Eric Flint's Blog, page 227

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 26

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 26

Kona had a way of making her expression go hard, so that her skin appeared to crystalize into ice or stone. I had always envied her that glare. She often directed it at suspects, and I had seen her use it to intimidate the most hardened of criminals. She gave me that look now, and I swear I almost told her everything. I had to remind myself that Gracie was wanted for murder, and I had made myself an accessory.

“Why can’t you tell me?” she asked.

I gazed past her toward the shop. Aside from the yellow police tape strung across the door, there was nothing on the exterior that screamed out “crime scene!”

“Want to show me what you found in there?”

She continued to stare at me, until I grew uncomfortable. I glanced down the street and then met her gaze.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said.

“You and me both.”

“All right, come on.”

The three of us ducked under the strip of tape and entered the building. I halted a step inside the doorway and surveyed the wreckage, my mouth hanging open.

It was like a magical bomb had been detonated in the middle of the shop. Every display case had been shattered. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, knives of every shape and size, and a dazzling array of rings, necklaces, bracelets, and wrist watches had been scattered across the floor, strewn in a sea of glass shards. Acoustic and electric guitars had been blasted off the wall, their necks broken and twisted, their bodies crushed. Martins, Taylors, Gibsons, Fenders — it was enough to make a guitar aficionado weep.

I made my way into the shop, trying to place my feet with some care. Still, glass crunched under my shoes with each step. I noticed that there were surveillance cameras in the corners of the store.

“What do the tapes show?”

“Nothing,” Kevin said. “As best we can tell, the system cut out a few minutes before the killers got here.”

That figured.

The rest of Burt’s merchandise was in the same state as the display cases and guitars. Cameras, computers, sports equipment, stereos, bikes. Nothing had been spared.

And overlaying all the damage was a sheen of fresh magical glow, purple, like a storm-cloud in mid-summer. There was no apparent pattern to either the destruction or the magical residue. Again, it all reminded me of an explosion. Powerful, random, deadly.

A corpse lay in the center of the shop, covered by a white sheet.

I walked toward it, glancing at Kona and Kevin. “May I?”

“Be our guest.”

I squatted beside the body and pulled back the sheet to reveal a young man in an Arcade Fire t-shirt and jeans. He had piercings in his eyebrows, his nose, his lip, and tattoos up and down both arms. Still, the art he wore couldn’t hide the wound on his upper arm. It was red, puckered, the skin raised and the subcutaneous markings almost like pin pricks. But aside from this wound, and some red marks on his neck, there was nothing unusual about the dead man’s appearance. I saw no magic on him, and no other injuries that could have killed him. Not even a cut from flying glass.

“That wound on his arm look familiar?” Kona asked.

“Very. I guess our silver-haired friend was here.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I’d hate to think that there are two guys running around my city who can kill that way.”

“Where’s Burt?”

Kevin pointed in the direction of the cash register. “Behind the counter.”

I walked around and found the second corpse there, also covered with a sheet. I took a breath, pulled back the cloth, and exhaled through clenched teeth. Burt’s face was frozen in a rictus of pain, his teeth bared, his eyes squeezed shut. And he was covered with that same purple glow, as if he had been dipped in magic before he died.

He also had a gunshot wound in his chest, but it hadn’t bled a lot, and I would have bet every dollar I had that the magic had killed him, and not the bullet.

I heard footsteps behind me, knew them for Kona’s. “Well?”

“There’s magic everywhere. It’s all over the shop, and it’s all over Burt. The only thing not touched by it is that other corpse. The only mark on him is that weird wound we first saw at the Burger Royale.”

“And what do you think that means?”

I covered Burt again and stood. “Understand, I’m only guessing here.”

“Best guess, then.”

I stared at her, saying nothing.

“Justis?”

“It occurs to me, I don’t have to guess,” I said. “If you’ll let me take something from Burt, I can see what happened. I can scry the last minutes of his life.”

“This is something new, right?” Kona asked. “There’s a reason you didn’t do this when you were on the force?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s new. I learned the magic in the last year, and I used it when we were working the Deegan case, remember?”

“That thing you did in South Mountain Park.”

“Exactly.”

“And why didn’t you do it at the Burger Royale?”

“You had enough witnesses for those killings. You didn’t need the magic. But there are no witnesses here, and everything I could tell you would be nothing more than conjecture.”

“What would you need to take? I don’t want you messing with my crime scene.”

I squatted once more and took another look at Burt’s body. Blood would have been best, but the blood on his chest had dried. “A hair would do it,” I said.

Kona wrinkled her nose. “A hair?”

“Just one. I could also use something of his that’s lying around, but blood, hair, or bone would work best.”

She glance at Kevin, who was already watching her, an eyebrow cocked. “This is pretty weird,” she said, facing me again. “But sure, if you can take a hair from his head without disturbing the body in any other way, go ahead.”

I managed to take hold of a single hair and with a sharp tug, pulled it free. “Sorry, Burt,” I whispered. Straightening again, I retrieved from my pants pocket the flat piece of polished agate I used as a scrying glass. There was nothing inherently magical about that stone or the sinuous bands of blue and white that surrounded the small crystalline opening at its center. It was nothing more or less than a rock, something I had picked up at a mall long ago. But its beauty was familiar, comfortable. And over the years it had worked as a scrying surface better than any mirror or glass or crystal ball I’d tried.

I coiled the hair around my finger and held it against the bottom of the stone. “This will take a few minutes,” I said to Kona and Kevin. “It’s best if you don’t interrupt me.”

Kona lifted a shoulder. “Do your thing,” she said.

Right.

Scrying spells weren’t particularly complicated; this one took only three elements. Burt, my stone, and this place in the moments before he died.

I stared at the stone, watched as those winding bands of color vanished. An image coalesced slowly in the depths of the stone, and as it did, I heard voices in my head, vague at first, but growing louder until I could make out what they said.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 17

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 17

* * *

The store — The Compass Rose, Rare Manuscripts — was nestled between a high-end dress shop and a jewelry store with a uniformed concierge whose eyes had seen a great deal. He and Tovera traded glances as she followed Adele into the bookstore.

The shop was empty except for the fat man behind the counter. He looked up from a handwritten ledger and smiled. Glazed shelves resting on map drawers covered the sidewalls. There was a door into the back beside the counter.

“I’m told you have an original Thomas Middleton manuscript?” Adele said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the proprietor. He was mostly bald, but his fringe of hair and small moustache were black. “Go through to the viewing rooms, please.”

He gestured to the door. “It’s laid out in the room to the right.”

Adele entered the back; the shopkeeper had returned to his ledger. Tovera stepped in front of her and opened the door. A bundle of stained paper, written on in spiky age-browned ink, was open on the table; above it was the faded ribbon with which it had been tied.

The stocky man who had been looking at the document nodded to Tovera, then to Adele when her servant retreated to the short hallway. Adele closed the door.

“Is that really a Thomas Middleton manuscript?” she said.

“Apparently,” the man said. “Jardin isn’t thought of as an intellectual center, but there’s a great deal of money here. There are whimsical collectors of all sorts, passing through as well as among the First Families themselves.”

He was probably in his late twenties, but he looked scarcely out of boyhood when he smiled, as he did now. “I’m Mikhail Grozhinski,” he said.

Adele set her data unit on the table, being careful not to disturb the manuscript. She began checking the name against her files.

“Your records will indicate that I’m a major in the 5th Bureau, Lady Mundy,” Grozhinski said calmly. “They may or may not tell you that I am the son of General Storn, whom you know. In this instance I’m acting as his envoy.”

“They didn’t tell me the relationship,” Adele said, entering new information in the file. When she delivered her report to Mistress Sand, the addition would be part of it. Without looking toward Grozhinski she said, “Are you here in your official capacity?”

“I am not,” said Grozhinski. “Lady Mundy, your participation in this affair has been cleared at the highest levels of your government — not of course that you’d be safe if things went really wrong. I am acting as a traitor to my own government, though in turn I’ll be a hero if we succeed. If you succeed.”

He plucked his loose-fitting tunic. It was a darker blue-gray than his gray-blue trousers. “I’m here on vacation with my friend Stephen,” he said. “He’s in a bistro, now, while I’m doing something boring. Stephan has nothing to do with my work — ” a wry smile ” — or any work, if it comes to that. But he amuses me.”

“If things go really wrong, as you put it,” Adele said, “I would expect to be dead. Political embarrassment is farther down my list of concerns.”

The risk of death had never concerned her very much. Personal failure concerned her a great deal.

She looked up at Grozhinski. “Why is General Storn unofficially involved in the Upholder Rebellion?” she said.

“The 5th Bureau’s Diocese Three has extended jurisdiction over about half the Tarbell Stars, including Peltry, the capital,” Grozhinski said. “Diocese One oversees the remainder of the cluster, including Ithaca, the center of the rebellion. Our brief — the Bureau’s brief — is to put down anti-Alliance feeling in the Tarbell Stars but not to involve ourselves in the cluster’s internal politics.”

Adele listened as she compared the words with the information in her files. She didn’t really have to look at the files; she had absorbed the important points before the Princess Cecile lifted from Cinnabar. She preferred the feeling of viewing a situation through an electronic filter, though, to getting the data first hand.

“Krychek is aiding the Upholders, however,” Grozhinski said. “My father suspects he’s actually behind the rebellion.”

“This is why Porra divides regions for observation, isn’t it?” Adele said. She entered the new information as she spoke. “Why hasn’t General Storn simply reported the situation instead of involving himself –”

She looked at Grozhinski again, this time for effect.

“– in treason?”

“General Storn…fears, I think, rather than actually suspects,” Grozhinski said, speaking for the first time with obvious care. “Fears that Krychek has mentioned his intention to the Guarantor and has not been prevented from going ahead.”

“If the Alliance were to absorb the Tarbell Stars,” Adele said. “It would be a clear violation of the Treaty of Amiens.”

“It would if the Cinnabar Senate were to view it as such,” Grozhinski agreed. “It is not certain –”

If he had been circumspect in suggesting that Guarantor Porra might know what Diocese One had under way, he was doubly that now.

“– that the Guarantor fully appreciates how badly the prolonged state of war with Cinnabar has strained our economy. The risk of complete economic and political collapse might not weigh as heavily on him as it does on my father. Collapse of both Cinnabar and ourselves, of course.”

“I see,” Adele said as she entered more information.

For the first time Adele understood why Mistress Sand had encouraged her to get involved in this mare’s nest. Like Storn, Mistress Sand was concerned about the political effect of renewed war. The Republic had come very close to breaking up in class conflict before the Treaty of Amiens; and if Cinnabar itself lost cohesion, the planets it now ruled would go off in a hundred different directions.

That said, Cinnabar agents meddling in a region which was clearly within the Alliance’s sphere of influence constituted a cause of war also. Sand wanted Krychek’s plotting to fail, but not if that meant the Republic’s obvious involvement. She must be hoping that a corvette in private registry — and her crew — would not be enough to catch the attention of Pleasaunce.

Grozhinski set an eight by four inch case on the table; it was less than two inches wide. “These are the log chips of a hundred and thirty ships trading in what is now Alliance space,” he said. “My father said you collect such things, so you might like them. The oldest is that of the Wideawake, which is pre-Hiatus.”

Adele set her wands down and opened the case. The chips were of varying sizes and appearance. The case must have been purpose-built, as each pocket precisely fitted the log in it.

“These aren’t copies,” Adele said.

“Father returned copies to the archives,” Grozhinski said. “But yes, these are the originals.”

He cleared his throat. “There is additional material — the background on matters we discussed here — at the end of the Wideawake log,” he said.

Adele closed the case, then put her personal data unit away. “Thank you,” she said, “and thank your father. I do indeed like them.”

She swung toward the door, then stopped and met Grozhinski’s eyes again. “If I may ask,” Adele said. “What is it you expect us — Captain Leary and I and the Princess Cecile — to do?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion,” Grozhinski said. “And if my father does, he’s kept it from me. What he said –”

Again the young man’s voice became careful.

“– is that though he has no idea of what can be done, he has seen ample evidence of Lady Mundy’s resourcefulness and that of her naval friend.”

Adele sniffed as she went out. A mare’s nest, she thought.

But a flattering appraisal nonetheless.

 

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 25

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 25

CHAPTER 10

The holidays were Molly’s parents’ busiest time of the year and Molly had her bit to do too. Of course there was more spare time, and there was quite a lot happening on the island, from cricket matches to concerts, but as she couldn’t drive alone yet, it meant someone had to take her, and she felt guilty asking. Still, with the long daylight of summer, and the water warming up, there was time to run Bunce on the beach and to swim afterward. The endless beaches and coves to yourself were something you took for granted, until there was someone else on the beach. Then it felt like they were intruders.

She ran into a sulky-faced Hailey Burke wandering around in the little supermarket in town when they’d gone in for their weekly shop. “Hello,” said Hailey. “Are you stuck in this dead boring place too? Are there any parties I don’t know about?”

“New Year’s…”

“Oh, I’ll be gone by then. We’re going skiing in Chamonix. I hate this place. I wish I could have stayed in Melbourne. My stepmother thinks I’m nothing but a babysitter.”

Molly had to laugh to herself translating “Chamonix” back into the place Hailey was boastfully referring to. Cham as in “Charles” and nix as in “Nicks” — not “Shamonee,” as Dad’s climbing friend called it. It was going to be funny when Hailey tried that on the first bunch of other skiers.

“I wondered why I hadn’t been asked to sit over there for a while,” Molly said. “Oh, look, my dad’s at the checkout. I have to go. He’s waiting for the lettuce.”

Molly made her escape. There were times when she thought the island boring too. But that girl made her want to defend it. And what on earth had a nice guy like Tim seen in her? Hailey was, Molly admitted to herself, what most guys would think was beautiful. And she was good at makeup, and at choosing clothes to make her breasts look like they were going to pop out the top of them. And she had enough to pop, not like Molly. But Tim could have found someone with boobs, looks and brains, or at least a nice personality surely? Thinking of Tim, Molly wondered what he was up to. She hadn’t seen him since school broke up. Maybe he’d gone back to Melbourne for the holidays. Just as well. She could see a bored Hailey using him for a toy to run after her, until she left again, or found something better.

* * *

Tim wondered for a moment if he should run. Naked panic nearly took him headlong into the bush.

Then there was a loud bang behind him. And he really did dive into the bush, squirming into its thickness, dropping the parcel Jon had given him.

They couldn’t just shoot him! Couldn’t! It wasn’t allowed! He peeped back from the cover of the ti-tree to see which way to worm in its dense thicket. The vehicle had stopped; the driver was out of it. But the driver wasn’t looking at him. Rather at his ute, and scratching his head. There was no gun in sight.

Tim put his head up a little more, just as the cop turned to look at him, his hands empty, and a rueful look on his face. “I really am sorry about that, son,” called the big policeman. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright. My tire just burst.”

Tim stood up, too angry to be frightened anymore. “I thought you were shooting at me! If you broke my present, I’ll…I’ll…”

“Tell the coppers?” said the policeman with a smile. “Look, I really must apologize. If it is broken, well, I’ll replace it. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?” He walked forward, picked the box up, and handed it to Tim. “Tamar Marine, eh? What is it?”

“I don’t know. I just got given it. It’s my Christmas present.”

“Well, if it is broken, really, I’ll replace it. That tire-burst nearly gave me heart failure. It must have been even louder out here. I am sorry. Good thing it happened here, though. If I’d been on the road, driving faster, it could have been serious. I’m looking for the Symons place. I am supposed to inspect a gun safe there.”

Relief washed through Tim, and without meaning to, he started to laugh. And laugh. He laughed so much he couldn’t breathe, and had to sit down. The cop looked a little worried. “Sorry,” he said when he could breathe again. “I don’t know what came over me. I just got such a fright with the bang. Molly, uh, their place is about two kilometers further along the road. There’s a sign.”

“Ah. This’ll be the Ryan place then,” said cop, in a questioning tone.

Tim nodded, unease returning. A sudden angry gust of wind blew in the police ute’s open door and scattered papers out of it, into the bush. “Oh, my word! I need those. Give me a hand to catch them,” said the policeman.

By the time they’d gathered the forms, and Tim had helped to change the tire, he was no longer quite so terrified of the big policeman. He wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him, but he seemed more interested in fishing and boats than in Tim’s past.

He put the ruined tire in the back and said: “Well, thank you. I’ll give you a lift for your fright.”

“I can walk,” said Tim.

“Well, I can’t turn around here, and I don’t want to reverse back to the gate. So I am going your way.”

So Tim got his second ride in a police vehicle. It was more pleasant than the first, but he still wouldn’t have minded missing it. The policeman said he was new here and asked questions about the island, casually, but Tim would bet he was doing more than just being curious, by the too-casual questions about the neighboring farms and people. “I don’t really know. I haven’t been here long. I’m just staying with my grandmother,” said Tim, quite relieved to give a true answer. He got the feeling that lying to this cop wouldn’t work well.

“And there I thought you were an islander,” said the copper.

“I’m from Melbourne.”

The cop smiled and said, as if he was giving a compliment, “You look more like the son of a local fisherman than a city boy.”

Tim’s first take was to be a bit offended. But he was in his oldest jeans, and they were quite salt-stained. And he did like fishing. They’d talked about flathead, earlier. “Well, um, I’m not.”

* * *

Áed had not felt such a burst of fear and rage from his young master for many days now. This place had had a calming influence. He could have burned the vehicle, but Áed had worked out that the last fire he’d started had…caused complications. The ways of humans were strange to incomprehensible. So he merely settled for making the wheel lose its trapped air. Air did not like being trapped, and Áed was quite good at exerting his power over it. At the same time…well, this was the master’s place and the land spirits welcomed him. They were powerful even if very, very old. “Help him!”

The answer was not quite in words, not even in the tongue of creatures of the air and darkness. But Áed understood it anyway.

The land would lend him strength. But this child-of-the-land would have to use that strength and be a man and deal with his enemy all by himself. The land would not do it for him. He would never be a man then.

This was alien to the little creature of air and darkness. They existed to do their master’s will, to defend. Perhaps that was why Fae were not men.

He’d raised a little wind to help anyway.

* * *

They arrived at the farmhouse. Tim saw his grandmother come out. And with that odd sideways look…turn white and sit down on the step, clutching the rail. They both bailed out of the ute and ran to her.

“Tim? Is he…” she quavered.

“I’m here, Nan. I’m here,” said Tim, taking her arm.

His grandmother pulled herself upright on his arm, and then to her feet. “He’s a good boy,” she said belligerently, as if she was going to take the big cop’s head off. She held on to his arm, tightly.

“Yes, Ma’am. He’s a very good youngster,” said the policeman. “He helped me out. I was lost and gave him a bit of a fright.”

“Yer gave me one too. Now get out of here. You ain’t welcome.” Her voice would have frozen a volcano.

“I really must apologize,” said the policeman calmly. Tim was surprised he could be so calm-faced with Nan like this. “It was an accidental thing, and I didn’t mean to give anyone a shock, let alone both of you. I’ll be off now. Tim, don’t forget your parcel. If it is damaged, I’ll replace it.”

Tim went to collect it and the policeman drove off.

“Make some tea and tell me what’s going on,” said his grandmother, looking after the departing vehicle with grim satisfaction.

So Tim did, explaining about the burst tire. “He probably thinks we’re criminals, shouting at him. He was just lost.”

“Hmph!” snorted his grandmother. “Him. He ain’t lost. He’s just nosing about. Looking for clues about who is growing cannabis. Looking for signs of money.”

Well, he wouldn’t see it here, Tim thought to himself.

“And what’s the parcel?” His grandmother asked.

“Jon…Mr. McKay gave it to me. He said it was a Christmas present. I dropped it when I thought I was being shot at.”

“I haven’t got much for yer myself,” said his grandmother. “I ain’t got a tree or anything.” She sounded faintly guilty. “Good thing that copper didn’t look in the fridge though, because I did get us a goose for our Christmas dinner.”

Tim blinked. “A Cape Barren goose?” There were quite a few around the farm, big gray birds with pale green upper beaks. They fouled up the drinking pools on the lower paddock, and his grandmother did a fair job of cursing them for it. They were protected birds in Australia, but very common on the island.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 16

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 16

“Do you know where it’s going?” Miranda asked, her eyes following the big vessel. “It’s a passenger ship, isn’t it?”

Daniel glanced over his shoulder. “Adele?” he said.

“It’s the dedicated coach to Paradise Beach,” Adele said, “though the management calls it a conveyance. It’s carrying a party of ten from Tabriz, plus their luggage and seventeen personal servants. And a pair of deogales, which are…”

Her words paused. She was having a little trouble manipulating her control wands accurately as she walked.

“Deogales are six-legged omnivores from Humara,” Daniel said. “The Swiftsure ported there on my training cruise. They’re as much at home in brackish water as they are on the shore. They’re affectionate little things to their masters. but –”

He felt himself frowning without meaning to.

“I hope they’re not a mated pair,” he said. “Without grillards –” Six-legged carnivores; the young ate sprats and insectoids, the yard-long adults preferred deogales if they couldn’t get domestic cats “– to keep them in check, they could spread over the whole planet.”

“Paradise Beach is an island,” Adele said. “At what the Khan of Tabriz is paying the Bruckoff family for this vacation, they can sterilize and replant.”

Daniel winced. He knew Adele was correct; most of the outlying leisure compounds on Jardin had already been sanitized for their guests’ comfort. That was good business…but he had grown up in the forests and marshes of Bantry under Hogg’s tutelage. The discomfort — the itching, the thorn pricks, the bites and kicks and occasional real danger — had made him a part of nature, of life.

But this wasn’t Daniel’s world or even Cinnabar’s world; and few Cinnabar citizens would have agreed with Daniel anyway.

They had reached the marquee and the smiling attendants. On the boulevard beyond was a rank of ground vehicles, but at least half the initial liberty party was crossing to the strip of bars and clubs facing the harbor.

A natty looking young man approached the marquee from the street side. The male attendants saw him first and jumped to attention. The fellow was dressed in Pleasaunce fashion — a suit with narrow, broken, vertical stripes in tones from yellow to russet.

“Just step to the footprints in front of the barrier, sir,” the professionally perky woman at the nearest counter said to Daniel. She and her colleagues weren’t as young as he had thought from a distance, but they were extremely attractive. There were four passages through the line of counters, each with a crossbar.

“Captain Leary, isn’t it?” called the well-dressed young man. The female attendants stiffened just as their male colleagues had done a moment before. “And that would be Miranda Dorst Leary, would it not?”

“Sir…?” said the woman who had spoken to Daniel. She turned her head and torso but kept her feet where they were planted. “Are these friends of yours, sir?”

“They are indeed, friends and guests of the daSaenz family,” the young man said. “I think we can dispense the formalities, can’t we, girls.”

Without waiting for an answer — if he had even been asking a question; Daniel hadn’t noticed one in his voice — the man lifted the bar and stepped through. The attendants remained at attention.

“I am Timothy daSaenz,” the man said, clasping Daniel’s forearm with his own in Pleasaunce, and more generally Alliance, fashion. “My mother Carlotta sent me to greet you and bring you to the house.”

“Pleased to meet –” Daniel said. Before he could complete the phrase, daSaenz had turned to Miranda, clicked his heels — his calf-high boots were of pebbled leather — and bowed at the waist.

If I tried that, Daniel thought, I’d fall on my face.

Then he thought, And I’d deserve to for acting like a prat.

“I’ve brought the aircar,” daSaenz said, turning and lifting his right hand to shoulder level. His index finger gestured forward. “Please come with me. Mother was insistent that you be shown the caves at once.”

“Ah, Master daSaenz…” Daniel said. He led Miranda between the counters but then put a hand possessively on her waist when there was room enough to walk abreast again. “Thank you very much for the offer, but we’re staying in the Ultramarine here in Cuvier. We’ll be happy to join you after we’ve settled in, but –”

“Nonsense,” daSaenz said. “I can’t possibly allow you to go to a public hostelry. That would be an insult to my mother and to my family.”

He stopped at a small aircar at the end of the row of ground vehicles. Its body shimmered between blue and silver. There were two comfortable seats in the back and a driver’s cockpit in the front.

“Master daSaenz,” Daniel said. He was used to bumptious young aristocrats. I rather was one myself.

A mental grin broke his mood. Instead of going on as he had been about to, Daniel said, “We’ll be back as soon as we’ve freshened up and I’ve taken care of some of the ship’s business here. We really appreciate –”

“Come,” daSaenz said with a smile. “Mother has closed the caves for you and your bride. You look particularly lovely, Mistress Leary –”

He clicked his heels again, but at least he didn’t bow.

“– and I assure you that the glowworms will not complain about your toilet.”

“My business –” Daniel said.

“Captain Leary,” Adele said. “Your officers can handle the business, I’m sure. You’ll recall that I am one of your officers.”

“Ah, Miranda…?” Daniel said, looking at her.

“It’s entirely up to you, Daniel,” she said. “But I’ve never looked forward to a hotel room, and I’ve dreamed of the Starscape Caves all my life.”

“There’s only two seats,” said Hogg. The words were neutral, but nobody who heard him would have thought he was happy about the situation.

DaSaenz frowned slightly. To Daniel — he didn’t look at Hogg — he said, “I’ll arrange ground vehicles for your servants, though of course they won’t be necessary at the manor.”

This is not what I want to do, Daniel thought. He hoped his irritation didn’t show on his face.

“Mother isn’t feeling quite well this morning,” DaSaenz said. “And of course she’s seen the caves many times. She’s sure she’ll be ready to greet you after a brief rest, however, and she looks forward to doing so after I’ve guided you through the caves.”

It is what Miranda wants to do, and that’s why we’re on Jardin to begin with. Of course Adele could by herself handle the initial meeting with their prospective employers…and from her comment, it sounded like she would prefer to do so.

“I think we’ll be all right without you for the time being, Hogg,” Daniel said, meeting his servant’s eyes. “You can follow in a cab if you like, or you can spend the afternoon on your own. I’ll be back by evening to check on matters, regardless of where Miranda and I decide to sleep for the next few days.”

He looked at daSaenz. “You can arrange that, I trust?” Daniel said.

“Yes, of course,” daSaenz agreed. “I’ll put a car and driver at your disposal for as long as you stay on Jardin.”

“I guess I’ll check out one a’ these bars,” Hogg said. He wasn’t happy, but he knew better than to argue. He slouched away.

Adele nodded crisply and with Tovera started back toward the Princess Cecile. Daniel wasn’t sure whether or not she had already arranged a meeting with General Storn or his agents.

She was probably right in believing it was better that the initial contact be in her hands. Spies made Daniel uncomfortable. He got along with Adele by consciously ignoring that other aspect of her life.

“Very well, Master daSaenz,” Daniel said. “We’ll be pleased to accompany you.”

He took Miranda’s hand and helped her step into the rear of the aircar — there were no doors. Miranda didn’t need help, but if Daniel hadn’t done so their host would have offered his arm.

And Daniel wasn’t going to have that.

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 25

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 25

It was going to be a long day. I had brought a book with me, and I could always go on a hike, but I was supposed to be working. I was supposed to be protecting Gracie and her kids. Taking a leisurely stroll through the desert didn’t seem right. And sitting here at my site reading a book struck me as pointless.

When my cell phone rang, and I saw Kona’s name on the screen, I knew a moment of pure relief.

I flipped open the phone. “Hey, partner. Please tell me you have something for me to do.”

“You that anxious to get away from Billie?”

“Not Billie, no. Long story. But I could use an excuse to get away. Something splashy and fun, maybe? What have you got?”

“Nothing good,” she said. “I can tell you that much. And I don’t need you sounding all chipper, either. It’s not even nine a.m. and my day is shot to hell and back again.”

“I’m sorry.” I tried to sound properly chastened, but I’d always found Kona’s moods more entertaining than intimidating. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m fooling around.”

“I know what you’re doing. And I’m saying that your need for entertainment isn’t justification for enjoying other people’s misfortune.”

Kona didn’t usually give me quite so much grief.

“What’s going on, Kona?” I asked, all hint of amusement gone from my voice.

“Another double homicide, and I need your magic eyes on this one. It’s not entirely clear what happened.”

“All right. Tell me where, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I’m at Burt Kendall’s pawn shop on Glendale, near Thirty-Third.”

The air left my body in a rush, as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. “Don’t tell me.”

“‘Fraid so. Burt’s one of the victims.”

“Damn it. You think it was done with magic?”

“That’s my guess, but I need you to confirm it for me.”

“Of course. It’ll take me a while to get there. A couple of hours. But I’m leaving now.”

“A couple of hours? Where the hell are you?”

“Like I said. Long story.” I switched the phone to my other hand. “Listen, Kona, I’m sorry about the way I was earlier. I didn’t . . . Damn.”

“I know. And I didn’t mean to get all preachy. I’ll see you in a while.”

I closed the phone and started toward the truck. Halfway there, I faltered, muttered a curse, and walked to Gracie’s campsite. I stopped at the edge of the road.

“I have to leave for a while.”

Gracie was at the minivan, piling the dishes and pots into a box in the back. She didn’t face me at first, and I wondered if she would ignore me entirely. The kids still played cards, but the little girl paused to eye me and then her mom.

“Where are you going?” Gracie asked, shutting the rear door of the van and turning.

“Back to the city. A friend needs some help with something. I should be back here by nightfall.”

She nodded, but kept silent.

“Will you still be here?”

“No idea.”

I really didn’t need this crap. “Fine.”

I stalked to the pickup, got in, and drove away, a part of me hoping that they’d be gone by the time I got back, and a part of me fearing the same thing.

***

Pawn shops have a lousy reputation. No one wants them in their neighborhood, because by definition they attract a down-on-its-luck clientele. The wealthy and respectable don’t usually need to put their stuff in hock, nor do they need to seek out bargains at the expense of those who have.

The truth is, most pawn brokers are respectable businessmen and women whose shops are regulated by state law. Are there bad apples? Sure. I’d guess there are in any profession. But most follow the letter of the law.

And then there are those like Burt Kendall, who are a credit to the business.

Burt was a bear of a man, gray-haired and bearded, with ruddy cheeks and the bluest eyes you ever saw. He told me once that he moved to Phoenix for the climate and got into the pawn business because, as he put it, he didn’t have the skills to do anything else. He opened Kendall’s Pawn back in the early Seventies and had been running the place ever since. Forty years plus. In all the time I knew him, I had never known anyone to complain about his rates, his practices, or his merchandise.

Kona and I often went to him for information, but on the one occasion when I heard someone refer to him as an informant in front of him, he bristled. As far as I can remember, it was the only time I ever saw him lose his temper. He never took money for the information he shared; he believed that he was doing a public service. On several occasions, Burt contacted the PPD about goods he’d received, even though doing so cost him money.

“I don’t want no ill-gotten gains,” he’d say, in the Brooklyn accent he never quite shed. “I wanna go home tonight and be able to look Rose in the eye.”

Rose, his wife of fifty years, died of cancer two years ago. More than half the detectives on the force attended her funeral.

This was not a man to get caught up in shady business deals. Which begged the question, why would anyone kill him?

I had a feeling that the answer came back to magic. Several years before, he contacted me personally about a magical talisman that came his way. Like the other goods he turned over to the department, he was sure this item — a small jade statue of a chimera — had been stolen, and he brought it directly to me. I never asked him how he figured out I was a weremyste, but I think he knew my dad as well, and after reading about his dismissal from the department, put two and two together. I never saw any evidence that Burt was a weremyste himself, but he knew a lot about runecrafting, and he had an eye for magical objects.

Kona wouldn’t have called me if she didn’t suspect that magic played a role in Burt’s murder. So perhaps he had come across something powerful and valuable, something that would attract the notice of Phoenix’s dark sorcerers, and that was why he was dead.

The drive to Burt’s shop took close to two hours, and it was only that quick because I ignored most of the speed limits along the way. I knew that Kona would be ticked off at having to wait so long, but in my defense, I had warned her.

“Where the hell were you driving from?” she asked as I climbed out of the pickup. “And whose truck is this? Where’s that little silver thing you’re so attached to?”

Kevin stood with her, and before answering her questions I shook his hand.

“The truck is my dad’s,” I said, shutting the door. “My car is at his place. And I can’t tell you where I was.”

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 07

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 07

“And how much were the books you were drooling over?”

Phillip sighed. “Four gulden.”

“You could always try betting on the shooting contests,” Christoph suggested. “Last year our team was four to one to finish ahead of the Goldsmith’s. That would’ve given you enough to buy two of those books.”

“They finished behind the Goldsmith’s guild last year,” Phillip pointed out.

“Right, but this year things are going to be different,” Frederik said.

Phillip shook his head. “The new gunpowder isn’t enough to guarantee our team will beat the goldsmith’s guild.”

“But if they do, think of the payout. Come on, I want to see what odds the bookmakers are offering.”

Christoph was willing, so Phillip made it unanimous. After all, they were just going to check the odds. He didn’t have to lay a wager.

****

Phillip studied the bookmaker’s odds board and was happy to see that he wasn’t going to be asked to risk his hard earned money. Beside him, his companions weren’t quite so happy.

“Five to four? What kind of odds are those?” Frederik complained. “Last year you were offering four to one for the assay office to beat the Goldsmith’s guild.”

The bookmaker gave the Frederik an enigmatic smile. “That was last year.”

Frederik continued grumbling as he handed over some coins and received a betting slip in return. Christoph followed suit, then both of them turned to look enquiringly at Phillip.

He shook his head. “It’s not worth it. Even if I bet all my money I wouldn’t win enough to buy one of those books.”

Lucas Ehinger, ever the professional bookmaker, smiled at Phillip. “Perhaps I could interest you in a wager on the Schützenkönig? The odds are very attractive.”

Phillip shook his head. “No thanks.” The competition for the Schützenkönig required that shooters take turns shooting at a bird on a pole. There were prizes for the shooter who shot off a wing, a leg, and the head, but the big prize — being crowned Schützenkönig — went to whoever shot the last piece of the bird off the wooden pole on which it was mounted. That might sound like a test of accuracy, but no single shot was going to sever a limb or head, and it could take more than forty hits to reduce the bird to the point there was none of it left on the pole. As each competitor was allowed only one shot per turn at the shooting line, the shot that finally destroyed the bird, and it was a real bird, not a wooden or stuffed dummy, could come at any time. It was, as far as Phillip was concerned, more a matter of luck than ability, and the almost flat thirty to one odds the bookmaker was offering on the thirty approved competitors suggested he agreed.

“If you’re not going to bet we might as well see if we can get a good spot to watch the shooting,” Frederik said.

Christoph agreed and they set off. They hadn’t gone far before Frederik started muttering about the snake in the grass who’d shortened the odds so much by betting heavily on the assay team to beat the Goldsmith’s. Christoph joined in, making suggestions of who he thought might have been responsible. Phillip’s contributions were half-hearted. Phillip wasn’t particularly angry at the people who had shortened the odds. In fact, he was somewhat fond of them. However, he was glad neither Christoph nor Frederik had thought to wonder how a third year apprentice, who wasn’t paid a wage, happened to have nearly two gulden. Phillip might not like to risk his money by gambling, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to sell information to people who did.

****

The crowds had returned to the range ahead of them, and Phillip and his friends were forced to stand near the back of the crowd as the three-man teams competing in the inter-guild competition marched with all due pomp and ceremony onto the range. There was a delay while the team captains introduced their teams to the referees, and then the referees broke up into two groups. A group of three walked the hundred yards down range to where the target stood while the rest of them took their places at the shooting line.

Phillip could barely make out the circle of painted wood in the distance. Beside it was the referees’ hut, where the three scorers would shelter when a competitor was firing. He knew from the practice shots he’d been permitted to take with one of the hand crafted wheel-lock target rifles the assay office owned that the competitors would be aiming at something little bigger than a pinhead above the foresight of their rifles. How anybody could hit such a small target he couldn’t understand. Certainly he’d missed it with all ten shots Bartholomäus had allowed him.

Over the course of the competition each shooter would take five shots from a standing position. If he hit the target a referee would wave a flag across the target. Another would plug the hole the bullet made with a wooden peg and write an identifying number beside the peg. The third referee kept a record of who was shooting and where their shots went.

At the shooting line, when a shooter scored a hit a referee would present him with a small flag. The successful shooter would then walk over to another referee, who would record the hit. The flags would then be placed somewhere prominent so the spectators could see who was winning. The maximum score a team could get was fifteen hits, but that almost never happened. Any ties would be decided based on which team had their hits closest to the bull’s eye.

****

“You were lucky,” Otto Hofbauer of the Goldsmith’s guild said as he begrudgingly shook Ulrich’s hand.

Ulrich’s smile was bright enough to blind a man as he accepted Otto’s acknowledgment of defeat. “Luck had nothing to do with it. It was our team’s superior shooting that beat your team.”

“And a special production run of gunpowder,” Otto muttered.

Ulrich allowed his smile to drop down to a mere grin. “Sour grapes, Otto. All we did was buy the best gunpowder Georg could make.”

“Gunpowder that Georg refused to sell to anyone else.”

“Of course he refused to sell to anyone else. He made it using super pure saltpetre and sulphur we supplied him with just for our order.”

“It gave you an unfair advantage.”

Ulrich’s smile blossomed again in the face of Otto’s disgruntled expression. “But I’m sure Georg offered to make you a special batch of powder if you could provide him with the ingredients.”

“He did,” Otto said.

“There you are then. You have only yourselves to blame for not taking Georg up on his offer.”

Otto gave Ulrich a sour look. “We did take him up on his offer. Unfortunately, the powder Georg made from our ingredients wasn’t as good as yours.”

“Oh dear, that means your ingredients can’t have been as pure as ours.” Ulrich put on his best fake sympathetic face. “That doesn’t say much for the quality of your training. The training we provide is so good we were able to leave the task of purifying the ingredients to a mere third year apprentice.”

Otto snarled a response before storming off, leaving Ulrich almost purring.

“That wasn’t very nice,” his wife told him.

“But it felt so good.” He glanced down at his wife. “We finally beat the Goldsmith’s guild, and not by just a few points. We beat them by the biggest margin there has even been between us.”

“And all because a third year apprentice thought he could make better gunpowder using pure ingredients,” Magdalena said.

Ulrich shook his head. “Georg has always known that the purer the ingredients the better the powder.”

“So why doesn’t he always use purer ingredients?”

“Because it’s not that easy to make purer ingredients, and the small improvement in performance doesn’t usually justify the extra costs.”

“Except when it means the assay office can beat the Goldsmith’s guild?”

Ulrich felt the heat rising and knew he was blushing. “Except when it means we can beat the Goldsmith’s guild,” he agreed.

Magdalena was about to say something more when Georg Böcklin and his wife intercepted them. While his wife distracted Magdalena, Georg pulled Ulrich to one side. “Someone has inquired about getting some of the special powder I made for you. Can you give me a price to supply me with the high purity saltpetre and sulphur?”

 

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 24

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 24

* * *

Tim was rather surprised to find, the next day, that he’d actually forgotten that his mother had promised to call. It was just as well, because he would have had to be patient, instead of being busy with the jobs on the farm, and thinking about the flounder-spearing. It was just so…more than cool.

When the phone rang he had a faintly guilty start. Melbourne, yeah. It would be good…Except it was Jon McKay and not his mother. “Yes,” said his grandmother. “He’s here. But I don’t know yet for how long.”

She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “He’s asking if yer want a job. His deckie is away for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh, wow!”

His grandmother gave one of her rare smiles. “We’ll talk to his mother, ‘n’ get back to you.”

McKay obviously said something.

His grandmother nodded. “Right, then. Later.”

She put the phone down. “He says it’ll be hard yakka. Yer can go along with them tomorrow and see if yer want to do it, and he can see if yer up to it. Are yer?”

“I’ll try. No. I won’t just try. I will be!”

“Then we better call yer mother. Yer probably won’t be able to.”

Great. I’ve spent months wanting to get out of here, and just when I’ve finally got something here I really want to do, I am going to leave.

Tim called his mother. “Oh, Tim dear,” she said, before he got a word in edgeways. “I am sorry. I’ve sent your father three texts. And an e-mail. He’s supposed to pay for these things. I really can’t afford it.”

“Well, um, would you mind if I…only came a bit later? It’s just I’ve been offered a job I really want to take…if I can.”

He was surprised at the relief in her reply. “Oh, that would be fine. You’d just be sitting around in the flat here. I had been thinking of taking some time off. I really could use a holiday, and Mar…Mary-Lou invited me to go to Queensland.” There was an awkward pause, and then then his mother continued hastily. “Um. She’s found a great package deal, only a thousand five hundred for the week, but it is sharing a room.”

That would have paid his flights a few times, thought Tim crossly, before a thought about going to sea with McKay pushed it away instead. He was thinking about that, as Mum rattled on about manicures and stuff. It might as well be in Latin for how much of it Tim understood, but then she said, “Oh. I met that girl from the island, Hailey, when I was having a pedicure. She said she had to go over there for a week or ten days before they fly to Switzerland for some skiing.”

Tim didn’t actually know quite what to say. Or quite what to feel.

Then his grandmother took the telephone from his hands. “I want ta see his report,” she said curtly. Tim hadn’t realized how much Nan really didn’t like his mum until he heard her speak. “I’m looking after him. If anything needs to be done, I’m going to need to see to it.”

“I’ll post it,” Tim heard his mother say. “But he’s done fine. Better than at St. Dominic’s in fact.”

“Yer do that. Goodbye.”

She put the phone down. “I guess you can work for McKay tomorrow. But yer to promise me yer keep that knife by you. All the time. That seal-woman is scared of it.”

Tim nodded, even if the “seal-woman” stuff was more of Gran’s craziness.

“What’s she up to?” asked his grandmother, in the tone that she reserved for Tim’s mother.

“She says she’s going to Queensland with…with a friend.”

“New boyfriend,” said his grandmother with a scowl.

Tim had to wonder if she wasn’t right. Something about the “Mary-Lou” had seemed a bit odd. For a few minutes he felt abandoned. Pushed out. But then Nan had him go out to the shed to try on some old oilskins that might do for wearing at sea if it rained, and got to talking about sailing herself, as a little girl. It was something she’d not done before, and it was different enough to distract him. She plainly knew a lot about it, he realized, fitting his little experience into what she said.

The weeks leading to Christmas were something of a blur for Tim, looking back. He’d never been so tired in all his life. He just wasn’t quite strong enough for a lot of what he had to do, so he made up for it with extra effort. He had to haul bags of abalone onto the boat, knock all the smaller shellfish and seaweed off the shells and at the same time move the boat after the man diving, making sure the air-hose was never dragging. He wasn’t too sure what he was doing, so made up for it with extra concentration. And Jon McKay kept expecting him to learn new stuff. He started asking Tim tides, currents, and about where a good drift would be, from about the third day. Tim learned to spot the littlest things that could give him clues. He wanted to get it right. And it was really satisfying when he did.

By the time he got back to the farm every night it was all he could do to eat and wash before he fell asleep. Nan’s ABC radio was something he heard for ten seconds before sleep. He’d thought quite a lot about Hailey the day his mum had told him she was coming, but, like his report card, after starting work with Mckay, he forgot about her, and it.

He loved every moment of being out at sea, loved the boat, loved the way it responded to the sea, loved the sounds and smell and feel of it. He didn’t really know why, but…it just felt good. But he was still glad for the two days when the weather was too bad, and work was merely three hours of boat maintenance and cleaning. He was so tired those were like a holiday.

Two days before Christmas, McKay stopped shipping, and Tim got paid. It added a lot to the neck pouch. “I guess you’ll be able to buy a few more presents,” said Jon, with a grin. “Speaking of which, I have one for you. With my talent for wrapping stuff up, it’s still in the box they sent it in. You can pop it under the Christmas tree. Don’t get overexcited. I don’t have much experience of buying presents. I always buy Rob and my dad a bottle of Scotch, and my mother chocolates. And Louise I make a mess of.” Louise was Jon’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. She was an artist who spent most of her time in Hobart. She’d just come over for the Christmas break, and so far Tim had decided he really didn’t like her. She was beautiful, he supposed. But she wore loads of tinkling jewelry and talked about opera, or ballet, or art, and not about fish and the sea.

“I really feel bad now. I haven’t got you anything,” said Tim awkwardly.

Jon just laughed. “Didn’t expect you to. Rob’s back after New Year, but he’s prone to taking Monday off sick, and sometimes Friday too, so I might give you a call. And Mally is coming over again at the end of January. He’ll want to go fishing again.”

“I’d be keen!” said Tim, grinning. “We can teach him a thing or two.”

“Heh. I know you would. You’ll have to fish off the beach in the meanwhile.”

Tim was thinking about this, about what he could possibly get McKay for Christmas, walking down the track to the farmhouse, when he realized there was a vehicle behind him.

It was a police ute.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 15

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 15

CHAPTER 6

Cuvier Harbor on Jardin

“Opening main hatch,” Vesey warned over the PA system. Daniel, at the back of the boarding hold, squeezed Miranda’s hand and released it. Landings on distant worlds were part of his normal routine, but this was the first time his wife had been off Cinnabar.

The bolts locking the main hatch into the Sissie’s hull withdrew with as much racket than they had made when ringing home. When dogged shut, the hatch was a stressed portion of the corvette’s frame. Now the ship sighed, shaking herself as the hatch pivoted slowly downward to become the boarding ramp.

Steam and ozone sucked into the hold; Miranda flinched slightly. Exhaust from the plasma thrusters was quenched in the harbor when ships made normal water landings, but in still air a miasma of steam and ions hung about the vessel for as long as an hour. The atmosphere was safe within a few minutes of landing so ships rarely waited more, but the first experience of plasma-laced steam and harbor sludge was — literally — breathtaking.

Normally the liberty party would have cheered, but today the Sissies packed in the hold were showing their company manners — Daniel smiled — for Six and his lady. Miranda no more needed to be coddled than Adele did, but the crew was erring on the side of courtesy. That was always proper behavior.

Woetjans and four riggers carried the extendable boarding bridge down the ramp while it was still lowering. Jardin’s triple moons were too small for their gravity to matter, but solar tides raised and lowered the harbor surface by as much as six feet.

The quays of most ports provided ladders to deal with tidal variations. The sort of passengers — and yacht owners — who visited Cuvier were provided with stone steps rising to the top of the quay so that they didn’t get their hands and clothing slimy. Even the non-skid surfaces of the steps couldn’t protect the soles of their shoes from filth, but there were probably mats at the top for cleaning them.

The Sissie’s boarding bridge was a roll of light-metal pontoons which the crew inflated. It connected the ramp with the floating stage attached to the quay by a track. Two members of Woetjans’ team bounced across the bridge while it was still filling and clamped the free end. They trotted up the steps and waited on the quay.

Daniel grinned and murmured to Miranda, “They’re showing off.”

“They have a right to,” she replied. “They’re better than acrobats to be able to do that without falling into the water.”

“They’re riggers,” he said. “If they make a mistake in the Matrix they have worse trouble than getting wet.”

He didn’t add, “Regulations aside, riggers don’t wear safety lines. You’ll drift for all eternity if you get separated from your ship.” Miranda probably knew that already, from her brother or her brother’s friends.

“The liberty party is –” Vesey’s voice began.

“Hold up a bloody minute!” Woetjans called from the edge of the ramp. She was used to shouting over the noise of a dockyard; the Sissies in the hold could hear her easily. The spacers going on liberty had begun to surge forward in anticipation of release, but they settled back now.

“This isn’t like the usual landfall!” the bosun said. “You’re not working for the RCN now, you’re working for Six himself. If you show your asses, you embarrass Six and you embarrass me.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. “Nobody’s saying you can’t have fun,” Woetjans said. “I’m going to get outside a couple jars of good liquor and find a man who’s drunk enough that he don’t mind looking at me. But — no problems, you got that? You may think Six is a soft-hearted git who won’t go at you too hard, and maybe that’s true; but I’m not. You embarrass me and we’ll discuss it, understood? And it won’t be going on the charge sheet, it’ll be personal.”

The bosun grinned. To call her plain would be undue praise at the best of times, but her expression now was terrifying.

“Now the liberty party is released!” she said.

Cheering, the spacers filed out of the hold and across the boarding bridge two abreast. Ribbons with ships’ names and landfalls fluttered from the seams of their liberty suits.

“I’ve split the liberty parties into three at fifteen minute intervals,” Daniel explained. “I’m giving liberty to everybody but the anchor watch, and they’ll go as soon as the first group returns to replace them. These are the senior people.”

“Why split them if they’re all going shortly?” Miranda asked.

“So that the five of us –” Daniel said, nodding past her toward Adele who stood a little apart with Hogg and Tovera “– had room to breathe before the first tranche disembarked.”

The liberty party stopped at the marquee over the base of the quay. Four young women were processing the spacers through without undo delay. A pair of husky men stood behind the marquee, but they weren’t armed even with truncheons.

Daniel frowned. He reached toward the bellows pocket of his tunic where he’d slipped a pair of RCN goggles. They had all the functions of a commo helmet’s faceshield, so he could magnify the scene to get a better idea of what was going on.

“The authorities use facial recognition software on all visitors,” Adele said, correctly interpreting Daniel’s expression. “Anyone whom their database thinks is a threat to good order is denied entry. And if you’re wondering, there’s an emergency response squad on alert at all times. They’re quite heavily armed.”

“We could handle them,” Tovera said straight-faced. “Even without the turret guns.”

Miranda burst out laughing and hugged Daniel with the nearer arm. She obviously knew Adele’s servant well enough that Tovera’s dry humor didn’t bother her.

Daniel wasn’t sure humor was quite the word. Tovera created humor by studying what ordinary people thought was funny, much as she based her actions on what Adele did. The latter seemed to be an adequate substitute for the conscience which Tovera lacked.

“I think we can start off,” Daniel said, having judged the rate at which the liberty party was moving through the marquee. “Then Vesey can send the second section down.”

They were all in civilian clothes; Daniel wasn’t even wearing the saucer hat that would mark him as a ship’s officer. His dull yellow tunic and trousers were loose-fitting with many pockets. Miranda’s outfit was similar but in a shade of pale green printed with a chain-link pattern.

They were as clearly not uniforms as Daniel could find without going to colors so bright that he would stand out, since he didn’t want that either. Adele and Tovera were in suits of cream and tan respectively, and Hogg wore blue slops instead of the garish finery that was really to his taste.

At the boarding bridge Daniel looked at Miranda and said, “If you’d like to go ahead?”

“There’s room for both of us,” she replied, squeezing closer but breaking her stride so that their feet syncopated one another instead of landing in unison.

Daniel nodded mentally in approval. He had seen a bridge undulate when a squad of soldiers marched over it — halfway over, because it had flung them off. Miranda didn’t have personal experience of spacefaring, but she had read and listened to those who did — and she was very smart.

A heavy ground-effect ship had been running its engines up in the separated harbor for planet-bound transport. Now it moved forward, its speed building from a crawl. The nose lifted as the craft came onto the first hull step, and by the time it had reached the outer mole it was on the second step and still accelerating. The trailing edges of its short, broad wings curved down to boost the craft the rest of the way into full ground effect.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 06

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 06

“I need to talk to you, Phillip,”

Phillip recognized his supervisor’s voice. He also recognized from the tone that he should stop what he was doing immediately. Reluctantly he raked away the coals heating the vessel and turned to face Jakob. The man beside him came as a shock. “Master Paler.”

“Phillip, Jakob here says that you are just the person to run some tests for me.”

Phillip didn’t know how to reply, so he turned to his supervisor in mute appeal.

“Master Paler wants you to check the various barrels of gunpowder used by the shooting team for consistency.”

That sounded interesting, but there was one major difficulty. “I don’t know how to do that, Herr Reihing.”

“That’s all right. I’ll show you what has to be done, and then leave you to get on with it.”

Although he was proud that Herr Reihing thought he could perform this new task, he knew it wouldn’t make him any friends with the other apprentices. He could already feel their eyes boring into his back. “When do I start?”

“Report to me as soon as you’ve finished your current distillations,” Jakob said.

****

That evening the other apprentices crowed around Phillip when he returned to the dormitory.

“What were you doing with Herr Reihing today?” Heinrich asked.

“He wanted me to help him test some gunpowder for consistency.”

“And why would Herr Reihing want you to help him do that, instead of someone with more training?”

“Such as yourself, Heinrich?” Christoph suggested.

“Yes, me. After all, I’ve only got another year to go in my apprenticeship.” Heinrich turned his attention back to Phillip. “So, why did he drag you away from the production of acids, Gribbleflotz?”

“You’re only complaining because they moved you to the furnace while Phillip was away,” Christoph said.

Heinrich sent Christoph a quelling glare before turning back to Phillip.

Phillip shrugged. He had no idea why he’d been singled out. But that wasn’t going to appease his current audience. However, Herr Reihing had told him why the powder was being tested. “He said Herr Kellner thought the quality of the power the shooting team was using wasn’t consistent between the barrels.”

“So you had to check to the quality of the powder,” Christoph said. “Go on; tell us how you did that.”

Christoph’s plea was seconded by the rest of the apprentices; even Heinrich indicated he was interested.

“Well, firstly we did a simple visual test,” Phillip explained. “Herr Reihing said that over time gunpowder could separate into its component parts. So we looked for signs of that. Then we did a flash test.”

“What’s that?” Heinrich asked.

“You fill a small copper thimble with gunpowder and invert it onto a piece of clean parchment. Then you use a red-hot iron probe to ignite it. You can determine the quality of the powder by the marks it leaves on the parchment.”

“I bet you can’t do that,” Heinrich muttered.

“Leave off, Heinrich,” Frederik said. “Even if you aren’t interested, I am.” He turned to Phillip. “Why do you use a copper thimble?”

“It doesn’t have to be a copper thimble. That’s just what Herr Reihing used. Any small container will do. The idea is to use exactly the same amount of gunpowder every time so you can compare the results,” Philip explained.

“And I suppose you invert the thimble over the parchment rather than just pour it out so the shape of the mound of gunpowder is the same in each experiment?” Frederik asked.

Phillip nodded. He wasn’t surprised at the sudden drop off in hostility. Gunpowder was something dear to all their hearts. Most, if not all of them, had tried to make some with varying degrees of success at some stage, and Phillip was no exception. There was something about gunpowder that appealed to teenage boys.

“And that’s what you’ve been doing all afternoon, igniting gunpowder?” Christoph asked.

“No, but the other tests aren’t so much fun.” Phillip wasn’t being entirely honest, because he’d actually enjoyed doing the other tests, but he knew his audience would consider them boring.

“Let us decide if it’s fun or not,” Heinrich said.

“Well, what I had to do was take a sample from each barrel of gunpowder, wash them in warm water, and then I had to filter each solution and weigh the residues. The difference between the weight of the initial samples and the residue is the amount of saltpetre in the original sample.

“I’ve had to do something like that before,” Heinrich muttered, “and it’s so finicky to do that you’re welcome to it.”

****

Jakob passed on Phillip’s results to Paul Paler, who in turn passed them on to Ulrich Hechstetter.

“Here are the results from the gunpowder tests,” Paul said as he handed over Phillip’s report. “The gunpowder in the store can be divided into two groups with different levels of saltpetre. I’ve marked the barrels as being either batch one or batch two.”

“So that’s the end of it. Thanks, Paul. I’ll pass the news onto Bartholomäus Kellner.”

“There is something else,” Paul said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Paul muttered.

“Yes?” Ulrich prompted.

“Jakob seems to think that there were a lot of impurities in the gunpowder, and that we could make better gunpowder than we’re getting from Master Böcklin by using purer ingredients,” Paul said.

Ulrich shook his head. “Master Böcklin would never stand for us making gunpowder.”

“That’s what I told Jakob,” Paul said. “But he pointed out that Phillip Gribbleflotz has a proven ability to make really pure acids, and that it wouldn’t hurt to let him try and do the same with saltpetre and sulphur. If he can deliver purer saltpetre and sulphur, then you could ask Master Böcklin to use it to make a special batch of gunpowder for the shooting team.”

Ulrich had heard about the high quality of the distillates young Gribbleflotz was making, and the idea that he might be able to work his special magic over the ingredients for gunpowder had a certain appeal. “That could give us the edge we need to beat the Goldsmith’s this year. I’ll have a word with Georg and see if he’s amenable.”

****

A couple of days later Ulrich dropped in on Paul with the news. “Master Böcklin is happy to make a special order for us, especially if we provide him with the raw materials. So I want you to get Gribbleflotz started refining the saltpetre and sulphur as soon as possible.”

Paul passed on the instruction to Jakob Reihing, who took charge of teaching Phillip how to refine saltpetre and sulphur. The first step was to provide him with a copy of Lazurus Ercker’s 1580 Treatise on Ores and Assaying to read. It was in Latin, and Phillip spent the next week fighting his way through the long section on saltpetre. In addition to learning the theory of making saltpetre, it did wonders for his Latin skills.

With the theory in place Jakob took Phillip through the various stages of preparing saltpetre, from the collection of the earths, through the treatment with lye and washing in warm water, and ending with the boiling away of the resulting filtered saltpetre solution to give the desired white powder. In comparison, the production of very pure sulphur was easy.

Once he was sufficiently sure that Phillip knew what he was supposed to be doing, Jakob left him to it. As he poured his first samples of wash water through the cloth filter into the evaporating pan Phillip couldn’t help but think about the opportunity to make more triple distilled aqua vitae that was going to waste. The high proof alcohol was a valuable trade commodity amongst the apprentices, but Herr Reihing was paying too much attention to his progress for him to risk running any retorts on the furnace.

July 1609, the day of the Schützenfest

Phillip shaded his eyes as he tried to look through the window of the local book store. There were a couple of interesting looking titles on display. Unfortunately, there was no way he could afford them as a mere apprentice.

“Stop drooling, Phillip,” Christoph Baer said.

“Yes,” Frederik Bechler said in agreement. “The Fuggers are good employers, but even they don’t give their apprentices enough to buy books.”

Phillip gave the practical alchemy books a last regretful look before pushing himself away for the window. “I can dream,” he said.

“Sure. How much money do you have?” Frederik asked.

“Nearly two gulden.”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 24

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 24

CHAPTER 9

I let her go, unsure of what else to do. But I listened for the zipper on her tent, and only when I knew she was back with the kids did I cast a warding over my site and retire to my own sleeping bag.

Before I went to sleep, I checked the reception on my phone. I had a couple of bars and so called Billie.

“Hey there,” she said upon answering. “I had hoped to see you tonight. Did you get the message I left you?”

“Did you leave it at my house?”

“Yeah. Where are you?”

I started to answer, but stopped myself. “I’m not sure I can tell you,” I said. “I’m fine, I promise. But I have to operate on the assumption that someone’s listening in on our call.”

“Someone?”

“Saorla. I wanted to check in and let you know that I’m thinking about you.”

After a long pause, she said, “I don’t like this, Fearsson.”

“I know. I don’t either.”

“Can you at least tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to keep someone safe, although that’s not going so well right now.”

“That doesn’t sound so good. How long are you going to be . . . wherever you are?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

She didn’t answer at first. “Well, I guess I’ll be talking to you sometime.”

“I love you, Billie.”

“I love you, too. Hate your job, though.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Fearsson. Be safe.”

I closed the phone, folded my bomber jacket into something resembling a pillow, and lay down, shifting every few seconds until I found a position that was comfortable. It had been some time since last I slept on the ground. It wasn’t quite as much fun as I remembered.

The owl hooted again, and coyotes howled from nearby, their cries echoing off the cliffs. But I was listening for voices and the hum of car engines. I didn’t expect I would sleep much.

The next thing I knew, though, morning sunlight was filtering in through the nylon of my tent. I heard the puttering of a car engine and felt a frisson of magic over my skin. I grabbed my weapon — the Sig Sauer — zipped open the tent, and scrambled out on my hands and knees.

The engine belonged to a small pickup that idled by Gracie’s site. The truck had a park service insignia on the door, and a ranger stood on the road, chatting amiably with Gracie, who was making breakfast for her kids.

I placed my pistol back in the tent, where the ranger wouldn’t see it. Weapons were allowed in national parks now — not too many years ago they hadn’t been — but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by letting him see it. The ranger climbed back into his pickup and rolled toward my site. As he approached, I cast a spell removing my warding from the previous night; the moment I released the magic, Gracie glanced my way. So did her daughter.

“Good morning,” the ranger said, getting out of his truck. He held a clipboard and scanned it for a few seconds before looking my way. “You paid for a single night. You leaving us today?”

“I’m not sure. I was thinking of staying on for another night or two. My plans are a little unsettled, so I’m paying as I go.”

“Good deal. As you can see, we have plenty of room. But remember to pay again this morning before you go off hiking or something.”

“I will. Thank you.”

He jotted something down, raised a hand and smiled, and got back in his truck. As he pulled away, I glanced at Gracie. She was watching me still.

She said something to her kids, then started in my direction. She halted several feet shy of my site. Her hands were in her pockets again, and she toed the ground, her gaze lowered. She seemed at a loss as to what to say, and I’ll admit that I was in no rush to help her out by breaking the ice.

“Who’s Billie?” she asked, which was about the last thing I’d expected.

“Magic that lets you listen in on other people’s private conversations. That would be handy in my line of work.”

A faint smile touched her lips and dimpled her cheeks. She shrugged. “I told you I’d do anything I had to. Given what that could mean, eavesdropping seemed mild.”

A fair point.

“Billie’s a friend. She would have been worried if I hadn’t called.”

Gracie nodded, glanced around the campground. “I’m sorry for . . . I shouldn’t have threatened you like that. But I still don’t know much about you, and what you said last night . . .”

Comprehension came to me about twelve hours too late. “They’re not after you at all,” I whispered. “They want the kids.”

Tears welled in her dark eyes. After a moment, she nodded again. “They want all of us,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as well. “But Emmy in particular. She’s much more than she should be at this age.”

“Does Neil know?”

She flinched at the question, but then lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to hide it from him, but it’s possible that he figured it out for himself. That’s why I left. I was afraid he’d notice, or that she’d tell him.”

“That’s why you left?” I said, unable to keep the incredulity from my voice.

Her lips thinned and anger flared in her eyes.

I was about to say, You didn’t leave because he was beating you? I thought better of it, though. I wanted to win her trust, and critiquing her approach to marriage didn’t seem likely to make that any easier.

“Go back to Phoenix.” She said it with such venom, I wondered if she had guessed what I intended to say. “I’ve already told you, we don’t need your help.”

A thousand retorts leapt to mind, none of them designed to smooth over our differences. I swallowed every one of them. “I came to do some camping,” I said, trying to make it sound like the truth. “So I expect I’ll be sticking around for a few days.”

Her jaw muscles bunched, and her glare didn’t soften even a little. I had the feeling she was swallowing a few choice remarks of her own. At last she whirled away and strode back to her site. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she packed up the kids and left, if for no other reason than to get away from me.

As a cop, I had grown accustomed to people responding to my presence with some level of wariness, even resentment. It came with the job. But since leaving the force and becoming a PI, I had run into that reaction far less frequently. These days the people I met who were in trouble wanted me around; they were willing to pay me to do the work. It had been a long time since I’d encountered this much hostility from someone who I was, at least ostensibly, trying to help.

I retrieved the bags of food from my dad’s truck and pulled out some dried fruit and nuts — my standard camping breakfast. I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat and washed it all down with some water. Then I walked back out to the campground entrance and paid for another night at my campsite. I made a point of walking by Gracie’s site on the way back to my own. The kids were playing some sort of card game and Gracie was washing their breakfast dishes at a water spigot by the nearest bathroom. She glanced at me as I walked past, but I pretended not to notice.