Bhon was in the cargo section, standing guard over the wooden crates. Her green-yellow fur was already drooping in the humid air on Methiem, and I knew Saart’s would be doing the same, though he was more used to it from operating the transport’s engine. Their homeworld was more akin in temperature to the Sureri trading port in many places, though not as dry.
“What do you want to show me?” I asked, tucking my shirt back in after our brief exercise. A trickle of sweat ran down my back.
“It’s smack dab in the middle of one of the crate panels,” Bhon told me, her bright blue eyes sharp. “But that side was turned down when we loaded it up—I think those gargoyles planned it that way. I only picked up on it ‘cause the crate didn’t sit right.”
The twenty crates were stacked up to the low ceiling, two by two. There was barely enough room for us to stand, Kamuli with one foot outside the hatch. The crate in question was pulled into the small open space of the cargo segment. My transport was spacious for what it was, but Kamuli’s head brushed the ceiling, and it was barely wide enough for all three of us to stand side by side.
The crate, about one arm’s length wide, had been turned with the offending side up. A flat hexagonal panel was attached to the surface.
“Any idea what it is?” I asked.
“None,” Kamuli told me. “It is not a mechanism, nor is it biological in nature. I do remember the crates felt odd when we moved them into the train.” Bhon nodded her agreement.
I realized I had tightened my shoulders again, and was grinding my teeth together. So much for the relaxing passage through the portal. I had an inkling of what the hexagon might be, but hoped I was wrong.
“Anything strange with the cargo?” I asked. At Bhon’s bark of a laugh, I amended, “Anything else strange?”
“There’s one more thing we found,” she said, taking out her handcannon. I started moving the instant I saw what she intended, but too late. The crack of the shot was a physical thing in such a confined space, and I instinctively ducked to avoid a ricocheting bullet.
“Look, boss.” Her voice cut through the ringing in my ears.
I raised my head at Bhon’s words to see the projectile still traveling toward its target. The little lump of metal slowed to a crawl, covering the distance by halves and thirds, as if traveling through thick molasses. Several seconds later, the bullet gently touched the side of the crate and fell with a tink to the floor. I eyed Bhon, wondering how exactly she knew what the bullet would do.
“The customs crew isn’t going to like this,” I said, reaching out to hover my palm over the little hexagonal plate. It was giving off just enough heat to feel, as if it had stolen the energy from the bullet.
“Is it of the maji?” Kamuli asked.
“Unfortunately,” I said. I realized I was still tensing my jaw and tried to relax.
Those who travel off their home planet know the maji create the portals allowing us to travel the ten homeworlds. The portals, and the maji enable us to have the Great Assembly of Species, which is the absolute authority on anything inter-species in nature.
But that is the least of what the maji can do. They’re responsible for creating the system beasts and many other magical constructs. They help out in times of disaster and strife, displaying awesome powers to change the nature of reality.
Each of the ten planets has their own small share of maji. Some are even minor celebrities, like the Etanela racer Mierla Utelu Tadeti, or the Kirian actor Havrasta Kyliner. Fewer people know the maji separated themselves into houses, each concerned with a different concentration of ability.
“You can’t open any of the crates.” I guessed.
Bhon’s eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”
“Lucky guess.” I was fairly sure the hexagonal panels were artifacts made by a majus of the House of Potential, but I didn’t have time to tell the pair how I knew. I tested my theory, attempting to lift the lid of the crate. By the time I touched the wood, my fingers were tingling and I hardly had strength to pull my hand away. I rubbed my numb appendage. “All of them are like this?”
“Even with a crowbar,” Kamuli muttered, and Bhon grimaced up at her. Bhon tended to get carried away sometimes.
Masnaith shouldn’t have been so concerned about us opening the crates. There must have been a countering effect at the warehouse, allowing the crates to be loaded and moved. He probably hadn’t understood what it did.
“Medicine,” Bhon grunted.
“I imagine it is a particular kind of medicine,” Kamuli supplied. “But not for the sickness on Methium. Instead, it is one our buyer does not want us to know about, or take any ‘samples’ for our own use.”
“No, the grand-dame herself insisted this wasn’t drugs, and paid us a lot to deliver them quickly.” This wasn’t sitting right with me. “She might not have been Frente, but I don’t think she lied about that part. It can’t be that simple.” What was in these things? Now I was going to have to break into this cargo.
Unfortunately, that was when the transport began to rumble forward.
Leaving the two bodyguards with the boxes, I exited the cargo section and ran alongside the slowly moving vehicle, pulling myself out of the dust and back into the pilot cabin. Amra was in the pilot seat.
“We’re up,” she said, smoothing her red wrap. This morning on Sureri seemed like days ago. “You took too long back there, so I took the pilot’s chair to not rouse any extra interest.” Her voice was businesslike. She still hadn’t forgiven me, not that I could blame her.
“Thanks,” I said, without much enthusiasm. The Lobath and their octopus circus tent were gone, as were a few groups behind them. A selection of Festuour leading a string of fuzzy bovines were finishing up.
“Amra,” I started, “I’m sorry I lied. I really do want to settle down with you. It’s just—”
“It’s always ‘just,’” she answered, then shook her head, still concentrating on driving the transport. “Not now. We don’t have time to argue about it, and we’re going to come to an agreement this time, one way or the other.” She flashed a look at me and I sat back. With that face, I could wait.
The line must have been longer than usual, as the customs officers were splitting up, checking on each group to make sure their transition would be smoother than the Lobath’s. There’s always that one unprepared group. I had a feeling we would be another.
Our transport caught the attention of an old and hostile looking woman in the green and brown of the Methiemum homeworld customs. Her light gray hair was pinned in a bun, and her mouth looked permanently stuck in a frown.
I kept my footing while Amra slowed the transport. She thrust the bill of lading back at me. “Everything looks official,” she said. “I’m glad one of us took the time to read it. I assume there was nothing wrong with the cargo? Did Kamuli give a false alarm?”
I snorted a bitter laugh and took the documentation from her. “I’m sure we won’t be thrown in prison at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I ignored Amra, hopping down from the pilot’s section and handing the bill of lading to the customs woman, who investigated it for several moments. She was waiting far enough outside the door to give me space to get down, but no farther. Keep the suspect from running.
“What are you carrying today—” she glanced down, “—Prot?”
“Cargo for delivery,” I told her with as much confidence as I could muster. “Medicine from Sureri for the ongoing epidemic of the Shudders.” The grand-dame and her family would have alerted the medical centers this shipment was coming. “I’m planning to take it to the storage facility as soon as I get out of customs.”
The woman’s frown deepened, her bottom lip in danger of climbing into her mouth. “We’ve already received the scheduled delivery of anti-seizing capsules. It was early today.” She pulled a clipboard from under her arm. “And the inflammation reducing poultices are being delivered
in two days’ time.”
My heart sank with every word. “It’s an extra shipment? It was a rush job, very urgent.” I tried to exude official-ness. Surely the grand-dame sent word ahead. The one who signed a false family name to the document. The one who wanted me to move the cargo as soon as possible, as in before the official delivery. I carefully kept my face neutral. I really hoped it wasn’t drugs.
Her expression didn’t change. “Either way I’ll have to inspect the items. We’ll figure out what those Sureri are sending, won’t we, Prot?”
I winced. What could I do? I usually dealt with art, or foodstuffs, or furniture, not with sensitive and potentially harmful items. I gestured helplessly to my cargo section and the old woman limped toward it.
Kamuli or Bhon—probably Kamuli—had enough sense to turn the crate artifact side down. They had their best innocent faces on and I jerked my head for them to wait outside. The cargo section would be crowded enough without them.
The woman began her inspection, counting and touching the crates, but soon grunted in frustration. “I can’t get any of these crates open, Prot. How are they secured?”
“I’m just transporting this, as I told you,” I said. “My supplier was fairly adamant I not open the crates. I guess they locked them up well. Perishable maybe.” I looked out the hatch, keeping my face neutral. “I hadn’t checked.”
The woman eyed me. Her hair was stark white at her temples, and her tanned skin as wrinkled as a Kirian. It was a marvel she was still working. But her eyes were keen as a well-sharpened blade.
“Were they,” she drawled. “Hadn’t you.” She strode past me in the confined cargo compartment. “We’ll get the majus to investigate this,” she grated over her shoulder as she exited. “Move your vehicle to the side, and we’ll pass you through as soon as she determines there is nothing of the maji tied to this cargo.”
I held out a hand to the woman’s retreating back, but let it fall as she disappeared outside the hatch. She moved fast for an old lady.
The willowy Methiemum woman serving at the portal grounds soon arrived. She took one look at the crates—or at something around them—and turned back to the customs woman, puffing up the ladder behind her. Kamuli and Bhon were still outside, undoubtedly listening, and I remained where I was, emitting beams of pure innocence.
“This is work of the House of Potential,” the majus said smoothly in a fluid accent. She must have been from somewhere on the northern continent, possibly even from Ibra. I suspected most of what this majus said or did was smooth. Her actions were graceful, almost as if she was swimming. Her clothes were expensive, finely tailored and ornamented with silver inlay. About what I would expect from one of the elite magic-users.
“Which means what?” the customs woman asked.
“It is a complex arrangement of the Symphony, but that is all I can tell you.” The majus pulled her long hair back over her shoulders.
“Whoever put you up to transporting this was concerned about keeping it secret, Prot,” the official told me. I was getting annoyed at her continual use of my name. They were probably trained to do it to convey friendship. It wasn’t working. “Anything with this level of security on it needs to be investigated.”
“Can you open them?” I asked the majus. I could hedge to the recipients later, assuming I wasn’t arrested. I just had to get these crates delivered in time and get my money. And never take a contract from a Sureri again.
“Of course not.” She flicked a hand in my direction as if shooing a fly. “I am of the House of Grace.”
“We’ll have to impound your vehicle while we call for a majus from the House of—” The customs woman looked to the majus.
“House of Potential,” the finely dressed majus said.
“Potential,” the old woman repeated. “Right.”
“My replacement is arriving in a few hours, but he is of the House of Strength, and will not be able to help,” volunteered the majus uselessly.
“I have to deliver this cargo by tomorrow morning,” I told them. “If you want someone to inspect it, it’ll have to be now.”
“Your supplier should have thought of that before they set this up,” the customs woman countered. “Unless you can find a majus of the House of Potential, your delivery will be coming in late.”
I stared back at them, remembering when Saart and I first bought the old war machine. Who we bought it from. I must have stood longer than I thought.
“Prot?” The customs woman looked vaguely worried.
I swallowed. “I may know of one, but he’s retired.” I hoped he still lived in the same place. I hoped he was still alive. I hadn’t seen the man in years.
“I don’t know of any maji living near here,” the majus sniffed.
“You don’t know everything, missy.” The old customs woman mumbled something sounding like ‘stuck up maji.’
The majus harrumphed and flounced out of the train and I smirked at the customs woman despite myself. There was more to this old bag than I thought.
“Will you let me fetch him?”
The old lady considered, but our mutual dislike of the pampered majus must have improved her perception of me. “Move your vehicle out of the way. Only you may leave.” It was a start. We exited the cramped compartment and I closed the hatch behind us.
“May I unhook the pilot and engine section to get there faster? My mechanic has to keep the engine running.” If she didn’t let me, there was no way I could get there in time. I might as well wait for the official majus.
The woman’s face scrunched up until I thought her mouth would disappear entirely, but she scanned the line of travelers passing through customs. Kashidur City had more visitors than any other city on Methiem, and it was a busy day. While we had been in the cargo section, five more groups had come through portals—one was a gaggle of Kirian schoolchildren, their robes a whirlwind of conflicting colors, crests fluttering and changing as they pointed excitedly around them. Their teacher, an older woman with the trademark wrinkled and liverspotted Kirian skin showing on her bare arms and legs, was trying to herd them. Her feathery crest looked as if was trying to go in all directions at once.
“I’ll have to process more paperwork.” The woman sounded as if she would rather cut off her own leg, but we both knew it would get me out of her hair sooner. “Wait here.”
While she waded through the red tape of the Methiem customs bureaucracy, I filled my crew in on what had happened.
“And you know of a majus in the city other maji do not?” Kamuli asked. I had been hoping that question wouldn’t come up.
“It’s a long story,” I said, and Saart nodded beside me, his eyebrows raised. “Suffice to say we bought the transport from him, a long time ago.”
“Another story you haven’t shared?” Amra suggested.
I sighed, but she was right. “I’ll tell you when I get back, when we have that talk. Promise.”
“Whenever you two want to stop bickering and get back to making us money is fine with me,” Bhon said, furry arms crossed. I looked around my crew, seeing agreement from the other two. I took Amra’s hand. She didn’t pull away, at least.
“I will make this up to you, I promise,” I told her. She didn’t seem mollified.
By the time the woman came back with her paperwork, we had unhitched the front two sections and Saart was priming the engine. I signed the necessary documents, in triplicate, saying my cargo was forfeit if he and I decided to make a run for it. The thought only crossed my mind for an instant.
“Amra is in charge while I’m gone.” I hesitated for an instant. “Unless some transaction comes up, then Kamuli is.” I still wanted to make money, after all.
My accountant’s eyes were alight when I climbed into the pilot’s seat. “This had better be worth the money,” she whispered as I went past her. Her voice had an edge.
“Enough to start us toward a storefront,” I told her. Maybe with just o
ne or two more deliveries. “Think of our little shop, a couple kids underfoot. I’ll be back before you know it.” She glared back, but at least didn’t slam the hatch.
Saart and I rumbled out of a side door in the wooden fence surrounding the customs area, and turned to the city. Its skyline rose above me, the largest mercantile firms in the city center over twenty stories tall. Another huge building was in the midst of construction, scaffolding covering the metal exterior. Where the structure showed through, the polished steel gleamed in the morning sunlight. No other city I knew of had so much metal in once place.
“Did you have to tell Amra about the Kirian maggot flu?” I asked him.
The speaking tube between the pilot and engine sections crackled a moment before Saart’s voice came through, gruff as usual.
“Boy, you’ve been tiptoeing around that girl for the last six cycles. Would you have ever told her if I didn’t?”
I thought about that a moment. “Probably not.”
“Then it’s a good thing I did. I may not have a lady-friend myself, but I know how to treat one. If she leaves, our books are going to be as muddled up as they were when you were in charge of them, and no one wants that.” Not to mention what it would do to me.
I blew out a breath. Saart stayed out of the money—and relationship—side of the business as much as possible. But when he decided to comment, the old Festuour was usually right.
“Fair comment,” I said. And we left it at that.
The two of us consulted over the speaking tube as I drove and he shoveled coal. We bought the transport almost fourteen cycles ago, just after we met. I had been a fresh-faced teen, Saart older, but fed up with working in a repair shop on Festuour. We met in a bar one night, hit it off, decided to go into business, and never looked back.
Between the two of us, we figured out where the old junkyard had been, on the outskirts of Kashidur City. If it was still there.
Tales of the Dissolutionverse Box Set Page 20
