Nightlord: Orb (43 page)

Wednesday, November 11
th

Señor Mendoza sat on his patio and watched me carving cement.  It struck me how this was an interesting reversal of stereotypes.  The wealthy Hispanic man watched the white guy doing manual labor in the back yard.  It amused me.  He sat in the shade and sipped his drinks; I hammered at cement in the sun.  That’s enough irony to rust.  At least he was nice enough to have his cook prepare lunch.  Two lunches, in fact.  He ate his at the patio table; mine was delivered to me on a tray.  No fraternizing with the hired help, obviously.

I didn’t mind.  I didn’t have to hide my expression as I wolfed it down.  I have no real objection to Mexican food, but the cook liked spicy dishes and treated garlic like a vegetable, not a seasoning.  If I wasn’t an eating machine, I would have skipped lunch altogether.  As it was, I just tried not to breathe through my nose too much.

With the circle in place and the spell engaged, I tested it a bit.  It was definitely taking in much more power in this high-magic zone.  A little work from the outside of the circle let me look over the flow of power.  There were definitely some lines of force intersecting in the vicinity, deep below.  There was also a trace of distortion in their flow, but only a trace.  It was a Sphere, not a magic-sucking jet.  The new Ascension Sphere acted less like a magnet and more like a drain.  Power tried to flow past it and got caught, swirled around it, and fell into it.

It was also easy to see the power was an external thing, not a direct flow.  Somewhere inside the world, in its veins and arteries, was where all the magic happened.  What we worked with was only at the surface—the radiant energy from the inner conduits.  It’s like the difference between the power in someone’s blood and their body heat.  This nexus was a place where blood flowed near the skin and warmed everything.

I really do need to see if I can tap a ley line for power.  How would that work?  Drill a hole, like an oil well?  Or find a really deep cave and go down after it?

Once I was sure the Ascension Sphere was working properly, I moved around to the patio table and greeted Señor Mendoza again.

“This thing you have created,” he demanded, not returning my greeting, “it will gather power indefinitely?”

“Until you use it, which will cause it to collapse,” I told him.  “It will require using or storing all the energy inside it before it will do so, however.  You can also break the circle, which will release all the power.  That may cause unpredictable effects, of course, unless you have something prepared to receive a large jolt of power.”

“Very well.  I see it is working.  You are dismissed.”

I shrugged and left.  He was the client and he was paying.  Politeness wasn’t going to get him a discount, so he didn’t bother with it, I guess.  I had the distinct feeling he didn’t like me.

Back at the hotel, with curtains drawn and darkness absolute, I checked on Mary.  She was still dead, so I closed the trunk and ordered room service.  It was a long day in the sun; I wanted food, water, and a bath.  Room service assured me they could satisfy my needs.  I guzzled water, ate the food they sent up, then had my bath.  Things were looking up.

A bath, however, is not nearly as pleasant as it used to be.  I sink so hard I don’t even feel the half-floating sensation that comes with immersion.  Undead problems.

The bathroom mirror rippled.

I sat up in the tub and directed my attention toward it.  There was some sort of magical effect.  The mirror continued to shiver, as though some building-sized monster was stomping along outside.  Nothing of the sort was happening, though; I felt no vibrations that could produce such a shivering.  After a moment, it became obvious a scrying spell was attempting to make a connection.  If it was reaching, somehow, from Karvalen, then it took an awful lot of power and more than a little skill.

Grumbling, I got out, put on a hotel robe, and placed my hands on the mirror’s frame.  A little concentration and a little push…

The mirror cleared.  I expected T’yl, but Señor Mendoza looked out of the mirror at me.  He did a double-take and gestured, closing the connection.

Well, that was plain rude.  I guess I should wear my location-blocking amulet even when soaking in a hot bath.

Was there anything to do about it now?  I could call him back and ask for an explanation.  I could go visit and confront him.  If I wanted to be slightly less direct, I could call Sebastian and ask him to remonstrate with Señor Mendoza, possibly charge him a penalty fee.  If necessary, I could probably manage to take down the Ascension Sphere from the outside—the carved ideograms were actually part of the spell matrix, not just foci to help me cast it.  Or maybe I should get Sebastian to figure something out.  He’s the one who knows how these people work.

I called Sebastian—on the phone—explained what happened, and he was silent for several heartbeats.

“You’re sure it was Señor Mendoza?” he asked.

“I saw him as though we were looking at each other through a window.”

“I wonder what he wanted.”

“So do I, but I’m more concerned with his invasion of my privacy.  It’s rude.”

“Yes… On his behalf, I apologize.  I’ll try to impress upon him the importance of that.”

“I appreciate it.  I don’t suppose you could give me some advice on how families settle this sort of disagreement?  Just in case?”

“Normally, they talk it over,” he told me.  “If that doesn’t work, sometimes there are conflicts.”

“Deadly ones?”

“It has been known to happen,” he admitted, cautiously.  “The Clairmont family and the Lo family had a dispute in Hong Kong and it resulted in a dozen fatalities over the course of a decade.  They still hate each other.”

“Did they finally settle it on their own?  Or did everyone else step in to stop it?”

“It was a joint thing.  The Ortoli family acted as a moderator and helped make peace between their houses.  We’re not likely to need that sort of thing for a trifle such as this.  Permanent maimings, murders—yes.  This is probably a mistake.  I think an apology is in order, if you’re willing to accept one.”

“Good to know.  Yes, I’ll be happy with an apology.  No need to get all bent out of shape.  Let me know if you need anything from me.”

“Of course.  Always glad to hear from you, Vlad.  Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

I hung up and settled onto the bed to watch some video.  Maybe I could get Sebastian to give me a list of the various families of magi and a rundown of who liked or hated each other.  It might be good to know.

It was late in the afternoon when someone knocked at the door.  I grumbled some more but managed to climb out of bed. I put serious dents in mattresses; it’s a struggle to escape the pit.

“Who is it?” I asked, looking through the peephole.  I saw a guy in hotel uniform.

“Housekeeping, Señor.  Do you have a tray and cart?”

“Oh.”  I unlocked and opened the door.  “Yes.  I’m done with it; you can have it back.”  He stepped inside, smiling his professional smile.

“Thank you so much, Señor.  You are most kind.”

When I turned away to walk past the cart, he hit me in the back with an electric shock thing.  I went down and he kept it planted between my shoulderblades.  Being facedown on the floor and locked in a vibrating-muscle spasm, I wasn’t really in any position to notice what else was going on.  I thought I felt a needle.  Since everything went away shortly thereafter, I must have been correct.

Waking up after being forcibly rendered unconscious is generally a surprise and a mixed pleasure.

On the one hand, it’s a good thing.  I’m alive!

On the other hand, it means the people who grabbed me want me for something.  That might not be a good thing at all.

Sensation returned, bringing with it a stinging in my shoulder, a tingling in my extremities, a pounding heartbeat, an agonizing pain between my shoulderblades, and the feel of restraints at every joint.  At a guess, someone gave me a shot to wake me.  I slitted my eyes and took note of the restraints.  Medical grade, probably.  Suitable for psycho nutjobs who might rip open a straitjacket.  I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.  It would take real effort to rip free, even for me—a minute?  Five?  After dark, it would be tissue paper, but I had no idea how far away that might be.

Of course, I wasn’t wearing anything but the restraints.  Typical. 
Why
does everyone want me naked?  Is everyone a necrophiliac?  Or do I look better naked than I think I do?

The slap across my face encouraged me to open my eyes.

“I know you are awake!”

I recognized that voice.  Pages flipped in my mental study and a name emerged.  Fries.  Jason Fries.

I opened my eyes and, sure enough, I was right.  Right in more ways than one, actually; Señor Mendoza was with him.  They had half a dozen younger people, as well.  Several of the Fries family stood on my left, Mendozas on my right.  I hung there on some sort of framework, parenthesized by magi.  I would have looked around more thoroughly, but the head-strap was good and tight.

Somehow, I was not reassured to see familiar faces.

“Good evening,” I offered.  My face still stung from the slap, but also felt somewhat numbed by the drugs.  The sting was winning; the antidote was taking hold.  “How may I help you?”

“I’ll ask the questions!” he declared.  I remained silent.  I couldn’t see any windows in the room, which suited me perfectly.  Presumably, they didn’t want anyone to peep in and observe their activities.  Something indefinable about the place made me think I was underground.  The walls were paneled.  A nicely-finished basement, perhaps.  It was hard to tell.  Aside from the tilted, metal platform they had me on, there was no furniture visible to me.  I didn’t see a door, either.  Behind me, probably; I was in the middle of the room.

“Tell me your name,” Jason ordered.

“Vladimir Smith,” I answered.  One of the younger Mendozas, a black-haired girl in her late teens, maybe as old as twenty, spoke up.

“He’s partly lying.”

“Partly?” Jason echoed.

“I think he’s using the name, so it is his,” she explained, “but that’s not the whole truth.  He’s leaving out a lot.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

I decided she was going to be trouble.

Jason turned his attention to me again.

“What name were you born with?”

“I didn’t have a name when I was born.”

“Truth,” indicated the girl.

“How could he not have a name?” Jason demanded.

“You ask bad questions, Señor,” she replied, almost respectfully.  “He was not named before he was born.  Naming comes after.” Jason turned and half-snarled at me.

“I want to know what to call you!”

“You can call me ‘Vlad,’ if you like.  I’m used to that.”

“Señor Fries,” Esteban snapped, rapping his cane on the floor.  “Perhaps we might move along to more profitable lines of inquiry?”

“Fine,” he snapped.  “Go ahead.”

Señor Mendoza smiled and nodded.  He stepped more fully into my field of view.

“Good evening,” I offered.

“Good evening.  I trust you understand your position?”

“I think so.  One moment, please.”  I moved on the table-thing, tugging and pulling, testing the restraints.  He made no objection, but Jason was ready to burst a blood vessel.  I was stalling, but he was willing to let me test the restraints.  I felt certain that, if left alone, I could tear free in a matter of minutes.  If.

“Yes, Señor Mendoza,” I agreed.  “I think I understand my position.  I must admit I do not understand why I’m in it, but I will trust you to make it clear.”

“Very good, Vladimir.  We are aware you are a servant to one of the undead.  Do not bother to deny it.”

“Okay.”

I wondered what they thought of my weight.  I suppose it depended on how they transported me.  Or maybe they thought it was normal for a long-term servant of the undead.  How much about vampires did they know?

“We have captured your mistress and will interrogate her shortly.  We will ask you both a number of questions.”

“Cross-checking to make sure we’re telling the truth?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding.  “Exactly.”

“She’s got a spell for that,” I pointed out, nodding toward the young lady.  She sneered in return.

“Yes,” Esteban agreed, “but it only works on the living.  Once we have your mistress’ answers, we will put the questions to you, as well, to determine her truth or falsity, as well as to determine what she may know that you do not.”

“I understand.  Happy to help.  Shall we start with the vampire population of Oklahoma City?”

Esteban blinked at me.  Everyone else traded glances.  They seemed a bit surprised.

“Yes, by all means.  Go ahead.”

“Let’s see… you already know about the three major tribes of vampires?  Or do I need to start there?”

“We know.  Continue.”

“There are about ten or so undead in the city.  At least, so I’m told.  I’ve only met Mary and Tony—Antonio Corbano, who seems to be the oldest Thessaloniki in town.  I think; I’m not really all that clear on the hierarchy.  It’s not my business, you understand.  Then there’s Conrad, of the Phrygians, and Bruno, of the Constantines.  I think Mary’s progenitor is someone named Horace, but I’ve never met him.  For the Thessaloniki, I think it runs from Mary to Horace to Tony.  After that, if you want someone older or higher up the chain, you have to look elsewhere.  That’s all I’ve got.”