Eric Flint's Blog, page 230

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 18

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 18

CHAPTER 8

Being woken up the next day was hard enough. He’d have slept until midday if he’d been allowed to. He really didn’t care if the cow needed milking.

Unfortunately, the cow did, by its bellowing. And his grandmother had decided he had to do it.

He resented that. He resented her holding his money a lot more. “Where did you come by this?” she asked.

“It’s mine!” She must have gone through his pockets while he was asleep!

“And how did you come by it?” she asked, not showing any signs of giving it to him.

“Mr. McKay gave it to me for working on the boat. I told you I did that. Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with you,” he said crossly.

“You’re in my care. It’s got everything to do with me,” she said grimly. “Well, follower, does he speak true?”

She wasn’t even talking to him, daft old bat.

And then she handed it back to him. “See you put it safe. That’s a lot of money to be taking from a man who did you a kindness. And the cow needs milking.”

“I don’t want to milk the cow.”

“It’s not what you want. She needs to be milked and her udder is sore. You’re hurting her, and the calf, with her crying. What has she done to you? I don’t want to make your breakfast but it needs doing. And breakfast needs milk.”

So Tim had gotten up and put the money in his pocket again. He wasn’t leaving it here. How could she go through his stuff? What did she think he was? A thief? A shamed part of himself said “probably” and knew that he had been one. He had just been lucky. He looked at the room, the non-working laptop, at his island prison outside the window, where the cow was bellowing. Sort of lucky. He was sore and his hands were stiff. But the cow was glad to see him. She had big soft eyes, with long eyelashes.

He was still resentful. Still angry, even if he had to be calm and gentle with the cow; you had to be, milking. He didn’t want to be here, milking a cow. He couldn’t hate the cow. The bull-calf was another matter, maybe, if it didn’t shut up. McKay had said there were always jobs to be done. Well, he’d do them. Do the jobs, earn money that he’d have to find some way of keeping his crazy grandmother from knowing about, giving him a rough time about. He’d worked really hard for that money. If he got enough he could use it to buy a plane ticket out of here. His mother wouldn’t actually turn him out again if he showed up at home, would she? And there were plenty of schools that weren’t St. Dominic’s. Otherwise, well, he could get a job…on a boat or something. He knew he couldn’t really until he was sixteen. But he could tell them he was. Deep down he knew that wouldn’t actually work. It was just a cool dream. But he wanted to have that escape possible, the minute that he could. Or…if the story of what happened in Melbourne all came out at school, or something. Anyway, it might take him until he was sixteen to save the money up. He didn’t know what the flights off the island cost. He just knew it was a lot. He’d have to find out. Meanwhile, he’d just have to pretend to be cooperating. Being good.

He didn’t feel good.

Still, he worked on the farm that day and went meekly off to school on Monday. He had to admit it wasn’t actually bad at school among the zombies-of-the-island. He could almost have been enjoying it a lot more than St. Dominic’s, if it hadn’t been for the worry that they’d find out about why he’d left there. It was just such a different world here. They would never understand why he’d done…stuff. Tagging. And the shoplifting thing. They were all just so…good. Well, not really good, but not the same kind of not-good. The sort of dangerous side to Hailey that had attracted him just wasn’t there, in any of them.

At first he kept the money in his pocket. But he was worried about losing it, as he didn’t have a wallet, and he wasn’t going to spend any of the money on buying that. Mum could have sent him pocket money at least. It wasn’t fair.

He found a little Ziploc bag at school. It had probably had had some kid’s lunch treat in it. He didn’t care. It was clean and was better than nothing. He kept it under his pillow at night, and in his pocket during the daytime.

He was getting along better with Molly, too. They shared the bus trip, and they were the oldest ones, on for the longest. Only two of the littlies came from farther out than they did. Molly read on the bus when they’d let her. She was popular with the two kids from Killiekrankie, and with Troy and Samantha Burke. She had looked after most of them. “Babysitting is my pocket money. The B&B doesn’t make as much as Dad thought it would, and there is only so much computer work going. Mum’s been cleaning holiday houses to help. I felt bad after I heard them talking about it. It was awful. Besides, like, I want a new computer. I was collecting nautilus shells to sell before, but I’ve only found three, and no perfect ones.”

They ended up talking about computers because it was easier than talking about money. “My laptop is on the blue screen of death,” said Tim gloomily.

“Let me give it to my dad,” she’d offered. “He fixes them. Well, he swears at them a lot.”

So he’d brought it in and given it to her.

It came back the next day, which was Thursday. “My dad says how anyone had so many things unplugged in a laptop that still had all its seals intact is a mystery to him. He reconnected your power supply. There was nothing else wrong with it, besides an old battery.”

“Wow. Thanks! Yeah, it doesn’t hold a charge for long,” admitted Tim. “But now I can at least plug it in and play a game on the weekend. My gran doesn’t even have TV. She listens to ABC on this old radio.”

“We get really bad TV reception anyway. So are you going to the show tomorrow?” she asked.

“No. What show?”

She stared at him like he’d turned green. “You really mean you don’t know? It’s the Flinders Island Show. Everyone goes. There are, like, art competitions and veggies and wool, and there are a load of stalls from off-island selling things.” She colored slightly. “I’ve got a painting entered in the landscape section. Mum bought me the painting stuff out of her cleaning money.” She giggled. “Dad wanted to enter his broccoli, but it all started flowering. He’s not much good at gardening really. Great with computers, but he wants to grow veggies.” She bit her lip. “I could ask my parents if they could give you a lift. You can’t miss it. It only happens once a year.”

“I could ask my grandmother. But she’ll probably say no.”

“Well, if she doesn’t…look, I’ll phone if they say it’s okay. Or get my mum to call. That might be easier. They always like to interfere anyway.”

“Well, she’ll say no. But thanks. Have you finished the Wheel of Time books?”

She nodded. “It’s just brilliant how he put it all together. He must have planned it all before he even started.”

“I kind of lost it at book six…”

And they got involved in talking about books, until they arrived at school.

Tim wondered, that day, how he’d missed knowing about the Island Show. No one did much work, and he heard quite a lot about it.

And to his surprise, Molly’s father phoned Nan. And she said he could go. She even gave him five dollars from the tin box under her bed. Tim saw her pulling it out as he walked past.

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 18

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 18

CHAPTER 7

Since my conversation with Amaya the previous night, I had been debating whether I should share what I’d learned with Kona. Professional ethics dictated that I tell her nothing. The same way attorneys maintained a privileged relationship with their clients, PIs were bound morally, if not legally, to keep private our conversations with the people who hired us. And if that had been the only consideration, this would have been an easy decision. But Kona was trying to solve a murder, and had brought me in to help her. I couldn’t be positive that Gracie Davett had killed the man in the restaurant, but I would have bet every penny Jacinto was paying me that there was only one weremyste mom with an eight year-old daughter and five year-old son running around the Phoenix metropolitan area right now.

It occurred to me that I’d found my out right there: Amaya was paying me. He had hired me, not the Trejos, so technically I wasn’t violating any trust by sharing information about their daughter. But that felt like a cheap way around the problem. In the end, I decided that telling Kona was simply the right thing to do.

Neither of us had spoken a word since her last remark, but before I could act on the decision I’d made, she said, “We did get one break. I think we have a line on the magical mom.”

“Is that right?”

“This morning a guy came in to report that his wife and kids are missing. The husband and wife are separated and he thinks she’s taken the kids out of the city in violation of their separation agreement. Now technically that would be child abduction, and he’s willing to press charges in order to get the kids back.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

I didn’t mean to say it aloud, and judging from the silence on the other end, Kona understood that.

“You have something you want to share?” she asked after a pause.

I sighed. “Gracie Davett, right? Neé Engracia Trejo?”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“I was hired by Gracie’s parents last night. They’re worried about her. They’re convinced that Neil’s been abusing her. They don’t know if he’s hurt the kids, too, but they think it’s possible.”

“When were you planning on telling me this?”

“Truthfully? I had just decided to when you brought it up.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

I could imagine her nodding.

“All right then.”

“You can’t be considering helping this guy, Kona. He’s been beating his wife.”

“We have no proof of that.”

“How much proof –”

“Hold on there, Justis,” she said, talking over me. “Yes, she has been admitted to the hospital on three occasions in the past eighteen months with odd injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist, and a severe sprain in her elbow. And twice the ER physicians who treated her reported seeing other injuries as well. Scrapes and bruises, some on her limbs, and some on her face and neck.”

“Sounds like abuse to me. How much more evidence do you need?”

“You know full well how much more. Abuse is hard to prove. I shouldn’t have to tell you that; you were too good a cop for too long a time to be as naïve as you sound right now. She’s denied repeatedly that he ever hurt her, and as incriminating as some of those injuries were, none of them was conclusive enough to convince any of the attending physicians to take action. They had a break-in at their house not that long ago. You want me to arrest him for that, too?”

I didn’t answer. She was right: Proving abuse without the cooperation of the victimized spouse was next to impossible.

“I should also tell you,” she went on after a tense silence, “that as far as we can tell the kids have never shown up in an ER, except for one time when the little girl had an appendicitis.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

“My job.” She sounded exasperated; I wasn’t making this any easier for her. “She’s wanted for murder. I have witnesses who say that she killed two men.”

“Two?”

“Oh, yeah. John Doe number two died overnight. We still don’t have a name for either one of them, by the way.”

I wondered if Saorla was listening to this phone call, laughing at our ignorance.

“Anyway, the woman’s wanted for murder. And now she’s in violation of her custody agreement. That’s two strikes against her. I don’t have any choice in the matter, Justis. I have to find her, and one way or another, she’s probably going to jail.”

“Judging from what she did to those guys in the Burger Royale, I’m not convinced you’ve got a jail that can hold her.”

“Well, that’s what I want to hear.”

We lapsed into another silence. At this point if my life, I felt little residual loyalty to the PPD, but I didn’t like the idea of pitting myself against Kona.

“You asked me a minute ago what I was going to do,” she said. “I think I’m the one who should be asking that question of you.”

“I have paying clients,” I said. “They want their daughter and grandkids back, and they don’t want them anywhere near Neil Davett.”

“Right. I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

“Sorry, partner.”

“No, I get it. You have a job to do. But so do I, and anyone who gets in my way and helps this woman is going to be on the wrong side of the law. You understand what I’m telling you?”

“Of course.”

“All right then. I guess I’ll be talking to you.”

“Right. Bye, partner.”

It wasn’t the most awkward conversation I’d ever had with Kona, but it definitely made the top five.

I closed my phone and looked back at Billie. She was wide awake, propped up on one elbow, her eyes on me, her expression grim. Her brown curls spilled over her bare shoulder, and she had the blanket and sheet pulled up almost to her neck.

“That didn’t sound so good,” she said.

“It wasn’t.”

“A magical vampire?”

I cringed.

“You combine that with the wereowl, and I think you could pitch this to a Hollywood agent.”

At least she was able to joke about it.

“I should probably get going,” I said. “This woman I’ve been hired to find is pretty hot right now. I need to get to her first.”

Billie’s eyebrows went up. A grin crept over my face.

“‘Hot’ meaning a lot of people are after her. It’s an investigative term.”

“Right,” she said, sounding unconvinced. But she was smiling and she caught my hand in hers before I could get up. “I had a nice time last night.”

I leaned over and kissed her. “So did I.”

She gave me a little push. “Okay, go find this hot woman you’re after.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I showered, dressed, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on her counter, and was out the door well before eight o’clock. The air had grown cool and the sky was a clear, deep blue. Perfect autumn weather and a fine day for a drive into the desert.

But even after I was in the Z-ster with the engine running, I sat staring out the window, watching as Billie’s quiet neighborhood came to life. I had no idea how to find Gracie Davett, and I was all-too conscious of the fact that Saorla was probably watching my every move from her magical perch, wherever that might be. The last thing I wanted to do was lead her and her weremancers to Gracie and the children.

In the past, I had used spells to keep Saorla from listening to my conversations. Perhaps I could keep her from tracking me, as well. The problem was, doing so would tick her off, and she would take out her anger on Billie and my dad, both of whom would be appalled at being used as leverage in that way.

But thinking of my dad gave me an idea.

I pulled away from the curb and drove back to my place in Chandler to pick up a change of clothes and a new toy I’d bought myself with some of the money I’d been earning. It was a Sig Sauer P938 Edge, a new back-up weapon that fit far more comfortably into an ankle holster than my bulky Glock ever had, and more comfortably in my hand than the Smith and Wesson Bodyguard 380 I’d been using as a backup for the past several years. The S&W wasn’t a bad weapon — far from it. I liked it at first, but I’d never gotten to the point where I truly felt at ease with it. The trigger pull was too long, and thing just didn’t settle right in my hand, and so I hadn’t been willing to rely on it. My new Sig Sauer . . . well, let’s just say that it was love at first sight, literally.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 09

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 09

“There’s a revolution in the Tarbell Stars,” Daniel said. “Rivals in the 5th Bureau are backing — secretly backing, I gather — the opposing parties. Your friend Storn is backing the Tarbell Government.”

I wish everyone knew how to provide information as clearly and succinctly, Adele thought as her wands sent information streaming onto her display. Daniel waited patiently. As a courtesy she muttered, “Ah,” but Daniel knew her too well to imagine that she was ignoring what he had just said.

“General Storn believes that if the government were to hire the Sissie and her crew as mercenaries,” Daniel said, “you and I would be able to advise them usefully.” After a pause, he added, “It seems rather nebulous to me.”

“We would be reporting to President Menandros?” Adele said. She was sorting through material recently added to the suspense folder of her base unit here in Chatsworth Minor. The file came without a provenance, but the format was that of Mistress Sand’s organization.

“I don’t know any details,” Daniel said. “I’m not sure there are any. If Storn is keeping his involvement secret, he may not be able to influence how we’ll be used. It looks like a real mare’s nest.”

“Um,” said Adele, again being polite. Operations beyond the borders of the great powers — the civilized states, Cinnabar and the Alliance — were always mare’s nests. The fact that she and Daniel would be operating under the titular command of a local potentate wouldn’t change that either way, because they would simply ignore any orders with which they disagreed.

She and Daniel had been known to ignore orders from their superiors in the Republic a time or two also. That wasn’t going to change either.

Adele looked up at Daniel, holding the wands still for a moment. “Does Admiral Anston support this involvement?” she asked. She had seen the admiral’s wife arrive at the reception with an escort of RCN officers, but Anston himself had not been present.

“The admiral thinks it’s a foolish and dangerous operation,” Daniel said. “Minister Forbes, on the other hand, thinks that the potential value to the Republic and the great potential value to her political ambitions more than outweigh any dangers to you and me.”

He smiled broadly, suddenly relaxing. “What I think,” Daniel said, “is that if Anston were my age, he’d knock me down to get at the chance. Well, he’d try.”

“Are there any restrictions on how you’re to act after you reach the Tarbell Stars?” Adele said as she returned to her screen.

“Not that anyone has mentioned,” Daniel said. He shrugged. “Anyway, if I’m to be operating as a private citizen with no support from my government, I’m bloody well not going to be taking orders from politicians.”

“I presume you would be given a full briefing if you were willing to undertake the task?” Adele said.

“I’ll certainly get a briefing before I hare off to the Tarbell Stars,” Daniel said. “Off-planet somewhere. If I’m not, we’re not, satisfied with the terms, then the matter is closed and nobody needs know that it was even raised.”

He cleared his throat again and said, “Adele, we’ve talked about what other people think. What do you think?”

She continued to go through the file which Mistress Sand had supplied. There were points which would require clarification, but for the most part it was remarkably complete — given the physical and political distance between Cinnabar and the Tarbell Stars.

“I was told to use my judgment,” Adele said. “I see no disadvantage to me in attempting the task.”

“Well, you might be killed,” said Daniel, frowning.

Adele shrugged and continued to work. “I see no disadvantage to me,” she repeated.

“In that case…” Daniel said. “I’d like to make an announcement from your balcony. With Miranda. She said that she’d support any decision that I made.”

“Yes, she would,” Adele said. She looked up, then put the data unit away in its pocket. “And of course you may use the balcony. The acoustics of the close are very good, as I remember from hearing my father addressing his supporters here.”

She wondered what Lucas Mundy would think about Corder Leary’s son speaking from the balcony from which Lucas had so often roused Popular Party supporters.

It doesn’t matter: Lucas Mundy was dead. His surviving daughter was pleased at the current use.

* * *

The main stairs of Chatsworth Minor were wide enough that Daniel and Miranda could walk up side-by-side. She pulled him closer and said, “Don’t worry about the dress. It won’t crush. Mother and I know fabric.”

“You’re lovely,” Daniel said, a safe thing to say but not exactly true. Miranda was striking and extremely fit, but she wasn’t a classic beauty. Her hair was usually brown, though bright sun brought out auburn highlights; her features weren’t quite regular; and her torso would be described as sturdy rather than curvy.

Daniel Leary had known a good number of women. He’d never known one who was more alive than Miranda, and he’d never known one who made him feel more alive.

Adele was already waiting on the fourth floor, in what was now her library. It had been the master suite during her father’s lifetime. While Daniel was fetching his bride, Adele and Tovera had moved piles of information in various forms off two chairs.

That hadn’t been necessary: all Daniel cared was that there be a path to the wrought-iron balcony facing the close and the crowd there. Still, it showed that Adele was trying to be hospitable.

Daniel turned to Miranda and said, “Now, you’re sure –”

That was as far as he got. Miranda touched his lips with her right index finger and said, “Yes, I’m sure. I told you I was sure. Now let’s do what we planned.”

Adele’s face was as still as glass, but Tovera grinned. Daniel thought about it and grinned back.

He opened the balcony door and stepped out, holding Miranda’s hand. The crowd noise built to a roar as people looked up at the couple above them.

Daniel raised both arms to their full length. After a calculated moment, he brought them down abruptly. The result wasn’t complete silence, but it was close enough that he could expect to be heard when he called, “Shipmates!”

The response was shriller and even more enthusiastic, though the volume may have been reduced from its earlier peak. Daniel heard someone Yee-hah! quite clearly.

He gestured for silence again, grinning. There was an enormous number of people below. More were pouring out of the houses — or at least they were trying to get out — when they realized that Daniel was speaking. The small porches were already clogged by people talking in the doorways.

“And friends!” Daniel said. He was used to making himself heard on a starship under circumstances in which lives depended on people doing what he said. The tuned acoustics of the close helped, but he was doing his part now.

“In two weeks my bride and I are making a honeymoon cruise to Jardin,” Daniel said. “We’ll be travelling on the Princess Cecile, and for that we’ll need a crew.”

Miranda had mentioned several times during their relationship that her father had loved Jardin. Her delight when Daniel suggested that they honeymoon there proved that he’d been right to hear wistfulness in that recollection of her father.

Jardin was independent and a popular destination for people — for wealthy people — from all across human space. It was a perfect location in which to meet the envoys of General Storn for a detailed briefing.

“All former Sissies are welcome to sign on for the voyage,” Daniel said. “I can’t promise prize money this time –”

More cries of enthusiasm, but they died back before he had to quell them.

“– but I’ll pay honest wages. I’ve been told that Jardin’s a good landfall for a spacer with a little pocket money.”

When the noise settled again, Daniel said, “I hope that sober Sissies will in the morning pass my offer on to their shipmates who’ve already got a load on. If there are any sober Sissies here!”

He turned to Miranda. They embraced as the crowd roared and continued to roar for a very long time.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 08

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 08

“Seventy with any population or government worth mentioning,” Forbes said, nodding agreement. “My suspicion is that Storn believes that you and Lady Mundy will be of more value to the Tarbell government than your armed yacht will. I haven’t discussed the question, but that’s how I would think if I were in his position.”

The trouble with doing things that others said were impossible… Daniel thought. Is that people keep coming up with other impossible things. Eventually they’re likely to be right.

Aloud he said, “I’ll think about the matter, Minister. I need to discuss it before I come to a decision.”

Forbes smiled and rose to her feet. “Very well, Captain,” she said. “I await your decision with a great deal of interest.”

The minister left the door open behind her as she walked out. Daniel heard her exchange a quiet greeting with Admiral Anston. Hogg looked in from the hall without saying anything.

Daniel joined Hogg. He’d expected Forbes to press him, perhaps even plead with him. Instead she had demonstrated that she had read his character during the Karst mission and that she was treating him with respect and intelligence.

He grinned. Forbes was manipulating him in the fashion she’d decided would be most effective. Forbes was doing her job.

Hogg backed away, waiting for Daniel to give him direction. Daniel said to Anston, “Sir? Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Did Forbes leave the brandy in there?” Anston said, nodding toward the room Daniel had left.

“Yes she did,” Daniel said. “Would you like help drinking it?”

“No, just leave me with the decanter,” Anston said. He barked a laugh. “I owe Forbes thanks for one thing. I’ve got a battalion of nurses that ordinarily worry me like I was a kitten in a dog pen. Forbes got them off my back for the afternoon.”

Anston wheeled himself into the doorway, then rotated his chair and looked up at Daniel. “I was a bloody fool to have gone along with this game, Leary,” he said.

Daniel shrugged. “Sir,” he said, “when RCN officers stop taking orders from our elected masters, the Republic is in sad shape. Anyway, no harm done.”

He saluted. The ripped back of his tunic flapped when his arm rose.

Anston returned the salute and disappeared into the drawing room. He closed the door behind him.

Daniel took a deep breath and said, “Hogg, it isn’t Admiral Anston who’s the bloody fool; or about to become one, anyhow.”

Hogg shrugged. “I guess you’ll make it work out well enough, master,” he said. “Anyway, that’s not my business to say.”

Clearing his throat, Hogg added, “I guess you need to chat with the mistress now?”

“Shortly,” Daniel said. He grinned widely. “But before I discuss matters with Adele, I need to talk to Miranda. I need to talk to my wife.”

* * *

Adele stood in the street outside Chatsworth Minor, talking to — mostly listening to — three women whom to the best of her knowledge she had never seen before. She held a 20-ounce mug of Bantry ale, wishing that she had gotten 4 ounces of spirits instead; her wrist was getting tired.

“Now she married Cousin Sandor,” said the tallest of the three, a woman with blonde hair, a brightly youthful face, and eyes that might have been a century old. Her voice had the brittleness of old age as well. “That’s my cousin, not yours, your ladyship.”

All three women laughed in affected tones.

One of the reasons Adele held the mug in her right hand was that it prevented her from instinctively taking the data unit out of her pocket and losing herself in it. That would be discourteous. So would reaching into her left tunic pocket and shooting the women dead with the pistol there, but that notion looked increasingly attractive.

“Now, Priscilla — and how amusing that her name sounds so much like the name of your ship, Lady Mundy! Now Priscilla married –”

Daniel and Miranda were approaching, followed by a troupe of well-wishers which reminded Adele of her father’s clientele at the height of his political power. That wasn’t an altogether positive memory — Adele’s smile was too slight to be noticed by anyone looking at her — but she wasn’t superstitious.

“Ladies, you must excuse me!” Adele said. “I must speak with Captain Leary!”

That is the cold truth, because if I stay here any longer I will behave ungraciously.

“Adele, might I speak with you for a moment?” Daniel said before Adele was able to get out her very similar words. “Ah, perhaps with a little privacy?”

Miranda squeezed his shoulder and turned to their entourage. “I’ll try to deputize for both of us with our guests,” she said. She looked as happy as Adele had ever seen her.

Miranda’s face was framed by a halo of white gauze, and her dress was a cloud of similar material. The individual layers of fabric were so fine that Adele wondered if there was a membrane of some other material to prevent the ensemble from being transparent in bright sunlight.

“Yes, we’ll go up to your suite,” Adele said. “You arrived at a good time for me.”

She wouldn’t really have shot the women. She might have overturned the beer onto their feet, however. She would have regretted that afterwards: her mother’s ghost would be horrified.

Hogg cleared a path through the people on the steps, all of whom wanted to say something to Daniel. He was more diplomatic than Adele would have expected.

If she hadn’t seen Hogg a moment before, she wouldn’t have doubted that he really was as drunk as his slurred, “Clear ta way fer mashter!” sounded. He swung his mug back and forth, but the drops he sloshed out never quite stained the finery of importunate well-wishers.

Tovera was bringing up the rear. Adele could only hope that she too was on good behavior.

“There are so many people,” Adele said as Daniel led her into the house. “And they seem happy.”

“Yes they do,” Daniel agreed. “You and Deirdre have done a wonderful job, Adele. I won’t forget it.”

He had missed the point of the comment, which was Adele’s wonder that anyone could be happy when there were so many people around. It was evidence of how distracted she was that the fact surprised her.

A servant with a Leary flash on his collar — not one of the normal house staff — passed them through the plush cord at the staircase. Hogg stepped aside to wait at the base of the stairs, where Tovera joined him. Adele wondered what the two of them discussed. It was good that they got along; it would have been — briefly — disastrous if they had not.

Adele had her personal data unit out even before she was through the door of Daniel’s suite on the first landing. Inside she sat on the nearest chair. Her control wands quivered, manipulating the holographic screen by their attitude and position. Daniel watched, patient if perhaps bemused in the glance she spared him.

“The woman who was speaking to me,” she said, “the tall one. She’s the widow of my father’s brother’s brother-in-law. Her name is Henriet Krause.”

Instead of speaking, Daniel raised an eyebrow. With a shock of embarrassment, Adele realized that he didn’t have — she hadn’t provided — any background to explain why that was worth mentioning.

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said. “Mistress Krause is probably my closest living relative, and all I could think of while talking to her was how much I wished I were somewhere else.”

She pursed her lips and added, “Mistress Krause isn’t very close, of course.”

Because if she were, the Proscriptions which Speaker Leary had ordered would have led to her execution as well.

“I’m sure you can renew your acquaintance at a less busy time,” Daniel said mildly. For the first time Adele noticed that his 1st Class uniform had been torn along the seams and — the decorative wall mirror gave her a glimpse of his back — between his shoulders as well. “But since we are someplace else at the moment…?”

“I’m sorry,” Adele repeated. “Please tell me what it was you wanted to discuss.”

 

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 17

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 17

“Lucky as all get out,” said McKay. “He took to it like a duck to water.”

“And he nearly caught a shark.” Harrison held his arms at full stretch. “It was towing the boat.”

“Nearly pulled us under,” said McKay cheerfully. “And Mally was yelling ‘Cut the line, cut the line’ as we went skiing along. Good thing it came off, or we might have been in Perth by now. Tim was standing up in the bow like Captain Ahab, holding on, hauling it in, saying ‘it’s only a tiddler…’ while Mally was begging and weeping.”

“Ha,” said Mally, gesturing widely. “That was you. I said we might make a new round-the-world record, and to hold tight. It was bigger than a blue whale. Maybe two blue whales.”

“Aw, you blokes!” said Tim, grinning. “It wasn’t that big.”

“It was a good fish, though. Get up and pass us the Esky with fillets in it, Tim,” said McKay.

Tim actually ran to do it. Molly had never seen him look so lively at school. He struggled with the icebox. He wasn’t the biggest of boys, and it was obviously heavy. You wouldn’t think so, though, by the way Mr. Harrison’s friend McKay took it.

“How many did you get?” They were beautiful big fillets.

“Fifty-five.”

“I thought you said we’d caught our bag-limit?” said Mr. Harrison.

“No point in taking all the fish in the sea,” said McKay. “Leave some for next time. Besides, we’d still have been gutting, and the sea is a lot worse now. It gets up pretty fast around here. How many do you want, Mally?”

“Well, if I could freeze a few to take home, it’d be nice. Some for tea tonight. But we’ve got abs and that crayfish you gave me, and we’re only here for two more nights…”

“So what did you need sixty fillets for, then?” asked McKay. “I want about twenty fillets, to stock the freezer and to give a few fresh ones to my neighbor. Tim’s grandmother will want some for the freezer, but that’s still plenty.

“My gran doesn’t have a freezer,” said Tim.

“Good grief. We couldn’t live without ours,” said Molly’s dad.

Molly couldn’t help noticing that Tim cringed a bit. He obviously wished he hadn’t said anything. “Dad. You did promise me you’d take me up to my babysitting,” she said, partly because it was true, and partly to change the subject.

“So I did. Is it that time already?” He looked at the tools in his hands. “Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?” He grimaced. “We’ll take what fish you can spare, guys. And there is space to freeze a nice batch for you to take home, Mr. Harrison.”

“So who are you babysitting for?” asked Tim as the fish fillets were divided up.

“More like child-minding really. Troy and Sammy Burke. They live just over the hill. In that big posh place with the all-glass front up the hill, a bit toward your gran’s place. They’ve got a fantastic view.”

She wondered what made him cringe about that too.

* * *

“You wouldn’t like a job for a few hours?” asked McKay, as they drove up the track from Molly’s parents’ place. “Nothing interesting. Just scrubbing down the hull of a boat. But I’ll pay you…oh, fifteen dollars an hour. I think that’s the going rate for young’uns.”

Tim nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.” For a start, he didn’t want to go back to the farm, where he’d be working anyway. For a second thing…he didn’t have any money at all. Not that there was anything to spend it on. For a third thing, he’d rather liked Mr. Jon McKay and his friend Mally. Being out on the boat and fishing was some of the best fun he’d ever had, and he’d have done the boat scrubbing for nothing, just for a chance to go to sea with McKay again.

“I feel a bit guilty taking you away from your gran and the farm, but I really need to get this boat finished, and your gran’s coped without you up to now. Amazing old bird, she is, running that place on her own. She must be glad to have you to help.”

Tim hadn’t seen any signs of her being glad. But then she’d lent him the flask. And she had said “welcome.” But she was crazy, talking to invisible people. He said so. Maybe…

“Heh. I do that myself. You should always talk to the most intelligent person around, and a lot of the time it is just me.”

During the afternoon Tim found out a fair bit about the abalone diver. The first thing he found out was that McKay had no plan to sit still and do nothing while Tim worked. After a while, Tim decided that McKay didn’t really know how to sit still. He worked next to Tim, scrubbing and scraping the hull of the wooden boat. It was an old Cray boat that McKay planned to fit out with live tanks for prawns — a new idea that he wanted to try out. There was music from a CD player and they talked as they worked, about fish, about diving, about sharks, and about McKay’s on-and-off girlfriend, and about his own trips to the island as a youngster.

And the man worked hard. Tim tried to work just as hard, but by the end of two hours he felt like his muscles were jelly. He was relieved when the abalone diver looked at his watch and said, “Right. I’d better get you back. You’ve done well, youngster.” He stood up, pulled off the safety goggles and mask, and hauled his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

Tim wanted the money. But he realized that he wanted other things a bit more. “Look, it’s fine. I had a great day, and I’m happy to do this anytime if you take me to sea.”

McKay laughed, pulled money out of his wallet. “I don’t go out fishing that often, Tim. Just when my friends come over from the mainland, really. But at the price of a flight over here, that doesn’t happen that often. They’d rather go to Bali or Fiji with fifty thousand other people. Crazy. But you can come out someday when we go ab diving. It’s pretty hard work, mind you.”

“Really? Oh, wow! That’d be fantastic. I’d love that. I…I don’t mind hard work.” That was true…if it was doing this sort of stuff. “But you don’t need to pay me.” His grandmother’s words about being useful and learning came back to him. “I need to learn.”

“You’ll go far with that attitude,” said McKay, handing him the money. “Far, and stay broke. Take it. I can afford it, and we’ve got a lot done. There’ll be other jobs if you want them. There’s always work on the island if you’re reliable and work hard. Now let’s get you back. Your gran will be wondering if you’ve drowned.”

Tim folded the cash carefully and put it in his pocket. “Anytime you need help. And anytime I can go to sea…”

The diver grinned. “Right. You really liked that, did you?”

Tim nodded. “It was the best ever.” To his surprise, he wasn’t just saying it. It had been.

He didn’t say much on the trip from the boat shed back to the farm. He was tired. Gran was pleased with the fish, though. “I get some off the beach, but not as big as these,” she said, touching the fillets. “Yer thanked Mr. McKay?”

Tim nodded. “Yes, Gran.”

“Not more than ten times,” said McKay. “Right. I’ll be seeing you, then.”

And he drove off. “Fresh fish and chips for tea,” said Gran.

Fish and chips had been fairly low on Tim’s list of take-away meals, back in Melbourne. But this didn’t taste even a bit like that. This would have beaten chicken tikka pizza, any day, hands down.

Tim had eaten, washed and fallen asleep, and the world, even Flinders Island, seemed a fairly good place.

It was too good to last, though.

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 17

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 17

The spells Saorla and her weremancers placed on them changed this. The dark sorcerers had been using weres as servants — wereslaves, I called them. They claimed to have magic that would free the weres from the moon, and allow them to control when and where they took their animal form. This magic, they assured their victims, was a gift.

In reality, it was anything but. All it did was give control over the weres to those who cast the spells. They could turn the weres at will, and compel them to do their bidding.

Six days remained until the start of the phasing, which meant that this were had probably been forced into owl form by a dark sorcerer, probably for the express purpose of delivering a message to me. Confident now that I wouldn’t spook the bird, I crossed to the shelves and carefully removed the note from its leg. Then I held out my arm.

“I’ll let you out. It’ll be easier than trying to squeeze through that hole in the screen.

The owl clicked its beak before hopping to my arm, its wings opening as it sought to keep its balance.

“You’re a beautiful bird,” I said. “I wish my father could see you.”

I opened the door and stepped outside. At the first touch of the night air, the owl leapt off my arm and flew away, wings beating silently. It flashed beneath the streetlamp, but after that I lost track of it. I scanned the street, but saw no one, and then went back inside, taking care to lock the door.

Billie was awake and sitting up, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes puffy.

“You’re here,” she said.

“Yeah. Sorry it’s so late.”

She pushed a strand of hair out of her face and yawned. “What time is it?”

I stepped into the kitchen, switched on the light and checked the clock on the stove. It was only a few minutes past ten, though it felt much later.

“Ten after ten,” I called to her.

I unrolled the tiny piece of paper I’d taken from the owl, and read.

You are not to interfere — S.

It was written in a tight, neat script. I had no doubt as to who “S” was. Apparently the circle of people interested in Gracie Davett was expanding by the hour.

Saorla had included no warning in her missive — there hadn’t been room on the scrap of paper for much more than what she’d written. But the fact that she had sent the wereowl here, to Billie’s home, was threat enough.

“Fearsson?”

“Yeah.” I balled up the paper and threw it in Billie’s trash.

A moment later she shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the light. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I was checking the time.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “You wear a watch.”

Even drowsy, she was smarter than me — I? — although I’m not sure that was saying much.

“Does whatever you’re hiding from me have anything to do with that big tear in my screen?”

I winced, scratched the back of my head. “Yes, it does. There was an owl waiting here for me when I got back.”

Her jaw dropped. “An owl? In my house?”

“It was a were, and it had a note tied to its leg.”

“Was the note for me or you?”

It was my turn to cock on eyebrow.

“Yeah, all right. Stupid question. Who was it from?” Before I could answer, she put up a hand. “No, let me guess. Saorla.”

“You’re getting good at this.”

“I don’t seem to have much choice. There was really an owl in my house?”

“A wereowl.”

She gave a roll of her eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Weresnakes?”

Billie scowled. “I was thinking of Saorla herself showing up. But thanks. Now I’ll be scanning the floor for weresnakes every time I walk into my kitchen.”

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She snuggled against my chest.

“Have I mentioned that your job sucks?”

“A couple of times. And that’s just today.”

“What did Amaya want?”

“He hired me on behalf of an older couple. Their daughter and her children are missing, and they want me to find them.”

“That’s sad. But as things with Amaya go, it doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Not of the face of it, no. But I’m almost positive that this is the same woman I told you about over dinner, the one Kona is after.”

She frowned up at me. “The one from the burger place?”

“I think so.” I described for her my conversation with the Trejos and my encounter with Neil Davett. “And,” I said, “I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that there was a note from Saorla waiting for me when I got back here.”

“So the husband’s a weremyste, too.”

“Yes. And I think he’s into dark magic. I’m positive that if I’d given him the chance, he would have drawn blood for a spell.”

“Do you think he’s working with Saorla?”

It was a good question, one I didn’t know how to answer. I had little doubt that the weremancers at the burger place worked for her, the men inside who hadn’t been carrying ID, as well as the silver-haired man outside who could kill with a touch. But I had the impression that Neil was on his own. Saorla didn’t mess around, and she didn’t place her trust in amateurs. Even the couple at the motel earlier in the day had been powerful and professional enough to pose a threat to me. Neil had been careless; Saorla would have said that he was ruled by his emotions.

Billie rapped her knuckles lightly on the side of my head. “What’s going on in there, Fearsson?”

I smiled. “You’ve got me thinking. To answer your question, no, I don’t think her husband is working for Saorla. At least not on this. He struck me as a guy who was desperate to find his wife and kids.”

“So that he can abuse them again.”

I tipped my head, conceding the point.

“You need to find them before anyone else does.”

“Yes, I do. But first I need to sleep, and so do you.”

She canted her head to the side, the depth of her smile quickening my pulse. “I slept already. I’m not tired anymore.” She kissed me. “And I seem to remember somebody letting it slip that he’s in love with me.”

“I remember that, as well.”

“Good. Then take me to bed.”

“That’s easily the best offer I’ve had all day,” I said. I scooped her up into my arms, eliciting a giggle, and carried her back to her bedroom.

It was a late night.

Unfortunately, it was also an early morning.

I awoke to a faint, familiar chiming that at first I couldn’t place. It took three tones before I recognized the sound of my cell phone. It was still in the pocket of my bomber jacket, which lay on the floor near Billie’s bed.

I scrambled out from under the sheet and blanket, grabbed the bomber, and fumbled for the phone. The clock readout read “7:12.” And the caller ID beneath it read “Kona at 620.”

I opened the phone and sat back on the edge of the bed. “Fearsson.”

“Billie charging you rent yet?” Kona asked. “I can hardly reach you at your own place anymore.”

“No,” I said, still trying to wake up. “No rent yet.”

“Get your head in the game, Justis. I need your help.”

“Yeah, all right. What’s up?”

“I’m holding the M.E.’s report on Merilee Guilford, the woman who was killed outside the Burger Royale.”

The Medical Examiner’s report. That got my attention. “And?”

“Cause of death was blood loss.”

I shivered, as if Saorla herself had run a cold finger down my spine.

“Blood loss,” I repeated.

“That’s what they say. Now how do you suppose that silver-haired gentleman took her blood when we didn’t find a cut anywhere on her body?”

I didn’t want to speak the words.

“Justis?”

“We need to find this guy, Kona. You’ve seen what blood magic can do.” She and Kevin had witnessed our battle with Saorla and her weremancers during the summer. They had also investigated a series of ritual killings committed in the weeks leading up to that confrontation. “And you’ve seen that dark sorcerers have no qualms about taking blood from people without their permission.”

“Yeah?” she said, seeming to brace herself for what I was about to say.

“Well, I think this guy can take their blood just by touching them. He’s like a magical vampire.”

For a few seconds, she didn’t answer. “You know what?” she said. “I must be spending too much time with you and your magical friends. Because that’s exactly what I was afraid you were going to say.”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 16

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 16

“Don’t do it, Neil!”

He hesitated, the knife blade hovering over the back of his hand. I didn’t want to see what he could do with blood magic.

“You’re not going to shoot me.”

“I will if you draw blood for a spell. I won’t have any choice, will I? And now that you’re holding that knife, I can claim it was self-defense.”

Doubt crept into his eyes.

“I used to be a cop. I know how these things work.”

Still he hesitated.

Three elements. His hand, his knife, my hand. It had been a while since I had worked on my transporting spells, but I’d pulled off a complicated one earlier in the day, and this one was as rudimentary as such a casting could be. One moment he was holding the blade, and the next minute I was. His eyes went so wide I almost laughed.

As a precaution, I warded my hand and pistol. I didn’t want him using the same spell against me.

“When was the last time you saw Gracie?” I asked him.

Nothing.

“Believe it or not, you and I want the same things. I haven’t met your wife or your kids, but I want to find them. I want them to be safe.”

“Her parents hate me.”

“Yeah,” I said. “They seem to. But what do you expect? You’re a gringo, and you married their baby. She goes by Gracie instead of Engracia –”

“That was her choice. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded if she had wanted to go by Trejo instead of Davett. It was all her.”

“I believe you. But they never will. Especially if you keep hurting her.”

I knew as soon as I said it that I’d made a mistake. But guys who hit women piss me off. Always have, from even before I joined the force.

Neil shut down on me, clenching his jaw, murder in his eyes. I half expected him to fire another spell at me.

“When did you see her last?” I asked again.

“Go to hell.”

I probably should have seen that coming.

“Fine.” I holstered my weapon and dropped his blade where I stood. “I’m leaving now,” I said, backing toward the Z-ster, my eyes fixed on his face. “You can try to follow me, but with that flat you’re going to ding up the wheel rim. Don’t get in my way again; next time we meet, I won’t be so easy on you.”

I opened the car door and started to ease into the driver’s seat.

“It’s been almost two weeks,” he said. “It’ll be two this coming Sunday.”

I stopped, straightened once more, one arm resting on the roof of the car.

“Where did you see her?”

“A park near my house. I had the kids for the weekend; she was picking them up.”

“Was there anything unusual about her behavior, or maybe about things the kids said while you had them? Anything at all that might explain her disappearance?”

He shook his head. “She was distant, but that’s been the case for a while. And the kids . . .” His gaze slid away. “Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t watching for signs, I wasn’t trying to read every gesture or guess the hidden meaning behind every word. I had them with me, and that was enough. I was trying to soak up the time. Enjoy them, you know?”

“When are you supposed to have the kids again?”

“I’m supposed to have them every weekend. Those are the terms of the separation agreement. She was supposed to call last Friday to arrange the drop-off. She didn’t, and I never heard from her. I went by her parents’ house, just to see that they were okay. I saw them in the yard, so I drove off. I didn’t want to start a fight. I wanted to see my kids, that’s all. But when she didn’t call again today I got mad. I went by the hospital where she works, and she wasn’t there. I started feeling scared, worrying that they were in trouble . . . So I went to the kids’ school. They hadn’t been in, either. By then I was really scared. That’s when I started trying to track her down.”

“You were following her parents. You found me through them.”

He faltered, then shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. The phasing is coming up, and I want them with me for that. It’s safer.”

I frowned. “You and Gracie are both weremystes, both subject to the phasing. Why should the kids be any safer with you?”

Neil’s gaze flitted away, giving me the impression that he wished he’d kept that last remark to himself.

“Unless,” I said, “you’re using blood magic to protect yourself from the moon.”

“I want my kids back,” he said, refusing now to look my way. “And my wife. I miss my family. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

One of the insidious things about abusive relationships was that abuse and love could exist side by side. The love was twisted by violence and a desperate, almost pathological need to control, but it was there nevertheless. Neil sounded like a guy who loved and missed his wife and kids, and wanted them in his life. I could even believe that his concern for their well-being was sincere. But that didn’t mean the abuse wouldn’t start up again as soon as he and Gracie were back together.

I didn’t know what to say to him. A part of me felt sorry for the guy; another part of me wanted to kick the crap out of him. Once we started attacking each other with magic, he’d been quick to go for his knife. I thought about my conversation with Namid earlier in the evening. It seemed that Neil was used to using blood in his spells, which told me that he had more than a passing familiarity with dark magic.

“I have every intention of finding them,” I told him, feeling that I ought to say something. “And I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep them safe.”

He nodded.

I got in the car and drove away, watching Neil in my mirrors to make sure he didn’t do anything foolish. Once I had turned off that small lane, I made my way to the highway and headed back to Billie’s.

The house was dark when I got there. I parked out front, alarm bells going off in my head. I had my Glock in hand before I was out of the car. I opened the screen door and found that the front door was still unlocked. I turned the knob and then pushed the door open with my foot, both hands on my weapon.

Billie lay curled on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders. I could see that she was breathing. A candle sat in a shallow bowl on the coffee table beside her, cool wax pooled around its base. Everything else seemed to be in order. I started to holster my weapon.

A faint rustling, made me whirl, the pistol raised to fire, my heart in my throat.

I froze.

A small owl sat on the top shelf of her bookcase, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light cast by the moon and the streetlights. Gray and black streaking, small tufts on its head similar to those of a Great-Horned Owl. I knew it right away for a Screech Owl. But what was it doing in here?

I chanced a quick scan of the room and saw that the screen on one of the open front windows had been slashed. I even thought I saw a few wisps of down clinging to the edges of the opening the owl had created.

I took a slow step toward the bird. It watched me, but didn’t flinch or give any indication that it intended to fly. I eased closer.

When I had covered half the distance between us, I spotted the tiny roll of paper attached to the owl’s right foot.

“You’re a were,” I whispered.

It cocked its head to the side.

Weres had long been stigmatized in our culture, portrayed in movies and television shows as vicious, tortured animals that could pass their curse on to normal humans with a single bite. In truth, they had much more in common with weremystes than with monsters. On the nights of the phasing, they transformed into the animal that shared their bodies. But they wielded no magic beyond this, and they could not assume their animal forms at other times.

 

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 16

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 16

So they’d gone across to a small cove on the nearest little island. Here there’d been a bit of tricky work getting them, and the fish bin, and their lunch off, and the boat safely moored so it wouldn’t ground and wouldn’t swing into the rocks. “Food!” said Mally. “I’m starving. And I’ve only got dried fruit and nuts. My wife thinks I’m a monkey.”

“A fat monkey,” said McKay. “It’s all the exercise you do, sitting at that heavy desk every day.”

“It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it,” said Mally cheerfully. “But I’ve been smelling something fresh-baked since young Tim got into the ute. And it’s not him. He must smell of something the fish like. I hear you blokes use squid essence for hand soap.”

“It’s all we can get in the bush,” said McKay. “I brought a spare sandwich, because last time you only had fruit and nuts, and you ate most of mine.”

“Nan made me some cinnamon buns,” said Tim, opening the bag, hoping that he wouldn’t be embarrassed by them, like he was about the homemade bread sandwiches at school. His grandmother either thought he was going to be stuck at sea for a week or that the others would share. There were eight of the buns, sticky with sugar and trailed with spice and popping raisins.

“You beauty!” said Mally, diving in, not waiting for an invitation. “You can keep your sandwich, Jonno. And you can come again, Tim, as long as you bring the baked goods.”

“It’s my boat,” said McKay.

“Then you better have a bun. Just one, mind. Oh man, they’re just a little warm still. They must have been baked this morning. You’re one lucky kid. If she was my nan, I’d be fatter than a house.”

“You’re working on it already, Mally,” said McKay, having a bun too.

* * *

Áed left them eating and moved watchfully to the rocky point where he’d spotted her in the water. Maybe the selkie could come ashore here, even if the main island was off-limits.

Her teeth were sharp and he could see each tooth had three points to it. Humans might see her as beautiful woman, but Áed saw past the glamour. “Still watching and guarding, little fae?” she asked, from in among the kelp fronds.

“It is what I am,” said Áed. “And I watch you.”

“All I want is the key,” she said, smiling. “I won’t hurt him if I have that.”

“It’s his birthright. His to decide to use, give to you, or his to pass on to his firstborn child.”

She said nothing. Just smiled again, all sharp teeth.

* * *

“Hey! That flask looks like one of the original Colemans! My uncle had one,” said McKay. “But it looks brand new.”

“Nan said it was my grandfather’s.”

“They don’t make them like that anymore. That’s quite something. You better look after it.”

“Is it worth a lot of money?” asked Tim, grasping an idea. Not a nice idea, but…

McKay shook his head. “Probably not, unless, like me, you remember having picnics on the beach when you were a kid. But it’s such a neat thing to have. A lot of memories attached to it, I’d guess.”

Thinking of his grandmother’s voice when she’d told him to take the flask made Tim feel a bit guilty to have even thought about selling it.

“I seem to recall my Uncle Giles saying your grandfather was killed in Vietnam,” said McKay. “It looks like she kept it without using it since then. You should be proud, son. Look after it.”

But she didn’t even like him much! Tim was still thinking about this when they got up and gutted and filleted the fish on a low rock, putting the skins and heads and guts back into the sea to “feed the sharks so they can eat me when I’m working here,” according to McKay.

Then they had to get back into the boat and head for shore. The wind had picked up while they’d been on the little island, and so had the swell.

“I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose my lunch,” said Mally uneasily.

And he was rather quiet and a bit of an odd color on the way back. It was quite a wet, bumpy ride until they got into the channel. Tim had briefly wondered if he would feel seasick. He’d heard about people throwing up, but actually he didn’t even feel queasy. It was like a really cool roller coaster ride, and you could imagine you saw things in the waves too. Mermaids, sharks, ichthyosaurs…

He was rather sorry to have come to the end of it. The minute the water calmed and they were back to the shoreline, Mally recovered and made up for his silence with a great performance of leaping ashore: “Land, land! We’re saved,” he yelled, and kneeled, and artistically kissed the rock, and then slipped on some seaweed as he stood up, and slithered down the slip and into the water. “It’s out to get me!” he said, shaking his fist at the sea, as he stood up from it, dripping.

“I can’t blame it,” said McKay, laughing with Tim. “I suppose now that you’re all wet I’ll have to reverse the ute and trailer down.”

Mally shuddered. “Anything to avoid that. I can’t do it.”

“Watching you try is a great comedy number though,” said his friend, cheerfully.

They hauled the boat up onto the trailer with the winch, unscrewed the bungs, and watched half the ocean run out from under the boat’s floorboards. “A wet ride,” commented McKay. “She handles it well, though.” He patted the boat affectionately. “Okay, Mally. There’s a towel behind the seat. I’ll drop you off first, if your missus will be back by now. Or you can come up to my place. I’ve got a boat to scrub.”

“She should be back. Personally, I think photographing the dawn is overrated. She’s a prizewinning photographer,” he explained to Tim. “Learn by my mistakes. Marry a prizewinning cook instead, like your nan.”

“She’s a prizewinning gardener too,” said McKay. “You should see her spuds.”

“Unlike the poor bloke we’re staying with,” said Mally. “He’s one of those sea-changers and he’s trying so hard. I reckon he’s getting at least half a kilo of potatoes for every kilo of seed potato. Nice guy though.”

They drove on, and then down a long hill back to the sea, to a beautiful decked house, and a slightly harassed-looking balding man with a ponytail, a muddy shirt, and an armful of tools. Tim recognized him as Molly’s dad. “Hello. I’ve just got that tap fixed. How did the fishing go?”

“Fantastic!” said Mally. “And Tim here got a shark, but we lost it at the boat.”

* * *

Molly looked out of the window on the stairs, on her way down, seeing the white ute and boat coming up to the house. It would probably be that Mr. Harrison back from fishing. At least he was a nice guest, not like some.

She was surprised to see Tim tumble out of the ute. He was smiling and looking a lot happier than he did at school, or on the bus, where he was like a little mouse. He and the other two were in animated conversation with her dad, which involved lots of gestures. Big gestures. She grinned, hiding her mouth with her hand out of habit, even if no one could see her. She hated people looking at her braces. Fishing stories. Like her dad, and the flathead that got away, when he went angling on the beach. It was always the big ones…

“Molly. Can you get us a bowl?” called her dad. “We’ve been given some fish. I’m a bit muddy for the kitchen.”

So she brought one out to them. “Hi, Tim. Hello, Mr. Harrison. Did you have a good time?”

“Fantastic! This is my mate Jon McKay. I see you know our champion fisherman.”

Tim looked slightly embarrassed, but pleased. He nodded. “Hi, Molly. I was lucky today.”

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 07

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 07

CHAPTER 3

Xenos on Cinnabar

The big guard who had tried to block Daniel’s way out of the interview room had managed to stand, though he was leaning forward and cupping his groin.

“Tester, get Riddle in the alley and help him to the car,” Forbes said. She was small and sharp-featured; her voice sounded like breaking glass. “Stay there until I join you.”

“Your man may need looking after,” Daniel said hoarsely. He had to pull the words individually from the jumble in his mind; adrenalin had shaken everything together.

“Naw, he’ll be okay,” Hogg said. His voice hadn’t settled either. He’d folded back the knife blade, but he hadn’t returned the knuckle-duster to his pocket yet. “He don’t deserve it, but he will be.”

“Well, wait in the hall,” Daniel said. His throat was dry. “Give Tester a hand and then come back.”

“S’okay,” Tester said, walking into the hallway and passing between Daniel and the minister on his way toward the outside door. He stood a little straighter with each step. “I’ll get Riddle.”

He didn’t look at Hogg on his way past.

“Let’s have that drink.” Anston said. He took Daniel’s arm and walked back to the wheelchair.

“Sit,” Forbes said, pointing to the chair Daniel had knocked over. She took one of those by the wall and dragged it to the table.

Under other circumstances Daniel would have gotten the chair for her himself, but he was still trembling from recent events and — the smile didn’t quite reach his lips — still quite irritated with the minister. This had been unpleasant, and it could have gone much worse. Though Forbes would probably have hushed up even a killing.

“Well…” she said as she put down her glass of brandy. “Let’s get down to business. Are you familiar with the Tarbell Stars?”

She sounded quite cheerful; either she didn’t realize what could have happened or she didn’t care. That seemed to be a necessary attitude for a politician. At any rate, Daniel had never heard his father express regret at what any of his successful schemes had cost other people.

“I’ve heard of them,” Daniel said cautiously. “I’m not familiar, no. I believe that though the cluster is independent, it’s well within what the Alliance considers its sphere of influence.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Forbes said, bobbing her head like a bird pecking seeds. “I’m sure your friend Mundy can give you all the information you need. Well, there’s a civil war going on there now.”

“I see,” said Daniel. There was nothing unusual about small governmental units fracturing, generally as the result of a leadership conflict. “I…Ah, minister? I trust the Republic isn’t planning to get involved in a matter that has far more importance to the Alliance?”

Because that would certainly mean a return to full-scale war between the two superpowers. Neither had recovered from the decades of grinding war which had paused with the Treaty of Amiens. A complete victory by either the Republic or the Alliance was almost impossible. It was far more likely that renewed war would cause both to collapse, which would lead directly to chaos and barbarism across all of human space.

The previous time war had come to that point, it caused a Hiatus in star travel which had lasted a thousand years.

“The Republic isn’t involved, no,” the minister said brightly. “But there are some intriguing aspects to the matter.”

Unexpectedly, Lord Anston clacked his glass down on the table. When the others looked at him, he said, “Leary, I have no business in this discussion. I was asked as a character reference, that’s all, and to be honest I’m sorry I went any farther than that.”

He thrust out his hand; his grip felt frail in Daniel’s.

“I’ll talk to Hogg about fishing,” Anston said. He looked at Forbes for the first time since setting the glass down, glared, and added, “Leary, whatever you decide, may Heaven be with you. And with Cinnabar!”

He rolled to the door and let himself out. Only when it had latched behind him did Minister Forbes say, “Leary, there’s a considerable risk to you in the proposition I’m about to broach; that goes without saying. But I swear to you that if I thought there were real danger to the Republic, I wouldn’t have entertained the overtures.”

“Go on,” Daniel said. “Please,” he added, remembering that he was talking to the Minister of Defense.

Forbes nodded. Daniel’s reserve and Anston’s obvious disapproval seemed to have dampened her enthusiasm slightly. She resumed, “You’re correct in saying that the Tarbell Stars are within the Alliance sphere of influence, but you perhaps realize that Guarantor Porra regularly creates competing chains of command to divide potential opposition within his own polity?”

“Yes,” Daniel said. The space officers of the ships and ground establishments of the Fleet were paralleled by political officers of equal or greater rank. In the civil sphere, governors were watched and could be overruled by the Residents of the 5th Bureau, which reported directly to Guarantor Porra.

“Extraterritorial jurisdiction of the Tarbell Stars,” Forbes said, regaining her animation, “is under the 5th Bureau…but it has been divided between two separate dioceses. One of these is the diocese directed by General Storn, whom I believe you have met?”

Daniel’s face went very still. “I have, yes,” he said. “But only to have exchanged a few words with.”

A few words, and a salute.

“You would have to discuss the matter with someone else –”

With Adele.

“– if you want substantive information.”

“I don’t,” said Forbes. She was wearing a satisfied expression. “General Storn is backing, at least is interested in, the Tarbell government forces. The rebels call themselves the Upholders of Freedom. They’re supported and may have been created by a General Krychek. Krychek directs the other 5th Bureau diocese involved. He is a professional rival of Storn, and they appear to be personal enemies as well.”

“All right,” said Daniel, because the minister was waiting for him to say something. He didn’t know where the conversation was going, and he was unwilling to say anything which might imply an opinion until he knew more and had discussed the matter with Adele.

From her expression, Forbes wasn’t best pleased with his non-committal response. She nonetheless went on, “General Storn is unwilling to oppose the Upholders directly, since it’s at least possible that Krychek has the support of Guarantor Porra. There are numbers of mercenaries fighting on both sides of the conflict, however. General Storn has suggested through intermediaries that it would arouse no concern in Pleasaunce if the Tarbell government were to hire the Princess Cecile and her full complement.”

“I see,” said Daniel, since at last he did. Quite a number of questions remained, but only one had to be answered — if he were not going to walk out of the room right now, regardless of how the Minister of Defense might feel about it.

“Minister Forbes,” he said, “forgive me if this seems impertinent, but why is a high official of the Republic of Cinnabar bringing me this offer?”

“The Republic has no interest in the Tarbell Stars,” Forbes said. She didn’t sound offended or even surprised. “It has been suggested to me in my public capacity that if I could help General Storn in this matter, that it might aid the Republic in matters which are of interest to us.”

Daniel smiled wryly. If Minister Forbes were to secure concessions to the Republic from the Alliance, it would be a considerable benefit to her in the next leadership contest in the Senate. She had narrowly lost the Speakership election a few years previously, which was why she had been sent as envoy to Karst.

There was nothing improper in that. A Minister of Defense who benefitted the Republic might reasonably expect her efforts to be noticed.

“It seems to me…” Daniel said aloud, mostly as a placeholder. “That a corvette like the Sissie, even ably crewed, is unlikely to be an overwhelming factor in a rebellion of any size. The Tarbell cluster involves nearly a hundred stars, does it not?”

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 06

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 06

Daniel followed Hogg into the alley. He’d heard what happened while he was unconscious above Cacique. Adele knew nothing about shiphandling or naval tactics or any of the other subjects which the instructors at the Academy taught, but she knew a more important thing: to go for the throat.

You can’t really teach that, but the great commanders are born knowing it. Forbes had indeed showed her ability when she brevetted Signal Officer Mundy to admiral in the chaos of the damaged flagship.

The alley at the back of Chatsworth Minor ran between two major thoroughfares and served six culs-de-sac — three on either side — for garbage pickup and bulk deliveries. There were twenty or thirty people crowded into this one; mostly men, mostly servants, and most holding liquor bottles. Those who saw Daniel or anyway recognized his uniform grew quieter, but they weren’t really doing anything wrong.

Daniel grinned. Or anything he hadn’t been doing himself a few minutes before.

Commander Huxford was wearing his Grays, a 2nd Class uniform; proper garb for public functions — including command of a ship — but not formal wear for any officer who could afford a 1st Class uniform. Even hopeless officers who had been on the beach for decades tried to scrape up enough florins for a set of Whites when they sat in the Audience Hall at Navy House, hoping against hope that their names would be called for a posting.

“Thank you, Hogg,” Huxford said. “Captain Leary, his lordship requested that I bring you to him — for the privacy, of course, but also to avoid the –”

He nodded toward the house, presumably meaning the crowded cul-de-sac beyond.

“Yes, of course,” Daniel agreed. He’d never met Huxford, though he’d seen him twice. Huxford had acted as messenger for people in the same line of work as Mistress Sand, though probably in a parallel organization out of Navy House.

Huxford had a history with Adele, which had ended in Adele’s favor. Hogg probably knew more of the details than Daniel did; Tovera certainly knew them, and the two servants talked. All Daniel cared was that it had ended and that his friend was satisfied with the outcome.

They walked out of the group behind Chatsworth Minor and to Daniel’s surprise turned into a feeder alley serving the close facing a parallel boulevard. A husky looking man with naval tattoos stood at a back door which he pulled open when Huxford approached.

“I’ll leave you now, Captain,” Huxford said. His salute was curt but proper — they were both in uniform. “His lordship asked me to invite you, but his business is none of mine.”

Daniel paused in the doorway. He would show due respect for any superior officer, but he felt respect for George Anston beyond anything to do with a uniform. Anston had kept the RCN operating during fifteen years of grinding war with the Alliance, finding crews where there were none and convincing the Senate to build ships with money that had to be squeezed out of taxpayers — much of it from the wealthy Senators themselves.

“Hogg,” he said, “why don’t you wait here? I…that is, I don’t need help to see the admiral.”

“Right,” said Hogg, eyeing the burly spacer. “We’ll chat about opera, shall we buddy?”

“Down the hall and second on the left, sir,” the guard said, ignoring Hogg. He closed the outside door behind Daniel.

The man waiting in the hall was as tall as Woetjans and big where the bosun was rangy. He opened the door beside him and stood rigidly, staring over Daniel’s head as though he were being inspected by his commander in chief.

The hinges squealed slightly. That was the only sound Daniel heard. The other doors onto the hall were closed; either the house was empty or the inhabitants were holding complete silence. Daniel was feeling a little uneasy as he looked in, but there was Lord Anston. He’d rolled his wheelchair beside rather than behind the central table.

“Close the door and sit down, Leary,” Anston said. “When you’re fixing yourself a brandy and soda –”

He gestured to the paraphernalia in the center of the table.

“– you can fix me one too. You drink brandy, I hope?”

“Sir, I’m RCN,” Daniel said. “I drink anything. Some things I won’t drink — ” he was thinking of peppermint schnapps, which had tasted even worse when it came back up than when it had topped off a night of drinking ” — unless I’ve got a load on already.”

Which I do now, come to think.

He squirted seltzer into two brandies and put Anston’s beside him before sitting down. He was pretty sure that the older man wasn’t supposed to have alcohol, but that was a matter between him and his doctors — none of whom were in the room at present.

Anston looked frail enough to have dissolved in the drink. Daniel would regret that, but it might be the kindest thing that could happen.

Anston sipped the brandy with relish. He set the glass down and said, “Well, Leary, I’ll get to the point in good RCN fashion. The Republic is in a bad state, a bloody bad state, and the politicians are pouring us straight down the piss tube.”

Daniel stiffened and sat upright; he’d been leaning toward Anston without being aware of the fact. “Ah, I, ah…” he said. “I don’t pay much attention to politics, sir. I’m a serving officer and I’m, ah, forbidden to be involved in politics.”

Telling Anston that was like offering to teach a bird how to fly. The words were a measure of how disturbed Daniel was.

“Well, it’s time and past time for that to change,” Anston said forcefully. “The Senate will shortly be replaced by a Supreme Council drawn from the RCN and the Land Forces of the Republic. I’ll be President of the Council, but you can see that I’m a clapped out old crock. That’s where you come in, Leary.”

Daniel stood up, sliding his chair back. It fell over. His skin prickled as it had when he regained consciousness after pinching a nerve.

“We need you to run operations,” Anston said. “All the real power will be in your hands, and no one better to use it, we think.”

“I’m very sorry, Admiral,” Daniel said. His ears were buzzing. “I’ve suddenly been struck deaf. I haven’t heard a word since I sat down. I’m off to find a doctor immediately.”

He had to get off Cinnabar; he couldn’t possibly remain neutral if he stayed. Indeed, he probably needed to get out of the Cinnabar sphere of influence.

Do I tell Adele? I have to. But do I tell Deirdre, which means telling my father; which means…

“Leary, come back here,” Anston said, somewhere in the far distance.

Daniel jerked the door open. The doorman stood in his way.

“Now, the gentleman says –” the big man said.

Daniel head-butted him, breaking his nose, backed a step, and kicked the guard in the crotch. That would have been more effective with heavy boots, but the low quarters he wore with his Whites had rigid soles unlike the spacer’s boots worn with utilities and meant to fit within a riggers’ suit.

“Hogg!” Daniel shouted, hurling the doubled-over guard into the room. He wouldn’t have had a chance against the bigger man in a fair fight, but the guard hadn’t expected the mindless fury Daniel had unleashed on him. He couldn’t hit Anston — he would die before he hit Anston, even if the old man had gone mad — but hitting anybody else was a relief.

They can’t let us live now, Daniel realized. If he could get to Harbor Three, he might have a chance. There were spacers who would help Captain Leary regardless of what the high brass were saying, but the chance of getting there in torn Whites — he’d burst the seams of both his tunic and his trousers — wasn’t good.

There was a loud thump from the alley and the door swung open. The outer guard was down. Hogg held his folding knuckleduster knife open in his right hand. Daniel didn’t see blood on the blade, but that didn’t necessarily mean the guard was still alive.

“Leary, come back!” Anston called. “I apologize for being a bloody fool!”

The door to the left between Daniel and Hogg opened. Hogg shuffled forward, his knife held low to stab through a kidney toward the heart.

Mistress Forbes stepped into the hallway.

“Stop, Hogg!” Daniel shouted, but Hogg had frozen when he saw the Minister of Defense. He put his back against the wall and darted glances in both directions.

Daniel looked over his shoulder. Admiral Anston was out of his chair and standing in the doorway, gripping the jamb to stay upright. “It’s my bloody fault,” Anston said, but he was wheezing now.

“No, it is not,” said Minister Forbes. “I’m the one who insisted, because I didn’t trust the admiral’s certainty that no offer could shake your loyalty to the Republic.”

Daniel felt weak with reaction and relief. He braced the flat of his hand on the wall.

“Well, mistress,” he said. “I’m not the Leary to be tempted by offering to make me a politician.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Forbes said. “Now, can we join the admiral in the room with the brandy and discuss the real proposition I came to offer you?”