Sam decided that keeping his mouth shut was a good idea; aggravating the inspector would only make things harder. His silence seemed to mollify Burnside. The detective called Dellett over to watch the runners and went to have a conference with Rogers. Dellett leaned against the west doorway and ignored Sam and Hart. He knew they weren't going anywhere as long as he was in their way.
As soon as he felt sure that Dellett wasn't paying attention, Sam whispered to Hart, "We've got to get out of here."
"Do tell. I'm too bushed to do much."
"Can you run?"
"If I have to. But no magic." "Leave it to me. I've been wanting to show you something Herzog taught me when you weren't around."
"You sure you can do it?"
"No."
"No second chances, Sam, but you can't fly with your feet on the ground."
Sam concentrated, trying to remember the words Herzog had used for the spell. The memory was slippery, and he struggled to get it straight. ' 'Forget the words, remember the song.'' Sam stiffened. Drek, not now. Why does stress always trigger this schizoid stuff? Go away, Dog.
"It ain't the stress, it's the pattern. Sing the song, or sing for the coppers.'' I know.
"Then do it. "
Get out of my head.
"Do it," Dog's voice said in a faded musical echo.
Sam caught the tune and sang silently to himself.
The power gathered, shaping itself to the melody.
When he had the rhythm just right, Sam released it.
Angry voices drifted into the chamber from somewhere beyond the north entrance. They grew louder, as if they were approaching.
Burnside cursed and rushed for the archway. The other two policemen drew their weapons and followed. For the moment, their captives were forgotten. The spell had worked. While the detectives paid attention to the illusory voices, Sam and Hart slipped through the west entrance and away.
As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Hart started a staggering run toward the riverside.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked. "Had a boat arranged in case we got hosed. The landing is only a couple of blocks." " What about Willie?" "We'll come back for her." "She might need help now. The slime shorted her drone, and the feedback could have hurt her. Drek, it might have killed her.''
Hart looked over her shoulder as if she expected Burnside and his goons to come pelting out of the warehouse at any moment. "If she's dead, we can't help her. If she's alive, we can't help her by getting locked up. Let's get out of here."
"If she's alive and we don't help her, she might not stay that way long. The Bone Boy may not be a ghoul, but that doesn't mean there aren't any in the East End. If Willie's out cold and exposed, she's easy meat." "Sam, we…"
"I'm going after her. I can't abandon her."
Hart shook her head. "Okay. Let's go."
They ran up the street away from the river. Since she disliked operating at extended range in the plex, Sam knew that she would have parked her van somewhere close by. He and Hart started checking likely places. They found the battered panel truck in the third place they tried. It looked barely functional, more like a derelict than a working vehicle. Appearrances were deceiving; its motor and running gear were superbly maintained and its cargo area contained a multi-slot rigger board, multifrequency transceivers, trideo monitoring systems, and drone storage cells. In short, it was the rigger's camouflaged, rolling command center. Sam fidgeted while Hart disarmed the truck's protection, relaxing only when they opened the back to find Willie semi-conscious. The rigger let go her hold on awareness as soon as she realized her friends had found her. Hart gave the van a set of coordinates and told him that they were headed for a place she had used before.
They had been at Hart's safehouse for an hour before Willie responded to the drugs from her van's medical kit. When she opened her eyes her pupils were dilated, but Sam wasn't sure if it was because of the drugs or the rigger-loop feedback. Willie's words were slurred.
"What happened? Where's everybody?"
"Hart and I are here, Willie. You're going to be okay."
"Others get out?"
"Haven't heard from Estios and his crew since they took off after the druids. Nice of them to leave us with that slime thing."
Willie started to shake. Sam reached out to steady her.
"It's okay. Hart got it. It's gone, Willie."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"I hate magic."
Me too, Sam wanted to say. He thought it more useful to stay positive. "Raid's over now. We must have done something right, we survived."
"What was that furry thing?" Willie asked.
"Looked like a sasquatch to me," Sam said.
"More likely was a wendigo," Hart opined.
"Though the two look a lot alike. Can't always tell even from the aura."
"Why do you think it was a\a151what did you call it?"
"Wendigo," Hart replied. "The flesh angle. A wendigo is a pananormal thing that eats human flesh. The Circle was probably stripping the corpses to keep it fed. Nasty business."
"Well, it's gonna be hungry for a long time now that its mouth don't connect to its stomach. I stitched the head clean off the furball."
Willie's smile stayed plastered on her face as her eyes sank closed and she began to snore.
It had been three microseconds since the activity monitor had registered data manipulation. A long time. Dodger considered the merits of opening the bubble that sealed his persona within the masked credit file he had uncovered in Glover's ATT discretionary funds. The number of manipulations the shunt bubble had passed through had been high, much higher than a legitimate or even an ordinary illegal transfer of funds. The bubble had traveled far, perhaps as far as the druids' innermost computer system. He knew he should wait longer. The operator who had called for the data he had piggybacked on might not be out of the system. Tired of waiting, he was ready for action. While it was a risk breaking out now, remaining encapsuled could be a greater one. He cancelled the program, restoring his ordinary Matrix persona and functionality. The ebon boy stretched as if awakening from sleep,
then froze. There was no swirl of glitter around him. His dazzling cloak was gone, replaced with another kind of shine. His arms were encased in gleaming metal that was articulated in the style of antique armor. More than just his arms, his entire body was armored. The construct imagery was superb, but not his style at all. Dodger hit the reformat key, but the construct remained. He tapped out a routine to alter the imagery, and still got no result. A diagnostic on the cyberdeck registered nominal, which meant that the persona construct imagery was being imposed by the host system. Such an effect required a powerful system.
A look around told him just how powerful. Most systems, even imposed imagery systems, had a hint of the electron reality about them. Even the best virtual recompositers didn't always provide a truly realistic image, and they only supplied the specific translations to their slaved deck; other users still perceived the basic interface illusion. But this place was beyond the ordinary. Had he not known that magic was impossible in the Matrix, he would have thought the landscape touched with enchantment.
All around him lay a green and pleasant land. He stood at the edge of a forest looking out on rolling hills lush with croplands and scattered copses of woods. The forest behind him, a beautiful climax system, stretched away to the horizon in either direction. It was lush and burgeoning with woodland life. The sight, sound, and smell of it filled him with wonder. If it were real…
Dodger turned away and stared once more across the open vista. He could not afford to lose himself in amazement. For the moment, the forest was only a distraction. Perhaps when he had done what needed doing and seen what needed seeing, he would comeback to explore this marvelous construct. For now, he had to be about his work.