"No proof? my God, Corah, just what the hell do they think that report of mine is? Spirits openly attacking us on Karyx, spirit-controlled machinery on Shamsheer—"
"Nordis's report disputes your version of whatever it was happened on Karyx," Lea cut him off.
"And as to Shamsheer, there's no direct, objective proof there were spirits involved in any of that."
"What About my contact with the sky-plane? Using a Karyx spell, I might add?"
"That could have been a psychological illusion," Lea shrugged. "Or maybe it was a real contact, but with the sky-plane itself—after all, the stuff could be semi-sentient."
"Oh, come on Corah—"
"I'm sorry, Ravagin, but you have to remember that the kind of spirit intrusion you're talking about is supposed to be impossible. You're bucking a hundred years of theory and experiment here, and with that kind of inertia behind it you need more than just a packet of fuzzy speculation."
"Inertia be damned," Ravagin snapped. "The theories are wrong."
"How, then? How did these spirits of yours manage to cross the telefold?"
And that was the crux of it all. He'd suspected—no, damn it, he'd known—that without that critical piece his report and recommendation would get exactly this kind of reaction. But to commit to the record the technique for calling spirits into Shamsheer or even Threshold itself... "I don't know," he lied with a sigh. "But it's possible. It has to be. What happened to me—to all three of us—can't be explained any other way."
Lea licked her lips. "Ravagin... look, even if it was true, and you could prove that beyond a doubt...
you can't seriously believe the Directors would actually shut Triplet down, let alone seal off the Tunnels. They'd be putting themselves out of prestigious jobs, and at the same time opening themselves up to a hell of a lot of ridicule. That's just not how the universe operates."
"Not even with the word and experience of their best Courier to go on? Not to mention the name mal ce Taeger on the report along with it?"
Lea grimaced. "And you'd be surprised at how much more important the latter seemed to them than the former," she said with a touch of bitterness. "But no, not even that was enough. Not even close.
They're going to send an investigation team in to Karyx to get Melentha's side of the story, but I get the feeling it's more a pro forma response than a real expectation of gleaning any information out of it. She'll deny your accusations, of course, the investigators will funnel the report upstairs, and that'll probably be the end of it."
"Yeah." Ravagin exhaled between clenched teeth. Hart had been right, he thought bitterly; but he'd felt the direct approach would be worth the effort. And now it had cost them two weeks... "If that's all, then, I'll be going."
"Well, actually... no. There's more." She took a deep breath. "You remember that request for a leave of absence you filed a few months ago?"
He'd forgotten all about it, actually. "I do now, yes."
"Well... it's been approved. Starting immediately."
He stared down at her, an icy hand clutching at his heart. "Immediately?" he said slowly. "As in...
when?"
Her eyes slipped away from his. "As in right now. As soon as you leave my office."
Or in other words, his attempt to do this the direct way had actually been worse than useless. He'd been branded a troublemaker—possibly even an unstable one—and they were countering by kicking him out of contact with the entire Triplet system until they could figure out whether that vacation should be made permanent. "Corah, they can't do this. I withdraw the application—"
"I'm sorry, Ravagin, but that won't do any good." She looked back at him with moisture in her eyes.
"The decision's been made, and there's nothing I can do about it."
His hands tightened into fists, the pressure of his fingernails against the skin bringing back the memory of that lonely combat with the parasite spirit in the sky-plane. The spirit hadn't stopped him
—all the spirits in Karyx hadn't stopped him—and he would not be stopped now.
Would not be stopped. "All right, Corah," he said at last. "I'm calling in all the favors you owe me—
all the favors that anyone in the entire Courier Corps owes me. You understand?"
"Ravagin—"
"I'm not here," he interrupted her. "You haven't seen me—haven't been able to find me to give me this message—and therefore I cannot yet officially be barred from the Crosspoint Building or even the Hidden Worlds. You understand?"
"Ravagin, that's crazy," Lea snapped. "I can't just forget to give you an order like that."
"So you sent me the message to come here and I ignored it. Three days, Corah—just let me have three days. Please."
She stared up at him... and slowly, the tears dried and her mouth settled into hard lines. "Two days," she said at last. "I'll give you two days. I can't push it any farther."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Two days," he echoed. "Thanks, Corah."
"You've spent sixteen years earning it." She hesitated. "And I hope to God you're as wrong about this spirit invasion as they think you are upstairs."
There was nothing to say to that. So he said nothing, and left.
The Double Imperial restaurant in Gateway City was, from all appearances, one of the most expensive and exclusive eating places on Threshold—the kind, Ravagin thought only half humorously, where the salad vinegar was handled by the wine steward. The restaurant's walls and ceiling were covered with art objects from all over the Twenty Worlds; the tableware was hand carved from petrified ballisand bone; the flatware was white gold with yellow gold accents. It was an unlikely place for someone of Ravagin's station and income to find himself in, and he felt acutely uncomfortable as he waded through the deep carpet behind the maitre d', sending surreptitious glances at the other immaculately groomed diners they passed. It was a place of elegance, a place for those with sufficient wealth to enjoy spending some of it while immersed in the most civilized atmosphere Threshold had to offer.
It was, in short, a thoroughly unlikely place for a council of war. Which was presumably why Danae and Hart had chosen it.
They were waiting for him when he reached the table. "Well?" Danae asked as the maitre d' seated him and disappeared. "Any word?"
"Yes," he said grimly, "and all of it bad. You were right, Hart—the directors don't care for people who attempt to rock the boat. Not only was my petition turned down flat, but I've been kicked out of the Corps."
"You've been what?" Danae frowned. "But they can't do that... can they?"
Ravagin shrugged. "Officially, they're simply approving my request for a leave of absence—the one I filed months ago, the one they refused to grant then so that they could have me take you into the Hidden Worlds."
"A leave they can easily make more permanent once all the fuss you've raised has died down," Hart murmured, sipping at his wine. "A simple-minded approach, but usually effective for all that."
Danae reached across the table to squeeze Ravagin's hand. "So what happens now?"
The wine steward appeared at Ravagin's elbow before he could answer, filling his glass with a pale pink liquid. "I beat Corah's fingers into giving me two more days," he said when the steward had left.
"But after that, I won't even be allowed into the Crosspoint Building, let alone the Tunnel."
"Two days," Danae murmured, shaking her head. "That's not much time."
"No." Ravagin focused on Hart. "Well, Hart, I guess this is where you get to show that same wonderful magic that got you out of the jail cell you were tossed into at the beginning of all this."
"Whatever contacts and skills I have are at Ms. mal ce Taeger's disposal," Hart said. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Sealing up the Tunnel, of course," Ravagin said grimly. "We'll need a few thousand cubic meters of exocrete, or something even more permanent if you can find it. We'll also need some kind of forged orders to get the stuff into the Dead Zone and on into—" He broke off at the expression on the other's face. "Objection?"