Prossie still hesitated-until she saw Shadow begin to frown.
* * * *
Amy watched Prossie walk fearfully toward the portal, and she wished there were something she could do, some way to take away Prossie’s fear, or to make it unnecessary for her to go-but what could she do? Shadow had told Prossie to go, and disobeying Shadow meant dying.
Maybe if she said she’d believe Shadow without Prossie’s word, that she’d take the silly matrix-but she didn’t believe Shadow, any more than she had believed Stan when he said he wasn’t angry, or Walter when he said he wouldn’t hurt her, or Beth when she had said she was just as frightened as Amy was herself. She couldn’t believe a bully any more; they always lied, always, and Prossie’s report wouldn’t change anything, because the bullies believed their own lies.
If only someone could do something to make Shadow stop…
She glanced back at Susan, who had crept into the room long minutes before, virtually unnoticed. She was moving so slowly. Susan’s hand was in her purse, closed around something, and she was inching closer to Shadow from the opposite side while Shadow watched Prossie, while Pel watched Prossie, while Ted stared vacantly at no particular part of the whole scene.
Why hadn’t Susan shot Shadow while it-or she, whichever-was conjuring up this portal to the Empire? Shadow had been distracted, at least slightly; was Susan expecting a better chance?
Amy blinked, as realization struck.
Susan was hoping for a better chance-and she might get it. When Shadow conjured the gateway, it was very much involved in its magical matrix-the colors had been visible, though not the blinding glare they had all seen earlier. And the matrix would almost certainly be able to stop a bullet, even if Shadow was distracted.
But Shadow had said she’d be putting aside the matrix so Prossie could read her mind.
Did that mean she’d be putting aside everything that protected her?
Susan apparently thought so.
Susan obviously didn’t believe Shadow’s lies about sending them home afterward any more than Amy did.
Amy quickly turned away, not looking at Susan, very definitely not looking at Susan, looking anywhere except at Susan, and she watched as Prossie gulped air, stepped forward, and vanished.
* * * *
The stars blazed brilliantly overhead, the rock was black beneath her feet, the cold tore at her like knives slashing at her bare hands and face as the moisture was torn away. She had to struggle to keep the air in her lungs, the pressure here was very low; she had to be careful to shuffle her feet, not to kick, because the gravity couldn’t be more than a few percent of a gee, a good kick could send her right off the surface of this asteroid, or moon, whichever it was, and it might take longer than her oxygen would last before she fell back to the bare stone ground.
And as if the physical pain wasn’t enough of a distraction, the thoughts of a galaxy full of people poured in on her, the minds of thirteen billion people all going about their own business, and scattered among them the thoughts of the four hundred other telepaths shone like diamonds in sand; she had forgotten what it was like, it was like a cold wind blowing through her, and like steam boiling in behind, it was hard to remember her own identity at first.
But there was Carrie, calling to her, asking what was going on, calling her by name, and she remembered who she was, and why she was there; she was Proserpine Thorpe, Registered Master Telepath, and she was there to read Shadow’s mind. She reached back through the…through the dimensional barrier, she took the phrase from some unguarded, unrecognized mind somewhere, she reached into Faerie and she could feel her lungs straining, her lips were dry and cracking and her ears were burning with cold and pounding with the roar of her own blood and roaring with the pressure of her breath.
She ignored Carrie, she reached into Faerie and found minds there, she found the familiar first, the patterns she already knew-Wilkins was still alive in a town she didn’t recognize, Sawyer was still alive and halfway across the marsh, and then she found Amy and Susan and Pel and Ted, there in the fortress, and Susan was pulling the gun from her purse and Amy knew about it and wasn’t saying anything, Ted and Pel didn’t see, and the other mind there was Shadow, it had to be, a dark, narrow little mind that seemed to go on forever.
And Shadow wasn’t planning treachery, she honestly believed she would keep her promises, but down below that, in the tangle of memories and motivations that Shadow wouldn’t allow herself to recall, Prossie saw the dark vicious selfishness that lurked in every human mind. In Shadow it was deep and strong, great and powerful, it had been growing unchecked for centuries, as Shadow’s every whim was fulfilled.
She was not lying-but she would betray them and destroy them anyway, in time.
And at that realization Prossie panicked and dove back for the magical space-warp, aware as she did that Susan’s finger was closing on the trigger of a .38 revolver that still held two bullets.
* * * *
Pel jumped at the sound of the first shot; panicking, he whirled, trying to see what was happening. His first thought was that the building was collapsing, that he had heard a roof-beam crack.
Then he saw the pistol in Susan’s hand as she fired again.
“What are you doing?” he screamed.
She was only about six feet away, shooting Shadow in the back; she couldn’t possibly miss at that range. She was shooting Shadow, and then there wouldn’t be anyone who could send them home, there wouldn’t be any matrix he could use to bring Nancy and Rachel back from the dead.
Prossie had reappeared by the time the second shot sounded, kneeling on the floor, trembling, gasping, frost forming on her hair and hands and the legs of her uniform, and Amy had stepped back to watch, and Ted was just standing there, giggling.
“It’s coming apart,” Ted cried. “I must be waking up!”
And Shadow wasn’t falling, wasn’t bleeding, she was turning around slowly and deliberately.
Susan dropped the revolver; it clattered loudly on the stone floor as she sank to her knees. She bowed her head and waited, kneeling, as Shadow took a step toward her.
This was all mad, Pel thought. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t a proper end to the story. He’d all but forgotten about that stupid gun, about his suggestion that Susan might shoot Shadow. He’d thought Prossie would step back calm and whole and confirm Shadow’s story, and the fat old woman would choose someone, probably Prossie-she’d been singled out to test the truth, after all, so wouldn’t she be the logical choice?
Any sensible storyteller would have made Prossie the hero of the whole thing. After all, she was a telepath, she’d make a great viewpoint character, she’d always know what was going on. She should have come back upright and proud and confronted Shadow.
Or if Susan was the hero, if it was “Wizards” reenacted, then Shadow should be down and dying, and they’d have had to hunt down Taillefer to get home, they’d be here for weeks or months yet.
But Prossie was on hands and knees gasping for air, Shadow was turning to face her attacker with no sign she’d been harmed, and Susan was bowing her head, preparing to die.
That was what she was doing, Pel realized; Susan Nguyen, who seemed to be able to survive anything, to calmly withstand whatever befell her, was preparing to die.
“Dost think so little of me, then?” Shadow said, in a voice that was strained and terrible. “Thinkest thou I’d have no protections left without the full matrix about me? Did think me such a fool as that?” She took another step, and stood over Susan, who made no answer. “I have endured for centuries, ’gainst wizards, warriors, and time itself; thought thou some simple machine could slay me?” She kicked the revolver aside; it skittered away.