"Maybe the kidnappers haven't got around to them yet," Tom suggested.
"Right. Absolutely," Michael said, really getting warmed up now. "That's the first thing that occurred to me. But there's one simple problem with that."
"Which is?" Serrin asked.
"Neither of them is a mage. One is a very ordinary medical technician working for BuMoNa, the state medical system in Germany, and the other is a blue-collar worker for IFM. That's Internationale Fahrzeug Und Machinenbau Union Ag, to you and me."
"Ah," Serrin said limply. He couldn't think of any snappy rejoinders, not at this time of day.
"Have you tried to warn any of these people?" Tom asked the Englishman.
"I didn't want to do anything until I'd talked to you two."
"I think we should contact them at once. They're in danger," the troll said.
"Wait a minute. We don't know that for sure. The only kidnap cases among the names on this list are mages. These others aren't mages. We can't just go around phoning people up and telling them that some crazed kidnapper may be hunting them down on the basis of a piece of paper we've never seen."
"We can't just leave them in danger either," the troll smarted.
"We don't know they're in danger. We can't be sure the girl even got the names right she can't read, after all. Anyway, what if we're wrong? We'd be frightening these
people for nothing. And besides, what could they do? Go to the police and tell them that some Englishman in New York has told them, on the basis of a phone call from a girl in Azania to an American she's never seen and doesn't know, that they're in mortal danger? Don't be ridiculous."
"Which means that if they were rich enough not to need the police, you'd tell them because they could afford to take care of themselves," Tom said angrily. He glared at Michael.
"Tom, we really can't be sure," Serrin said gently. "And Michael is right about one thing. The police wouldn't take any of this seriously." Not to be mollified, the troll stalked into the kitchen, his exit soon followed by some loud noises of cleaning up. At first it sounded more like he was breaking dishes and throwing silverware, but the noises gradually reverted to a more normal clatter while Michael and Serrin pondered what to do next. By the time the troll was back, still glowering, they had the beginnings of a plan.
"Tom, if we're going to warn these people, we'll need a whole lot more to go on," Michael said. The troll didn't argue; he just crossed his arms and waited for more. "We should go to Azania. We can find this girl, and maybe talk to the Zulu mage. If we could find out more, we'd be in a much better position to do something. We might get descriptions, more data from the computer the girl found. Who knows?
"For me to just keep searching the world's systems might only muddy the picture further. For the first time, we've got some clear leads to follow up. I know it seems wild to go flying off to the other side of the world, but we've got two witnesses and a computer that might produce something important. Far-fetched as it seems, I think we should go."
Tom thought about it for a few moments, then nodded. He wasn't as yet ready to forget that Michael had dismissed his concern as ridiculous, but the Englishman's reasoning made sense.
"Do you know the girl's race?" Michael asked.
"She's not white," Serrin said. "At least, I don't think so."
"Does it matter that much?" Tom asked.
"You haven't been to the Cape Republic before, have you?" Michael retorted rather sarcastically. "It's about the last place on earth where a person's metatype doesn't matter much, Tom. Well, not unless you're a Boer, but then everyone hates those fraggers anyway. What counts there is whether you're Anglo-white, Euro-white, Xhosa, Indian, or Zulu, though there aren't many of those. If you're Xhosa, depends which tribe you're from. And God help you if you're mixed race."
"Why?" Tom persisted. As a troll he'd encountered his own share of racism, and kn'ew that most of his ork and troll chummers had suffered the same. The relevance of this different, older, discrimination wasn't clear to him.
"If she's black, odds are she's a Xhosa. If we go on to Umfolozi, we wouldn't be able to use her as a native guide. Drek! Sorry," Michael cursed himself, "that was patronizing. You know what I mean, though. This stuff is a time bomb down there. It's not like metatype doesn't count. The Humanis line goes down big with the Boers, and the Zulu elves are just as fierce in ruling their domains. We'll have to be careful.
"That said, there's a direct flight later today into Cape Town. Do we want bookings?"
"He's making no moves, though?" Jenna said anxiously. Serrin was a complication she hadn't banked on.
"Apparently not," the ginger-haired male said calmly. "But the company he's keeping is a little unexpected. The troll, well, he's a big dumb lump of meat. No surprises there. He's a hired bodyguard. They knew each other in Seattle some years back; ran the shadows together. But the man, Sutherland, is an exceptional decker. I think one of your own Princes might be able to confirm that," he smirked.
At that, Jenna gave him one of her icy stares. It wasn't Magellan's job to know more about the politics of Tir Tairngire than she thought prudent. But he used an ace in the hole to cover himself.
"It's the surveillance that's surprising," he said, playing with his fingernails. He didn't say any more, not yet. In their old game, he wanted her to ask for what he had and she wanted him to tell her without being asked. It was their little ritual of seeing who would break the silence first. This time, for once, he won.
"What surveillance?" she asked sharply.
"Someone is conducting astral surveillance. At a very safe distance. Sutherland's apartment has some pretty good hermetic protection; he wouldn't pay that kind of rent without getting magical security that's good and tight. Really tight. So, our snooper is keeping well away. He's damn clever."
"How do you know the surveillance is of Serrin?" she asked.
"I don't. But it wasn't there a week ago. As it happens, an associate happened to scan the area on an entirely unconnected matter. It seems rather a coincidence if it isn't aimed at him," Magellan replied.
Jenna knew he was lying, or skirting the truth. Magellan had no associates, but must have been personally snooping the area on some mission about which she knew nothing. But duplicity and dissimulation were such a core part of their relationship that as long as he dared not refuse her demands, she didn't care what other mistresses or masters he served.
"I would hazard a guess that he's trying to find out who was behind the attempt to kidnap him," Magellan said.
"What are his chances?"
"Impossible to say. Frankly, I don't see what he's got to go on. Without knowing about the other cases, he couldn't begin to find out. But perhaps, if one started by checking on kidnappings of other elven mages, he might get an accurate list. Surely, though, one or two must have disappeared without Luther being responsible," he grinned. "No, I don't think anyone could figure it out. Not unless they had an edge somewhere along the line." "And we don't know if he has," she said, staring out over Crater Lake. Crystalline light gleamed off the water.
"Not unless you want me to arrange for a break-in," he laughed.
"Hardly your most intelligent suggestion," she said irritably.
"A jest. If I were given to such things I wouldn't be sitting talking with you now. No, I think we wait. If he moves, then I follow. If he doesn't move, it means he doesn't plan to do anything. If he doesn't do anything, we have no problem. QED."
"The logic is watertight. Unfortunately, logic is unlikely to dictate his behavior," Jenna observed drily.
"But you agree?" he asked, probing for what she wanted.
She considered, silently and at length. Finally her answer came.
"Yes, I think I do. It's more important that we give our attentions to Luther. This elf mage is only a fly. We need not concern ourselves with him."