She poked about a bit more, then wandered back up the hill to where David lay. He opened one eye as she sat down. "Stay still," she whispered, and he didn't stir. Good. Granvie wouldn't see the open eye from his distance, but he'd notice if I )avid moved.
She closed her own eyes and concentrated. Granvie was still by the bridge, leaning on the rail and pretending to watch the stream. She knew he was pretending because in her heightened state of awareness she could feel the intensity of his attention on them.
What would be best? Something that would attract his attention, yet be believable; they'd need a bit of time. What would motivate the skulking mayor to abandon his post and investigate? Another skulker, perhaps.
She concentrated on the image of a man dressed in black— no, camouflage—creeping through the woods by the bridge. She paid special attention to the sounds such a man might make. Sounds would be easier to maintain. Holding the image I irmly in her mind, she cast her thoughts outward, forming the image in the trees beyond the bridge. She willed the sounds to begin, to be real.
She turned her head toward the village, but shifted her eyes to watch Granvie. The mayor seemed unaware of her efforts.
She envisioned the nonexistent skulker brushing through the leaves, each leaf scraping softly along the fabric of his clothes. The lurker was stealthy but not utterly silent; she made her phantom man step on a dry stick. A crack! Soft but carrying.
Granvie's head turned toward the wood.
It was working!
Granvie cast a look up the hill. Spae held herself still, pretending to be unaware of the mayor. Granvie got to his feet, looking first into the woods, then back up at the hill. Stealthily, he slipped into the bushes.
Spae moved her phantom man away from the bridge. She kept him going for several minutes before letting go of the spell. It would take Granvie some time to return; they needed to use that time.
She leaped to her feet. "Come on, David. We've got work to do."
Following her directions, he helped her haul branches and rip up grass and drag leaves. Hurriedly they bundled the forest debris into vaguely human-shaped lumps. She was unsatisfied with their handiwork, but there wasn't time to do anything better. She fumbled in her bag, looking for something she could bear to abandon. Her wristwatch snagged on something. It would do. She stripped it off.
"David, give me something of yours."
"Like what?"
"Anything. A pen, a handkerchief. Anything."
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. She snatched it and tucked it into one of the piles they had made and her watch into the other. Grabbing David's hand, she dragged him down the hill, heading for the spot she had selected on her ramble. They tumbled the last few meters and lay in the hollow near the willows. She shushed him when he tried to ask questions.
She needed to concentrate.
If only there was enough time.
Concentrate, she told herself. Concentrate!
She formed the seeming, focusing her mind until the image stabilized. Then she relaxed. She'd done what she could. Either it would work or it wouldn't.
"What have you done?" David whispered.
God, couldn't he see it? Hadn't it worked? "I think I've cast a glamour on the stuff on the top of the hill. It's supposed lo look like we're taking a nap. Can't you see it?"
"1—yes, I think I can," he said. He didn't sound sure.
Was it that bad? She looked for herself. All she could see was leaves and grass and sticks. Oh, hell!
There wasn't time to try again.
From their vantage point, they watched Granvie emerge from the brush near the bridge and look up the hill. He didn't shout. He didn't go running back to the village. He just looked up the hill.
Was it working?
Apparently satisfied that his quarry hadn't moved, the mayor found himself a place in the shade of an old oak and sat down with his back against the ancient bole. He seemed to be settling in for a long, boring watch.
Her ploy had worked.
Her magic had worked!
With a sudden surge of confidence, she felt sure that their escape would work, too. She gave David a hug. Using the willows to shield them from Granvie, they started down the far side of the hill. David led. When they reached the bottom, he took a moment to get his bearings. She asked, "Where do we go now?"
"Cross-country for a bit. I think I saw a car rental office in a town a few miles to the west. We'll get a car and head toward Dijon. That ought to be far enough out of the escape paths they're likely to check first. There's an airport there that'll do. The best thing we can do is get out of the Community."
"But I don't have a passport. The Department canceled it."
"Hmm. Well, that complicates things." He was silent for a bit. "Maybe Lebeau."
"Lebeau?" "Someone I met in Paris. But if we have to, I guess we can manage it. Going to Paris will make it a little trickier."
She was sure of that. "Who is this Lebeau?"
David answered cautiously. "A person who's got connections with some people who might be able to help."
"In the government?"
David chuckled. "Not exactly."
Spae wasn't pleased with his evasion. "I've had enough of people who are 'not exactly* the government."
"Don't worry; it's not like that." He chuckled again. "If anything, these people are less fond of the government and its legitimate and semilegitimate arms than you are."
"Are they criminals, then?"
David gave her a sideways glance. "We can't afford to be too picky about who helps us just now."
"I don't know, David."
"Of course, you could just cast a spell and magic us out of the Community."
"No, I can't."
"Then it seems we have no other recourse. But we're not going to get anywhere standing around."
They started walking. He was in much better shape for it than she was, but he didn't seem to begrudge her the rest breaks she needed with all the up-and-downing they were doing as they crossed the wooded countryside.
While they traveled, Spae considered what she was getting herself into with this escape. She wasn't committed to dealing with criminals yet—if David's friends even were criminals. She hadn't met them yet; she shouldn't judge them. And, well, if they were criminals, there was still time to come up with another plan. She and David could find another way to leave the continent, or maybe they wouldn't have to leave the Community. Where would they go anyway?
"Are you sure we have to leave the Community?" she asked daring one of their rest breaks.
"I think it would be best that we get you somewhere that the ECSS isn't quite so influential."
That made sense. Magnus wouldn't like losing his only mage who had been to the otherworld. But the arm of the ECSS was long. "Where would we go?"
"Back to the States would be the best bet. I know lots of people there who'll be more than happy to help us out."
"More criminals?"
"Not exactly," he said, with an infectious smile. She smiled back. "Now, come on. We'd best keep moving. Old Granvie's not going to watch those sleeping leaves forever."
CHAPTER
12
When John returned to the room where Wilson had first left him, Spillway Sue was in the central area. Obviously Wilson had arranged to let her out of the bedroom after he'd taken John away. She looked surprised to see him. And a little relieved.
"Where ya been?" she blurted out as she bounced out of her chair. "Whaddid they do ta ya?"
"They took me to see Bear." He didn't really want to explain that just now.
"Bear? He's really here? Wherever here is. Where is here, anyway?"
John's head hurt from all the virtuality exercise it had gotten. He was tired. Too tired to deal with Sue's frenetic energy. "I don't know."
"Whaddaya mean, ya don't know? You're the only one been outta this room."
"I mean I don't know."
"Whaddo ya know?" She looked at him scorn
fully, hands on her hips.
He sighed. She wasn't going to leave him alone until he told her something, so he told her what he'd seen on the way
In the audience chamber. His account of the darkened, empty corridors didn't impress her, so he told her how everyone he'd seen so far was a dwarf, and about the audience chamber and meeting Kranekin. She started pacing the room toward the end of John's recitation.
"And this Kranekin's in charge of this op?"
"Seems to be."
"So what ya got I don't? How come I ain't seen the boss?"
"Wilson came looking for me, remember? You just came along for the ride."
"Not by choice, Jack. Not by choice. And what do I get?" She waved her arms around to encompass the sitting room. "I get canned in this sleaze hole that looks like a Motel Twelve™ for androids." She kicked at the dirt floor. "Android farmers.
"Nobody even comes by to roust me for data. Closest thing I get to seeing somebody is a voice from nowhere saying iliey've got a selection of entertainment for me on the damn console. Enter—bleeding—tainment!" She kicked the table, jostling the perscomp. "Entertainment for proles and dodes, maybe. A bunch of vid games, old network shit, last year's— last year's, can you believe it!—music vids, and nothing, nothing live. No news. No connect with the net. Nothing useful! Do these half-liter size 'nappers come from another dimension or something? Ain't they got no idea that ya can go tnoonhowling in a can like this? Or ya could if there was a moon ta howl at. How come I get cramped up here while you—you get to go wandering around and meet their goddamn boss? What makes you a zoomer with a bullet?"
She took a breath, giving John a chance to get in a word.
"Look," John said, dragging himself up from his seat. He headed for his bedroom. "Can we talk about this in the morning? I'm whipped out."
"Morning? There ain't no morning in this can." She followed right behind him. "There ain't no light. Ain't no windows."
lie stopped at the door and she plowed into him. She backed away, continuing her tirade. "This place is a real geek-niit palace! I hate it, hate it, hate it!"
John's bedroom door had a control on the inside frame that hadn't been there when he had left. He was happy to see it. He used it to close the panel and cut off her noise. Barely managing the few steps to the bed, he let himself fall toward it. The muffled pounding on the door chased him into sleep.
John stumbled out of the shower. His head was still aching, but he was getting a bigger complaint from his stomach. How long had it been since he'd eaten? A while, obviously. How long? He hadn't been eating all that well at his slump, and so far his captors hadn't bothered to feed him.
As if on cue, Wilson's voice came over the hidden speaker. "Breakfast in ten minutes."
John's stomach growled eagerly.
While dressing, he thought about what calling the meal breakfast might mean. It had been night when Wilson had picked him up. An unknown amount of time had passed while he had been traveling to this place in a drugged stupor, then there had been the session with Bear that had lasted for another unmeasured period, then he'd slept. Could this only be the morning after? He tried several ways of fitting the pieces of time together but couldn't come up with any that crammed everything that had happened into such a short space of time. So if it had been longer, why wasn't he more hungry? Hungry enough, his stomach growled. John bent over to grab his jacket and used the motion to lift one leg and extend his toe to tap the door control. He swung upright and was through the door before it finished sliding open.
Wilson was waiting in the sitting room, seated at the table. In place of the perscomp on the table was a spread of dishes and covered platters. Upon seeing John emerge, Wilson lifted a bright silver carafe and poured some of the contents into the cup of the single place setting. The coffee's aroma slapped John in the olfactory nerves, and his stomach urged an instant assault on the table.
John held back. There was only a single place setting. He might have expected Wilson to have eaten, but what about
Sue? The door to Sue's room was closed, and Sue was nowhere in sight.
"Where's Sue?"
"Still asleep in her room. I thought you'd appreciate a quiet breakfast," Wilson said cheerily.
John always appreciated a quiet breakfast. And he hadn't wanted to face more of Sue's questions; he had a lot of his own, and with her at the table he'd never get the chance to ask Wilson any of them. Still, he found himself a little disturbed by her apparently enforced absence.
"1 got some questions I want answered," he told the dwarf as he sat down.
"I'm sure." Wilson quirked up one side of his mouth as John's stomach growled out its impatience. "Ought to eat first. The coffee'll get cold." The smell was appetizing. Wilson lifted the lid on one of the platters, revealing a stack of flapjacks. "Dig in."
John did, deciding he could ask his questions while he ate.
It took a while to check out each of the platters. He took a little of everything, nibbling as he went; it all looked, and lasted, so good. Once his plate was jammed, he dug in earnestly. As it turned out, he got so busy stuffing his face that Wilson asked the first question.
"You think this Spillway Sue is trustworthy?"
John hadn't really thought about it and said so. "Why do you want to know?"
"Now that we know you'll help, I can make other arrangements for her." His hand indicated the room. "If you wish, that is."
Wilson was awfully accommodating all of a sudden. Maybe he could take advantage of the change in attitude. "You mean leave? That's what she wants to do."
"That's not advisable yet."
"As you said, I've agreed to help—and you came looking for me, after all, not her. Want to tell me why she can't go?"
"No."
"Right." So much for a more positive and cooperative attitude. "You think you've got something for her to do that'll keep her happy, or at least quiet?"
"Nothing will keep her quiet," Wilson replied, with a confidential wink. "You want separate quarters?"
John almost said yes. Sue wasn't taking her confinement well at all; if she were separated from John, the only other nondwarf in the place, her cabin fever might get violent. They hadn't met under very friendly circumstances, but they were in the same predicament. She might not be the best of company, but she was the closest thing to an ally he had at the moment. And, when it came down to it, he didn't want to be alone among the dwarves. So he said, "Nah, we'll get along."
Wilson nodded, smirking. "Like a dragon with a panther."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Think of a cat and dog crammed into a small box." A chime sounded. "Time for another session with Bear."
John had barely started his breakfast. Was there time for a few more bites? He looked down at his empty plate; he'd hoovered it all down.
Wilson beckoned to him from the door. "You can have more later. Never seen an elf put so much away so fast. You trying to look like one of us?"
John stood, feeling the heaviness in his belly. "I'm too tall."
"Got that right. Let's go. Bear's waiting."
Bear looked down the line of his men, nodding to each as he met their eyes. When Bear's eyes met John's, the king smiled slightly. John found himself smiling back.
So far, the Saxons in the camp below had shown no sign of noticing their approach. That was the way Bear had wanted it. They readied their weapons while business in the camp went on as usual.
This wasn't exactly the sort of thing John had imagined when he'd dreamed of being a dashing warrior and serving a king, but it was more like it than the time he and Bear had spent on the streets. It was dirtier and a lot less glamorous than John's childhood dreams of knighthood, but there hadn't been real knights in Bear's historical time. There'd been real warriors, though, and in this sim he was one of them.
The sim had such conviction that he sometimes had trouble remembering that he was in a simulation. It felt and looked and sounded—smelled—so real. Th
is dwarf sim was light-ycars better than any adventure in the arcades. John didn't think even milspec-training sims were this detailed.
Staring down at the unwitting Saxons below them, he wondered if the dwarves used magic to enhance the computer effects, but knew as the question formed in his mind that it wasn't so. He wasn't sure how he could be so confident that I here was no magic present, but he was. This was tech, pure tech—magical, but absolutely technomagical.
Bear raised Caliburn and brought it down in a slash. Roaring, John and the others swept over the rise and poured down on the surprised Saxons.
Jessie grabbed a selection of Nuke 'Em™ meals from the freezer case of the convenience store. She didn't pay a lot of attention to what meals she grabbed so long as they didn't include any peas. Her friends didn't like peas.
She still remembered the morning she'd woken to find the casting she'd needed to complete for the Greyshelda Prototypes contract all finished. She hadn't done the work; she had no idea who had. But she couldn't afford spurning the gift; it had allowed her to get the piece in by deadline. By the time she'd returned home from the delivery, though, she'd been creeped out from thinking about somebody using her tools and equipment and working in her shop while she slept. She'd spent the next few nights with a friend, too afraid to stay in her apartment.
Now she thought she'd been pretty silly to be afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of; her friends weren't scary. She'd never been a believer in good fairies, but she had always accepted what her senses told her. A finished piece was a finished piece. And if it was magic that made it happen, then there was magic in the world. Cheap magic it was, that could be bought with a few Nuke 'Em meals.
Jessie knew a bargain when she saw one.
She 'waved the meals just before going to bed, and left them on her worktable beside the models and enough molding and casting material for the three copies the new contract specified. Her delivery meeting was at ten in the morning. She went to sleep confident that the copies would be ready.
They were sitting on the table when she awoke.
Jessie sang as she showered. It was going to be a good day.
CHAPTER
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain Page 18
