Changer (Athanor) (83 page)

“I know.”

“You didn’t get your restitution.”

“Sven has been disarmed; he has been removed from the Accord.  I assure you, that is better than martyring him.”

Arthur frowns.  “But your family…  Isn’t that why you came out of the hills, to gain retribution for them?”

“Yes,” the Changer nods, “and to learn who would dare play with me.  I was simpleminded not to think of Sven sooner, but he diverted me with Lil, and by the time I had spoken with her, his trail was cold.  Even his other attacks were subtly handled.”

“That is true.”  Arthur still looks uncomfortable.  “Yet, you have gained very little for yourself—and you have taken more harm than many.”

The Changer shrugs.  “In some ways, that is so.  However, if Sven had not drawn me out, I might never have learned that Shahrazad was athanor.  She might have been long dead by this June’s Harmony Dance, being litter’s runt and all.”

He reaches down and scratches the puppy behind her ears.  “Moreover, I watched my brother being manipulated by the South Americans.  I don’t care to be predictable.  Lil and I could have killed each other for Loki’s gain.  Even an ancient can learn.”

Arthur nods, thinking of the lessons that
he
has learned.

“And remember, Arthur,” the Changer says, “without the protection of the Accord, Sven is fair game to any of those he has made an enemy.  I would not want Katsuhiro or Dakar on my trail—not to mention Swansdown.  I wonder if he will be slain after all.”

“True.  But is his pain compensation for your wounds?”

The Changer smiles.  “Aesculapius has examined the damage.  He will be able to negate Louhi’s magic.  When he is done, I will be whole once more.”

“Good!”

“The process may take several surgeries,” the Changer says, “and Garrett has warned me that it will be painful.  May Shahrazad and I stay here during the procedure?”

Arthur thinks fleetingly of coyote piss on carpets, of the upheavals the Changer has brought, of the finality of death.

“Of course.”  He steps from the dais and strokes Shahrazad’s ears.  “I’d be delighted to have you both.”

29

Injustice is relatively easy to bear; it is justice that hurts.

—H.L. Mencken

“A
rthur?” Rebecca Trapper stands at the door to the King’s office.  “A few of us would like to speak privately with you.”

“Come in.”  He stands to greet the small group of theriomorphs who file in.  Anson follows them and closes the door.  “Is there something wrong with the amendments?  If so, I should call Jonathan in.”

“No,” Rebecca says, “or maybe yes.  You don’t need to call Jonathan.  We’re quite happy with the illusion disguises.  We want to suggest members for the research group.”

“The one investigating possible human reaction to theriomorphs?” the King says.  “Would you like to be a member?”

“Yes,” Rebecca says, “I would, but I want you to hire two other members.”  She gestures sharply, and Swansdown’s illusions are broken.  “Two human members.  Meet Chris Kristofer and Bill Irish.  They’ve attended the last several meetings.”

Chris and Bill bow slightly.  “Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty,” they chorus as they have been coached.

Arthur stares, first at them, then at Rebecca, and finally at Anson, who is trying very hard not to laugh aloud.

“You do realize that you are in violation of the Accord,” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, Arthur,” Rebecca says.  “I am, along with at least half of the theriomorphs here.  I guess you can put us on trial.”

“Oh, Lord, not that!” Arthur moans, pressing his face into his hands.  “I don’t think…”  He stops, collects himself, becomes stern.  “This is a serious matter.”

“We know.”  Rebecca becomes pleading.  “Arthur, I think we need the human point of view.  We’ve been in isolation, guessing what they think, for too long.  Chris and Bill can help.”

Chris decides it’s time for him to speak.  “King Arthur, Bill and I don’t want to let your secret out—it’s Rebecca’s secret, too, and Bronson’s, and other people we’ve rapidly come to value as friends.  Sure, I started out looking for a news story, but that’s before I knew what the news really was.”

Bill adds, “Rebecca is right when she says you athanor don’t know how humans think.  You live among us but not with us.  It’s like a cat trying to understand a school of goldfish.”

“Half the theriomorphs know?” Arthur asks.

“Half of those who are here,” Rebecca corrects.

“That’s still quite a few.”  Arthur turns to Anson.  “What do you think, Spider?”

“I’m for it, or I wouldn’t be here, eh?  I convinced Rebecca to bring her friends to you quietly.  You will hire these two men into your personal service—there is a provision for that within the Accord.  Keep their role secret for a while—perhaps until the next Review, when all of this is due to be raked up again anyhow.  If they violate our trust…”

He makes a dramatic throat-cutting gesture.  

“Some of the athanor will have to know,” Arthur says.  “My counselors, for example.  The word may get out.”

“If it does,” Anson says, “you can say that you very, very carefully examined the candidates and trust their honesty.”

Chris adds, “King Arthur, we’d be happy to swear on one of those truthstones or take any oath you’d like to design.  I can’t say I liked the sound of that aversion spell, but I’d even let you use one of those.”

Arthur shakes his head violently at the last suggestion.  “No!  Either we extend some trust, or this experiment is useless.  An oath is a nice idea, though, as is a truthstone examination.”

“Then,” Rebecca says, “you agree?”

“It seems to be a time of changes,” Arthur says.  “Very well, gentlemen, consider yourselves hired.  We’ll work out salaries and job descriptions and cover stories at our leisure. Your first job is to make certain that the remainder of the Trappers’ visit is a safe and pleasant one.”

“That,” Bill says happily, “will be no trouble at all.”

Once the amendments to the Accord are signed, most depart, including Vera, who is going to escort the Sea Monarchs on a brief tour of the United States.

She bids the Changer good-bye.  “Connel has said his wife can loan me her pelt.  I plan to try shapeshifting.”

“Good.”  He touches her shoulder lightly.  “I will be taking Shahrazad to the Sandias again.  Come and tell us how you liked being a seal.”

The mages remain, working on the aversion spells.  Tommy Thunderburst, still shattered by the use to which his most wonderful composition had been turned, smashes the amethyst eagle and flushes down the toilet the last of the blue powder that Sven had given him.  These cathartic actions completed, he takes some relief in assisting with the spell-weaving.  Still, many notice that he has begun drinking heavily.

Shahrazad is among those who gather to watch the wizards place the aversion spells on Louhi, Sven, and the Head.  She crouches between her father’s feet, growling as her enemies are led into the room.  Daily she has visited the rooms where they are imprisoned, peeing derisively on the door.  No one will let her get any closer.

Perhaps only the Big Male recognizes the level of her wrath, but not even he knows of the channel dug in her psyche by the pain of the Disharmony Dance.  Through that channel, something courses, building force, waiting only for an outlet.

Shahrazad stares at the three, hating them with all her soul.  Soon the Big Male will be taking her back into the wild lands, and her enemies will be out of her grasp.  She growls.

The last pinch of scented powder is dropped into the silver censor, the last melodic words are chanted, and the three subjects tremble as if a powerful wind has buffeted their bodies.  With a sixth sense, Shahrazad knows that the mages have done their work, that the three are now bound against using that hateful Dance against her.

Is this all that will be done to them?  She had understood that the three could be hunted once the mages were done with their workings.  Somehow, she had envisioned them changed into prey animals, as her father changes into birds or humans.

Now cold Louhi finishes shaking.  Anger darkens her pale, delicate complexion.  Spinning on her heel, she raises her hand.  Shahrazad bares her teeth, but Louhi’s anger is for the Head, whom she slaps soundly across one cheek.

“Come near me again,” the witch hisses, “and I will make you so miserable that you will pray to return to your bodiless existence beneath the cold, dank ocean waters.”

The Head stares at Louhi, his mismatched eyes full of hurt.  For the first time since any has seen him, he looks human.

Sven Trout tosses back his fiery head and laughs.  The others join in.  Only Shahrazad does not laugh.  This is not enough!  These three stole her away, tortured her father, made the great pain-song!  Her family is a dim memory to her now, but she feels sure that their deaths and the terror she had felt then are these ones’ doing as well.

Would that she could hunt them as her father promised!  If only they were little like ground squirrels, like mice, like…

There is a surging within her as the channel finally overflows and then heals.  Her bark of delight fills a room suddenly bereft of laughter.  She leaps forward toward the rat that crouches where Sven Trout had stood.  The rat dives between Lovern’s legs and Shahrazad bounds after, determined to grab and to shake, to twist and break.

She hears the Big Male yelling for her, but ignores him.