Peter Dickinson - Angel Isle

She sensed a presence behind her shoulder.

“Chanad?” she said in her head.

“I am here. I have their magicians. I am about to remove the guards.”

A flicker of movement to her right caught her eye. She turned and saw that the armed men by the doors had vanished. She was certain that the doors themselves hadn’t moved.

Ribek squeezed her hand twice in quick succession, waited and squeezed again—the signal for “Ready?” She squeezed once—“Yes.” He let go of her hand and they were visible. The man talking to the gadget broke off, stared, and gave a shout. Everyone turned back to the room. There was a moment of astonished stillness. The men at the tables started to rise, somebody shouted an order, eyes turned toward the wall with the doors in it, expressions varied from baffled astonishment to equally baffled indignation, then several of the soldiers by the window made as if to rush at the intruders.

Maja gripped her cane at the center and held it horizontally in front of her in a gesture Benayu had taught her on Angel Isle. A pulse of yellow light traveled rapidly along it, creating an invisible barrier across the room. Every movement beyond it froze.

“Forgive the intrusion,” said Ribek. “Do any of you speak Imperial…? Yes?”

A young man at one of the desks had thawed into movement. He didn’t look like a Sheep-face. Perhaps, like Striclan, he was the child of parents whom the Pirates had bought or snatched from the Empire.

“I speak both languages, er, sir,” he said, “but I’m in Intelligence. There are professional interpreters aboard for the landings.”

“Please bring one of them to mind…. Excellent. Lady Kzuva…”

Maja clicked her fingers and a man appeared out of nowhere. His eyes were rheumy with sleep and he was wearing only his underclothes.

“Perhaps you’d better go and get dressed,” said Ribek. Maja clicked her fingers again. The man vanished.

“While we are waiting,” he went on, “would you apologize to the Syndics and officers for our intrusion and their temporary immobility, and tell them that Lady Kzuva will release them on condition that they will then listen to what we have to say.”

The man blinked and stared at Maja and spoke to the group by the big window. He was obviously saying a good bit more than Ribek had told him. Maja heard Lady Kzuva’s name, and guessed he was explaining who she was, and adding that to judge by their dress the other intruders were also fairly important people.

“You can lower the cane now,” said Chanad’s voice in her head.

Maja did so, and the magic-stilled movements completed themselves. The men who’d been rushing to confront the intruders pulled up short. A dozen voices spoke together. A man shouted an order and the voices were silent. He turned to the interpreter and spoke again in a steady, level voice full of controlled outrage.

He was short, stocky and muscular, bald, with a pale, square, flattish face and pale blue eyes. Another Sheep-face. The creases in his uniform trousers and the pleats on the pockets of his close-fitting jacket were as straight and sharp as ironing could make them. There were two broad gold bars on his epaulettes. He was a formidable presence. The inner Maja would have been terrified of him, but Lady Kzuva studied him with interest. She didn’t like him much, but she recognized him as an equal.

“Supreme General Olbog asks who you are and why you are here,” said the intelligence officer. “He would also like to know what has become of the men who were guarding the doors.”

“The guards are elsewhere and unharmed,” said Ribek, pausing between sentences for translation. “We don’t want anyone hurt. There has been more than enough of that around Tarshu. We will introduce ourselves individually later. For the moment I will say that we are a delegation from various major interests in the Empire, and we are here in the first place to persuade you to call off your assault on Larg, or, failing that, to prevent it; and in the second place to negotiate with the Syndics and your military command on a process leading up to your complete withdrawal from the Empire. To clarify matters, I should add that the so-called Watchers have ceased to exist. The magicians you have aboard will probably have reported a major eruption of magical activity yesterday, some distance up the coast, off Barda. That was caused by our destruction of the Watchers.”

The final sentence was followed by a hush of astonishment. Several voices spoke together, all asking what sounded like much the same question. General Olbog remained expressionless, but turned to the intelligence officer and nodded to him to translate.

“The Watchers are destroyed? You did it?”

“We, at the instigation of the late President of the Grand Magical Council, who was recently returned from a long absence and on the verge of death…. Please wait for me to finish before you ask more questions.

“The first magical outburst was our destruction of the Watchers, the second the passing away of both the late President and the Guardian of Larg. Ah, your official interpreter is now dressed and ready. Shall we pause to allow him to collect his wits?”

General Olbog nodded and gestured. The soldiers moved smartly up to one end of the window and the Syndics drifted to the other. Maja’s hip was starting to ache with standing, but as she was turning to beckon to Benayu Ribek laid his hand on her arm.

“He’s going to be busy,” he muttered. “Chair? Right.”

The two groups by the window were keeping their voices down, but by the time Ribek had fetched a chair from the central table and helped her to sit snatches of what they were saying were whispering in Maja’s mind.

“Now we’ve seen it all. I’d like to see bloody Olbog match that.”

“Think they’re what they say they are?”

“The old lady’s pretty impressive.”

“I really fancy the soldier lass.”

“Just conjuring tricks.”

“Have you still got a connection on that, Lieutenant?”

“Yessir.”

“Don’t let on. I’ll call you in a minute. Come over here with a couple of documents.”

“Will do, sir.”

“And find out what the hell’s happening with our tame magicians. Supposed to have one here, weren’t we?”

“Will do, sir.”

“What’s with the menagerie? We’re not children.”

“My dad’s a bug-hunter. He’d give his soul for that moth.”

“Prevent the landing, the fellow said. D’you think they could really do that?”

“One in the eye for bloody Olbog. Hope he tries it.”

“It’ll take more than conjuring tricks.”

“Bring me the abort file, will you, Lieutenant.”

“Yessir.”

“Must say, I’d like to see our weapons in action after what we’ve paid for them.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing a couple of dragons—not too close, mind. Something to tell the kids.”

“Right, Lieutenant. Look over my shoulder. I’m showing you stuff in the file, right. You’re through to Attack Comm?”

“Yessir.”

“Tell them Code Nine Jiddi Nine. Immediate action. Got it? Yes, Pashgahr?”

“We are still moving faster than the air cover is able to. Troops will be landing without air cover.”

“Weren’t you listening? The Guardian of Larg has passed away. That means Larg must be without whatever defenses it may have had. Check, Intelligence?”

“Nothing on a Guardian as such in the files, sir. Speculation by the agent reporting lack of magical activity within and around Larg that some powerful force must be maintaining the situation.”