“Since we have removed from the scene Maximillian the Vaguely Disreputable -”
“You?” she said. She began to smile. It was not the sort of smile you saw when someone was sharing a laugh with you. It was the sort of expression you saw when the joke was on you, and the punch line had claws. “That’s not the way I hear it. Tell me then, how did you accomplish this task?”
I wanted to tell him to shut up. I didn’t like to see us getting deeper into something that already clearly wasn’t good. And us in her territory, too. “The question of Maximillian is scarcely the point,” Gash said instead. “My arrangement with my associate is not the point either. The key is that you came looking for me, as indeed you should have. Who would be a better candidate for what you are considering?”
At the moment, Protector of Nature was reminding me quite a lot of Jill. But then that’s the way Gash had said he liked women, hadn’t he? - predatory and sharp, like him. “Him,” she said.
For a moment I thought she might still mean me. Then two new men strolled out from behind the rock. “You’re keeping interesting company,” I said to the first one.
“As are you,” said Arznaak, the Scapula.
“I hear you’ve been coming up in the world.”
“That is the way of it,” he agreed.
“As you can see,” said Protector of Nature gratuitously, “the position is filled. If you’d still like to enlist in the cause there may be something we can find for you to do. Either one of you,” she added, examining me carefully, obviously trying to decide where I fit into all this.
“And you, Vladimir,” Gash said to the other man. “Suffered some recent reverse, I see? How unfortunate. Have you met the Lord of Storms?” he asked me.
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” I said. “Charmed.” The Lord of Storms looked to have been bald even before he’d been caught in whatever flensing spell had drained him of enough weight to make his skin hang loose and baggy, at least in the sections that weren’t flaking off in eczematous clumps, and had made the residual hair in his eyebrows and over his ears flutter loose in thin white tufts now littered across his shoulders and face. One lens of his gold wire-rimmed spectacles was fractured and the twisted frame made the bridge aim itself strongly downhill toward the right. If this guy was in charge of storms the continent had better get set for a major drought.
“Of course Vladimir was always one for a winning team,” Gash continued. “You are certain you’ve picked right this time, aren’t you?”
The Lord of Storms drew himself up. “I can’t guess what you’re referring to.”
“I’m sure you know best,” said Gash solicitously. “Although don’t I recall you and Clara in opposition -”
“Do you join us?” Protector of Nature repeated. “The common hazard menaces you as much as anyone.”
“These are weighty decisions,” Gash said easily. “Will you be making a formal presentation?”
“Of course,” said the Scapula. “Tradition is important.”
“You’ve been off the net,” Protector of Nature said. “Will you attend anyway?”
“Why not?” said Gash.
“And your friend?” added the Scapula.
“Who can say? Why not ask him.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, “see if I can work it into my schedule. Sounds like it would be a shame to miss.”
“Just so,” said the Scapula.
“By the way,” Gash said to the Scapula, as though he was just thinking of it for the first time, “as our newest colleague, have you aligned yourself with Conservation or Abdication?”
“That should be obvious. Do you think I’d go to quite a lot of trouble to obtain power only to throw it away?”
“That rhetorical statement could apply to any of us, those advocating Abdication included.”
“I am here for the concrete exercise of power,” declaimed the Scapula precisely, “not an experiment in social justice.”
“Yes, that certainly clarifies it. Well, I will look forward to your proclamation. I assume that will occur promptly?”
Arznaak and Protector of Nature exchanged glances. It was Protector of Nature who nodded once at him, then answered. “Yes, of course. The community will be gathered for the Knitting; the occasion is already auspicious. Perhaps you’d choose to wait here for it.”
I thought this might be a good time to heft Monoch, so I did. Even in his walking stick concealment, he emitted enough of a low power hum to cause the eyes of the three folks opposite us to flick toward him, then up at me, then back at Gash. “As my associate mentioned,” he stated, “our schedule is demanding. So perhaps we will now leave you to your preparations.”
Several minutes later, after we’d recrossed the pool, just ahead of the reactivation of the waterfall, and were tromping again through the forest, I said, “Are we lucky they let us leave?”
“Yes,” said Gashanatantra. “Dr. Shaa is correct. That individual is dangerous. As is Clara. Vladimir is a dope but he has an instinct for advantageous alliance.”
“At least we didn’t tell them who I was.”
“Yes...” he said thoughtfully. “Although I still wonder what they might know.”
“Maybe you’ll end up allied to them and then you can find out.”
Gash didn’t say anything to that. In its way, that may have been the most unnerving thing that had happened to me all day.
CHAPTER 10
It had been something of a toss-up. If the damage at the Karlini lab had been as extensive as the Creeping Sword had described, though, amounting to total devastation, then their backup plan would have gone into effect. Accordingly, Shaa eyed the front door of his flat one final time and inserted his key in the lock.
He had apparently guessed right, Shaa thought sourly. Seated on a chair in the entry hall, sword at the ready though resting across his knees, relaxed in posture but with the same coiled-spring tautness he always sported, even during his rare episodes of being either drunk or asleep, was Svin the ex-barbarian. As was typical for members of Shaa’s extended family as this day wore on, Svin’s clothes were distinctly the worse for wear, but Svin himself was largely unscathed. Indeed, he seemed freshly laundered. Shaa spared a brief prayer for the fate of his guest towels, nodded to Svin, and moved along toward the living room, from whence the clamor of voices that had assaulted him as he’d opened the door was emanating.
He stood surveying the scene, realizing as he did that he was expecting a typical shouted greeting, something along the lines of “Sure is about time you decided to show up!” or “Who’s that guy and what’s he doing in his apartment?” But who would do the shouting? Not Karlini, who was instead performing a very effective job of being comatose on the couch covered by a light blanket. Not that barbeque-in-the-shape-of-a-human sprawled on a sheet on the carpet being ministered to by the ever-solicitous Wroclaw. Not Haddo, who was typically sulking on a divan across from Wroclaw as he acerbically critiqued his handiwork. Certainly not the siblings Mont, who were taking mutual critique to the depths only capable of being plumbed by siblings close in age.
And not Roni, who was absent.
I wonder what the Creeping Sword might have neglected to tell me? Shaa considered idly.
Shaa had stored most of his medical instruments in the decorative apothecary cabinet on the wall adjacent to the entryway. He rummaged through it for a moment, then crossed to Karlini. First things first. I suppose, Shaa said to himself, however unlikely, and waved a bottle of concentrated smelling salts in the midst of Karlini’s face. Karlini’s nose twitched, his face contorted, he squirmed on the couch, and then his eyelids drew reluctantly back.
Amateurs. A whole house full of them, and he’d instructed them in basic first-aid procedures, too. Ah, well.