by Doty, J. L.
“I can hurt him,” Paul shouted back.
“And he’ll kill you, you young fool.”
Jim’Jiminie said, “He is entitled to vendetta in this. Though I see no way he can gain true satisfaction.”
They argued for quite some time. At one point Paul started for the door, but Devoe intercepted him, twisted his right arm behind his back, pushed him against a wall and said, “Face it, kid, you ain’t gettin’ out of here.”
It was McGowan who finally got to him. “If you attack him, regardless of the circumstances, we’ll never get Katherine out of here.”
Devoe, who stood against the door blocking the exit, said, “You put it away now, kid, until after we get Katherine back. And then I’ll help you go after the bastard. My word on that.”
McGowan added, “And I too will help you, after Katherine has been safely rescued.”
“And I,” Colleen said.
“Vendetta it is,” Boo’Diddle said, looking to Jim’Jiminie. “We will bear witness the vendetta is just.” Jim’Jiminie nodded his agreement.
Paul capitulated, not just outwardly, but honestly so. Going after Simuth right now would only get in the way of any attempt to rescue Katherine. And in any case, he didn’t know how he could hurt Simuth, let alone kill him. He finally realized the best thing to do would be to become the most powerful wizard he could manage, to work at it with all his energy. Then someday come back and do it right.
Colleen stayed with him while he sat in his clothes and brooded, and thought a great deal about Suzanna and Cloe. At some point, sitting in a chair, he drifted off into a restless sleep, awoke to the sound of a knock at his door. Colleen had left and he was alone, so he stood and opened the door. Nezmodie stood there, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks glistening with tears.
“You were her lover, weren’t you,” she said breathlessly, “and the father of my grandchild. I see it now. I see her in your aura. You loved her deeply, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t add anything to that.
“Come with me.” She turned away.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
She turned back to him. “To see the Old Wizard’s daughter.”
Paul followed Nezmodie without question. It could be a trap, and if it was, he’d be prepared. But Nezmodie’s anger at Simuth was obviously genuine, and he paid particular attention to the route she followed, hoping he could find it again. She led him to a set of double doors, paused outside them, closed her eyes and he sensed a small flow of power. She opened her eyes. “She’s alone.” She passed her hand over the doors and they opened. She walked in and Paul followed her into a sitting room. Nezmodie crossed to a doorway in the opposite wall, waved at Paul to follow her.
Paul found Katherine asleep on her bed, the covers tangled around her hips, wearing a diaphanous gown that showed more than it hid. Nezmodie slipped out of the room to allow them privacy, and Paul sat down next to Katherine.
She opened her eyes, and as they widened with recognition she sat up and threw her arms around his neck. “Paul, is it really you?”
“Of course it’s me.” He held her at arm’s length. “Why wouldn’t it be me?”
She shook her head dazedly. “For me, here, half the time I don’t know what’s real. I live in a world of spells and illusion.” She suddenly realized what she wore, blushed, pulled the blankets up to cover her breasts.
He grinned. “Darn, I was rather enjoying that.”
She returned his grin. “You’re still incorrigible.”
“Come with me,” he said. “Now. We’ll get you back to your father and Colleen.”
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “The threshold of this suite is spell locked. If I cross it without being summoned, they’ll know immediately, and then none of us will get out of here.”
“There’s got to be a way,” he pleaded.
“Go back to my father. Now that you know where I am, how to find me, he’ll know what to do, maybe cast some spell that’ll cover my escape.”
They argued for a bit, but Paul knew all along Katherine was right, though before he left, she planted a kiss on him that left him breathless. He let Nezmodie lead him back to his own suite, concentrating again on the path they took.
~~~
Anogh waited with Ag in the King’s private meeting chamber. Neither of them spoke as they waited for Simuth. Then there came a polite knock on the door and Simuth entered.
He bent the knee. “It worked, Your Majesty. Nezmodie was so furious she led him to her.”
“Excellent,” Ag crowed. “The young fool isn’t subtle enough to spot the trap we set. Rise, Simuth. Rise.”
Simuth stood. “He will try something foolish now, Your Majesty. I am certain of it.”
“Perhaps,” Ag said. “But do not underestimate the Old Wizard. His influence may yet hold the young man in check. So we need time for his impatience to grow unbearable. We must encourage the Old Wizard to bide his time, to think we are capitulating, and that with patience he will have his daughter back unharmed. That’s when the young man will lose all patience and make a move, and then he’ll be mine.”
Anogh was pleased to see that neither Ag nor Simuth had realized the true connection between Paul Conklin and Nezmodie’s daughter. Ag had been too far away during the banquet, and Simuth too preoccupied with taunting Nezmodie, to see the depth of the young mage’s reaction.
Chapter 23: Many Paths to Betrayal
They argued heatedly about a plan to rescue Katherine, especially now that Paul knew where her apartments were located.
“But you don’t,” Colleen insisted. “This is Faerie, the Unseelie Court. Those corridors and halls out there are as much illusion as they are substance; they constantly change and shift. They’re never the same from one moment to the next. Even these rooms with toilets and showers and beds are a concession to us. They’ve conjured them for us. The Sidhe don’t live like this. I don’t know how they do live, but it’s not like this. Haven’t you noticed you’re always escorted to your destination? The act of walking along a path is a mere courtesy, since we would find it disconcerting to step to our destination in an instant. Only the Sidhe can find their way through these halls because they don’t travel a path from one place to another. Do you remember the sensation you felt when we crossed-over into Faerie?”
Paul nodded and described the spiral slippage he’d sensed.
“We all perceive it differently,” she said. “Here in the Courts, not out in the countryside of Faerie, the Sidhe’s powers are consolidated and they’re able to repeat that sensation spontaneously.”
Paul sat down. “Then what do we do?”
“Nothing for the moment,” McGowan said. “You have to understand, we’ve made a lot of progress. It’s been clearly established to everyone’s satisfaction you won’t be bound, so at this juncture, holding Katherine is almost a moot point. All we need do is take a few more steps in that direction, especially if we can get the leprechauns to speak in our favor. When that happens, we make a few concessions, and Katherine is home free.”
Paul couldn’t find a way to be happy with that, but he had to trust that McGowan knew what he was doing. Eventually they left him alone in his suite with no concrete resolution to Katherine’s situation. But it haunted him that she had gained some hope from his nocturnal visit, had expected her father and him to rescue her somehow.
He tried to sleep, only managed to drift off into a light doze, came fully awake with a start. His suite consisted of a sitting room, bedroom and bathroom. He sat up in bed wondering what had awakened him, noticed light leaking into the bedroom from the sitting room, recalled having carefully turned out the lights.
He climbed out of bed, peered cautiously into the sitting room, saw the man with coal black skin sitting in a chair. Paul ignored the fact that he wore only his shorts and marched right up to him. “Dayandalous, I’m tired of this crap.”
Dayandalous didn’t react overtly, merely pointed to a
nearby chair and spoke softly as always, “Sit down, Paul. Let’s talk.”
Paul sat down, saying, “You’re Andalous too, aren’t you? The black Sidhe.”
At that, the dark man did grin. “I am most pleased you can see through my guises. That tells me I may be right about you.”
“What? What are you right about? You’re worse than Anogh, with his obscure little bits of information. Every time you show up I end up in some sort of deep shit. And then after you’re gone, I can’t even remember you exist. You leave me to pick up all the pieces.”
Dayandalous frowned, obviously chagrined. “Paul, have I ever harmed you?”
“Not directly. But I’ve been dragged into the Netherworld, nearly lost my soul to a demon, been shot with an arrow and stabbed with a sword. I’m tired of being toyed with.”
Dayandalous grimaced. “But that was all necessary.”
“Necessary! It wasn’t necessary, it was insane.”
“Calm down, Paul,” Dayandalous said quietly, but forcibly, like a parent to a child.
Dayandalous’ vertically slit pupils dilated and flashed red for a moment, then returned to thin, black slits, and Paul felt calmer. He didn’t raise his voice when he said, “You did that to me, just now, didn’t you? Some sort of spell thing.”
“I need you to remain calm, Paul. Because you can’t learn anything if you’re agitated. Do you remember how you got back from the Netherworld? You looked not into the demon’s eye, but through it, and then you came back on your own, didn’t you?”
“But what if I hadn’t figured it out?”
“That would have been a shame.” Dayandalous stood, walked to the door and said, “Let’s take a walk.”
Paul stood. “Where are we going?”
“To show you a little bit of the real Unseelie Court, without illusion or glamour.”
That, Paul couldn’t resist. “Let me put on some—” Paul had been about to say clothes, but where a moment ago he’d worn nothing more than his shorts, now he stood fully attired in one of those waistcoat outfits. He sighed deeply.
Dayandalous opened the door of Paul’s suite, and Paul followed him out into the hall. Magreth had arranged for them to be housed together in a large block of suites. The hall just outside of Paul’s door led to a large sitting room, which, at this time of night, was deserted. And from there a set of double doors led into the palace proper. But when Dayandalous opened those, instead of a corridor into the Palace, they opened onto a pathway in a small garden. Paul frowned, and Dayandalous said, “I said without illusion or glamour. Let’s go to the south garden. It’s lovely at night. And pay close attention to the path we take.”
Dayandalous began walking. Paul followed and felt that spiral slippage through reality, but it was so faint he almost missed it, would have missed it had he not been alerted to watch for something, realized that every time he’d walked to some destination in the palace, either Seelie or Unseelie for that matter, that slippage had been there ever so faintly, as a distant and almost imperceptible background. He found himself standing on a path of crushed, yellow stone in a formal garden lit by a full moon.
Dayandalous took him by the arm, walked down the path slowly, talking as they went. “Colleen had the right of it, or at least close to it. Here in Faerie, in either of the grand palaces, the Sidhe influence is so strong they do not think of a route between places, they merely think of the place they wish to be, and they are there. Beyond the palace proper, but still in Faerie, they can do the same, but to a lesser degree. And it becomes harder the farther they travel from the palace, until eventually, in Non-aligned Faerie, they can only travel by more mundane means.”
Paul had a thought that made him laugh quietly. “I certainly wouldn’t consider a Sidhe steed mundane.”
“How true,” Dayandalous said. “But between the Realms it’s a different story. The Realms leak back and forth into one another. And the Sidhe are masters at traveling between them. They think of the place they want to be, and they are there.”
He stopped walking, released Paul’s arm and faced him squarely. “It’s time we returned. But I’ll let you find you own way back.”
~~~
Paul stood in the middle of his bedroom in his shorts, had had a vivid dream of walking in a beautiful garden in the moonlight, a dream so vivid it left him a bit disoriented, left him wondering why he’d gotten up. Ah, yes, he had to go to the bathroom.
He stepped into the bathroom, relieved himself, returned to bed. And as he lay down, for some reason he couldn’t shake the dream from his mind.
~~~
As Paul and McGowan walked down the corridor, escorted by an Unseelie servant, he sensed something faintly in the background, not a sight or sound, but something similar to that spiral slippage he’d felt when crossing over into Faerie. He tried to shake it from his mind, to think of something else, and his thoughts turned to Colleen’s words about the hallways in the Unseelie palace, . . . as much illusion as they are substance. It made him uncomfortable to think they so easily manipulated reality, and his thoughts returned to that faint background he sensed.
McGowan had asked to meet with Katherine, for reassurance that she remained unharmed. Simuth had agreed to receive them in his chambers where they would meet her. He was alone when they arrived.
“Please. Sit. Relax.” The bastard could be charming, but never charming enough for Paul to forget he’d murdered Suzanna and Cloe.
They sat. Simuth served them wine, Faerie wine that tasted like good Mortal wine, and yet it also had the taste of sunshine on a clear day after a cleansing rainstorm. Paul could not have described such a taste, but without a doubt it was there.
McGowan was good at this game. Paul knew he was anxious to see Katherine, to see that she was well, and yet they chatted for a good half hour about useless crap, and the entire time the old man showed not the faintest hint of concern.
Simuth looked at Paul, grinned knowingly. “I sense the young mage’s unease, so let’s bring on this lovely reunion, eh.”
Simuth waved a hand and Katherine walked in the room as if she’d been standing just beyond the doorway the entire time. She walked as if in a daze, wearing that diaphanous, revealing gown she’d worn in her bedroom. Simuth waved a hand again, and she came out of the daze with a start. Her eyes widened at the sight of McGowan. “Father,” she said. He stood and she rushed into his arms.
She shed no tears, showed real strength in that. They held the embrace for several seconds until she looked Paul’s way. “And Paul,” she said. She let go of McGowan as Paul stood, and she hugged him as tightly. “Thank you for coming,” she said as they parted. Then she looked down at her dress, blushed, and only then did he see a trickle of a tear in her eyes.
“Ah,” Simuth said. “The gown embarrasses you. My apologies, dear girl.” He waved a hand, and with no transition whatsoever she now wore one of the elaborate brocade gowns of an Unseelie courtier. Paul couldn’t help but be impressed with such power. “Is that better?”
She turned to Simuth. “Thank you, Sir Knight,” she said in a frigid voice that brought a chill even to Paul.
They sat down again, and as Simuth personally served Katherine a glass of wine, he said to McGowan, “Your daughter has been a most . . . entertaining addition to Court life. A refreshing breath of mortal air, as it were.”
Paul wanted to smack the son-of-a-bitch. McGowan gave him a look that said, I want to smack him too, but now’s not the time to do so. Simuth was so focused on gloating he didn’t see the look Katherine sent his way, a look so cold and intense Paul was amazed it didn’t kill the bastard right then and there.
While they bantered back and forth, Paul kept his mouth shut for the most part. Clearly, they’d not physically harmed her, not in any way visible to the naked eye, but, beneath her cold exterior Paul sensed a seething hatred for Simuth.
As McGowan and Paul returned to their chambers, again escorted by an Unseelie servant, Paul realized he’d become even
more conscious of that faint background of spiral slippage.
~~~
“Your Majesty,” Simuth said. “I believe he is now ready to do something foolish.”
Anogh stood patiently by, held his own counsel.
“How so?” Ag asked cautiously.
Whenever Simuth felt he had been particularly clever, he strutted like a cock in the hen-yard. “When the Old Wizard and he met with the woman, he was a seething cauldron of anger.” Simuth’s arrogance fueled his confidence and he spoke expansively. “And she played right into my hands, made no attempt to hide her hatred of me. And every look of scorn she threw my way only brought him closer to the boiling point. He is ripe for the plucking. He will do something stupid, and soon.”
Ag looked to Anogh. “And you, my Summer Knight. What think you?”
Anogh considered his own words carefully. “The young mage is perhaps angry enough to . . . do something foolish. But I think the Old Wizard will keep a tight rein on him—”
“You fear to act,” Simuth interrupted him. “As always—”
“Silence,” Ag shouted, and Simuth wisely held his tongue. To Anogh he said, “You were saying?”
Anogh shrugged. “The Old Wizard and the druid will keep a close eye on him. But in any case, until he leaves this Court he is under the protections you have granted him. Anything short of a criminal act—say an assault upon your person—can be met with nothing harsher than expulsion. Non-aligned Faerie is watching the situation closely, even leaning a bit toward the Old Wizard’s camp. And were you to violate those protections, they might throw their support wholly behind him.”
Simuth rolled his eyes, but once commanded to silence, he dare not speak until invited to.
Ag asked, “So what do you suggest, Sir Knight?”
Again Anogh shrugged. “You must get him back here without any protections guaranteed by the Unseelie Court. Simuth is right in that the young mage is primed for action. Send them away, end your protections, then we’re free to act. We can now easily locate him in the Mortal Plane, bring him back here at our leisure, on our terms. And if the young mage does something foolish, it will only be to our advantage.”
