Текст книги "The First Stone"

Автор книги: Mark Anthony

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

“So what have we here?” Sasha said when Deirdre handed her the copy, still warm from the printer.

“A draft of a report I’m writing for Nakamura, to keep him apprised of what we’re doing.” Deirdre sat on the edge of her desk.

Sasha folded the papers without reading them. “That’s good of you, but it’s not necessary. You’re Echelon 7, Deirdre. You’ve got free rein on this mission—it’s under your complete control. There’s no need for you to submit a report until you deem the case is closed.”

Deirdre wasn’t sure whether those words were reassuring or not. It was good to know she wasn’t going to be second-guessed all the time. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely certain she knew what she was doing here. How did the Desiderata apply when the otherworldly being you had vowed not to interfere with also happened to be a dear friend you had vowed to help? It was hard to rely solely on one’s own judgment.

“Take the report to Nakamura anyway,” Deirdre said. “I don’t want there to be any secrets here.”

“Funny you should mention secrets,” Sasha purred. “That’s just what I came to talk to you about.”

Deirdre gripped her bear claw necklace. “What do you mean?”

Sasha glanced at the door, then drew in close, her expression no longer one of sly amusement, but rather solemn. “Do you remember how I once told you to keep your curiosity outside the Seekers, that it was better not to turn up stones left untouched?”

Deirdre felt a chill pass through her. She could only nod.

“Well, maybe it’s time to start turning up a few of those stones after all.”

“What are you talking about? What stones?”

Sasha picked up the gold mask and ran a long finger over it. “So this is one of the masks they wear. Those sorcerers you’ve written about in your reports. It’s so much more beautiful than I ever would have thought. Only it covers ugliness, doesn’t it? Ugliness and hate.”

None of this made any sense. Deirdre ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “Sasha, what is this really about?”

The other woman was silent for a time. Finally she spoke in a low voice. “The sorcerers aren’t the only organization that requires its members to wear masks, Deirdre. Sometimes the Seekers do, too. And you can’t always know what’s behind those masks. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes they’re keeping secrets to protect you. And sometimes . . .”

Deirdre was sweating, but she felt cold. “What do you know, Sasha? If you know something, you have to tell me.”

Sasha shook her head. “All I know is that there are secrets. Things that most of us don’t know, that others don’t want us to know.”

“Secrets like what?”

Sasha set down the mask. “This was a mistake. I’ve told more than I should have. But I just wanted you to . . . you need to keep your eyes open, that’s all.” She started toward the door.

Deirdre stood up, her heart thudding in her chest. “Sasha, please. You’ve got to tell me what you’re talking about.”

Sasha hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes unreadable. “Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?”

Deirdre could only stare.

“Take care of yourself, honey,” Sasha said, then headed out the door, leaving Deirdre alone.

22.

It was late. Deirdre gazed out the window of her flat, watching as rain snaked in rivulets down the panes. She held a glass of scotch in her hand; she hadn’t taken a sip since she poured it two hours ago.

Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?

Like uninvited guests, Sasha’s words from earlier that day slipped into her mind. Deirdre tried to ignore them. She didn’t know what Sasha was trying to do, but she wasn’t going to suspect Anders of wrongdoing. Not after he had saved her life– and the lives of others—multiple times. Not after she had vowed she was going to trust him.

But what if you’re being blind, Deirdre?

Was that her Wise Self speaking, the shaman in her who often saw things in a clearer light? Or was it her Shadow Self– her darker and more destructive side—that was speaking?

You’ve developed feelings for Anders—you can’t deny that you have. And what if that’s what he’s been counting on? The co fee, the flowers, the designer suits and expensive cologne— what if it’s all been part of a precise operation, one designed to charm you, and to distract you from things you would otherwise see. Great Spirit, no one can bethat cheerful all the time. It has to be an act.

No, she wouldn’t believe that. Anders was a good man. A true heart beat in that barrel chest of his, she was sure of it. Besides, if someone had wanted her to be seduced, surely they would have sent an agent more suave, more good-looking than Anders to do the deed.

Or would they? Not if they were clever—not if they knew Deirdre well. She had fallen for a striking, mysterious man once—for Hadrian Farr—and she wouldn’t make that same mistake again. If Anders had been too slick or handsome, her guard would have gone up at once. Instead, Anders had infiltrated the barriers of her affections like a stealth jet, flying low and under the radar.

This is ridiculous, Deirdre.Now it was neither her Wise Self nor Shadow Self talking. It was just her plain old Angry and Afraid Self. Anders isn’t an airplane, he’s a person, and he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. You know it.

Really? Or had her judgment been impaired by broad shoulders, a gravelly voice, and crinkly blue eyes? Because, much as she had done her best to ignore it these last three years, Sasha was right—there was one secret Anders kept from her. He still had never told her why he was allowed to carry a gun when no other Seeker had that privilege.

Not that she was entirely sorry that was the case. More than once he had used that gun to protect her and others. All the same, the fact that he did carry it nagged at her, now more than ever. He had told her his story—how he had worked security for the Seekers before becoming an agent, and how, since he had the proper training to use it, Nakamura was letting him keep the gun temporarily, until a final decision about it came down from the Philosophers.

But such a decision had never been made, at least not as far as Deirdre knew. So why did Anders carry a gun? Did he have special connections in the Seekers? That seemed absurd; Anders was still only a journeyman. However, the fact that a former security guard had been admitted to the organization at all was unusual. It could be there was more to Anders’s becoming a Seeker than was visible on the surface.

Deirdre sighed. Her head throbbed, and it was long past her bedtime. She could think about all of this tomorrow. She started to push herself up from the chair—then froze.

Something moved in the darkness outside the window.

She leaned forward, until her breath fogged on the glass panes. She had only glimpsed it for a second, but it had been a vaguely manlike shape, she was sure of it. Only it hadn’t been down below on the street. Instead, it had seemed to float in the night, directly outside the window.

There was a soft clickas the door of her flat closed shut. The glass of scotch tumbled to the floor. Heart pounding, Deirdre sprang out of the chair and whirled around.

There was no one there.

“Anders?” she called out. “Is that you?”

He had a key to her flat; he always took care of her house-plants when she was away. But there was no answer. Not that she expected any. Whatever Sasha thought of him, Anders was a gentleman; he always knocked before entering. Besides, he had said he was going to stay at the Charterhouse that night to keep an eye on Beltan.

Earlier that evening, the two men had returned: wet, hungry, and more than a little grouchy from their mad hunt for a sorcerer. They had found no signs of the Scirathi in the city. Not that Deirdre had expected any different; it wasn’t as if sorcerers tended to hang out at the local coffee shop. Though maybe the blood bank would have been a more likely place to find them.

Despite their failure, Beltan’s resolve to find one of the Scirathi had not lessened, and Anders wanted to keep close to the blond man in case he decided to try continuing the search on his own. Deirdre had agreed; in his current frame of mind, it was best if Beltan wasn’t left alone.

And what about you, Deirdre? Are you alone right now?

She didn’t know what she had glimpsed in the window, but there was one thing she was certain of: Whatever it was, it hadn’t been outside her flat.

It was a reflection in the glass. A reflection from behind you. Someone was in here.

Whoever it had been was gone now. A thorough exploration of all the rooms of her flat—as well as the closets—confirmed her instincts. The intruder had fled. She headed back to the kitchen, thinking maybe she had better give another glass of scotch a try. Her hands shook as she tilted the bottle, and she slopped half the liquid onto the counter. She reached for the roll of paper towels.

A manila envelope lay on the countertop. She had not put it there.

Deirdre gulped down what scotch she had managed to get into the glass, then picked up the envelope. There was a lump inside it. She undid the string, opened the flap, and tilted the envelope. A small black cell phone slipped out. She drew in a deep breath, then picked up the phone and switched it on.

It rang.

She was so startled she nearly dropped it. She fumbled with the buttons, then held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Deirdre.”

She had known it would be he. Once before he had made contact with her in this fashion. All the same, a thrill ran through her at the sound of his rich, accentless voice.

“Who was just in my flat?” she said. “You or one of your minions?”

Laughter emanated from the phone. “Minions? What a marvelous word. It makes me feel like a villain just to say it. I really must try to have more minions.”

“So it was you.” Fear rippled through her, and excitement. He had been here, in her flat—her Philosopher. She moved to the window and peered out into the darkness and the rain. “Where are you?”

“Close, Deirdre.” His words were a murmur in her ear. “I am always close now. The worlds draw near. And so does the end.”

“The end of what?”

“Why, of everything.”

Deirdre sank down into the chair. She had to be smart, she had to think of the most important questions and ask them first. He wouldn’t stay on the phone long; he never did.

“Where is the arch?”

Again he laughed. “That’s why I like you, Deirdre. You always get right to the point.”

She bit her tongue. If she was silent, he would have to keep speaking. There was a dreadful pause in which she feared he had hung up. Then, once more, his rich voice emanated from the phone.

“It’s nearer than you might think. However, I’m not going to tell you where it is. Now is not the time to seek it out.”

“Why?” she said, unable to stop herself.

“Because if you do, you will die. So will the man from the otherworld, the knight Beltan. I cannot let that happen.”

This time it was he who paused. Deirdre had no choice but to say something or risk the conversation ending. “Beltan is determined to find the arch, and I can’t control him. Today he and Anders went looking for a sorcerer to question.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Do go have a chat with a sorcerer. That will help you see your next step is not to seek the gate. There are other mysteries that must be attended to first.”

Deirdre clutched the phone, as if that could keep him from hanging up. “But how can we find a sorcerer? We don’t even know if there are any left in London.”

“There are. Their work here is not done. Finding the girl, Nim, was simply a happy accident. An act of Fate, as they might say. It was not the reason they came to our world.”

“But where can we find one of the Scirathi?” she said, unable to keep the words from sounding as desperate as they were.

“That’s simple enough. The man Beltan possesses something the Scirathi crave, something that is sure to tempt them into the open. As for where to go—I think you already sense the answer to that. They know now what flows in Travis Wilder’s veins. They are keeping watch, just in case he returns.”

Deirdre thought maybe she understood, but she had to be certain. However, he spoke again before she could.

“By the way, your friend Sasha was right in what she said to you earlier today.”

“What?” It was the only word she could manage.

“You do not know what you think you know, Deirdre. That is the one thing—the only thing—of which you can be certain. Do not let yourself believe you can trust anyone other than yourself. Even within the Seekers, there are those who would work against you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, her pulse thudding in her ears.

“Why do you think I always make contact with you in such a secretive manner? Contrary to what you might believe, it’s not for my amusement. I do it because there are those who, if they knew I had told you the things I have, would not hesitate to—” He paused; she could hear his breathing. “No, that’s not important now. All that matters is that you understand one thing: There is much you do not know, much you cannot even guess at. And there are those who will do anything to keep it that way.”

The phone was slick in Deirdre’s hand. “What should I do?”

“I can’t tell you that, Deirdre. But I will give you something to think about. The sorcerers used Travis Wilder’s blood, taken from the belly of the gorleththat attacked him, to power the gate artifact in their possession and abduct the girl.”

“We already know that.”

“Good. Now ask yourself this: How did the sorcerers know they could do that? How did they know that blood of power, blood that could fuel their gate, ran in Travis Wilder’s veins?”

Deirdre hardly heard his words. She could feel him starting to slip away. “Please, don’t go. There are so many questions, and I don’t have any idea how to get the answers.”

“That’s not true, Deirdre. You’re a resourceful woman. I have every faith you’ll find a way to get those answers of yours.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I think a time is coming when all questions will be answered. Perihelion approaches. This world and the otherworld draw nearer every day. It is not chance that the earthquake on Crete revealed the arch. Things long buried are now coming to light because they needto be found.”

“What do you mean?” Deirdre said, clutching the phone. “What things need to be found?”

But the only reply was the drone of a dial tone in her ear.

23.

It was well after ten o’clock by the time Deirdre straggled into the Charterhouse the next morning. She stopped at the front desk, picked up a pen fastened to a chain, and signed in on the clipboard. The receptionist, Madeleine, looked up from her computer, though her fingers continued to flay the keyboard.

“How good of you to join us today, Miss Falling Hawk,” she said, peering over moon-shaped reading glasses.

Deirdre was not in the mood for irony. “You misspelled ‘Sincerely,’ ” she said, pointing at Madeleine’s computer screen.

The receptionist gave her a sour look, which Deirdre could at least appreciate for its honesty, then pushed her glasses up her nose and studied the screen. Deirdre made her way down the hall and descended a flight of stairs to her office.

Anders wasn’t there. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. With regard to the lack of coffee, it was certainly the former, but otherwise it could only be the latter. Surely he would have seen it on her face the moment she looked at him. Doubt.

She tossed the newspaper she had bought on her desk and slumped into the chair. There was a note neatly tucked under the blotter. She pulled it out. It was written in Anders’s cramped, precise hand.

Good morning, partner!

Beltan and I decided to get an early start. We’re o f to nose about the city. Back by noon. Shall we lunch at the M.E.?

Cheers!

—Anders

Deirdre winced. Gods, even when he wrote he sounded insanely chipper. She started to toss the note in the trash can, then stopped, folded it carefully, and tucked it back beneath the blotter.

She hated this. She hated the way she felt, and she hated what she was going to do. However, she had no choice. Once again she asked herself the question that had been eating at her.

How did the sorcerers here on Earth know about the blood of power that runs in Travis’s veins?

The only people who could possibly know that information were Travis’s closest companions. And any Seeker who had read the Wilder-Beckett case files. Deirdre could not believe Beltan or Vani had informed the sorcerers. That meant there was only one other possibility.

There’s a traitor in the Seekers, and Sasha must know it—or at least suspect it. That’s why she was trying to warn you yesterday. Someone with access to the reports about Travis is in league with the sorcerers.

And, much as it turned her heart to ash to admit it, all the signs pointed to one person. He had read all the reports about Travis. He was capable of keeping secrets; the gun he carried proved that. And the night they were attacked by the Scirathi, he had shown up at the Tube station almost too miraculously.

Only that doesn’t make sense, Deirdre. If Anders was really working for the Scirathi, why did he save all of you that night?

For the same reason he brewed fabulous coffee and brought flowers to the office. To win their trust, their affection.

Think about it, Deirdre. No one actually saw him shoot that sorcerer he claimed he killed. You read his report. Even Eustace didn’t see it happen. A Scirathi could simply have given Anders one of their gold masks to use as a prop, to help back up his story.

The thought made her sick, but she couldn’t dismiss it. Her grandfather had always told her to trust her instincts. And all those instincts told her that Anders was concealing something.

So what was she going to do?

Keep him close, Deirdre. And don’t act as if anything’s changed. Whatever his work is, it isn’t done; otherwise, he wouldn’t still be playing this game. The longer you can make him believe you know nothing, the better your chances of figuring out what it is he’s up to.

Deirdre massaged her throbbing temples. She had spent all night going over these thoughts again and again. Right now she wanted to think about something—anything—else. She unfolded the copy of the Timesshe had bought and bent her head over it.

However, she found little solace in reading the paper. On the front page there was an article about the worldwide increase in violent natural phenomena over the last few months. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, hurricanes—all were happening with greater frequency than normal. The article discounted the common belief that the change in the Earth’s climate was a result of the celestial anomaly, and instead offered various theories about possible geologic and meteorological causes. However, Deirdre knew the article was wrong.

It’s perihelion. That’s what the Philosopher said. Eldh is drawing close, and somehow it’s a fecting Earth. It’s like the pull of gravity.

Only it wasn’t gravity, it was something else. But what then? Magic? All Deirdre knew was that it wasn’t chance that an earthquake had shaken Crete, revealing the stone arch.

And what about the dark spot in space? It can’t be chance that it’s appeared now as perihelion approaches.

According to a report she had seen on a morning TV news show, the anomaly was now visible to the naked eye in the northern hemisphere—at least to those who didn’t live in major cities. However, even if it hadn’t been cloudy the last several days, Deirdre doubted she would have been able to see it through the glare of London’s streetlights.

And maybe that explained why people in the city continued to go about their lives as if nothing had changed. That morning, Deirdre had taken the Tube with countless people trudging to their jobs, the expressions on their faces as dull as the leaden sky. On the streets, double-decker buses ferried tired, trapped-looking tourists to Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul’s. Ships oozed up and down the sluggish Thames. Yet surely, if people could see the dark spot in the sky, they would be panicking.

Or would they? Because even if they couldn’t see it through the London fog, people had to know it was there. Just as it had expanded in the sky, stories about Variance X had grown more prominent on television and in the newspaper. Reports about it were everywhere. Only no one seemed to be paying attention.

Except for the Mouthers. Deirdre had passed several of them that morning, standing on a corner outside the Blackfriars Tube station in their white sheets. Each member of the group had carried a sign that bore, not words, but instead a black circle scrawled on white cardboard. They did not accost passersby, but simply stared, their eyes as vacant as the circles on their signs.

Deirdre had ignored the Mouthers, as had everyone else passing by. No one ever looked at the people in white, or up at the sky. Or, it seemed, at the articles in the newspaper.

Maybe people are tired of hearing about disasters, Deirdre. Fires. Floods. Wars. Famines. Maybe there are too many troubles here on Earth to worry about something in the sky.

Maybe. But while others might be disinterested, Deirdre was anything but. Like the storms and earthquakes, Variance X had to be related to perihelion somehow. She leaned over the paper, scanning the article in the Times.

It began with a summary of what was known about the anomaly: how it had first been detected a few months ago, at a distance of about 10 billion miles from Earth—or fifteen hours as the light beam flies. At the time, the anomaly was dubbed Variance X by skeptical astronomers. The name was a joke. Over the years, various astronomers had put forth the theory that the solar system contained a dark, distant tenth planet– Planet X. Such a planet had never been found, and those who theorized it existed were generally regarded as pseudoscientists and crackpots.

However, no one was laughing now, for the joke soon ended as countless observatories around the world confirmed the existence of Variance X, as well as the fact that it was growing.

Some researchers speculated that the anomaly was indeed a tenth planet, surrounded by a cloud of black, icy comets, approaching the solar system on the short end of its elliptical orbit. Others suggested it was a disk of dark matter that until recently had been angled with respect to Earth so that it was invisible, like a dinner plate turned on edge. Now, as the disk rotated on its axis, it was coming into view, and blotting out Earth’s view of the stars beyond it. Others suggested Variance X was a cloud of light-absorbing gas trailing a small, wandering black hole.

However, one researcher—an American astronomer who had recently accepted a position as a visiting professor at Oxford– had proposed a very different theory: that the dark blot was in fact an instability in the fabric of space-time. So far, according to the newspaper article, most leading astronomers had rejected that theory.

Yet perhaps such an explanation is unthinkable, the article went on, not because it is impossible, but instead because theconsequences are so dire. If Variance X is a rip in space-time– the cloth from which our universe is cut—what’s to stop it from unraveling? Nothing, says American astronomer Sara Voorhees. According to Voorhees, unless the instability that gave rise to it somehow corrects itself, the anomaly will keep expanding until the universe is torn apart in one final, violent blending of matter and antimatter that will leave nothing at all. It’s not difficult to see why that prospect has proven unpopular.

Feeling ill, Deirdre folded the paper and tossed it in the waste bin. What did it all mean? Maybe two different worlds were on a collision course. Maybe that was what perihelion meant. If so, then there was no hope for anyone on Earth or Eldh.

Except, the problem was, Deirdre didhave hope. She couldn’t wait quietly for the end of the world like the Mouthers; she had to do something. And she was going to. With a deep breath she rolled up her sleeves, turned on her computer, and got to work.

By the time Beltan and Anders showed up, she had a plan.

“What’s going on, mate?” Anders said, setting a tall paper cup on her desk. “You’ve got an extradetermined look about you today.”

She picked up the cup and took a sip. It was coffee: rich, bitter, and with just the perfect hint of cream. “Have you found a sorcerer yet?”

“No,” Beltan said, slumping into a chair next to her desk. “It’s like looking for something very small lost in an enormous pile of things that are also very small. Only not the same as the first thing.”

“You mean it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Anders said.

Beltan frowned at him. “By Vathris, why would anyone look for a needle in a stack of hay?”

“It’s an expression. It means just what you said.”

“I’m talking about people, not needles. And how did it get in the hay? Did some mad seamstress put the needle there?”

“Never mind,” Anders growled. He shrugged off his suit coat and glanced at Deirdre. “As you can see, we haven’t exactly made a lot of progress in our hunt for a sorcerer.”

Muscles played beneath the skin of his forearms as he loosened his tie. Deirdre gulped the scalding-hot coffee.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her throat burning. “I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“You’ve got what figured out?” Beltan said.

“How we’re going to catch a sorcerer.”