Changer (Athanor) (60 page)

He sits on the deck, crossing his legs.  “We stowed away in the light plane
Caiman
.  If you ladies do not mind, we would probably do better to return to it and fly out.”

Vera nods.  “It will be faster, and Amphitrite can use the radio to get a call relayed to Duppy Jonah.”

“Moving the raft against the current won’t be easy,” Amphitrite says.

“But Anson is on the water,” the Changer says, “and Cleonice on the shore.  Moreover, you are limited to the water, so even if Vera and I went by land, we would need to stay near the river.”

Amphitrite shakes back her hair, spraying the air with droplets that create a rainbow halo in the afternoon sun filtering through the green canopy above.

“If you shift into something aquatic,” she says, “we could tow the raft.”

“We can also move out of the mainstream,” the Changer says, “and reduce the pull of the current.”

Vera frowns.  “I hate the idea of you two towing me.”

Amphitrite reaches to pat her hand.  “Don’t worry.  I would say you could ride on one of our backs, but I do not trust the piranha to ignore such a toothsome morsel.”

“And they will ignore the Changer?”

“My husband says that most creatures who value their lives avoid the Changer.  He claims that the ancient have a scent about them that warns away all but the most foolhardy.”

The Changer does not comment on this, but looks about, “I will need to eat before I can change and then swim for hours, but my hunting will not take too long if Amphitrite hasn’t frightened off all the game fish.”

“There are both
pirarucú
and
piraiba
near,” the Sea Queen answers.  “The
piraiba
have nothing much to fear and so have done little but move slightly at our passage.  Try downstream.”

“I shall.”  

The Changer rises, shifts into a many-toothed, vaguely alligator-like creature, the like of which vanished from the Earth before humans ceased to be monkeys.  He slips into the water and is gone.

Vera cocks an eyebrow.  “I could pity the
piraiba
if I knew what they were.”

“Catfish,” Amphitrite says, lifting her vine harness, “large enough to swallow monkeys or children.  I haven’t caught any for us because their flesh can taste muddy.”

“Shall we start the raft upstream?”

“May as well, but keep your spear at hand.”  Amphitrite glances up where far too many branches arc out over the water.  “We don’t know when Cleonice will find us.”

Neither of them even think “if.”  They know the power of fear can drive even an athanor to insane measures.

Night is falling when the jaguar catches the sought-for scent.  Ears flare at the sound of rhythmic splashing.  A rumble somewhere between a purr and a growl muddles in her throat.

Cleonice has allowed the jaguar’s instincts to rise to the fore during her hours of travel and tracking.  The athanor within her has simply served to force the jaguar to persist long after a natural animal would have given up.

Now she lets the athanor mind take full command.  Her quarry is near, and she must plan.  Amphitrite would be the best hostage, but Vera will do, especially if she can use her to command Amphitrite.  The two seemed to have become friends.  Amphitrite might surrender herself to save her friend, especially if Cleonice demonstrated a willingness to mutilate her captive.

Although long-lived, athanor heal at different rates.  Some, like the Smith, bear old wounds for life.  Others, especially the shapeshifters, can regenerate.  However, although Vera’s father was a shapeshifter, there is no evidence that Vera is herself.  Mutilation should be a serious threat and has the advantage over death that it can be repeated.

Having resolved this issue, Cleonice begins to creep close enough to assess the situation visually.  A few things puzzle her already.  For one, the raft seems to be traveling upriver.  For another, it seems to be moving at a fair clip.  Clearly, this is not a time to attack as her jaguar instincts are urging.

The sight that meets her astonished gaze is a raft a few logs wide, being towed upstream by a pair of bull sharks.  Vera sits aboard, watchfully scanning the banks and the trees overhead.  She holds a spear in one hand and at least four others rest on the abbreviated deck, along with a makeshift bow.

That Vera does not spare attention for guiding her peculiar steeds confirms what Cleonice has already guessed.  Isidro and Oswaldo had failed to stop their rivals and they, in turn, have beaten Cleonice to her quarry.  Nor is she terribly surprised to see that Amphitrite has returned to a form adapted to the water.

Spotted tail lashing, Cleonice assesses the odds of success.  They had been poor before.  They are worse now.  She is not likely to take a hostage.  Amphitrite is outside her reach, and Vera is alert to the possibility of attack.  With others to assist them…

No.  She would be a fool to continue on this course of action.  Isidro would have leapt into the fray out of an idealistic desire to avenge his comrades, but Cleonice’s father was a soldier, and she has learned the value of retreat.

Why shouldn’t she vanish into the rain forest?  As a jaguar she could live quite easily until her crimes are less immediate.  If she could locate a native enclave, she could live as a human—perhaps as a queen—and do some good against the encroaching civilization that threatened their ancient ways.

The idea is tempting.  Arthur is a bleeding heart for the oppressed.  If she reappears in a century or so with a history of fighting for the underdog, she might find herself readmitted to the Accord.  

She will wear iron about her and keep on the move.  Eventually, her enemies will grow weary of searching for her.  If they leave her in Harmony, what is a few centuries of fear compared to immortality?

As silently as she had come, Cleonice Damita melts into the surrounding jungle and runs on velvet paws toward life.

“Face it, Arthur,” Eddie says, coming out from behind the lilac bush.  “Shahrazad is gone.”

“Gone!” Arthur exclaims.  “She can’t be!  Where would she go?  How could she get out?  I locked all the doors into the courtyard myself before we started work.”

Eddie glances around.  What Arthur has said is true, but that does not change the fact that the three-month-old coyote pup is no longer in the courtyard.  Jonathan Wong, emerging from behind a small stand of juniper, adds, “It may be impossible for her to be gone, Arthur, but that does not change the fact that she is not here.”

“Could she have gone out over the roof?” Arthur trots up the courtyard stair to the balcony level.  “I seem to recall that coyotes can climb.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says doubtfully.  He’s kneeling beside some of the dirt Shahrazad had kicked out over the patio.  “Arthur, Jon, come down and take a look at this.”

“Just a second,” Arthur calls, frowning at a mark on the stuccoed wall before coming down.

“Look at this.”  Eddie indicates a partial footprint in the dirt.  “That isn’t any of ours.”

“No,” Arthur agrees.  “A rubber-soled shoe.  I’ve got moccasins on.”

“It’s a right print,” Eddie says.  “I’m still wearing a scuff over that foot.”

“I,” Wong says, extending a neatly shod foot, “am wearing dress shoes with hard, smooth soles.”

“Why?” Eddie says.

“Why not?” Wong answers, his expression a parody of Chinese imperturbability.  “Actually, I was planning to go to the courthouse and do some research for a case I am pursuing.”

“Oh.”

“So someone came in here and stole Shahrazad,” Arthur continues, ignoring the digression.  “A man, judging from the size of the print.”

Eddie scouts about and now comes up with several small scraps of fabric.  “I think that Shahrazad accounted well for herself.  Apparently, her kidnapper had his clothes rather badly torn.  There’s blood, too, hastily covered with fresh dirt.”

Arthur nods, remembering the mark on the wall and understanding its significance.  “I’m going up onto the roof.  Since none of the doors were unlocked, her captors must have gone out over the roof.  Maybe we can find which way they took her.”

Arthur’s investigation finds another partial footprint, another scrap of cloth, and, when he goes out and inspects the grounds outside of the hacienda, the place where a ladder had been leaned against the house.

Glumly, he reports his finds to Eddie and Jonathan.

“I checked the grounds, but I’m no tracker.  My guess is that the kidnapper had a vehicle parked along the road—maybe along a side road where it wouldn’t be noticed.  I found what could be the outline of a dog carrier in the gravel.  The ladder was dropped behind some shrubs.”

Eddie rubs his temples and pours them each two fingers of good Irish whiskey.  “I know it’s early in the day, but we need bucking up.”

“Thanks.”

“
Gracias.
”

“I guess we forgot to make certain that Lovern reset the wards before he left for South America,” Arthur says.

“I just assumed he would do so,” Eddie adds.

“Assumptions are not strong means for running a secure establishment,” Jonathan Wong comments.

“I know… I’m kicking myself,” Arthur says, “I assure you.”

“We have a big problem here,” Eddie cuts in.

“We know,” Arthur says.

“If the Changer returns and finds Shahrazad gone…”

“I know.”  The King swirls the amber whiskey in his glass.  “He entrusted her to me specifically.  How can I tell him I didn’t want his daughter peeing on my carpets so I left her locked in the courtyard?”

Eddie takes a deep swallow of his own drink.  “You won’t need to if we find her before he gets back.”

“Whoever took her was athanor.”

“Probably the same person who killed the rest of the Changer’s family,” Jonathan adds helpfully.

“Yes.  That doesn’t bode well for her.”

“Poor pup,” Eddie says softly.

“Poor us!” Arthur protests.  “Have you forgotten that the Changer is the brother of the Sea King?  What if he shares Duppy Jonah’s affinity for controlling the ocean?”

“We’ve seen no evidence of this,” Eddie answers, “but with the Changer that means little.  He keeps much close.”

“I took responsibility for Shahrazad,” Arthur repeats, “therefore, I must find and ransom her before her father returns.  That’s the only acceptable answer.”

Eddie nods.  “I never thought I would say this, but I hope Anson and the Changer take their time in South America.”

“Heaven forgive me,” Arthur says, “but I share that sentiment.”

Although the three slogging up the Amazon expect Cleonice every hour, she does not come.  Once they rendezvous with Anson, they discard the
Pororoca
for the rubber boat and reach the
Caiman
before the next morning.  There, Amphitrite radios the Smith, who links her to Duppy Jonah, and thus the Sea King’s anxiety is somewhat relieved.  Even so, a rumble of anger in his voice bodes ill for Lovern.

After Duppy Jonah has been contacted, Vera has the Smith relay news of their success to Arthur.  Although the Smith is clearly curious as to what secret mission they have been performing, he promises to pass on the information without question.

When dawn breaks, Anson takes the
Caiman
into the sky and, before morning is many hours old, they are back in Belém.  While Anson readies the rented jet for its transatlantic flight, the Changer takes on Isidro’s shape and goes to the estate in Belém.  Arthur eventually may need to delegate someone to deal with the “disappearance” of the owners, but for now it is enough that the servants be told that Isidro, Oswaldo, and Cleonice will be traveling for a time.  Following Vera’s counsel, the Changer arranges for severance pay and the like.