Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word

by Terry Brooks

  The Wiz shook his head immediately. “You know better than to ask me about that, Andrew. I never talk about myself except in the context of my work. My personal life isn’t relevant to anything.”

  Wren laughed. “Of course it is. You can’t sit there and tell me how you grew up doesn’t have anything to do with how you came to be who you are. Everything connects in life, Simon. You just said so yourself. Homelessness is tied to domestic violence, teen pregnancy, and so forth. Same with the events of your life. They’re all tied together. You can’t pretend your childhood is separate from the rest of your life. So tell me something. Come on. You’ve disappointed me so far, but here’s a chance to redeem yourself.”

  Simon Lawrence seemed to think about it a moment, staring across the table at the journalist. There was a dark, troubled look in his eyes as he shook his head. “I’ve got a friend,” he said slowly, reflecting on his choice of words. “He’s the CEO of a big company, an important company, that does some good work with the disadvantaged. He travels the same fund-raising circuits I do, talks to some of the same people. They ask him constantly to tell them about his background. They want to know all about him, want to take something personal away with them, some piece of who he is. He won’t give it to them. All they can have, he tells me, is the part that deals directly with his work—with the present, the here and now, the cause to which he is committed.

  “I asked him about it once. I didn’t expect him to tell me anything more than he told anyone else, but he surprised me. He told me everything.”

  The Wiz reached for his empty glass, studied it a moment, and set it down. A server drifted over, but he waved her away. “He grew up in a very poor neighborhood in St. Louis. He had a brother and a sister, both younger. His parents were poor and not well educated, but they had a home. His father had a day job at a factory, and his mother was a housewife. They had food on the table and clothes on their backs and a sense of belonging somewhere.

  “Then, when he was maybe seven or eight, the economy went south. His father lost his job and couldn’t get rehired. They scraped by as long as they could, then sold their home and moved to Chicago to find work there. Within months, everything fell apart. There was no work to be found. They used up their savings. The father began to drink and would sometimes disappear for days. They drifted from place to place, often living in shelters. They started taking welfare, scraping by on that and the little bit of income the father earned from doing odd jobs. They got some help now and then from the churches.

  “One day, the father disappeared and didn’t come back. The mother and children never knew what happened to him. The police searched for him, but he never turned up. The younger brother, died in a fall shortly afterward. My friend and his little sister stayed with their mother in a state-subsidized housing project. There wasn’t enough food. They ate leftovers scavenged from garbage cans. They slept on old mattresses on the floor. There were gangs and drugs and guns in the projects. People died every day in the rooms and hallways and sidewalks around them.”

  He paused. “The mother began to go out into the streets at night. My friend and his sister knew what she did, even though she never told them. Finally, one night, she didn’t come home. Like the father. After a time, the state came looking for the children to put them in foster homes. My friend and his sister didn’t want that. They preferred to stay on the streets, thinking they could stay together that way.

  “So that was how they lived, homeless and alone. My friend won’t talk about the specifics except to say it was so terrible that he still cries when he remembers it. He lost his sister out there. She drifted away with some other homeless kids, and he never saw her again. When he was old enough to get work, he did so. Eventually, he got himself off the streets and into the schools. He got himself a life. But it took him a lot of hard years.”

  Simon Lawrence shrugged. “He had never told this to anyone. He told it to me to make a point. What difference did any of this make, he asked me, to what he did now? If he told this story to the people from whom he sought money—or if he told the press—what difference would it make? Would they give him more money because he’d had a hard life? Would they give him more money because they felt sorry for him? Maybe so. But he didn’t want that. That was the wrong reason for them to want to help. It was the cause he represented that mattered. He wanted them to help because of that, not because of who he was and where he came from. He did not want to come between the donors and the cause. Because if that happened, then he risked the possibility he would become more important than the cause he represented. And that, Andrew, would be a sin.”

  He stood up abruptly, distracted anew. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. You’re staying over for the dedication tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

  Wren nodded, rising with him. “Yes, but I’d like to …”

  “Good.” Simon took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “If the newspaper’s paying, try Roy’s, here at the hotel, for a good dinner. It’s first-rate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He was gone at once, striding across the lobby toward the front door, tall form scything through the crowd with catlike grace and determination. Andrew Wren stared after him, and it wasn’t until he was out of sight that it occurred to the journalist that maybe, just maybe, Simon Lawrence had been talking about himself.

  Nest Freemark found a phone booth across from the park and dialed the number for Fresh Start. It was after five now, the sun slipped below the horizon, the last color fading fast in a darkening sky. Ariel was hovering invisibly against the building walls behind her, and the streets were filling with traffic from people on their way home from work. The park had emptied long ago, and the grassy rise was a shadowed hump against the skyline.

  It was beginning to rain, a slow, chilly misting that clung to Nest’s skin. On the sound, a bank of fog was beginning to build over the water.

  The lady who answered the phone was not Della, and she did not know Nest. She said John Ross wasn’t there and wasn’t expected back that day and she couldn’t give out his home number. Nest told her it was important she speak to him. The lady hesitated, then asked her to hold on a minute.

  Nest stared off into the gathering darkness, itching with impatience.

  “Nest? Hi, it’s Stefanie Winslow.” The familiar voice sounded rushed and out of breath. “John’s gone home, and I think he’s shut off the phone, because I just tried to call him a little while ago and I couldn’t reach him. Are you calling about dinner?”

  Nest hesitated. “Yes. I don’t think I can make it.”

  “Well, neither can I, but I think maybe John was planning on it. Will you be by tomorrow?”

  “I think so.” Nest thought furiously. “Can you give John a message for me?”

  “Of course. I have to go by the apartment for a few minutes. I could even have him call you, if you want.”

  “No, I’m at a pay phone.”

  “All right. What should I tell him?”

  For just an instant Nest thought about dropping the whole matter, just hanging up and leaving things the way they were. She could explain it all to Ross later. But she was uncomfortable with not letting him know there was new reason for him to be concerned about his safety, that something was about to happen that might change everything.

  “Could you just tell him I’m meeting a friend of Pick’s over in West Seattle who might know something about that trouble we were talking about at lunch? Tell him Pick’s friend might have seen the one we were looking for.”

  She paused, waiting. Stefanie Winslow was silent. “Have you got that, Stefanie?” she pressed. “I know it’s a little vague, but he’ll know what I’m talking about. If I get back in time, I’ll call him tonight. Otherwise, I’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Listen, are you all right? This sounds a little … mysterious, I guess. Do you need some help?”

  Nest shook her head at the phone. “No, everything’s fine. I have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks
for helping.”

  She hung up the phone and went looking for a taxi.

  The demon walked into the lobby of the Westin through a side door, paused to look around, then moved quickly to the elevators across from the lobby bar. It didn’t have much time; it had to hurry. An empty elevator was waiting, doors open, and the demon rode alone to the sixth floor. It stepped off into a deserted hallway, checked the wall numbers for directions, and turned left.

  Seconds later, it stood before Andrew Wren’s room. It listened carefully for a moment to make certain the room was empty, then slipped a thin manila envelope under the door. When Wren returned, he would find all the evidence he needed to confront the Wiz with the threat of exposure and a demand for an explanation that the latter would be unable to provide. The consequences of that would be inescapable. By tomorrow night, the Wiz would be history and John Ross would have taken his first step toward entering into the service of the Void.

  There was only one additional matter to be settled. Nest Freemark was a threat to everything. The demon had sensed her magic when they had talked earlier that day at Fresh Start. It was raw and unrealized, but it was potent. She could prove dangerous. Moreover, she had a tatterdemalion with her, and the tatterdemalion, if given the right opportunity, could expose the demon. If that happened, everything would be ruined.

  The demon was not about to allow that. It didn’t know what the girl and the forest creature were doing here, if they had been sent by the Word or come on their own, but it was time to be rid of them.

  The demon turned and walked to the exit sign above the stairs and descended the six flights to the lobby. No one saw it leave.

  In the parking garage, it claimed its car and headed for West Seattle.

  Chapter 16

  The night was cool and dark. As Nest Freemark rode through the city, rain misted on the windshield of the taxi, smearing the glass, blurring the garish neon landscape beyond. The taxi passed back down First Avenue in front of the Alexis Hotel, then climbed a ramp to the viaduct. Suspended above the waterfront, with the piers and ferries and colored lights spread out below and the orange cranes lifting skyward overhead, the taxi wheeled onto the lower tier of the expressway and sped south.

  It had taken longer to find transportation than Nest had expected. She couldn’t find anything in the market area, so she had walked down to a small hotel called the Inn at the Market, situated just above the Pike Place Market sign, and had the doorman call for her. Ariel had disappeared again. How the tatterdemalion would reach their destination was anybody’s guess, but since she had gotten there once already, Nest guessed she would manage this time, too.

  The canopy of the northbound viaduct lowered and leveled to join with the southbound, and Nest was back out in the rain again. The taxi eased around slower cars, its tires making a soft, steady hiss on the damp pavement. Nest watched the cranes and loading docks appear and fade on her right, prehistoric creatures in the gloom. The driver was a motionless shape in front of her. Neither of them spoke. Brightly lit billboards whizzed by, advertisements for beer, restaurants, sports events, and clothing. She read them swiftly and forgot them even quicker, her thoughts tightly focused on what lay ahead.

  The taxi took the off-ramp onto the West Seattle Bridge, and headed west. Nest settled back in the seat, thinking. Ariel had found a sylvan in one of the parks who had seen the demon a few months ago and gotten a good look at it. More important, at least from Ariel’s point of view, was the story behind that sighting. She wouldn’t elaborate when Nest asked for details. She wanted the sylvan to tell the story. She wanted Nest to hear for herself.

  The freeway took a long, sweeping turn up a hill past a sign announcing their arrival in West Seattle. Residential lights shone through the rain. Fog cloaked the wooded landscape, clinging in thick patches to the heavy boughs of the conifers. Nest peered into the deepening gloom as the city dropped away behind her. They crested the hill and passed through a small section of shops and fast-food outlets. Then there were only residences and streetlights, and the city disappeared entirely.

  The taxi wound its way steadily down the far side of the hill, took a couple of wide turns, then straightened out along a broad, straight, well-lit roadway. Ahead, she could see the dark wall of her destination. Lincoln Park was south of West Seattle proper, bordering Puget Sound just above the Vashon Island Ferry terminal. She found it on the map while she was riding in the taxi, checking its location, situating herself so that she wouldn’t become turned around. When she was satisfied that she knew where she was, she stuck the map back in her pocket.

  The taxi passed a park sign, then pulled into an empty parking area fronting a thick mass of trees. Nest could just make out the flat, earthen threshold of a trailhead next to it. There was no one in sight. Within the trees, nothing moved.

  She paid the driver and asked him where she could call a taxi to get back into the city. The driver told her there was a pay phone at the gas station they had passed just up the road. He gave her a business card with the phone number of his company.

  She stepped out into the mist and gloom, pulling up the hood of her windbreaker as the taxi drove away. Standing alone at the edge of the park, she glanced around uncertainly. For the first time that night, she began to have doubts.

  Then Ariel was next to her, appearing out of nowhere. “This way, Nest! Follow me!”

  The silken white image floated onto the trailhead, and Nest Freemark dutifully followed. They entered the wall of trees, and within seconds the parking lot and its lights disappeared behind them. Nest’s eyes adjusted slowly to this new level of darkness. There were no lights here, but the low ceiling of clouds reflected the lights of the city and its homes to provide a pale, ambient glow. Nest could pick out the shapes of the massive conifers—cedar, spruce, and fir—interspersed with broad-leaved madrona. Thick patches of thimbleberry and salal flanked the pathway, and fern fronds drooped in feathery clusters. Rain carpeted the grass and leaves in crystal shards, and mist worked its way through the branches and trunks of the trees in snakelike tendrils. The park was silent and empty-feeling. It could have been Sinnissippi Park on a cold, wet fall night, except that the limbs of the northwest conifers, unlike their deciduous midwest cousins, were still thick with needles and did not lift bare, skeletal limbs against the sky.

  The trail branched ahead, but Ariel chose the way without hesitation, her slender childish body wraithlike in the gloom. Nest glanced right and left at every turn, her senses pricked for movement and sound, wary of this dark, misty place. The uneasiness she had felt earlier was still with her. At times like these, she wished she had Wraith to protect her. The big ghost wolf had been a reassuring presence. She did not think often of him these days, not since he had disappeared. She was surprised to discover now that she missed him.

  The trail climbed and she went with it, working her way through heavy old growth, fallen limbs, and patches of thick scrub. Clearings opened every so often to either side, filled with dull, gray light reflected off the heavy clouds. The rain continued to mist softly, a wetness that settled on her face and hands and left the air tasting of damp earth and wood. Now and again, her shoes slipped on patches of mud and leaves, causing her to lose her balance. Each time, she righted herself and continued, keeping Ariel in sight ahead of her.

  They topped a rise, and Nest could just make out the black, choppy surface of Puget Sound through the trees. They were atop a bluff that dropped away precipitously beyond a low rail fence. The trail they followed branched yet again, following the edge of the cliff both ways along the fence into the darkness.

  Ariel turned left and led Nest to a small clearing with a rain-soaked wooden bench that looked out over the sound.

  “Here,” she said, stopping.

  Nest drew even with her and looked around doubtfully. “What happens now?”

  Ariel was insistent. “We wait.”

  The minutes ticked by as they stood in the chilly darkness, listened to the rain falli
ng softly through the trees, and watched the mist float in and out of the damp, shiny trunks in shifting forms. Wind rustled the topmost branches in sudden gusts that showered them with water. Out on the sound, ferry boats and container ships steamed by, their lights steady and bright against the black waters.

  Nest hugged herself with her arms and dug the toe of her shoe into the wet earth, growing impatient.

  Then a familiar shadow flitted across the darkness, appearing abruptly from out of the woods. It swept down to the bench in a long glide and settled on the back rest, folding into itself. It was an owl, and on its back rode a sylvan, twiggy legs and arms entwined within the feathers of the great bird’s neck.

  The sylvan jumped off the owl with a quick, nimble movement, slid down the back rest, and stood facing her on the bench seat. She peered through the gloom in an effort to make out his features. He was younger than Pick, his wooden face not so lined, his beard not so mossy, and his limbs not so gnarled. He wore a bit of vine strapped about his waist, and from the vine dangled a small tube.

  “You Nest?” he asked perfunctorily.

  She nodded, coming forward several steps, closing the distance between them to six feet.

  “I’m. Boot, and this is Audrey.” The sylvan indicated the owl. It was a breed with which she was not familiar, something a little larger and lighter colored than the barn owls she was used to. “We’re the guardians of this park.” “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  “You grew up in a park like this, I understand. You’re friends with another sylvan.”

  “His name is Pick.”

  “You can do magic, too. That’s unusual for a human. What sort of magic can you do?”

  Nest hesitated. “I’m not sure I can do any magic. I haven’t used it for a while. I have some problems with it. It hurts me to use it sometimes.”

  Ariel came forward, a delicate white presence in the night, dark eyes shifting from one to the other. “Tell her about the demon, Boot,” she whispered anxiously.