John Wright - Orphans of Chaos

I asked, “As opposed to what?”

“Waiting, preparing, getting a better chance later, getting some notion of where we are running to. Quentin, now or later?”

“Now. The woman I talked to last night is dangerous, and she is not afraid of Mavors. One of these factions—I don’t know which one—wants to provoke a war between Chaos and Cosmos. Killing us is how to start the war.”

“Colin? Now or later?”

“I think we should stay till Halloween, so we can dress up like goblins before we run away, and feed ourselves by going from house to house asking for trick-or-treats. Maybe if we stay till Christmas, they’ll give us a present in a box with a ribbon, or we’ll all get invited to the wedding of Vanity and Grendel Glum. I want to be a flower girl.”

“Is that your vote? To stay?”

“No, you great git. I vote go now. It was my damn idea.”

“Vanity? Now or later?”

Vanity said, “I think they are afraid of the human beings for some reason. Mortals think these guys are myths, right? So if we hide among the human beings, how are they going to find us? The only point in staying here is to see if we can find out more. But what if we contact our families? Or just write a threatening letter to Mr. ap Cymru? We get him to tell us what we want to know or we reveal him to Boggin.”

Colin said, “Yak, yak, yak. Can’t you just vote?”

Vanity answered hotly, “I didn’t go on as long as you, and I am saying smart things instead of smart-mouthed things! Anyway, my point is, before I was so rudely interrupted (geez!) the only advantage to stay is to learn more, but we might learn much more and at less risk if we were living in London, and had jobs as fashion models or film actresses or something.”

Colin said, “Oh yes, we’ll hide by having you appear in a swimsuit on a billboard. Great plan. Isn’t there already an actress named Vanity, anyway? You’ll have to pick a stage name. Something unusual. Like Jane.”

Victor said, “Shut up, Colin. We have two votes for leaving immediately and one vote for going to London to be fashion models. Amelia? Now or later?”

I said, “I vote ‘now.’ I waited my whole damn life.”

“Fine. I vote ‘now’ also. We have to see how far we can get away from the boundaries before we start getting sick. We may not all be equally affected; Vanity might not be affected at all. Even if we are captured again, it is crucial to know how far we can go and which of us can do it. So the vote is unanimous.”

Colin said, “I demand a recount.”

Victor took the sacks from Quentin and shoved them into Colin’s hands. “For that, you get to carry the corpses in the clock.”

Less than ten minutes later, Victor and I were lying on our stomachs behind a little mound of snow, watching the Great Hall. There were two dozen workmen there, with block and tackle, lowering ropes into a wide hole they had opened in the shingles of the roof.

My plan had been just to walk by them, no matter what they said, unless they grabbed us and threw us to the ground to sit on us.

But not only was Miss Daw there, watching the workmen work, but there were three men in blue uniforms with batons, who looked like some sort of police or private guard.

Miss Daw was sitting on the front steps, wearing a slender, buff-colored coat with mink fur at the wrists and collar. She had a stole wrapped around her throat, and earmuffs in a matching hue. The fur was so fluffy and fine that she seemed half buried in it, with only her nose and eyes above. Little snowflakes rested on her lashes, and she was a picture of loveliness.

A man in a long blue coat and a snap-brim fedora was sitting at her feet, playing a ukulele, and singing silly songs, while Miss Daw laughed and applauded.

There is nothing worse than listening to someone play a uke to your music teacher, who has a voice like an angel, and who is mercilessly strict with you and your lessons, but who just smiles when this clumsy-fingered man misses a note or sings off key. Unless you are sitting in the snow, listening, cold and annoyed and wondering why they didn’t pick another place to play. That makes it worse.

The man turned his head to offer her a drink from his hip flask. We could hear her clear voice over the distance, saying, “It is too early in the morning, Corus, darling.”

He said, “It’s got to be night time somewhere in the world. Isn’t this one round?”

She laughed her silver laugh in return.

I whispered to Victor, “That is the flying man from last night. The one with bright blue wings.”

Victor said, “What’s he doing here?”

“Victor, sometimes you are such an idiot.”

Victor looked at his watch. “Let’s give it another five minutes. Maybe she’ll get bored with his limericks or have to go to the bathroom, or something. Oh, damn. Look.”

Through the snowcapped bushes in the middle distance, we could see Headmaster Boggin, walking toward the Great Hall, stepping across the snowy lawn.

I almost did not recognize him. He was not wearing his mortarboard, and his hair lay long and loose and red, falling across the shoulders of his black silk robes and trailing down his back past his shoulder blades.

In step with him was the man who, last night, had been dressed in blue, green, and white scale armor, the Atlantian with the gills behind his ears, now stepping across the snowy lawn.

The Atlantian was dressed in a heavy coat of seal fur with a tall Russian-style cap on his head, like a shako without the visor. He wore black leather gloves and black boots of sharkskin. The whole ensemble gave him a rather ominous appearance. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, and his head nodded forward.

It was Boggin I stared at, though. I had a strange embarrassed feeling when I saw, where his flowing black robes parted in the front, Boggin was not wearing a shirt. Little red hairs, hard to see against his flesh, made curls across his chest. His pectorals were well developed, his stomach flat and ribbed with muscle. He was wearing, of all things, blue jeans beneath that. He was not wearing any socks or shoes. Boggin walked barefoot in the snow. That was more ominous than wearing a fur cap.

The corner of the library was between him and the workmen. He stopped, and would not come around the corner, but instead exchanged a few words with the Atlantian. We could hear Boggin’s comments, but the Atlantian had his head turned away from us and, besides, his voice was quieter.

“The security arrangements are entirely in your hands, this time, Mestor. You simply cannot ask the school, on our budget, to defray the costs of guarding your table in a warehouse until the Oni-Kappa Maru arrives at Port Eynon.”

Mestor asked him a question.

Boggin said back: “Possibly, but I know not everyone will be happy to have another shipload of mortal sailors disappear. I could give you some of Dr. Fell’s excellent medicine. You could administer it to the crew of whatever human ship you hired and they would remember nothing the next day. What about that?”

Mestor pointed toward the Manor House, toward the upper stories.

“No, I don’t want you to take Miss Fair as yet. We need to hear from Mulciber, for one thing. What would you do, keep her tied up in the warehouse under guard as well? And who would pay for that?”

Mestor dropped his voice, made a comment in a soft tone, speaking with quiet emphasis.

Boggin said, “Ah, well. You do make a good point. Hmm. You would have to give me your word and be in my debt. Agreed?”

Mestor said a single word.

Boggin said, “Have some of your men go wait in my office. I will write a note excusing Miss Fair from class, and asking her to report there. Your men are mortal and therefore the good Mrs. Wren will have no real ability to object if they manhandle Miss Fair a bit. Do you want Dr. Fell to provide you with chloroform or something?”