Eric Flint's Blog, page 224

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 01

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 01

The Span Of Empire

By Eric Flint and David Carrico

With K. D. Wentworth

PART I

Reconnaissance

Chapter 1

The gray moon still held a few ruins, mostly extending beneath the surface, while the once habitable planet visible overhead in the airless sky had been scoured lifeless with solar plasma in that gruesome way the Ekhat had so long ago perfected. Suited up against the vacuum, Caitlin Kralik stepped down carefully from the shuttle and rotated her body to get a better view. Inside the helmet, her breathing rasped in her ears and she felt awkward in the low gravity, which was only about a fifth of that of her home world, Earth.

The Ekhat plasma strikes had not been aimed only at the planet. Caitlin had to watch the placement of her feet, because the shuttle had landed at the edge of a strike here on the moon, and the nearby surface was marred by ribbons of solidified molten splash from that attack. She picked her way across the flow until she reached her destination, a structure that was just far enough away from the center of the plasma strike that it had survived, albeit with serious damage.

The pitiful remains of the moon’s former inhabitants, mummified by exposure to vacuum, were scattered across what had once probably been the observation deck of an eating establishment. Thick glass lay shattered in the moon dust, the shards reflecting the starlight like discarded diamonds. Metal struts that had formed the supporting structure had been melted into formless slag that had puddled, then solidified on the ground.

These nameless people, listed nowhere in the Jao database, had been diminutive with long sinuous arms and a multitude of digits that resembled tentacles far more than fingers. Their hairless heads were narrow, their eyes small and recessed deeply into their skulls. They had apparently loved color because red, purple, orange, and blue clothing draped their shriveled torsos.

Many of the mummified corpses were tiny and had fallen clutching one another. Small figures made of a plastic-like substance lay scattered about, most of them crushed, broken, or melted. Caitlin picked one up and turned it over in her gloved hand. It was iridescent blue and seemed to be some sort of animal with an oversized skull and three slender trunks.

Then she realized–they were probably toys. Dear God, these small bodies were most likely children. Had this been some sort of daycare or a creche for the raising of the next generation?

Her eyes felt damp, but Caitlin resisted the urge to weep for these lost people. If she gave into her emotions now, she would have to cry for the rest of her life because the damned Ekhat had apparently been everywhere in this arm of the galaxy, working their way out from the galactic center and killing every sentient being in their path except for those they enslaved. The Ekhat had done their maniac worst here long ago and moved on, seeking more victims.

“These people have obviously been dead for millennia,” she said. “Could even be a million years, who knows? The Ekhat are ancient.” Her fists knotted in frustration. “There’s no way we could ever have gotten here in time to help.”

“We will take measurements,” Kaln krinnu ava Krant said, responding to Caitlin’s rhetorical statement with Jao literalness. “At least, the information will fill out the database and allow our calculations to be more accurate.”

The Jao tech had joined the landing party from the Lexington class ship that the Krant kochan had contributed to the fleet. Caitlin’s shuttle had contained techs from all over the fleet, since it was obvious soon after they had jumped in that the system was lifeless. Kaln wouldn’t be needed on her ship for now and had joined the others to make herself of use by helping with forensics instead of preparing for battle. That of course was the way of things when working with Jao. For them, making oneself of use at all times was of the highest priority.

The Jao stared at her, body neutral, waiting, and Caitlin realized that her statement had actually been a request for direction. Caitlin had oudh, as the Jao termed it, in this search for sentient life and new allies. It was for her to decide how to proceed.

“Yes,” she said. “Please collect samples and take the proper readings.” For all the good it will do these poor lost devils, or even us, for that matter, she told herself.

This was the second dead civilization they had found since they had left Earth almost a year ago out of eighty-one systems visited, working their way by frame gate travel along the Orion arm of the galaxy toward the center. The first one hadn’t been technologically advanced enough to spread beyond their own planet, though.

There might have been sentient populations on two other planets, but if so they’d been too technologically primitive to have left traces after the Ekhat scoured the planets with plasma balls. The expedition had also passed by many more solar systems than they’d investigated, because they’d been able to determine that they didn’t have habitable planets. It was possible that a few survivors of a ravaged species might have been hiding in one of those systems, if they had the technological capability. But the likelihood was remote and they couldn’t check every possibility.

And if they did, they probably wouldn’t have detected anything anyway. Such a species would have to be very well hidden, if they’d been able to escape Ekhat attention.

Caitlin had known the Ekhat were fiercely efficient exterminators. But it was one thing to know it with the logical part of her brain, and another altogether to stand over the remains of slaughtered children and their broken toys.

Kaln’s arms moved in a choppy version of the Jao posture signifying orders-acknowledged. The Jao kochan of Krant, though tough and reliable, was not much taken with fancy body-styling. The Jao was taller than Caitlin, taller even than her husband, Ed, built broad and stocky with heavy bones. Her dark-russet face with its nearly invisible black facial markings, or vai camiti, blinked at her with green-laced black eyes, then Kaln gestured to one of the tech teams emerging from the shuttle with their equipment.

Captain Caewithe Miller, commander of Caitlin’s bodyguard, picked her way through the debris into the shattered observation deck and stared down at the corpses. “We have to stop the Ekhat,” she said. “Things cannot go on like this.”

Caitlin nodded, though the gesture felt foolish in the stiff spacesuit. Someone did need to stop the insane Ekhat in their quest to exterminate all sentient life in the Universe. She just wasn’t sure it could be their Jao/Human/Lleix alliance. The Ekhat were an incredibly old and vicious species, and successful at killing far beyond anything humans had ever imagined before the Jao had conquered Earth.

When the Jao had arrived on her world, over twenty-five years ago, they had defeated Earth’s armies after a short but savage war and then installed their own government. They had informed their new subjects about the dangers of the Ekhat, but humans had not believed them. Even her father, who had been Vice President of the United States at the time of the initial invasion, then later puppet ruler of North America for the Jao, had not credited the stories about the fiendish bogeyman aliens who wanted nothing more than to be alone in the Universe with their own perfection.

What they had not understood in those early days was that the Jao, though consummate warriors and gifted techs, had no capacity for imagination or prevarication. They had been uplifted into sentience long ago by a faction of the Ekhat to serve as warrior-slaves in the ongoing slaughter of all intelligent life. The ability to picture that-which-did-not-exist, what they called ollnat, had been bred out of them long before they finally freed themselves from their terrible masters. They did not make things up because they couldn’t.

When the Ekhat had later attacked Earth, humans realized that the Ekhat were far more terrible than the Jao had ever been able to make them understand. The reality of the Ekhat was a hundred times worse than any tale ever told, no matter how gruesome.

Gabe Tully emerged from the shuttle, a gun slung across his shoulder, although there was no one left to fight here in this depressing moonscape. He had accompanied a squad of his soldiers; not that anyone expected there to be any dangerous Ekhat or other aliens lurking in dark vacuum corners. Still, the occasional need for strong backs still arose, even in this day of starships and solar plasma balls. He hopped toward them, using long gliding strides in the low gravity. “Didn’t leave much, did they?” he said, plowing to a stop just short of Captain Miller.

His tanned face beneath his gold hair surveyed the wreckage and dead bodies. He looked a little green beneath the tan. Caitlin knew he didn’t like space travel and would have much rather remained back on Earth, cajoling the remaining scattered pockets of the human Resistance to come out and use their fierce will to help in the fight against the Ekhat.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 16

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 16

Chapter 3

The Quinta Essentia

December 8, 1615, Padua

Phillip stepped up to the dissection table in the public anatomical theater in the Palazzo Bo off the south west courtyard at the University of Padua. He looked up at the six tiers of galleries, all of them packed, except for a little space either side of a man on the second tier. The observers and students around him were, quite naturally, not pushing up against Professor Giulio Casseri, holder of the chair of surgery at Padua.

The theater was expectant as Phillip bowed his head in honor of his mentor and then pulled back the draping to reveal the cadaver. There were cheers around the theater as students recognized the late and unlamented Professor Hieronymus Fabricius ab Aquapendente, Giulio’s former mentor, and for the last thirty years his most bitter rival, on the dissection table. Not that the rivalry had been Giulio’s fault. He could hardly be blamed for being a much better teacher, but Fabrictus, as Fabricius was known to Giulio’s most devoted admirers for his rigid opposition to innovation, had resented Giulio’s success and popularity and used all the power at his disposal to stifle Giulio’s career. It was therefore fitting that Giulio’s greatest apprentice would be the man to dissect his body.

Phillip held out a hand for the scalpel he would use to make the first incision . . .

“Phillip. Wake up!”

Philip blinked a few times and looked around. He was no longer in the public anatomical theater, unfortunately. It had only been a dream, which was equally unfortunate. He was in his room in Giacomo Sedazzari’s house in Padua. He turned his attention to the person who’d woken him. “I was having the most beautiful dream, I was . . .”

“There’s no time for that,” Francesca Sedazzari said. “We need you to amuse the children.”

Phillip cocked an ear. There were only the faintest sounds of children playing. “They don’t sound so noisy.”

“That’s because I told them that if they were good you would read to them.” Francesca stood with her hands on her hips and stared expectantly at Phillip.

He knew what she was doing. She was trying to intimidate him, and as was usual, succeeding. “Okay, okay.” He hauled himself off his bed and staggered over to the bookshelf. “How long do you want me to entertain them for?’ he asked.

“The feast will be served at noon.”

Phillip looked outside to see if he could estimate the time. Unfortunately, and he was using that word a lot right now, it looked like it was barely after eight. That meant he had to read for four hours. Still, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, as celebrated by the extended Rovarini family, would be more than adequate compensation. He selected a number of books that he hoped would take at least four hours to read and headed for the door.

“I’ll see that refreshments are sent over soon,” Francesca called.

****

Phillip was mobbed by the children the moment he stepped into the front room. Eager hands relieved him of the books while equally eager, but smaller, hands took hold of his and led him away. It was almost a tradition now when the Rovarini families gathered that Phillip would read to the children to keep them out from underfoot while the womenfolk got on with preparing the meals and the men got everything else ready. Not that Phillip minded. It was a completely new experience for him to be so much a part of a family.

A space in Giacomo’s barn had been prepared. There was a lamp so Phillip had enough light to read, and the straw and hay around Phillip’s seat were festooned with children wrapped up in blankets to keep warm. Phillip sat down on an oversized blanket and wrapped it around himself before he picked up the first book. He snuggled down on his chair of straw and made himself comfortable. The sense of anticipation in the barn was almost palpable.

Phillip had been forced by children constantly complaining that they couldn’t hear to develop a speaking voice that could fill the barn. Once he’d mastered that he’d gone on to develop the ability to give identity and personality to the characters so the children could keep track of who was who. It wasn’t a quiet reading, because Phillip didn’t encourage silence. He changed his voice to suit the characters and changed his tempo to reflect events in the story. He interacted with the children, making them part of the experience, and they responded by hanging onto his every word. He loved the feeling it gave him. He imagined that this must be something like what Professor Casseri felt when he gave a lecture.

The end came as a bit of a shock to Phillip. He finished one book and automatically reached out for another, only to feel nothing but an empty space where the books should have been. He looked apologetically to the children, and realized they’d been joined by most of the adults. “Is it time for supper?” he asked.

Standing close to the main door Francesca nodded.

Phillip glanced down at the plate of refreshments that he had been provided, and discovered it to be empty. He must have eaten everything without noticing, which was a shame, because Paola Rovarini’s panettone was something to be savored. He fought his way out of his blankets and got to his feet. “Well, children, it seems dinner is about to be served, so reading time is over.”

There was a satisfying heartfelt sea of moans as the children got to their feet and packed up their blankets before walking off. Phillip was amongst the last to leave, with Francesca and her husband waiting for him at the door.

“Thank you for keeping then amused,” Francesca said as Phillip joined them.

“No, thank you for treating me as one of the family,” Phillip said. “I enjoy reading to them, and they certainly enjoy being read to.” He glanced back to check his lamp and blanket had been taken collected before stepping out into the cold with his landlady and her husband.

A few days later

The lecture on theoretical medicine was exploring how to treat a fever and Phillip had to hold onto his seat to prevent himself shooting to his feet and protesting loudly when Dr. Francesco Piazzono started to talk about the virtues of bloodletting.

“The objective is to remove only enough blood to induce syncope, at which point the . . .”

“. . . patient is almost dead,” Phillip muttered his own ending to the sentence. Unfortunately, his utterance fell into an untimely silence and was heard by most of the room. There was a collective, and noisy, intake of breath as the audience waited to see how Dr. Piazzono would react.

He reacted by singling out Phillip. “What was that you said, Signor Gribbleflotz?”

“Nothing, Dr. Piazzono,” he said, hoping that the pontificating Paduan hadn’t heard him

“I’m sure I heard you say something while I was describing the proper way to bleed a patient, Signor Gribbleflotz.”

Phillip made eye contact with Dr. Piazzono. “All I said was that bloodletting to syncope can kill the patient.”

Dr. Piazzono folded his arms and glared at Phillip. “It is not the bloodletting that kills the patient, Signor Gribbleflotz. It is the gross imbalance of the humors that causes the blood to overheat that kills. One bleeds a feverish patient to purge their body of the feverous blood. Health will be restored as the liver produces new blood.”

Phillip shook his head. “I board with an animal doctor, and he never bleeds an animal, no matter how feverish it might be. And they always recover.” In truth some of them died, but Phillip knew that bleeding them wouldn’t have helped, so they didn’t really count.

“I am not impressed by whatever a common farrier may or may not do, Gribbleflotz. Man is more complex than a beast”

Phillip wanted to protest that Giacomo Sedazzari was more than a common farrier, but to the left of Dr. Piazzono he caught his mentor’s eye. Professor Giulio Casseri’s almost undetectable shake of his head told Phillip to stop arguing. But he couldn’t resist one final salvo. “Paracelsus held that bloodletting drains the life-essence from the patient, and that you should be treating the disease with drugs.”

 

Through Fire – Snippet 01

Through Fire – Snippet 01

Through Fire

Sarah A. Hoyt

Liberte

When Worlds Collide

A spaceship mechanic has no place in a fairytale, not even when she’s dressed in a flowing gown and being courted by one of Earth’s most powerful men.

I was designed to be able to repair spaceships and to navigate them home safely. I had calluses on my hands from working with heavy tools on delicate machinery. I was strong enough to kill a grown man with a casual blow. And I had a burner strapped to my ankle under my ball-gown.

The man courting me was a scoundrel, a dictator, and likely a murderer. And we were dancing at a spun-sugar palace, atop a fairytale seacity. It was his ballroom, his palace and his seacity. He was my only protector on Earth and my host for the last six months. He wanted me. He had been gentle and caring and solicitous of me. I wanted to escape the happy-ever-after fairytale ending.

You should be careful what you wish for.

It was a relief when the palace exploded.

We’d been dancing, Simon and I and more than a hundred other couples, twirling on the black polished dimatough floor of his ballroom while the light of massive chandeliers shone from softly glistening white walls.

It used to be the palace of the Good Man of Liberte seacity. Simon was a Good Man, one of fifty hereditary rulers who, between them, split the vastness and wealth of the Earth. Or at least he had been.

The people gathered in the ballroom sported outfits that seemed to be spun of butterfly wings, and that defied the shape of the human body. Other clothing harked back to the fantastical age of empires almost seven hundred years before — long, sweeping dresses and molding outfits in materials that were better than velvet and silk. My own dress was made of a form of ceramic. It felt like satin to the touch, but its dull black heft shone with pinpoints of light, as if stars had got caught in its depths. Simon had picked it for me and had it carried in by proud couturiers that very morning, its fine, slippery folds wrapped in silk and beribboned, like a fantastic gift.

Liberte seacity had been formed by a bankers’ consortium at the close of the twenty first century, and like the other seacities back then it was created as a refuge from high taxes and excessive government regulation and oversight. Unlike other seacities, it had never been designed to host any industry, any useful output. Instead, it owned other seacities — Shangri-la, Xanadu and, later, after the Fish War, several European territories — where the workday business took place. Liberte itself had been designed as a resort for those at the pinnacle of that long-vanished world. It climbed up in terraces, and idyllic beaches climbing through terraces with carefully landscaped gardens, like a dream of an Arcadia that never was. Its inevitable utilitarian levels –where valets and maids, law enforcers and garbage collectors lived — were hidden, out of sight, by ceilings that formed the ground of the next level.

Approaching Liberte from the air, as I’d first done, one saw it only as a sort of white and green confection, something like an idealized wedding cake.

The palace of the Good Man topped the cake: white and surrounded by columns and terraces, built with an airy grace that would have been impossible without poured dimatough and sculpted ceramite. It might have fit a previous age’s dream of a fairy palace, an immortal fantasy.

The ballroom sat at the very top of it all, and its walls alternated with vast panels of transparent dimatough, through which — as the night fell — you could watch the sea, glistening in every direction, all around us, blue and still like a perfect mirror.

As we twirled to a tune called “Liberte” and composed for this ball, I faltered. I looked through the window at the troop transports moored in that smooth sea. I’d known they were there: a vast, dark menace that encircled us, the much larger forces massed against Simon and the other rebels against the regime of the Good Men that had held the Earth for three hundred years. Simon and the other rebels were, at least in theory, trying to free their particular portions of the world. Even if I had my doubts about Simon’s sincerity.

“Why are you looking out the window?” asked Simon St. Cyr, ci-devant Good Man of Liberte seacity, who, by a stroke of the pen, had made himself “Protector of the People and Head of the Glorious Revolution.”

He was slightly shorter than I, had brown hair, brown eyes and looked unremarkable. Which I’d come to believe was protective coloration to stop people wondering what he might be plotting. He had been created as the clone of a man once designed as a superspy, and for the last ten years he’d lived a life where his only safety came from acting foolish and shallow. Sometimes I wondered if he knew where the act started. And where it stopped.

His hand rested on my waist, long fingers transmitting an impression of controlled strength through the pliable fabric.

“I’m looking at those troop carriers,” I said, concentrating on the music and the movement of my feet. It didn’t take that much effort, because I too had been created, not born in the normal way, and I’d been designed for speed and agility and grace.

Simon looked over my shoulder at the transports, and made a face, half dismissal and half amusement. “Oh, that,” he said and shrugged a little, contriving to give the impression that the glistening transports, each of them able to carry more than a thousand armed men, were a negligible detail like a speck of dust on the floor of his polished ballroom. “Don’t worry, ma petite.”

I’d not yet decided if Simon’s habit of larding his speech with archaic French words annoyed me or amused me, but calling me “little” pushed it, since I was at least two inches taller than him. Impatience colored my tone, as I said, “But shouldn’t you be worried? These people depend on you for their safety.” And this was true. As far as there was an authority in the seacity, it was Simon, whose predecessors had commanded it from time immemorial, and who had the loyalty of all troops and functionaries. At least in theory. Whether he called himself Good Man or Protector, he reigned here.

He made a sound, not quite a chuckle at the back of his throat. “And they’re perfectly safe,” he said. “Listen, those troop carriers aren’t going to do anything, pour cause.”

“And the cause is?”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 34

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 34

“I was a boy once, too.”

Gracie and I both rolled down our windows so that we could listen for the chopper. I glanced up at the sky, but didn’t spot it.

“It’s behind us still,” Gracie said. “Coming in fast.”

At the end of the campground loop, I hesitated, wondering which way to go. The monument roads were scenic, windy, and slow; if we took one of them, we risked getting stuck behind a camper. But the only other road was the state road leading north, back toward Ajo, or south toward the Mexican border. It was straight as a string, with few turnoffs.

“Ideas?” I asked.

“The mountain drive is rough,” Gracie said. “Lots of up and down. There aren’t many places where a helicopter can set down.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I followed signs to the drive, which was little more than a dirt road barely wide enough for two-way traffic. We hadn’t been on it for two minutes before we found ourselves stuck behind a camper. Fortunately, the driver noticed us and used a turnout to let us pass.

I sped up, and though the road was rough, I was able to cut across an open basin filled with saguaros and organ pipes, making pretty good time. On the far side of the basin, the road split into a one-way loop and began to climb into some rocky hills.

“They’re right over us,” Gracie said, pulling out her Ruger.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to. I’d bet every penny I have that they’re warded.”

She frowned, but didn’t raise the weapon.

The drive was growing rougher by the minute, and the kids were bouncing around the cab like rubber balls. I didn’t think my dad would be pleased with what I was doing to his struts and shocks.

Something streaked downward into the road only a few feet in front of us, and when it hit, flames erupted from the pavement. I jammed on the brakes. Gracie’s left arm shot out, pinning the kids to the seat like one of those metal bars on an amusement park ride.

A second impact behind us shook the truck. I checked the rearview mirror. Fire blocked our way back as well.

“I don’t think we’re driving any farther,” I said over the pounding of the helicopter rotors, which were growing louder by the minute.

Magic brushed my skin. I glanced at Gracie and then at the blaze in front of us. The flames wavered but didn’t go out. She tried the spell — whatever it was — a second time. Again, the fire guttered, like a candle in a hard wind. But still it burned, perhaps even a bit brighter than before.

“Damn it!” she muttered.

Emmy shook her head like a disapproving parent. “You owe us a quarter, Mommy. Each!”

Zach actually laughed. I was starting to like these kids.

“Yes, I do,” Gracie said. But she was watching me.

I recited a warding spell in my head, the most comprehensive I could think of. I visualized it as a set of domes, one for each of us. Clear, flexible, stretching from head to toe, impermeable to magic and bullets and anything else those guys in the chopper might throw down at us. I held tight to the magic, allowing it to build, until at last I released the spell and felt my shield cover my body. This time both Emmy and Gracie stared at me.

“What was that?” Emmy asked.

“A spell to keep you safe, to keep all of us safe.”

A moment later a second spell draped over me.

Gracie eyed me, daring me to complain. “If you think I’m going to put all my trust in another person’s warding, you’re nuts.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

One corner of her mouth quirked upward.

“We’re going to get out of the truck,” I told the kids. “Stick close to your mom, all right?”

I hesitated, but then pulled my Glock from its holster. In my opinion, firearms and children don’t mix; I don’t like having my weapon out where kids can even see it. But in this case, I wasn’t willing to leave the car unarmed.

“Cool!” Zach said. “Can I see?”

I held it up, well beyond his reach.

“I mean –”

“I know what you meant. This isn’t the time or place.”

He scowled.

“This way out, kiddo,” his mom said.

She pushed open her door. I did the same.

Once again, as soon as my boots hit the pavement, I felt the moon, its pressure on my mind about as light as an anvil.

The helicopter, shiny and black, unmarked as far as I could see, hovered above us. Five blades, a rear horizontal stabilizer with a vertical two bladed rear rotor, and a smallish pod that might have held four people. I was guessing this was an MD 500, or maybe a 530, given the terrain. Small, fast, agile, and maneuverable enough to track us no matter where we might go.

I couldn’t tell from this angle how many people were inside, but at least one guy had his door open and held what appeared to be a high-powered rifle. Even directly overhead, he was too far away for a clear view, but I thought I saw a blur of magic on his face.

We struck out into the desert. There was no trailhead here, but the terrain was open enough that we could scramble over rock and dirt anyway. Unfortunately this also meant that they could see us.

“I think the one with the weapon is a weremyste.”

“They all are,” Gracie said, speaking with such certainty that I didn’t dare question her.

A sharp, flat sound drew my eyes skyward once more. The gunman had Gracie sighted, but he didn’t look at all pleased.

“That was a good warding,” she said.

“He shot at us?”

“At me. He missed.”

“That didn’t sound like a –”

“I don’t think it’s a regular rifle.”

Of course. “Probably a trank.”

“What’s a trank?” Zach asked.

“It’s a kind of bullet that would have put me to sleep,” Gracie said.

That was a better answer than I would have given. At least we knew they didn’t want her dead. Me, on the other hand, they probably didn’t care about one way or another.

The helicopter banked away from us, flew a tight circle, and hovered over the road. After a moment it began to descend. It would be a tight fit, but apparently the pilot believed he could land the thing on that dirt track.

“Up there,” I said, pointing toward the nearest of the rocky peaks surrounding us.

Gracie’s brow furrowed. “It’ll be slow going.” Her gaze flicked in Zach’s direction. “He’s just five.”

“I can carry him if I have to. But they’re going to be on foot, and I want the higher ground.”

She faltered, nodded.

“Hey, Zach,” I said. “Think you can climb this mountain?”

He stopped to gaze at the summit, an open hand shading his eyes, his disappointment at not getting to hold my pistol seemingly forgotten. “You mean to the top?”

“The very tippity top.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Emmy, how about you?”

“If he can, I can,” she said. But she was staring back at the copter, fear in her dark eyes. “Mommy?”

Something in the girl’s tone stopped Gracie in her tracks. “What is it, sweetie?”

“He’s here. The old man.”

Even I understood. The silver-haired gentleman. Fitzwater.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Gracie grabbed both kids by the hand and led them up the hillside. “She’s always sure.”

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 15

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 15

****

Later that day a very impatient Phillip accompanied Giacomo at what he considered a snail’s pace down to the river. Phillip looked around, not sure what he should be looking for. “Are we there yet?” he asked.

“Not far now,” Giacomo said.

Not far turned out to be another half mile — the good people of Padua wanted trades such as the knackers as far away as possible from where they lived. When they stepped into the knacker’s yard Phillip saw a horse strung up on a butcher’s scaffold and a man hard at work disemboweling the carcass.

“Hey, Giovanni. Can you spare a moment?” Giacomo called out as they approached.

Giovanni looked around at the interruption. “Hi, Giacomo. How can I help you?” he asked as he ran his knife a couple of times against a honing steel.

Giacomo tapped Phillip’s shoulder. “Phillip here wants some bones, preferably skulls.”

Giovanni turned to Phillip. “What do you want the bones for?”

“To make cupels.”

Giovanni nodded. “So you’ll want fully rendered ones then, follow me.” He led Phillip to a pile of clean white skull from a wide variety of animals. “How much do you want?”

Phillip told Giovanni how much he wanted to pay and between them they filled a basket with a number of sheep skulls. They returned to the yard to find Giacomo examining the carcass.

“I hope you weren’t intending to use the guts for anything,” Giacomo said.

“Why, what’s wrong,”‘ Giovanni demanded.

“Come and have a look at the mouth. Tell me what you see.” Giovanni had a look and stepped back cursing.

“What’s the problem?” Phillip asked.

“Have you heard of Spanish Fly?” Giacomo asked. Phillip shook his head. “It’s an insect that can be found in hay. It can be poisonous if eaten.”

“And this horse died after eating an insect?” Phillip asked.

“That or its eggs.” Giacomo turned to Giovanni. “Give me your butchering knife for a minute, would you.”

“What’re you planning on doing?” Giovanni asked as he handed Giacomo his knife.

“Teach Phillip why he never wants to try Spanish Fly,” Giacomo said as he carefully cut out a chunk from the horses kidney. With the chunk speared on the knife Giacomo walked towards Phillip.

“What are you going to do with that?” Phillip asked warily.

“Some people think Spanish Fly is an aphrodisiac,” Giacomo said conversationally as he wiped the bit of kidney along Phillip’s forearm. “They don’t realize that it’s really a dangerous poison.

“They will when they start pissing blood the next day,” Giovanni said.

Phillip looked at the smear of blood on his arm and went to wipe it with his right hand.

“No, don’t touch it!”‘ Giacomo said. He turned to Giovanni. “Do you have some soap and water?”

“Over there,” Giovanni said, pointing to a bucket and towel a short distance from the butchering scaffold.

Giacomo scraped the bit of kidney off the knife and stabbed the knife into a wood block before dragging Phillip over to the water and washed his arm with soap and water.

“What was that all about?” Philip asked.

Giacomo smiled at Phillip. “As I said, there are people who would use Spanish Fly as an aphrodisiac. It makes you hard and can keep you hard all night, but the next day, if it hasn’t killed you, you’ll find it painful to piss, and as Giovanni said, sometimes you piss blood.”

“How do you know all this?” Phillip asked.

Giacomo grinned. “I too was young and foolish once. Have you got what we came for?”

Phillip gestured to the basket full of skulls.

“Right, let’s get home.” Giacomo turned to Giovanni. “The red meat should be safe enough, but I don’t want to hear that you sold any of the guts for consumption,” Giacomo warned Giovanni.

“Yes, yes, I understand. I’m not a fool, Giacomo. Now you and your young friend can leave me alone to complete butchering the animal.”

****

Later that day Phillip was breaking up skulls so they could be reduced to ash on Giacomo’s forge when he noticed there were blisters on his arm. He ran out to find Giacomo to ask what was going on.

“Those blisters are caused by bits of Spanish Fly in the kidney of the dead horse.” Giacomo smiled grimly at Phillip. “Imagine what it would be like inside your body if you were to take some of the crushed beetle as an aphrodisiac?”

Phillip looked at the blisters on his arm and did what Giacomo told him to do, he imagined those same blisters forming inside his body. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “I don’t think I’ll try Spanish Fly.”

“Good. That’s a smart choice.”

“But how will I know if someone is offering me Spanish Fly? They might call it something else. What does it look like?”

Giacomo stared intently at Phillip before coming to a decision. “I’ve got some I can show you.”

“Why do you have it,” Phillip asked.

Giacomo sighed. “Sometimes a client demands that I use it to excite a stallion who they want to breed.”

“But you don’t like doing it?”

“No I don’t,” Giacomo said. “It’s a poison that can so easily kill the horse. But if I don’t do as they ask, the owner will just find someone else who will.”

Phillip understood Giacomo’s position. “You feel it is better that you administer the dose rather than let someone who probably doesn’t know what they are doing does it and ends up poisoning the animal.”

****

In order to make the best cupels all the impurities have to be removed from the ashes. They can be removed by floating off the lighter impurities such as charcoal dust and anything else that floats, while the heavier impurities such as fine sand and stones will settle in the bottom of the container. It was a relatively easy matter to pour off the light impurities, but the heavy ones needed someone extremely meticulous to remove them all.

Phillip was naturally extremely meticulous in his procedures, so it came as no surprise to him that Leonardo da Vinci proclaimed his satisfaction with his cupels. With somewhere to work Philip was able to start making acids for sale to the local alchemists — acids that were significantly purer than anything anyone else was selling, and therefore could command a premium price. Phillip was well set to continue his studies at Padua.

Friday January 10, 1614, the assay office, Augsburg

Ulrich Hechstetter sipped from the glass of strong liquor and pulled a face. “It’s not as good as last year,” he said.

The other senior staff at the assay office sipped their drinks made from the bottles given to them by the apprentices in a tradition started only five years ago. “It’s not bad,” Wilhelm Neuffer said, “but I can almost taste the base alcohol they made it from.”

“I wonder who made it,” Paul Paler said.

“It can’t be Phillip Gribbleflotz. Not this year,” Jakob Reihing said.

“You think it was Gribbleflotz last year?” Ulrich asked.

Jakob nodded. “And the year before that, and the year before that, and the year before that.”

“That’s impossible,” Wilhelm Neuffer said. “I admit he has the skills to do it, but he has never been out of sight long enough to do it? When he wasn’t working he was either sleeping, in the library, or working on his experiments.”

Ulrich studied Jakob. He had the look of a particularly proud teacher who knew one of his students had managed to put one over the school. “How could he do it, Jakob? Wilhelm has said he was always around.”

“That’s when I think he did it.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Wilhelm said, shaking his head.

“I think I understand what Jakob’s getting at,” Paul said. He looked at Jakob. “You think he slipped some extra retorts onto the distilling furnace.”

Jakob nodded. “It’s the only way Gribbleflotz could have pulled it off.”

Wilhelm whistled. “I wouldn’t have thought Gribbleflotz had it in him, at least not four years ago.”

“Remember that as soon as it was obvious Gribbleflotz knew what he was doing on the distillation furnace we virtually left him alone to get on with the task of distilling things?” Jakob asked. “Well, I bet the other apprentices noticed that and suggested he might slip in an extra retort or two.”

In his mind’s eye Ulrich could easily visualize the scene. Phillip Gribbleflotz had quickly gained a well-deserved reputation for the care and attention he put into running the distillation furnace. With plenty of other work to do and other apprentices who really needed to be watched it was no surprise that Gribbleflotz had been left to get on with his tasks. “And he wants to be a doctor,” he complained. “What a waste of talent.”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 33

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 33

I flung myself out of the tent into another cool, clear morning. Gracie and her children were up and eating breakfast. The sound of the little boy laughing tempered my mood a bit. I zipped the tent shut and carried a change of clothes to the nearest restroom. I felt Gracie watching me as I walked past their site, but I ignored her.

She didn’t give me the chance to do the same on the way back. As I neared their site, she stepped out into the road in front of me.

“You got back late.”

“You my mom now?”

Her smile was thin and reflexive. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“I suppose.”

I stepped around her and walked to my site. She followed.

“So I was thinking maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe we could use your help.”

“That so?”

“I’m trying to apologize, all right? Could you give me a break?”

I turned so suddenly that she had to stop short to avoid walking into me. “Tell me about the break-in at your house.”

“How did you –”

“I used to be a cop, remember. I still have friends on the job.”

She pushed her hands into her pockets. “The break-in happened after the kids and I left. But from what Neil told me, it sounded like someone went through all of our stuff, the way they would if they were searching for something. A lot of things got broken — picture frames, plates and glasses, some of Neil’s stereo equipment. But they didn’t take much.”

“Did they take anything at all?”

A frown knitted her brow. “I assumed they did. I guess I don’t know for certain.”

“What do you think they were after?”

“I don’t know.”

She took no time to think about it, and though she looked me in the eye as she said this, I didn’t believe her.

“I think you’re lying to me.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of judgment.”

“They’re going to find it, you know. Something like that can’t stay hidden for long. And whoever has it is going to wind up dead.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She pivoted on her heel and started away from me.

“Did he steal it from them?” I asked, following her now. I didn’t want to use Neil’s name out loud, because I thought the kids would hear. I figured she would know who I meant. “Is that the real reason you left?”

“I told you yesterday why I left.”

“And I’m not sure I believe that, either.”

She halted and faced me, her arms thrown wide. “Why would I lie to you?”

“Because you’re scared. Because you’re in more trouble than you want to admit, and you don’t see a way out. But you think that maybe, if you can simply keep your head down for long enough, it’ll all blow over. And I’m here to tell you it won’t.” I glanced past her toward the kids. Emmy watched me, her expression as hard as her mom’s. “If Neil’s as much a fool as I think he is,” I went on in a whisper, “and he did what I think he did, there’s no running away from this.”

“Neil didn’t do anything wrong.”

She spun away from me again. Once more I wanted to ask her why she was so eager to defend him. But before I could speak, a sound reached me, one that had no business being here, one that stopped me cold.

Gracie halted in mid-stride, and stood stock still in the road, her head canted to the side, as if she was listening for it as well: the dull chop of a helicopter. I searched the sky. She did the same, even as she pulled the Ruger from her pocket. The chopper was still some distance away, and several seconds passed before I managed to pick it out of the featureless blue sky.

“Mommy?”

Emmy and Zach were running toward us, Emmy pulling her brother along by the hand.

“I know, sweetie.” Gracie squatted down and put one hand on Emmy’s shoulder and one on Zach’s. “I need you both to be brave, okay?”

The kids nodded.

“Get back in your tent,” I said. “Maybe if they don’t see us –”

“They don’t need to see us,” Gracie said. “They sense us.”

“Is it Daddy?” Zach asked, squinting up at the sky.

Gracie shook her head. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

I continued to mark the chopper’s approach. “Well, if we’re not going to hide-”

“I’m going to blow them out of the sky.”

I turned to her. “They could be cops. You don’t want the police after you for killing one of your own. And we’re not even certain they’re here for you.”

“I am,” Emmy said, eyeing me, her expression grave but perfectly composed. “I can tell.”

I didn’t want to believe her, but I did. And the truth was, I thought I could tell, too. Everything about that copter felt wrong. It didn’t belong here, and appeared to be headed straight for us. Not for the monument, but for us in particular. Even the police wouldn’t be that precise.

“My truck then.” I ran to the tent to retrieve my Glock and the Sig Sauer.

“What good –”

“It can deal with dirt and gravel better than your minivan,” I said.

“Okay, let me get the booster seats.”

I gaped at her. “Seriously?”

Gracie’s cheeks shaded to crimson. “Mom moment. Never mind.” She shepherded her children to the truck. “Kids, we’re going in Mister . . .”

“Fearsson.”

“Right. Mister Fearsson’s truck. And this once you’re going to have to ride without your boosters.”

Zach’s eyes went as wide as saucers, and seemingly for the first time since my arrival, Emmy grinned.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really.” To me Gracie said, “I’ll be right back.”

She ran to her site. I helped the kids into the truck. Gracie came back moments later with an old day pack and a huge stuffed animal — a zebra — that looked like it had been through a war or two. She squeezed in next to Emmy and handed the zebra to Zach. He hugged it to his chest like it was a puppy, even though the thing was about as big as he was. Together they looked like something out of a comic strip.

There was no back seat, and not a lot of room up front, but this was an old truck and it wasn’t made with bucket seats. Rather, there was one long seat stretching from door to door. We all fit, though it was snug. I started the truck up, pulled out of my site, and drove around the loop way faster than I should have. As I drove, I put a warding on the pickup, taking care to include the tires.

Zach turned to his mom, panic in his tiny face. “I need blankie, too!”

“This shouldn’t take long, kiddo. Blankie will be fine without you for a little while.”

His face reddened, and even without knowing much about children, I sensed a tantrum coming on.

I reached across them, opened up the glove compartment, and was pleased to find that my dad still had an old pair of Korvette’s brand binoculars in the car.

“Hey, Zach,” I said, handing them to him. “Can you hold these for me and keep an eye out for Gila monsters?”

“What are Gila monsters?”

“Really big lizards. Very cool things to see. They might be on the road.”

“Yeah, okay! Mom, I’m looking for Hee-lo monsters!”

“I heard,” Gracie said. But she was watching me from the far end of the seat, seeming to reappraise me.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 24

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 24

CHAPTER 9

DaSaenz Estate, Jardin

Where the hell am I? Daniel thought. He was seeing the interior of Starscape Caverns, but the glowworms were racing about like startled cockroaches. What Hell am I in?

Daniel opened his eyes. His head hurt, his left arm was an icy lump attached to his shoulder, and his vision was as blurry as if he were under water. He lay on a blue couch, his toes sticking over the open end and his head lifted on the low arm at the other.

His feet were bare and he was naked beneath an amazingly soft sheet.

“He’s coming around,” said Adele, seated near his head on a chair whose upholstery matched that of the couch.

Daniel turned toward her. There was a white flash inside his skull. It was a moment before he could see anything again.

“Not very far around,” he croaked, closing his eyes and opening them again carefully after a moment. “The last time I felt this way, I’d been drinking Power Room alcohol that we’d cut with spoiled grape juice.”

Hogg and Miranda were across the room, placing someone in a side-loading Medicomp. Daniel couldn’t see who it was. As blurry as his vision was, he couldn’t have sworn to Miranda and Hogg.

“An hour ago you were telling anybody who would listen that you were all right,” Adele said. “None of us did listen, of course.”

“That’s good,” said Daniel, “because I was lying.”

He relaxed again with his eyes closed. His voice was getting stronger with use, and the dizziness seemed to be going away. “What’s the damage, then?”

“Your left ulna, that’s in the forearm, was cracked,” Adele said. “Your skull wasn’t broken thanks to your having gotten your arm up so promptly, but you have contra-cu injuries to your brain. The Medicomp reversed the swelling before it did permanent damage, but the drugs will be affecting you for at least the next twelve hours. And you’ve got a splint on your left arm, of course.”

Hogg and Miranda walked to where Daniel lay. Tovera and a woman Daniel didn’t know moved in front of the Medicomp. They must have been standing farther into the room than Daniel could see without sitting up or craning his neck over the arm of the couch. The way he felt now, Daniel wasn’t that interested in much of anything.

“That’s daSaenz?” Daniel said quietly, hooking his thumb in the direction of the Medicomp.

“That’s Timothy daSaenz,” Adele said. She nodded to the unfamiliar woman who was now joining them. “And this is our hostess, Mistress Carlotta daSaenz.”

Carlotta daSaenz must have had lush good looks when she was in her twenties, but she was nearly fifty now and was fighting a losing battle with her weight. Daniel winced, thinking of his own waistline. She clasped her hands together before her and said, “Captain Leary, on behalf of my family and myself. What my son attempted to do was…”

She shook her head slowly as though she was looking for a word in the pattern of the carpet.

“Insane,” she said. “Unbelievable. Unforgiveable.”

Carlotta raised her eyes and went on, “I am the head of the family so this was my responsibility, but I knew nothing of what Timothy intended. I swear to you as a mother!”

“What did your son intend?” Daniel asked. He felt and sounded calm, though raspy. The drugs probably had something to do with that, though in fact he was usually clinical about events in the past. He was alive and Miranda was uninjured; that was good enough.

“I met Timothy Dorst when I was a young woman,” Carlotta said. “I was giving a party for my friends and I thought that an RCN supply ship might have something exotic that would give me a coup.”

She had raised her head, but she was looking in the direction of a painting on the wall above Daniel’s couch. From his angle it seemed to be of flowers, but he doubted his hostess had any real interest in it.

“I spoke with a young midshipman who agreed to provide forty servings of pepperfish,” Carlotta said. “If I would invite him to the party also. And I did.”

“Pepperfish is very tasty,” Daniel said. That was true, at least fresh-caught off the coast of Bantry. A replenishment ship probably carried it frozen in bulk, so forty missing servings weren’t going to set off any alarms.

He had spoken to urge Carlotta along. She’d stopped to stare at her hands as she wrung them together.

“He was so handsome…” Carlotta whispered. “And so different from anyone I knew. Even my friends who’d been off Jardin had only seen people like themselves and places like here. Timothy was…”

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Hogg startled Daniel by whipping a doily one-handed from under the flower arrangement on the table nearby and putting it into Carlotta’s hands. The vase rattled but didn’t fall over.

Carlotta blew her nose and nodded gratefully toward Hogg. She didn’t resume speaking.

“Midshipman Dorst was the father of your son?” Daniel asked gently.

“No, no,” said Carlotta. “Timothy was Jacques’ son, my husband after I married. But Timothy, Midshipman Dorst, was the only man I ever loved or could love. I kept thinking he would come back some day. I dreamed that he would. But of course he had his career. And had his wife.”

She turned to Miranda and dipped her head in formal acknowledgement. “And that was proper,” Carlotta said, “because he was a man. I would not have loved Timothy if he were not a man.”

Miranda nodded back, still-faced. She said, “Did you hate my father?”

“I love him, dear,” Carlotta said. She seemed to have forgotten that the two of them weren’t alone in the room. “I loved him then and I love him now. My Timothy did not come back, but he sent his daughter who has his eyes and his smile. You make my heart well again, dear Miranda.”

“Why did your son try to kill Captain Leary?” Adele said. She didn’t normally interject when a subject was speaking freely, but perhaps she wanted to guide the discussion.

“That was why,” Carlotta said with a sad smile. “I took my family name back after the divorce. I told Timothy that I would always love him as my son, but that I had never loved his father. The daughter of the man I still love was coming to visit me, and if I felt after meeting her as I did now, I would make her co-heir with him.”

“So your son stood to lose a lot of money,” Daniel said. He was still woozy and he wasn’t sure that he’d fully taken in all he was being told, but the motive seemed clear.

“The daSaenz wealth is beyond computation!” Carlotta said. “Timothy doesn’t have expensive tastes any more than I do. All he really cares about are the caves…but he cared more about the caves than I understood.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then resumed, “He kept saying, screaming really, ‘You can’t give the caves up to an outsider, even part ownership!’ And I said that I was head of the family, and that I would follow my heart.”

“But didn’t you…” Daniel said, but he was losing the thought in the fog of his mind. “You sent him to greet us, I mean?”

“I did not,” Carlotta said forcefully. “I knew Mistress Miranda was coming, but I didn’t know when. ‘In about another week’ I was told by our agents at the port, that was how long it would take a yacht from Cinnabar to arrive even if you lifted at the time you planned to.”

“We radioed down when the Princess Cecile reached Jardin orbit,” Adele said. Though polite, her voice was that of a displeased Lady Mundy.

“Timothy had directed that all messages regarding Captain Leary’s arrival be given to him alone,” Carlotta said stiffly. “He had given those orders to both the port agent and to my steward. He said it was a family matter and that I had told him to deal with it.”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 32

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 32

Questions and thoughts churned in my head the whole way back to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. The sun set not long after I cleared the boundary of the Gila River Community, but its glow lingered in the sky for a long time, and soft light clung to the desert hills and saguaros and mesquite trees I passed along the way.

There is something eerie and yet calming about driving on desert roads in twilight. Distances telescope, the eyes play tricks on the mind. I saw few cars or trucks as I made my way back to the monument, but when I did see one, time seemed to slow and then accelerate. Headlights appeared on the horizon as bright and clear as the gibbous moon. But always they were farther away than I thought, so that I felt as though I was standing still. Right up until the other vehicle and my father’s truck reached each other, at which point the lights flashed by with a rush of air that shook the pickup. And then the desert was plunged into relative darkness once more, at least until the next pair of lights winked into view.

All this time I had been convinced that Saorla, Silver-hair, and their allies were after Gracie and her children because of the power they wielded or might one day wield. Jacinto Amaya had led me to believe as much, as had Gracie herself. And I had been all too willing to believe it. Emmy was manifesting abilities no eight year-old should have, and based on what I’d seen in the Burger Royale, Gracie was a skilled runecrafter. All things being equal, Saorla would want them fighting on her side in this coming war.

But I knew now that I should have questioned my assumptions long ago. As powerful as Gracie might have been, Saorla had lots of powerful weremancers at her disposal. Thinking about it, I would have guessed that Gracie escaped Silver-hair at the restaurant not because she was stronger than he, but because she was willing to do anything to get away, and he wasn’t willing to kill her. He had to have been holding back, knowing that if she got away then, he would find her again eventually.

Gracie might have been a powerful weremyste, but she wasn’t so strong as to be worth all this effort. And in the same way, all of Emmy’s value right now lay in her potential. Saorla had years to turn the girl to her purposes. Why would she be so eager to take the girl now?

Unless this wasn’t about Gracie and Emmy at all. Unless Saorla was really after the knife.

An attack on the home of an old collector in the middle of nowhere. A double murder at a pawn shop in Glendale. And a remark Kona made in passing the day before when we were arguing about Neil Davett. They had a break-in at their house not that long ago. You want me to arrest him for that, too?

Could the three incidents be related? Was that why Saorla wanted Gracie and the kids? Because she thought that Neil, or even Gracie herself had that knife? Crazy as it seemed, it made no less sense than the idea that she wanted Gracie and the girl in her army.

Just this very morning, Gracie had shed tears admitting to me that the silver-haired weremancer and his friends were after her kids. Had that been an act, or did she really believe it? Neil Davett had been quick to go for his knife the night he followed me from Amaya’s, leading me to believe that he had some dealings with dark magic. But what if he had more involvement with Saorla and the others than I thought? Was it possible that the knife had found its way into his hands? Could he be stupid enough to extort payment or favor from Saorla in exchange for the weapon? Could that have been why Gracie left him?

Too many questions.

By the time I arrived at the monument campground, night had fully fallen, and a hush had settled over the tent sites and RVs. I drove past Gracie’s site as slowly as I could, and was relieved to see the minivan still parked there. Whatever her feelings about me, she hadn’t used my absence as an opportunity to flee. Their site was completely dark, though, and I didn’t dare go near their tent. The last thing I wanted was to be crispy fried by her warding. I crawled into my own tent, set my own wards then slipped into my sleeping bag, and was dead to the world in mere moments.

My cell phone woke me in the morning. I figured it must be Kona, but when I fished the phone out of the pocket of my bomber, which I had once again used as a pillow, I saw Billie’s name and number on the screen.

I flipped it open. “Good morning.”

“You’re alive.” I heard relief in her voice, but also a rebuke. Too late it occurred to me that a good boyfriend would have taken time to contact her.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t call. Kona brought me in on another case. I wound up driving all over, from Glendale to the Maryvale precinct, and then out to Komatke, before coming back here.”

“Wherever here is.”

“Right.”

“Was this another murder?”

I sighed. “I’m afraid so. A guy I knew, actually. I’m not sure I want to say more than that.”

“I understand. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. How are you?”

“Oh, fine,” she said, airily. “I’d tell you more, but the NSA is probably listening to my calls, and, well, you know what the blogging business is like. Nothing but intrigue and danger.”

“Well, that’s what drew me to you in the first place. I needed a little excitement in my hum-drum life.”

For a moment neither of us spoke, and I wanted nothing more than to be with her.

“How are you really?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”

Not convincing. “Billie?”

“It’s just . . . It’s harder to sleep when you’re not around. And I . . . I need to shop, but I’m afraid to leave the house.”

“I’m sorry I’m not there.”

“You’re not supposed to apologize, remember?”

“I wasn’t apologizing for . . .” I swallowed the protest, not wanting to start a fight. “I wish I was there. That’s how I should have said it.”

“So when are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. Whenever this is over, I guess.”

“And that will be . . .”

“A while yet, probably. There’s a lot I haven’t figured out. I’ll try to call, but –”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

It was too abrupt. She sounded angry, scared.

I started to tell her again how sorry I was, but stopped myself. “I should go,” she said. “Call when you can. And let me know what I can do.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Not the most heartfelt of declarations. I snapped the phone shut, resentful of this job that had taken me away from her, determined to get some answers to all those questions I’d been asking myself the evening before. And yes, I’ll admit it: just a little annoyed with her for making me feel guilty.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 14

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 14

Alberto smiled. “True, but you are the one who did it, and for that you have my eternal gratitude. How are you getting to Padua?”

“I was planning on following the road to Verona, then heading for Padua.”

“We are headed for Mestre, with cargo for Venice, but we stop at Padua.” Alberto reached out and rested a hand on one of Phillip’s. “You are welcome to join us.”

That was seconded by Pietro, who added that their route was some fifty miles shorter than the route Phillip had been thinking of following. It was an offer Phillip would have been a fool to refuse. Not only was their route shorter, but he would no longer be a vulnerable lone traveler. Phillip paused to consider the possibility that Alberto and his men might rob him and leave him for dead, but it was only a momentary thought. They seemed truly thankful for what he’d done for Carlo. There was only one possible answer. “Thank you very much. I’d like to join you.”

****

Phillip had been keeping an eye on Carlo for a couple of days now, and he was starting to get worried. Carlo was limping more and more, and although he was insisting that there was nothing wrong with him, Phillip couldn’t miss the signs of a developing fever. He hurried ahead to warn Alberto that he needed to check the injury.

“There’s a good spot near the river just ahead where we can get off the road,” Alberto suggested.

Less than fifteen minutes later they turned off the road onto a meadow beside the River Talvera. While the Rovarinis checked the oxen and wagons Phillip got Carlo to pull down his pants so he could remove the bandage.

The wound was a mess. A wide area around the gash was inflamed, but worse than that was the swelling. The stitches were almost enveloped by the expanding skin. Phillip dug into his medical kit for a flake of Obsidian and used it to cut the stitches. The wound started to open and pus seeped out even as he cut the stitches, and it oozed out after he removed them. That was what Phillip’s reading had warned him could happen, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant to encounter. Still, he’d read his great grandfather’s dairies and knew what he had to do. He called out for some help to hold Carlo still before smiling apologetically at him and handing him a piece of wood. “I’m sorry, Carlo, but this is going to hurt. Put it between your teeth and bite down onto it.” Carlo swallowed and inserted the piece of wood.

Phillip waited until he had a couple of Rovarinis holding Carlo before he wrapped a finger in bandage and poked it into the wound. Carlo let out a muffled scream as he fought against the restraining men. Phillip saw the distressed looks on their faces and knew he had to do something to sedate Carlo.

“Do you have any schnapps?” He called out. That got a positive nod from Alberto who hurried over to a wagon, returning with a bottle of Grappa. He offered it to Phillip, who shook his head and pointed to Carlo.

“You want Carlo to drink it?” Alberto asked.

Phillip nodded. “I want him drunk enough not to notice anything I might do.”

Alberto raised a brow Phillip’s way, looked at the label on the bottle and sighed heavily before forcing Carlo’s mouth open. It took over half the bottle before Carlo became sufficiently insensitive to Phillip’s jabbing of his wound that he could continue.

With Carlo no longer struggling Phillip was able to progress much faster. Finally the wound appeared as clean as he could get it. He could see blood seeping through some of the exposed flesh. That was supposed to be a good sign. But there were areas where blood wasn’t seeping. That was a bad sign as it suggested the flesh there was dead.

According to his great grandfather’s dairies, there was only one thing to do with dead flesh in a wound, and that was to cut it out. Phillip knapped a large flake from his lump of Obsidian and used that as a scalpel to slice small pieces from the wound until he was sure he’d removed all the dead flesh. Then he smeared some of his honey based ointment into the wound and sewing it closed again. Only then did he turn away and throw up.

“Are you all right?” A worried Alberto asked.

Phillip wiped his mouth against his forearm and nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Have you finished doing what you have to do?” Alberto asked.

“I still have to bandage it.”

Alberto thrust the bottle of Grappa into Phillip’s hands. “I can do that. Have some of this to steady your stomach.”

A week later, Padua

No one had thought to tell Phillip that Padua was Alberto’s base, so he was surprised when they pulled into a large property and a woman and four children ran up to Alberto.

“His wife,” Pietro informed Phillip. “She will look after you while we go on to Mestre.”

“Does Frau Rovarini speak German,” Phillip asked.

“Nope,” Pietro said. “You’ll just have to learn Venetian.”

Phillip was spared an immediate introduction to Frau Rovarini because she’d moved her welcome onto Carlo. In sharp contrast to his last encounter with his own mother, Carlo’s mother gave every impression of being pleased to see him. And that was after only a few weeks separation, not like the years Phillip and his mother had been apart. It was a sign, if Phillip really needed one, that his mother’s behavior wasn’t normal.

The surprises continued when he was introduced to Carlo’s mother. She made it clear that he was welcome in her house, and even gently pinched his cheek and said something.

“Paola says that you’re too thin and need a proper home cooked meal,” Alberto translated.

Phillip smiled at Paola and expended most of the limited vocabulary he’d picked up traveling with Alberto’s teams thanking her. Then he turned to Alberto and held out his hand. “Thank you for letting me travel with you. I don’t suppose you could direct me to suitable lodgings?”

“But you will be staying here!” Alberto said. The tone of his voice suggested outrage that Phillip should think otherwise. “You didn’t think we’d do anything less after what you did for Carlo?”

“Did what for Carlo,” Paola demanded.

Phillip didn’t actually understand what Paola had said, but he recognized the “for Carlo” bit, so he wasn’t surprised when after a brief exchange with Alberto Paola ran over to Carlo and ignoring his protests, pulled his pants down. There was a wail of anguish when she saw the stitched injury, followed almost immediately by a flood of instructions.

“What’s going on?” Phillip asked Alberto as Carlo was carried into the house.

“Please don’t take offense, but my wife has called for her cousin to check Carlo’s injury.”

“I’m not offended,” Phillip said. “In fact I’m glad someone better qualified than me is going to check what I’ve done. Is your wife’s cousin a doctor?”

“No,” a cheeky Pietro said. “He’s much better than a doctor. He looks after horses.”

June 1613, Padua

Even with Alberto Rovarini vouching for him Phillip had been finding it difficult to find work in Padua that fitted around his university lectures. Today however there was a renewed skip to his footsteps as he hurried home. He stopped in his tracks while he digested that thought. Since when had he started calling his lodgings with Paola’s cousin home?

He reached the house at the run, almost running down Giacomo’s wife. “My most humble apologies,” Phillip said as he stepped aside to let Francesca Sedazzari past.

“What’s the rush?” Francesca asked. “You look happy. Have you found a job?”

“Sort of,” Phillip said the pleasure at what had happened obvious in his voice. “Leonardo di ser Martino da Vinci isn’t happy with the quality of cupels he’s been getting. I told him I could make excellent cupels, and he’s agreed to let me share his laboratory if my cupels are as good as I claim.”

“Is that good?” Francesca asked. “I thought you wanted a job. What good is sharing his laboratory?”

“I can make acids. My acids were some of the best the Augsburg assay laboratory ever produced. I should find a ready market for them here in Padua.” Phillip wanted to throw his arms around Francesca and hug her, he was so happy.

“So all you need to do is make some cupels?”

Phillip nodded.

“What are cupels?”

“They are small vessels that you use in a fire assay. They’re usually made out of ash from bones, antlers, or wood. I’ll need a few other things, but do you know where I might be able to get some bones? Preferably the skulls?”

“There’s Giovanni. He has a knacker’s yard by the river.” Francesca smiled. “I’m sure Giacomo will be happy to introduce you to him.”

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 23

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 23

Captain Dorst may well not have had anything on his conscience, but Daniel had known enough RCN officers — and been an RCN officer — to know that things that bothered civilians might well slide off an officer’s conscience. The Academy taught many things to cadets, but the absolutely necessary attribute for an RCN officer was one that wasn’t taught: you had to be willing to kill. Once you’ve overcome that basic human inhibition, there’s really nothing that you might not be willing to consider.

Except perhaps for cheating at cards. A cheater would not go undetected for three years and would not remain in the RCN for an hour after detection.

“The glowworms look brighter to me now,” Miranda said. “I guess after being in the dark so long.”

Daniel turned his head as they crossed the antechamber. His first view of the cave, only a few hours earlier, felt like something remembered from his childhood. The blurred patches in the uncertain distance of the walls and on the floor did seem sharper than they had initially. The glowworms here seemed scattered after the wall-to-wall splendor of the pit in the interior of the mountain.

“You know,” Daniel said, “I haven’t seen any of the glowworms move. Though they must, there was the one on my foot after –”

Movement.

Daniel dropped the tunic and was lifting his left hand when a blow stunned his forearm and cracked him on the head. He hit the stone floor. His right side was numb but his left forearm felt as though it had been dipped in molten lead.

Light flooded the antechamber. The lantern wobbled on daSaenz’ chest as he raised the guard’s long baton over his head in both hands for a finishing blow. There was someone behind him. Daniel kicked with his left leg, the only limb which was working at the moment.

DaSaenz gave a startled bleat and lurched forward. He no longer held the baton. He turned, lantern light sweeping across the chamber.

Miranda stepped into her blow. The baton flickered like black lightning, catching daSaenz on the top of the skull with a sound like that of a dropped melon.

DaSaenz sagged liquidly, falling on top of the lantern and plunging the chamber into darkness again.

* * *

Adele was on the passenger side of the cab, clinging to the frame of the open window with both hands; her left arm was across her body. With her feet braced against the firewall, her buttocks only touched the seat when the vehicle jolted over a particularly violent bump.

The seat had slapped her repeatedly.

“We don’t know that there’s a problem, Hogg,” Adele said, raising her voice more than she cared to do in order to be heard over the road noise. “Until I have a chance to look at the situation, neither you nor Tovera are to do anything.”

Hogg grunted. That might not have been a response to her words: the truck had bounced badly again. His hands were mottled with his grip on the steering yoke.

Tovera stood in the open truck bed, somehow staying attached to the vehicle. There were lugs for tie-downs along the sides. Perhaps Tovera had tied herself in with a length of cable from her attaché case.

Adele didn’t turn to look. Hanging on was as much as she could handle. Tovera had known what the ride was going to be like with Hogg driving. She had still insisted on being in the back where she had a better view of their environment and a quicker shot at any hostile portion of that environment.

They came around the corner between a rock wall and a drop-off. “We’re here!” Hogg said.

In the glare of their single working headlight appeared a squat building and beside it the three-place aircar in which Daniel and Miranda had ridden off six hours before. No one was visible in the vehicle or nearby.

They skidded to a halt on the gravel apron, throwing a cloud of dust ahead of them. Pebbles bounced against the gleaming aircar, but Hogg might not have done that deliberately.

Adele got out. Tovera swung to the ground beside her, the attaché case in her left hand and her miniaturized sub-machine gun openly in her right.

“Hogg, watch the back!” Tovera called.

“Right,” said Hogg, drawing the stocked impeller from behind the seats. “Get on with it.”

He and Tovera had a working relationship, much like that between Daniel and Adele. Each led when it was appropriate; each listened to the other’s advice. A task which required long-range firepower was Hogg’s responsibility, however much he might want to shake his master’s whereabouts out of somebody close at hand.

The attendant watched Adele through the armored glass as she approached the kiosk. “We’re looking for Captain Leary and his lady,” she said to the speaker plate under the window. “Where are they, please?”

Her tone was less polite than the words; but then, nobody who knew Adele expected warmth from her.

“Look, you’ll have to talk to the manor,” the attendant said, his voice tinny through the speaker. “I don’t have authority to talk to you.”

“I can open the cave up!” Tovera whispered urgently.

“No,” said Adele. She looked at the entrance, closed by what appeared to be a vault door.

I doubt Tovera could get through that, she thought. The hinges are internal.

But there was no need of that anyway. To the speaker plate she said, “You. Open the cave at once. Otherwise I’ll come in and do it.”

The attendant vanished beneath the level of the window without responding.

“Tovera, get me into this bunker,” Adele said. “Don’t damage the electronics if you can help. I’ll want them to open the door.”

“I can shoot through the wall!” said Hogg, which was probably true. A single osmium slug from his impeller might not do the job, but two or three pecking at the same point certainly would. It would be a waste of time.

“No,” said Adele without turning to look at him. “Watch your sector.”

Tovera had been readying the charges since Adele told her not to try to open the cave. If she wasn’t to blow open the cave, they had to get into the guardhouse. Tovera had reasonably assumed that the attendant wouldn’t be any more willing to let them into his control room than he had been to open the cave for them.

Now she scampered back to Adele, facing the long side of the building; the door was on the short side to their left. “Ready!” Tovera said; she had a small control mechanism in her hand.

“All right,” said Adele, covering her ears. “Hogg?”

“Blow it!” Hogg said.

The crack! was a single sound even though Adele knew that there were charges on both door hinges. A shard of metal struck the aircar’s body and ricocheted off, humming. Adele and Tovera walked to the side of the building.

“My turn!” said Hogg as he pushed past them, his impeller slung. Neither woman was in a mood to waste her breath arguing with him.

Hogg wrenched the door free — it hung askew by its bolt — and went in, the knife open in his left hand. Hogg knew not to kill the attendant, though other than the mess that wouldn’t have bothered Adele very much.

Hogg reappeared, dragging the attendant by the throat, Adele stepped into the building. The bitter haze of explosive made the fugg even more unpleasant. The attendant must have voided his bowels in fear.

She sat at the chair and explored the control system through her data unit; her holographic display was better than the building’s cheap flat-plate screen. The installation was really a terminal of the manor system rather than an independent computer. It had a recording function which Adele would examine later, but for now —

She threw an electronic switch. “This should open –” she called to the doorway.

The cave’s massive door began to whirr open. Miranda staggered out with Daniel. She was supporting him in a fireman’s carry, his right arm hanging across her shoulders so that she could grip his wrist. Blood had trickled down his cheek.

Hogg stopped kicking the attendant and with Tovera ran to the freed couple; Adele entered the system of daSaenz Manor. To each her specialty. Hogg had a great deal of experience with the cuts and breaks that you got in agricultural work and field sports; he would do anything first aid could accomplish. Adele, however —

“Mistress, we gotta get him to the ship!” Hogg shouted.

“I’m just dizzy,” Daniel said, his voice almost too weak to hear. “I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“There’s a Medicomp in the house,” Adele said, using the guardhouse microphone although the speaker plate wasn’t aligned well for the purpose. “We’ll use that. Can we take him in the aircar?”

“There’s an elevator in the cave,” Miranda said. “It goes right into the house, but it wasn’t working when we tried before.”

Daniel was sitting down. Miranda held him by the shoulders. His face was ashen except where blood from his scalp had leaked over it. He was mumbling something, probably that he was all right.

Adele found the control and turned it back on. “It’s working now,” she said. “But don’t use it until we’ve made sure that the other end is clear. Tovera, you can drive the aircar?”

“Yes,” said Tovera. She had clipped the sub-machine gun into a holster built into her tunic. She started for the vehicle.

“There’s room for three, Hogg,” Adele said. “Are you coming or staying with your master?”

“Coming,” said Hogg. He reached into his pocket and came out with a squat, short-barreled pistol which he offered to Miranda. “Here you go, mistress. In case.”

Tovera had the aircar’s fans spinning. Hogg got in one side of the back as Adele entered the other.

She put her data unit away and brought out her pistol. I might need either one at the Manor, she thought. But if I need the data unit, I’ll have more time to get it out.

Tovera didn’t drive well, but she made an adequate lift-off and started up the slope with the fans screaming in overload. Which was exactly what Adele would have been doing if she could have driven.