97.

"Why don't he just ask the Yanks to stay in their rooms?''

"Because they are Yanks, ya twit. Yanks never do what they're told to do."

The scattered laughter was punctuated by the scape of a chair. Sam backed away from the door. The talk continued, but he couldn't hear it distinctly. He had just settled in a dark corner where he thought he would be safe from a casual glance, when the door swung wide spilling light into the hall. Bert the groundskeep- er stepped through.

"Keep the fire burning, boys. I'll be back after I make my rounds."

Assurances and mock insults drifted from the kitchen. Bert waved them oif and shuffled down the hall, oblivious to his surroundings. Sam didn't move until he was sure that Bert had enough time to leave the building. Then he headed back upstairs. There'd be no raid on the larder tonight.Pretending to be affected by the wine had been easya151far easier than waiting for the servants to make the check on the supposedly drugged guests so that they could assure their master that the ploy had been successful. But they came at last, and Sam's lack of response to their calling of his name and the tentative prods that followed satisfied them that the Yanks were safely under the influence.

The house grew quiet.

Sam crept to Dodger's room, avoiding the boards he had learned creaked the loudest. Together they waited while they heard Glover go to the door to greet his guests. When things again quieted, Sam and Dodger crept forth. From the landing, light spilling into the main hall told them that Glover had chosen to entertain in a room that Sam had been unable to penetrate as- trally. A quick check assured him that the barrier still held. Any penetration of Glover's secrets would have to be physical.Sam and Dodger skulked through the upper hall, settling where they could get a view of the meeting chamber. The room's only illumination was the fire in the massive stone hearth at one end, but that made it far brighter than the hall and upper stories. The sliding doors to the room were open, allowing a rectangle of flickering light to fall across the ancient flooring and scale the paneled wall opposite the door. At first Sam thought that Glover and his cronies were foolish to leave the panels open, but then he remembered his own eavesdropping of the previous night. No servant would creep to the door and listen from concealment, for they would be seen. Any who crept close would be disclosed to those within the room as well; the hall's flooring would announce their passage and alert the conspirators. Likewise, a servant returning from the upper stories in defiance of his earlier dismissal would be betrayed by the creaking of the old staircase.

Sam's position provided him with a partial view of the room. Near its center, Glover sat in acomfortable armchair. In a matching chair at his side, a position of honor, sat an older man with grey hair and a trim grey mustache. From the deference shown to him, Sam pegged him as Sir Winston Neville, the only name he had heard Glover use in greeting the others.

Neville's welcome had been the most effusive, so it was likely that he would be given the most honored seat. A younger man, by the cast of his aristocratic face a son or cousin to Neville, stood behind the chair. Occa- sionally Sam caught glimpses of three others moving about the room.

The great outer door opened, swinging wide on si- lent hinges. There had been no knock or bell chime.

A man entered, striding ponderously forward. He was 98 Robert N. Charrette huge and walked with a huffing that emphasized the difficulty he had in moving his enormous bulk. Themoonlight sent glints from the sweat that beaded among the sparse white hairs of his head. A casual swat sent the door arcing shut as he started down the hall.

"Hyde-White is here," announced one of the men in the room. They were all staring at the doorway when the obese man reached the arch.

Newcomer and gathered conspirators faced each other. They exchanged words in a language that Sam didn't recognize, although it seemed to have echoes of English. Having finished what seemed a ritual greet- ing, Glover inclined his head and waved a hand in invitation.

Hyde-White rolled forward. As the jutting prow of his obesity passed over the threshold, the air in the doorway shimmered. A line of sparks ran around the fat man's shape, making a glittering outline as he passed the mag- ical barrier that sealed the room. He spoke as soon as thelast sparkle died, his voice a resonant rumble like the distant growling of summer thunder.

"Please excuse my tardiness. There were some af- fairs in the Atzlan office to sort out, and my personal attention was required. I trust you have not reached any important conclusions without me."

"We were having Barnett fill us in on his last ac- quisition," the grey-haired man said.

"My apologies for the interruption, Sir Winston.

Please continue, Mr. Barnett,'' Hyde-White said as he marched deeper into the room. "I'm sure I will be fascinated."

The fat man ponderously passed from view. Sam could tell when Hyde-White sat, for the bannister in front of his face trembled slightly. The pinch-faced man, who was obviously Barnett, cleared his throat before continuing.

99.

"I really don't have much more to say. My mission went smoothly and there were no problems. It's ashame that we cannot all say the same. Eh, Glover?"

Glover, who had been staring at the fire, swiveled his head around to face Barnett. "Are you suggesting that I have failed the Circle, Mr. Barnett?"

"Anyone could lose valuable employees in such a venture. Although Mr. Burke was one of our more exceptional agents, I would hardly fault you for his passing. The fortunes of war, I am sure." Barnett sniffed. "I am merely referring to certain loose ends."

Stepping around from behind the chair, the younger Neville said, "Yes, Glover. What has become of the shadowrunners who acompanied you from Hong Kong? We have heard that they are still in the coun- try."

Glover addressed his answer to the older Neville, as if he had spoken, instead. "They are upstairs, asleep."

"Why haven't you dismissed them? Were they to stumble downstairs into our meeting it would be most inconvenient. You should have left them in Hong Kong." The younger Neville's pointing finger of ac- cusation didn't distract Glover."I did not think that a wise idea at the time, Sir Winston. With Mister Burke eliminated, I deemed the additional protection they could offer to be necessary.

Had I encountered additional difficulties, the safety of Monsieur Corbeau might have been threatened. I saw his safe return as my primary responsibility. The day draws near."

"You should have dismissed them as soon as you arrived here safely," young Neville insisted.

Glover shook his head slowly. "By then, they had seen enough to connect me to ATT. I thought it in- advisable to let them loose with that knowledge."

"Then you should have had them killed," Barnett

100.

Robert N. Charrette said. "You swore the secrecy oath along with the rest of us.""Indeed," Glover said, folding his arms across his chest. "That is precisely why they are still alive. If they were not disposed of cleanly and completely, there would be an investigation. We do not need in- quiries from the Lord Protector's Oversight Board at this time. But once we have completed our ritual, we will no longer need to remain hidden, and without a need for absolute secrecy we may dispose of them eas- ily. For now, they remain here, believing themselves on retainer for an upcoming shadowrun. The decep- tion is sufficient; they remain ignorant of the Circle and our goal."

"You have badgered Mr. Glover enough," rumbled Hyde-White. "The crucial question is the suitability of Mr. Gordon."

"Suitability has been addressed and confirmed be- yond any question. While Mr. Gordon remains un- crowned, there is no question of the sanctity of his bloodline. Had not the father-in-law of the current holder of the throne been so prominent in the work of gathering the scattered survivors of the royal family, Mr. Gordon would be our crowned sovereign. That unfortunate turn of events is but one of the hurdles we strive to overcome. The false king only contributes tothe land's woes. But crowned or not, Edward Arthur Charles Gordon-Windsor is the chalice of mystic power necessary to restore the land." Sir Winston Neville threw back his shoulders and tugged at his waistcoat to seat it properly. "I spoke with him before coming here tonight. I can assure you all he is ready to accept his part in the ritual. He seems eager to take his place as the seventh, for he believes as we do. The land must live."

"The land must live," the others echoed.

The seventh? If Gordon was the seventh, what was 101.

the name of Janice Walters doing on Glover's list?

Sam looked at Dodger. The elf was staring fixedly ahead.

He seemed intent on listening to the conspirators.

There would be questions to ask later.

11.

Illusion was the heart's blood of the Shidhe Courts.

When Hart glanced around her, taking in the wildarray of sights, sounds, and smells of the Seelie Court, she could never be sure if what she saw was real or an image that was the result of a magical spell.

Checking astrally didn't always help. The great amounts of mag- ical energy and the almost continual activity of the magicians of the court made assensing difficult.

Much of the magic was defensive, for members of the court were often at odds with each other. Open warfare was forbidden, but pranks, taunts, and even clandestine, oblique struggles were common. Some of the magic was defensive on a less immediate level. The court had attracted elves and dwarves from around the world; some were concerned that their appearance was not up to the court standards. They used illusion to glamorize themselves, for the ugly were perforce members of the Unseelie Court, the co-ruling rivals with whom the Fair Folk shared the control of the Shidhe Dominion of Ireland.The Seelie Court proclaimed Ireland to be a magical state, claiming that the Shidhe lords were the ancient proprietors who had returned to claim their rightful lands. But although they reveled in magic and offi- cially held technology in scorn, the magician lords i took every advantage of science. The computer facil- 103.

ities and combat simulators she had been using for the past week were ample proof of that. Of course, the Shidhe would not speak of such things in public fo- rums. They denied having or even needing such things.

They had them, all right, and their technology was cutting-edge. They simply hid their technological workings or cloaked them in illusion. Image was very important to the metahuman rulers of Ireland.

The great double orichalcum doors to the inner court opened, swinging wide until they came to rest againstthe walls of vines in which they were set. Two elves, outsiders by their dress, walked through the arch.

As they passed Hart, the woman nodded in friendly rec- ognition. It was nothing personal. Hart's upswept fall of hair was the latest style outside. Even though she wore local garb, the hairdo marked Hart as a visitor to this fey land, and most visitors, though strangers to each other, found other visitors more congenial com- pany than the locals. The man, glowering beneath his dark brows, didn't seem to notice Hart existed.

A voice from beyond the arch called Hart's name; it was time for her audience. She felt no trepidation.

She had been expecting the summons to come soon.

She almost tripped as a gaggle of leshy scurried by in front of her just as she stepped forward. The short humanoids were a common sight among the verdant forest-city of the Seelie Court, but Hart didn't like them. They were flighty, dirty, and unkempt; their bark and leaf garments were rudimentary and showed no sense of fashion at all. She often doubted if theywere truly intelligent at all. Even when she could make out the words their high-pitched voices mangled, the leshy were always either asking an impertinent, silly, point- less question or expressing some obscure and contra- dictory concern about the harmonious nature of what was going on around them. She cursed the group that had impeded her, and they scattered, laughing.

104.

Robert N. Charrette The doors closed behind her as she crossed the threshold. For a while she walked in darkness, which defeated her elven eyes. The floor beneath her feet felt like earth, firm yet with a resilience unequalled by synthetic carpets. The light level increased until it wascomparable to that in a deep forest at night. She could smell the leaf mold and the fragrance of night- blooming flowers. Ahead of her she saw an open space.

The light was brighter there, as if stars and moon shed their full light. No city-born plexer had ever seen such a night sky. No one would expect to at this time of day; it was mid-afternoon.

She entered the clearing, finding it little more than a wide lane between the great boles of ancient rowan and hawthorn trees. Amid the trees she could see the strolling or standing shapes of members of the inner court. None spoke to her, or even showed interest.

She continued walking ahead.

At the end of the lane, the packed earth mounded in several steps to a raised area, behind which stood a singularly massive oak tree entwined about with mis- tletoe. Three thrones stood on the flat surface. The seat on the left was placed near the front edge.

Thoughit was small, bold carvings painted in bright colors embellished every surface, making it seem larger than it was. Symbols of life and energy dominated the dec- orative motif in a vibrant statement of youth. The cen- ter throne stood well back, almost hidden in the shadows. Though the light which struck it revealed an intricacy of carving, Hart could discern no details.

To the right of that great chair and set nearer and fully in the light was the third throne. Like the others, it was a masterpiece of the carver's art. The bold relief was accentuated by subtle painting that enhanced the relief to the point that many of the designs seemed to stand free from the panels. Of the three thrones, it was the only one occupied.

105.

The woman who sat in the chair was exquisite, of a delicacy that even made Hart's own elven slimness seem fleshy. The lady had the ageless look of a mature elf, a youthfulness that would fade only as she ap- proached the end of her allotted span. Her hair was ofsuch fineness that it drifted in the slightest breeze that snaked across the dais, becoming a mist floating about her shoulders that owed more to light than to sub- stance. Slender fingers toyed with a few errant strands, absently plaiting knots that vanished in a flick of those same tapering digits. Her eyes were the transparent blue of deep ice. Though she wore no symbols of rank, Hart had no doubt that she was the ruler here; the woman's bearing was that of a sovereign.

A male elf stood on the first step down from the dais. His name was Bambatu and his dark skin was an ebon contrast to the porcelain fairness of the hall's mistress. He no longer wore the elegant business suit in which he had recruited Hart. His bare chest shone as if it had been oiled, which perhaps it had. Around his loins he wore a cloth of many bright colors woven in mystical designs. Bangles, bands, and chains of gold and brazen orichalcum hung around his neck, waist, wrists, and ankles. He made a magnificent barbarian.She found his long, smooth muscles much more ap- pealing than the over-developed travesties that norms seemed to insist their trid heroes possess. He watched her, too, his large dark eyes pools of sparkling inter- est.

When Hart reached the dais, she knelt at the begin- [ ning of the steps, holding her head bowed. The text ' she had read on formal courtesy suggested that such behavior was appropriate.

, "The Lady Brane Deigh bids you stand, Katherine [Hart," said Bambatu.

Hart did as she was bidden. Bambatu had recruited 1 her, but Lady Deigh was her employer. The Lady's 106.

Robert N. Charrette eyes met hers in a coolly appraising stare.

Suspectingthe importance of the moment, Hart held her gaze steady. A ghost of a smile touched the lady's lips.

' 'You have sheltered under my roof and accepted my coin, Hart. By the laws of the land that makes you milessaratish. You understand this obligation?"

Hart inclined her head. "I do, Lady." But under- standing doesn 't mean agreement. You 've hired your talent, but I haven 'f become your liegewoman. That sort of thing is your concept, not mine.

"Very well. You were told of our opposition to the Hidden Circle, that you might prepare yourself to face them. Lord Bambatu informs me that you have availed yourself of our resources, seeking to hone your skills and study your adversaries. This is laudable. But the time for preparations is past, for tomorrow is the Sol- stice. Do you stand ready to confront them?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Then you have my blessings, Hart." She stood and walked across the dais towards Bambatu. Hebowed to her as she approached. The Lady paused at the edge of the stairs and turned her face to Hart.

"Ozidano teheron, milessaratish. Into medaron co versakhan. "

Hart replied to the formal dismissal with the ritual recasting of Lady Deigh's commands. "I leave my ex- istence behind, Lady. At your word, I am the death of your enemies."

12.

The sky was beginning to grey with the coming of dawn. As it grew, the light let them make out the sen- try. Their patience had paid off; he was drowsing.

So far their departure from the mansion had gone unnoticed. The last barrier, the gate, lay before them.

Once through, they would be out of Glover's hands.

They knew from Dodger's tap of a NavSat that Glov- er's estate lay in the southwest of England. There was a town only a few miles away. From there, transpor- tation to the Bristol metroplex would be a simplemat- ter.

Sam drew his Narcoject Lethe.

The guard jerked at the impact of the dart and slid to the ground in a subdued clatter. While Sam injected an antidote, Dodger tapped into the gate control sys- tem. Three minutes later they were on the road to Taunton, the gate closed and locked behind them.

In a few more minutes, the sentry would awaken, propped against the guard house. With little evidence to the contrary, he should think that he had dozed off natu- rally. If their luck held, it might be an hour or two until their absence was noticed.

The Black Down Hills were strange territory, but for those first minutes of freedom, Sam felt more at home than he had on Glover's estate. The growing dawn dampened his spirits as it unveiled a desolate landscape. Like much of England, the hills had been ravaged; first by overpopulation and industrialization, then by the ecological terrorism to which the country had been subjected in the early part of the century.It 108.

Robert N. Charrette was a scarred and battered land, tortured further by the natural and man-made disasters that had plagued it in the last few years. The awfulness began to weigh him down.