WebMage (8 page)

Before I left I recorded a quick message for Cerice, "Cerice, I don't think I'm going to say this very well. Glib is my natural style, and this calls for… something else. Today was special. I'm feeling things for you that I'd like to explore in depth. I want this to be more than just a passing fancy. I know you said you'd be busy, but please get in touch with me soon. I want to see you again."

"Sign it and send it," I told Melchior. "Then we're out of here." He looked as though he was thinking about adding some editorial commentary, but he must have read my look because he just nodded.

* * * *

My dorm had never seemed so appallingly dingy. Fifteen days had passed in the U of M Decision Locus and Rod hadn't taken the desecration of his beloved Toby Keith poster lightly. The beer he'd poured on my bed in revenge had had time to go completely skunky, almost masking the smell of Rod's widely scattered dirty clothes. Rod's cleaning skills were rudimentary at best, but he'd really outdone himself this time. I wasn't planning on staying, but if I ever wanted to return, I couldn't leave things as they were.

"Melchior, White Tornado. Execute."

Mel gave me a particularly nasty look before going into berserk cleaning mode. While he tidied the general mess I went after the bed. My blanket and sheets would have to go straight into a trash bag. I thought the pillow might be salvageable, but decided to flip it off the bed with my rapier in case Rod had done something nasty to it as well.

As the tip of my sword touched the pillow, there came a flash of black like a little explosion of night and a shock of magic raced up the steel to my hand. The flesh of my palm began to blister even before the blackness started to flow up the blade. As the dark cloud slid toward me, the tempered steel of the sword wilted like a candle in a furnace.

Turning, I threw my blade. The hilt ripped free of my burned hand with an awful popping sound in the instant before the darkness consumed it. Plywood covered the lower half of the window, but the mass of blackness and molten metal punched right through, leaving a smoking hole in its wake.

"Melchior, Program Abort. Execute."

My voice was clear and calm. It was shock of course, but I'd take what I could get. Melchior stopped cleaning.

"Come here and tell me how bad this is," I said.

I didn't want to look at it, not when it hurt that much. And not with the scent of burned meat hanging in the air.

After inspecting the damage he let out a low whistle. "Ouch! Either Rod's getting more sophisticated in the revenge department, or Atropos wasn't content with the results of her hit team. I wonder how she knew you were still alive."

"Who knows? She could have seen through Burnt Offerings, or checked my life thread in the Fate Core, or even just e-mailed Hades about whether I'd arrived or not. How isn't important. The question is, what the hell do I do now?"

"You could start by thanking Rod for being such a shit-head," said Melchior.

I had to agree. Under any other circumstances I'd probably have flopped into my bunk when I got in, and if that had been my head hitting the pillow instead of my sword… I was going to have to start being very careful. The official attempt on my life might have failed, but that didn't mean Atropos was going to kiss and make up.

"Hey, Boss," said Melchior, sniffing around the head of the bed, "I think there's more to this…"

He didn't trail off. I did. I could still see his lips moving, but the ringing in my ears drowned him out. I felt my knees buckling.

"Melchior," I tried to say, but I couldn't hear my own voice, "Nine One One. Execute."

The order authorized him to take whatever action he felt necessary to deal with the situation, including using magic independently. I was quite proud to have remembered to try it under the circumstances. My last thought before I went under was that it was too bad I didn't know if I'd actually said it.

* * * *

"Incoming," hissed Melchior.

"Huh?" I replied, muzzily, opening my eyes.

A clock blinked a few inches away. I peered at it blearily. After a moment I was able to recognize it as the one in my dorm. After another I was able to read it—4:00 a.m. I didn't need to be at class for another three hours, so I closed my eyes. Something sharp pinched my cheek and I opened them again.

"You've got to get up, Boss."

Mel sounded worried, and I seemed to remember he had good reason to be, but I just couldn't think straight. He poked me in the ribs with a sharp claw. It hurt, and I came a little more awake.

"What in Hades's name?" I grumbled.

He pointed to a ghostly glow near the door, an incoming locus transfer. Things started to come back to me: Atropos, the assassination attempt, my most recent injury. I moved my right hand experimentally. The pain was gone, but so was most any other sensation.

"Chaos and Discord!" I swore.

"I hope not," Melchior's replied. "Fate is giving us enough trouble without we should irritate any of the other great powers." His voice was light, but he had my pistol ready when I reached for it.

As I rolled out of bed and started slithering across the room, deep rumbling snores informed me that my roommate had arrived while I was unconscious. Fortunately, Rod only sounds like that when he's had four or five too many. He must have stumbled in drunk and passed out. If he followed his usual pattern, I could probably use him as an armrest while I fired my pistol without waking him. Assuming things didn't get too messy, he had an excellent chance of coming through the next half hour without noticing a thing or suffering any harm. That was all to the good. I didn't like him much, but I didn't want him getting hurt because of me. Hopefully it wouldn't become an issue. I wanted to be gone before the bad nastiness coming through the ether arrived, and I was well on my way.

Less than fifteen seconds passed from the time Mel woke me to the moment I started groping for the doorknob. When I'd first moved into the dorms, I'd set a gate spell into the tiny shower Rod and I shared with the other two bedrooms in our pod. It was mweb dependent, but because it was a permanent gate, it was faster than an Up link. The question was whether anyone had tampered with it while I was gone. I didn't really want to test that the hard way. Unfortunately, it didn't look like my wants were going to be consulted. I finally managed to make the door cooperate, but stopped when I realized Mel wasn't with me.

He was still beside the bed, standing perfectly still. "Come on," I husked. "What's the holdup?" There was no response. "Bugger. Mel, are you all right?"

"He's fine." Cool and inhuman, the voice emanated from the column of light.

A woman's form faded into being. She was tall and pale, with long black hair and Fate's eyes.

"Atropos," I whispered, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead. She continued as though she hadn't heard.

"I've merely sent him an override command that immobilized him. I didn't want you vanishing before I had a chance to speak with you."

"Grandmother," I said, realizing my first impression had been mistaken.

Atropos might have injured or killed Melchior, but she would never have bothered to freeze him. Setting my pistol carefully on the floor, I rose to my feet. I didn't know why my grandmother was there, but I was pretty sure it wasn't to give me a pat on the back and a box of cigars. She might not take kindly to my being armed.

"Had I known you were coming, I'd have dressed more appropriately." I said, gesturing sheepishly at my T-shirt and boxers. "I apologize."

She waved a hand dismissively and whistled a short complex chord in hex, somehow managing the Fate trick of harmonizing with herself. For a brief moment I felt as though millions of tiny spiders were running madly around on my skin.

When it stopped I was clothed for court. The boots came six inches above the knee and were made of black leather as soft as mountain moss. Green silk tights covered my legs under the boots, and a green silk tunic hung to midthigh. Over that was belted a black leather doublet cut high on the sides. The only things missing were a rapier and dagger. Their absence was made more conspicuous by the empty buckles on the belt where the sheaths would normally have hung.

When combined with the fact that my familiar continued to stand stock-still, the missing weapons assumed the quality of a bad omen. I studiously avoided meeting my grandmother's gaze as I prepared to make the obligatory bow. Feeling the presence of a hat on my head, I reached up to sweep it before me. Habit made me use my right hand, and the numb fingers lost their grip halfway through the maneuver. It was broad-brimmed in the cavalier style, and an ostrich feather dyed forest green was attached to the band by an emerald brooch. It was also quite aerodynamic, and it sailed all the way to my grandmother's feet.

"Sorry, Grandmother. I appear to be a bit lacking in grace at present."

"What happened to your hand?" she asked. Her tone implied that I had done something stupid to bring the injury down on myself.

Stung, I answered without thinking. "Atropos laid a trap for me."

Even as I spoke, I knew I'd made a mistake. My lips went numb and tingly as the spell that bound my voice reached out and twisted my words. In my head they had been angry and righteous. On my tongue they sounded like the most transparent of child's lies. Lachesis's eyebrows pinched together and her mouth thinned. But once started, I found it hard to stop.

"She did," I continued. I was angry and scared. I sounded petulant and whiny. "A really nasty enchantment laid on my pillow. The only reason I'm alive to have this conversation is that I triggered it with my rapier rather than my head."

"I think not," said Lachesis. "There was indeed a spell on your pillow, though my sister had nothing to do with it. I placed it there. It was supposed to bind you in sleep until I came to have words with you. How you managed to cause it to do that"—she pointed at my hand—"is beyond me." She whistled another quick chord, and the damage to my hand healed itself.

That wasn't fair. The spell I'd encountered and the one my grandmother had placed couldn't be the same. That lethal black fire bore about as much resemblance to a sleep spell as a dire-wolf did to a Chihuahua. I was sure Atropos was responsible, but with Cassandra's curse wrapped around my vocal cords like a hangman's noose I had no way to convince my grandmother. Swallowing my accusations with my pride, I moved on.

"If you wished to speak with me," I said, "that was a somewhat drastic way to ensure my cooperation, and most unnecessary. I am always at your disposal. How may I be of service?" I bowed again. It seemed prudent.

"By taking a walk with me. I am displeased with your failure to attend your midterms." Her perfect features contracted in the slightest of frowns. "You appear to have forgotten the consequences of displeasing me. I thought I would remind you. Come."

"I will, of course, be happy to accompany you to the ends of the Earth if you require. Is there anything else I might do for you?"

"Be silent," she said, her voice as sharp as shark's teeth. "You have pushed me to the very limits of tolerance, grandson. There are a number of things I intend to draw to your attention, and I do not wish to be interrupted by excuses, however mannerly. Do you understand?"

I nodded mutely.

"Excellent." She whistled and the glowing column expanded. I stepped into the light, throwing Melchior a sidelong glance as I went.

"Leave him," said Lachesis. "He's well enough as he is."

I wasn't so sure about that. In the brief instant I'd looked at him I'd noticed oily sweat running down his naked sides. It seemed almost as though he were straining to hold perfectly still rather than having been frozen by my grandmother's command, but of course that was ridiculous. Then the quality of the light changed, and I had no more time to spare in worrying about my familiar. I was too busy worrying about me.

The dorm vanished. For a split second that felt as though it outlasted the life of the Universe we were nowhere, a point of probability traveling through the chaos that ruled the place between the spheres. The moment passed, and a stark gray landscape faded into view.

We appeared in a sort of niche, high on the edge of a granite cliff. Below, the rock fell away for a thousand feet before meeting the foaming gray of the wind-driven sea where something that might have been a penguin played in the surf. Above us stood a granite building. Whether it had originally been designed as a fortress or a maximum-security prison I couldn't tell. Either explanation seemed plausible from the architecture.

An inscription over the doors read saint Turing's followed by a long string of binary that began "011000110 1101111101101100." I mentally translated, "Monastery and College for Computational Recidivists."

"Grandmother," I started to say as she led me to the entrance. "I've—" The look she aimed at me made me swallow the words.

"I did not give you permission to speak. This is an object lesson, Ravirn. I don't want anything to distract you from the message. The monks and their students operate under a vow of silence. While you are on the premises the same will apply to you. Since you seem to have such a problem with keeping your promises, I'll help you with this one." She whistled a brief tune as low and solemn as a dirge, and I felt magic still my tongue.

The door opened in front of us, and a tall, lean man gestured for us to enter. He wore a long, gray robe made of some harsh fabric.

"Take us to the abbot," ordered Lachesis.

The monk nodded, then turned and led us down a cold stone hallway. The mildew smell of damp stone warred for control of the air with the sharper salt tones of the sea breeze that whistled through every crack. Fluorescent lights were mounted to brackets in the walls at intervals of about fifteen feet, connected by lines of half-inch conduit that twisted along the surface like galvanized steel asps. Larger cousins of these metal snakes ran in thick profusion on the ceiling. At regular intervals fast wireless hubs sprouted from the mass.