The Reign of the Brown Magician

Chapter Nine

“I want my fetch,” Pel said. “And those hairbrushes, and stuff.”

“No problem,” Johnston said. “You keep the portal open, and I’ll send him right through.” He reached inside his uniform jacket. “Let me leave my card-if you or Ms. Nguyen comes back to Earth, I’d appreciate a call.”

Pel blinked at him, at the proffered business card-the little white pasteboard rectangle seemed weirdly out of place here in Faerie, in Shadow’s throne room, lit by the light of the great matrix.

He accepted it, not with his hand, but with a tendril of magical energy. From Johnston’s point of view the card simply sailed through the air to Pel of its own volition, but Pel could see the strands of magic supporting it, the twisted shape of the air that carried it to him.

“And if there’s anyone you’d like me to contact-your firm, perhaps, Ms. Nguyen?”

Susan didn’t reply; Pel glanced at her sharply as he picked the card out of the air.

“Sure, tell them she’s okay,” he said.

Pel remembered that he had two sisters, a mother, and some friends back on Earth who might be worrying about him; he was about to mention that when Johnston spoke again.

“While I understand why you’re staying here, Mr. Brown,” Johnston said, “why is Ms. Nguyen? You aren’t holding her against her will, are you?”

“No!” Pel snapped. He frowned and glanced at Susan again.

She wasn’t moving; she was just standing there, watching the two men.

“She’s free to go,” Pel said. “If she wants to go back to Earth, she can.” He hesitated, then added, “I admit I enjoy her company here, though.”

“Ms. Nguyen?”

Susan shrugged, and Pel felt a surge of anger. Why was she doing this? She was acting like a zombie; this Major Johnston would think that she was drugged, or hypnotized.

“Answer him,” Pel said.

“I’m fine, Major,” Susan said. “Thank you for your concern.”

Johnston was studying her from a few feet away, but then he shrugged, just as she had a moment before. “Whatever you like,” he said. “Mr. Brown, thank you for your cooperation. You don’t mind if I leave a man stationed in your house until you return to Earth?”

“Not at all,” Pel said, not really concerned. That was on Earth; he wasn’t going back to Earth until he could bring Nancy and Rachel with him.

“Um…if you don’t mind my asking…”

“Yes, Major?”

“Have you had any contact recently with the Galactic Empire? I mean, since you reached this place?” He gestured at the throne room.

Johnston had explained about the investigation, about questioning Amy and Prossie and poor Ted, but the inquiry still somehow struck Pel as odd-a major in the U.S. Air Force, in uniform and on duty, talking about a Galactic Empire?

Pel had gotten accustomed to the reality of this strange new world he had found himself in, this not-quite-a-story of wizards and spaceships and monsters where he had inadvertently become master of an entire universe, but it still seemed bizarre and somehow wrong that it could interact so freely with the normal, everyday world of Earth. An Air Force officer didn’t belong in Shadow’s fortress, and shouldn’t be worrying about the Galactic Empire.

But here Johnston was, with a serious question.

“No,” Pel said. “Why do you ask?”

Johnston hesitated. “I’m not sure whether I should be telling you this, but…what the hell. The Empire sent a scouting party through their space warp recently-four men climbed down a ladder in Ms. Jewell’s back yard, and were taken into custody.”

“What did they want?” Pel asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know,” Johnston said. “I’d like to find out.”

“They won’t say?” Before Johnston could answer, Pel remembered his stay at Base One. “No, they won’t, will they? Bunch of pompous idiots.”

Johnston smiled.

“Okay, well, I don’t know anything about it,” Pel said. “It isn’t really any of my business unless they come poking around here, but if I find out anything I’ll send a message through. This isn’t America here, but I’m still a U.S. citizen, I guess-I sure don’t owe the Empire any favors!”

Johnston nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. That’s all we ask.”

“Yeah, well,” Pel said, “I ask for my fetch back.”

* * * *

Best sighed and leaned back against the tree.

Two hundred miles to Shadow’s fortress-that was going to be a damned long walk.

He would have to walk, though-the locals didn’t seem to have any other means of transportation. They knew what horses were, but seemed to take his questions about buying one as nonsense-apparently only the hereditary nobility rode on horseback. And oxen were just for plowing, as far as he could see.

Oxen would be impossibly slow, in any case.

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to travel the entire distance to find out what was going on; surely, news and rumor would spread. So far he hadn’t picked up anything useful, but he and his men were still out in the sticks.

At least, he thought as he looked around at the muddy, malodorous little yard where he’d traded an hour’s labor in the fields for a meal and directions, he hoped they were still out in the sticks.

* * * *

Pel watched as Johnston stepped warily into the portal and vanished, back to Pel’s own basement back on Earth.

Someday, when he had Nancy and Rachel back, when he got tired of playing with the matrix magic, got tired of this medieval mess of a world with its stone walls, its goddess worship, its open sewers, Pel would want to step back through just such a portal. He wondered if he could do that with one of his own creation.

Probably not. He’d have to get Taillefer back here and have him do it.

This Johnston seemed like a sensible sort, really-not at all like the assholes running the Galactic Empire, Carson and Southern and the others, and not like the ignorant barbarians who made up most of Pel’s own empire.

Or maybe it was just a matter of cultural differences, since after all, Johnston was a fellow American, and whatever else the Imperials and the locals might be, they weren’t that. Maybe they weren’t really stupid; they’d just grown up with a completely different background. Pel knew that foreigners weren’t stupid back on Earth, despite what the bigots might say, and he supposed it must be the same with these people.

In any case, it was good to know something of what was happening back on Earth, good to know that Johnston was there, that there was someone to contact in case of emergency. Pel didn’t feel anywhere near as isolated as he had just a few moments before.

Of course, that assumed that Johnston had been honest, and Pel would have a possible indication of that in just a few minutes, when his fetch either returned or didn’t.

Johnston certainly seemed honest enough, and intelligent-he had figured out who Pel was readily enough, and he had asked about the Empire…

Pel frowned. What was the Empire up to? Why would they send men to Earth? The crew of Ruthless had said they were there to make an alliance against Shadow, but this new batch, from Johnston’s description, wasn’t doing anything like that.

The Empire seemed to be spying on Earth-but it was Shadow that had been the enemy.

Then wouldn’t they be spying on Shadow, as well? Or rather, since Shadow was dead, on him?

As that thought struck him he felt a sudden twinge, something in the matrix, somewhere…he took a moment to analyze the still-unfamiliar sensations the matrix transmitted.

It was somewhere outside the fortress, somewhere far away, but not too far-still on the near side of the world. When he tried, he could sense the world’s curvature, could feel the matrix reaching around to meet itself, as well as stretching up beyond the atmosphere and down deep into the stone below; compared with all that, this new thing was close by, but he knew it was miles away.

He’d felt it before, he remembered. He had felt the same odd twist in the matrix when Athelstan had first suggested dissecting one of the fetches.

Pel suddenly made a connection.

The Empire probably was spying on him-and that’s what he felt. He guessed that they’d re shy;opened the space-warp out in the forest where Christopher had crashed. They’d opened it when Athelstan made his suggestion. They’d opened it then and sent someone through, and now they’d opened it again-to get a report, maybe?

That was annoying; Pel didn’t like the idea of being spied on, and he didn’t much want to get involved with the Empire again.

But it didn’t matter. If Johnston sent back the fetch Pel could bring back Nancy and Rachel, and then he wouldn’t care what the goddamned Galactic Empire did.

* * * *

“I say we should send a telepath,” Albright said. “This dropping a ladder and waiting for messages is stupid. It’s a half-assed, asinine idea, relying on this when we could send a telepath and have instant reports whenever we want them.”

“Sir,” Bascombe said, “may I respectfully remind you that the only telepath to ever leave Imperial space went rogue, and is still loose? Do we really want to risk the loss of another?”

“Bascombe’s right, for once,” Markham said. “We don’t have enough telepaths to send one along with every single expedition. Especially since the freaks can’t even read minds once they’re there.”

“Well, damn it…”

“However,” Secretary Markham added, cutting off Albright’s objection, “I think we might be well advised to see if our mutant friends can pick up a link to Shadow’s world. They’ve read minds there before, haven’t they? Have we tried to follow Best’s actions from here?” He turned and looked at his own personal telepath.

“I didn’t work on that project, sir,” the telepath answered, “and I haven’t gone over it all consciously, but it’s certainly true that some minds in Shadow’s world can be read. Not very many, but more than on Earth. As for reading Captain Best’s mind, I couldn’t say whether it’s possible or not. I would suggest that the Halls would be best suited to make the attempt, as Carolyn Hall maintained contact with her cousin Thorpe for some time while Thorpe was in that universe, and Brian Hall has had considerable experience in interdimensional communication.”

“Good enough,” Albright said. “Get the Halls in here, then.”

* * * *

Pel accepted the wastebaskets and said, “Thanks,” before he remembered that he was talking to a fetch.

He paused, startled by his own slip.

The fetch had been human once. It wasn’t now. Pel could fix that.

He really ought to fix that.

After he had Nancy and Rachel back, he promised himself. After that he’d fix all the fetches. For now, he had more important things to do.

It was a relief to let the portal to Earth close, finally, and to move on to other things; he collapsed the opening into nothingness, then sent the fetch away with a wave of his hand and stared hungrily into the wastebaskets, at the hairbrushes and the bits of dust and hair.

From that he could grow new bodies-clones, they’d be called in Earth terms; simulacra, they were called here. To the wizards it was a matter of the Law of Parts, of the part containing the whole; Pel tended to think more of the genetic pattern that must be complete in every single cell.

It might be the same thing; he didn’t know.

And what’s more, he didn’t care, so long as it worked.

* * * *

“Okay, we know one of the players,” Johnston said. “Brown and his friends look pretty straight and simple, just the way Ms. Jewell and Ms. Thorpe here said, and he’s happy now he’s got his zombie back; as long as he stays on top there I don’t think we have to worry, and he currently holds all the strings.”

He paused, and looked around at the others-at his staff, the FBI man, Jewell, Thorpe, and the rest of them.

No one spoke.

“This Galactic Empire’s another matter,” Johnston continued. “They’ve got the ability to pop through into our reality, and for all we know they can do it anywhere-though the fact that they came through the same place twice might mean it’s not that easy for them. They tried to send an embassy first, and we arrested ’em-maybe that’s why the second bunch looks like spies, but it might just be they’re twisty, and how we treated the first batch didn’t matter. They speak English, but that doesn’t mean we know how they think.”

Thorpe shifted-deliberately, Johnston realized, to remind him of her presence.

“Thorpe, here, does know how they think, better than anyone-she grew up there, and she could read minds-so we’ve got something to work with, but on the other hand, she doesn’t understand how we think.”

Thorpe almost nodded at that.

“They have one big advantage-they can spy on us, with their telepaths and space-warps, and we can’t get at them at all. So we’re going to collect everyone we know they can contact and see if we can open some serious negotiations, and we’re going to keep an eye on Ms. Jewell’s back yard, but mostly, since we don’t have any space-warps or magical portals or mind-readers, we just wait. Unless anyone has a better idea.”

This time it was Jewell who got his attention by clearing her throat.

“Was there something you wanted to say, Ma’am?” Johnston asked.

She looked around nervously, then shook her head, and he made a note to talk to her privately as soon as possible.

* * * *

Growing a simulacrum from bits of hair and skin and nail was not the same as creating one from scratch; Pel didn’t need to sculpt it, but instead coaxed it along in what seemed a process of unfolding. As he guided the magic through and into it, the little knot of detritus on the workshop table melted together into a little blob, then elongated, expanded, shaped itself.

He had thought that it might grow like a clone, first an embryo, then a fetus, a baby, a child, until Nancy was again a grown woman; he had even idly toyed with the idea of stopping the process a bit early, restoring her to her youthful beauty-not that she wasn’t still beautiful, but…

But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that. He wanted Nancy, the way she had been when she was killed, not some close approximation.

And it turned out to be a moot point, because the thing didn’t develop that way at all; it didn’t acquire any recognizable human features until it was two feet long, and by the time it reached three feet in length and became clearly a person stretched out there on the rough wooden table, it was an adult woman in form, not a child. The familiar breasts were fully developed, in proportion to the still-small body; the hips were as broad, in proportion, as the real Nancy’s had been.

He cursed himself for thinking “the real Nancy” that way. This was the real Nancy, or at any rate it soon would be. And it was enlarging-she was enlarging quickly, drawing mass from the magical energy Pel poured into her.

This wasn’t cloning, he reminded himself, this was magic-the laws were different here. Here he really could bring back the dead.

Or at least, he could create a simulacrum…

He forced that thought away. He would bring Nancy herself back from wherever she was, from wherever her soul had gone. He would have an exact duplicate of her body, grown from her own tissue-wouldn’t that be enough?

He hadn’t gotten the first simulacrum right, but that was different; that time he’d been trying to recreate her from memory.

This time it would work.

It had to.

* * * *

“Mr. Blaisdell,” the man in the gray suit said, “I’m with the government. It appears that we were, ah…a bit hasty in sending you home.”

Oram Blaisdell stared at the stranger for a moment. He looked over the blue government sedan parked on the gravel by the road, and around at the surrounding hills. Smoke was rising from the Ballard place down the valley, but he couldn’t see any of the neighbors watching.

Then he glanced at his son Henry, standing by the door of the house, looking confused and a bit scared.

“What the devil are you talkin’ about?” he asked at last.

“I’m talking about your communication with…well, you thought they were angels.”

“You sayin’ they ain’t? What the hell do you know about it?” He reached a hand down toward the splitting maul he’d been using, but didn’t touch it. He was getting too old to be splitting the damn firewood anyway.

“Mr. Blaisdell, we’ve learned the truth about those angels,” the man in the suit said. “They’re quite real, you were right, but they aren’t quite what you thought they were.”

Oram considered this, threw Henry another glance, then asked, “You humorin’ me, so you can get me to some doctor Henry called, or you serious?”

“I swear, Pa,” Henry said, “I din’t call nobody. He’s got a badge ‘n’ all.”

“Rose called, maybe?”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t think so, Pa; she din’t tell me a thing ’bout it if she did.”

Oram studied his boy’s face, then looked back at the government man.

“I can understand your doubts, sir,” the government man said. “I’m sure you’ve had some people who thought you were imagining the whole thing, and you think your children might have been worried about you and tried to fool you for your own good, but I promise you, that’s not the case. I’m really with the government.” He flipped open a brown leather case and displayed a badge and document; Blaisdell didn’t care to admit he couldn’t read the damned thing without his glasses, and wasn’t too sure he’d get it all then.

“We need your help,” the man in gray said. “If you agree, we’ll be driving you directly to Knoxville and putting you on a plane to Washington-a chartered plane. We’ll provide accommodations at the other end, give you an expense account for meals; you’ll be free to move about, to use the phone, call anyone you want, but we need to know if the…if these ‘angels’ contact you again.”

“You think they will?”

The government man didn’t answer that.

“You mind tellin’ me what they are, if they ain’t angels?”

“To be honest, sir, they didn’t tell me that.”

Blaisdell eyed him carefully. That sounded authentic and true, somehow.

Then he looked around, at the wood he’d been splitting, and at the house it was meant to heat.

“C’n I bring Henry, here? Or Rose?”

“I was told you could bring your family, yes, sir.”

“How ’bout a lawyer?”

“If you want, yes-or you can call one locally after you reach Washington.”

“C’n I bring a gun?”

“Yes, sir. You aren’t under arrest; you can bring whatever you like.”

That convinced him. “Gimme an hour to pack,” he said.

An hour later he was in the back of the dark blue sedan, on his way to Knoxville, with his old leather suitcase in the trunk and a .357 Magnum in his lap.

* * * *

At first Ray Aldridge thought he was being sued; it had happened before. Then he thought he was being arrested for fortune-telling; that had happened to a friend of his back in Massachusetts once.

Finally, though, he realized what was happening.

He was being called in as a consultant. A psychic consultant.

He almost babbled with joy as he ran down the steps from his apartment to the waiting car. He was being hired as a psychic consultant to the FBI!

This was it. Even if he couldn’t help, couldn’t come up with a thing, just being called would be enough.

His career was made!

* * * *

Margaret Thompson climbed aboard the plane with her head awhirl in confusion. Angela’s invisible playmate was real? Her own little girl was getting mental messages from somewhere real? That silly made-up name, Basurpathork, was real?

Well, not quite-Angie had garbled it. Proserpine Thorpe-what kind of a name was that?

She looked down at her daughter.

Angie was staring wide-eyed at the interior of the plane. “We’re really gonna fly, Mommy? Up in the air?”

Margaret smiled, despite her confusion. “That’s right, Angie, we’ll fly right up into the air. All the way to Washington.”

* * * *

“If you guys are I.R.S., I swear I’ll sue. It’s unconstitutional,” Carleton Miletti said, for the hundredth time.

“Yessir. We’re not from the I.R.S., sir.”

“You better not be.” He sank back in the seat and watched the streets of Washington sliding past the car windows on either side.

He didn’t understand this. He hadn’t received any messages from anyone, didn’t know what the hell these people were talking about. He didn’t remember anything special this past spring-but then, he’d been busy.

Still, he thought he’d remember any mysterious messages, and he didn’t.

It had to be a coincidence, or just his imagination, that that odd feeling of being watched was back.