have let you pass here are locked until you return to the otherworld. Once in the realm of your birth, you will take up your true appearance. You can take up other things then as well, most especially the life that is your true destiny."
"True destiny?"
Bennett leaned forward slightly, his eyes pinning John with an intense stare. "You are a royal prince of Faery,
John."
John felt his mouth hanging open again.
"This is too weird."
"It's true, John."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am a prince of Faery as well." Bennett paused. At first John thought it was just to let him react, but there was a difference to Bennett's hesitancy this time. When the guy—the elf—spoke again, his words came out slowly. "And because I am your true father."
John's mind reeled. Elf? Prince? Father? One part of him wanted to believe it. Who wouldn't want to be a prince of Faery? But it was too much. He'd grown up in a rational world; there just weren't fairy princes outside of books and vids. It was too incredible.
But he'd seen a man called out of the air, seen spell-tossing sorcerers, seen Bennett change before his eyes. He'd seen magic. Was an otherworld so farfetched? And what about Faye? As Bennett said, he knew that she was real. Could Bennett be telling him the truth about these other things?
If he was, nothing was as John had believed it to be. It was numbing. But beyond the whats, there were whys. Not the least of which was "why now?" Where was this father years ago? A flash of Stellar Wars ran through his head.
"Aren't you supposed to be telling me to trust my feelings or something and know that what you're saying is true?"
"Emotions can be powerful, John, more powerful than reason. Magic and magical thinking do not displace reason; they augment it. I expect you to use your reason and see the truth for the truth. I understand that the truth will take some getting used to, but I can help you, John. I can guide you to a true understanding of your place in life."
Guide me, huh? "If you're really my father, who was Zach Reddy? And my mom, is she really my mom?"
"Marianne Reddy has nurtured you as if you were her own, but she is not your biological mother."
"Who is?" John shouted.
"Her name would mean nothing to you," Bennett replied calmly. "In any case, she is ... no longer among us. But I am here."
"And just where the hell were you while I was growing up?"
"Your anger is understandable. I was locked in the other-world."
"Why didn't you just magic yourself out?"
"The bridge is not always open, John. I would have been there for you had I been able. Even though I missed your childhood, I did not totally abandon you."
"What do you mean?"
"Fearing that I would be cut off from you, I arranged safeguards for you. The being you call Trashcan Harry is an agent of mine. When it began to appear that I might be unable to stay in this world, I brought him here to watch over you and to protect you. Though you have only recently had direct contact with him, he has always been nearby."
Trashcan Harry had been standing silently near the door through all of this. When John looked at him, he nodded in confirmation.
"He has kept trouble from you," Bennett said. "Eliminated problems where he could."
"Winston?" John asked, still looking at Harry.
Trashcan nodded again.
Had the old guy killed Winston just to keep John out of trouble? Or had he just taken away the body? Eliminated problems. What a cold turn of phrase.
"You cannot afford to dwell on the past," Bennett said in a commanding tone that brought John's head around. "You are an elf. You will come to understand that elves have long pasts. The years of a human's life can be but an eyeblink to one of our kind. All that has happened in your life among the humans is over and done with. You must think about the future.
"And what a future you have, John! All the strange things that this world has been experiencing are only the faintest taste of what is to come. As a royal prince of Elfland, you will come into your full heritage only after the magic is freed to blossom as it did so long ago. Then you and I can explore our relationship, get to know each other. We can banish those lost years as we live our proper lives as elven royalty."
Bennett smiled warmly at him, and John found himself smiling back.
The offer was tempting. How could it not be? To be a prince in a magic kingdom. To live like a king. Wasn't being an elven prince even better than being a knight?
Even if it meant acknowledging a father who had abandoned you? John's smile faltered.
"You abandoned me."
"I can't deny that. But it was not my choice. Sometimes a prince of Faery is no
t free to make the choices his heart would like. Circumstances have changed now, John. Now we can be together."
"Are you going to take me to Faery?"
"I can. But there is a problem preventing you from claiming your heritage."
"Always a catch, huh?"
"Always." Bennett gave him the sort of smile you give a friend you've just let in on a secret. "But nothing a clever elf cannot overcome."
"Like me?"
"Exactly like you."
John remembered the last time he'd seen Bennett. "This wouldn't have something to do with Artos?"
"As I said, clever."
"So tell me."
"Has Artos spoken yet of Calibum?"
John knew the name. He'd read about it. Most of the stories used a different name, Excalibur, for King Arthur's magic sword. "The sword?"
"It has taken that shape. Has he spoken of it?"
"No, he hasn't," he answered before he realized that Bennett had said something odd, "If Caliburn's not a sword, what is it?"
"An artifact of significant power," Bennett said matter-of-factly. "It has been hidden away and the spells binding it require enormous energy, energy that is locked away as firmly and completely as the talisman itself. The magic must be freed if you are to enjoy the fruits of your heritage."
"You want me to help Artos get Calibum." "I want to see Caliburn freed. However, having it in Artos's possession is not a desirable end."
"Why not?"
"Artos has a history of opposition to Faery. You will find that he has little love for elves like us."
Like us. Why did that sound so right? John forced his mind back to the situation at hand, trying to guess what Bennett wanted of him. "So you want me to help him get it and then steal it from him."
"He threw it away. It's hardly stealing to take what a man throws away as trash."
John wasn't convinced. Arthur and Excalibur were inseparable in the legends. "I don't know."
"John, if you have not already, you are going to find that this Artos is not the legendary King Arthur. He's far less than the myths have made him out to be."
"You called him a murderer once."
"He is that, and more besides. Not much good about him, really. And he hates elves, you know. Ask him about our kind. You won't like what you hear."
Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men Page 17
