her now across seas serene and savage. He ate in her galley, laughed with her crew and stood with each man at his watch. He talked amongst them, knowing them by name. He was one with all of them. HePd heard it hap- pened to sailors before they died. He returned as she screamed to him. A wave crashed across her beam, broaching her, throwing her to her side. Gomez and Bobby hung vertical with the deck, safety lines alone standing between them and the end. Thrashing like epileptic pup- pets while the the top twenty feet of the freak col- lapsed tons of water over them, the two twirled in tangled line and black water, lost. It was anything but peaceful, not the way Bob- byPd imagined it many times when hePd thought about drowning. Time slowed while they hovered in a pressurized vacuum. GomezPs
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face passed close in front of Bobby, all mixed in with foam and debris. Bobby beheld his matePs pain L the sheer terror and impotence. His mouth moved as if he was in distorted conversation, chewing air from water. BobbyPd been a diver for a long time, kept his mouth closed from habit, staying calm. HePd been — 186 — underwater before with before with no air. He knew the tricks L everything in slow motion. Make it a movie, a dream. Make it anything but reality. Reality means panic. Play the game, hold your breath until you wake up. There will be air again. HePd done it before, and lived. He wanted to tell Gomez but couldnPt find him. And the end did come, as the peak of the wave withdrew, disappearing into the ocean bed as quickly as it had arrived. The sentence was
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sus- pended, for a moment, perhaps. Still, Bobby took the offer. His lungs sucked air as he fought the draining of the deck. He struggled through it to Gomez, strangled in Gomez, strangled in his safety line, full of water, and drowning. Bobby heard himself shrieking to God. He pounded GomezPs chest while a slashing rainsquall pummelled him from nowhere. Gomez gagged, puked watered vomit, and contorted back into life. The sea screamed for them. Bobby knew with- out looking the holds had ripped open. The Lady would have cargo at last L too much, to be sure. He sought her out again, entreating her to endure, to keep them with her. The squall slackened and the waves came on again, growing. Sheering white foam tore in under the brow of the forecastle, his safety line cutting into him hard as the seas tried to tear
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him from her. Through it he stayed it he stayed close to her, heard her saying she was tiring. She could deliver no more, could give him only the moment, no more. Wait for the moment, she murmured. Bobby heard the seven short and one long — 187 — blast of the general emergency signal. He drifted in and out with it, not wanting to go. He prayed. She blew the signal again, seven short and one long, no mistaking it. Abandon ship. Bobby moved between realities. The lightning skies talked to him, the wind climbed. Another freak and The Lady would roll right over. There was no doubt. Again, seven long and one short. Again. He crawled He crawled to Gomez, and shouted into his face, telling him The Lady was dying, they must leave. It was only a question now
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of how much time, ten minutes or ten seconds. Squatting there under the forecastle it didnPt matter anymore, he didnPt notice. He listened only for her now, for her voice. Again. And again, she spoke within him, confirming the cataclysm, her Armageddon. Bobby affirmed her voice. He accepted it completely now, as his reality. Leave he would, on command, in her mo- ment. It was what he believed. He pulled close to Gomez, pressing his face against the Mexican. He shouted at him and hit him, looking far into his far into his eyes, for he was far away. They staggered together to their feet. Flounder- ing, they united in the conflict, cursing and screaming into the rage, the language garbled and universal, spitting bile and anger. They made the raft. Bobby cut the lines and tied them to it. He was clinging with Gomez to
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the raft and the rail, the two of them joined, screaming allegiance, screaming it to no one. Clinging to her against all of it, the unceasing — 188 — pound disappeared inside her voice. Water was everywhere upon her. upon her. Still he waited on her word. Nothing could take them but her command. Lightning broke and showed the sea standing mountains on all sides, breaking the length of their slopes as they avalanched down. His lungs sucked for air through it. In that avalanche, Bobby died, hallucinating drowning. And in that moment she spoke to him, his eyes opened from death, untroubled, trusting. It was then that the wind stilled, the squall ceased, the waves quelled themselves. A clear full moon sat mute in the sky above him. Everything slowed to a stop. Now, she whispered softly, you are in the eye. Obedient, he dragged
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them atop the rail. He turned back to turned back to her for a moment and went over, obedient. He watched himself topple, attached and fantasy-like, into the water, under it. It was warm and quiet, all around him soft. Womblike, he transferred into the dream state, knew he must hold his breath a long time. It was okay, he thought. He had practice. He used to be a diver. Rachel awoke at nine oPclock Thursday morn- ing. The rain and wind still beat an evil tune against the fifteenth floor window of her hotel room. RachelPd slept fitfully at best, her mind twisting in the storm, the conversation with the conversation with Le Clerc, RobertPs whereabouts, and her assumption of the worst. She couldnPt evaluate what rated — 189 — which percent of her insomnia. The thoughts brought her back to
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the tor- mented sky outside her window. The worst was over, but the clouds remained too impenetrable for her to see the airport, something shePd been told was possible from her vantage point. ShePd been told something else L if you couldnPt see the air- port, you shouldnPt fly. That narrowed her trans- portation options for the day. She tried the phone and got nothing. She tried the lights and the television, and got nothing again. At again. At this point she wondered if she could make the lobby, much less Brownsville. Her forced impotence bothered her. She was- nPt used to having so little control over her situa- tion. Rachel made herself settle back onto the bed. She began to wonder about her meeting with Le Clerc. What was his purpose? The vagueness frightened her, made her think about the un- thinkable. She knew she
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had to. Should she just leave, go back to San Diego and wait? Let the authorities handle it? Maybe she would call Barney. Let him know what had happened. No, BarneyPd want her out of there right away. If he got on Le ClercPs case, then shePd have him on have him on hers, again. If Robert was dead, what she feared was true, what was the point? She didnPt answer the ques- tion because she didnPt know. Only continuing might bring an answer. She decided to leave for Brownsville. She didnPt know, but had come too far to turn back now. It scared her. Le Clerc had scared her, but — 190 — there were things to know, some kind of answers. It had to be Brownsville. There were really no other leads besides Brownsville. She headed for the shower. She found no water. To
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her, it was the worst news yet. She dry brushed her teeth and kept thinking. International Salvage. International Salvage. It was an old habit, her unrelenting desire to push forward. It always made them crazy at the club. That attitude had gotten her the club and made it successful. She packed and got into the hall. She would have liked to check Lloyds one more time just to be sure, but there were no phones. No phones, no Sunny. It didnPt matter, Brownsville kept giving her a bad feeling, and she would get there some- how. She cursed quietly as she bagged her way down fifteen flights of stairs, civil defence static and emergency lighting her constant companions. The lobby was a disaster. Two plate glass win- dows had been blown in, chandeliers were scat- tered across scat- tered across the floor.
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Outside, a car had overturned just by the entrance. Hysteria had re- placed the touristsP gleeful curiosity from the pre- vious evening. And theyPd wanted her to come down there for safety; she smiled. Everyone was wandering around half-dressed and fully glazed. Bandages and bloodstains abounded. She could hear man- agement figuring it. Let’s all die in one spot, one great big splat. She picked her way through the chaos to the hotel entrance. Here the doorman still func- tioned, incongruous but impressive, opening the — 191 — door for her. MAnother day another MAnother day another dollar.N His large warm eyes and broad smile said it better than the words. Rachel valued the unexpected sense of humor and started a conversation. MDoes this happen a lot?N MItPs the season for it, maPam.N He motioned to the overturned car. MI think this one had a little
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twister in it.N He glanced inside. MA little some- thing extra for the tourists to remember her by.N He bent, posed a little fatherly. MI hear the situa- tion could be better out there this morning, Ms.N It was something of an understatement. MYou have any place in particular youPre head- ing?N Rachel absorbed his nametag as she spoke, MCharles, I appreciate MCharles, I appreciate your concern in the midst of all this. I need transportation.N MWell. Where you headingP?N MDowntown, and then out of town.N She watched his weathered face spread disap- pointment for her. MI think youPre going to have trouble getting any kind of transportation, any- where, today, Ms.N Charles said it the instant before the horn blared, as if there were plans afoot to make him a liar. SunnyPs head hung out the driverPs window as though his windshield wasnPt designed to
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look through. MI guess you got friends in high places, Ms.N Charles smiled as he pulled open the rear door of the limo. MGood luck to you.N Rachel had nothing but a good but a good feeling for the — 192 — unexpected presence of the young Cajun. MA pleasant sight, Sunny. YouPre a pleasant sight. You have no idea.N MItPs a mutual feelinP, Ms Rachel.N Sunny bent across the seat to greet her. MThought you might be lookinP for some transportation today.N She felt like shePd run into an old friend. MHow did you know? I couldnPt call.N MI never left. I watched you talk to that creep cop.N He looked at her. MI donPt think you under- stand.N He smiled at her. MI owe my life to Jimmy. He adopted me off the streets off the streets when he was
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the champ. ItPs a long story.N His head moved with his words as though there was a song playing somewhere just for him. MHe told me to look after you anP IPm gonna do just that.N He pulled away from the curb while he spoke, MWhere we headed first?N MFirst, Lloyds. Old town.N MThe shipping Lloyds?N MThatPs right.N They pulled away slowly, moving around a lot of things that shouldnPt be cluttering the street. MTheyPre gonna be shut down, Ms Rachel.N Sunny kept the car moving while he talked. MI think we check it but I think they shut down. EverythingPs shut down. EverythingPs shut down today. Maybe tomorrow too. We got hurt bad. Floods. No power. Cars upside down everywhere.N He smiled his big smile, body moving with it. MIPm the only ride in New Orleans today. And you own it..N MYouPre a good man,
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Sunny. I need you more than you know. What about Brownsville. Can we — 193 — get to Brownsville?N MItPs fourteen hours in good weather.N He an- swered as water splashed high on either side. MIf we get out of town, wePll have a chance. They got hit bad down in the border country. I heard itPs still blowing pretty good south of here.N south of here.N The bot- tom of the car banged across tree branches. MIf the troopers havenPt closed too many roads, wePll do it. Doubt we can make it a one-day thing.N He motioned to the dash, MYou see what kind of time wePre making right now? Lots more slowdowns ahead. Troopers. Washouts. Detours. When you gotta be there?N MToday. Tomorrow. Soon as possible.N MYou know what kinda country it is down there, eh, Ms Rachel. DonPt want to be asking questions
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about why a lovely lady like you should want to visit a border town full of rednecks and wetbacks. You just hang on, Ms Rachel. WePre going to Brownsville L Cajun style. Louisiana in- vasion. Take in- vasion. Take us a day and a bit, probably. Be there Friday. I know a nice place to stop over. You can get some local color.N MThanks, Sunny.N She leaned back into the seat as they picked their way past a closed Lloyds. After an hour of inner city post-storm adven- tures they rolled over the Pontchartrain Cause- way, picking up Interstate South. Twice the troopers stopped them, once checking for looters and a second time warning them about the road conditions, discouraging travel. The rain picked up a little as they headed south, whipping onto the windshield in angry — 194 — spurts. spurts.
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Rachel felt the sway of the car against the gusting wind. Glad Sunny was driving, she was comforted by the fact he drove a big Detroit car. She didnPt know the make, but it sat well on the road, the back seat big and comfortable. They encountered little other traffic on the usually well-travelled highway, one small benefit of the conditions. She accepted SunnyPs dictum about an overnight stop. It was just as well. Her sleepless night in New Orleans, not to mention the red-eye from San Diego two nights earlier, had taken its toll. The motion of the car lulled her, took her mind from her thoughts like medicine, her body melt- ing deeper into the deeper into the soft comfort of the rear seat, her mind not far behind. Her thoughts worked hard at hanging on to her. She thought about the ship, The
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Lady Inca, due in some time Thursday night. She knew she wouldnPt be there to meet it. TheyPd get as far as they could. Sunny was look- ing after the itinerary. It felt good to let someone else make plans. TheyPd find a little motel in the middle of nowhere. There was something pleasant about the thought, about anonymity. TheyPd get there Friday. The Gulf weather wouldnPt allow the ship to be there on time anyway. International Salvage. Hertzel Markovitz. Howard Morgan. Her earlier calls to the salvage company had gotten her had gotten her nowhere. Everybody was too busy, a communication stance that always got her edgy. Hertzel Markovitz. She rolled the name — 195 — around her tongue and didnPt like the taste. Howard Morgan had a similar flavour. There were lots of things she didnPt know yet. Three hours out of New Orleans
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and she had a pretty good idea of the monotony of a fourteen- hour drive through raw cattle range and semi-arid wasteland. The fatigue and the scenery finally got to her. Her eyes turned heavy, her mind roaming the memories of her childhood L her parents and younger brother, the farm brother, the farm they worked before her parentsP death, before the foster homes. Yes, there were reasons to make the trip re- gardless of RobertPs status L regardless of the outcome. It was near noon Thursday before Bobby began to differentiate conscious action from un- conscious reaction. Still floundering badly on the seas, Bobby couldnPt believe he was still alive. The winds and still-breaking waves tossed them, tormented them without consent, without end in sight, helpless in the raft. Fifteen-foot swells chuted them about the Gulf, the lash of in- termittent rainsqualls still beating on
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them. Several times during the day they were day they were tossed from the raft, Gomez rolling uncontested into the seas. Bobby managed to pull his mate atop, again and again. He labored intensely to keep Gomez with him. He shouted, hitting the Mexican, curs- ing him, and cursing himself. The sound of his shouts was reassurance that he lived. The elements slowly continued to slack, but — 196 — exposure became the new, immediate enemy. It was cold and constantly wet. The loss of body heat worried Bobby. He knew Gomez was victim to it. Bobby was more fortune, wet suited for more than just flotation. He wrapped loose canvas over his amigo, hit- ting him on the bad shoulder and anywhere else hard and repeatedly as he repeatedly as he tried to draw him back. Even the pain from GomezPs
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injuries did little to rouse him. But he did return L almost, for a lit- tle while L then went back into his drift. Bobby watched him to keep himself conscious. He knew if he slept he would return, reliving the terror. Despite his best efforts, he drifted, falling off, falling back into the automatic, gagging strug- gle of those earlier predawn hours. He felt the in- nate dread of death by drowning. Many times the demon dragged him under in the cold, black night, cramming water into him, filling his lungs beyond limits. The sudden, fran- tic grappling with the seas that mounted them as rapists, too sadistic to just kill. Death would be a relief. He writhed within a relief. He writhed within the monsterPs belly all that night, flailing, spinning about. Miscreant winds pushed the giant freaks over them for no reason beyond
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devious pleasure. Bobby relived it in his delirium that afternoon. In death The Lady let them loose on rampag- ing seas to seek their fortune without her to stand between them and eternity. Faculty and judg- ment had no place in that dense monstrosity, only instinct was awake. The only law was gravity, — 197 — nothing more L a law from the same deity who gave them the eye in the moment they slipped away from The Lady. The only moment, the last moment, never to see her to see her again. But he wasnPt there now. He only dreamt it. He knew not how many times hePd drowned that night, how many times hePd met God. He journeyed in delirium into that afternoon, not aware when the sun snuck tiny peaks through the horizon. For Bobby, so much began after it was over. —
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198 — International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Thursday International Salvage Brownsville, Texas Thursday Night MDonPt worry, Hertzel. She donPt speak no fuckinP English.N Howie grabbed the heavily made-up Mexican girl by the neck, smearing a drunken kiss across her lipstick. MSee, Hertzel, she loves me. WouldnPt tell nobody nothinP if she could.N He laughed, drunk, drugged, and belli- cose. MLove conquers all!N He stumbled on the carpet and fell across the couch, seemingly suf- fering physical astonishment at the realities of gravity, the young hooker trapped beneath him. MWherePd you find him?N Hertzel asked Charley. The hostility in his words in his words was aimed at the world in general, for the moment. MAnd whyPd you bring the pig?N MI pulled him off her in the alley, behind the Starlight.N Even CharleyPs voice held disgust. MHe wouldnPt come without her. It ainPt easy
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get- tinP Howie to cooperate anytime. He was pissed and stoned worse than this when we found him. He rubbed his shoulder. MTook three of us. WouldPve been easier without the chaperone along. You know, Howie donPt like strangers to — 199 — begin with.N Charley threw in his own axe. MWhatPs this Enrico guy doinP Enrico guy doinP anyway, Hertzel?N There was an awkward pause while Charley and Enrico traded cold glares. Hertzel ignored CharleyPs question. MYou been stuffing that shit up your nose again, Howie?N He wasnPt about to tell him people were worried about his ability to take care of business. Howie was busy laughing. He tried unsuc- cessfully to straighten himself on the couch. MI donPt snort no more, Hertzel. Fucks up my nose too much.N Inventive pride slid across his drunken face. MI smoke it now. Sometimes I shoot.N He winced.
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MBut them fuckinP needles…N Hertzel stayed focused. MGet the bitch out of here, Charley.N of here, Charley.N He knew her presence added to EnricoPs anger and didnPt want anything but good news returning to Houston. He still figured he was the chosen one. As Charley pulled her from HowiePs clutches, Howie resisted with the strength of a drunken bull seeing red. Quietly, Enrico crossed the room and slapped Howie hard across the head with the barrel of a chromed beretta in response to his aim- less lunge. The woman screamed as Howie fell back on the couch, and Enrico cuffed her hard with his other hand. Charley dragged her from the room. The pistol whip had managed to break through the stupor, stupor, sobering Howie. Hertzel watched him sway on the couch. When he finally got some dazed eye contact with Howie,
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Hertzel started. MWePve got to have a talk, Howie.N He im- — 200 — itated a businesslike calm. MTherePs a few prob- lems we need to discuss, some items we need to take care of here. Some loose ends.N MLike what?N Rubbing the side of his head, Howie centered his eyes on the blood on his hand. MLike how IPm gonna kill that piece of shit for smackinP me. ThrowinP my lady around. RuininP my love life!N MHowie, I want you to meet Enrico.N Enrico kept his Enrico kept his glare fixed on Howie and his hand close to the beretta. MEnrico represents the Senator and our back- ers in Houston.N HertzelPs eyes bore in on Howie. MWe need to have good relations here, Howie. We canPt be unsettling anyone, fighting amongst our- selves. WePre all working together, here, looking for the same solutions. WePre a
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team, Howie.N MSomebody cut me, too.N Howie felt the inside of his lip where a tooth had cut him earlier in the evening. MYou call this lookinP after each other? I didnPt do nothinP, Hertzel. NothinP!N Indicating Enrico, he yelled. MAnd keep this asshole away from me!N MI didnPt say you did.N HertzelPs voice had the fatherly tone he knew Howie expected at times like this. times like this. MRelax.N HePd always impressed himself with his knack for dealing with Howie. MYouPve got to listen. WePve got business to take care of now. We need you to go to the police tomorrow, give them a deposition about New Orleans.N MCops? Go to the cops? You nuts?N MYeah, the cops,N Enrico reiterated. MGet your- self straight and do what youPre told.N — 201 — MI got no reason to see the cops.N Howie said it to the
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room, but kept his eyes on Enrico. MEvery- bodyPs dead!N He slid very fast into arrogance. MEverythingPs tidy. No ship. No bodies.N He smiled. MNo problem.N Getting problem.N Getting himself up from the couch, he took a few steps towards Enrico. MRight?N Hertzel glared at him and Howie stopped, but kept talking. MThe shipPs gone. The tug cut them loose like we planned; we know that. And the Coast Guard wonPt even find flotsam out there this morning.N He laughed at his own nautical humor. MIPm glad Gomez drowned. DonPt get me wrong, I liked the little fuck. I wasnPt looking for- ward to killinP him.N He smiled. MBut the other one, that would have been a pleasure.N He looked at Enrico while he finished. MJust another know- it-all bullshit asshole!N Enrico know- it-all bullshit asshole!N Enrico took the step this time.
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MThis guyPs got a big mouth, Hertzel. NobodyPs gonna like it.N Hertzel got his words between the two of them. MI want you to stop talking about killing anybody.N His face stayed deadpan, and authoritative. MSomebodyPll stay with you at your place tonight while you get yourself straightened out.N There was an air of consequence in his voice. MTomor- row youPre going to see the Brownsville cops at three oPclock. Fill out some forms. A deposition.N Hertzel paused for emphasis. MNo big deal. You know most of them anyway.N He faked a laugh nobody joined. MThen he leaves town for a while,N Enrico said, obviously working on HowiePs nerves. — 202 — — 202 — MTake it easy, Enrico.N The bravado was un- characteristic from Hertzel. MHowiePs a good man. HePll do what he has to do for us.N Hertzel held up his hand like a
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traffic cop, stopping Howie from blurting something hostile. MWhen youPre done at your place, you get Charley to take you up to the senatorPs farm for a while.N Howie didnPt say anything for a full minute L nobody did L as if the question was long dead. MAnd why am I goinP to the farm?N MYou tell them what happened in New Or- leans.N Enrico said. MSign it and leave. Simple?N His tone and expression told Hertzel MsimpleN was just too complicated just too complicated a word for Howie at the mo- ment. Howie headed for Enrico again. MIPm gonna rip your fuckinP head off and jam it up your ass for ya, ya greasy fuck!N Enrico didnPt appear to move as he sent Howie sprawling into the corner like a sack of potatoes. Before HowiePd stopped rolling Enrico was kneel- ing over him, the beretta
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stuck hard into the side of his face. MYouPre one stupid motherfucker. DonPt push it. Just tell us what youPre gonna say tomorrow.N Some things Howie understood quickly, par- ticularly violence. Enrico eased the barrel from the side of his face as Howie spoke. MNothinP hap- pened in New Orleans. The fag inspected fag inspected the ship, signed it off, and left.N He smiled at Enrico as he eased himself to his feet. MDonPt call him a fag when you tell them.N — 203 — Hertzel added. Charley returned, breaking into HowiePs hate glare. MJuanPs got the broad in the car. WePre ready to go.N MWhat about the farm? I got no reason to go to the farm,N Howie said, pressing his ankle against his boot and feeling nothing. Charley sat the derringer on the desk. MYou looking for this? You pulled it on us at the
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Starlight last night,N Charley last night,N Charley glared. MYou got a shot off too. Damn near killed Juan.N MOh yeah.N Howie muttered with sudden re- call. MSorry.N He paused only momentarily. MOkay. IPll do it. Just like you want.N Hertzel got suspicions of the sudden coopera- tion. MDonPt get this figured the wrong way, Howie.N Hertzel tried to reduce HowiePs paranoia. MWePre going to look after each other. One big family.N Hertzel crossed the room, got close to Howie, and worked his confidante number. MTherePs a broad down here somewhere, Howie, looking for her brother, the Lloyds inspector.N MHowPd you know MHowPd you know that?N Howie said. Hertzel looked across at Enrico, acknowledg- ing the value of connections. MShePs looking to talk to you as well.N He stood beside him now, an arm around his shoulder. MAll you have to do is
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make the statement. Then disappear to the farm for a while. WePve done it before.N Hertzel thought he was being followed obedi- ently. MYou know youPve got a bit of a reputation for being unreliable.N Howie nodded, showing them his entire good- — 204 — boy mode. His paranoia talking to him silently. MSo it wonPt look out of place that youPre out of town, whereabouts unknown.N Hertzel smiled, buying into HowiePs buying into HowiePs sudden grip on it all. MYou got anything to drink here, Hertzel?N Howie said. MI got it all straight.N Nobody spoke. He looked around the room for a bottle. MWhoPs this broad, anyway? Why not dust her?N MI told you, the sister.N Hertzel headed to his desk. MShe comes down here. Nobody to talk to. She goes home. She feels good. She tried.N He opened a drawer and threw a wrapped
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up shortly thereafter. 
up shortly thereafter. Danelle took several people into the town hall, including Zarah; others drifted away, leaving just a few people at the table. “So what’s really going on?” Dorna asked grumpily. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. “Not here,” Alanora said. “And not everyone at once. First, I’ll talk to Dorna and Norgrim. Kaylen, I’ll catch up with you a later.” She and the two dwarves went to a nearby tent, leaving Kaylen alone with Jahsha. “Don’t look at me,” Kaylen said, speaking quietly, responding to Jahsha’s inquisitive look. “I have no idea what’s going on. She wanted me to know this whole diplomatic mission was a farce from the outset.” “How so?” “Norgrim’s shown me plenty of maps. Alanora placed Caerelon right on top of his home town his home town of Norokden. I don’t think the dwarves missed an entire city of
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humans in their 
humans in their midst. She wanted Norgrim, and maybe me, to know the location was a lie.” “Which still leaves us wondering what’s going on,” Jahsha said. “I did enjoy her little power play with Danelle. Doesn’t a future Countess outrank a mere Magister?” She clearly thought the idea was humorous. “I can never keep that stuff straight,” Kaylen replied. “Damn it, I almost forgot – did you get a chance to speak with Tedd Gan?” “I took the job. Thanks for dropping hints in the right places.” “Good – now I know you’ll be coming back,” she said with a grin. “After this escapade, we’ll put to sea.” “And sail where?” he asked. “As you’ve said, there’s only one port.” 107 “I one port.” 107 “I talked to Norgrim earlier. He suggested an eastern route, around the horn and down the coastal a city named
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Daranadok. We might 
Daranadok. We might open a trade route. If nothing else, we’ll get a chance to explore new territory.” Kaylen was lost in thought for a few moments. “That’s a long trip. We’d take the three trading clippers, I suppose. Any idea what sort of goods we might load? I’d hate to show up with an empty hold and empty purses. We’re traders, not beggars.” “I’m working on that,” she said. Norgrim ambled up. Looking for Alanora, Kaylen saw her by the dwarven tents, talking to Dorna and Kalinda. “I’m going back to the docks,” Jahsha the docks,” Jahsha said. “Have fun figuring it all out.” “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Kaylen asked the dwarf as they watched her leave. Norgrim shrugged. “I’ll leave that to Alanora. She told me enough for now. I think she’ll tell you a lot more.” For a
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while, Kaylen talked 
while, Kaylen talked to Norgrim about what they needed to take, and speculated about what they might find. He kept expecting Alanora to join the conversation. “What’s taking her so long?” Kaylen pondered out loud. “She said I wouldn’t see her again until morning,” Norgrim said. “Maybe she’s just tired; I heard Kalinda offer her a place to stay.” He patted Kaylen on the back. “Put the curiosity away, and get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.” Kaylen didn’t want to wait, but he wait, but he also needed time to think. He started walking toward town, telling his rampant questions to be quiet. “Wait up!” Alanora’s voice called. She was running to catch up with him, still wearing the red dress. Even without her weapons, she inspired dangerous thoughts; his questions ran and hid. Suddenly, he felt very grungy, wishing he’d taken another
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bath after a 
bath after a day of pumping bilge water. “Did you think I’d forgotten you?” she asked. There was an awkward silence. His gaze drifted to her cleavage… he slapped himself mentally. “Norgrim thought you were heading to bed,” he said, starting to walk again. “I figured we’d go into details tomorrow morning. The real details.” She laughed lightly. “Dancing around the truth has become a habit. I hope you understand why I said what I said what I did earlier.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t lie to my friends. That’s why I’m here; I want you to know the truth. I need your help.” “Are you actually a Countess?” 108 She laughed again. “It’s an old title, granted by a wizard-king who’s been dead for centuries. We don’t use it in Caerelon anymore. With people like Danelle, titles hold meaning.
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As do clothes.” 
As do clothes.” She spun, the dress fanning out around her. “I’m not very fond of dresses, but they have their uses.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t argue with that. You look… quite lovely.” “Thank you. And now for the truth…” They walked slowly as she talked; sometimes, she was sometimes, she was quiet while other people passed them on the street. Alanora told him about Caerelon, her father’s paranoia, and his enslavement of the farmers; from Ezra and clandestine meetings to Kudric’s thugs and her escape, she held nothing back, grateful for the chance to release the secrets of her life. Kaylen drank it all in, asking few questions. When she was done, he spent a few moments thinking. “So you came here, looking for help,” he said. “If we could help rescue your people, Tornaval would give them a safe home. We’d gain
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people with useful 
people with useful skills, and your people would be safer.” “Not quite,” she said. “I have no intention of abandoning Caerelon. It’s my home, Kaylen, and my people don’t deserve to become refugees any more than yours did.” “They can’t stay did.” “They can’t stay in Caerelon, can they?” “No. They can live outside Caerelon. Many of them already did. With Mahgrurra’s dragons providing protection, they’d be safe and free. Then I could deal with my father.” “He doesn’t sound like the reasonable type.” “I wasn’t planning on reasoning with him. His madness grows every day; he’ll find some way to harm even those who want to stay inside the mountain.” She paused, weighing what to say. “My friend Grehn has been building a resistance force.” She laughed sadly. “It’s funny. My father wants me to be a leader, to focus on the people. He’s going
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to get what 
to get what he wants.” She could see Kaylen realizing the implications of her words. “If he won’t see reason, I’ll depose my father. I see no other way. You’re the only You’re the only person I’ve told all of this. Even Norgrim doesn’t know everything. Not yet.” “I’m not sure what to think,” Kaylen said. “And I’m still not clear why you need me – or Norgrim, for that matter.” “Norgrim knows dwarven architecture; he can find passages from the inner city to the outside world. You… impressed me during our first days together, when we fought the kehklik. What I propose isn’t going to be easy, and I can’t do it alone. Norgrim isn’t enough. I need another partner, someone who cares about people and thinks quickly.” She paused again. “I’m not asking you to repay a debt – I want your help because
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I know what 
I know what kind of man you are.” 109 “I’m not even “I’m not even sure what kind of man I am,” Kaylen said with a wry smile. “Yes, I’ll go with you; after those compliments, how could I refuse?” Kaylen realized that they now stood in front of his house. In recent days, it had gained a complete roof and a working door, but still no glass in the windows. He looked at her, and found her more attractive than ever. “I’m glad you’re here, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.” Kaylen rubbed the back of his neck. He opened the door, and looked for words to end the evening. “Do you want company?” she asked, before he could get his sentences crafted. “Beg your pardon?” “I need a place to stay tonight,” she said. “Kalinda offered me a cot. I’d rather stay
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I’d rather stay 
I’d rather stay with you.” “Uh…” He stumbled for words. She was no tavern trollop or casual acquaintance. What he wanted to do, that he knew. What he should do was less obvious. He couldn’t ignore a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips. Was she trying to manipulate him? No; she wasn’t that kind of woman, either. Kaylen let out a deep breath, and rambled. “Um… aw hell. We barely know each other. It’s not that… well, I’m interested, but…” Alanora laughed loudly. “You’ve befriended dragons, fought armies of monsters, and one woman leaves you at a loss for words?” “I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said. He looked down at his messy clothes. “My condition isn’t the best tonight, either.” “Do you have soap and water inside?” He took one inside?” He took one of her hands. “I’ve
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thought about you, 
thought about you, often.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. The embrace lingered and deepened. “She isn’t telling us the truth,” said Danelle, pouring a drink for Jennur. “Oh, she’s very good, I’ll grant her that.” The two of them were in her house, a bigger one than Kaylen’s, located in a side district once populated by merchants. “She wanted Kaylen,” sneered Jennur. “Let her have him. I don’t care why, as long as she keeps him away from Tornaval.” Danelle moved to a window, and looked out at the flickering lights below. “Of course, I already had a plan in place for Kaylen. He’s accepted the captaincy of the Shadowrider, I hear. It was a It was a simple matter to plant the germ of an idea with Jahsha. Once we’ve put Tornaval in order, the pretentious sailors will run away, like
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they always have.” 
they always have.” 110 “He may return from this Caerelon with supporters,” Jennur suggested. “I find the entire matter suspicious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he met with her in recent days, while inspecting the mills. They arranged this little charade for your benefit.” “I doubt it,” she replied. “This Alanora is a very savvy woman. I’m inclined to believe her claims of nobility. Kaylen is simply taking advantage of the situation, whatever it may be. If anything, I worry more about her than I do him.” “She could help Kaylen gain power here.” “He doesn’t want “He doesn’t want power,” she said, downing her drink and pouring more. “None of them do, and that’s why we have troubles. Kaylen and his friends won’t make people do what is required, because they themselves refuse to be directed. Placing the survival of civilization in such hands is
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a frightening thought.” 
a frightening thought.” “Perhaps.” Jennur sounded dubious. “In any case, opportunity knocks for us. Jahsha is putting to sea tomorrow; we will have a few days free of interference. Have you decided to put Zarah in my hands?” “She is a nice girl,” Danelle said. “I think she likes me. I regret using her this way.” “Zarah was disloyal to me,” Jennur growled. “She will side with Kaylen against you, if it comes to that.” The bishop chuckled darkly. “Leave her to me. Once she’s helped remove the helped remove the dwarves, I will find out what they’ve been hiding from us.” He stood, placing his empty glass on a nearby table, joining Danelle at the window. “Do you have enough men to handle any complications?” “The sentinels are in place,” she said. “If Tornaval has an abundance of anything, it’s men who have too much
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time and energy 
time and energy on their hands. Captain Nogg easily recruited a force for our needs.” “I assume Kaylen objected?” “Of course.” She smiled. “If we’re lucky, he won’t come back from this adventure.” “Kaylen has a habit of defying the odds.” “His luck will run out eventually.” “We can only hope it does.” Jennur picked up and donned his cloak. “I must be going. It wouldn’t be seemly for a bishop to be seen leaving the house leaving the house of a lady after dark.” He opened the door. “Good night, Magister.” She watched him walk slowly up the street. The future had potential, though she was not entirely certain of her ally. Jennur was too angry, too interested in his personal agenda. She would need to do something about that, eventually. 111 Kaylen stood at the front door, watching people go about their early morning
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business. He heard 
business. He heard movement behind him, and turned around to find Alanora getting dressed. “I overslept,” she said. “You should have gotten me up.” “It’s still early.” He closed the door and went back inside. “You’re very quiet.” With a slight grin, she added, “I thought last “I thought last night went rather well.” “It did,” he said. “I’m honored, by the way.” “Excuse me?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you what?” “That this was your first time.” She leaned back on a table, arms behind for support. “It wasn’t important.” “Most women think it is.” “I’m not most women. You might have noticed.” “Oh, I noticed.” He hesitated. “Why me?” “Because it does matter to you,” she said. “You’ve been with other women, haven’t you?” “Yes. A few.” She laughed. “Don’t give me false modesty. I may have been a virgin until last night,
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but I’m not 
but I’m not naïve. Was there anyone in Tramora waiting for you?” “No.” “So… is this going to be difficult?” He sighed. “I don’t know. There wasn’t anyone waiting for me because for me because I never found anyone. Maybe I don’t know how. Given what’s going on…” “If not now, when?” she insisted. “We’re surrounded by conspiracies. The real question is: Do we trust each other? I didn’t sleep with you to create an obligation; I chose you because I like who you are. Because more than sex, I need someone I can trust, and who trusts me.” He put his hands on her waist and kissed her lightly. “Do you trust an impetuous sailor who you’ve only know a short time?” “Do you trust a woman who is as likely to get you into trouble as out of it?” 112 “Would you
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please “Would you 
please “Would you please stop mothering me?” Norgrim growled at his wife. “Go pester our daughter in the next tent over. I know how to pack my own things.” “It’s done,” said Dorna sternly. “I may not approve of this expedition, but I’ll be damned sure you start it off right.” Norgrim walked out of his tent, a bundle under each arm. To one side, he saw Mahgrurra with her wings spread wide, catching what light there was under overcast skies. At one of the long tables, he saw Jahsha and Kalinda. He joined them, dropping his bags in a heap and then piling food on a plate. “Where is Kaylen?” he asked. “Mahgrurra will be ready soon.” “I expect him to be a bit late this morning,” said Jahsha. “This isn’t the day to the day to be late,” he said, fitting his
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words between bites. 
words between bites. “Which brings up a similar question: Where is Alanora?” The two women gave each other knowing looks. Norgrim’s forehead wrinkled in annoyance. “Kalinda, didn’t she stay with you?” “I offered,” his daughter said. “She had other plans.” “What other plans?” he asked. “Where else… oh no. No. They didn’t.” “One of my crew was walking through town late last night,” said Jahsha. “He passed Kaylen’s place. We need to get that man some windows.” The table erupted into laughter. “What’s so funny?” Zarah approached the table and sat next to Kalinda. “We were making fun of Kaylen,” said Jahsha. “That’s what happens to people who’re late for breakfast.” Norgrim brushed crumbs from his beard, and reached for another helping. “It complicates matters, that’s complicates matters, that’s what it does. Something must be wrong with Alanora. She’s always had a level head. You’d think
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Kaylen would have 
Kaylen would have some sense, too.” “I’m lost,” said Zarah. “Did something happen to Kaylen and Alanora?” “You could say that,” said Jahsha. “It looks like Alanora spent the night at Kaylen’s house.” “Oh…” said Zarah quietly and slowly. “I see.” “Here they come,” said Kalinda. Their heads turned as one, following Kaylen and Alanora as they walked into camp. “We might want to find another table,” Kaylen whispered to Alanora. “We’ve been talking about you,” said Jahsha, as the pair began putting food on their plates. “Crude jokes, innuendo, that sort of thing.” Kaylen chuckled. “I expect nothing less from my friends.” 113 “Why?” Zarah snapped, “Why?” Zarah snapped, loudly, startling everyone at the table. She’d been sitting quietly for the last few moments. Her eyes glared at Alanora. “Excuse me?” Alanora asked. “Why?” Zarah demanded again. “Is that how you convinced him to go
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with you?” Kaylen 
with you?” Kaylen felt a flush of anger. “That’s enough, Zarah,” in a tone he’d never used with her before. Jumping up, Zarah ran away. Swearing, Kaylen started to follow. Jahsha put a hand on his arm; he hesitated, and sat down next to Alanora. “Talking to her won’t help,” said Jahsha. “Give her some time alone. She’s been working hard on that crush of hers.” “I never gave her encouragement,” Kaylen stated darkly. “None.” “She didn’t need any,” said Jahsha. “Maybe I should talk to her,” said Alanora. “I said Alanora. “I didn’t know.” “There was nothing to know,” said Kaylen. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and neither of us needs to feel guilty. She invented something that didn’t exist.” “I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Jahsha. “I promise.” Kaylen looked at Norgrim. “You haven’t said much.” “There’s not much to say,” replied the
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dwarf gruffly. “So 
dwarf gruffly. “So let’s start thinking of our little trip. I’ve packed some things I need, and few items I’ll want. What about the two of you?” “You know I don’t carry much,” said Alanora. Sad memories reminded her of a specific need. “My sword… I need to find another blade.” Norgrim pushed his plate back and stood. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried to his tent, and returned with a long bundle. “I was going to give this to Kaylen. It matches Kaylen. It matches the one he already has.” He unfolded the cloth, and held the contents out, hilt first. “It seems appropriate that I give it to you instead.” Alanora stood, reached across the table, and took the milky-white blade. “From the mantelpiece at Drakcaern?” She backed away, into an open area, and made several test swings, jabs, and cuts. “Are you sure
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about this?” “I’ll 
about this?” “I’ll find something new for the fireplace,” Norgrim said. “It looked funny with only one sword. I figured the two blades had been together for a long time, and they should stay that way.” He looked at Kaylen and Alanora in turn. “If you two start together, stay together. Otherwise, I’m going to be a very cranky dwarf.” 114 Oric waited 114 Oric waited patiently. He’d always liked the library. The bright light was, at times, annoying, but the books had always comforted him. But not on this day. The door behind him opened and closed. He did not turn around. “What news, Prime Minister?” Kudric cleared his throat. “My son is dead, Lord. The blood loss was too much.” His voice quavered. “Had I foreseen the events of today, I would have taken a different path.” Oric appeared oblivious to the other man’s
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grief. “Did he 
grief. “Did he regain consciousness? Could he tell us my daughter’s plans?” “No.” “I understand your loss,” Oric said, though his tone was clinical and detached. “We’ve both lost children today.” The following silence was only silence was only broken by the sound of Oric’s footsteps as he moved to a nearby shelf. His face was an unreadable mask. He pulled down a book and opened it, flipping idly through the pages. Turning, he handed Kudric the book, still open. The page contained a picture of a sailing ship. “She was reading that before she left us,” said Oric. “My daughter has gone to her alien friends, who invade from across the sea. I’ve lost her, as assuredly as you’ve lost your son.” Kudric stared at the page for a moment. “What now?” Oric smiled. “We prepare. We must be ready for her return.” Kaylen watched
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Mahgrurra fly away, 
Mahgrurra fly away, shouldered his pack, and followed Alanora and Norgrim into the forest. Dropped off in the early in the early afternoon, they walked under a canopy of trees Kaylen didn’t know, filled with small lizards and colorful birds; the humidity was high, and for once, Kaylen was glad for the cloudiness. They’d gone a few leagues, now walking along a rise, when Alanora stopped, put a finger to her lips, and crouched. Kaylen half-kneeled beside her, and Norgrim became close friends with thick tree trunk. “Watchers,” she whispered, pointing. Kaylen peeked over the foliage. Below them, four armored men walked in a diamond formation, about twenty feet apart, not talking. “They’re looking for someone,” he whispered. “Not us,” she said. “Farmers.” 115 Kaylen motioned with his hand, and they moved quickly away, at quickly away, at a right angle from
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the patrol. A 
the patrol. A half hour later, they found a secluded stream, and stopped for a quick rest. “Could some rebels still be out here?” Norgrim asked. “Possibly,” she said. “A few die-hards. There can’t be many if we only saw four Watchers.” “Isn’t your friend Grehn a Watcher?” She laughed. “No! Grehn is a Warden; my grandfather created their order to protect people outside Caerelon’s walls. The Watchers are something recent; they work for Kudric, enforcing my father’s edicts.” “What about kehklik?” Kaylen asked. “The bugs are east and north of Caerelon,” she said. “We don’t see them often these days, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find one or two.” Norgrim splashed water on his face. Big drops running down his beard, he asked, “Why is anyone outside is anyone outside the mountain? Aren’t you folk supposed to be hiding?” “Sixty years ago, we started
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running short on 
running short on food,” she said. “A fungus attacked the shroom plantations inside the mountain. To solve the crisis, my grandfather established farms in the forest, under the trees. If we find one, I can show you how they mix crops with forest plants. Their houses were covered in turf. From above, dragons wouldn’t have seen anything, and they’re so big they don’t spend much time in dense forests. Oh – and dragons are lousy at noticing small details.” “They can smell you,” said Kaylen. “Symurall talks about ‘scents’ all the time.” “Caerelon has excellent chemists,” she replied. “We need them. Our resources are limited, so we rely on synthesis.” She dug into a pouch on her belt and her belt and handed Kaylen a small brown sphere. “This was an accidental discovery; it was supposed to be a treat for children.” “Chocolate?” he asked. “Just
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the coating,” she 
the coating,” she smiled. “Eat it, and your natural scent will be different. It depends on the person. Most people end up smelling like an arbok.” “I’ve been accused of worse,” he said, handing it back to her. She returned it to her pouch. “People outside the mountain grow everything to make it themselves.” They continued their hike. Just before twilight, they stopped the edge of the forest, on a slight rise. Below lay the remnants of a human city, overgrown with vegetation reclaiming its own. To the east, a jagged formation of dark rock stood against a background of distant, snow-capped mountains. It was an It was an ancient volcanic core, eroded by the valley’s winds and rain, dramatic and ominous. 116 “Caerelon,” said Alanora. “Impressive.” Kaylen pointed. “Is that the castle? All I see is an outline.” “It was never finished,” she said. “There’s
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a curtain wall, 
a curtain wall, a few towers, and several large building shells. It was under construction when the dragons and kehklik came.” They moved to a secluded spot, making camp where a small ridge of rock stood between them and the castle. “No fire,” grumbled Norgrim. “I’ll eat anything cooked or not,” Kaylen said. He began breaking out rations, which included squares of dwarven arken. As he chewed on one, Kaylen couldn’t decide if it was a cookie, was a cookie, a cake of dried meat, or some mixture of the two. It was filling. For a moment, he considered asking Norgrim about the ingredients, but decided ignorance was a better choice. “How do we get in?” Kaylen asked as they were cleaning up. “It’s too dark to see now,” Alanora told him. “There’s a road leading up to the castle. Once there, we look for dwarven
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tunnels.” “Wouldn’t they 
tunnels.” “Wouldn’t they be guarded now? That’s how you escaped.” “I assume that dwarves made more than one exit from the human quarter. That’s what we’ll be looking for.” “I’d like to know more about those dwarves,” said Norgrim. “We thought they were all killed by kehklik.” When Alanora didn’t answer immediately, he continued. “I take it you have unhappy news.” “They died a “They died a long time ago,” she said. “The kehklik didn’t kill them – one of my ancestors did.” She continued, describing what she’d seen in the dwarven area. Norgrim’s face was grim, and he said nothing, poking at the fire with a stick as she talked. “They must have had other exits,” Kaylen said. “I don’t understand why they didn’t escape. Starvation isn’t quick.” “They didn’t starve,” said Norgrim. His voice was deep, the words slower than usual. “Lass, tell me
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the mesa. “Mercy?” 
the mesa. “Mercy?” he said. “I will show them mercy, by giving them a quick death, before the kehklik rip them apart.” “Brutality and hatred gain us nothing,” old Voranytchi grumbled. “I agree with Yvarrtasah – we should neither harm nor aid the humans at this point in time. We could not stop their islands from being destroyed by earthquake and volcano, why should we now be responsible for saving them from the kehklik?” “You compare what was not possible with what can be done,” Kyazura stated. “Some humans rescued dragons from their home world. My brothers and I were born of those who were saved by Murffyd and his people.” “The blood of Murffyd no longer runs in their veins,” Sytherek declared angrily. “They are a corrupt and degenerate species.”
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“These humans are 
“These humans are not the same ones who hurt us,” Kyazura responded. “We do not know if they are corrupt. Revenge is poor motivation, brother.” “I will not see us suffer again at their hands,” Sytherek growled. “In the past we have acted rashly,” Yvarrtasah said. “It is time to observe, and be careful before we make momentous decisions. Since the humans are in Symurall’s territory, he can keep an eye on them. Once we understand the entirety of the situation, we will make new decisions.” “No one ever knows the entirety of any situation,” Kyazura said. “Many humans will die while we wait for answers that may never come.” “Many could die, but probably not all,” Voranytchi said. Symurall growled, swished his tail, and walked a short distance away from the circle.
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side. With 
side. With the forward tug freed, The Lady’s bow started a drift shoreward as the stern tug pulled her seaward. TheyPd tow her astern into the Gulf current while the sea tug locked on forward. He knew theyPd want her tied up fast once the lines came aboard. More work. He wondered how much line theyPd let out once they were into the Gulf. It was a solid half-mile to the shore. Visibility at that distance was poor, but the shoreline had lost its bayou appearance. He checked his watch L it was just past seven. The sky, too, said it was evening, but with a peculiar hue. He noticed the wind was up.
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— 150 — 
— 150 — The sea tug was close up on the starboard, much bigger than the harbor tugs. She looked up to the job, almost new, capable of using a lot of power. Hercules Two was written across her bow- sides in large white letters. It made him feel bet- ter for no justifiable reason. The radar scanner sitting atop the wheelhouse helped, too. Her captain stood prominently in the wheel- house. He probably had a three-man crew. It was right alongside now, bumping rubber against the peeled steel of The Lady. On a muffled word through the loudspeaker, the lead line shot up and across the bow, whistling past BobbyPs head.
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MThar she 
MThar she blows,N he mum- bled, expecting to see Beluga spouting nearby. Scrambling across the bow he got the lead line, knew he wouldnPt be hauling nylon aboard. These guys had the advanced technology. TheyPd go lead line to one-inch nylon to steel cable. Cable was a three-man job, bearable with two. The loudspeaker vibrated sound again. MFeed through port bulwark.N He felt the weight grow as the cable cleared the water. Everything was heavier coming out of the water, he thought, just like evolution. The cable took time, came up grating over the deck railing, grinding against the bulwarks. His arms started to ache from fatigue. The cable did- nPt flex easily. His gloves were ripping up from
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the jagged cable 
the jagged cable threads. Twice the cable pulled up hard against his bare torso. Thin red claw marks ran across him, small rivulets of blood mix- ing with his sweat. — 151 — From a distance the effort had the appearance of smooth, poetic metaphor, flowing rhythm. It was manPs statement, his place in the struggle. Up close, it was sweat, curses and man in labor. It was noble perhaps, but there was no baby to show for it. Bobby leaned back against the winch. Ex- hausted, he looked up into the sky where his daughterPs face emerged, and cornered him.
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Her hope-filled eyes 
Her hope-filled eyes promised him eternity. He felt the sea breeze and heard The Lady Inca promise she would get him to her. The steel slap of cable against The Lady’s rail brought him back quickly. MWe are roger and go aboard ship.N He mouthed into the two-way, his first opportunity to check it against the tugPs radio. MTake it up real slow, shePs gonna mill tight. Over.N It was only a few minutes before the slack started disappearing. MTaking slack. Stay sharp up there. Over.N The grind and rasp moved into full swing. The eerie metal scraping of the bind
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grew louder as 
grew louder as the cable tightened. This was not a sound to sleep by. Grind and scrape, baby, he thought to himself. Wind yourself so tight you never come free. Just pull me home. MYouPre tight. Cables secure.N His own insur- ance policy surfaced. MCome back with weather. Over.N MThree day weather watch across the Gulf. Over.N Thanks for nothing. Weather watch could mean anything from light rain to the end of the — 152 — world. MRequest four-hour radio checks. Over.N He didnPt want to be forgotten for too long, to get too ignorant about the weather movement. MCast off stern lines.N The
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does anything.\ 
does anything.\ No one had been able to answer the question \ why\ when Kade s mother appeared at court twenty-five years ago to captivate the old king Fulstan. No one had known she was Moire, a great queen in her own right from one of the multitude of fayre kingdoms that hid under ancient barrows, deceptively deep lakes, or the disappearing islands that lay off the southern coast. She had held Fulstan s attention constantly, day and night, for one year before departing and leaving behind her a baby daughter like a forgotten piece of baggage and a man who was far worse a king than he had ever been before. Dubell had a way of seeming to pick up on someone else s train of thought. He said, \ I remember her mother. I was a
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young man then. 
young man then. The King s Company was performing The Fortunate Lands and suddenly she was there, dressed in black and her jewels like stars. The Queen of Air and Darkness.\ He picked up a book from the window ledge and absently added it to a stack on a nearby chair. \ A wiser man might have seen a potential danger in Kade. The fay who appear the most human are often more changeable and vindictive than their monstrous brethren. But I saw only an isolated child with the first stirrings of real power and the wit and the will to use it. I admit I have never felt guilty, Captain. I gave her only an elementary tutoring in the craft. If I hadn t, she would have found someone else. I m sorry for what she has done with the knowledge since
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then, but I assume 
then, but I assume no responsibility for it.\ He looked back at Thomas seriously. \ I suspect that may be lese-majeste.\ \ Perhaps, but it s a mild form of it.\ Compared to most of what goes on here. \ And we do need your help.\ He was sure Dubell realized that until another court sorcerer could arrive he had them over a barrel, and Thomas was curious to see if the old scholar would come out and admit it. Dubell shook his head. \ I took a vow of fealty when I first came here years ago. Whatever differences of opinion have arisen since then can have no bearing on it.\ The old sorcerer stood there watching the garden below, his stooped shoulders revealing his bone-weary exhaustion. Galen Dubell
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spoke so freely 
spoke so freely it made suspicion difficult, even for someone in whom suspicion was a deeply ingrained habit. And how many times does a man have to swear undying loyalty before you have to give him the benefit of the doubt? Thomas thought. At least until events prove otherwise. The couple in the court below had moved somewhere out of sight. Dubell asked, \ Has anything been heard of Grandier?\ \ No, not so far. He s not going to be so easy to find again. You haven t remembered anything else you heard Chapter Three 35 that might hint of his plans?\ Thomas asked without much hope. They had gone over all this exhaustively last night on the way back
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of Medusa, the 
of Medusa, the reptiles for hair looking to him, in his highly nervous state, like the tight, crisp curls and braids covering the head of his bride-elect, and the lines from Pitt s \ Virgil\ recurred to his memory: \ Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell, Heaven never summoned from the depths of hell.\ Mr. Stone broke the momentary silence by saying, in matter-of-fact tones: \ It is natural, I suppose, to a man of your seemingly nervous temperament, to be a little upset at not meeting your father; but, in my opinion, life is too short for sentiment, especially when wasted as in this case, for your father, according to cablegram sent us, is improving, and is, I dare swear, kicking his heels about St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, waiting impatiently
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for your return.\ 
for your return.\ \ Yes, Uncle Timothy, yours is the practical view of it; sentiment is, or should be, a monopoly of the poets; self-interest, with pounds, shillings and pence, are good enough for us.\ \ Margaret means to convey, Mr. Charles, that you should be thankful to Providence that you have been spared to come to us; to a land, also, flowing with milk and honey, ready to your hand and purse,\ said her aunt, sanctimoniously adding, \ How is religious life in Toronto?\ \ Religious life?\ he said, half dazed, wholly absorbed in the thought that he was to be held in bondage by that stony-eyed woman with snake-like hair–his Medusa. \ Alas, I fear you are dead in sin, Mr. Charles. You do not even know
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the meaning of 
the meaning of my words. I have heard that New York is the most wicked city in America, and you, I fear, frequently go there to participate in the pleasures of sin. I dread to allow my niece to go out, even as your wife; it was only the other day I read, copied from one of your newspapers, that at Tahlequah, which I suppose is near you, that a Chickasaw Indian was arrested by a deputy United States marshal with three assistants; the company camped on the prairie, with the exception of the marshal, who, riding on, reached his goal; waited there until weary, he rode back, and what did he find? The entire posse with heads cut off, and the Indian fled. America must be a very Sodom and Gomorrah. But I see you are not listening to me, Mr. Charles.
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We have a 
We have a saintly young man here, the Rev. Claude Parks, whom I must ask to influence you to a better frame of mind, with an intense gratitude to Providence for the favors about to be showered upon you.\ Thus did Miss Stone give vent to her feelings to unlistening ears. Fond of hearing her own voice, it mattered little to her that she received no replies but to be told impatiently that \ he was ill,\ and to be compelled to waste the eloquence she seduced herself into believing she possessed, upon a man with now his hands pressed upon his feverish brow, now his eyes fixed on vacancy, now upon the entrance as though he would fain flee, incensed her almost to rage; during the absence of Mr. Stone and his niece she had determined to improve
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the occasion, and so 
the occasion, and so read him no end of lectures. The two absent ones, after a few minutes whispered conversation in the library, had crossed the lawn to a neat cottage where the clergyman in charge of the Bayswater Mission existed on one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. As they stepped through the flower beds, which the moon rising in unclouded splendor lit with her soft white light, Miss Villiers in cold, hard tones, said: \ Yes, you are right; he showed his hand, and of how much he loved me at first sight, as he asked in that scared way for my sweet sister, but bah! such maudlin folly in our wasting our precious moments over his feelings in the matter; they are of no more consequence than are the blades of grass we crush beneath our
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feet in reaching 
feet in reaching CHAPTER IX. our goal; let him laugh who wins, even though the goal be reached by a foul.\ \ Yes, the sooner we hold the lines the better; he has not spirit enough to be a runaway horse.\ \ Let him but try, there is the curb bit and halter.\ \ Oh, you need not tell me, Margaret, that you will have him well in hand. Yes, and before that paradise of fools, the honeymoon, is over,\ laughed her uncle sardonically. \ Yes, the grey mare will be the best horse this time; but what a blessing his father is laid low; it would have been all up, when he saw how cut up our precious Charles is. I
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Hartley Wiggins would 
Hartley Wiggins would not be continued within earshot. To my relief they moved a trifle farther on; but I still heard their voices. [Illustration: This discussion between Cecilia Hollister and Hartley Wiggins.] \ I cannot listen to you. Now that I m committed I cannot honorably countenance you at all; and I can explain nothing. I came here to meet you only to tell you this. You must go–please! And do not attempt to see me in this way again.\ I was grateful that Wiggins s voice sank so low in his reply that I did not hear it; but I knew that he was pleading hard. Then a motor flashed by, and when the whir of its passing had ceased, the voices were inaudible; but a moment later I heard a light quick
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step beyond the 
step beyond the wall, and Cecilia passed hurriedly, her face turned toward the house. The cape was drawn tightly about her shoulders, and she walked with her head bowed. I breathed a sigh of relief, and when I felt safe from detection climbed the slope. Pausing on the crest to survey the landscape, I saw a man, wearing a derby hat and a light top-coat, leaning against a fence that inclosed a pasture. As I glanced in his direction he moved away hastily toward the road below. The feeling of being watched is not agreeable, and I could not account for him. As he passed out of sight, still another man appeared, emerging from a strip of woodland farther on. Even through the evening haze I should have
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said that he 
said that he was a gentleman. The two men apparently bore no relation to each other, though they were walking in the same direction, bound, I judged, for the highway below. I had an uncomfortable feeling that they had both been observing me, though for what purpose I could not imagine. 20 Then once more, just as I was about to enter the Italian garden from a fallow field that hung slightly above it, a third man appeared as mysteriously as though he had sprung from the ground, and ran at a sharp dog-trot along the fence, headed, like the others, for the road. In the third instance the stranger undoubtedly took pains to hide his face, but he, too, was well dressed and wore a top-coat and a fedora hat of current style.
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I did not 
I did not know why these gentlemen were ranging the neighborhood or what object they had in view; but their several appearances had interested me, and I went on into the house well satisfied that events of an unusual character were likely to mark my visit to the home of Miss Octavia Hollister. IV WE DINE IN THE GUN-ROOM Cecilia sat reading alone when I entered the library shortly before the dinner-hour. She put down her book and we fell into fitful talk. \ I took a walk after tea. I always feel that sunsets are best seen from the fields; you can t quite do them justice from windows,\ she began. She seemed preoccupied, but this may have been the interpretation of my conscience, whose twinges reminded me
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unpleasantly of my 
unpleasantly of my precipitation into the briar bushes at the foot of the pasture, where I had witnessed her meeting with Wiggins. My admiration gained new levels. Her black evening gown became her; a band of velvet circled her throat, emphasizing its firm whiteness. It seemed incredible that I had seen her so recently, in the filmy dusk, talking with so much earnestness to Hartley Wiggins. It was my impression, gained from the few sentences I had overheard by the road, that she did not repulse him, but that some mysterious, difficult barrier kept them apart. Where, I wondered, was Wiggins now, and what were to be the further incidents of this singular affair? While we waited for Miss Hollister to appear, she continued to speak of her joy in the hills. It is not every one who can admire
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faces and eyes. 
faces and eyes. These are not to be trusted under any circumstances. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jon was born in the State of California in 1950, and grew up surfing, hitchhiking around the country, and studying the martial arts. He earned a black belt by the age of 24, and then served in the army for a time. He attended three universities studying Sociology, Psychology, and Clinical Nutrition. Presently, he works in a family-owned business as an herbalist and clinical nutritionist. Jon walked the path of six spiritual traditions for a period of ten years before learning of the ancient tradition practiced by the Indo-Europeans. Having been in communication with his Higher Self since 1989, he was told to apply what he had learned esoterically, to reestablishing the esoteric principles in the Old Norse tradition that were lost. The “Vitkar” carried the mysteries for that tradition,
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but when they 
but when they were killed during the Inquisition, everything was destroyed, save a few fragments. Jon spent another ten years studying the works of other researchers, and was eventually able to fulfill the wishes of his Higher Self. Since 2007, he has engaged himself in pursuing knowledge regarding Dominion, whom he came across during his shamanic battles on other planes, and in other dimensions. He is a man who believes in pursuing his own knowledge, rather than accepting what is handed to him. Douglas Stauffer Chapter 1: The Murderer and Me Where to Begin? What began me on this journey? What broke me out of the quiet depression I had held so long and the generally negative view of the world I
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had clung to 
had clung to all my life? In some respects…a photo of a man. Till then, I had lived my life on autopilot; simply rising each day as I had always risen, never conscious of who I was, how I was, or why; never truly understanding the self inside this body, or the body inside this world which had always felt so alien to me. I had accumulated a lifetime of hurt, and seen a lifetime of opportunity pass, and I wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, I was hating it. My shyness and general dissatisfaction with how I was led me to dislike most everyone, but I was completely unwilling to change a thing about myself or try. Nor was I willing even
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to admit that 
to admit that perhaps I did not know everything; that I in fact knew nothing – of what was wrong, of who I was, or of life in general. And it hurt. It always hurt. Being who I was hurt. It was painful even; always gnawing at me, forever on my mind, incessantly in my thoughts. “I suck.” “I’m not cool.” “I’m not good enough.” And so I struggled. There were days I’d break down. There were nights I’d cry. There were weeks I’d go without managing a single smile. There were times I was so down, so lost, so unbelievably afraid of everything, that I couldn’t even manage to leave the house…to get to
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REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: 
REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH. [Picture: Decorative drop capital] The next morning we were up betimes to take the last of the ebb down to 13 Yarmouth, and catch the tide up the Bure. As there was a fresh breeze from the east, we had to tack nearly the whole of the way. At Reedham there is a swing bridge, over which the railway passes, and if the wind is foul it is always a difficult matter to sail through, particularly if the tide be against you. On the present occasion we had the tide with us; therefore, on reaching the opening of the bridge, we could shoot the yacht up into the wind, and carry her way on until through, when her head was paid off on the proper tack.
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\ I tell 
\ I tell you what, these Norfolk waters are capital places to learn to steer in. An inch either way, and we should have torn our sail against the bridge.\ \ Yes, and what with getting the utmost on every tack, without going ashore, shaving wherries by a yard or two, and watching for every puff as it comes over the grasses on the marsh, so as to make the most of it, there is more fun in sailing here than on more open waters.\ Just below the bridge is the New Cut, a perfectly straight canal, three miles long, connecting the Yare with the Waveney, and so saving a round of some eighteen miles, which would otherwise be necessary to get from the one river to the other, as a reference to the map will
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show. Now came a 
show. Now came a steady beat for several miles, until we reached the Berney Arms (on the right is the mouth of the river Waveney), when Breydon water opened out before us, with Yarmouth in the distance. When the tide is in, this is a remarkable sheet of water, four and a-half miles long by a mile broad. There are mud flats on either side of the wide channel, where herons and sea-fowl greatly congregate. The strong wind against the tide raises a respectable sea, and the tacks being longer we made rapid progress, and the motion was exhilarating. A sail across Breydon in a strong wind, is a thing I always consider a great treat. The channel is marked out by stout posts at intervals of two hundred yards or thereabouts, but it is not safe to sail too close
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the mother. \ Yes,\ 
the mother. \ Yes,\ said the thorn-bush; \ but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death; I shall become a lump of ice!\ And she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns 13 went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thorn-bush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go. She then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not
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frozen sufficiently to bear 
frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she would find her child! Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless. \ Oh, what would I not give to come to my child!\ said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests
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and caverns, or 
and caverns, or if it were built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out. \ Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?\ said she. \ He has not come here yet!\ said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death s great greenhouse! \ How have you been able to find the way hither? and who has helped you?\ \ Our Lord has helped me,\ said she. \ He is merciful, and you will also be so! Where shall I find my little child?\ \ Nay, I know not,\ said the woman, \ and you cannot see! Many flowers and trees have withered this night; Death will soon come and plant them over
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again! You certainly 
again! You certainly know that every person has his or her life s tree or flower, just as every one happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children s hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child s; but what will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?\ \ I have nothing to give,\ said the afflicted mother, \ but I will go to the world s end for you!\ \ Nay, I have nothing to do there!\ said the woman, \ but you can give me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that I like! You shall have my white hair instead! and that s always something!\
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carry. As he stepped 
carry. As he stepped aside for a moment out of the way of this torrent, Stewart found himself beside the bearded stranger who had waxed eloquent in defense of Germany. He was watching the crowd with a look at once mocking and sardonic, as a spider might watch a fly struggling vainly to escape from the web. He glanced at Stewart, then turned away without any sign of recognition. \ Where do you go, sir?\ the porter asked, when they were safely through the gates. \ To the Koelner Hof.\ \ It is but a step,\ said the porter, and he unhooked his belt, passed it through the handles of the suit-cases, hooked it together again and lifted it to his shoulder. \ This way, sir, if you please.\
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The Koelner Hof 
The Koelner Hof proved to be a modest inn just around the corner, where Stewart was received most cordially by the plump, high-colored landlady. Lunch would be ready in a few minutes; meanwhile, if the gentleman would follow the waiter, he would be shown to a room where he could remove the traces of his journey. But first would the gentleman fill in the blank required by the police? So Stewart filled in the blank, which demanded his name, his nationality, his age, his business, his home address, the place from which he had come to Aix-la-Chapelle and the place to which he would go on leaving it, handed it back to the smiling landlady, and followed an ugly, hang-dog waiter up the stair. The room into which he was shown was a very pleasant one, scrupulously
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clean, and as 
clean, and as he made his toilet, Stewart reflected how much more of comfort and how much warmer welcome was often to be had at the small inns than at the big ones, and mentally thanked the officer of police who had recommended this one. He found he had further reason for gratitude when he sat down to lunch, served on a little table set in one corner of a shady court–the best lunch he had eaten for a long time, as he told the landlady when she came out presently, knitting in hand, and sat down near him. She could speak a little English, it appeared, and a little French, and these, with Stewart s little German, afforded a medium of communication limping, it is true, but sufficient. She received the compliments of her guest with the dignity of one
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where I fervently 
where I fervently hope he will remain.\ \ But you forget the poor man who was hurled to the earth; I know his face so well.\ \ And I know yours, Mrs. Gower, and you are safe and so am I; and as Joseph, I interpret that you are to give your charming self to an affinity, and don t fly too high.\ \ The first part of your speech is epicurean, in your second you play the mentor,\ she said, laughingly; \ but in your face I see you have something to tell me; go now to the telephone and tell them to send you your dress coat, for you have no time to go all the way to the Walker House and be back by seven.\ \ No
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use; I cannot 
use; I cannot stay for dinner.\ \ Cannot stay! Why?\ \ My father writes me he is going to sail for England at once, and wishes me to meet him at London.\ \ Well, you ought not to look so grave over such a meditated trip, Charlie, it will make a new man of you; and instead of betaking yourself to the Preston baths, a sea voyage, I should say, will set you up, making you forget the word rheumatism better than any sulphur bath in all Canada.\ \ But,\ he said, in serio-comic tones, \ what do you think of my being forced into annexation?\ \ Only that you use the word forced, I should say I congratulate you.\ \
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At the same 
At the same time that you keep your own freedom, though,\ he said, despondently; seeing her look of gravity, he continued, touching her hand, \ beg pardon, Elaine, I should not say that, knowing your past; but,\ he said brightly, \ I should like to see you wed an affinity.\ CHAPTER III. \ I am afraid such pleasant fate is not for me,\ she said, gravely. \ Do you believe in predestination, Mrs. Gower?\ he says, abruptly. 42 \ What next! from annexation to dogma. Tell me all about yourself, and it is too lovely an Indian summer day to remain in the house, come to my favorite seat in the garden.\ \ Where I
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shall give you 
shall give you an instantaneous photograph, from my father s pen, of the girl I am predestined to change the name of.\ \ From your father s pen!\ CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER IV. THE FOOT-BALL OF CIRCUMSTANCE. As they near a knoll under a clump of trees commanding a view of the road, a gentleman sauntering up the street gazes, as many do, at Holmnest with its pretty grounds. 43 \ Look, quick, Charlie,\ said Mrs. Gower, in low and rapid tones, apparently intent on spreading a rug on the rustic bench, \ there he is, I mean—-\ \ Well, I only see a very ordinary and thoroughly independent looking man, seeming
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as though he 

as though he feared nothing, not even you, and as if Toronto was built for him.\ At this Mrs. Gower, laughing merrily, says, \ And not for the Lieutenant-Governor, Mayor Howland, Archbishop Lynch, or the caller herrin -man. \ As the soft laughter fell on the air, the stranger looked towards them, and looked so intently, that involuntarily his hand is raised to his head and his hat lifted. \ You say you have not met him, Mrs. Gower; you are a very prudent woman, I must say, coming out here in your white gown, with ribbons the color of a peach, creating a sensation; you had better wed an affinity since you won t have me, and get a protector at once.\ \ That is the man I
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were there?\ \ 
were there?\ \ Oh, I dropped in quite accidentally one day last spring. I saw the sign, and remembered that somebody had spoken of the place, and I was tired, and it was a long way to the club, and\ — Dissimulation is not an art as Wiggins attempts to practice it at times. He is by nature the most straightforward of mortals. It was clear that he was withholding something, and I resolved to get to the bottom of it. \ I don t think the Asolando is a place that would attract either of us, and yet the viands are good as such stuff goes, and the gentle hand-maidens are restful to the eye,–Pippa, Francesca, Gloria, and the rest of em.\ Wiggins pried open his artichoke with the care of
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a botanist. He 
a botanist. He had regained his composure, but I saw that the subject interested him. \ You were there this afternoon?\ he inquired. \ Yes, my first and only appearance.\ \ And this is Monday.\ \ The calendar has said it.\ \ So you settled your bill with Pippa! I believe this was her day.\ \ Then you really do know the inner workings of the Asolando,\ I continued; \ I thought you would show your hand presently. Then it is perhaps Gloria, Beatrice or Francesca who minds the till on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, alternating with Pippa, who took my coin to-day. It s a pretty idea. It has the delicacy of an arrangement by Whistler or the charm of a
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line in Rossetti. 
line in Rossetti. So you have seen the blessed damozel at the cash-desk.\ \ On the contrary I was never there on Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday, and I therefore passed no coin to Francesca, Gloria or Beatrice. My only visit was on a day last May, and my recollection of the system is doubtless imperfect.\ \ Then beyond doubt I saw Pippa. She makes the change on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Her eyelashes are a trifle too long for the world s peace.\ \ I dare say. I have n t your charming knack, Ames, of picking up acquaintances, so you must n t expect me to form life-long friendships with young women at cash-desks. I suppose it did n t occur to you that those young women who tend till and
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serve the tables 
serve the tables in there are persons of education and taste. The Asolando is not a common hashery. I sometimes fear that so much crawling through chimneys is clouding your intellect. It ought to have been clear even to your smoky chimney-pot that those girls in there are not the kind you can ask to meet you by the old mill at the fall of dewy eve, or who write notes to popular romantic actors. There s not a girl in that place who has n t a social position as good as yours or mine. The Asolando s a kind of fad, you know, Ames; it s not a tavern within the meaning of the inn-keepers act, where common swine are fed for profit. The servants serve for love of the cause; it s a sort of cult. But I suppose you
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are incapable of 
are incapable of grasping it. There was always something sordid in you, and I m pained to find that you re getting worse.\ Siege of the Seven Suitors, by Meredith Nicholson Wiggins had, before now, occasionally taken this attitude toward me, and it was always with a view to obscuring some real issue between us. He requires patience; it is a mistake to attempt to crowd him; but give him rope and he will twist his own halter. We sparred further without result. I had suggested a topic that had clearly some painful association for my 5 friend. He drank his coffee gloomily and lighted a cigar much blacker than the one I knew to be his favorite in the Hare and Tortoise humidor.
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does not appear 
does not appear to be P. onocrotalus, but a similar species, P. roseus, found chiefly in Indio-China and westward to South-eastern Europe, but occurring as far west as the River Volga (\ Cat. of Birds,\ B. M., xxvi., p. 466). In this Mr. Ogilvie Grant, the author of that section of the Catalogue, whom I consulted, agrees with me, and the locality whence the birds were derived, mentioned by Willughby, renders not unlikely. Onocrotalus in Browne s time was a general term for \ the Pelican,\ and he probably knew but one species and one individual, the escaped bird from Charles II. s Aviary. Browne s very miscellaneous collection was destroyed by the authorities at the time of the plague (see ninth letter to Merrett), and probably the remains of this Pelican perished with the rest. Anas Arctica
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clusii wch though 
clusii wch though hee placeth about the faro Islands is the same wee call a puffin co[=m]on about Anglisea in wales & sometimes [for struck out] taken upon our seas not sufficiently described by the name of puffinus the bill being so remarkably differing from other ducks & not horizontally butt meridionally formed to feed in the clefts of the rocks of insecks, shell-fish & others. The great number of riuers riuulets & plashes of water makes hernes [to abound in these struck out] & herneries to abound in these parts. yong hensies being esteemed a festiuall dish & much desired by some palates. The Ardea stellaris botaurus, or bitour[26] is also co[=m]on & esteemed the better dish. in the belly of one I found a frog in an hard frost at christmas. another I kept in a
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garden 2 yeares 
garden 2 yeares feeding it with fish mice & frogges. in defect whereof making a scrape for sparrowes & small birds, the bitour made shifft to maintaine herself upon them. [26] This is one of the birds once common enough in Norfolk, which in the present day is only a winter and spring migrant. The last eggs of the Bittern were taken in this county on 30th of March, 1868; the last \ boom\ of a resident was heard in May, 1886, in the August of which year a young female was killed at Reedham with down still adhering to its feathers; this was probably the last Norfolk-bred Bittern. In the \ Vulgar Errors,\ book 3, chapter xxvii., section 4, is a discourse on the \ mugient noise\ of the Bittern and the mode of its production,
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and in a 
and in a foot-note in the same place is a curious anecdote illustrating the difficulty of detecting a wounded Bittern, even when marked down in short, recently mown grass and flags. The spring cry of the Bittern is mentioned by Robert Marsham in his unpublished journal nineteen times, between the years 1739 and 1775, as first heard at Stratton Strawless, generally between the 15th of March and the 15th of April; and Notes and Letters on the Natural History of by Thomas Browne 21 it was on the 14th of the latter month that Benjamin Stillingfleet records it in the \ Calendar of Flora\ as heard in the same locality in 1755. He does not describe the note, but uses the words \ makes a noise.\ Marsham,
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caste. They do 
caste. They do nothing for Germany–they add nothing to her art, her science, or her literature–they add nothing to her wealth–they destroy rather than build up–and yet it is they who rule Germany. We are a pacific people, we love our homes and a quiet life; we are not a military people, and yet every man in Germany must march to war when the word is given. We ourselves have no voice in the matter. We have only to obey.\ \ Obey whom?\ asked Stewart. \ The Emperor,\ answered Bloem, bitterly. \ With all our progress, my friend, with all our development in science and industry, with all our literature and art, with all our philosophy, we still live in a medieval State, ruled by a king who believes himself divinely appointed, who can do
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no wrong, and 
no wrong, and who, in time of war at least, has absolute power over us. And the final decision as to war or peace is wholly in his hands. Understand I do not complain of the Emperor; he has done great things for Germany; he has often cast his influence for peace. But he is surrounded by aristocrats intent only on maintaining their privileges, who are terrified by the growth of democratic ideas; who believe that the only way to checkmate democracy is by a great war. It is they who preach the doctrine of blood and iron; who hold that Caesar is sacrosanct. The Emperor struggles against them; but some day they will prove too strong for him. Besides, he himself believes in blood and iron; CHAPTER I he hates democracy as bitterly tv lcd 19

as anyone, for 
as anyone, for it denies the divine right of kings!\ He stopped suddenly, his finger to his ear. \ Listen!\ he said. Down the street, from the direction of the river, came a low, continuous murmur, as of the wind among the leaves of a forest; then, as it grew clearer, it resolved itself into the tramp, tramp of iron-shod feet. Bloem leaned far forward staring into the darkness; and suddenly, at the corner, three mounted officers appeared; 7 then a line of soldiers wheeled into view; then another and another and another, moving as one man. The head of the column crossed the square, passed behind the church and disappeared, but still the tide poured on with slow and regular undulation, dim, mysterious, and threatening. At last the rear of the
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vile gods would 
vile gods would decree such inequities, that many would die, while he would live to enjoy the challenge of survival. The sun was nearly at zenith when he saw the first ship from the top of a salt-grass dune – one of the gigantic inter-island ferries, lying at an angle, masts gone, gaping holes clearly visible in its hull. After walking a bit further, he saw another ship, a trading vessel much like his lost Wayfarer, floating in calm waters beyond the wrecked ferry. His heart lifted as he saw many people. Kaylen started jogging again, waving; the nearest person shouted, and pointed toward him. Within minutes, he was surrounded by dozens, engaged in handshakes and hugs, pummeled by questions, and thoroughly relieved by proof that he wasn’t the only human in the
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universe. “Let him breath!” 
universe. “Let him breath!” a woman’s voice called out. “Don’t smother him.” The crowd separated, and a tall, muscular red-head strode forward. “Well I’ll be damned!” She looked him up and down. “Kaylen Thyr!” Kaylen laughed. “It’s good to see you, Jahsha. How’d the leg heal?” She reached down and pulled up her pant leg. A long pink scar ran down the side of the calf. “Not perfect,” Jahsha said. “But I’m not walking on stick, either.” She led him out of the crowd, chuckling. “At the moment, I’d rather be fighting pirates than dealing with this mess.” “You and me both,” Kaylen nodded. “It’s been a long time.” “It has indeed.” She wounded a bit wistful. “Where’s your ship?” Kaylen’s enthusiasm died instantly. “Gone,” he said. The memory felt oddly old
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and disconnected. They 
and disconnected. They walked quietly for a while, lost in memories. Near the wrecked ferry, 24 they reached a fire pit surrounded by few makeshift chairs, crates, and bags. “My office, for the moment,” Jahsha said, with a wry smile. Kaylen sat on one of the crates. “So you’re in charge here?” he asked, pulling off one of his boots and emptying sand. “As much as anyone is in charge of anything,” she said with a shrug. “People are still in shock, trying to absorb what’s going on.” She sat across from Kaylen, leaning back and stretching her long legs out. “The Gull was blown south by the storms. Hell, I thought we were going under
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L a small 
L a small step for hu- manity. The lock popped from the pressure of the blows, the door slamming into the wall behind it. Howie stood there, returned, suddenly, from the dead, grinning. Bobby gripped the handle of the thirty-eight, thought it over, and let it go. Howie was cleaned and his leg wound tended L dressed and bug-eyed again. MDrop your cock and grab your socks!N He strut- ted across the room, stiff-legged from his wound, and pulled the blankets from Bobby. MGet it up, amigo. WePre outta here.N Bobby pressed his eyelids tight, fighting the reality of Howie along with the early morning sun- light racing through the door. He was silent and sullen, a prisoner
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before the gallows, 
before the gallows, refusing to believe the nightmare lived. It did. He hauled his spent and naked body across the bed and to the shower. MWhat time is it?N MFifteen minutes.N Howie kept bellowing. MFood in the van. Want an upper? WherePs Gomez?N MTwo-oh-five.N Bobby turned the water hotter, hoping to scald him self and get hospitalized. Re- peated his question. MWhat time is it?N He didnPt get an answer L Howie was out the door. He was gone to room two-oh-five. He hoped Gomez killed him. The water beat hot and hard. It couldnPt be more than six in the morning. He couldPve
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slept for two 
slept for two days. — 108 — He stepped out of the shower, noticing his im- proved appearance in the mirror. He fought his thoughts, deciding to skip them altogether. He took a rain check on his memory as well. He wished hePd stayed on South Padre, on the dune, hungry and cold. He could have snuck back into Mexico, got Tanya, bought a burro and got him- self deep into the hills, forever. He squeezed the thirty-eight into his boot, safety on. In all, it took him about seven minutes before he stepped out into the hot Louisiana sun. Six oPclock, he figured, no
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more. 
more. He climbed through the open panel door at the side of the van and started working his way through a couple of take out containers. Drowned his coffee in pack- ets of sugar, holding it between his hands, staring blankly out the opened door at a New Orleans morning. The good life could be anywhere. He no- ticed Robert ForsterPs car was gone. Maybe it was a dream. He wished it were nothing more than last nightPs nightmare. He shook his head. His life was distorted, but it wasnPt making him that stupid. He watched Howie through the windshield, talking to Pierre, pulling money from his brief- case, favoring his
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leg. Gomez, 
leg. Gomez, dripping wet and shirtless, wandered up to the rear door looking a lot as if he was sleepwalking. He climbed in with- out any acknowledgment. MGomez.N The Mexican opened one eye in time to catch the containerized food. MGracias.N He mumbled the word, looked over where the body bag used to be, almost looked at Bobby, took a bite. He kept — 109 — eating while Bobby watched in silence. Difficult to figure, this Gomez, hard to know what went on inside his head. It was an easy out to write him off, as Bobby had initially and erroneously. But this Mexican inex plicably held himself beyond all of them, in his silence, inside himself.
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There was something 
There was something ancient about the man, something of another civiliza tion, someonePs reincarnation. Bobby figured it, looked at him, and realized no- body could disguise himself more com pletely. Howie limped to the van. MIPve got a lot of pain here, guys. IPll get the job done despite it L me and the Demerol.N He looked for sympathy while he glanced through the window at them. He got nothing but blank stares. He put a look on his face as if mommy had just sent him to his room without dinner and if hePs lucky shePll come up and beat him later L confirm she still loves him. The pout didnPt last long. Howie wasnPt able to avoid himself much.
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\ Oh, don 
\ Oh, don t start. Roland could send you to the edge of the earth and I would not care.\ She smiled for a moment, but her expression became bitter as she smoothed a section of the embroidery. \ Master Conadine 21 was sent for today from the Granges to help deal with Grandier. He should be here within the week. It was the worst stupidity not to wait for him and to send you with only Dr. Braun.\ \ If I d had the choice, I might have gone anyway,\ he admitted. \ If we had waited any longer Grandier could have killed Dubell.\ \ And taken a handful of men, and only Dr. Braun?\ Her lips thinned. \ Never mind. Roland did it to
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aggravate me, and we 
aggravate me, and we know who encouraged him to it, don t we?\ Ravenna tested the sharpness of her needle with a finger, then selected another out of the case Lady Anne held ready for her. \ And what other mischief has Denzil been up to lately?\ Thomas took a seat on one of the stools near her chair, feeling his weariness as a tight pain across his shoulders. The episode with Grandier had worried Ravenna more than she had revealed to Aviler or the others, but he let her change the subject. He said, \ He visited a banker on the Riverside Way yesterday, but that was about a gambling debt. If he s planning something now, he s taking more care with it.\ \ Perhaps.\ Ravenna carefully threaded the needle. \ Someday
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he will miscalculate.\ 
he will miscalculate.\ Thomas shrugged. \ Roland can always pardon him.\ Denzil was Duke of Alsene, Roland s older cousin on his father s side, and acknowledged favorite. There were men who had more respect for the finer feelings of their dogs than Denzil had for Roland, but the young King still clung to him. It was undoubtedly Denzil who had talked Roland into sending a small contingent of the Queen s Guard to beard Grandier in his lair, knowing Thomas would be bound to lead them, and knowing that it would infuriate Ravenna. Thomas reminded himself there was nothing to be done about it tonight. But he was looking forward to the moment when the news reached Denzil that he had gone into Grandier s house and brought Galen Dubell out alive without losing a single man.
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\ What did 
\ What did the Bisran ambassador want?\ \ To accuse us of harboring Grandier.\ She made a gesture of exasperation, willing to be led away from the subject of her son s favorite. \ And also to present a new list of their heretics sheltering in Ile-Rien, so they could be arrested and returned to Bisra to burn for their crimes. That the Bisran Inquisition has no authority within our borders is immaterial, apparently. I wish I knew why the ambassador is so certain that Grandier is here with our blessings.\ She coughed, and Lady Anne hastily produced a lace-edged cloth for her. Watching her accusingly, Thomas said, \ You re not feeling well.\ She had caught a lung flux last winter when they had gone to Bannot-on-the-Shore to quell a minor upheaval among the
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Björkan: Ehstí 
Björkan: Ehstí (E): Manar: Lákar: Ingvar: Daku: Othalar (O): These categories are of significance in conceptualizing the role each Rune plays in the context of its general concepts and esoteric aspects; but as we shall see, they all play a role in creation. By way of correlation, we will come to understand runic functions, and thus, to gain a conceptual awareness of how it is that the “All,” through these universal forces, effectuates not only creation, but also every other function in the universe. As vowels in any language cement all words together to form a phonetic cohesiveness, so too, do the vowel Runes of the Elder Futhark ( , , , , ) cement it together into a cohesive working whole, with Solí
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as the axis. 
as the axis. The Runes represent, then, what can be termed “The Magical Language of the Universe,” with Solí lending its support to each of the vowel Runes, or “primaries” as we often refer to them. This “language” is how the “All” communicates itself to us. Through an understanding of each Rune’s function, and through runic attunement, the initiate on the path not only gathers information on the proper use of the Runes, but also learns how to properly communicate with the “All.” The Runic Correlation Chart is divided into five spheres of influence with each set of Runes connected to the primary through mode of operation: Runic Correlation has its application to our development on the path of enlightenment and transcendence, but what we are looking for here, is its application to “creation.” Each sphere is based on a
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primary Rune, which 
primary Rune, which in turn, receives its objective from Solí. – Isar’s objective as the primary Rune in the sphere of Energy’s origin is to manifest the basis upon which creation is founded, and to still the energies of her two very powerful satellites, when required. Light is first, and self-perpetuating. Isar controls, because she magnifies Light. The only Runic forces she does not control are those of Solí, because he is the direct extension of the “All,” which is the source of Light. Although Isar controls all the other Runes, the most interesting relationship of this nature, is her control of Thurisar – . As the 3rd Runic Light which is red, he embodies the subatomic structure of all existence, which is Sound. Therefore, one might reason that Thurisar is out of the realm of Light, and therefore, remains autonomous.
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Isar’s energetic 
Isar’s energetic connection, however, is through Sound, since she embodies both Light and Sound. She controls Thurisar through her ability to magnify more or less Light, which he depends on for his manifestation. The Sound Matrix, after all, is but a magnification of Light. Isar’s other satellite is Reinu – , who directs all movement in the universe. The ongoing creation manifesting in all evolutionary processes, then, is entirely under his direction. Reinu provides the vehicle when we are accessing either the past, or the future time tracks. As an individual power, he maintains his own rhythm independently of outside forces, which makes him the director of all movement in the universe. He, who controls rhythmic structures, controls the direction of movement. This principle can be seen in music, where the rhythmic structure carried by the rhythm section of a band
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his enemies still 

his enemies still wanted to have him removed and, choosing a new method of attack, forwarded a petition to the king in which they claimed that \\ Master Hans Chrestensen Sthen because of weakness and old age was incompetent to discharge his duties as a pastor\\ , and asked for his removal to the parishes of Tygelse and Klagstrup. Though the king is reported to have granted the petition, other things seem to have intervened to prevent its execution, and the ill-used pastor appears to have remained at Malmø until his death, the date of which is unknown. Sthen s fame as a poet and hymnwriter rests mainly on two thin volumes of poetry. A Small Handbook, Containing Diverse Prayers and Songs Together with Some Rules for Life, Composed in Verse, which appeared in 1578, and A Small Wander Book

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published in 1591

published in 1591. The books contain both a number of translations and some original poems. In some of the latter Sthen readopts the style of the old folk songs with their free metre, native imagery and characteristic refrain. His most successful compositions in this style are his fine morning and evening hymns, one of which is given below. The gloomy night to morning yields, So brightly the day is breaking; The sun ascends over hills and fields, And birds are with song awaking. Lord, lend us Thy counsel and speed our days, The light of Thy grace surround us. Our grateful thanks to God ascend, Whose mercy guarded our slumber. May ever His peace our days attend And shield us from troubles somber. Lord, lend us Thy counsel and speed our days, The light of Thy grace

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was suggested that 
was suggested that the occultist use his or her source of inner communication in the development of such powers. It is not my intent to promote occultism, but merely to point out the fact that the Higher Self is your key to success in all your endeavors. The second key to unlocking your inner power is learning how to work effectively with the Higher Self. Most people do not benefit from learning how to utilize their inner communication, because they allow the ego to undermine their process. They react emotionally when an issue arises, taking a stand without first consulting the Higher Self. They feel they don’t need to, because the truth of the matter is self evident. They don’t even consider the possibility that there could be underlying circumstances unknown to them, or that their view may be clouded by prejudice, fear, or emotional passion. When they
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do consult the 
do consult the Higher Self under such circumstances, it is generally for the purpose of asking something like: “should I confront this person”? When they get a yes answer, they assume that their perspective is correct, and that the Higher Self agrees with them. Often, though, the Higher Self wants you to confront someone because by doing so, you will learn a truth that you were unaware of. If you fail to consider such possibilities, and to be specific in your questioning of the Higher Self, there will be unnecessary conflict. Many people fail to benefit from their inner communication process, because they only utilize it when they feel they need something. First of all, the Higher Self knows what you need much more than the ego does, and is in a better position to provide it. Secondly, this process is not simply for assistance when we want it.
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This is a 
This is a path whereby we develop a oneness of consciousness with the Higher Self for the purpose of becoming established in the peace that is commonly associated with the Kingdom of God within. It is important that we determine what the Higher Self wants us to study, and where we may find either the materials, or the instruction we need. He or she must be able to direct us on a moment-to-moment basis, regarding every situation that arises. Allow the Higher Self to plan your day, every day. A well known religious admonition which in practice goes largely forgotten is to “be in the world, but not of the world”. I say largely forgotten, because nearly everyone is too busy raising their families, making a living and planning recreational activities to remember. They are busy being of the world. Some people will argue with me, saying
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palace, their ranks 
palace, their ranks drawn from the families of the wealthy merchant classes or the gentlemen landowners. Vivan had held the post of Commander for the past five years, and even though the Cisternans were ultimately under the King s authority, Vivan had no particular political ax to grind, and Thomas found him easy to deal with. The Commander said, \ A midnight expedition? How exciting.\ Chapter Two \ I would have preferred to stay here and help you guard the stables, but duty called,\ Thomas told him. Vivan snorted. The old king Fulstan had made the Cisternans his bodyguard out of dislike for the Albonate 14 Knights, who had held the post traditionally. When Fulstan s son Roland had taken the throne, his mistrust
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of anything belonging to 
of anything belonging to his father had led him to demote the Cisternans and return to the Albons. Going from the King s Own to the King s Old had been a great loss of prestige for them and the Queen s Own had never let them forget it. Another sore point was that their ceremonial tabards were dark green trimmed with gold, making them good targets and appropriate decor during midwinter festivals. Gideon reined in near them and dismounted, asking, \ Captain, what orders?\ \ Send these gentlemen back to the Guard House.\ As the lieutenant came closer and Thomas could lower his voice, he added, \ Go to Lucas. Tell him what happened and then wait to see if the Dowager Queen has questions for you. I ll see him after this meeting.\
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He wanted to 
He wanted to double his share of the guard placements and put a watch on Dubell. \ Yes, Captain.\ Gideon nodded. Vivan was eyeing the old sorcerer with grudging curiosity as Galen Dubell and Braun dismounted. He asked, \ What were you doing, kidnapping scholars out of the Philosopher s Cross?\ \ Exactly,\ Thomas said as he went to join the sorcerers. \ I could never keep anything from you.\ Thomas led Dubell out of the wet chill of the courtyard and through the inner gate at its far end, passing under the spikes of an old portcullis. Dr. Braun trailed behind them. In the wall beyond, a heavy ironbound door guarded by two alert Cisternans led into one of the corridors that ran inside the protective inner siege walls.
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The corridor was 
The corridor was raw stone, lit by oil lamps and undecorated except for scribbled writings by present and long-dead occupants. Dubell shook his head. \ I lived here for many years and there are still parts of this place I have never seen. I am quite lost, Captain.\ \ We re in the siege wall opposite the south curtain wall. The Summer Residence and the Adamantine Way are behind us at the opposite end of the corridor, and we re going toward the King s Bastion.\ This siege wall divided the newer section of the palace with its open garden courts, domed Summer Residence, and the terraces and windowed facades of the Gallery Wing from the jumbled collection of ancient blocky bastions, towers, and walls on the west side. A steep stairway led up into
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who had lived 
who had lived it. The engines were visible through the steel rungs of the gangway steps. Two of them, big as trucks, sitting there like the sphinx, knew every- thing and told nothing. It surprised him to see them still intact. Probably someone would cut through the side in Brownsville and take them out whole. The propeller shafts, one for each engine, stood four feet high and twice that around. The same dark mud like sludge covered the bottom two feet of them. TheyPd have to be chained down. A competent sea tug would carry her at five knots in good weather, and that meant the screws would turn just that fast. If they turned,
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theyPd spin the 
theyPd spin the shafts into dead engines. It was bad enough in itself, but in reverse it was a lot like winding a watch inside out until it imploded. YouPd have gears, springs, and hot bits the size of truck tires flying everywhere. BobbyPd seen it happen fifteen miles off Hali- fax, pistons the size of a small car engine punched right through the hull; a man hePd known for five hours lost his guts when a chunk ripped into him. It was indiscriminate specificity. A man hurt in the vitals could suffer a long time be
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it became an 
it became an eternity. Firsthand wasnPt some- thing you could get out of a book. Nobody wrote that well. He remembered, too, how nobody re- ally gave a damn. He recalled carrying his buddy up out of the engine room so they could bag him. The owners didnPt lose a word in their bitch about engines blowing apart, who was responsi- ble and what it was going to cost them. Bobby told them to blame the carcass if they were really desperate. He saw the lights go on. He laid the man on the open body bag atop the stretcher. He didnPt hesitate. He walked back to the fat mouthy one whose lights were still flashing from BobbyPs suggestio
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the neck, rubbing blood 
the neck, rubbing blood and slime all over him before he dropped him onto the deck. MYeah, you fat fuck! Blame the carcass!N He wasnPt thinking consequences when he jammed his boot up under the throat and slammed the manPs head down hard on the steel deck plating. MI guess this screws my bonus, eh.N The other two had backed way off, looking for cavalry. He lunged at them and laughed his way off the gangway. DidnPt even get off the docks be- fore they had him for it. Beat him generously in the back of the patrol car. He was sentenced to two years less a day, the fat man ended up with partial paralysis. Bobby didnPt give a damn about that,
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it was losing 
it was losing his daughter over it that made it tough to handle, made him lose his cool in custody and get a couple months psychiatric evaluation time. He never got — 85 — to the legal time. One night he climbed a fence, stole his daughter back, and ran. He still figured it was worth every minute. The night he climbed the fence, he said good- bye. He blew the fat suitPs car to pieces. It didnPt kill him, didnPt hurt anybody. Bobby just wanted the soulless grunt to walk around looking over his shoulder for a while. He thought about it while he sat there
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and could see the 
and could see the limping bastard sitting at his break- fast table, gulping coffee and bitching at his kids, sending the wife out to start the car. Bobby smiled at the thought L what some women would do for security. The memory faded as he stood there in the en- gine room, knee deep in the sludge as his eye caught the soot covered brass nameplate screwed to the engine room wall. He waded across to it and started scraping the filth away, uncovering it like a relic. It was written in Spanish, MInca Tupaq yupanquiM. He stumbled through the pro- nunciation while he
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by flickering flame, 
by flickering flame, they talked in short bursts, exhausted, lost and confused; none of them looked up, and if they had, they would not have seen the dark observer against a cloudy evening sky. High above, Sytherek contemplated them. Just a quick dive, a few bursts of energy, the satisfying crunch of his jaws on flesh – his deep hunger for vengeance urged him to act, yet he held his anger, watching, considering. Killing these few would accomplish nothing; hundreds of other humans littered the shores, more than he cared to count, more than his stomach could hold. Being in Symurall’s territory, he was also loath to breach protocol. No, he would need to use other, less direct means of dealing with the human problem. His decision made, he hurried away, south. Sytherek
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had not visited 
had not visited this kehklik nest in many years, and now regretted his laxity. As years had turned into decades and decades into centuries, he’d begun to believe that Symurall’s plan would work, that the inhabitants of Tramora would remain forever isolated by words and ocean. Sytherek chided himself for failing to keep his own plans in motion. Now that nature had dispelled the illusion of security, he hoped the nest was capable of fulfilling its intended destiny. As the kehklik mounds came into view, he sensed his brother nearby. Retreating into a cloud, Sytherek masked his presence and only approached the kehklik once Symurall had departed. Nothing was amiss, much to Sytherek’s relief. If anything, the Jozin’s Peak hive was remarkably healthy and unusually large, and the dragon felt a certain sense
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of pride that 
of pride that one of his establishments had thrived. He circled, noting the large number of conical white mounds and the intense activity around them. Workers gathering necessities from the surrounding forest; he envisioned the queen and her aides, deep underground, rapidly hatching eggs, making subtle changes in chemicals to produce the desired units. Fighting kehklik had already begun gathering into neat formations; elegant overseers walked among the growing army. The hive was reacting to the newly-arrived humans – better than he’d expected. After a moment’s consideration, Sytherek decided that earthquakes had put the hive on alert days earlier, before the first human had set foot on Syraqua’s shores. The attack would come very soon; the battle would heavily favor the kehklik. The humans were disorganized, unarmed, and scattered.
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might we excise 
might we excise her hideous and ill-informed slur on my Door?” Salient grimaced like a man on a headache ad. “Think of the alternative,” said Ivan Lego to Pamela Scratch. “Do you really want to be seen proposing, on prime-time TV, that the media is engaged in a conspiracy of silence about a case that you then proceed to talk about for ten solid minutes?” “I note that she gets to keep her hat,” commented Vladimir Vonk bitterly. “It’s a paradox,” Pamela Scratch told Ivan Lego. “I thought you revelled in them.” Salient rubbed hard at his anguished temples. Rosemary Robinson-
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Robinson stared, blinking, 
Robinson stared, blinking, at a mysterious but fixed point in the middle dis- tance. “At the point where paradox shades into bullshit,” said Ivan Lego, “I stop revelling.” “She sports it with perfect impunity, this ridiculous hat of a Victorian gentleman!” Salient: “You realise we’re looking to fill fifty minutes here …” “Maybe you could just lose my ‘conspiracy of silence’ comment, and put everything else to air,” Pamela Scratch proposed. “I could live with that.” 89 “Oh for the sake of God!” cried Vladimir Vonk. “Could we stop molly- grubbing this spoiled little girl and maybe get onto my portion of this cir- cus?”
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By 
By this stage Salient was beyond caring. With an exaggerated and rather peevish sweep of his palm, as if whatever happened from now on was destined to be a matter of laughable inconsequence anyway, he gave Vonk the floor. Vonk, after some brief but strenuous gyrations in search of the right camera, embarked on a long and impassioned speech about the way that Lego’s book, as far as he could see, challenged only one assumption – namely, the assumption that a book should have words in it – whereas he, Vladimir Vonk, had personally supervised the construction of sculptures that challenged two, three, even four assumptions at once – that is to say, double, triple, or even quadruple the number of assumptions challenged by Lego in his
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book. “And yet 
book. “And yet where,” Vonk demanded, “are the trumped-up media fun- fairs in honour of my work? Where is the troupe of television sycophants licking my boots? Where” – he spanked the rickety desk with one of his tanned hands, causing its flimsy components to wobble dangerously – “are the hordes of installation-loving young girls for whom I sculpted away my youth?” Beside him, with no warning of any kind, and with no connection whatever to the point at hand, Rosemary Robinson-Robinson began to speak. “Let me say this,” she said, aiming a fusillade of blinks at a nearby patch of carpet. “Let me say this and no more. As a comment on the logic of late capitalism. This morning, on my way here, to this, I
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a fluttering in 
a fluttering in my right eyelid for a yes response, and a fluttering in the left for a no response. I might receive a rush of warm energy up my torso for a yes, or a cold rush of energy downward for a no. Most people balance on their feet, and are pulled off balance forward for a yes response, or pushed backward for a no. Personally, I receive a movement in my neck muscles, either pushing my head forward, or pulling it back. Ultimately, we want to receive direct communications from the Higher Self, and use the yes/no response to verify our interpretations. There are a few Adepts who are capable of establishing one’s connection to the Higher Self, while releasing all potential interferences from the auric field, and establishing protection against outside forces which would attempt to mimic the Higher Self. Some people, however, either feel that
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they have no 
they have no need for such procedures, or that they are fully capable of establishing their own connections. I won’t be so presumptuous as to suggest they can’t do this, but for those who feel that they would like assistance, that which is required will be forthcoming automatically, through the Mani-Om-Saw Institute, at mainomsah.com. For those who elect not to take advantage of either the discourses or the workshop, be aware that unless a person is undergoing spiritual purification, interference in the inner communication process is generally not an issue in any case. Many people are of the erroneous notion that once we have learned all our lessons, we can stop incarnating here and move on. Learning lessons is not what it’s all about. First of all, we must undergo a spiritual purification process as I mentioned before, wherein certain energies retained in the subconscious, along
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with associated emotional 
with associated emotional passions are released in our transcendence of those karmic issues. This allows our vibratory frequencies to increase beyond what would normally be the case. Secondly, Dominion’s electromagnetic time loop interfaces with a psychic time loop placed on each of us, keeping us within its cyclic pattern. Thus, our awareness and “conscious will” in the after-death state, may allow self determination between incarnations; but they will not prevent us from having to return to Dominion’s hell, eventually. The psychic time loop is easily removed as one becomes attuned with the Higher Self through either the discourses or a workshop, but another karmic trap exists. In the Hindu tradition, there are four kinds of karma discussed. There is past karma, present karma, and future karma which are explained in accordance with the perspective of the guru giving discourse at the time. The fourth kind of karma is
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to create heat 
to create heat or cold out of nothing…\ \ So you say, but…\ 4 \ That s enough,\ Thomas interrupted. He took the rope and tested it again with his own weight. The first floor of the house would be given over to stables, storage for coaches or wagons, and servants quarters. The second would hold salons and other rooms for entertaining guests, and the third and fourth would be the owner s private quarters. That would be where the sorcerer would keep his laboratory, and very likely his prisoner. Thomas only hoped the information from the King s Watch was correct and that the Bisran bastard Grandier wasn t here. He told Gideon, \ You follow me. Unless, of course, you d like to go first?\
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The lieutenant swept 
The lieutenant swept off his feathered hat and bowed extravagantly. \ Oh, not at all, Sir, after you.\ \ So kind, Sir.\ The brickwork was rough and Thomas found footholds easily. He reached the window and pulled himself up on the rusted grating, balancing cautiously. He felt the rope jerk and tighten as Gideon started to climb. The window was set with small panes of leaded glass and divided into four tall panels. Thomas drew a thin dagger from the sheath in his boot and slipped the point between the wooden frames of the lower half. Working the dagger gently, he eased the inside catch up. The panels opened inward with only a faint creak. Moonlight touched the polished surface of a table set directly in front of the window, but
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the darkness of 
the darkness of the deeper interior of the room was impenetrable. It was silent, but it was a peculiar waiting silence that he disliked. Then the window ledge cracked loudly under his boots and he took a hasty step forward onto the table, thinking, Now we ll know, at any rate. Dust rose from the heavy draperies as he brushed against them, but the room remained quiet. \ Was that wise?\ Gideon asked softly from below the windowsill. \ Possibly not. Don t come up yet.\ Thomas slipped the dagger back into his boot sheath and drew his rapier. If something came at him out of that darkness, he preferred to keep it at as great a distance as possible. \ Tell Berham to hand up a light.\ There
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the gavel hit 
the gavel hit the stand. They took her hand to lead her away. She called out to him. Her eyes were full of fear. She pulled free and ran for — 51 — him. He stood up in the prisonerPs box to catch her, pick her up and carry her away. No dice, not that day. The smell of the ship filled him again as he moved his body stiffly, lifting and stretching. Again he heard the sparse, dull sounds coming from her stern, breaking the silence. Slowly, he made his way across the planking of the bilge floor to the bulkhead door leading astern. MCucha!N He heard
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Gomez before he 
Gomez before he saw him. He heard the barely audible curses mixed in with the grunts. MEste chingado sheep! Puta sheep!N More grunts. Conversational Spanish and torn up Eng- lish mixed in an unfamiliar harmony. Until that moment, Bobby had been unaware that Gomez spoke any English. Bobby figured the grumbles and curses equalled hatch resistance, the softer bits of communication going as praise to whatever cooperation the twisted steel offered, a fine sample of communication without actual content. Bobby got halfway across the hold before he could make out GomezPs shadowy figure, bent al- most double at the far end of the hold. As hePd suspected, Gomez
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was struggling 
was struggling with a bilge hatch. Bobby headed for him slowly, paying ample at- tention to the flooring, avoiding the dark jumbles of broken gear. He concentrated on his own foot- ing, not thinking to announce his arrival. He was — 52 — close enough to chuckle at Gomez working in his underwear, when he startled him. He frightened him so badly he had to move quickly to avoid the heavy chunk of pipe Gomez swung with his fear. Avoiding the first wild stroke, he fell back- wards over broken crating. On his back, he looked more than just defenceless. Gomez was on him instantly, the jagged length of pipe raised
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to kill whatever haunts 
to kill whatever haunts threatened him. He was all fear and menace. MGomez!N Bobby shrieked at him, arms over his face, more to avoid watching himself die than as a useful defence. Gomez held the steel tubing over Bobby for eternal seconds, caught himself, cursed and eased up slowly, his body dissolving into the antithesis of its former intensity. The pipe dropped behind him, arms falling to his side as he slid himself to the flooring. MPuta! Puta! No Me Chinge! Pen- dajo, Bubby.N Bobby knew now he wasnPt the only spooked one on board as he pulled himself up across from Gomez. He watched the exhausted expression on the MexicanPs face. It reflected the empty state of his own strength, rest
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and hunger indicators 
and hunger indicators not registering on any of his gauges. Both of them were in sad shape. They said nothing. Slouching and looking like a pair from the dungeon, they sat in silence, star- ing at each other through dust-laden obscurity. They were getting to know each other in some subtle, unspoken way, destined to be shipmates, locked together by chance. — 53 — MHatch no es bueno, Bubby. She burn up bad, mucho. Everything bend, nothing fit bueno. Puto sheep.N Gomez rolled his eyes with unplanned comedy. MHijo de puta, sheep!N Bobby spotted the rolling eyes amid the Span- ish curses and smiled. The absurdity of their
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