“And that would also explain why Wygan didn’t make a move to force me into his plan earlier. He had to wait until I did something he recognized. It also confirms something I was thinking—” I turned and glanced at Quinton. “This is what I didn’t say in the truck—I don’t think most vampires have any idea what powers I have or that I even have any at all. I don’t think Edward knew what I can do until he got information from others and made guesses that were often incomplete and presumed more on my investigator’s skills. I don’t think the asetem—or even the Pharaohn—know exactly what I can do. Wygan only knows what direction he’s pushed me in and he won’t be certain he’s succeeded until I show him or he pushes again and sees what I do.”
Quinton closed his eyes and nodded, putting the pieces together to his own satisfaction.
“Carlos is probably the only vampire who has any idea at all. And I have no way of knowing how good his idea is,” I continued.
“So y’need him as an ally,” Mara suggested.
“Let’s hope I don’t. I’m not sure how safe I’d be standing between Carlos and any offer of power.”
“True,” Mara agreed. “He can be a right greedy bastard.”
I grunted in thought: These ushabti had some kind of magic. They weren’t vampires or asetem, but they had some traits in common; they could walk in the daylight and were the servants—tied by blood and life—to the Pharaohn and his asetem. A servant . . . I knew who that had to be. “So . . . that would make Bryson Goodall Wygan’s ushabti. But I don’t think he always has been. Edward wouldn’t have let him close.” Now I thought I understood why Goodall had said, “Things change.” Not just things but him, too.
The Danzigers looked puzzled and I had to explain who Bryson Goodall was.
“Certainly if he was workin’ that closely with Edward, he couldn’t have been Wygan’s ushabti,” Mara said.
“But he was Wygan’s spy. So maybe the ushabti thing came later,” I suggested.
Ben looked crestfallen. “I don’t know how the conversion is done or what state the candidate has to be in first....”
“That doesn’t matter right now, but the fact that I know it might.”
In spite of my long rest earlier, I felt a little tired either from my exertions at the brewery or just in anticipation of what I was yet to do that night. I sat down on one of the pale green couches near the hearth. No fire was lit, but it was the most Grey-silent part of the whole room where the only ghostly noise was the distant electrical hum of the power grid. Quinton sat down next to me and slipped my closest hand into his own warm, grounded grip. I took a slow, clearing breath, savoring the moment of peace.
Mara perched on the arm of the chair next to her husband and they leaned together without thinking. A small, pink corona swirled between them. I hated to break the surface of contentment, but I spoke up anyway, knowing I had to get on with my plans soon. “If Goodall is Wygan’s ushabti, that would explain how he was able to pull away the spell on Simondson. Or rather, he’s Wygan’s ushabti because he could do so, once trained.” Mara and Ben looked startled. Quinton just squeezed my hand a little. “I think Wygan’s been a busy master while I was in London.”
I explained what I’d seen at the brewery office, how Goodall had been present at Simondson’s death and what he had done. “If he’s the ushabti, then his ability to break the spell—even knowing it was there to break—makes some sense it didn’t before. He didn’t seem very comfortable with it, though I’m not sure if that’s lack of experience or what. I would like to know what the spell was doing to Simondson before it was removed.”
Mara frowned. “Without seein’ it myself, I can’t say.”
I shook my head. “That’s not quite what I mean. What I’m really interested in is whether the spell could have caused Simondson to do something that was entirely against his will and inclination.”
“Some can. But it would have to be a very powerful compulsion indeed. The greater a subject’s resistance, the more force must be applied.”
“Like the inverse-square law?” Quinton asked.
“Well, perhaps not quite quadruplin’ the force as you halve the distance, but ’tis something like that, yes.” Mara smiled a little. “But a working that compelling would be complex and not so simply torn away when y’were done with it. It would need dismantling.”
Quinton turned his gaze to me, but he didn’t say anything. Certainly not “I told you so,” and yet I didn’t feel much better about Simondson.
“It didn’t look complex. Maybe I only saw the end of the process. We don’t know that Goodall couldn’t have taken a more complicated spell apart.”
“That we don’t,” Mara agreed, “but ’tisn’t likely. If he had such skills, surely you’d have noticed. And I’m thinkin’ Wygan wouldn’t want an ushabti with too much power runnin’ about while he’s dozin’ of a morning. Bit of a paranoid control-freak, isn’t he?”
That I would have to concede. “But the hole in the temporaclines—doesn’t that argue for some greater power? I’ve never seen them just broken up like that in a recent timeline. Someone tore that bit of history out of the Grey there.”
“Not necessarily. Was the Guardian runnin’ ’round it?”
“No. There wasn’t anything there except the absence of anything.”
“If it wasn’t attractin’ the Guardian’s attention, then it’s only a local break, not a chronic one. More likely the effect of someone bein’ hasty in the Grey while tryin’ to cover up their mess in the normal world. Settin’ the garden on fire rather than pullin’ up the weeds.” She snorted in disgust. “The Grey’ll repair itself there, in time, but they’ve made a bloody bags of it in the meantime.”
That, at least, made me feel I might not be walking into a nest of vipers—just one really big snake and his pet asp. “So you think,” I started, “that he might not really know what he’s doing . . . ?”
“He must know he’s touchin’ magic, but he may have been ignorant of what or how he’s usin’ it. Judgin’ by the wreck you say he’s made, he’s not experienced at the very least. Likely he’s just followin’ Wygan’s instructions and muddlin’ through on instinct. If he never knew he had any touch of the Grey before this, it must be comin’ as a bit of a shock now. Just think of yourself two years ago.”
I nodded. “All the better reason to move now, before anyone gets wiser.”
“Move?” Ben interjected, twitching hard enough to dislodge Mara from the arm of his chair.
I patted the air, trying to calm Ben down, but I knew it was useless. “Yes. Simondson’s ghost gave me a clue about what might be happening to my dad. And if I can figure it out, I can let both ghosts go free. So I’m going to go up to the station and see what I can get out of Wygan and Goodall that might help me find my father and Edward and ruin whatever plans the Pharaohn has for me. Right now they think they have all the cards. If I can surprise them, shake them up, I might be able to get some information out of them before they can do me any serious harm.”
“ ‘Any serious harm’?” Mara repeated. “Y’can’t mean to confront them so soon—y’don’t know anything, certainly not what they’re up to.”
“I do know that if they were ready to capture or kill me, they’d have done it earlier. Right now they only want to manipulate me and keep me off-balance. If they had grabbed me, they’d have to keep me, and that means guards and magical restraint and keeping me isolated and under control. Obviously they can’t or aren’t ready to do that yet. Probably they’re spread thin with other preparations. So I still have some grace period. If I hit them now, they won’t expect it and they may tell me something useful, if I can shake them. Maybe I can even do them a little damage for once. If I keep dithering around until the conditions are perfect, they never will be. A preemptive strike makes more sense in this situation than waiting. I will not allow them to think they have the upper hand.”
“You’re mad!” Mara protested. “Y’haven’t even got a plan what to do when you get there.”