Eka countered with a demoniac grin. “Oh, I know, Uncle. I’m just making old people squirm.” Another amused tinkle, without the dire finish. She headed for her cousin, frown hatching because he was engaged in an actual conversation without her there to monitor, manage, and protect.
Mist suspected it was time to watch that girl more closely. She herself had started getting into mischief at that age.
On the up side, no one was out to eliminate Eka because her existence was inconvenient, nor did the world include anyone Eka favored for death.
Hell, practically everybody she knew was here, now, and considered her a weird, shy mascot or queer little sister.
No time for all that. Varthlokkur was at the map, muttering with Scalza. The Star Rider remained conspicuously invisible in a region that the Winterstorm, attenuated by distance, could barely touch.
Mist joined them. Lord Yuan, too, caught some etheric cue and came to the map.
Varthlokkur said, “He’s gone to ground in the Place of the Iron Statues. My recollections of that are vague but I think they’re good enough for me to fashion a baseline strategy.”
Scalza said, “I’ll bet the Old Man went there lots of times.”
“We’ll see what he has to offer.”
Mist asked, “Are we involved in something that you’ll tell us about?”
He smiled. “Suppose I pose the identical question to you?”
Mist forced a smile. “I am striving to move ahead vigorously while not catching the devil’s eye. I want him to overlook me till I stab him in the back.”
“While he’s concentrating on me.”
“Stipulated. You haven’t kept a low profile.”
“All part of the plan, which continues to evolve. Lord Yuan, I have a special need for your assistance.”
“Again.”
“It’s the curse of being the best. Here is my current thinking.”
The wizard’s strategy was based on his estimation of Old Meddler’s character as profiled by the mental specialists. Their assessment rested on what they had learned from Ethrian, the Disciple, and the Old Man, the latter in the main. The Old Man was entirely vindictive toward his one-time comrade.
Varthlokkur admitted, “He keeps doing the unexpected. He may be grinning from ear to ear because I’m about to strut into a big swamp full of crocodiles.”
Mist checked the Old Man. If that one got a hold on reality often enough… Old Meddler had lost his allegiance the night that her father died and had worsened his odor with his unhappy actions on that eastern island.
The Old Man did not hate his erstwhile ally. He just wanted an end to his own and the world’s torment.
Varthlokkur beckoned the specialist handling the Old Man. “Couple of things. First, get him into a shogi game with the boy. They feed off each other. Once they’re engaged try to find out if he ever revolted before. Details don’t matter, just the yes or no. Then feed his antagonism. Find out anything about the Place of the Iron Statues. I need to know how to get in.”
The specialist glanced at his employer, who nodded graciously. “I’ll get on that right away, sir,” without asking if Varthlokkur wanted anything else. “Is speed essential?”
“It certainly would be useful.” Varthlokkur turned to Mist. “This a good man.”
“Those who aren’t good men don’t get to work for the Empress.” She watched her daughter. Eka had heard. She moved closer to Ethrian, presumably to prepare him. Lord Kuo gestured with two fingers of his left hand. He would work on his friend.
After a second look at Wen-chin, Varthlokkur asked, “What’s become of Shih-ka’i? He hasn’t been around much.”
“He has responsibilities elsewhere, including covering for me while I’m involved in this.” Which was absolute truth but not whole truth. Nor did the wizard accept it as whole truth. He took a cynical attitude toward such claims. And, of course, his cynicism was justified. Mist added, “He isn’t as enthusiastic about this as I am so I’m letting him do what he can to free me to indulge my passion.”
“That makes sense.”
She observed, “I expect you’ve prepared for a raid by the old villain.”
“Yes. But I’m afraid that won’t be good enough. I can’t trust anyone but Radeachar to do what needs doing without jumping into the process.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that, if I give you an assignment you would probably decide you saw a better way and would try to use it, which would abort the process. I have to be two places at once to make what I want to do succeed. I haven’t figured out how, yet, let alone how to manage supposed helpers.”
“You could always attempt the absurd.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you could explain what you’re trying to do so people understand why it’s important that they don’t innovate. I know obsessive secretiveness is the norm for our kind, usually with good reason. But survival imperatives should trump old habits, shouldn’t they?”
“Possibly.”
“Particularly when these others are being asked to share the risks.”
“It’s hard to find the needful capacity for trust.”
Mist asked, “How much time do we have? Any guesses?”
“Anywhere from a few days to forever. I think he’ll try to end the threat I represent directly and forcefully. I don’t think he’ll waste time. He has to believe he’s vulnerable and can’t afford to be subtle. He operates inside a cloud of ignorance. I’m counting on that to make him vulnerable.”
He surveyed his surroundings, added, “He doesn’t know about these people and can’t possibly be prepared to deal with every secret they might give up. But he does know about the Winterstorm and I expect that he’s given that lots of thought.”
“Two days might be enough, just barely, to drag in an arbitratordirector to manage the crisis. I’m thinking Bragi even though he doesn’t like either one of us much right now and is probably convinced that he has weaseled out of his turn in the barrel.”
She watched him swell with resistance.
“Exactly. And you can expect plenty of attitude from him if either of us comes out ahead because of this.”
The wizard took nearly a minute. “I am repelled to the point where I suspect that you have identified a workable design.”
“It needs only persist for as long as it takes to succeed or be flayed.”
She expected the latter to be the more likely outcome. Once reason placed her eyeball to eyeball with that she just got more obstinate. There would be a grand showdown. Potential hurdles rolled off the duck’s back of her determination.
What had become of that Poles of Power project meant to identify them and locate them? She had handed that off to Kuo Wen-chin, had she not? Then she had not followed up. Wait. No. She had not given that to Wen-chin. She had not given it to anybody. She had gone and forgotten the whole damned thing herself. It was too late to work that angle. The crisis was just around the corner, beyond her ability to delay.
Old Meddler would operate from inside a miasma of ignorance but would know that survival was table stakes. Weak, he would shun cat and mouse diversions. He would attack with ferocity and vigor.
She peered hard at the Old Man, then Ethrian. Could they really provide the tools she needed?
Doubt declared otherwise.
Doom was on its way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Winter, Year 1018 AFE:
Run in Circles
A l Rhemish remained chaotic. Whenever the confusion began to settle, some fresh dollop of rumor brought the turmoil back to life. The King really was dead. His remains had been found. The site was grisly but there was evidence enough to identify the dead. One man, with the pack animals and mounts, was missing. Anyone who knew Boneman had a good idea what had happened.
Then came news that Haroun bin Yousif and the Empire Destroyer had carried off El Murid and his daughter.