Dance of Destinies (The Galactic Mage Series Book 5) (20 page)

The oldest of the boys approached her. He came with his head tilted sideways and sort of stooping some, one hand out as if Pernie were a stray animal that got loose from some neighbor’s yard.

“Hey there, little girl,” he said. “What are you doing out after sundown? Didn’t your mommy tell you there would be bad people out?”

“Is that who he was?” Pernie asked, pointing down the alley across the way. The dark silhouette of the running man was just then turning down into the other street.

The young man turned to his companions and gave them a what-the-fuck? look, at which they all burst into laughter again.

“Oh, yeah,” said the young man, sounding earnest. “He was bad. Super bad. But don’t worry, we chased him away so he can’t hurt a pretty girl like you.”

He looked back to his friends, made a question of his lips and the way he kinked his head.

Two of the boys just a bit younger than he was seemed to understand the expression and cringed, though it was barely visible. They shook their heads and backed a step away.

“Aw, come on,” said the older boy. “Don’t be pussies.”

“I don’t know, man. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying. Nothing. Whatever.”

“Maybe she’s got money,” said one of the boys who’d backed away. “She’s got the look of a spoiled piece of crap. Just loot her ass.”

The nearest boy stepped forward. “Come here,” he said. “You got your mommy’s net card on you?”

A black-haired boy with an unruly puff of hair stepped forward to stand beside the nearest one. “She won’t have no net card, fool. Look at that shit she wearin’. Fuckin’ scanner baby, man.”

“Then we’ll take her prints and irises with us to a casino. Get some chips.” The eldest of them lunged at her, intent on snatching her off the ground.

Ducking under and stepping away from him was easier for Pernie than dodging game attacks with Starfaze had been.

The other boys went into hysterics as their elder friend stumbled two steps into the alley as Pernie dodged his lunge. He turned back and looked at her. “What the …?”

Pernie would have answered, but the twelve-year-old shouted, “Five-oh. Five-oh,” and took off sprinting down the alley in the direction the “bad man” they’d been throwing bottles at had gone. Two more of the boys were right after him.

Pernie looked down the street where the boy had pointed. Blue-and-red lights were flashing so brightly they lit up the walls of the buildings up and down the street. A car approached.

“Shit,” said a couple of the other boys, and they took off as well. The oldest made to run down the alley from which Pernie had come, but she tripped him as he launched into motion, her foot darting between his ankles in the time it took for him to think. He staggered several steps, trying to catch his balance, and then crashed headlong into the side of the dumpster where the red-eyed man had been peeing only a few moments before. Pernie didn’t know where that man had gone.

The car with the flashing lights pulled up in front of the alley and turned a bright spotlight down that way. Pernie, barely a pace away from the car, had to blink into its blinding brightness and ultimately turn away.

“You there, by the dumpster, don’t move,” came a very loud voice over a tinny-sounding projection mounted to the car. It looked like a very short trumpet to Pernie’s Prosperion eye.

The young man had disentangled himself from the soggy refuse near the dumpster and was starting to run away again.

Two hissing sounds issued from the car,
fffft
,
fffft
, and Pernie saw the young man stagger again, pitch forward, and fall face-first to the ground. He slid for a few Earth feet and then lay motionless.

Two men emerged from the car then. Pernie saw their boots sticking out from under the blinding glare of the spotlight, which hid the rest of them.

“Are you Pernie Grayborn?” one of them asked.

Pernie blinked into the glare. “Yes,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Reno PD,” came the reply. “We got a missing persons report from a Sophia Hayworth that matched a report from a commuter earlier today. Miss Hayworth is worried sick about you and, if I’m honest, pretty pissed.”

“So?” Defiance cemented itself in place upon her face.

“She wants you home, young lady. And she wants you home now.”

“So?” Pernie repeated. “She’s not the Queen, you know? She’s not even my mother.” Pernie hated it when people told her what to do. Especially strange men hiding behind bright lights.

“Well, she’s your legal guardian, so that’s good enough. Now come along. We’re going to take you home.”

Pernie thought about running, but she looked back at the man lying face-first in the alley and thought it might not work out any better for her than it had for him. Not with whatever that was that had gone hissing by her. She shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “But I don’t need a guardian.”

Chapter 20

R
oberto was trembling as he stood before the Queen, and it damn sure wasn’t out of fear. At least not fear for himself. The only reason he hadn’t launched himself into a complete fit of profanity was because the last remark out of his mouth had prompted the Royal Assassin to appear. The elf, whose place near the golden throne was well known but seldom visibly occupied, shimmered, and then there he was, a lean figure of black-armored death, decked in leather that did not creak when he moved, and which bristled with the hilts of daggers and knives of varying size, all protruding from this joint and that seam. His appearance garnered gasps from the assemblage of courtiers and petitioners and even a smattering of applause from a group of schoolchildren who’d been brought in on a field trip. Their visit to the throne room was cut short right after, however, for the Queen sent all visitors and courtiers away with a “Get out, get out, all of you!” All but Roberto and Deeqa Daar, that is.

When at length the Queen addressed Roberto again, her tone was as tight as a piano wire—which on Prosperion most people thought of as a garrote.

“Captain Levi, it is only by my appreciation for that abundant confidence of yours, which earned you your teetering privilege here, that I do not have you carted off and flogged. But you test me too far if you continue in such fashion.” She tipped the royal scepter backward toward the Royal Assassin standing near her elbow. “You see how you’ve made my serpent come slinking from his hole?”

“Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect, but it isn’t fu—it isn’t right.” He somehow managed to self-censor most of the profanity. He really was trying not to completely lose his cool. “It’s been sixteen days. I’ve got nothing. The TGS people won’t send me back to the red planet. They won’t even tell me why.”

“They are not yours to command, Captain. And I must tell you, I believe the fortune I am so rapidly making you has quite gotten to your head.”

“Fuck the money!” he snapped. So much for self-censorship. “My friends are dying up there, and nobody is doing a goddamn thing. Bahri can’t get there because your people—the ones who are clearly not mine to command—won’t send any fleet ships to Yellow Fire either. They won’t. Bahri tried. General Pewter sent the request. I thought this whole TGS thing was supposed to be a joint venture—you know, where both sides give a shit equally.”

The Queen’s scrutiny narrowed, and Deeqa, standing next to Roberto, put her hand on his arm. Roberto looked up at his copilot, his eyes ablaze with frustration and rage. She looked deeply into them, her own eyes, dark and patient to his dark and furious, speaking a warning that he trusted her enough to heed.

“Your Majesty,” said Deeqa then. “If I may speak.”

The Queen waved her scepter in the air in front of her. “If you think you can do so with some restraint. I admit I have need of you both ….” She paused and seemed to let go some of the energy that Roberto’s semi-tantrums were winding up in her, before going on. “I really do.” She looked at Roberto. “Good Captain, I do. We are friends. I need you to have some faith.” To Deeqa she said, “Go on, my dear. Speak.”

“The trouble is that the aliens must be almost at the depth of Yellow Fire’s heart by now. The original estimates were that it would take them three weeks. It’s been over two weeks now. We have no idea what will happen when they reach that depth, but it is my opinion that they are after the heart stone. Maybe even the Liquefying Stone around it. All of it. Given how rapidly they can dig, I believe”—she looked at Roberto—“we believe that once they are down to the main cavern, they’ll clear it all out and be gone in a matter of days. If they go back through that wormhole—which is what we believe it to be—well, then Sir Altin and Orli will simply be gone. Forever.”

“Not forever. My diviners will find them if that happens,” the Queen replied, waving that last bit off. “You forget, dear girl, that we Prosperions have gifts your people do not. We are quite adept at finding things.”

Deeqa inclined her head, accepting that. “This is true, Your Majesty. And a great gift it is. However, what can your people do if that rift in the space above the planet opens into another dimension? Or perhaps just into another place in space and time? Do you have magic for that?”

The Queen harrumphed and looked irritated. She glanced over her shoulder at the Royal Assassin, who did nothing but watch Roberto.

“My point is not to cause trouble, Your Majesty,” Deeqa continued. “I merely wish to … augment Captain Levi’s point. Failure to act immediately could mean the absolute last we ever see of Orli and your Galactic Mage.”

She harrumphed again. “Send for Guildmasters Alphonde and Meste,” she called out to the herald standing near the doors.

“Yes, My Queen,” he said, and shuffled past one of the two Palace guardsmen in their gold-trimmed armor and crimson capes.

“I really just need news, Your Majesty,” Roberto said. “I know you need the money … for whatever secret reasons you won’t tell me.” He made no attempt to hide how irritated that secrecy made him given how much work and stress that need was putting on him just now. “But I can’t concentrate on your heaps of money if I’m spending my energy worried about Orli and Altin all the time.”

“Well, I hired you because I thought you were the sort who can keep his head,” she said, her own displeasure equally unveiled. “However, I will see what we can learn together, so that you can put your mind to rest.”

“My mind resting is only part of the point, Your Majesty. I want to know when
Citadel
is going to show up. And when I can expect the TGS to comply with the request of a two-star general.”

“The two-star general is the father of one of the missing,” the Queen pointed out. “And I advise you again, young man, to pull in your claws. We are not enemies here, and there are things you do not understand.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am abundantly aware of that. I’m trying to be a good little soldier here, but I feel like you are making me fight blind.”

“If I tell you to fight blind, Captain, you will do it. Now be silent.” She turned impatiently toward the door.

As if by her command, the door swung open and in came the herald followed by three figures: a one-eyed old man, a black-robed woman of roughly thirty years, and an even younger redheaded woman in gray robes, who Roberto recognized as the teleporter Envette. The black-robed figure led the rest forward, and as she approached, Roberto could see that her face was gaunt and she had puffy circles beneath her eyes. Her hair hung lank and oily around her face and over her shoulders. Her robes were muddy, and altogether she had the appearance of one who has not bathed in many days. The other two looked no better.

“Guildmaster Meste,” said the Queen, greeting the powerful young diviner as if the woman did not look like she’d just been summoned from a gladiator pit. “It’s so nice to see you again.” The War Queen’s smile was tighter than her tone was, and Roberto saw something cautionary in the aspect of her eyes.

Cypher Meste curtsied, and returned the Queen’s smile. “Thank you, My Queen.” She took a place beside Roberto quietly. The Queen greeted the one-eyed Seers guildmaster, Master Alphonde, and the powerful young teleporter with equally confounding cordiality, though the two of them remained standing behind Roberto, Deeqa, and Guildmaster Meste.

Roberto glanced back when they did not come stand beside them and noticed that Envette’s gray robes, besides being heavy at the hem and elsewhere splattered with mud, also had smears near the knees that looked more like blood than mud.

“Thank you for coming,” the Queen said. “I know your present work keeps you busy these days. But Captain Levi here is being thwarted in his efforts to produce the funds so necessary to your work these days for worry over the fate of Sir Altin and Lady Meade. Has
Citadel
been working on that problem as I asked?”

Cypher Meste drew in a breath and spent a few seconds longer than Roberto thought she should have needed before finally speaking. “Yes, Your Majesty. We are working on it still.”

Roberto waited a moment for more to follow, and when none came, he turned to look at her. She really did look terrible. Like she’d been sleeping under a bush in a rainstorm for at least a week. But she didn’t have anything else to add, apparently.

He looked back to the Queen, but she didn’t seem like she intended to press. So he did.