by Andrew Smith
“My sentiments exactly,” said Mme. Rumella, and Mary laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Leila asked
“Nothing,” Mary lied. “I was thinking that as well. And not only that, I think I know just the people for the job.”
“Oh?”
“The Grace’s Fever Detective Agency.”
“Never heard of them,” said Leila and Mme. Rumella in unison.
“They were in that building that arrived here a few months back, you remember, they say it’s from San Francisco. Apparently, the lot of them have the talent for sorcery,” Mary informed them
“Weird name though,” Leila commented
“It used to be the Owen Agency, but they adopted the new name for the city.”
“Smart of them,” Mme. Rumella interjected
“You know what’s really strange though?” Mary said in a confidential tone. “I heard the latest building is here. All here.”
“What do you mean?” Leila asked, puzzled.
“I mean that the British Museum exists in the normal world, and here. This new building used to exist there, and now, it exists here. Apparently, they had a time explaining it in the local news.”
“A whole building disappearing? No joke,” said Leila.
“I hadn’t heard this, why didn’t you tell me this?” Mme. Rumella demanded
“I just found out myself. Apparently, the people there didn’t think anything of it when they found out, since they were new to the city. It wasn’t till a few days ago that the word started to spread.”
“Days,” Mme. Rumella said with a snort.
Mary laughed. “I’m going to head over there now, and see if they’ll look for that linguist for us.”
* * * *
A set of marble steps led up to the Grace’s Fever Detective Agency. The building had appeared in the early days of 2005 from the many-hilled city of San Francisco. In fact, it had been located near the top of one of those hills, and had taken part of the with it when it came. The problem was of course that the section of hill jutted sixty feet above the surrounding ground. After what was likely a great deal of shouting by the occupants of the building, some generous soul had conjured a set of steps leading to the door.
Mary approached the small patch of northern California. She glanced above her, and saw the Pinnacle. The Pinnacle was a twelve-foot-long spur of shining crystal in a shape like a three-dimensional spearhead that hovered fifty feet in the air, marking the center of the Woven City. It had been there as long as Mary had. Mme. Rumella, who had arrived many years prior, had once told Mary that they used to have a plaque, mounted to whatever building was there at the time. Of course, it wasn’t always a building, and people got tired of moving the thing, and so someone had enchanted the Pinnacle to hover over the spot.
Where Mary stood was warm, almost uncomfortably so, considering her fall wear. The place that had appeared here a few days ago was a bit tropical for her tastes. From where she stood, she could hear the wellspring of the River. There was great debate, in certain circles who debated this sort of thing, as to whether the wellspring existed in the normal world, and just where it might be, and what it might represent. Mary wondered herself, considering that the center of the city was really where it ended rather than began, though with the River it appeared just the opposite
She looked into the roughly squarish area that began with the conjured stairs. It was drizzling and filled with a billowing fog. Mary stepped in without hesitation, and ascended the stairs
The building above was six-stories of white stucco office space. The building had disappeared in the night, when only the detectives were in. They had adapted the rest of the building to serve as their living quarters rather than live in one of the city’s many apartment complexes, some of which had been little upgraded since their construction as lower-class cubby holes in centuries past. Even considering the state of those buildings, the fact that they hadn’t moved spoke volumes about their knack for sorcery. Everyone in the city knew when a knew place appeared, and it was a rare occurrence indeed that no-one try and claim it.
Mary entered the partially enclosed space between the various offices. A sign directed her to the top floor, and she patiently ascended the next set of stairs.
Mary smiled. She was always amused at buildings that had appeared here since the invention of electric lights. Once people had been told how the city worked, they always expected the lights to work. Which of course they didn’t, save in the rare situation in which the building was possessing of its own generator. Most of those required gasoline to run, which was another thing the city possessed little of
Once they had come to terms with this, most people since the invention of the light bulb decided to enchant their electric fixtures. It was a piece of sorcery that had never worked. No-one who had enough power or experience could be bothered to work on the problem. So eventually, they would have to settle for fire. Fire was easy. Very basic. Still, many simply had the sorcerous flames burn within their existing fixtures. Mary thought it looked ridiculous.
The people of Grace’s Fever had taken to the city with relish, ripping out the exterior lighting of the semi-enclosed stairwells and replacing them with bracketed torches that looked downright medieval.
Mary knocked politely on the door, with its frosted window informing her of the name of the business, before entering. The space was broken into three small offices and conference rooms, and a lobby in front. There was a desk. Mary supposed it was nice by modern standards, but people in the twenty-first century had no taste in furniture, she had decided. Behind it sat a woman with a head of hazel curls, hair that obviously had no intention of being tamed by any of the weapons in the modern stylist’s arsenal, and sharp blue eyes. She had been scribbling something in a day planner before Mary entered, and her pen was poised to continue at any moment.
“May I help you?”
The woman wore a honest but business-like expression without any of the false sincerity and falser smiles Mary had come to expect from new arrivals. Mary was silently thankful. “Yes,” Mary replied. “I’ve come to inquire about a case.”
“What kind?”
“Missing persons,” Mary replied
“Alright. I think I can help you. Whom do you need located?”
Mary took a few steps further into the office. “His name is Clement Jones, he’s a linguist from the Mulhoy Institute.”
“Ah, I heard about that. Please,” the woman gestured to the set of chairs on the opposite side of her desk, “sit.”
“I’d rather stand,” Mary replied.
The woman nodded and stood, gliding around the desk. She was Several inches shorter than Mary and a few inches wider. She stuck out her hand. “Grace Owen,” she said. “I’m the owner of this agency.”
“Mary,” Mary replied lamely, shaking Grace’s hand.
Grace looked at her expectantly. After a moment, she said, “I see... So, who is this Clement to you? Husband, boyfriend, or just a coworker, perhaps?”
“I’ve never met the man,” Mary replied.
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’ve sort of found myself in the middle of something,” Mary explained. “And suffice it to say that I believe this man was abducted, for a specific purpose.”
“You mean a big nefarious scheme?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we couldn’t go a week without having one of those around here, could we?”
Clearly adapting very fast. Mary smiled. “No, we couldn’t at that.”
“Is there anything else you’d care to share with me?” Grace asked
Mary had the suspicion that the detective thought she was being deliberately secretive since she had told the other woman her name. The way she asked her question didn’t help Mary any. She decided to inform her of the Crusader, though not the specific object for which he searched, and of her compatriots, Leila and Mme. Rumella, and told the
detective to contact her at the tea shop, or leave messages there. Grace asked whether Mary had any suspects.
“Personally, I would check into Delilah Runestone.”
Grace waited a moment before asking, “Who?”
“Delilah Runestone, she’s a dark sorceress. Not one of the major ones. She warned some friends and me away from any involvement a while ago.”
“So you think she has something to do with the big nefarious scheme,” Grace supplied.
“Naturally,” said Mary. “I don’t know where she lives, but it’s probably one of those manor houses. The city is full of the places. Oh, and a helpful hint: anything that came from the suburbs,” the word was obviously foreign to Mary, “is probably concealing something unhealthy.”
“Really?” Grace sounded surprised.
“Yes,” Mary assured, “very much so.”
Grace made a thoughtful ‘hmm’ sound and told Mary that she would be on the case personally, and soon. Mary thanked her and left, promising to settle on payment at a later time.
* * * *
Wyyla the sprite was winging through the Fourth Quarter of the city. Below her was a small stretch of the Pampas in Argentina, where Miguel Suerte and his bevy of large, serious-looking men stood on another platform. Suerte was giving his speech again. A few natives watched curiously from a stand of trees. The candidate wrapped up his remarks, and abandoned his platform.
The locals disassembled it as soon as he left. Suerte wasn’t terribly happy about it, but at least they knew he was there and no-one could say his campaign was discriminating against the city’s tribal cultures.
Wyyla continued her flight into the city. She had just come from the forest. It was rare for her to come into town twice in so short a period of time, but she had promised Mme. Rumella a visit, and sprites were as good as their word. Ahead of her was a manor house and the Enryaku-ji Temple from Otsu City in Japan. She ducked between them.
A blue flash erupted from the manor’s window. Wyyla swooped upwards rather than pass through it. She came within inches. She could feel the energy of the light warming her front as she pushed up past it, and was grateful not to have touched it. Across the alleyway, a squarish patch of wall, like the manor’s window, only scaled up in size, was scorched. Blackened. A decorative stone dragon looked back at the window with a surprised expression. Of course, it had looked just as surprised before.
Wyyla descended cautiously towards the window. The sprite flipped upside down and peeked inside. She recognized the man inside as Damon McLenen, a dark sorcerer. Wyyla wasn’t particularly fond of dark sorcerers. They were an untrustworthy lot.
Damon McLenen coughed and wiped the soot off his face with a black silk square that had resided in his pocket. In front of him was a large armoire. The doors were open, and he examined the contents. A blue light pulsed out. Wyyla shrank back, but nothing more happened. She heard the dark sorcerer say, “Not quite got that worked out yet.” She peered back around the casement. From this angle, Wyyla could not see was kept within, but she didn’t dare go inside.
McLenen shut the doors of the armoire, coughed, and exited the room, muttering to himself. Wyyla resumed her course to Mme. Rumella’s, with a great deal more urgency.
She arrived in a matter of minutes, zipping through the open door as Mary reentered the shop.
“Mme. Rumella!” Wyyla cried urgently, setting herself down on the counter and growing to her full two feet tall.
“Wyyla! Lovely to see you.”
Wyyla interrupted, and explained what she had seen. Leila asked what the object looked like. “Was it a cylindrical thing with pictures on it?”
“I said I didn’t see it.”
Leila frowned. The door flew open.
“Auntie!”
Everyone looked over to the door to see a tall, strapping, young man in a gray flight jacket and white scarf. He had short blond hair, blue eyes, and a tan that belied his Britishness.
“Benny!” Mme. Rumella cried. She flew out from behind the counter and ran to embrace him. She pulled back and looked him over, patting imaginary dust off his coat. “How’s my favorite nephew?”
“I’m great, auntie. I’m on fall break from university. I just got back from my trip.”
“Oh, tell me all about it! But first, how’s my dear sister?”
“Mum’s just fine,” Benny smiled
“And her lovely husband?”
“He’s fine too. They’re on a sailing vacation.”
“Oh my! They’ve been talking about doing that since the late seventeenth century,” she said. She wasn’t exaggerating.
“I know. I told them, since I’m off at school now they have no excuse but to go.”
Mme. Rumella stopped smiling abruptly. “Well, don’t just stand there! Sit down,” she ordered. Benny complied, and Mme. Rumella slipped back around the counter. Benny asked for an incredibly sugary drink. Mary scoffed, but Leila went for the same.
“Where did you go on your trip, Benny?” Mme. Rumella inquired
“Some friends and I flew out to the deserts.”
“Benny, you’re joking!”
He shook his head. The deserts laid near the end of the world, beyond city, forests, and sea, and the only thing more dangerous than sailing there was flying there.
“I hope you at least practiced your flight enchantments beforehand,” said Mme. Rumella sternly.
“Of course we did, auntie. We’re not stupid.”
“What did you do out in the deserts?” a puzzled Leila inquired.
“We hunted the Arradendo.”
Mme. Rumella choked. “Arradendo? As in Arradendo, Beast of the Sands, has killed a hundred men Arradendo?”
“What happened?” Mary asked, obviously intrigued. She still looked away when Mme. Rumella glared at her.
“We found it.”
“And...” Several people prompted.
“We killed it,” said Benny in a self-satisfied tone, and took a sip of his drink
Mary swore under her breath. “I’m impressed,” she said.
“Benny, that is most dangerous, fool-hardy thing-” Mme. Rumella began.
“Come now, auntie, you get in more trouble than I ever could,” Benny rejoined.
“I have lived a very long life,” said Mme. Rumella, “and you are eighteen. If you get yourself killed before your twentieth birthday, I shall be very upset with you.”
“What’s she been up to?” Benny asked.
“Well,” Leila began, “there’s this giant suit of armor, and...” She proceeded to retell all the happenings of the past days, especially the bits with fighting, to Mme. Rumella’s apparent distaste.
“I see,” said Benny, and shot a sly look at his aunt.
* * * *
Grace Owen stepped out of the office and walked down the many steps that led out of San Francisco. As she stepped into the warmer patch next door, she walked straight into a woman in a black dress.
“Sorry!” Grace apologized. “It’s hard to see in all that fog,” she explained
“No trouble, miss...?”
“Owen. Grace Owen,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand.
The other woman took it. Grace noticed that her left arm was hanging limply at her side. “Delilah Runestone,” the other woman said slowly, for effect
Grace withdrew her hand sharply and plunged it into her purse, seeking her Focus.
“There’s no need for that,” said Delilah, calmly crossing her arms. She had to reach down and pull her left arm over her right. “I’m just here to give you some friendly advice.”
“I’m sure,” said Grace coolly. “Like you did in the coffee shop the other day?”
“Tea shop,” the dark sorceress corrected. “Now I know you were told to look for my house, but you’ll never find it, and I’m really not as involved in all this as your heretofore royal friend seems to think. However, there are a few places I would look, if I were you,” said Delilah and produced a slip of pape
r. “But be careful.”
“Wait, royal? Who’s royal?”
“Mary,” said Delilah. “Hadn’t you heard of her?”
Grace’s look of surprise denoted that she had not. “She’s not... She’s not Bloody Mary, is she?” Grace asked, concerned
“No, don’t be silly. That woman is dead. She’s Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“No joke?”
“No, no joke,” said Delilah, quickly losing patience. She was a busy woman. “Now take this, and get looking, will you?” She thrust the paper into Grace’s purse and walked away shaking her head.
Grace looked around for any more strange encounters, then turned around and ran back up to her office.
* * * *
The day wore on. Voz hopped on a gondola and made her way down the winding waterway. The River appeared at the center of the city, and wound its way outward, becoming all different rivers in all different times. It was also another way to get around town, though most people just walked. Voz paddled past a few other gondolas as she wound her way generally outwise. No-one knew who placed the gondolas on the River, but there were plenty of them, and there almost always seemed to be one there when you needed one.
Voz lived out in the seventh century. Except for occasional business, it was as far center as she liked to go. Even though the city kept itself green with parks and plants, the center was simply too populous for her tastes. She ran one hand through her bottle-blond/pink/purple hair, brushing is away from one eye, leaving it to fall over the other. There were always people in there who knew who she was, who wanted her to be something she wasn’t.
She passed through a stretch of China, in second millennium B.C. Almost there. The landscape changed to a thick, dark, stretch of forest, which Voz believed to be the ancient Black Forest of Germany. She could see the yellow light burning from a small timber hut. She had no idea who lived back there. Despite her curiosity in the matter, Voz respected their obvious wish to left alone.
The Black Forest halted, and the River continued. The landscape around was sand. Egypt, so long ago the stars had changed. Voz flowed down the river Nile, and pulled off on a small jetty. It looked as though it were falling apart, but she knew better. She had built it to look just that way. She stepped off and into the reeds and grasses on the bank. The air was still hot.
