Changer (Athanor) (49 page)

Vera swings upright in her hammock.  “Can you change back and swim to the ocean for help?”

“I can change back,” Amphitrite says, “but I have no idea how far we are from the ocean or if there are any blockades.  A waterfall, a series of rapids, or even an unusually shallow or marshy stretch could leave me, well, like a fish out of water.”

Neither of them smiles at this feeble attempt at a joke.

“Can you summon a sea creature to carry a message to Duppy Jonah?”

“I’m not Aquaman,” Amphitrite says sourly.  “In the ocean we have our servants and sworn followers, but we do not command everything that swims.”

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No.  It was a good idea.”

“Is there any water left?”

“Just a swallow.  We’re going to need to purify more.”

Vera grimaces. “I can’t stand the taste  of those tablets.”

“Better than amoebic dysentery,” Amphitrite says, “as you reminded me.  At least I’m not as thirsty here as I was in New Mexico.”

“True.  I wonder how long these packets of electrolyte solution will last?  Should we ration them?”

“I don’t know.  I’m not terribly well informed about the limitations of a land-based life.  How much danger are we in?”

“I’m sweating a lot—or maybe the humidity is just so high that I never dry off.  We are hardier than the usual mortal, of course, but…”

“What you’re saying is that you don’t know.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then let’s use half of what is recommended as a daily supplement.  How many days does that give us?”

“A little over a week.”

“After that we’ll have an entirely new set of problems,” Amphitrite says, thoughtfully gazing at her legs.  “And I cannot imagine that Duppy Jonah will remain patient for that long.  I typify the ocean’s more tranquil, food-giving nature.  He is storm and tempest.”

Vera smiles.  “Do you really believe that?”

Amphitrite shrugs.  “Why not?  It provides something like a division of responsibility.  Of course, mermaids have also been accused of luring sailors to their doom.  I’m not completely without my menacing aspect.”

“I’m amazed,” Vera says.  “On land, most of us have given up identifying with anything larger than self-identity.”

“Oh, really?” Amphitrite says dryly.  “After meeting Arthur, I cannot precisely believe that.”

“His self-identity,” Vera answers, floundering, “is King.”

“As mine is Queen.”

“But he has,” Vera chews her lower lip, searching for a term, “updated? his image.  He now sees himself as an administrator rather than a monarch.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Vera shrugs.  “It’s not worth arguing about.”

“No, not really, but it does illuminate a particular problem we have.  How is Arthur going to respond to this issue?  Will he act as a friend or as a head of state?  If he acts as head of state, we may not be ransomed at all.”

“Yes.”  Vera looks shamefaced.  “I had been hoping that you wouldn’t think of that.”

“I am a queen.  And Duppy Jonah and I have followed politics for a long time.  If Arthur ransoms illegally taken hostages, then he creates a precedent of astonishing ramifications.”

“True.  And if he does not…”

“Then Isidro and his allies must either back down or act in a fashion to show that they are not to be trifled with.”

“The easiest way to do that,” Vera says bluntly, “is by killing one or both of us.”

“If I die, Duppy Jonah’s fury will be merciless,” Amphitrite says.  Her tone is neither smug nor self-satisfied.  She is merely stating a fact.

“There is no one to avenge me with such wide-ranging repercussions,” Vera says calmly.  “Perhaps friends will refuse to treat with the South American contingent, perhaps someone will declare a vendetta, but that is all.”

“Which means that you are in greater danger than I am.”

“I expect so, but you are limited in the amount of time you will be mobile on land.”

They sit in thoughtful silence for several moments.  A pair of green-and-yellow-feathered macaws flash across the glade.  In the distance, they can hear monkeys scolding and, faintly, something that may be the cough of a jaguar.  After a time, Vera picks up the conversation as if there had been no interruption.

“Staying here seems increasingly foolish.  We make ourselves more vulnerable to both our enemies and to you being stranded when Lovern’s spell is exhausted.”

“We could build a raft or a canoe and try our luck on the river,” Amphitrite suggests.  “Even in this form, I swim well.”

“I swim adequately, but there are piranhas and alligators in these waters.”

“There are ants on the land—as well as jaguars.  To avoid the water-dwelling menaces, we merely need to stay aboard.  I’m not certain we would have such luck with the land-bound ones.”

“No.”  Vera wipes sweat from her face.  “Do you know anything about making boats?”

Amphitrite smiles.  “Boats and I were born in the same age.  I have always taken an interest in them.  Did Isidro give us anything to make fire with?”

Vera checks.  “There are matches in the first-aid kit.”

“We could make a dugout then, but perhaps a raft would be better.  Let me take a look at what is growing in the vicinity.”

“Do that.  I’ll see what I can do about making us some weapons with more range than these machetes.  Can you use a bow?”

“No, but I can use a spear.”

“Very well.  The hammocks were wrapped with some cord.  It isn’t exactly what I’d choose, but I think I can make a serviceable bowstring.  Still, two spears would be my best start.  We’ll need to make do with fire-hardened points.  I’m not certain if the materials for chipped-stone heads will be available, and I certainly don’t have the sinew to lash them into place.”

Amphitrite looks at her with wonder.  “I had forgotten that Minerva was a goddess of war as well as wisdom.”

“Damn straight,” Vera says, almost happily, “and Joan of Arc learned a trick or two from me as well.  I may have been reserving my skills for self-defense, but I’m far from helpless.”

Keeping a respectful distance from the thorns and toxic saps of the jungle plants, Amphitrite begins her survey.  Humming under her breath, Vera builds a small fire, then cuts two lengths of wood and begins sharpening them.

A plan, no matter how faint its chance of success, heartens both of them as waiting had not.  For the first time, they even forget that anyone might be seeking to rescue them.  Still, in the depths of her heart, Amphitrite feels the roar of the sea and knows that it rages for her.

Things feel as if they are getting back to normal that morning at Arthur’s hacienda.  The King comes down to the kitchen, dressed casually in khaki trousers and a cotton button-down shirt, and finds Eddie seated at the counter watching the news and eating a bowl of cold presweetened cereal.  A cane, rather than crutches, leans against the stool alongside him.

“Yuck,” Arthur comments, rooting in the refrigerator and coming up with a carton of vanilla yogurt.  “Whose turn is it to grocery shop?”

“Yours,” Eddie says without looking away from the television screen.  “You don’t want the Spider grocery shopping.  Trust me.”

“I do.  His appetite is phenomenal.  I wonder how he keeps from getting fat?”  Arthur pats his thickening waist morosely, then glances at the television.  “What’s so absorbing?”

“The weather report.  There have been freak storms all through the North Atlantic, especially along the coast of Brazil.  An unexpected tidal wave wiped out several fishing boats and at least one cruise liner.”

“Damn!”  Arthur stops stirring granola into his yogurt to watch the screen on which pictures of rescue operations are now being shown.  “Duppy Jonah?”

“I’m worried that it is.  Have you checked your messages?”

“I…”  Arthur sighs.  “No, I haven’t.

“I think you had better.  I checked mine.  
Nada
.”

Carrying his breakfast with him, Arthur goes into his office.  The red light on his machine is blinking.  He presses the button, bracing himself for the shrill voices of his tormentors.  What he gets is far worse.  A voice, deep and rumbling as waves beating on a rocky shore, growls:

“Call me, damn you, Arthur!  I want to know what Lovern did with my wife!  I’ll try your private line.  Call me.”

The rest of the messages are perfectly mundane.

“Duppy Jonah,” Eddie says, from the doorway into the office.  “And he sounds very unhappy.  Did he try your private line?”

“I don’t know.”  Arthur covers his embarrassment by chewing a spoonful of yogurt and granola.  “I didn’t answer that one either.  The office phone rang repeatedly last night.”

“Might have been Duppy Jonah.  Are you going to call him?”

“As soon as I look up his number,” Arthur says.  “I wonder what the hell has happened?”

“Something to Amphitrite, apparently.  If it’s any comfort, I doubt that she’s dead.”

“I’d guessed that,” Arthur says, “or we’d have more problems than a few tidal waves.”

“Right.”

Arthur is reaching for the phone when it rings.  Without hesitation, he picks up the receiver.  Right now the pranksters would be a relief.  He needs someone to chew out.

“Pendragon Productions.”

“Arthur?”  The voice is unctuous.  “This is Isidro Robelo.”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen the news this morning?”

“Yes.”

“This call is to claim responsibility for the catastrophe.”

“You?”

“Yes, Majesty.  We have taken both Amphitrite and Vera.  They are hidden where you will be unable to find them without our aid nor will they be returned to you unless you agree to put your full support behind our policies.”

Arthur switches to intercom mode so that Eddie can listen.

“Your policies?”

“Yes.  We want financial and magical support to preserve this continent and other places on the globe.”

“I thought that this was discussed at the Review,” Arthur says, schooling his voice to neutral calm with centuries of experience.  “A committee was formed to explore the best means of reaching those objectives.”

“A committee!” Isidro makes the word sound like an obscenity.  “We cannot wait for a committee to make recommendations.”

“What makes you think that we will comply?”  Arthur’s inflection leaves no doubt that the “we” is royal.

“Vera and Amphitrite will remain our captives until you comply,” Isidro answers.  “You must comply.”

“You have not mentioned my wizard, Lovern.  Does he live?”

“He does, and we intend to return him to you as an indication of our good faith.”

Arthur forces himself to chuckle derisively.  “And perhaps because keeping a wizard captive is difficult?”

“We
can
keep him.  We did take him, and Oswaldo is an initiate of the craft.”

“Return Lovern as you wish.  I am neither accepting nor rejecting any of your offers.”

Isidro clears his throat.  “We have said we will return him to you.  He will arrive this evening.  Do not take this as a sign of weakness on our part.”

“Certainly.”  Arthur’s tone becomes friendly, his British accent more pronounced.  “And, do tell me, have you considered the personal risk you are taking in holding Amphitrite?”

“It is an acceptable risk.”  Isidro’s words are firm, but Arthur thinks he hears a slight quaver.

“I just wanted to make certain.  I suppose we will speak later.”

“And our terms?”

“Really, Isidro.  Are you trying to rush me?”

“Vera and Amphitrite may not have much time.”

“You should have thought of that yourself, my good man.  Good-bye.”

Arthur hangs up the phone, glances over at Eddie, and grins weakly.  “I hope I handled that right.  Now I’d better call Duppy Jonah.”

“Do.”  Leaning heavily on his cane, Eddie limps towards his own office.  “I’m going to review the e-mail and my messages to see if any word of this is out.  I’ll wake Anson, too.”

“No need to do that yet,” Arthur says, starting to punch in numbers.  “We may need someone well rested later on.”

“True.”

The phone begins ringing, the sound distant and echoing, but the connection when it is at last answered is sharp and clear.

“Yes?”

“Arthur Pendragon, here.  Is this Duppy Jonah?”

The Sea King’s voice is deep and wild.  “So you’ve returned my call at last.”

“We’ve had some trouble with the phone lines,” Arthur fibs.  “I stopped answering until it was straightened out.  I’ve heard from Isidro Robelo.”

“So have I.”

“He has not only taken Amphitrite.  He has also taken Vera.”

“What is that to me?”

“A relief?  Your lady is not alone.”

“And what of your precious wizard?”

“He is being returned to me.  According to Isidro, he will be back in Albuquerque by this evening.”

“Alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“Pity.  He will not live long thereafter.”

“Duppy Jonah…”

The Sea King interrupts.  “The wizard has broken faith with me.”

“You don’t know that.  Even a wizard can be overwhelmed and held captive.”

“Yes, I know.”  This last is said grudgingly.

“If Lovern lives, he may be a source of valuable information for us.  Isidro spoke oddly—there was something in the way he spoke of the ladies that makes me wonder if he knew precisely where they were.”