"They said it was an engine problem." "Any survivors?" "None." For several moments, no one spoke. Then he continued: "Ed loved mysteries. So naturally the Lantner incident caught his attention. I don't know how many times I heard him tell people how he'd watched the night it happened." He sighed. Shook his head. "Shortly after that, the government issued a warning about the area, that they thought Mutes might have established a base in the region. Everybody was told to stay clear." "So nobody went out there after that?" "Nobody went out there anyhow. Except on that one occasion." We sat. We could hear a couple of people arguing outside.
While I watched her, I was thinking how much more difficult it is to be entertaining when you don't have the audience physically in front of you, when they're spread out across an electronic hookup and you can't feed off their reactions. Or even get a read on them. I've done a few appearances with Alex, and I want them sitting out there where I can see them to get my adrenaline flowing. But it didn't seem to bother her. Batavian had been the emcee. He introduced her from the same room we were sitting in. She came in and sat down in the chair that Alex was using and said she was glad to be there, and what a privilege it was, and so on. Most people do that and you know they're kidding. But she meant it. And it was easy to see right from the start that she was enjoying herself. Batavian got out of the way, and Vicki took the helm. She told the audience how much she loved what she did, that the old stories about writers working out of attics while they slugged down whiskey, that their lives were solitary and dreary, that it was hard, painstaking work, was all a lie. "We say that stuff to discourage other people from getting into the business. To keep the competition down. There's nothing as exhilarating as writing a good line or watching a plot come together." Images of her listeners appeared. The audience was composed of young and old, equal numbers of both sexes, people with money and people who were managing. The one characteristic they all shared was enthusiasm. When she'd finished, they applauded for a full minute. Not bad for an audience scattered around the globe. They went to questions. We listened while they asked why she'd decided to write horror, what she did in her spare time, and whether there'd be a sequel to this or that book. When it was done, we sat quietly listening to the wind play against the side of the building. Batavian was still staring at the spot where Vicki's image had been. "She was interested in Aramy Cleev, Alex," he said. "Did you know that? It's true. She was annoyed because Cleev's avatar is restricted." Alex leaned forward. "Really?" That was a surprise. The guy was, after all, a major historical figure. "Yes. You have to have special authorization to talk to it." Alex's eyes, which had been distant, came into sharp focus. "I think," said Batavian, "they just don't trust Cleev. Not even dead. And they don't entirely trust the general population. A lot of people here would love to go back to the Bandahr years."
SEVENTEEN
"It's true, Lia. People walk out of their homes and are never heard from again." "Why, Dr. Stratford? What happens to them?" "Bad spirits get them. It happens every day. It's why you must never wander off into the woods alone."
- Dying to Know You
I spent the next morning strolling around town while Alex stayed in the hotel looking through old newscasts and reading about ULY447 and the Lantner incident. The weather was cold in Moreska, so I treated myself to a new sweater and a matching cap. I put them on and went back out to where the manor had been and stood on the cliff's edge thinking the kind of thoughts you do when the wind is blowing hard at your back and it's a hundred meters straight down to some water and a lot of rocks. When I got back to the hotel in midafternoon, Alex was waiting for me. "I've been looking at the other houses that were blown up that night," he said. "Did you find a connection to Demery?" "Nothing on the net. But I made some calls. One of the houses belonged to William Kelton. The mayor of Mancuso, which is just down the road a few klicks. His wife and daughter died in the blast. And a visitor. Apparently the daughter's fianc . "The wife might be of interest." "Why?" "She was retired. Taught at Travis University for a while. Wrote popular science articles for a number of publications. Did some sort of extradimensional research at Quantum Labs, which is a pretty good haul from where she lived." "She had a link with Demery?" "Yes. Her name was Jennifer. She and Demery were at one time members of the Archimedes Club." "For people interested in math?" "Very good, Chase. They used to compete in problem-solving exercises. Among themselves, and with other groups. A couple of the members I talked to said that Demery and Jennifer were close friends." "Okay. So where does that lead us?" "Let's try to find out. Kelton wasn't home when the explosion happened. But Jennifer was." "What happened to the husband? Kelton?" "He was on a hunting trip. From which he never returned. Disappeared in the woods. No one ever found the body." "Was he hunting alone?" "No. There were five or six of them. The others said he wandered off from the campsite and didn't come back." "Either of them have an avatar?" "Jennifer did. But it's gone now. Incidentally, of the people who lived in the eighteen homes destroyed that night, eleven or twelve had avatars, including some kids. They were all removed. Nobody seems to know who took them down. "Family members who weren't home when their houses were hit either dropped out of sight, or turned up dead. Including some children." "Incredible," I said. "I didn't realize Nicorps was so ruthless." He'd drawn the curtains across the windows, blocking off all but a slash of sunlight. I put my new cap back on. "So, Alex, do we pay a visit to City Hall?"