The Price of Magic Page 24
“Well, she’s out.”
“What do you mean, out?”
“She’s here in the real world, and she’s dangerous—a monster. She’s got at least two men with her. One’s a wizard.”
“Bell?” asked Shrubb.
“That’s right.”
“Damn. He’s a pretty powerful wizard. What’s the plan?”
“We hunt her down and we kill her,” said Baxter. “If anybody gets in our way, we kill them too.”
* * * * *
The train pulled into St. Ulixes, Mallontah at just after six in the morning, having taken two days and three long nights to cross the bulk of the continent. The station platform was crowded with those waiting for arrivals, the local reptilian trogs begging for coins, and railroad workers preparing to service the train and see to the unloading of cargo. There were also more than a dozen gaunt, grey-skinned people who surveyed, with dead eyes, each passenger as they stepped down from train.
“You see them, don’t you?” asked Baxter without turning around as he stepped down.
“Yes.”
“They may recognize me, but I doubt they’ll be looking for you. Don’t acknowledge me. You go right and I’ll go left. Meet me at the Portnoy at midnight.”
Without looking to see if the big man was following his directions, Baxter turned and walked toward the hissing locomotive, his rifle case in one hand and his carpetbag in the other. As he stepped down from the station platform, he glanced nonchalantly to his right. Not all of the dead-eyed people were watching him, but a couple of them were. Two pasty-faced women with dirty, stringy hair shuffled down the steps from the station and followed him down the dusty street.
“Kafira, it’s like Attack of the Zombie Women,” he muttered.
The two women did not attack, but they followed Baxter as he made his way through what passed as a capital city in Mallontah. Every so often, he would stop to look at the goods some reptilian peddler was selling or to examine one of the more bizarre architectural forms and he could see them. They weren’t obvious. In fact, they were going out of their way not to be, but he could locate them.
Finally, he arrived at the Portnoy Hotel and secured a room in the back on the second floor. He changed and checked over his gear, but he didn’t go back out, ordering up a sandwich from the kitchen for tea. After eating, he took a nap, getting up in the evening to check over his weapons. Just before midnight, there was a knock at the door. Shrubb slipped inside when he opened it.
“The first thing we have to do is find her,” said Baxter. “She really could be anywhere.”
“She’s in the Church of St. Ulixes with a whole bunch of seers,” said Shrubb.
“The church?”
“Where else would you expect to find an angel?”
“How’d you track her down?”
“I paid a couple of marks to some trogs. Seems they don’t get on with the opthalium addicts. I suppose they’re competitors in the begging market. In any case, they were happy to sell her out.”
“All right then. Let’s go.”
“We can’t go out the front,” said Shrubb. “You’ve got a couple of seers out there. I assume they’re watching for you. I scouted around though. I think I know a way.”
“Lead on then.”
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Baxter followed the police sergeant out the door of his room and downstairs to first floor. Shrubb pulled out his pistol and knocked on the door of room 106. When the door opened, he shoved his way in. The hapless hotel guest, a short man, barefoot and in his undershirt, jumped back.
“Police business,” said Shrubb, flashing his badge. “We just need to make use of your balcony.”
Without waiting for the man to say anything, they stepped quickly through the small room and out the Mirsannan doors to the balcony. The small platform extended out over a narrow alley behind the hotel, enclosed in only a rickety wrought iron railing. With a kick, Shrubb sent the railing falling to the ground below. Then he took a quick step and leapt across the alley to land on the top of the single-story building next door. Baxter followed.
“The streets are so narrow that we can get halfway there without having to touch ground,” said Shrubb.
That prediction turned out to be overly optimistic, but they did manage to get several hundred feet from the hotel, before they took a mud brick stairway on the side of a sloppy residence to an unlit alley. Once there, they found themselves in a crowd of dozens of trogs, lying hither and thither in the dirt. Some of them seemed to be sleeping, but most looked up balefully with greenish-yellow glowing eyes.
“You,” said Baxter, to one of the few of the creatures standing. “Take us to the church. We want to avoid the seers. You understand?”
“Savvy, savvy,” said the trog.
They were apparently lucky in their choice of guides, because the reptilian, leading them through a maze of darkened side streets, delivered them to the base of the gentle slope leading up to the imposing edifice. Baxter shoved a handful of bank notes into the trog’s hand and sent him on his way. Then he turned to look back at the church.
Shrubb pointed. Several human forms could be scene walking slowly around the outside of the church.
“Guards?”
“Looks like that to me,” said Baxter. “They don’t look like they know what they’re doing though. They’re just strolling along, and they spend more time looking at the church than they do looking away from it.”
“Probably why drug addicts are seldom a good choice for sentries,” said Shrubb. “What’s the plan?”
“Head for the back corner there. That fellow seems even less observant than the others. Then we’ll figure out our next move.”
Hunched over, they hurried across the dark dirt road, passing through the hedge, and then up the lawn. The guard for that part of the building seemed fascinated by the stained glass window above him. He didn’t turn away from it until they were practically on top of him. As he did so, Baxter smashed him in the face with his pistol. The man fell to the ground in a heap. They shoved him up against the base of the building.
“Those windows look like they swivel open,” said Baxter looking up.
“What good does that do us down here?” wondered Shrubb.
“If I can climb up this drain pipe to the first floor, I should have no problem.”
“Do you think you can?”
“I’m going to give it a try. This rock is rough, I think I’ll have plenty of traction for my feet, at least as long as that pipe holds.”
“All right, let me give you a lift.”
“Try and look like you belong here,” said Baxter. “Maybe they’ll think you’re their sentry. If it seems like things have gone wrong though, get the hell out of here.”
Shrubb clasped his hands together and held them down for Baxter to step into. The police sergeant hoisted him up and Baxter grabbed hold of the pipe and shoved his feet against the church’s surface. The cut coral blocks grabbed the souls of his shoes, keeping him from sliding back down, but they also sliced into his knuckles and knees. But he was surprised to find himself only a few feet below the top of the ground floor. It had been a while since he had done any climbing, but he was in good shape, and a few seconds later, he grabbed onto the ledge that separated the floors and pulled himself up.
Standing between the statues of two saints, he glanced down at his partner below, and then turned his attention to the stained glass. A simple push and the window pivoted open from a point in the middle. Unslinging his rifle, Baxter slipped inside, finding himself between rows of pews in the church’s balcony. Hearing voices below, he dropped to his knees and slowly made his way toward the front. He could hear her voice before he saw her.
“At first light we make our move, my loves. Mallontah will be the center of our new Xygia and you will be my apostles, spreading our message of peace and love and surrender around this world.”
Baxter reached the front edge of the balcony and looked down at
the ground floor from between the slats in the handrail. Against the back wall, as one might expect, was a large cross, but the figure of Kafira Kristos crucified upon it had been modified. Her brown hair had been repainted, none to expertly, to yellow. The bits of plaster cloth that usually provided just enough coverage of the savior’s body for modesty, had been ripped away, and crude nipples had been painted on the now damaged breasts. And attached somehow to her shoulders were two large white, but bloodstained, wings—Pantagria’s wings, Baxter realized. At the lectern below the icon, stood Pantagria herself, just as naked as the plaster figure above her. The church was filled beyond capacity with dirty, ragged people, who pushed forward, all stretching their arms out, trying to touch her.
Sliding his rifle forward, Baxter took careful aim at the spot between Pantagria’s bare breasts. He squeezed the trigger, but suddenly another body pushed her out of the way. The rifle’s report echoed through the vast openness of the church as the bullet pierced Philo Mostow’s shoulder, knocking him backwards in a spray of crimson.
“Damn it!” growled Baxter.
He looked again for Pantagria, but she was buried beneath a pile of her followers, as they used their own bodies to shield her. With an angry growl, he climbed to his feet and hurried back toward the open window. He was halfway there when the door in the back of the balcony burst open and a stream of the angel’s crazed followers rushed through. Some ran down the aisle to cut off his escape. Others ran down the aisles at the other end of the pews. And some actually climbed over the wooden benches to reach him. All of them screamed wildly and had the look of a crazed animal in their bloody red eyes.
Dropping his rifle, Baxter dived for the window, but was grabbed before he got there. A flowing tide of humanity pushed him and themselves down the balcony until they hit the railing and crashed through it. Baxter could see half a dozen others falling with him down onto the crowd below, and then everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen: Tokkenoht and Stahwasuwasu Zrant
“Here you go, little one,” said Tokkenoht, setting a handful of forest slugs down on a rock beside the human.
“I can’t. I know I should, but I just can’t. If I eat them, I’ll vomit, and then I will lose all the water I drank back at the stream. You eat them.”
The priestess scooped them back up and tossed them into her mouth.
It had been two days since the small human had helped her escape from the soft-skin warriors. Tokkenoht had managed to find enough food to keep her strength up. Forest slugs were considered a delicacy among her people. The human, however, had eaten nothing. Tokkenoht was beginning to worry about her.
“I’ll eat today,” said Stahwasuwasu Zrant. “Mark my words, I’ll bring down something I can cook today.”
“I don’t mean to criticize, little one,” said Tokkenoht. “After all, you arranged my escape, and then managed to remove my chains with that hair wire…”
“Hair pin,” corrected the human, using the soft-skin word. “My hut elders were correct. You really cannot do without them.”
“Yes, you have shown great cunning for a having seen so few summers.” She bobbed her head in annoyance. “How many summers have you seen, anyway? Six or seven?”
Tokkenoht hissed when the human let out her strange warbling laugh. It was such a strange sound; it was unnerving.
“I have actually seen thirteen summers, though that’s not really what you’re asking. The fourteenth anniversary of my birth was a short time ago.”
“Fourteen,” mused Tokkenoht. “I would not have guessed it, though I have been told that the soft-skins age much slower than we do. Wait. You mean you were born in winter?”
“Oh yes, my people routinely defy all the laws of nature.”
“Perhaps humans are much more dangerous than we thought.”
“If you are only now figuring that out, then perhaps I have been giving your race too much credit,” said the human.
Tokkenoht grunted in recognition of the insult and perhaps of an unsettling truth as well.
“As I was saying, I don’t mean to criticize, but those spears are too small to throw, even with an atlatl.”
The human female had crafted three small spears with tiny spear points and had trimmed the back ends of them with pieces of a feather she had found on the ground.
“Oh, these are not spears. I have tried throwing spears with an atlatl, but I’ve never been very good at it, and I certainly don’t have time to become good now. I need a weapon I already know how to use.”
“But you have your thunder weapon.”
“Yes, I do. I also only have ten more um… uses for it. I shouldn’t have wasted four scaring the males when one would have sufficed.” The human peered around into the forest. “I can use these to bring down something to eat and save the thunder weapon for defense. I don’t intend to end up in the belly of a feathered runner, like poor Warden.”
“This Wharden was a member of your hut?” asked Tokkenoht.
“No, he was just a friend.”
“I am sorry. I recently lost someone.”
“A member of your hut?”
“Yes, and more. She was the wife of my husband.”
“The wife of… fascinating! I had no idea that your people were um… that the males married more than one female.”
“Only the most powerful kings.”
“Then… you’re Hsrandtuss’s wife?”
Tokkenoht hissed the affirmative.
“Then it’s doubly important to get you back safely to your city.”
The human stood up and taking a knife from her belt, used it to cut a long segment of a branch from a willow tree. She carefully trimmed it.
“The warrior Azkhantice is your friend?” said Tokkenoht, after a few minutes of silence. “You hugged him.”
Stahwasuwasu Zrant stopped carving. Her face flushed in a way that the lizzie had been unaware was possible.
“Um, yes, Ascan is a friend too. We should get going. I can work on this while we travel.”
They started off again through the forest, walking in the direction of the morning sun. Tokkenoht took the lead and Stahwasuwasu Zrant followed, working her willow switch as she walked.
“What is your human name, Stahwasuwasu Zrant?” asked the priestess.
“It’s Iolana.”
“How strange. It sounds like a bird call.”
“I suppose,” she allowed. “What is Hsrandtuss like?”
“He is a good king. He is very strong and very brave. He is also wise.”
“Wise enough to get thunder weapons.”
“Yes, we bought them from the human traders from the other human city state—the one called Natine.”
“The Mirsannans?” wondered Iolana. “Not too much of a surprise, I suppose. I understand they’re setting up trading bases in the far east. You might even be better off with them on your side. They’re not looking to export as many settlers I imagine, since Mirsanna is so much larger than Brechalon in terms of land area.”
“You seem to know much about the politics of your people,” said Tokkenoht.
“Oh, no, not really. Everyone knows those things.”
The sun was high in the sky when they stopped to rest beside a small stream. They drank of the cool, clear water and then Tokkenoht searched for more food. In addition to more of the forest slugs, she found several winterberry bushes. Though animals had picked over most of them, she found a few overripe berries deep within the branches. Returning, she picked up a flat rock and used it as a plate for the human, setting the berries beside her.
“Thank you!” cried Iolana, scooping up the berries and pushing them all into her small mouth. “Mmmm. Those are so good!”
“What have you done there?” asked Tokkenoht examining what the other female had been working on.
“I used one of my leather bootlaces as string for my bow,” she said, holding up the branch she had now bent back and tied with a long leather strip. “I had to cut the other la
ce in two so I could use it on both boots. I don’t suppose my blisters can get much worse than they are already.”
“It looks like a musical instrument my people play,” said Tokkenoht.
“I can see that,” said Iolana. “My people play something called a violin using a bow not too different from this. Right now, however, I’m going to kill one of the birds I hear calling.”
“There is a flock of blue redwings over in those trees,” said Tokkenoht.
“My people call them ornithomimus. Yes, they’re perfect.”
“They are too fast to catch. They are even too fast for most hunters to spear.”
“I just need to get within eyesight,” said the human. “Can you help me?”
Tokkenoht nodded.
Hopping over the small stream and carefully moving through the trees, it was surprisingly easy to get within fifty feet of the flock of turkey-sized feathered dinosaurs. Several of the creatures perked up and watched the lizzie and the human, though they didn’t seem overly concerned. They were as aware of their speed and agility as the hunters were.
Iolana carefully slipped one of her handmade arrows into her new bow. Stretching the shoelace bowstring back to her cheek, she let the arrow fly. The ornithomimus were incredibly fast. The target jumped forward at the thunk sound of the bowstring, but either by design or happy accident, the human’s arrow had flown in that direction. Tokkenoht hissed in surprise as the projectile buried itself in the animal’s breast.
The two hunters ran to their prey. The ornithomimus was still kicking its legs when they reached it. Tokkenoht quickly picked it up and ripped its head from its neck.
“Your knife,” she said, holding out her hand.
Iolana handed her the steel blade, which she used to quickly gut the dinosaur. Handing both the knife and the carcass to the human, she bent down and quickly buried the blood and guts in the dirt. The human began denuding the animal of its feathers.
“We’ll go back across the stream and cook it,” said Tokkenoht. “The smoke will discourage predators drawn by the smell of blood.”