Changer (Athanor) (9 page)

Loverboy
>> Hey!  If we all get together, we can have a party!!  I’m so tired of private do’s.  Babes!! ;)

Moderator
>> Did you know that Dionysus now resides near Albuquerque in Santa Fe?

Loverboy
>>  Party!  Party!

Demetrios
>> Keep your horse’s ass in check, you idiot!  This matter has serious implications.

Loverboy
>> Party!  PArty!  ParTY!!

Rebecca
>> Demi has a point.  There are so many worldwide issues we cannot address as we are.  Human society has developed the means to destroy the world—and is destroying large chunks of it.  Perhaps they
need
to know that others share this globe with them.  Perhaps they would learn prudence.

Moderator
>> Very thoughtful, Rebecca.  The King must see that our energies could be better used than on covert operations.  Humanity
needs
us.

Loverboy
>> Party!!  Whoo!!  Babes!!

“Arthur?”  Some hours after the initial conference with the Changer, Eddie stands in the doorway of Arthur’s office, his computer tucked under one arm as once he carried his lord’s standard.  “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”  Arthur flips off his own computer.  “How are things with the Changer?”

“As well as could be expected.  He has incredible patience and focus when working toward a goal… none whatsoever for anything else.  He’s taken the puppy…”

“His daughter,” Arthur corrects sternly.

“Right.  Down to the
bosque
.  I gave him ‘can’t miss it’ directions.”

Arthur frowns, thinking of the Changer and a baby coyote trotting through the wooded stretch along the Rio Grande, amid the joggers and cyclists.  He didn’t want to consider what might happen if anyone offered to cuddle the “cute doggy.”

“Was that terribly wise?”

“How would I stop him?” Eddie asks reasonably.  “He’s not an easy one to cross.  In any case, it’s well after dark.  You’ve been working too late again.”

Arthur glances at the clock, realizes that this is true, and pushes back his chair.

“Can we talk in the kitchen?”

“It might be better if we don’t,” Eddie says, shutting the office door behind him.  “It’s not the most secure place.”

Arthur nods.  “Secure from whom?”

“The Changer, maybe from Vera, maybe just because what I want to bring up is supposition rather than anything logical.”

“I’ve grown to trust your suppositions, Eddie.  If I had listened to them more carefully in centuries past…”

“Arthur, you have a gift for self-recrimination.  Stow it and listen.”

The great king does so.  After all, Eddie is right.

Eddie takes a seat in a chair ergonomically designed for perfect comfort and immediately leans forward, eschewing the chair’s sympathetic lines.

“I think that the Changer is wrong.  I don’t think that Lilith was responsible for the death of his family.”

Arthur cocks an eyebrow.  “The evidence against her is pretty powerful.  I’ve checked the license number.  It was rented to an L. Prima for the dates concerned.  The phone number matches with her unlisted cell phone.  And, the handwriting on that note matches some of hers I have in our files.”

Eddie fidgets.  “So there’s a lot more than the Changer’s ‘catching her scent’ to go on, isn’t there?”

“That’s right.  It isn’t enough for you, though.  Why?”

“Maybe I’m too suspicious, but Lilith is of the ancient.”

Arthur picks up a pencil and starts drumming on the desk.  “True.  She claims to be the oldest female human-form—Adam’s original bride and all that rot.  Even if you discard that nonsense, cross confirmation makes her about the same generation as you and me.”

“And she’s sly,” Eddie continues, “and malicious.  And known for her enmity to the traditional family.”

Arthur sighs.  “She claims that she never got over Adam’s claim that woman was subordinate to the male.”

“Whatever the reason, she’s built quite a reputation for herself over the decades.”

“There is a point to this?”

“You know there is, Arthur.”  Eddie takes the pencil from the King’s hand.  “And that drumming is driving me crazy.”

“Sorry.  Go on.”

“To put it bluntly, I can’t imagine that a sly ancient like Lilith would leave so clear a trail.  It doesn’t make sense: her own current name, phone number, a sample of her handwriting, a car easily traced to her.  She’s too good.  If she was going after someone like the Changer, she’d be more careful.”

Arthur begins to twiddle a pen, then sets it down.  “You have a point.  Caution is as natural to her as breathing.”

“I’ve checked her current situation,” Eddie says.  “She’s living in Santa Fe, running a gallery and helping Tommy establish his new identity.”

“That’s right, he’s recovered and public now, isn’t he?”  Arthur sighs.  “Is he doing music again?”

“Of course. ‘Tommy Thunderburst,’ part-Navajo, part-French.  He’s soulful as ever.  Lil sent a copy of his ‘demo’ tape—bitter, acid, loving.  I don’t really care for contemporary music…” (by contemporary, Eddie means anything later than the eighteenth century) “but I could see the appeal of this.”

“So why would Lilith be going after the Changer now?” Arthur muses.  “She has a busy couple of decades in front of her.”

“Precisely,” Eddie says.  “That’s why I can’t believe that she is the one behind the killings.”

“The Changer does,” Arthur replies.  “And he won’t believe anything she says.  Lying is second nature to her.”

“And so he will confront her and kill her,” Eddie says, “and then there will be repercussions.”

“For us,” Arthur says, “because we permitted ourselves to be swayed by such flimsy evidence.”

“Yes.”

“And for the Changer, for slaying her without just cause.”

“Yes.”

“Who would do this?”

“I don’t know, right off, but you know that many athanor grow bored.  Such a game might amuse a few or…”

“Or?”

“Or someone desires to unsettle your kingship.  You know that not everyone is happy with your policies.  Some say that you play the humans’ game of using information technologies more insidiously than they do themselves—and for far less pure intentions, since you
know
of our existence and use the threat of human revelation to control our actions.”

Arthur huffs.  “I do not!  I simply advise prudence.  Humans are no longer isolated societies to be manipulated by the powerful among us.”

“Easy, friend.”  Eddie chuckles.  “I agree, or I wouldn’t be working with you.  So do most athanor, or you would not have their support.  Your talent for leadership is not merely charisma.”

“Thanks,” Arthur says, still piqued.

“But there are those who have not appreciated your efforts these past two centuries.  The most vocal have been eliminated, usually by their own actions.  Only the subtle and creative remain.”

“There are Katsuhiro and Dakar,” Arthur reminds him.  “Neither is subtle.”

“I think you underestimate them,” Eddie says, “but I agree that they do not have the manipulative spirit I sense.”

“A trickster then?”

“Perhaps.”  Eddie frowns.  “Or perhaps the Changer himself.”

“He would not slaughter his own family!” Arthur protests.

“Perhaps not.”

“And he is not sophisticated enough to have gathered unlisted phone numbers and the like.”

“How do we know?  The Changer lives much of his life outside of our supervision.  Just because he has not registered a human identity does not mean that he has not had one.”

Arthur rubs his face with his hands.  “I suspect we should consult Lovern on this one.”

Eddie nods.  There is something of a rivalry between Arthur’s right hand and the sorcerer, but Eddie recognizes the talent of the man once called Merlin.  

Not wanting Eddie to become affronted, Arthur hastens to continue: “Lilith is a sorceress herself, although of a different type.  Moreover, Lovern can craft a truthstone for us to use…”

“On the Changer?”

“Yes, and perhaps to loan to the Changer so that he can confirm or deny Lilith’s innocence in a more objective fashion than just by interviewing her.”

Eddie leans back into the chair’s embrace.  “That’s a good idea.  Where is the wizard now?”

“On sabbatical in Finland,” Arthur replies promptly.

“Contact him,” Eddie says.  “Then you can consider how best to explain to the Changer that while we aren’t calling him a liar, we aren’t exactly certain that he is telling the truth.”

“Oh, my,” quoth Arthur.  “That should be fun.”

4

Caras vemos, corazones no sabemos.
(Faces we see, hearts we know not.)

—Spanish proverb

T
he
Journal
isn’t paying Chris to investigate Arthur Pendragon, so he waits for his day off to meet with Bill.  A college student majoring in computer engineering, Bill Irish has frequently saved Chris hours of unproductive research through his singular talent for rapidly locating pertinent information.

“You know,” Bill says as he comes in the front door of Chris’s house, “I thought you were touched in the head when you asked me to check out an Arthur Pendragon.”

Despite his name, Bill Irish is anything but.  A Jamaican American, he possesses light brown skin and warm brown eyes.  His shoulder-length, curly hair is habitually drawn back into a fashionable ponytail.  At six-foot-one, he is several inches taller than Chris and lean to Chris’s solidness.

“Come into the living room and show me what you have,” Chris invites, pouring them both glasses of cola.

Accepting his, Bill sprawls on the sofa and unfolds a printout.  “Pendragon Productions is registered with the state as a not-for-profit corporation,” he begins.  “No employees other than the three officers are listed.”

“Not unreasonable,” Chris says.  “They may be broke.”

“Someone has money,” Bill contradicts.  “Motor Vehicles lists four vehicles for Pendragon Productions: two sedans, multipassenger van, and a trendy four-wheel drive.  All are recent models and none are inexpensive.  Arthur owns a large house in an expensive area.  There is no mortgage—he paid for it up front and then did extensive remodeling.  His credit record—as well as those of Zagano and Tso—is perfect.  Wherever Mr. Pendragon gets his money, he is well-off.”

“Is that his real name?” Chris asks.

“As far as I could tell,” Bill says.  “He’s a naturalized American citizen.  His place of birth is listed as England.”