The keep of fire, p.9
The Keep of Fire, page 9
“Your pocket, Travis. I can see the question on your face. Go on—you’ll find the answer there.”
Travis hesitated, then slipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out the same few pennies he had at the newspaper box. “I don’t understand.”
The man smiled—a compelling expression. Travis had always envied men like him: short, compact, brightly handsome. Sometimes it felt ridiculous to be tall.
“That one,” the other said. “The Denver 1966. Look at it—bring it in close.”
Travis held up the coin. At first he saw nothing unusual. Then he noticed it was thicker than the other pennies, and a seam ran along the edge. He worked a thumbnail into the seam. The penny split in half. Inside the thin, copper shell a silicon chip shone like a diamond in the morning light.
Travis looked up, eyes wide. “But you were never close enough.”
“To plant it on you? No, I wasn’t. But a customer in your saloon would have been, don’t you think? In fact, I bet you’d probably never even notice if she slipped it into your pocket while you delivered a round of drinks to her table.”
Travis shook his head. It didn’t make sense—everyone at the saloon last night had been a local.
“It’s like I said, Travis.” The man spread his hands. “You can never really know another.”
So that was the answer. Someone else he knew had used him. Travis turned and heaved the transmitter deep into the railyard. There was a ping, then silence. He turned back, and his words edged into a sneer.
“So what took you so long to find me?”
“The mountains have a strange effect on radio signals, especially after dark. We couldn’t pick you up until sunrise. Then we came as quickly as we could.”
Now Travis grinned—it was not an expression of humor—and rattled the fence. “It looks like something got in your way.”
The man shrugged, his expression sheepish. “We try to account for everything we can. This mission took several months of planning. But even we can’t predict all factors. I’m afraid our map of Castle City was somewhat out of date.”
Travis’s grin faded. “I’ll be gone by the time you drive around, you know.”
“What makes you think I don’t have wire cutters in the car?”
“You would have used them already if you had.”
The man laughed. “Very good, Travis. You’re a smart man. A fascinating man.” He gripped the chain link, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses. “I so want to speak to you. Do you know that, Travis? Do you have any idea how much I want to listen to you, to hear about everything you’ve done, every place you’ve gone, all the sights you’ve seen?”
“Why?” Travis said. “So you can know which mountain range to start mining first?”
“Is that what the Seekers told you I wanted?”
“Isn’t it?”
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the fence. “The Seekers are as blind as they are arrogant. They think they’re so open-minded, but they’re not.” He let go of the fence, took a breath. “Listen, Travis. The Seekers say they’re scholars, and they are, but they’re the worst kind. They’re not trying to learn and understand. They already think they have everything figured out. All they want are a few specimens they can stick in a case to prove it.”
“How do you know so much about the Seekers?”
He fixed his eyes on Travis. “Because I was one once.”
Travis opened his mouth, but he had no response.
“It comes down to this,” the other said. “The Seekers think they have ownership of any new world that’s discovered—that only the elite should be able to see it, study it, catalog it. Duratek is different. That’s why I joined. We think that a new world should belong to everybody, not just a few academics in their high towers. We want to give this world to everyone.”
“You want to exploit, you mean. To sell it.”
“Words, Travis. Those are just words. And the Seekers’ words at that, I’d guess.”
Travis took a step back from the fence.
“Listen,” the man said, his voice hushed with urgency. “I know I don’t have much time with you. So let me just say one last thing. Two worlds are drawing near, ours and another. You know that better than anyone. That connection is going to be made—you can’t stop it. But what you can do is help us manage it, control it, to make it happen the right way, not the wrong way.”
Travis hesitated. “What do you mean?”
The other shook his head. “What are you asking? Are we going to harvest its resources, mine its ground, farm its soil? Is that the question? If so, the answer’s yes. I’m not going to lie to you, Travis, I’ve told you that. This isn’t some park we’re talking about. We’re not going to put a fence around it, not like this.” He brushed a hand across the chain link. “But the exchange doesn’t have to be one-sided. Think of the things we have to offer. Jobs. Technology. Medicine. This isn’t the first time we’ve discovered new worlds, Travis. But this can be the first time we do it right. Except we need your help.” He stepped back from the fence. “It’s your choice.”
Travis didn’t move. The wind moaned around the abandoned boxcars. Wasn’t that what this place had been once? A jumping-off point to a new world of prosperity? They had pushed out the Indians, killed off the buffalo, and pulled the guts from the mountains looking for wealth to cart to the world back East. Now the silver and gold were gone, but the mountains still bore the open, oozing wounds. Yes, he did have a choice. He always had a choice.
“No.” Travis’s voice was hard. “No, I won’t help you. What you want to do is wrong. No matter how hard you try to make it right, it’s still wrong. There’s no price you can pay to balance what you want to take.”
The other’s eyes were regretful behind his glasses. “I’m sorry to hear you say that, Travis. You see, now that I’ve met you, I had hoped that we could be friends. But, it doesn’t matter. With or without your help, we’ll get what we want. We always do. Because we’re on the side of right, the side of history.” He lifted a hand, almost like a salute. “Good luck, Travis. But you can’t stop us.”
Travis hissed the words between clenched teeth. “If you really want to find a new world, then go to hell.”
He turned before the other could reply, picked his way across the railyard, and waited until the fence was out of sight before he broke into a dead run.
15.
Travis skulked inside the hot shadows of an alley on the eastern end of Elk Street. He almost laughed at himself. Was this what it felt like to be an outlaw? Or a fugitive on the run? Except he wasn’t the one who intended to do wrong.
Beyond the mouth of the alley, the air danced and shimmered above the weathered asphalt. Afternoon had draped its stifling golden gauze over the valley, binding the sun in the sky. It seemed like this day would never find an end. But one way or another, it had to.
From his shirt pocket, Travis pulled a crumpled paper. He had finally made it to Max’s place around midday, after hours of picking his way through town, doing his best to make sure no one saw him. It was an indication of his fear of being seen that he did something he had not attempted since his return to Earth. Travis spoke a rune.
It was Alth, the rune of shadows. As always, his right hand tingled when he spoke the rune, and a rushing noise filled his ears. But the sound was distant and hollow, and it ended too quickly. The air seemed to dim a shade around him, but that was all. However, even this minor result had left him weak and shaking from effort. Clearly his power here was but a fraction of what it was on Eldh.
He supposed he should have been relieved—he had never wanted this in the first place. In the end, power could only harm. But he had to admit, his abilities as a runelord might have come in handy right now.
Whether the weakly spoken rune was enough, or whether any eyes had noticed his progress, Travis couldn’t say, but he had made it to Max’s apartment without getting accosted. However, before he even reached the door, he knew his partner wasn’t there. He forced himself to peer through the window, dreading what he might see, but this time the curtains were closed. A sigh of relief escaped him, then he swore at himself. Max was fine, he had to be.
Travis turned to go, and it was only then that he noticed the paper tucked next to the doorknob. For the dozenth time, there in the alley, Travis unfolded the sheet torn from a yellow legal pad and read the words printed in Max’s neat, ambidextrous handwriting:
Travis,
Since you’re reading this, it means I was right and you did stop by. Sorry I keep missing you. I’m going to be out all day again—doctors and all that—but meet me at the saloon at sundown. I’ll help you open things up.
Max
Travis grinned—like a corpse in the desert grinned as the heat and dry shrank the flesh from its skull. Meet me at the saloon at sundown. It sounded like a line from a late-night Western: some sort of apocalyptic showdown at the You-Name-It Corral. But it was just a note, and Max couldn’t have known what had happened to Travis in the last less-than-a-day. Max had been sick, only now he was getting better, and he was just trying to get back to work.
But maybe, in a way, it would be like a showdown. After all, they would be watching the saloon, waiting for him. Duratek and the Seekers. Travis folded the note and slipped it back into his pocket.
He jerked his head up at the sound of an engine. A dark vehicle cruised down Elk Street. He tensed to run, although he didn’t know where he would run to.
The vehicle rolled past: a navy blue pickup. He sighed, then clutched a hand to his gut. It was hard to tell where dread ended and hunger began. He hadn’t eaten all day. And he was tired of hiding in shadows.
Travis made a decision. Maybe it was stupid, maybe he would get himself caught, but it was still three hours to sunset, and he couldn’t stay in this place any longer. Besides, all that mattered was finding out that Max was all right. If they caught him, he still wouldn’t help, he still wouldn’t tell them anything about Grace or Eldh.
And you think they don’t have ways of making people talk, Travis? In the end they get what they want. That’s what he said, and you know it’s true.
But no, he couldn’t believe that. If he had thought that way on Eldh, the Pale King would have frozen all of the Dominions in ice by now. Then again, the Pale King hadn’t had slick television ads, personal area networks, and microchip transmitters. How could magic compete with power like that?
Travis stepped from the alley and glanced in both directions. Elk Street was deserted. The afternoon swelter had driven people indoors—into the dimness, at least, if not the cool. He moved along the boardwalk as quickly as he could without looking like he was running. The Mosquito Café was only a block away. He stuck his hands in his pockets and crunched his broad shoulders in, expecting at any second to hear the squeal of tires, the chunk of a car door, and the sound of an angry voice shouting his name. He counted the remaining steps to the Mosquito Café and ducked inside.
The comforting din of conversation and clanking dishes rolled over him, and Travis’s fear receded. In some ways, this was safer than hiding. At least he knew these people.
Or did he? Here and there someone nodded or lifted a hand in greeting. Travis started to wave back, then hesitated. These people were his neighbors, his customers. But did he really know any of them? Last night, one he had thought he knew had slipped Duratek’s transmitter into his pocket. Maybe she was here now.
“Just yourself, hon?”
Travis blinked. Delores Meeker cocked her head to look at him, chomping on a piece of gum, a menu in her hand. He gave a jerky nod, then followed her toward the back of the café. They were halfway there when he saw Deputy Jace Windom seated at the café’s counter. He hesitated, then reached out and touched her arm.
Jace snapped around on the stool, hand on the revolver at her hip. Her eyes were flat and hard. Travis took a startled step back. Jace blinked, and her gaze softened to warm brown.
“Travis—I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean … I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The deputy rose from her stool. Her brown Smokey-the-Bear hat sat next to a mostly uneaten blue plate special. There was something odd about the deputy. Usually she was sharp and precise in the way she moved, in the things she said. Today she seemed slower, that edge dulled.
Delores snapped her gum. “Travis, hon, did you need to ask the deputy something?”
“I’ll be just a second,” he said.
Delores nodded. “I’ll put your menu at the booth back there. Just sit down when you’re ready.”
Travis managed a smile, and Delores moved away. He turned back to the deputy, and the smile faded.
“What is it, Travis? Is something wrong?”
He swallowed, then forced the question to sound casual. “I was just … I was just wondering if you’d seen Max today.”
It was subtle but noticeable: Jace stiffened, and the focus of her gaze moved past Travis. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to Mr. Bayfield in the last seventy-two hours. You’re his business partner, Travis. I’m sure you know more about his condition than I do. Besides, I’m a law officer, not a doctor. There’s nothing I can do for him.”
Travis winced at the harshness in her voice, then realized it wasn’t for him or for Max. He glanced down and saw the newspaper next to her plate. With a pen, she had circled the photo of the half-charred corpse.
“It doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it, Jace?”
“Nothing makes much sense these days,” she murmured.
Travis searched for a reply. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t find the words. “If I see Max, I’ll tell him you were thinking of him, Jace.”
She nodded without meeting his eyes, then turned back to her cold plate of food. Travis headed to his booth, sank into a slick vinyl seat, and lifted the menu Delores had left for him—more to hide than to decide what to order.
After all that had happened, he thought eating would be difficult, but it was the opposite: The mundane task of putting food into his body was reassuring and familiar. No matter what happened to you, no matter where you went, you still had to eat. Delores brought him meat loaf, mashed potatoes, vegetables, rolls, and apple pie. Travis ate them all.
A shadow hovered over him.
“Travis?”
He pushed back the pie plate. “That’s enough, Delores. Really. Just leave the check and—”
She sat in the opposite side of the booth and folded her hands on the spangled Formica.
A lump of fear slid into Travis’s stomach, and he wished he hadn’t eaten so much. He flicked his eyes from side to side, but no one in the café so much as glanced in his direction. But then, why should they? Everyone in Castle City knew that Travis Wilder and Deirdre Falling Hawk were friends.
“I’m glad I found you, Travis.”
“I bet you must get a lot of extra credit points for cornering an otherworldly traveler. I’m sure Farr will give you an A.”
Color touched Deirdre’s high cheekbones, but she did not flinch. “I probably deserve that. You’re right—sometimes scholars can get too caught up in their studies and forget that their subjects are people, too. But that’s not what I meant. I’m glad they … I’m glad you’re all right, Travis.” Her hand edged toward his across the Formica. “I’ve been afraid for you.”
He pulled his hand back. “I can take care of myself,” he said, but the words were hollow. At that moment he felt as alone as he had those first days on Eldh, traveling through the forlorn silence of the Winter Wood and away from the world he had always known.
Deirdre shook her head. “I want to believe that, Travis. And I know you’re smart, and that you have a strong spirit. But you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You can’t.”
Travis looked down and ran his thumb across the palm of his right hand. “But maybe I do, Deirdre.” He looked up. “Maybe I know better than any of you.”
She pressed her lips together, her smoky jade eyes serious. “Please, Travis. You’ve got to listen to me.”
Her voice was low, touched by a quaver he hadn’t expected. Maybe she really was afraid for him. He let her eyes draw him in.
Deirdre leaned forward, her voice an urgent whisper. “We blew it, Travis. I blew it. I know I did. I should have trusted you with the truth. But you’ve got to understand. Duratek will talk to you if they think talking will get them what they want. But they’ll do whatever it takes to get the information they need. For their book-balancers, one human life is a small price to pay for an entire new world.”
She reached into a nylon pouch slung over her shoulder, drew out a plane ticket, and pushed it across the table.
“This is a ticket to London. Parked in front of the café is a white sedan. Go out, get inside, and the driver will take you to Denver International Airport. She’ll see that you make it to the plane. When you get to London, Hadrian Farr will be there to meet you. He’ll take you to the London Charterhouse, and we’ll all talk again there.”
Travis stared at the ticket. “Why?”
“It’s not safe for you here, Travis. In London the Seekers can help protect you. You can stay at the Charterhouse as long as you like—and you can leave anytime you want to, I swear it. We won’t keep you, not like they would.” She shook her head. “I know it’s hard to understand. But just come to London, get away from them, and give yourself time to think.”
Travis reached out a hand and brushed the corner of the ticket. It would be so easy. He could get away from here, away from the hot, dusty streets of Castle City, and go to London—cool, moist, ancient London. Would it be so bad? After all, the Seekers had helped Grace escape the ironhearts. Travis drew in a breath, then started to pick up the ticket.
Deirdre licked her lips. “There’s more, Travis, things we haven’t had the chance to tell you yet. About Jack Graystone, and about the immolations. If you come, we can show you what we’ve found, things Duratek would never give you.”
