Jim Butcher - Changes

She took one look at me and burst out giggling.

That was enough to set off everyone in the room except Martin, who never seemed to realize that there were other people there. Molly’s titters set off Thomas, and even Mouse dropped his jaws open in a doggy grin.

“Hah, hah, hah,” I said, coming into the room, so that Susan and Sanya could join us. No one laughed at Susan’s outfit. I felt that the injustice of that was somehow emblematic of the unfairness in my life, but I didn’t have time to chase that thought down and feed it rhetoric until the lightbulb over my head lit up.

“Well,” Murphy said, as the laughter died away. “I’m glad you got out all right. Went shopping after, did you?”

“Not so much,” I said. “Okay, listen up, folks. Time is short. What else did we manage to find out about the site?”

Murphy told Thomas, “Mate in six,” took a file folder from beneath her chair, and passed it to me.

“You wish,” Thomas drawled lazily.

I eyed him and opened the folder. There were multiple pages inside, color aerial and satellite photos of the ruins.

“Good grief,” I said. “How did you get these?”

“Internet,” Murphy said calmly. “We’ve got an idea of where they’re setting up and what security measures they’ll need to take, but before we can talk about an approach, we need to know where we’re going to arrive.”

I stroked a thumb over my mother’s gem and consulted the knowledge stored there. Then I went through the maps until I found one of the proper scale, picked up a pen from the table, and drew an X on the map. “Here. It’s about five miles north of the pyramid.”

Thomas whistled quietly.

“What?” I asked him. “You can’t do five miles?”

“Five miles of sidewalk, sure,” Thomas said. “Five miles of jungle is a bit different, Dresden.”

“He’s right,” Martin said. “And at night, too.”

Thomas spread his hands.

“Have done a little jungle,” Sanya said, coming over to study the map. “How bad is the bush there?”

“Tougher than the lower Amazon, not as bad as Cambodia,” Martin said calmly.

Sanya grunted. Thomas wrinkled his nose in distaste. I tried to pretend that Martin had given me some kind of tangible information, and idly wondered if Thomas and Sanya were doing the same thing as me.

“How long, Martin?” I asked him.

“Two hours, bare minimum. Could be more, depending.”

I grunted. Then I said, “We’ll see if Lea can’t do something to help us along.”

The room went still.

“Um,” Murphy said. “Your psycho faerie godmother? That Lea?”

“Harry, you told me she was dangerous,” Molly said.

“And I still have the scar to prove it,” Thomas added.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “She’s powerful and by any reasonable standard she’s insane and she’s currently pointed in the direction of our enemy. So we’re going to use her.”

“We’re using her, are we?” Sanya asked, grinning.

“He told us what Toot said about Mab, Harry,” Molly said softly.

There was a long stretch of quiet.

“You made a deal,” Murphy said.

“Yeah, I did. For Maggie, I did.” I looked around the room. “I’m me until this is all over. That was part of the deal. But if there’s anyone here who wants to bail on me and Susan, do it now. Otherwise, feel free to keep your mouth closed about the subject. My daughter doesn’t have time for us to debate the ethics of a choice that isn’t any of your goddamned business anyway.”

I looked around the room and Sanya said, “I am going. Who else goes with us?”

Mouse sneezed.

“I figured that,” I told him.

He wagged his tail.

“Me, obviously,” Martin said.

Murphy nodded. Molly did, too. Then Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Good,” I said. “Lea will probably have something to speed the trip,” I said.

“She’d better,” Thomas said. “Time’s short.”

“We will be there in time,” Sanya said confidently.

I nodded. Then I said, “And I have a favor to ask two of you.”

I put the bag down and pulled Fidelacchius from where I’d tied it. The ancient katana-style Sword had a smooth wooden handle that perfectly matched the wood of its sheath, so that when the weapon was sheathed it looked innocuous, appearing to be a slightly curved, sturdy stick of a good size to carry while walking. The blade was razor-sharp. I had dropped a plastic drinking straw across it as an experiment once. The rate of fall had been all the exquisite weapon had needed to slice the straw neatly in half.

“Karrin,” I said, and held out the Sword.

Sanya’s eyebrows climbed toward the roof.

“I’ve . . . been offered that Sword before, Harry,” she said quietly. “Nothing’s changed since then.”

“I’m not asking you to take up the mantle of a Knight,” I said quietly. “I want to entrust it to you for this night, for this purpose. This sword was made to fight darkness, and there’s going to be plenty to go around. Take it up. Just until my girl is safe.”

Murphy frowned. She looked at Sanya and said, “Can he do this?”

“Can you?” Sanya asked, looking at me.

“I was entrusted as the Sword’s guardian,” I said calmly. “Exactly what am I supposed to do with it if it is not my place to choose the Sword’s bearer to the best of my ability?”

Sanya considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems implicit to me. They gave you the power of choice when they entrusted you with the Swords. One of those things they seem to tell you without ever actually saying anything that sounds remotely related.”

I nodded. “Murph. Used for the right reasons, in good faith, the Sword is in no danger. You’re the only one who can know if you’re doing it for the right reasons. But I’m begging you. Take it. Help me save my daughter, Karrin. Please.”

Murphy sighed. “You don’t play fair, Harry.”

“Not for one second,” I said. “Not for something like this.”

Murphy was quiet for a moment more. Then she stood up and walked to me. She took the Sword from my hand. There was an old cloth strap fixed to the sheath, so that the weapon could be carried over one shoulder or diagonally across the back. Murphy slipped the weapon on and said, “I’ll carry it. If it seems right to me, I’ll use it.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” I said.

Then I picked up Amoracchius , a European long Sword with a crusader-style hilt and a simple, wire-wrapped handle.

And I turned to Susan.

She stared at me and then shook her head slowly. “The last time I touched one of those things,” she said, “it burned me so bad I could still feel it three months later.”

“That was then,” I said. “This is now. You’re doing what you’re doing because you love your daughter. If you stay focused on that, this Sword will never do you harm.” I turned the hilt to her. “Put your hand on it.”

Susan did so slowly, almost as if against her will. She hesitated at the last moment. Then her fingers closed on the blade’s handle.

And that was all. Nothing happened.

“Swear to harm no innocents,” I said quietly. “Swear to use it in good faith, to return your daughter safely home. Swear that you will safeguard the Sword and return it faithfully when that task is done. And I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to wield it.”

She met my eyes and nodded. “I swear.”

I nodded in reply and took my hands from the weapon. Susan drew it slightly from its sheath. Its edge gleamed, and its steel was polished as smooth and bright as a mirror. And when she moved to buckle it to her belt, the Sword fit there as if made for it.