The Artifact of Foex (4 page)

Knife stood beside the boots with a funny
look on his face. In fact, he looked like a person who’d been
kicked in the gut but was unwilling to show pain or cry. “It seems
like yesterday.”

“What seems like yesterday?” Chet asked,
sidling up to the Flame, his trowel held loosely in hand. “May I
join you two?”

The Flame met each others’ eyes, and Journey
shrugged. Chet could almost see her thinking,
He’s harmless,
might as well.
Knife nodded, and they all knelt down to get to
work unearthing the rest of the boots.

After a minute of digging, Knife said, “So
you’d like to hear the story, eh?”

“I would.” Chet eyed him curiously. “This
must be important or you wouldn’t be here. Right?”

“Smart boy. Well...” Knife paused, then kept
digging. “It started in Tache around 7305. Slavery had not yet come
to the continent, and it was still good to be Flame. At the time, I
was a courtier of then-Prince Konstantine.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Chet said. Professor
Clementina taught a class each year on that period of Tache
history. She was an internationally recognized expert on the Tache
royal family. Chet hadn’t taken it, of course, though he wished he
had.

Knife shot him an impressed, respectful look.
“We got word that an, ah, object of vast power had been found. I
should say it had been found
again
. It was being pursued
by a faction of powerful royal cousins who were set to oppose
Konstantine’s rule. I was dispatched along with a... colleague of
mine, named Fenimore LaDaven, to track down the object and bring it
to court.”

Chet frowned in confusion. “I thought a
courtier was like a fop. Someone who hung around royal courts while
instigating intrigue and, um, having affairs.”

Journey chuckled. “Knife does—or rather,
did—those things too, but just to blend in.”

“The same way I wear suits in these days. And
play gentlemanly sports and read the newspaper on the train. To
blend in.” Knife paused in his digging and brushed dirt from their
goal.

Chet was unsurprised to see that a pair of
legs were attached to the boots. Whole, solid legs dressed in dusty
trousers. Not skeletal legs.

Knife cleared his throat and spat into the
dust behind him. “In any case, we tracked the royal cousins to the
Jantrael Straight, where we lost them. By that point, we knew they
had more in mind than just ruling Tache; in the tradition of insane
Tache royalty throughout history, they wanted to rule the world.
LaDaven and I split up. He and his most trusted servant headed for
Wetshul, where the rainy season was in full swing, while I headed
to Door. Needless to say, the object wasn’t in Door. I returned
home to Konstantine and was promptly collared into slavery. That
was unpleasant but doesn’t come into this story. However, it means
I was never able to properly follow up.”

Journey shot Knife a sharp look, but held her
peace. Chet had the feeling she understood what Knife was really
saying. Their relationship seemed odd: on the one hand, they
clearly shared personal history. On the other, they’d probably
experienced the same time periods, too. It was like they were a
generational cohort, affected in different ways by the same
events.

Knife continued, “It was only much later that
I had the full tale from the servant. The royal cousins were near
this lucid mud pit when LaDaven accosted them. He managed to kill
them, but in the process he fell into the mud, going after the
object which had apparently been tossed in first. LaDaven's servant
said he couldn’t save him.”

There was something odd about the story, but
Chet couldn’t put his finger on it. As if he’d heard a different
version years ago and forgotten it. Chet blinked and gazed at the
legs; they’d now reached the thighs. “Wait. Are you telling me...
is this... is
this
Fenimore LaDaven?”

“I believe so. If not, there’s no harm in
rescuing some poor fool trapped by mud.”

Journey pursed her perfect lips. “I knew the
story, and all of us on the Flame Council know about the object.
We’ve been informed of its nature for some time. That’s why I sent
for Knife when the good professor invited me to Wetshul.” She
articulated the knees of the body. They swung readily, fully intact
and working.

“Um. Okay. But does that mean...”

A ruckus from the edge of the dig site caught
his attention, and Chet stopped digging. A sharp, two-packs-a-day
kind of voice seemed to be raised in anger, booming across the dig
site. He knew that voice. “Abyss,” Chet groaned.

“What is it?” Journey said.

“Associate-Professor Clementina Golub. We
call her Professor Clementina when we aren’t calling her—other
things.”

Sure enough, Professor Clementina was
striding down the grade, kicking up dust. She had a distinct
presence. Though she was always dressed in the latest fashions, her
face done up in heavy makeup, she always seemed to be bigger and
taller than everyone else, even when she wasn’t. Chet wasn’t sure
how she did it. Her shoulders were too broad, her voice too low.
She seemed almost manly, though Professor Clementina herself would
probably be appalled at the suggestion.

As if Chet would make suggestions to her.

Professor Tibbets followed her lead, his
hands fluttering. “Journey is my honored guest, whom I invited to
the dig site as a consultant. Her friend is welcome, too!”

“They are not welcome in any way. I will not
have fire perverts degrading my dig.” Clementina’s voice resonated
across the site.

Chet glanced down at the body, then removed
his canvas outer shirt and draped it over the still form, still
half buried in dust. He wasn’t sure why he did it—it wasn’t like he
owed the Flame anything, let alone protection. And yet... he
remembered that moment when Clementina had ripped his paper. She’d
done it in front of the class, almost as a demonstration. Taking
him down in the most humiliating way possible.

“Your father’s money won’t help you here,”
she had told him. “Get serious or go home.”

He’d chosen to get serious. In a sense, she’d
done him a favor, in a backwards way. But it still hurt. He didn’t
want to get caught by her again—especially not with a body.

What would the Flame do, anyway? Chet looked
at them and did a double take. Both Flame were now of the fallow
race, a light brown normally found in Tache. To match Clementina?
Knife removed his hat, tossed it aside and drew himself to his full
height—and then some. Journey seemed taller, too, her chest
suddenly flatter.
Wait
. They really
were
growing
taller. Shapeshifting in preparation to take on the striding, manly
figure headed in their direction.

Clementina arrived at the pit with Tibbets,
the other graduate students flitting over with the air of kids
anticipating a fight in the school cafeteria. Clementina gave the
Flame a long, slow, once-over look. Roasting them. To Chet’s
surprise, they both stood up to the treatment. Neither broke eye
contact or tried to get a first word in. Masterful. Chet took a
step back, holding his breath.

“You have no right to be here, invited guests
or not. This is private property, and I own it outright. You are
trespassing. Leave now.” Clementina seemed obstinate and dangerous
as a doedicu: a large, foul-tempered beast with armor and
spikes.

“I’m so terribly sorry!” Professor Tibbets
said. He was the most flustered of everyone, wringing his hands.
Chet actually felt more sorry for him than he did the Flame, and
they’d each flown across Uos to get here. Tibbets continued,
“Perhaps I can make it up to you somehow...”

“It’s all right, Professor,” Journey said
softly, but her eyes were on Clementina.

“We are simple observers.” Knife’s manner was
more than calm, it was casual. Taking her measure? Chet noticed
he’d suddenly acquired a subtle but pronounced Tache accent—same as
Clementina herself. “What harm is there in letting us watch the dig
of the century unfold?”

Clementina’s face grew suffused. “Leave, or
I’ll call the police. Maybe I won’t bother. There’s a fire hose
back at the pavilion, hooked up to the metropolitan water supply.
What say I turn it on full blast and hose you both down? Like that,
would you?”

Chet frowned, uncertain why it was a threat.
It took him a beat to remember that Flame purportedly burned in
water. On the outside, he assumed; Journey had drunk ice tea with
supper last night. Indeed, Journey looked grim, and though Knife
was still calm, he no longer seemed casual.

“What threat do you think we pose to the
extent that you threaten us with deadly force?” Knife asked softly.
Still feeling her out, trying to make her react? He had a sparkle
in his eye as if he were enjoying himself.

Clementina reached into her dainty purse and
withdrew a small, snub-nosed pistol with a mother-of-pearl inlaid
handle, then pointed it at the Flame. “Get off my property.
Now.”

The graduate students drew back, and even
Tibbets took a step away from his colleague. Chet, too, shuffled
backwards, trying to get out of the line of fire without being too
obvious about it. He honestly didn’t know whether Clementina would
shoot the Flame. She was smiling, but that didn’t mean
anything.

To Chet’s surprise, neither Flame moved.
Knife slowly extracted a brown cigarette from his jacket pocket. It
was odd, because Chet hadn’t seen him smoke before. Knife lit it
with a bronze lighter, then took a long, theatrical drag. “I
wouldn’t advise that,” he said in a tone so low it was almost a
whisper. Yet it carried. It locked the attention.

“Who would stop me? This is Wetshul, doedicu.
No one cares whether Flame live or die here.”

“Shoot us, and I pass on the favor. Surely
you must realize that killing a Flame does not eliminate us
entirely. Give me twenty or so years to reincarnate and grow up,
and I’ll come after you. And your kin. I know your family even now,
Golub. I know your family like I know the back of my hand.”

“It’s true, you know. I’ve seen him do it,”
Journey put in with a shrug.

Chet stared. It had to be a bluff.
Everyone—from Clementina and Tibbets on down—seemed befuddled by
his statement. Some were probably skeptical because they didn’t
believe in reincarnation. The Flame had powers, sure, but they were
also known as crafty tricksters. Tibbets, at least, understood
Journey to be a practical authority on history, and he seemed as
confused as the rest. Wondering how far Knife would take his
bluff?

“I do not believe you know anything about
me,” Clementina said. “Prove it.”

“Clementina Khal Golub, citizen
identification number 392-9442e. You are the third daughter of
Cyril and Vera. Cyril is balding man with a large belly, and your
mother died last year of cancer.” Knife blew out smoke, his whole
body relaxed yet watchful. “You have three grown children. One is
married, and I expect a grandchild will be on the way soon.”

She looked genuinely shocked, and the
students began whispering among themselves. Her grip on the gun
wavered, and she put it away abruptly. “This is untoward.”

Journey said, “Professor Clementina, I’m sure
we can come to some reasonable agreement. We came here to
help.”

“Screw you. I’m still calling the
police.”

Clementina strode away, clearly shaken.
Professor Tibbets gave the Flame a wild look before trotting after
his colleague. Graduate students began drifting back to their
assigned pits with many a backward glance in their direction. Knife
quietly snubbed out the cigarette and pocketed the stub. At the
same time, Journey uncovered the body, handing Chet his jacket
back. Knife and Journey knelt and began digging again in
earnest.

Their movements were so frantic that it took
Chet a moment to realize they’d both returned to their original
races, bistre for Knife and flaxen for Journey. Chet rubbed his
eyes, his head hurting. Flame took some getting used to.

“We’d better hurry,” Knife murmured to
Journey in the Tache language, the same as they’d spoken last
night. “Pantheon knows how deep the Raptus is buried.”

How deep
what
was buried? Chet sat
and began helping again. “How could you possibly know her family?”
he asked in the same tongue.

“You understand?” Journey shot him a curious
glance. “Funny, I had you pegged as a rich kid from Door.”

Chet barked an ironic laugh, then covered his
mouth, glancing around to see whether anyone was looking their way.
Several were within clear earshot, even if no one was looking
directly at them—probably the reason for the language shift. “I
am
a rich kid from Door. But my father is a Merchant with
international clients. He was also a collaborator during the
war.”

“I see.” Journey wiped her brow with a
handkerchief. The humidity was getting worse, Chet realized; it
would thunder soon. Both Flame looked very uncomfortable.

“
Will
she call the police?” Journey
asked Knife.

Knife shot her a dirty look. “Abyss if I
know. I’m no Syche affiliate.”

“How on Uos
did
you know all that
stuff about her?” Chet said.

“I’ve been around. When I’m a guest in
someone’s house, I like to know a little about them. So, I snoop.
Call it a habit. She has photo albums on the lower library shelves.
Opened bills and letters in her study, and there’s all sorts of
other documentation in the house, too. My bedtime reading last
night.”

Chet stared at him, impressed. “That’s not
very ethical, you know.”

“I notice that both Journey and I are still
here, digging and not dead. Whether she calls the police is another
story. Oh,
shit
,” he added in an entirely different tone.
“My suitcase is still in the house. I liked that suit, Pantheon
curse it. Journey, your luggage is there, too, right?”