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Bobby could see Bobby could see the depth in Gomez, but just couldnPt get in- side it. He was a man close to his roots, at times eating them to stay alive, probably. From atop the walkway gratings he could see the chains taut, locked on, bitching and grating noises coming from them as they bound against the torque of the shafts. It was the grotesque king of scream only steel on steel could make, but to Bobby it could just as easily be The Lady. He fig- ured the chains were strong enough, but didnPt — 145 — want to think about the power of an ocean tug pulling them in the open Gulf. The beam from his flashlight ran across the shafts, dancing hastily across the bloodstains across the bloodstains on the burned-up electrical panel. Somebody should wash them off, he thought.
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He figured that was HowiePs job as his eyes carried him unaware to the dark water where Forster died. Seeing it, he flicked the beam off and cringed as the experience washed over him. He saw part of ForsterPs face splatter on him again. He tried to make every- thing still. Still, the sight remained, as if the experience was all that was ever there. Inside the absolute darkness of his mind he saw it. There wasnPt a lot you could do when the picture wouldnPt turn off, when black was the medium. And it got spooky quickly for Bobby L surreal. To escape, he To escape, he had to leave. His eyes were only half open as he started his way along and up the inside companionway. He worked to calm himself while his pace quickened. Think simple, he told himself, make it nothing L
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the way it was when youPre a kid and the crocodiles are going to bite your foot if you donPt get it up into bed and under the covers. Or snakes. Bobby always preferred crocodiles. They were slower, bigger, and noisier, too. It didnPt help. His heart pounded and the companionway stayed dark. The motion of the ship cooperated. The ominous sounds of the grating chain became her voice as the elements around him combined in — 146 — — 146 — a strange unity. He felt her at his feet with each rung of the walkway, not wanting him to leave without the promise, reminding him with each step. The promise. She demanded it. The prom- ise to avenge her. His fear got him topside, into the late after- noon sun, into the world above, light and life. Leaning heavily on the stern rail, he
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watched the dead wake curl out from under her. He took all the time he needed to catch himself. For want of something to put in his head he noticed she sat a little deeper in her stern. It wasnPt much, but it helped. Somebody working the it helped. Somebody working the deck of the stern tug waved from the distance. He raised his arm ab- sently, as Gomez slipped back into his mind. He wanted to check on him, get some human contact. He realized if Gomez died hePd get the money for nothing. On the way he stopped off in the crewPs quar- ters beneath the stern wheelhouse and scrounged some partially decayed blankets, heading out through the ransacked galley. There was nothing to take there; it had been stripped of everything. Back at the forecastle, Gomez appeared to be sleeping. Bobby checked him
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to be sure it was just sleep. Satisfied he was not yet alone, he spread two blankets over his friend, trying to slide one under his one under his head without waking him. Gomez moaned and produced low, inaudible Spanish. He pulled his own gear over close to him as the Mex- ican came around. MMucha siesta, amigo.N Bobby said it low as — 147 — he rummaged for the sensimilia and rolled a joint. He drew a glow from it and held it out to him. Gomez shook his head. MI stay, Bubby. MYo travajo mucho, amigo. Anything.N MSi, amigo.N Bobby found it curious how the two of them interchanged the language now, fig- ured it must be some kind of mutual compliment. MCompaneros.N Bobby smiled the words across to him. Gomez emitted a soft noise a soft noise with his
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response. MGracias, mucho, amigo.N It was the kind of quiet muffle that meant he hurt. Bobby laid down on some of the cot matting hePd dragged from the officersP quarters earlier and slid the box of Oreos to Gomez. He wanted to tell him about the feelings hePd gotten from The Lady in the engine room but didnPt. MEverythingPs under control.N He looked at his watch. MItPs four- thirty.N Saying it aloud, he realized he was late calling in. He checked the tug, fighting the irri- tation of the static as he awaited a response. They came back and reminded him he was late. Bobby was thinking motion and distance while his voice distance while his voice crackled and broke into theirs. It was done quickly and he was off the air as if hePd never been on. Lying on his side now, Gomez is settled
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and quiet. Bobby watched the menagerie of bugs running about under the chunks of rust and garbage. He fought to leave the spook of the engine room be- hind. He wanted to sleep, to move only inside his — 148 — thoughts. They were his thoughts, nobody else would give a damn about them, why should any- one. It was irrelevant to everybody and every- thing but himself. But he had them L ownership through default. It was his world because he was the only one the only one who showed up in it. He stopped himself. Another lizard skittered across his deck level line of sight. He wondered if it was the same lizard. He wondered where he had been L where he was from. The lizard stopped suddenly and stared back at him L eyeball to eyeball. He was watching the lizard watch him
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when it opened its mouth and spoke to him. MJustice, promise her justice.N He did, and just like that he got safe. It was almost six oPclock and they hadnPt seen land for a couple of hours. Bobby figured they should get it back as they approached the Pilo- town rendezvous. HePd rendezvous. HePd known without looking theyPd left sight of land. The sway and pull of The Lady Inca increased with the swell of the Gulf. It would be a roller coaster once they were secured to the sea tug and moving straight out into the open Gulf. The thought enticed Bobby to linger in sleep. He took a few moments looking for a dream. Re- ality was too persistent at the moment. The two-way jostled Bobby from his meander- ings. Bobby answered. MShip to tug. I read you, five by five.N — 149 —
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MPilotown in sight. Make ready to transfer lines.N MRoger.N The radio broke up on him. MLet go bow him. MLet go bow lines first. Let them get you in tow before you detach us astern. Over.N MRoger.N MAre you shipshape?N Bobby looked across at Gomez who knew the question without the English. MRoger.N He smiled at Gomez without conviction. MWePre healthy.N Gomez said nothing but his eyes thanked Bobby for his silence. Bobby noted it and headed to the bow lines. He got his first glimpse of the giant sea tug coming at them fast from landward. He struggled to unbind the towlines while the sea tug closed the gap. It was a two-man job but he managed. Waiting for the loudspeaker command, he let go the bow lines just as the sea tug came along- side. With side. With the forward
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tug freed, The Lady’s bow started a drift shoreward as the stern tug pulled her seaward. TheyPd tow her astern into the Gulf current while the sea tug locked on forward. He knew theyPd want her tied up fast once the lines came aboard. More work. He wondered how much line theyPd let out once they were into the Gulf. It was a solid half-mile to the shore. Visibility at that distance was poor, but the shoreline had lost its bayou appearance. He checked his watch L it was just past seven. The sky, too, said it was evening, but with a peculiar hue. He noticed the wind was up. — 150 — — 150 — The sea tug was close up on the starboard, much bigger than the harbor tugs. She looked up to the job, almost new, capable of using a lot of power.
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Hercules Two was written across her bow- sides in large white letters. It made him feel bet- ter for no justifiable reason. The radar scanner sitting atop the wheelhouse helped, too. Her captain stood prominently in the wheel- house. He probably had a three-man crew. It was right alongside now, bumping rubber against the peeled steel of The Lady. On a muffled word through the loudspeaker, the lead line shot up and across the bow, whistling past BobbyPs head. MThar she MThar she blows,N he mum- bled, expecting to see Beluga spouting nearby. Scrambling across the bow he got the lead line, knew he wouldnPt be hauling nylon aboard. These guys had the advanced technology. TheyPd go lead line to one-inch nylon to steel cable. Cable was a three-man job, bearable with two. The loudspeaker vibrated sound again. MFeed through port bulwark.N He felt the weight
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grow as the cable cleared the water. Everything was heavier coming out of the water, he thought, just like evolution. The cable took time, came up grating over the deck railing, grinding against the bulwarks. His arms started to ache from fatigue. The cable did- nPt flex easily. His gloves were ripping up from the jagged cable the jagged cable threads. Twice the cable pulled up hard against his bare torso. Thin red claw marks ran across him, small rivulets of blood mix- ing with his sweat. — 151 — From a distance the effort had the appearance of smooth, poetic metaphor, flowing rhythm. It was manPs statement, his place in the struggle. Up close, it was sweat, curses and man in labor. It was noble perhaps, but there was no baby to show for it. Bobby leaned back against the winch. Ex- hausted, he looked
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up into the sky where his daughterPs face emerged, and cornered him. Her hope-filled eyes Her hope-filled eyes promised him eternity. He felt the sea breeze and heard The Lady Inca promise she would get him to her. The steel slap of cable against The Lady’s rail brought him back quickly. MWe are roger and go aboard ship.N He mouthed into the two-way, his first opportunity to check it against the tugPs radio. MTake it up real slow, shePs gonna mill tight. Over.N It was only a few minutes before the slack started disappearing. MTaking slack. Stay sharp up there. Over.N The grind and rasp moved into full swing. The eerie metal scraping of the bind grew louder as grew louder as the cable tightened. This was not a sound to sleep by. Grind and scrape, baby, he thought to himself. Wind
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yourself so tight you never come free. Just pull me home. MYouPre tight. Cables secure.N His own insur- ance policy surfaced. MCome back with weather. Over.N MThree day weather watch across the Gulf. Over.N Thanks for nothing. Weather watch could mean anything from light rain to the end of the — 152 — world. MRequest four-hour radio checks. Over.N He didnPt want to be forgotten for too long, to get too ignorant about the weather movement. MCast off stern lines.N The sea tug is sea tug is taking charge. MYouPre under tow from us now.N He could feel the unsteady lurching already, the gnash and bang of the cable against the Lady. To Bobby it rang like life. He watched the big tug start a slow turn to sea, cable reeling off her deck. MShip to tug.N He spoke as he headed forward. MGive me an
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ETA Brownsville.N The radio broke up. He slapped it. MOver.N META Brownsville forty-eight hours.N It died again, came back as static muffle. MThursday. Same time. Over.N MRoger. Radio check.N The two-way was leav- ing, but he kept talking anyway. MMidnight. Over.N It was done. They were They were underway. He noticed her hogging more severely than before and hoped it was because they were still running cable out. Night started to close in. The sky grew clouded and full-blown, unlit and omnipotent. He got rations and weather lamps from the forecastle storage. He found Gomez half-asleep, fed the two of them, and talked a little. He tried to get com- fortable. Drifting off to the ocean around him, he saw his daughterPs face before him. It was all he had, and it was enough. — 153 — International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Tuesday
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International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Tuesday Night The senator sat in Hertzel MarkovitzPs office at International Salvage. He tapped a pencil slowly and with irritating regularity as he lis- tened to Hertzel alternate between arrogance and squirm. Enrico, EstaphanPs specialist in pest control, stood at the door, a big, shiny-suited statue L cold, smart, and very predictable. The senator was working EstaphanPs side of the tracks, following the party line. He presented a new, secretive attitude to an old business part- ner, letting Hertzel roast slowly, while he put ef- fort into assuring Enrico knew where his loyalty lay. MWe picked MWe picked him up at the ship this morning.N Hertzel talked while he took a seat on the couch across the room. MCharleyPs driving him back, tak- ing him to his trailer on South Padre.N The strain was starting to show on HertzelPs face. MThey got
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him to a doctor in New Orleans, patched him up.N He watched Enrico the executioner out of the corner of his eye. MItPs all hushed, senator.N — 154 — MHow do you know?N The senatorPs pencil tap- ping picked up the tempo. MWePve got a lot of peo- ple still knowing about this.N Hertzel was shuffling. MWe can take care of the boys on the ship. No problem. TheyPre no- bodies. TheyPre no- bodies. NobodyPs going to notice.N The senator surveyed the shuffle. MWhat about your ace idiot Morgan?N MCharley called me from the highway a few hours ago. They should be in early tomorrow morning.N Hertzel got into his positive mode. MHePs okay. We can hide him out.N Hertzel said it like it was good news. MHePll be okay.N The senator questioned the intelligence of HowiePs continuing good health. He waited for Hertzel to absorb
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it before moving on. MWhat about the doctor?N MThe gunshot wound? Is it going to end up in a up in a police report?N MDonPt worry,N Hertzel said. MWe own the doc- tor. HePs a quack, no license, no need to report anything.N The senator snapped the pencil, as it slammed hard on the desk. MYou get some quack addict to patch him? We shouldnPt worry? You better start worrying, Hertzel!N He pulled his giant frame from the chair as the storm in his eyes headed to- wards rage. MI donPt want any loose ends here, Hertzel. Neither does Houston. TherePs the doc- tor. And the other two L the ones still on the ship.N The senator was almost talking to himself now. His voice had gone soft and wishful, as and wishful, as if it was his Christmas list. He glanced
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quietly be- — 155 — tween Hertzel and Enrico. MSome people might even consider adding your name to the list of loose ends.N Hertzel had clarification now. The implication was obvious. MYouPve given us quite a list of loose ends here, Hertzel.N The senator sat down. An eerie and powerful calm settled on him, as if he could crush Hertzel just with the words. MI guess a lot de- pends on how you handle yourself from here on in. How well you take care of some of these loose ends yourself.N Hertzel lifted himself from the couch, his eyes moving more than they should. MRelax, senator. ThisPll get sorted out. get sorted out. I already arranged for this Bobby character to take care of the Mexican.N The senator saw he was looking to get off the list. MOnce hePs back, wePll take care of him.N MAnd
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Howie? WePre going to have Lloyds and the cops all over everything before this is over.N The senator leaned back, his arms behind his head. MThis Howie character is a loose cannon, Hertzel.N MLike I said, HowiePs on his way back now. I can take care of it. No problem.N MDonPt rush it on Howie.N The senator kept his mind on business. MYou said there were loose ends? The cops. Lloyds. We donPt want We donPt want him dis- appearing too mysteriously, too soon.N The sena- tor let the message linger. MSend him to the farm for a holiday. He wonPt get suspicious. HePs been there before.N The senator smiled, feeling a little more as if hePd gotten everybody in place. MTell — 156 — him we got new whores up there.N He glanced over for EnricoPs silent approval. EstaphanPs man just kept staring. MNo problem,
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Senator. IPll make sure Howie tidies everything up before I cut him loose to you. Yeah, loose ends. I had two calls waiting for me when I got back here. Some New OrleansP cop.N He pointed to the document on his desk. MAnd Lloyds.N The Lloyds.N The senator picked it up. MThey didnPt have a copy. WePve got HowiePs.N The senator looked at it, kept listening. MI faxed them a copy already.N Hertzel smiled. MIt seems this Robert Forster never made it back.N Nobody joined the humor wave, an intentional omission. MNo loose ends Hertzel.N The senator stayed tunnel-visioned. MNone.N MOkay. Okay. We keep Howie to talk to them.N Hertzel had the theme. MHePs okay when hePs straight. He can pull it off.N MThen hePs gone.N The senator still didnPt look up from the document. MA vacation to the farm. A permanent one.N When he did
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look up, it was to imply the meeting imply the meeting was about over. MIPve got to get a ten oPclock flight back to Austin. IPll get this sit- uation back to Houston.N He headed for the door- way. MGet me this doctorPs name and whereabouts. Tomorrow morning.N He was on his way out, Hertzel trailing him. MNo loose ends.N They got outside. Hertzel stood at the car door as the senator climbed in. MWhat about the goon, Henry? I donPt want him around. He makes me — 157 — nervous.N MHePs here to keep an eye on things, Hertzel.N The senator gave him solid eye contact as he set- tled onto the seat. MI donPt blame you for being nervous.N you for being nervous.N He enjoyed the discomfort, figured it was time Hertzel got a feel for heat. MBe good to
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him. HePs got a lot to say about your future.N The door closed as the window lowered. Hertzel followed the beckoning crook of the sena- torPs finger from the open window. Up close, he grabbed Hertzel by the throat like a vice and pulled him against the window frame, cracking his glasses against his forehead. His voice was low and cruel. MWePve got some problems here, Hertzel. People will die to take care of your fuck- ing greed. ItPs very inconvenient, doesnPt look good.N Spit hit Hertzel in hit Hertzel in the face, MYou should really start worrying about ending up with your balls up your ass.N Hertzel gagged for breath as the senator re- leased him, holding his throat, and wiping spit from his face. His twisted glasses fell to the gravel as the car disappeared into the darkness. MYou cocksucker!N The senator didnPt hear,
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he was too busy smil- ing. The shaft broke loose somewhere close to mid- night; right after the faulty radio check with the tug gave a garbled weather warning. The scream- ing didnPt start right away, not until the free-spin- ning shafts had burned off most of the oily sludge — 158 — in the engine room, depriving her of makeshift lu- brication. of makeshift lu- brication. The eerie increase of the noise and vibration finally started to pull him back from sleep. It had a supernatural quality to it, distant yet immedi- ate. It was as if she was crying to him to set her free L cut the cables, abandon her, let her go her way. That part of it bothered him most L when he got to thinking shePd come alive, had taken hold on her destiny. She walked right into his head
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and found the power to cry aloud to him, only to him, and to no one else. It frightened and strengthened him at the same time. In that moment he jerked himself awake and shook with the shook with the peculiar shivers running through him. He checked his watch. He would like to think he shivered from the weather change, the spitting rain, but he knew better. It was four oPclock. He thought with re- lief that night wouldnPt hold him forever. It al- ways ended. Soon L he would look at her soon. Gomez wasnPt moving. Bobby picked up the two-way and tried the tug for some outside contact. He heard only static crackle, but still felt almost in touch. He kept on it until they finally came back to him, broken up but audible. The captain is sleeping, he was told. Bobby insisted on
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speaking with him. They shut the radio down on him while they went to pull their skipper out their skipper out of bed. He waited and the bad crackle of the two-way came back. The irritated captain reiterated the — 159 — obvious L they were doing five knots, the pres- sure from the props must have snapped the shaft chains. He promised to reduce speed, investigate, and repair at first light. There was no point stop- ping now, Bobby thought he heard the message. It was too dark to see or do anything. The tug signed off and Bobby still didnPt want to be alone in the dark. The kid in him wanted the covers over his head, feet tucked safely under the blanket edges. He decided to check in with Gomez. He suspected the Mexican knew. Gomez spoke before Bobby
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Gomez spoke before Bobby made the move. He had a way of reading BobbyPs thoughts. MYou hear eh, Bubby. She break loose, Bubby. She angry Lady.N Gomez rolled onto his back, slowly. MShe talk now, eh Bubby?N Bobby nodded invisibly in the darkness. MEsto no esta bueno. We stop. We wait. No sail now. She burn, catch fire sure.N MThey no stop, Gomez,N His English was work- ing like Gomez, Mslow down until light.N Bobby sat in discomfort and yet enjoyed the company. MThen we fix.N MToo fast.N Gomez was a realist. MChains no hold, we burn.N He wiped rain from his face. MWeather, Bubby, esta face. MWeather, Bubby, esta mal.N They sat there in silence, swaying with the spreading roll of The Lady against the waters. They listened as plumes of spray banged off her sides, feeling the slow build of the wind through the
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rigging and the rain against their faces. They tried to gauge its growth. Twenty minutes passed before Bobby got up, — 160 — his body rigid and unnatural. He rose as if God talked to him, startling Gomez. The Mexican watched as Bobby turned and headed astern. His words rolled back from him. MIPm going to look, IPve got to see what shePs doing.N The noise grew around noise grew around him as he moved to- wards it, his motion unsteady from the seas, his footing uncertain in the rain. Three quarters of the way astern he smelled the sear drifting out of her engine room. It chilled him. The faint beam of the flashlight at the top of the hatch outlined the smoky shadows drifting up and slipping out into the cool of the Gulf. He felt heat rising out of her, too. The heat
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and smoke combined with the anguished whine, making him decide to wait for better light. He waited, spending the time thinking what might still be down there to burn. He remem- bered lots of sludgy oil. Once the water was gone shePd get hot enough to catch fire, that was a cer- tainty. was a cer- tainty. The thought didnPt soothe him. He climbed into another door in his head, the empty room. He came back when the sky started breaking red to the east. He couldnPt wait any longer, and raised the tug, telling them he was ready L al- ready below, ready to work. HePd say anything to get shut down and stop the scream. He killed a few more minutes with the thought. The smoke didnPt let up but the sound fell off to less than intermittent. The silence cheered him. In a
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world of no mercies, neutrality made him happy. No noise meant no friction, no — 161 — no — 161 — heat, less chance of her exploding into flame while he was below. The lower he went the more it stunk L fresh burn. She made very little noise now, just tiny, whimpering sounds, coming with the absent roll and pitch. It was just bright enough to give him phantoms everywhere. The light picked up a little through the engine room vents, the smoke drifting up thick in free swirling shadows against it. There was little vis- ibility and breathing was almost impossible. He tied his kerchief across his face, something he should have done sooner. Acrid smoke slid into his lungs with every breath. He pulled the ker- chief tighter, wadded chief tighter, wadded part of it into his mouth, and
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sucked slow, shallow breaths. This did nothing to help the sting against his eyes. He waded thick-legged and blind to the shaft. There was no chain anywhere. The slime was thicker now, the water evaporated from the fric- tion. He worried theyPd start moving while he was wrapping the shaft. He had no plans to turn into ground beef. There was already too much absent roll in the shafts just from her pitch. He immersed himself in the effort, gagging and swallowing crap. Coughing up sludge, he worked submerged on the bottom of the shaft. He looked for chain. for chain. His fingers slid against the point where the links had parted from stress. Some of it he managed to double link. With some of it he reset the shackles to allow less play under pres- sure. It took him twenty minutes before he knew he
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— 162 — must leave or lose consciousness. He was almost blind now. It would have to do. He started to be- lieve he was going to die there. He tumbled across the shafts and groped himself onto the catwalk, certain he had left it too long. All thoughts left him but the quest for air. Each step transformed him until he saw him- self as a demon, at home in it, coming in it, coming from there to the world above. He floated in the imagery, until he neared the top and fell against the hatch- way, sliding back, losing consciousness. He was dying when the Lady took him, carried him the last tiny distance as a mother would her child. Lying on the deck, he searched to find con- sciousness but couldnPt. He collapsed in exhaus- tion, his body caring for itself, running on
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automatic. His lungs let go oil and smoked water. His mind had exited; gone to visit Tanya, to talk to her, ask her about school and her pretty dress. Did she miss him today? Time passed, minutes, days maybe. days maybe. He stayed with his daughter, smiling. He saw her wide eyes the first time he ever took her aboard ship. She was a lady of ships, his daughter, like the lady in every ship, the strength, the dignity, the honor. The tightness around his heart gave way as his lungs loosened their atrophy. He felt the rain on his face, and the conscious part of his mind found him. Keep breathing, it said. Get to your knees. Get to your daughter. It took time before he stood on shaky legs, still coughing, and spitting slime. He staggered his way forward, noticing the worsening weather and
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— 163 — the increased roll and skid of of the Lady as he worked harder for his footing. He hadnPt expected anything else. He found Gomez awake and more alert. HePd been securing their shelter a little. MEstas muerto, Bubby?N His eyes took in the spectacle of someone back from the dead or head- ing to it. MEres muy macho, Bubby.N It perked him to have somebody notice the wear and tear. The effort hadnPt been in complete obscurity. MYou a filthy man too, Bubby.N Gomez smiled. Bobby squatted as Gomez stood. MI help now, amigo.N He flexed his good arm. MStrong now.N He grinned. He tried a Mr. Universe posture with his torso and slipped back into the back into the pain mode. He tried to hide it as he forced his bad arm up again. MNo pain.N He fell
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older hive was
older hive was the healthier and larger of the two. A lone proto-queen had established the younger hive, only twenty years earlier, without 85 apparent assistance, extending her species’ domain. Across thousands of square leagues, hundreds of hives lay scattered. The distance between colonies was almost a constant: an hour, as measured by the relaxed flight of a dragon. It was as if no kehklik would travel more than a dozen leagues from its leagues from its queen. When circumstances forced a kehklik outside its home territory, the likely result was confusion or even insanity. Behavior was universal; any kehklik colony could replace another, and the change would hardly be noticeable. That is, except for a remarkable exception: The hive at Jozin’s Peak. Sytherek once again rebuked himself for failing to monitor the kehklik hives along the coast. He’d never had faith in Symurall’s plan to
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isolate the humans of Tramora; however, rather than oppose his brother, Sytherek had implemented a private backup plan. Taking proto-queens and placing them along Syraqua’s northern shores, he’d created a defense against human incursion. As many years passed, his attention was drawn away by other concerns, and the hives had been left to their own devices. Only one guardian hive survived, near Jozin’s survived, near Jozin’s Peak. In a strange turn of fate, that lone colony had grown to unusual magnificence in isolation; it had even attempted to fulfill its intended destiny, thwarted only by Symurall’s intercession on behalf of Kaylen’s people. Yet in their defeat, the kehklik had demonstrated unexpected, original, strategic thought – proof that a key existed to unlock the sentience of the kehklik. Sytherek treasured that discovery, grudgingly admitting gratitude – rather than annoyance – for his brother’s actions. He would find
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a way to recreate that key, and apply it to other hives. Other mysteries lacked answers as well. The finale of The Reckoning, the unprecedented and unique kehklik assault on humanity – that, too, required an explanation, in case he had need of such power. Sytherek’s deep thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by pleasantly interrupted by the arrival Vallahnoka, who found a comfortable spot near him, saying nothing as she lay down, eyes closed. “Your silence suggests annoyance with me,” Sytherek said. “I did not want to disturb you,” she replied. “These insects must be fascinating if they keep you away from me.” His tail snaked over to touch hers. “It is not just the kehklik,” she continued. “You have been distracted for a long time, even before Symurall’s pets arrived.” “I do not understand why he is fond of some small people.” Wrapping his tail around
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hers, Sytherek added,
hers, Sytherek added, “If I have neglected you, I regret doing so.” “Explain your obsession.” “The kehklik are on the verge of true awareness. Such things do not happen often in the universe.” 86 She looked She looked at him, clearly astonished. “Have you shared your thoughts with anyone else?” “No. I need a deeper understanding of kehklik history before I present my thesis to others. Assuming I tell anyone other than you, that is.” Before she could ask, he answered her obvious question. “I cannot predict how others of our kind will react to the concept. It is possible some may try to prevent the emergence of sentience.” “You care for the kehklik!” she said. “Yes I do.” “Then I will aid your research. On the conditions that you spend more time with me, and take Tyreon with you on your next journey.” “Tyreon is
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young.” “He is
young.” “He is strong, like his father. Do not underestimate him. Shortly, he will demonstrate his powers, demonstrate his powers, and join us as an adult.” “Your point is valid and I agree to your terms.” His tail squeezed hers. “What is your suggestion, my love?” “Visit the great turtles. Their leader, KhKhorrak, is ancient. He once lived far to the south, east of the See’ee’ah, on the delta islands where the kehklik originated.” “How do you know this? I have tried speaking to him before and it was not fruitful.” “I counsel patience,” she said. “I have conversed with him, though only briefly. He claims that you did not approach him with respect. KhKhorrak is much like an ancient dragon. Keep that in mind, and you may have more success.” “I will go. Thank you for the advice.” “When you finish with the turtle,” she
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said, “Come home,
said, “Come home, be with me, and think me, and think of how you can include your eldest son in your adventures.” At least Kudric could find spies with skill, Alanora thought, insulted by the ineptitude of the man following her; he was trying to blend in with other people in the market, and failing miserably. He’d been dogging her footsteps for hours, ever since lunch. In the days since their first meeting, she and Ezra had been getting together at mid-day; she’d come to enjoy the conversations, his almost puppy-like eagerness to learn more about the world, and his insights into Caerelon’s political web. She felt guilty using their conversations to glean an inside view of the Prime Minister’s machinations. Ezra was a good soul, she’d decided, and his company was pleasant. In was pleasant. In spite of protests to the
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contrary, he was
contrary, he was obviously smitten 87 with her. Certainly, she liked him, but not in the way he wanted her to. As for stray thoughts she kept having about Kaylen… smirking, Alanora formulated a plan to escape her shadow. She explored the merchant’s produce, testing mushrooms for freshness, buying a moonapple and eating it while walking. Slowly, she moved away from the center of the market, toward an unlit area once used by a young girl during games of hide-and-seek. When people moved in front of the stalker, she darted into a side room. It held stacks of crates and barrels; she almost didn’t find the covert entrance. The pressure points still worked, much to worked, much to her relief. The door slid inward and to one side. Jumping through, she pressed her body into the darkness, waiting for the entrance to automatically close. The original
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purpose of the
purpose of the secret passages was a mystery. Perhaps, she thought, it was simply a dwarven habit to build hidden ways through their dwellings. For the moment, she was grateful to have an escape from prying eyes. She followed the illuminated line in the center of the floor. It was green and brighter than the skymoss used in the main caverns; even so, the smooth walls of the tunnel seemed to absorb the light, and she moved slowly, cautiously. Dust puffed as she walked, and her dress was being ruined. The thought pleased her. The guide line ended. Alanora crouched; the floor was the floor was damp. The moss had died ahead of her. From memory, she guessed that a major junction was nearby, where a short tunnel that would lead to an exit. Slowly, her hand on the right wall, she moved ahead, relying on
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twenty-year-old memories. Alanora
twenty-year-old memories. Alanora took one turn, then another, and found a dead-end. Back tracking, she expected to see the faint glow of the moss on the floor. After several turns, she cursed her own stupidity and moved on. Finally, a light ahead heralded an exit. She stepped into an unrecognized corridor, wide, with simple decoration. This has to be north of the market, she told herself. To the right, in the distance, a simple stone door waited at the far end of the passage. It was vaguely familiar; her internal compass suggested that compass suggested that it would lead somewhere familiar. In the other direction, closer, a pair of carved red-granite doors stood. The patterns were distinctly dwarven. Metal spikes, driven crudely around the sides and bottom of the door, kept something inside. Thick dust told her that the act of vandalism had occurred in the
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distant past. A
distant past. A sledge hammer lay carelessly in a corner, forgotten by whoever had sealed the door. Dark curiosity outweighed common sense. Alanora picked up the hammer, and knocked aside spikes, one by one, working out her frustrations with Caerelon’s other secrets. Some took several strikes before they loosened. She didn’t worry about anyone hearing her; if the other end of the corridor opened where she expected, there was no one nearby. 88 The last spike The last spike removed, she set the tool aside, and pulled the handle again. Surprisingly quiet, the door swung toward her. Inside, a familiar white-blue light greeted her. When she saw the round room below layered balconies, she wondered if the door had opened into Caerelon. Several people sat on the floor by the door. She stifled a cry. The sunken eyes, tattered skin clinging closely to bone… these were
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corpses. Many of
corpses. Many of them. Alanora stepped back, steeled her nerves, and moved forward. A quick examination of the skeletons by the door sent shivers through her body. Stocky, thick-boned, too few ribs… it was a dwarf. They were all dwarves. Hundreds of them, scattered as far as she could see, alone or in piles large and small. Was that a Was that a child’s body in one collection? Looking back, she saw deep scars on the inside of the doors. Had the dwarves been unable to dig their way out of the trap? Who had locked them in… Alanora ran away, not in fear, but anger. She hurried to the opposite end of the corridor, through the stone door, slamming it behind her. Breathing heavily, another room of the dead greeted her. These, however, were her kin, former leaders of Caerelon, interred in neat sarcophagi, so
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incongruous with the
incongruous with the casual murder she’d just discovered. “Which one of you gave the order?” she demanded, looking from one gilded coffin to the next. “Did you have the courage to lock them in yourself?” No one answered. Looking back, there was no obvious way to reopen the door she’d the door she’d just passed through. That didn’t surprise her; as a child, she’d visited the tombs during her clandestine excursions, and the door had always been a mystery. Nearby, a winding stair had been her route to freedom and the castle outside. Down a long tunnel in the opposite direction, another door would open in a quiet family shrine near her chambers. She considered running away, going back to her travels with Norgrim and Tohkay, maybe even joining the refugees in Tornaval. A certain sailor was a strong, unexpected lure. Duty called her back to
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Caerelon. Sytherek had
Caerelon. Sytherek had little trouble finding KhKhorrak. The great turtle, a hundred feet long and sixty wide, foraged openly among long plants growing in shallows between sandy islands. Six-legged, brown and Six-legged, brown and deep blue, with teal highlights on his shell, his neck stretched so his 89 elongated head could grab mouthfuls of vegetation, KhKhorrak was surrounded by many smaller versions of himself. Hoping he was being polite, Sytherek landed on a nearby sandbar, as close to the turtle as he could get without standing in the grassy water. “Greetings,” said the turtle in draconic, its voice low, pleasant. It did not look at the dragon, but continued pulling up clumps of grass and swallowing them. Sytherek lifted his head in surprise. “Greetings as well. I have tried to talk to you many times before, and you never replied. What is different now?” The turtle
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lifted its head
lifted its head to look directly at look directly at the dragon. He blinked. “Your mate is very nice,” the turtle said. “And you did not step in my food this time.” “Ah,” said Sytherek. “I shall be very careful in the future.” “You came with a question,” the turtle continued. “No one ever comes to KhKhorrak without a question. I like it that way.” “Please tell me about the kehklik.” The turtle was rock-still for a brief moment. When he spoke again, KhKhorrak’s voice had a sharper tone to it. “Only one other dragon has asked me about the kehklik, and he destroyed them.” “The kehklik are not destroyed,” Sytherek replied. “Thousands live –” “Something may be destroyed and still live!” KhKhorrak interrupted. Then, in calmer tones, he asked, “What has happened to the kehklik recently? One of the forest people was here
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sixty-eight was here
sixty-eight was here sixty-eight days ago, also asking questions about them.” “Forest people?” Sytherek asked. “Do you mean See’ee’ah?” “Yes, a resident of the great rift jungle. His name was Tohkay Ahtok.” “Fascinating.” “If you say so. What is your interest in the kehklik?” “They are becoming sentient,” Sytherek said. “I wish to understand their origins, and perhaps help them.” The turtle rumbled in laughter. “The arrogance of dragons!” it said. “Yet you amuse me. Where should my telling start?” “How were the kehklik destroyed?” “They have been sentient before!” declared the turtle. “Three thousand, two hundred and seventy one years ago, another dragon destroyed their mind, turning them into simple creatures.” “Who?” Sytherek suspected he knew the answer. “His name was Garthonnex.” 90 Jennur watched 90 Jennur watched the children leave the classroom. The day had gone well, by most measures; in the
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few days since
few days since opening the school, he’d done little formal teaching. His focus had been on letting the children express their concerns and ask questions, providing the best answers he could. Jennur didn’t care if those answers would have annoyed Kaylen; the sailor and his friends paid little or no attention to children. He savored the irony: They had handed him the opportunity to mold young minds. “Bishop Ott?” a female voice asked. He looked up, and saw a middle-aged blond woman standing in the doorway. “I am he,” said Jennur. “Please come in, Magister Rahnor. I’d been told of been told of your arrival. It’s good to meet you in person.” “Please, call me Danelle,” she said, striding into the room. She looked over the simple benches, the few supplies he’d managed to scrounge. “You’ve done well with limited resources, bishop.” “I do what I
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can under the
can under the circumstances,” Jennur said coolly. “I am surprised that you’re alone. The town is somewhat… unstable at times.” “I was escorted to your door,” said Danelle. “They will return in a few moments.” “And why did you want to see me in private, then?” asked Jennur suspiciously. “Please forgive me, but my time in this new country has not fostered trust in others.” “Your attitude is understandable. I just spent the day observing the people who think they are in charge.” Her voice contained a hint of humor. Jennur hint of humor. Jennur looked at her suspiciously. “Maybe you’re here to spy on me, or maybe we have common interests.” He bent to collect writing materials from where the children had been sitting. “Let me put your concerns at ease,” she said pleasantly. “Kaylen Thyr is an adventurer. So are his friends. For them,
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survival is a
survival is a game. I have a more serious plan for the future, and seek allies who might help me. Since you and I are part of the same theocratic structure, we might have a great deal in common.” Jennur stood slowly, facing away from her, placed the pencils and papers in a small box. When he looked at her again, his eyes were intense. “We were part of a theocracy. In one fell moment, our beliefs and homes were swept homes were swept away, dropping us into the laps of insidious creatures. I do not believe that our good captain was simply lucky when he befriended his strange allies. Nor am I convinced that the death of our homeland is entirely 91 natural.” He noted the look in her eyes. “Think me paranoid if you wish. You were herded to Tornaval by a dragon, were
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you not?” “I
you not?” “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way.” “It’s not just dragons,” Jennur continued. “In the castle, dwarves dig into our past, stealing our heritage! What are they hiding in the northern reaches of the courtyard? Kaylen and his friends haven’t asked, or won’t tell what they’ve learned. No, Magister, I am Magister, I am not the crazed old man of their imagination.” Danelle looked thoughtful for a moment. “It seems,” she said, “that we have much to discuss.” Symurall enjoyed the journey to Irramar, long as it was. He flew south, across his home mountains, into dwarven territory. He assumed Kyazura, long associated with dwarves, understood why the artificial constructs became more geometric with proximity to the capitol city of Darnok. Wild rivers from the mountains became straight canals; instead of going around hills, roads in the inner regions passed straight as arrows
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through neatly- flattened
through neatly- flattened lands. Norgrim and the dwarves at Tornaval came from the wild and diverse frontier city of Norokden. The dragon wondered if he would like dwarves from the ordered regions. He’d never regions. He’d never met any. His path crossed a vast lake; through the crystal-clear waters, he saw schools of colorful fish swimming amid huge crystals. To the south, he caught his first glimpse of jagged black mountains, spurring him to greater speed; he had plenty of reserve energy. Leaving behind dry hills and scrub forest, he entered a volcanic land; sharp glassy peaks and deep valleys had been created in a matter of days during the remarkable rescue of the dwarves. Three thousand years had not been enough time for nature to recover, even with help. The great rip in the world was home to his parents, ancient dragons who had chosen
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to spend their
to spend their later years healing the wounds of Narrahnjarra’s generosity. Family found Symurall quickly, as siblings, nephews, nieces, and in-laws felt his in-laws felt his arrival and came to hail him. They were typical dragons, those who stayed in a home range, never venturing far, living stable lives. He was the unusual one, a son who had gone away to make a separate life in the outer world. Irramar was his birthplace – but it was not truly his home anymore. Tossing stories and “hellos” to those he met, Symurall flew straight for the presence he sought. 92 Morgrannon – his full name was hundreds of complex syllables long – rested at the edge of a caldera, working on an epic poem about another world. The volcano was only slightly active; the surrounding rock was warm, but not molten or not
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molten or violent;
molten or violent; a steady breeze carried the few noxious fumes away. The perch provided both warmth and a view of the great scarlet dragon’s realm. Twice as big as Symurall, with remarkable black horns on his neck and back, he pulled his wings closer to leave room on the ledge for the visitor. “You have been gone too long,” said the ancient dragon. “It is good to see you, father,” said Symurall, landing lightly beside him. “Is mother nearby?” “She is not. Yssahjorna is three valleys south and west of here, watching a new forest grow. It was planted with seeds descended from the lost world. Oak, elm, and maple, among others.” “Her work has progressed so far?” Symurall said with surprise. “I have been gone for a long time.” “Twenty-three years, eighty-seven “Twenty-three years, eighty-seven days,” Morgrannon intoned. “Not very long, really. Your sister
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comes more often,
comes more often, your brother less. It is not a matter for concern. Tell me what brought you to us.” “Humans.” “We are aware of the recent cataclysm. Since the people of Novalion are safe and healthy, I assume that you are talking about the residents of Tramora.” “Tramora was destroyed by vast eruptions, much like the ones that created this scar. In this case, the cause appears to be natural. Most of the humans were killed. Very few survived to land on the shores of my domain. That is where the complications begin. I am uncertain of how to proceed.” “I feel that your hatred for them has abated.” “It has. I wanted to know more about why you and mother have and mother have been so fond of humans over the years, and why you brought them to Syraqua.” The red dragon stretched. “They
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are a complex
are a complex species, difficult to quantify. At its finest, humanity is magnificent. Such is not always evident; it is too easy to miss the good amid the bad. Through their bloody, mad history, humans have somehow progressed, becoming greater with each generation. Never underestimate humanity; never forget that, flawed as they are, the universe would be less for their passing.” Symurall was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “I have seen glimmerings of what you say,” he said. “I now must decide how to involve myself in human affairs.” Morgrannon nodded. “Your entire story will take much time, I assume?” “Yes.” 93 “Then I will “Then I will stop working on my poem, and listen. If you have come to me, the situation must be troubling.” Symurall arched an eyebrow. “Is this the poem about the human home planet? Where you once lived? Didn’t you start
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writing it before
writing it before I was born?” “And I will be working on it when this mountain is cold,” Morgrannon said. He shifted his great bulk into a very comfortable position. “Now, tell me everything, including how your sister and brother are doing.” Another week had passed, and Kaylen almost let himself hope that people would survive its own idiosyncrasies. The fishing fleet was at sea; the docks were prepared to receive the catch when they returned. Jennur’s school seemed to be seemed to be a success. More houses had roofs, and more building materials would soon be trickling into town. On this afternoon, Kaylen rode a horse slowly toward the castle. He’d spent the past two days helping with the quarry and lumber mill run by Torin Hanso. The blacksmith seemed to have inexhaustible energy and knowledge of practical matters, from the construction of a water-powered
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saw to demonstrating
saw to demonstrating the art of splitting limestone. Letting dozens of people live ten leagues from the safety of the city had seemed risky; after seeing Torin in action, Kaylen decided that any kehklik would regret inconveniencing the smith. The horse was one of only a dozen that had survived from Tramora. It was a big animal, probably a light draft horse in its former life. It had taken to him immediately, to him immediately, and he named it Borrus. Kaylen wondered if naming the animal had been a mistake; he hated to think of it as his horse. In idle moments, he formulated plans to tame the wild horses on the nearby plains. It sounded like an interesting challenge. Of course, dragons thought of horses as tasty meals – he would need to work that out with Symurall. He entered the castle courtyard, dismounted, and
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brought us here.”
brought us here.” “What do you and your mate know about these events?” Sytherek asked. “Have you seen any humans in the south?” “No,” Narrahnjarra said. “We felt their demise in the bones of the world, and strange energies emanated from their islands. Clouds now block the sun as far south as Wyvernrift, and great waves crashed ashore against islands north of Artorra.” “So the disaster is much bigger than a few refugees,” Mahgrurra said. “I am here to learn what you know,” said Narrahnjarra. She looked pointedly at Symurall. Taking that as his cue, the sea dragon moved to the center of the gathering. Six draconic heads swiveled to watch as he described the humans, how their homeland had been destroyed, and where the survivors were located the shores of Syraqua.
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In turn, Kyazura
In turn, Kyazura shared her observations, and Sytherek described the destruction of Tramora in vivid detail. The others listened, some thoughtful, others seemingly bored. “You suspect humans have complicity in the destruction of their homeland,” Symurall said, speaking to Narrahnjarra. He moved aside, relinquishing the center to the golden dragon. “That is possible,” she began. “A similar event from my own past may shed light on the matter. Twenty-nine hundred and eighteen years ago, before many of you came here, Garthonnex and I were surveying the sentient species of the galaxy. There are so few, and each is part of understanding ourselves and the universe itself…” “In your opinion,” Sytherek interrupted darkly. “Indeed,” drawled Yvarrtasah. “Yet I must caution against disrespecting your elders, Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar…” She rumbled his entire name; the
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grey-purple dragon bowed
grey-purple dragon bowed his head slightly, and was silent. “On one dream walk, I discovered the dwarves,” Narrahnjarra continued. “Living on a dying planet, they had moved their civilization underground, away from the searing light of their expanding star. Garthonnex determined that their time was almost at an end. We found a way to save them, by building harmonic gateways, such as our ancestors used to 37 come to this world. At the time, my knowledge of crystalline dynamics was rudimentary. I could not have succeeded without the help of a dwarven woman named Istona; together, she and I constructed a dozen gateways and found their songs. On Syraqua, I opened the gateways in the mountains northeast of Wyvernrift,
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the kind of
the kind of issue worth dying over, except maybe to Lloyds. He moved deeper into her stern section, his in- tuition seemed to get stronger the longer he stayed below decks. More relaxed with it now, he actually started to enjoy the company. Ships and the sea L you have to be part of it to understand. Women never seem able to relate. At least none hePd ever met. And it only affected certain men. Robert Forster had given him that feeling, just passing him on deck. Gomez had it too, but in a different way. Gomez, Bobby figured, had that kind of karmic re- lationship with everything in his life.
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Bobby could see
Bobby could see the depth in Gomez, but just couldnPt get in- side it. He was a man close to his roots, at times eating them to stay alive, probably. From atop the walkway gratings he could see the chains taut, locked on, bitching and grating noises coming from them as they bound against the torque of the shafts. It was the grotesque king of scream only steel on steel could make, but to Bobby it could just as easily be The Lady. He fig- ured the chains were strong enough, but didnPt — 145 — want to think about the power of an ocean tug pulling them in the open Gulf. The beam from his flashlight ran across the shafts, dancing hastily
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across the bloodstains
across the bloodstains on the burned-up electrical panel. Somebody should wash them off, he thought. He figured that was HowiePs job as his eyes carried him unaware to the dark water where Forster died. Seeing it, he flicked the beam off and cringed as the experience washed over him. He saw part of ForsterPs face splatter on him again. He tried to make every- thing still. Still, the sight remained, as if the experience was all that was ever there. Inside the absolute darkness of his mind he saw it. There wasnPt a lot you could do when the picture wouldnPt turn off, when black was the medium. And it got spooky quickly for Bobby L surreal.
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To escape, he
To escape, he had to leave. His eyes were only half open as he started his way along and up the inside companionway. He worked to calm himself while his pace quickened. Think simple, he told himself, make it nothing L the way it was when youPre a kid and the crocodiles are going to bite your foot if you donPt get it up into bed and under the covers. Or snakes. Bobby always preferred crocodiles. They were slower, bigger, and noisier, too. It didnPt help. His heart pounded and the companionway stayed dark. The motion of the ship cooperated. The ominous sounds of the grating chain became her voice as the elements around him combined in
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— 146 —
— 146 — a strange unity. He felt her at his feet with each rung of the walkway, not wanting him to leave without the promise, reminding him with each step. The promise. She demanded it. The prom- ise to avenge her. His fear got him topside, into the late after- noon sun, into the world above, light and life. Leaning heavily on the stern rail, he watched the dead wake curl out from under her. He took all the time he needed to catch himself. For want of something to put in his head he noticed she sat a little deeper in her stern. It wasnPt much, but
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it helped. Somebody working the
it helped. Somebody working the deck of the stern tug waved from the distance. He raised his arm ab- sently, as Gomez slipped back into his mind. He wanted to check on him, get some human contact. He realized if Gomez died hePd get the money for nothing. On the way he stopped off in the crewPs quar- ters beneath the stern wheelhouse and scrounged some partially decayed blankets, heading out through the ransacked galley. There was nothing to take there; it had been stripped of everything. Back at the forecastle, Gomez appeared to be sleeping. Bobby checked him to be sure it was just sleep. Satisfied he was not yet alone, he spread two blankets over his friend, trying to slide
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a go.\ \
a go.\ \ Really?\ Kade asked, her tone a shade too ingenuous, but not so much so that the other two women suspected subtle mockery. \ Much better than an actor,\ Silvetta said, and jerked her head in the direction of the tavern entrance. The actor who played the Arlequin stood there talking to one of the tavern-keeps, having just come in from the street. He was darkly handsome, clean-shaven after the current fashion in Adera, and didn t look at all like the other actors who played clowns. After a moment, Kade said, \ How well do you know him?\ Silvetta answered, \ He s new. Baraselli hired him last month when the other Arlequin died.\ Kade glanced at her. \ Was he an old
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man?\ \ Oh,
man?\ \ Oh, no, all our clowns are young. He died of a fever. It was very bad luck.\ The Arlequin had looked in their direction, and seemed to be staring at Kade. Corrine, who apparently had only one thought in her head, grinned and said, \ He likes you.\ Chapter Three 33 But Kade, who could read wolfish contempt in those dark eyes, snorted. \ Hardly,\ she said, and by sleight of hand managed to insinuate the card for future wealth into Silvetta s fortune. * * * Thomas had spent the afternoon checking on the progress of the inquiries he had set in motion last night, but the King s Watch had
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made little headway
made little headway so far. He had wanted to sound out Galen Dubell on the subject of his one time student Kade Carrion, but last night hadn t seemed the right moment after the sorcerer s rescue from three harrowing days as Urbain Grandier s prisoner. Galen Dubell had moved into the late Dr. Surete s old rooms, and Thomas found him there when the afternoon sun was glowing through the windows and filling the high-ceilinged room with light. The old Court Sorcerer had needed this room when his eyes had started to fail; the multipaned windows in the west wall took full advantage of the daylight. Gold-trimmed bookshelves covered the other walls and a globe still shielded by its protective leather cover stood in the corner. The rest of the furniture was buried under piles of more books and
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a fine layer
a fine layer of dust. When the servant led Thomas into the room, Dubell looked up from his writing desk and smiled. \ Captain.\ He was wearing a battered pair of gold-rimmed reading spectacles and open books were spread out on one side of the partners desk Dr. Surete had once shared with his assistant Milan. Thomas said, \ I wanted to thank you for what you did for my man last night. He would have died if you hadn t healed him.\ Dubell smiled. \ You are welcome, but I don t think that is the only thing you came to speak about. Please be direct.\ Well, well. Thomas leaned on a bookshelf and tipped his plumed hat back, finding himself more amused than discomfited. Directness was not something
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\ And now
\ And now for Bayswater and my shrinking young bride,\ he thought. \ I declare,\ he said, half aloud, with a forced laugh, \ I can sympathize, for the first time, with the fly who had a bid from the spider to walk into his parlor. Is there a roaring farce on anywhere?\ he asked the bar-tender. \ Yes, sir; a reg lar side-splitter at the Haymarket. You will ave time to take in the matinee and dinner at Broadlawns, Bayswater, too, sir.\ \ How the deuce did you know I was due there?\ \ Mr. Stone and Miss Villiers have called three times to look you up, sir.\ \ Indeed!\ \ Yes, sir; Mr. Stone, he came in, and Miss
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Villiers, she waited
Villiers, she waited outside in the trap.\ The mere mention of the people from Broadlawns having come to hunt him up, had such a depressing effect, that he abandoned all idea of distraction at the play. \ There is not a particle of use of my trying to sit through the farce with this thumping headache; have a hansom here for me in a couple of hours, to convey me to Broadlawns; I shall walk out and get a glimpse of the city.\ \ All right, thank you, sir.\ \ Some one hath it,\ he thought, entering Trafalgar Square, \ that the grand panacea, the matchless sanative which is an infallible cure for the blues, is exercise, exercise, exercise! so now for a trial; here goes for five miles
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an hour.\ On,
an hour.\ On, and ever onwards, with, and yet apart from, the stream of busy life, alone and lonely amidst the throngs not once staying his steps; winging his flight in the vain effort to flee from self, drifting on the waves of unrest, they engulfing him, his face white and worn as a ghost, his blue eyes weary and with a hunted look, a neuralgic headache driving him to the brink of madness; the panorama of wonderful sights on which, under other circumstances, he would have feasted his eyes. Peers of the realm, having gained notoriety in one way or another, passed unnoticed, with lovely women, from professional beauties reclining in their own carriages, whose toys were men s hearts, with the world as a stage, to the avowed actress, whose bright eyes looked from a hired equipage,
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who played for
who played for men s gold on the stage of the theatre; far-famed Regent Street was traversed with less interest than he would have accorded to Lombard Street, Toronto; for man loves freedom as a bird–there he was free, now he feels his fetters. CHAPTER VIII. \ Take care, sir,\ said a policeman, kindly. 63 \ Blockhead! it would serve him right to come to his senses under the feet of my horse,\ said the only occupant of a low carriage, in the voice of a shrew, as she drove on. At this juncture Cole shook himself to rights, as it were. \ She was ugly enough to give a fellow a scare, after our pretty Canadian women,\
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he said to
he said to the policeman. \ Oh, she isn t no type of what we can show you, sir; she s but small, but enough o her sort, say I.\ \ Ditto; and now be good enough to hail a cab for me.\ \ Yes, sir; here you are, and thank you, sir.\ \ To Morley s hotel.\ \ All right, sir.\ On reaching his destination he learned that Mr. Stone had driven in to ascertain whether he had arrived, when, on hearing that he had, but was out, had waited; when a lady, calling for him, had gone, leaving a note for him, which on opening read thus: \ DEAR BABBINGTON-COLE,–Am very pleased to hear of your safe arrival; have
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important business, so cannot
important business, so cannot wait; in fact arrangements for the immediate marriage of my niece to yourself; kindly come out at once, on your return. \ Yours sincerely, \ TIMOTHY STONE.\ \ The net is well laid,\ thought poor Cole; \ they are bound to rope me in; how strange it all seems; even my name sounds unfamiliar, having at home, in dear old Toronto, dropped the Babbington; but I must adorn myself for the altar.\ And once more he seeks retirement in his own chamber. \ Hang that evolution of a woman s corsets and curling tongs, viz., the modern dude! such a choking and tightening a fellow s throat and legs undergo; I wonder if my shrinking bride will expect me to kneel to her. Ah! there goes for a rip; under the
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save occasionally when
save occasionally when I have gone a-riding in the Sixth Avenue elevated, but it is my honest belief that my sword would promptly leave its scabbard if the hand ever waved from the ivied tower.\ 18 She nodded her pleasure in this avowal. For a chimney-doctor I was doing well. In fact, as I submitted to Miss Octavia s examination, I felt equal to charging a brigade single-handed. Something about the woman made it possible and pleasant to be absurd. \ If a king or an emperor of Europe should ask you to inspect his chimneys, would you be content to perform your service in the most expeditious and professional manner and depart with a nominal fee?\ \ Decidedly
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not, Miss Hollister.
not, Miss Hollister. On the other hand I should nurse the job for all it was worth, plunder the public treasury, explore the dungeons, make love to the princesses, and free the rightful heir to the throne from his cell beneath the bosom of the lake.\ My friends at the Hare and Tortoise would have heard this avowal with some surprise, for no man s life had ever been tamer than mine. I am by nature timid, and fall but a little short of being afraid of the dark. Prayers for deliverance from battle, murder, and sudden death cannot be too strongly expressed for me. My answer had, however, pleased Miss Octavia, and she clapped her hands with pleasure. \ Cecilia,\ she cried, \ something told me, that afternoon at the Asolando, that my belief in the
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potential seven was not
potential seven was not ill-placed, and now you see that in introducing myself to Mr. Ames at the seventh table from the door, in the seventh shop from Fifth Avenue, I was led to a meeting with a gentleman I had been predestined to know.\ As we talked further, a servant appeared and laid fresh logs across the still-smouldering fire. This I thought would suggest to Miss Hollister the professional character of my visit; but the fire kindled readily, the smoke rose freely in the flue; and Miss Hollister paid no attention to it other than to ask the man whether the fuel he had taken from a carved box at the right of the hearth was apple-wood from the upper orchard or cherry from a tree which, it appeared, she had felled herself. It was apple-wood, the man
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informed her, and
informed her, and she continued talking. The merits of chain-armor, I think it was, that held us for half an hour, Cecilia and I listening with respect to what, in my ignorance, seemed a remarkable fund of knowledge on this recondite subject. \ We dine at seven, Mr. Ames, and you may amuse yourself as you like until that hour. Cecilia, you may order dinner in the gun-room to-night.\ \ Certainly, Aunt Octavia.\ Once more I glanced at the girl, hoping that some glimmer in her eyes would set me right and establish a common understanding and sympathy between us; but she was moving out of the room at her aunt s side. The man who had tended the fire met me in the hall and, conducting me to my room, suggested various offices
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that he was ready
that he was ready to perform for my comfort. The house faced south, and my windows, midway of the east wing, afforded a fine view of the hills. The room was large enough for a chamber of state, and its furniture was massive. A four-poster invited to luxurious repose; half a dozen etchings by famous artists–Parrish and Van Elten among them–hung upon the walls; and on a table beside the bed stood a handsome decanter and glasses, reinforced by the quart of Scotch which Miss Hollister had recommended for my refreshment. My bag had been opened and my things put out, so that, there being more than an hour to pass before I need dress for dinner, I went below and explored the garden and wandered off along a winding path that stole with charming furtiveness toward a venerable orchard
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extraterrestrial race associated
extraterrestrial race associated with Dominion that possesses a reptilian type genetic structure. Astral – A type of spirit world for disembodied spirits awaiting rebirth. Astral Center – Centers in the third dimensional astral realm, where individuals are taken by agents of Dominion, for the purpose of receiving allotted karma, and prepared for their next life. Auric Capsule – See auric field Auric Field – The aura, which is made up of the Etheric Body (DNA Template), the Astral Body (Sparkling or Emotional Body), The Casual Body (Subconscious Mind), the Mental Body (Pure Mind Essence), and the Upper Etheric Energy Matrix. Bardo – An after-death state experienced by many, in which they float through the worlds of their unconscious. Bhagavad-Gita – A book of Hindu scripture. Bi Polar – A mental disorder with alternating periods of elation and depression. Causal Body – That
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portion of the
portion of the Auric Field which serves as the subconscious mind. Detachment – Not to be confused with indifference, detachment is a state of consciousness which allows the individual to experience life without the rollercoaster ride associated with emotional extremes. DNA Template – The “Etheric Double” which consists of a Sound Matrix, and serves as a template for the manifestation of the physical form and its DNA. Dominion – The god of this world, also known as Lucifer. Dracos – An extraterrestrial race, possessing the Dragon-Moth type genetic structure. This is an albino race, also known as the Draconians. Ego-Self – The physical consciousness which is separate from the Higher Self, that says “I did such and such yesterday, I’m doing this now, and I have such and such plans for tomorrow”. Einherjar – Literally, “Odin’s Chosen”. Mythologically, these were the battle-slain, who were
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escorted to Valhalla.
escorted to Valhalla. Today, they are available to assist those of us who can call upon them. Elder Futhark – The oldest known runic system of Northern Europe. Esoteric – Spiritual knowledge that has traditionally been reserved for those who become ready, and who are entering the priesthood. Evolution – A process of upward development, not to be confused with notions of humanity having evolved from apes. Exoteric – Religious teachings given to the masses that are designed to promote good behavior. Goyim – A Jewish term for all non-Jews, meaning “animals” or “cattle”. Great Abyss – The demarcation between the Spiritual Planes of the 13th, 14th, and 15th dimensional realms, and the material worlds of dualism. Hamingja – The Old Norse term for the Higher Self. Hamr – The Old Norse term for the DNATemplate. Harmonic Universe – A sub-universe,
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consisting of three
consisting of three dimensional realms and their astral planes. Higher Self – The higher aspect of the self, which is indigenous to the spiritual planes above the Great Abyss, and which is capable of guiding and directing us. This has been known variously, as the Soul, Spirit, the Holy Spirit, and the God within. Higher Will – Consists of Natural Law, the activities of the Silent Ones, and the “All”. Hugr – The Old Norse term for the Auric Field. Inner Sanctum – A place established within the Astral Body, where we can access our inner wisdom, peace, and the Higher Self. Karma – The result of a past deed, or an emotional reaction to environmental stimuli. This can also be seen as the result of the law of compensation. Macrocosm – The whole of a complex structure. Maya – Illusion. Mental
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liggers\ dangling
liggers\ dangling about them. The fishing and shooting on the Broad are, at present, open to all. This Broad is also much affected by the tide, as, notwithstanding its distance from the river, there are II. numerous connecting dykes permitting easy flow and re-flow of water. 11 Back in the yacht again, we reached Buckenham Ferry (ten and a half miles), a favourite angling rendezvous, with a railway station of the same name close by. A long row of trees on the left bank is the cause of daily trouble to wherrymen and sailormen, as it shuts off the wind. The man who plants trees by the side of a navigable river, where the navigation depends upon the wind, is the
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very reverse of
very reverse of a benefactor to mankind, and only selfishness or thoughtlessness can permit such an act. There is fair mooring for yachts just below the Inn, on the same side, but they must be kept well off the shore by poles, or as the tide ebbs they will strand and perhaps fall over. The Ferry Inn is noted for its comfort; and its limited staying accommodation is good. The fishing is very good both up and down the river, and there are good boats for hire for fishing purposes. The river now becomes very wide and deep, and the shoals near the banks, which abound in the higher reaches, are not so frequent. I would call the especial attention of the river authorities to the disgraceful state of the river as far as Buckenham Ferry. Each year
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the shoals and
the shoals and weeds increase, and the channel narrows, until in some places not more than a third of the river-width is available for the navigation. The natural consequence will be that the navigation must gradually cease to be made use of, as it becomes a matter of difficulty, and the railway will take the trade, which might be kept to the river if a more energetic care of the navigable stream were taken. This is a most serious matter, and ought to be attended to. [Picture: Langley Dyke] Next is Langley Dyke, near which are the reaches of the river where the principal regattas are held, and by the river side is Cantley Red House (fourteen miles). Cantley railway station is very close to the river, and as the water is deep close to the bank, and
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hardly succeed, for she
hardly succeed, for she is a queen!\ \ That is nothing!\ said the old folks; \ has she a house?\ \ She has a palace!\ said the ant–\ the finest ant s palace, with seven hundred passages!\ \ I thank you!\ said Mother Snail; \ our son shall not go into an ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that, we shall give the commission to the white gnats. They fly far and wide, in rain and sunshine; they know the whole forest here, both within and without.\ \ We have a wife for him,\ said the gnats; \ at a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her house, on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely, and old enough to
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be married. It
be married. It is only a hundred human paces!\ \ Well, then, let her come to him!\ said the old ones; \ he has a whole forest of burdocks, she has only a bush!\ And so they went and fetched little Miss Snail. It was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it, for one could thus see that she was of the same species. And then the marriage was celebrated. Six earth-worms shone as well as they could. In other respects the whole went off very quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old Dame Snail made a brilliant speech. Father Snail could not speak, he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance,
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the whole forest
the whole forest of burdocks, and said–what they had always said–that it was the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and increased and multiplied, they and their children would once in the course of time come to the manor-house, be boiled black, and laid on silver dishes. After this speech was made, the old ones crept into their shells, and never more came out. They slept; the young couple governed in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled, and never came on the silver 12 dishes; so from this they concluded that the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course
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it was so.
it was so. And the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake, and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for they, indeed were so. ———— THE STORY OF A MOTHER A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! It was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature. Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old, man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for
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\ Madam,\
\ Madam,\ spoke up the bearded stranger by the window, in a deep voice which made everybody jump, \ I will tell you what the men are doing–they are in the army, preparing themselves for the defense of their fatherland. Do you think it is of choice they leave the harvesting and street-cleaning and carrying of burdens to their mothers and wives and sisters? No; it is because for them is reserved a greater task–the task of confronting the revengeful hate of France, the envious hate of England, the cruel hate of Russia. That is their task to-day, madam, and they accept it with light hearts, confident of victory!\ There was a moment s silence. Mrs. Field was the first to find her voice. \ All the same,\ she said, \ that does
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not justify the
not justify the use of cows as draft animals!\ The German stared at her an instant in astonishment, then turned away to the window with a gesture of contempt, as of one who refuses to argue with lunatics, and paid no further heed to the Americans. With them, the conversation turned from war, which none of them really believed would come, to home, for which they were all longing. Home, Stewart told himself, means everything to middle-aged women of fixed habits. It was astonishing that they should tear themselves away from it, even for a tour of Europe, for to them travel meant martyrdom. Home! How their eyes brightened as they spoke the word! They were going through to Brussels, then to Ostend, after a look at Ghent and Bruges, and so to England and their boat.
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\ I intend
\ I intend to spend the afternoon at Aix-la-Chapelle,\ said Stewart, \ and go on to Brussels to-night or in the morning. Perhaps I shall see you there.\ Miss Field mentioned the hotel at which the party would stop. \ What is there at Aix-la-Chapelle?\ she asked. \ I suppose I ought to know, but I don t.\ \ There s a cathedral, with the tomb of Charlemagne, and his throne, and a lot of other relics. I was always impressed by Charlemagne. He was the real thing in the way of emperors.\ \ I should like to see his tomb,\ said Miss Field. \ Why can t we stop at Aix-la-Chapelle, mother?\ But Mrs. Field shook her head. \ We
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his former superior, Pastor Worm, becoming at once the head of a large family consisting of the children of his wife and those of her first husband by his previous marriage. It was a serious responsibility to assume, both morally and financially. The parish was quite large, but his income was considerably reduced by the payment of a pension to the widow of the former pastor and the salary to an assistant. With such a drain on his income and with a large family to support, Kingo s economic circumstances must have been strained. But he was happy with his wife and proved himself a kind and conscientious stepfather to her children who, even after their maturity, maintained a close relationship with him. Kingo s happiness proved, however, to be but a brief interlude to a period of intense sorrows

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and disappointments. His wife

and disappointments. His wife died less than a year after their marriage; his father, whom he loved and revered, passed away the same year; and the conduct of his stepson, the formerly mentioned Jacob Worm, caused him Chapter Three 15 bitter trouble and humiliation. The bright prospect of this brilliant but erratic youth had quickly faded. After a number of failures, he had been forced to accept a position as rector of the small and insignificant Latin school at Slangerup, thus coming under the immediate authority of Kingo, who, as pastor, supervised the educational institutions of the parish. Worm always seems to have thought of Kingo as a former assistant to his father, and his position as an inferior to a former inferior in his own home

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therefore, bitterly wounded

therefore, bitterly wounded his pride. Seeking an outlet for his bitterness, he wrote a number of extremely abusive poems about his stepfather and circulated them among the people of the parish. This unwarranted abuse aroused the anger of Kingo and provoked him to answer in kind. The ensuing battle of vituperation and name-calling brought no honor to either side. Worm s conduct toward his superior, the man who was unselfishly caring for his minor sisters and brothers, deserves nothing but condemnation; but it is painful, nevertheless, to behold the great hymnwriter himself employing the abusive language of his worthless opponent. The times were violent, however, and Kingo possessed his share of their temper. Kingo s last act in this drama between himself and his stepson throws a somewhat softening light upon his conduct. Embittered by persistent failures, Worm continued to pour out

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more than the
more than the average force of character; too sensitive in days past; too impulsive, even yet, in this world of \ they daily mistake my words.\ Even at thirty, she has had years of trouble; has been dragged in the dust under Fortune s wheel, that others might ride aloft at her expense; earning her \ dinner of herbs\ that \ Pooh Bah\ in the plural, may have the \ stalled ox.\ But at last she rests, and summer friends would again know her, who fled at her first out-at-elbow gown; but experience is a good teacher, she will cherish only those who have cherished her in her dark days. Society also now desires her company in polite bids to its various webs, in shape of dinners and lunches, with its other numerous distractions, knowing she is in possession
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of a rather
of a rather pretentious little home, and is in a position to repay; for society is a debit and credit system. \ Once a widow always a widow\ was not the motto of Mrs. Gower, and so she would have again wed, again gone to God s altar; but the angel of death forbade, using his scythe almost as the words of the church pronounced them man and wife, and the bridal gown of the morning gave place ere the sun had set to the black robes of a second widowhood. Truly, \ Sorrow there seemeth more of thee than we can bear and live;\ yet still we live, was her cry. The death of her friend, just at the time manly counsel would have saved her little fortune from vultures, habited as Christian pew-holders! was very hard, not
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to speak of
to speak of that intense loneliness, the death of husband, wife, or betrothed, brings into one s life; one is as though struck mentally and physically blind, not knowing where to turn or whose hand to take; for until such relations are severed by death, one does not realize how one has leaned on the one in the multitude. \ But,\ she would say, \ one must harden oneself to the inevitable, to Heaven s will, if one would keep one s reason;\ and in time the sudden death of the man she had so passionately loved, was as some terrible dream. Not as she dreams away the moments now in her pretty restful library, with its rattan furniture, cushioned and trimmed in olive-green velvet; one side a library of her pet authors, with Davenport near; walls painted in
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alternate green and
alternate green and cream panels; on the light ground are lilies from nature, gathered from Ashbridge s Bay, and near the Island; nestling in their bed of green leaves an English ivy trails around the pretty Queen Anne mantel, with two tall palms, which bring content to the canary as the perfume from the blossoms on the stand give pleasure to the sleeping mistress of Holmnest. CHAPTER III. 40 Her own individuality is stamped upon its walls also, for on each alternate dark green panel is some pretty bits of painting, bric-a-brac, or motto; one reads, \ Let ilka ane gang their ain gait,\ showing her dislike to meddling in another s business; another reads, \ The greatest of these is charity;\ and over a
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bust of Shakspeare are
bust of Shakspeare are his own words, \ No profit goes where is no pleasure taken; in brief, sir, study what you most affect.\ But she dreams, and what a troubled expression. At this moment a coupe drives up a north-west avenue of our city, stops at the gate of Holmnest, when a gentleman, hurriedly springing out, saying, \ come back for me in about an hour-and-a-half, Somers,\ enters the picturesque grounds, has reached the veranda and hall door on south side of pretty Holmnest, rings, when a boy, in neat blue suit, answers. \ Is Mrs. Gower at home, Thomas?\ \ Yes, sir; in the library.\ \ Very well, you need not announce me, I know the way;\ and hastening his steps he passes through a square
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hall, done in
hall, done in the warm tints now in vogue, sunbeams coming softened through artistic panes of stained glass, showing vases on brackets filled with flowers, which would delight \ Bel Thistlethwaite,\ with a few appropriate pictures, giving life to the walls; the door of the library is ajar; he enters. \ Asleep!\ he exclaims, softly; \ with Emerson s thoughts for dreams and Tyr as watch; but what a troubled expression,\ he thinks, seating himself, evidently quite at home; a man, too, one would like to be at home with, if there be any truth in physiognomy, a handsome man, five feet eleven in height, dark hair and moustache, kindly blue eyes, amiability stamped on his face; a man who, had events shaped themselves that way, would have made an heroic self-sacrificing soldier of the Cross.
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frozen yellow stare
frozen yellow stare of hate. Even from his distance Fenton could see that rigor mortis had already set in, imparting a plasticky and only half-real quality to the remains. “Oh Jesus,” he intoned gravely. He tried to sound shocked, and above all unhappy. But in truth he felt relief, and a perverse urge to smile. Not just because the cat was dead, but because it had died so clearly of natural causes. There was nothing in the manner of its passing for which he could conceivably be blamed. It hadn’t, as he had so often feared it would, backed him into a corner and forced him to snap its spine in self-defence. It hadn’t streaked out a
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door he’d just
door he’d just opened and shot out onto the road and met a curt and graphic end under someone’s tyres while he stood there frozen on the doormat, palely holding his keys. It hadn’t set itself aflame on a hotplate left burning by him. It had simply expired, and Fenton was clean. He was gloriously clean. He realized he was still holding his bowl and spoon. Respectfully he laid 107 them down on the bench. The moment was weighty. It seemed to want him to say something more, something sombre and well-meaning and not necessar- ily true. “He seems,” he said, “to have gone peacefully.” “That’s that all you’ve got to say for yourself is it?” said Trixie.
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“Murderer,”
“Murderer,” said Tara. Now he began to catch on. He went cold. “You’re not suggesting … You’re not suggesting that I …” But there was no reasonable way to complete the sentence. What were they suggesting? That he’d poisoned it? That he’d stepped on it during the night? “You killed him!” Tara wailed, seizing a nearby piece of incense-burning equipment and flinging it at his skull. He ducked it, and snapped back to his full height. “How? What did I do?” “Exactly,” said Trixie. “Nothing, Fenton. That’s exactly what you did do, you sick fuck. You stopped feeding him, didn’t you? You stopped feeding
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him and watched
him and watched him die like a dog.” “Cat killer,” said Tara, more concisely. “Stopped feeding him?” Fenton’s mouth went dry. “What are you talking about? I never even – I never even started.” This had seemed, before he’d begun to say it, to be a pretty unimpeachable thing to say. But as he neared the end of saying it, he suddenly wasn’t so sure. Trixie looked at him through widening eyes, as though he were confessing to something unspeakable, something even blacker than what he already stood accused of. Tara emitted a fresh groan of lamentation. “Well I mean I threw him the odd scrap but …” His heart was galloping. “I mean Jesus Christ it wasn’t my job to
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feed him!” he
feed him!” he declared, trying to cut through the nonsense with a firm statement of plain fact. But again he heard his voice wobble with doubt. Sweet Lord: had it been his job? Surely not? He tried to say something more, but now his voice did something unforgivable: it seized up entirely. With a contemptible glug, it jammed in the S-bend of his throat. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “It wasn’t my cat,” he said simply. He was on solid enough ground with that statement, surely. Or maybe he wasn’t. Trixie’s eyes grew wider still. “Are you implying,” she said with infinite horror, “that it was Tara’s job?” This notion was too much for Tara. From her sitting position she pitched suddenly forward in
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the Tufted
the Tufted Duck, Arts or Arps; the Gadwall, Grey Duck or Rodge; the Pochard, Dunbird; the Shoveller, Beck or Kertlutock (Hunt); Pintail, Sea Pheasant or Cracker; Long-tailed Duck, Mealy Bird; Golden Eye, Morillon or Rattle-wing; Scaup, Grey-back, and on Breydon White-nosed Day Fowl; Scoter, Whilk; Velvet Scoter, Double Scoter (Hunt); Teal, Crick; Garganey, Summer Teal, Pied Wigeon, Cricket Teal; other names might be mentioned, and some will be found in the notes which will follow. Anas platyrhincus here mentioned is the Shoveller. It may seem strange that the abundance of Teal should in any way be attributed to the number of Decoys, but such was really the case, the quiet and shelter afforded by these extensive preserves being very favourable to the increase of all the members of the Duck family, especially to those breeding in their
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immediate neighbourhood. In
immediate neighbourhood. In the returns of the old Decoys, Teal figured largely; in the present day they form a very much smaller proportion of the spoils. the most remarkable are Anas platyrinchos [sic] a remarkably broad bild duck. And the sea phaysant holding some resemblance unto that bird [in the tayle crossed out] in some fethers in the tayle. Teale Querquedula. wherein scarce any place more abounding. the condition of the country & the very many decoys [mo struck out] especially between Norwich and the sea making this place very much to abound in wild fowle. fulicae cottae cootes[23] in very great flocks upon the broad waters. upon the appearance of a Kite or buzzard I have seen them vnite from all parts of the shoare in strange numbers when if the Kite
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stoopes neare them they
stoopes neare them they will fling up [and] spred such a flash of water up with there wings that they will endanger the Kite. & so [es struck out] keepe him of [in of struck out] agayne & agayne in open opposition. & an handsome prouision they make about their nest agaynst the same bird of praye by bending & twining the rushes & reeds so about them that they cannot stoope at their yong ones or the damme while she setteth. [23] In the present day the Coots have nothing to fear from Kites and little from Moor Buzzards; it may be that it is in consequence of this that they have discontinued the practice of twining the rushes and reeds above their nests in the manner mentioned above as being an unnecessary precaution. I have, however, in some cases
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noticed some approach
noticed some approach to this practice. The Coot, although fairly numerous on the Broads, appears to be far less so than formerly. Lubbock, in his \ Fauna of Norfolk,\ says on asking a Broadman how many Coots there were on Hickling Broad, his reply was, \ About an acre and a half,\ referring to their practice of swimming evenly at regular distances from each other without huddling together in dense masses, like wild-fowl. I am indebted to Professor Newton for the following additional note on the Coot. He says \ Turner, and after him Gesner, was puzzled as to what was the Fulica of classical writers (Virgil and others), and thought it to be some kind of Gull; but the Fulica of later authors was certainly the Coot, as shown by Gesner s figure.\ Gallinula
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but I suppose
but I suppose a war between Austria and Servia will affect Germany more or less. Only I was hoping the Powers would interfere and stop it.\ \ It seems it cannot be stopped,\ said Bloem, gloomily. \ Russia is mobilizing to assist Servia. Austria is 5 Germany s ally, and so Germany must come to her aid. Unless Russia stops her mobilization, we shall declare war against her. Our army has already been called to the colors.\ Stewart breathed a little deeper. \ But perhaps Russia will desist when she realizes her danger,\ he suggested. \ She must know she is no match for Germany.\ \ She does know it,\ Bloem agreed; \ but she also knows that she will not
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fight alone. It
fight alone. It is not against Russia we are mobilizing–it is against France.\ \ Against France?\ echoed the other. \ But surely—-\ \ Do not speak so loud, I beg of you,\ Bloem cautioned. \ What I am telling you is not yet generally known–perhaps the dreadful thing we fear will not happen, after all. But France is Russia s ally–she will be eager for war–for forty years she has been preparing for this moment.\ \ Yes,\ agreed Stewart, smiling, \ I have heard of la revanche ; I have seen the mourning wreaths on the Strassburg monument. I confess,\ he added, \ that I sympathize with France s dream of regaining her lost provinces. So do most Americans. We are a sentimental people.\
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\ I, too,
\ I, too, sympathize with that dream,\ said Bloem, quickly, \ or at least I understand it. So do many Germans. We have come to realize that the seizure of Alsace and Lorraine, however justified by history, was in effect a terrible mistake. We should have been generous in our hour of triumph–that way lay a chance of friendship with a people whose pride remained unbroken by disaster. Instead, we chose to heap insults upon a conquered foe, and we have reaped a merited reward of detestation. Ironically enough, those provinces which cost us so much have been to us a source of weakness, not of strength. We have had to fortify them, to police them, to hold them in stern repression. Even yet, they must be treated as conquered ground. You do not know–you CHAPTER
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said, “No human
said, “No human has ever apologized to me.” “So where do we go from here?” Norgrim asked. “When Sytherek told us about other humans, Kaylen nearly ran off. The only way we kept him here was to bore him into a stupor with one of Tohkay’s lessons.” “You disrespectful lump!” the lizard snapped. “I didn’t find his lesson boring,” said Kaylen. “At least I have a vague notion of where fate cast me.” Looking squarely at the dragon, he said, “My people have never harmed you. I’m willing to guess you know that, and maybe more. Help us. Please.” “Your words carry wisdom and humility,” said Symurall. “I did not expect that from a human. You are quite surprising.” “I think that was a compliment,” Norgrim quipped. “An admission of pleasant surprise,”
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the dragon declared.
the dragon declared. “I must think on matters. It will be several days before the kehklik can build their strength and reach the human encampment. I suggest that Kaylen stay here tonight, rest, and learn. In the morning, I will carry him to his kind.” “Carry?” “You’ll love it,” said Norgrim eagerly. “Quite the experience! I might just go with you. We seem to get along just fine, and I’d love to…” Kaylen interrupted with an upheld hand. “I’m no example of what most humans are like. I’ve spent my life actively looking for the unexpected and unusual. Other people might not be as open-minded.” “Weren’t you just trying to convince Symurall that people aren’t dangerous?” 22
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“I don’t know
“I don’t know what they’ll think of all this,” Kaylen replied. “We don’t have any idea who’s washed up here.” “The population appears to be random,” Symurall interjected. “I detected many different ages, clothing styles, and accents.” “You can tell all that by just flying over?” “I am a dragon,” Symurall said smugly. Kaylen leaned his back against the wall and asked the dragon, “After you deliver me, what are your plans?” “I must meet with other dragons in a few days. Matters are not simple, human. I cannot take action alone. Protocol requires consultation with other dragon-kind.” “Saving lives requires a committee meeting?” “Rash actions are at the root of why humans were destroyed,” the dragon replied. “We will be finished with our deliberations before the kehklik attack.” “I
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if he pre- ferred,
if he pre- ferred, leave a message. Hertzel got close but avoided breaking into curses. He had the vocabulary, but it just wasnPt part of his stress behavior. He didnPt like the mentality. He tended to sweat and break things instead. When it clicked in he started talking, fast and hostile. MAnswer it, Henry. ItPs Hertzel!N He knew he was there; having tried his house and had the senatorPs tight ass wife lecture him about the time. MHePs working late. Bother him there!N He knew the Henry Sanchez better than the wife. He knew he was there, and
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knew his idea
knew his idea of working late. ‘I’m sorry, honey. I won’t be home. I’m screwing my secretary.P Hertzel stayed with it. — 102 — MAnswer the phone. ItPs Hertzel and itPs urgent!N MHello.N Hertzel imagined her standing there in her panties and bra. MMay I help you?N MGet Henry on the phone.N MIPm sorry, hePs unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?N A voice like that was a real vote getter, he thought, or so the polls said. Hertzel coerced himself into absolute calm. MThis is Hertzel Markovitz.N He looked down at his desk, realized hePd run
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out of things
out of things to fling. MYou tell him whoPs calling. Tell him right now. Tell him itPs life and death.N MHePs not going to like this, Mr. Markovitz.N The voice turned very cold. MOne moment.N Hertzel figured the Henry mustPve been close to an orgasm. Her too, probably. MHertzel!N The senatorPs voice was all over HertzelPs ear. He had a way of flooding the arena with his presence, particularly when he was angry. MWhatPs the crisis, Hertzel? My secretary tells me youPve got your ass in a real knot. Why are you calling me here? At this hour. It canPt wait till morning? IPm real tied up. Got docu-
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ments to get
ments to get out.N Hertzel stayed silent on the line, letting the senator run out of complaints. MTherePs been a killing at the New Orleans job!N He heard the si- lence talking big-time to him from the senatorPs end of the line. Knowing hePd gotten the senatorPs veins bulging made Hertzel sweat a little less. He was happy when he could spread the trouble — 103 — around. And the senator thought calling him so late was a problem. Surprise, Hertzel smirked to himself. The line stayed silent for a solid minute. When the senatorPs voice did return, it came back swollen and predictable. MAnd youPre calling me at my
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office to discuss
office to discuss it. You know everything coming into this office goes on tape. Jesus!N Hertzel didnPt give a damn about the senatorPs paranoid practices. He could almost see the veins on HenryPs neck swelling as blood pulsed his stress level to new heights. Nice to have someone to share the anxiety with, he thought. MWho?N MA Lloyds man. Howie did it. DonPt worry. We got the coverage.N Hertzel presented his busi- ness-first attitude. The silence was ominous. MAre you nuts?N He heard a ruckus and the secretary started to scream. MWhatPs wrong?N He wasnPt looking for anyone to die over the news. MWhatPs going on?N
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Although there was
Although there was no answer, Hertzel heard the senatorPs voice distant from the phone. MShut up, you dumb bitch!N The senator didnPt have a meaningful relationship with compassion. MShut the fuck up!N Things quieted down and the senator was back on the line. MTherePs going to be hell to pay over this, Hertzel. You and that fuck- ing idiot you got working for you.N The senator had put the pieces together pretty quickly. MYou donPt murder a LloydsP man over insurance.N — 104 — MIt didnPt happen like that.N Before dialing the senator, Hertzel had known hePd show some stress over the situation, but hadnPt expected this. He tried to back it off a little. MThe guy pushed it.N
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curses on cows. Why
curses on cows. Why do you feel you can trust the Inquisition s reports?\ \ True, Captain.\ Dubell turned back to them. \ The Inquisitors were, of course, lying. They manufactured the evidence, or most of it. Scholars who are not even sorcerers may have items in their possession that an evil mind can misinterpret. And Urbain Grandier was a scholar. He studied the stars, as well as the body and its ills and humors. He was also very outspoken in his opinions, and involved in the printing of inflammatory pamphlets. It was for this that he came under the Inquisition s scrutiny. The incident of some hysterical nuns at the Lindre Convent was used against him and he was given the usual sentence of torture and imprisonment.\ Dubell s voice had an enthralling
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quality. It might
quality. It might have been facilitated by the growing warmth in the room or the fatigue that was catching up with Thomas, but the old sorcerer seemed to be painting a particularly vivid picture of the man Grandier had been. After a moment Dubell shook his head. \ It turned him, you might say. He escaped eventually, and began to commit many of the crimes of which they had accused him, but on a larger scale. The plague, for instance. It caused pockets of a poisonous humor to form beneath the skin, which burst when the victim was in death agony and spread the disease to anyone who stood nearby. It caused so much chaos entire cities were disrupted; the sick went untended… Only a man well versed in healing-sorcery could have devised something so terrible, and only a man
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driven mad with
driven mad with the lust for revenge could have brought himself to implement it.\ In the firelight, Dubell s face was a mask of pain. Then he sighed. \ When I heard that a man calling himself Grandier had become established in the city and was believed to be a sorcerer, I thought it best to bring the matter to Dr. Surete s attention. I only wish I d acted sooner.\ Renier had gone to the round table in the center of the room and was looking through the faded parchment and leather maps stacked there. He pulled one out and found Lindre, then thoughtfully tapped the red cross that marked the town. \ You knew Grandier very well?\ \ No. His excesses and the motivation for them were much discussed at Lodun, where there is
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great interest in the
great interest in the natural, as well as the magical, arts.\ Dubell smiled. \ And the printing of an occasional pamphlet.\ Chapter Two 20 \ We know,\ Aviler said dryly. He paced a few steps, his face severe and only half-visible in the candlelight. Aviler s late father had made his fortune in trading voyages to the East before he had settled down to take over the Ministry, and the stigma of those origins made Aviler the Younger careful to preserve the proper aristocratic disdain toward the occasional political commentary from Lodun. But the High Minister dropped the subject and only asked, \ Why does Grandier come here now?\ Dubell spread his hands. \ I don t know. But whatever his
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on the Light/Sound
on the Light/Sound Spectrum Since the “All” exists outside our universe, “It” may be perceived as the “Root of all life through time.” In fact it has been said that: “The ‘All’ is like time, but this concept should not be confused with the manifestation of time. All time is here and now, within the ‘All.’” All of life is made up of Light and Sound which, within the “All,” are all in one. In the “All,” all things are combined, then. For this reason, Odin said: “The ‘All’ can only be hinted at; ‘It’ can never be put into words. ‘It’ only expresses itself; and when it does so, the expression is . . . ‘All’ or ‘Everything.’” As quanta, Sound and Light constitute particles smaller than those making up atoms. They are units of electro-tonal energy-identity, called Partiki.
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The Sound is
The Sound is particum, and the Light is partika-together, they are Partiki, and do not become dichotomized until their manifestation in the material worlds of dualism. This is multidimensional Light-Sound consciousness, serving as the organizational and mechanical life-force of all intelligence, and its many manifestations. Since everything has its existence in the “All,” everything is of this consciousness-everything in existence possesses consciousness, regardless of how rudimentary it may be. Given its impetus from the “All,” Partiki travels from that source, to the universe, finally entering our solar system through the sun. The motion of the Partiki as it travels through the mass of its own structure, causes a “roiling,” which produces friction, magnification, and expansion. Within the highest vibratory frequencies of the universe called the spiritual planes, Sound and Light are expressed in unison, by tonal frequency. Qualified on the Sound/Light spectrum, color and
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sound always accompany
sound always accompany one another in those realms. The spiritual realms are separated from the material worlds of dualism, by a Great Abyss, often referred to as the Void. This is an area of pure Sound through which, the Partiki must pass in its movement throughout all dimensions of the universe, as it both creates and maintains it. As the Partiki passes through the Void, it is split into its component parts of Sound and Light, with Sound forming a matrix upon which, manifested creation occurs, as Light passes through it. This, in and of itself, constitutes a part of creation, which results from what we call the Higher Will. The primal manifestation of this Higher Will, are the Runic Lights of Existence. Being the first expressions of the “All,” they can be said to constitute the very fabric of existence. Collectively, they
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lend substance, structure,
lend substance, structure, and stability to the Cosmological Code. We’ll get to this code in a minute, but first allow me to explain a little more regarding the Runic Lights. Since enemies of the “All” have established a false system, my explanation must necessarily describe that one as well. The “New Age” movement is guided by those who are attempting to control the spiritual evolution of humankind. They teach of what they call the “Seven Rays,” and have even placed a so-called “Lord” or “Cohan” over each one. In actuality, these rays are only emanations of the Runic “Lights” of Existence, and there are nine of them-not seven. In addition, the descriptions of these rays/lights have been distorted to conform to a tradition dedicated to misleading those who are finding their way out of hell. First of all, there were never any entities designated
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Other translations: \\ O day full of grace, which we behold\\ by C. Doving in \\ Hymnal for Church and Home.\\ \\ The dawn from on high is on our shore\\ by S. D. Rodholm in \\ World of Song\\ . Reformation Hymnody The Danish Reformation began quietly about 1520, and culminated peacefully in the establishment of the Lutheran church as the church of the realm in 1536. The movement was not, as in some other countries, the work of a single outstanding reformer. It came rather as an almost spontaneous uprising of the people under several independent leaders, among whom men like Hans Tausen, Jorgen Sadolin, Claus Mortensen, Hans Spandemager and others merely stand out as the most prominent. And it was probably

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this very spontaneity which

this very spontaneity which invested the movement with such an irresistible force that within in a few years it was able to overthrow an establishment that had exerted a powerful influence over the country for more than seven centuries. In this accomplishment Evangelical hymnody played a prominent part. Though the Reformation gained little momentum before 1526, the Papists began as early as 1527, to preach against \\ the sacrilegious custom of roaring Danish ballads at the church service\\ . As no collection of hymns had then been published, the hymns thus used must have been circulated privately, showing the eagerness of the people to adopt the new custom. 7 The leaders of the Reformation were quick to recognize the new interest and make use of it in the furtherance of their cause.

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The first Danish

The first Danish hymnal was published at Malmø in 1528 by Hans Mortensen. It contained ten hymns and a splendid liturgy for the morning service. This small collection proved so popular that it was soon enlarged by the addition of thirty new hymns and appropriate liturgies for the various other services, that were held on the Sabbath day. Independent collections were almost simultaneously published by Hans Tausen, Arvid Petersen and others. And, as these different collections all circulated throughout the country, the result was confusing. At a meeting in Copenhagen of Evangelical leaders from all parts of the country, it was decided to revise the various collections and to combine them into one hymnal. This first common hymnal for the Danish church appeared in 1531, and served as the hymnal of the church till 1544, when it was revised and enlarged by

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sounds you hear,
sounds you hear, and in the colors you see; It’s in all the stars that might ever be. It is seen where the rain pours down; where none dare go, and where nothing is found. To perceive the “All” as an individual being with ego, personal interests and other dualistic tendencies, is to miss the point entirely. Therefore, the religious training we receive which creates our perception of God, serves as a trap because in order to transcend the illusion of the gates of hell, we must perceive the fact that our own misperception of our true nature is what keeps us trapped behind the gates. We must understand the nature of the “All”, and perceive our existence as being part and parcel of the “All”. Understanding this as our true nature, is how we perceive ourselves as being unlimited and unfettered. Only in this way, can the
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gates of hell
gates of hell fall away, and we become free to go where we please, and to be what we wish to be. Before this can happen, however, we should be aware of another aspect regarding our existence here in hell. It doesn’t do us any good to have our freedom, if we are ignorant of how our environment operates economically. For this reason, I am including a very small chapter on this subject. CHAPTER 8 THE KARMA BROKER We understand how Dominion established his kingdom on Earth, and how he keeps us trapped, but the question is, why does he continue to do it? What’s in it for him? We know that he benefits from the prayers and attention sent to him by an entire world of people – that we empower him immensely; but is that really sufficient to keep him occupied indefinitely?
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We know also,
We know also, that many intelligent species in the first two harmonic universes have joined forces with him, and are very loyal. How do they benefit from an alliance with a bi-polar narcissist such as Dominion? Since this world is, in many ways, a reflection of Dominion’s personality, propensities and psychic nature, wouldn’t it make sense that a certain amount of his business character and practices would be reflected here also? Let’s consider the practice of usury in banking and commodities. Couldn’t it be possible that we are a commodity for Dominion? Certainly, most of our psychic, mental and spiritual power is harvested through our prayers, rituals and outbursts of emotional energy. What maintains this flow of energy though, is a never-ending succession of karmic experiences. Negative karma keeps the emotional outbursts going, and our hope in deliverance from that karma, keeps the psychic, mental and spiritual power
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flowing to Dominion.
flowing to Dominion. Therefore, it would make sense that Dominion would also turn karma into a commodity. Evidence of the commodity aspect of karma dawned on me many years ago, when I was being trained on the other planes of existence as a shamanic warrior. I know that those who are in the employ of Dominion are subject to the law of karma, because they can be killed. However, I’ve also noticed that they seem to have little or no accountability for deeds done. They seem to be immortal beyond that which is standard in all other worlds beyond this one, and I’ve often wondered how it is that all those functioning under Dominion’s rule, and operating in violation of spiritual law, live as immortals without having to suffer their karma. Then, when we analyze the four kinds of karma: Past, Present, Future and Allotted, the last one stands
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son s good
son s good heart. I wonder if Arnold will recognise me, thought Mildred, sorrowfully, that night, as she sat by her window, looking out on her little strip of garden, shimmering in the moonlight. I feel so old and changed, and have grown into such quiet ways. Are there some women who are never young, I wonder? Am I one of them? Is it not strange, she continued, musingly, that such beautiful lives as Betha s are struck so suddenly out of the records of years, while I am left to take up the incompleted work she discharged so lovingly? Dear Betha! what a noble heart it was! Arnold reverenced as much as he loved her. How vain to think of replacing, even in the faintest degree; one of the sweetest women this earth ever
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saw: sweet, because
saw: sweet, because her whole life was in exact harmony with her surroundings. And there rose before Mildred s eyes a faint image that often haunted her–of a face with smiling eyes, and brown hair just touched with gold–and the small firm hand that, laid on unruly lips, could hush coming wrath, and smooth the angry knitting of baby brows. It was strange, she thought, that neither Olive nor Chrissy were like their mother. Roy s fairness and steady blue eyes were her sole relics–Roy, who was such a pretty little fellow when Mildred had seen him last. Mildred tried to trace out a puzzled thought in her head before she slept that night. A postscript in Arnold s letter, vaguely worded, but most decidedly mysterious, gave rise to a host of conjectures. I miomas

have just found
have just found out that Heriot s business must be settled long before the end of next month–when you come to us. You know him by name and repute, though not personally. I have given him your address. I think it will be better for you both to talk the matter over, and to give it your full consideration, before you start for the north. Make any arrangements you like about the child. Heriot s a good fellow, and deserves to be helped; he has been everything to us through our trouble. What could Arnold mean? Betha s chatty letters–thoroughly womanly in their gossip–had often spoken of Arnold s friend, Dr. Heriot, and of his kindness to their boys. She had described him as a man of great talents, and an undoubted acquisition to their small society. Arnold (who
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was her universal
was her universal referee) wondered that a man like Dr. Heriot should bury himself in a Westmorland valley. Some one had told them that he had given up a large West End practice. There was some mystery about him; his wife made him miserable. No one knew the rights or the wrongs of it; but they would rather believe any thing than that he was to blame. And in another letter she wrote: A pleasant evening has just been sadly interrupted. The Bishop was here and one or two others, Dr. Heriot among them; but a telegram summoning him to his wife s deathbed had just reached him. Arnold, who stood by him, says he turned as pale as death as he read it; but he only put it into his hand
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\ Of course.\
\ Of course.\ After a moment, under Thomas s close scrutiny, Braun coughed and said, \ Well, I am quite sure. I had to put gascoign powder in my eyes to see the wards around the house, and a geas, or any kind of spell, would be visible on Dr. Dubell.\ \ Very well.\ That was as good as they were going to get without taking the old scholar to Lodun to be examined by the sorcerer-philosophers there, and there was no time for that. Dubell came toward them. \ An unfortunate fire,\ he said. \ There was much to learn there.\ \ I thought you said it was dangerous to create fire out of nothing?\ Thomas asked Braun. \ It is,\ Braun protested, flustered.
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Dubell smiled. \
Dubell smiled. \ It depends on one s appreciation of danger.\ \ So much does,\ Thomas agreed. \ They ll have some questions for you at the palace.\ \ Of course. I only hope my small knowledge can aid you.\ \ We ll find Grandier,\ Gideon said, coming up beside them. Dubell s eyes were troubled. \ If he continues his mischief on such a grand scale, he will be hard to miss. He ll also be a fool, of course, but he may not see it that way.\ \ Oh, I hardly think he s a fool,\ Thomas said. Castero and Berham had gotten Gaspard mounted up behind Martin, and they began to turn their horses away from the crowded street. As
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the others went
the others went down the alley, Thomas took one last look at the burning house. So far Grandier had shown an odd combination of ruthlessness and restraint, and he was not sure which he found more daunting. The sorcerer had snatched Galen Dubell out of his home in Lodun, indiscriminately slaughtering the servants who had witnessed it. For no practical reason, since Lodun University was full of wizards and scholars of magic who had been able to divine Grandier s identity within hours of examining the scene. Yet the fire that could have been so devastating stuck to Grandier s house like pitch and refused to spread to the ready tinder of the other old buildings. As much as he might wish to, Thomas couldn t see it as a gesture of defiance. He only wondered where, in what corner of the
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crowded city, the
crowded city, the word had passed to watch for a sorcerous blaze in the night, and what to do then. Chapter Two Chapter Two 12 \ DOES THE MASK fit?\ Anton Baraselli looked up at the young woman who sat on the balcony railing, her feet swinging under her tattered red skirt. Gray eyes stared back at him from the pale features of the distorted half-mask. \ It fits. Do I have the part?\ Baraselli sat at his table on a balcony overhanging the main room of the Mummer s Mask tavern, where his acting troupe made its home. He was middle-aged, his dark hair wispy on his nearly bald head, but his plumpness and the newness of
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MAnd far
MAnd far away. El Sal- vador. Very good. Very, very good. Reminds me a little of the old days. How exactly did you pull it off?N Hertzel couldnPt help acknowledging the com- pliments to his skills, couldnPt help putting him- self in the little old manPs lap. MNo big deal, really, Mr. Estaphan. One hundred thousand if wePd towed it back here, cut it up and sold it for sal- vage. A quarter million from insurance,N he winked at everyone, Mif something should happen to it beyond our control.N A self-satisfied smile — 76 — crept across his face. MSo my people -N He
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cor- rected himself, Mour
cor- rected himself, Mour people blew it right out of the water one night. Blamed the Sandinista gueril- las.N Hertzel watched the old man chuckle, and fig- ured he was in forever. MIt was perfect.N He knew Estaphan was con- cerned about publicity, MCops nosing around a lit- tle, no big problem. It didnPt even make the papers up here.N The old manPs chuckle had faded by now. MI wanted to speak to you personally because I need to be certain we understand each other. I have many business interests, but the one I have with you is legitimate. Honest.N He paused and looked reassuringly at HertzeI. MThe trouble a couple of months ago
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in El Salvador,
in El Salvador, I will let go. I can assume you didnPt know better. But if it ever happens again, any kind of trouble for me with the authorities because of my business interests with you and the senator L and you are a dead man.N Hertzel heard the word, dead. It got his at- tention, almost. HertzelPs biggest problem was his thinking everyone else was as full of idle talk as he was. MYou see, I like to reward people relative to what they do for me.N His leggy companion leaned over for no ap- parent reason, whispered. Luis Estaphan got a look on his face like a frail but ancient child at a premature bedtime. MIPm told my time is up. Age, you know.
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Medication, constant attention
Medication, constant attention to these old bones.N — 77 — Enrico and the two giants started to scan the exit. Estaphan turned to the senator while the woman wheeled his chair from the table. MSorry I canPt stay to eat with you. You two enjoy. Any- thing you want, itPs on me.N He turned to Hertzel, his voice growing very diminutive, unobtrusive. MI want to thank you again for coming all the way up here on such short notice.N Hertzel stood up. MItPs no problem, Mister Estaphan. I had business here anyway.N He couldnPt say enough
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nice things.
nice things. MPleasure to meet you. Appreciate what you said. Count on me any time.N Luis Estaphan didnPt have to stay long. HePd met the man who had crossed him, and marked him. He disappeared behind the womanPs body as quickly as hePd arrived. The restaurant seemed to unconsciously sense relief at their exit. Hertzel flagged the waiter, while continuing to sit there like a Cheshire cat, all pumped up and purring. MWell, letPs eat, Henry.N The Cheshire cat turned into a wide grin. MGuess you were wrong, eh? ThatPs the difference between you and me. IPm a businessman, and he is too.
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I
I know what makes that old man tick. Business, good business. Smart business. He appreciated what IPd done because it made cash for him, even if it brought him a little heat.N He passed a menu across the table to his silent partner, one who was planning to get really silent if Hertzel didnPt get a little smarter. MYou, youPre a lawyer, and a good one.N He winked. MAnd a politician.N — 78 — The senator just stared at Hertzel, his face stony. MHertzel, if you fuck up again he said he was going to kill you.N He paused. MWhat about this
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