WebMage (20 page)

When I started the process I'd been going on twenty very strenuous hours with no sleep, maybe more. It was hard to tell exactly, because of the seasonal and circadian shifts that went with the trip to Garbage Faerie. Also, time always gets funny whenever you pass through a gate. By the time I finished my initial cleanup and reconstruction, that number was well over thirty, and I was utterly exhausted. I staggered as I climbed the rebuilt stairs and hopped up onto the overstuffed footstool that marked my point of entry. When I arrived, Ahllan dropped a rope out of an invisible hole in the ceiling.

The ascent through the tube of jellied light took the last of my reserves, and I practically passed out when I snapped back into my body. The energy required to whistle the spell that sealed the wound left by the athame was almost the last erg I had. It took an enormous effort of will to get up and disconnect the wires from Mel. Once I had them loose, I lowered myself onto one of the couches.

"I'm just going to check out for while, Mel," I said, patting his arm. "I'll see you in the morning."

Then, because he looked so sad and alone on the table, I reached across and lifted him over to join me. Pillowing his head in the crook of my arm, I settled down. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

I'm not sure what woke me. Perhaps it was some small sound. Perhaps it was the light streaming in through the skylights. Whatever it was, it didn't bring me all the way up, and I was pretty sure I would be able to go right back down again. Frankly, nothing in the world sounded better. So, when I heard the sound of someone moving in the room, I didn't even open my eyes.

"Ahllan," I said. "Just throw a blanket over me and try to be gentle if you need to sit on me. I'm not moving ever again." It was at exactly that moment that Cerice started yelling at me.

"What streak of divine idiocy possessed you to do that to the Core?" shrilled Cerice. "You've betrayed the whole structure of Fate." I'd been almost completely asleep when she arrived, and the harangue was the first intimation I had of her presence.

"Cerice?" I mumbled. However much sleep I'd had, it wasn't anywhere near enough. I forced my eyes open. She was standing over me, wearing full armor, her helm tucked under one arm. "When did you get here?"

"What difference does that make?" she snapped.

"I don't know. It's the first question that popped into my head. I suppose I could have asked how you got here. Or why you're here. Or what you're here for. I already know who you are, so that's out. But of the five interrogatives,
when
just sort of bobbed to the top of the list." I was little punchy.

"You're absolutely impossible," she snarled.

"Really? That's one the nicest things anyone's ever said to me." She was still glaring, but it was clear she'd lost her momentum. I pressed my advantage. "If you tell me I'm incorrigible as well, I'm yours for life."

She sighed and dropped into a chair. "You are, you know."

"Ecstasy. Take me, I'm yours." I don't know what she would have said next, because the sliding metal noises of Ahllan's transformation announced the troll's return to the world of the bipedal.

"Welcome back,
mein
hostess," I said. Then I realized something. "Hey, you're transforming in front of Cerice. Now she's going to know you're a webtroll."

"Old news," said Cerice. "I've known for years."

"How did that happen?" I asked, sitting up and shifting Melchior onto my lap. He remained cool and still.

"Uh-uh," replied Cerice. "That's not my secret to tell. Besides, the last time we spoke the Furies were on their way to kill you, and you were rather abrupt with me. I'm not telling you another thing until you explain why you let a virus loose in the Fate Core without warning me first."

"But," I started. Then I stopped.

My normal response to harsh questions is counterattack. My verbal reflexes were telling me I should point out the issue of the webtroll again, but a very small, very quiet voice in the back of my head was saying that would be a bad idea. It was telling me that if I wanted any chance of getting back on Cerice's good side, it would be a good time for apologies and explanations and that winning an argument is not always a victory. Listening to this inner voice of sanity, I began again.

"Let me start by apologizing for anything I might have done in the Fate Core that upset you. However, I'm fairly certain that what I remember happening there, and what you're telling me happened, are two very different sets of events. Now, would you rather that I tell you what went on as it happened to me, and then you can tell me the version you heard?" I asked. "Or, should we do the reverse?"

"How about if Ravirn goes first?" asked Ahllan. "I've already heard his story, and I can get you something to eat while he talks. That way I won't miss anything."

"That sounds fantastic," I replied. "What about it, Cerice?" I asked. "I'll do whatever you want, but I'm starving."

"All right," she said. "I've already blown the version of the scene where I come storming in, tell you what I think of the awful things you've done, condemn you as a damned liar, then sweep out of your life forever. I might as well opt for creature comforts while I wait to see whether I should shoot you or not. Ahllan, would you bring some of those little biscuity things you make with the chocolate and clotted cream? I love those."

"Of course, my dear."

The troll bustled from the room. Bustling and trolls don't normally go together. They're more the stalking or lurching type, but as I've noted before, there was something distinctly grandmotherly about Ahllan. Of course, the only thing she had in common with
my
grandmother was the ability to strike terror into the hearts of anyone rational enough to realize what they were dealing with.

I turned back to Cerice and began my story. My explanation of my motives for entering the Core were, of course, marred by the curse, but once I got into events and away from Atropos, it subsided. Ahllan returned at about the point in the narrative where I'd sicced a pack of prehistoric carnivores on the Furies. The tray she placed on the table contained a variety of baked goods, coffee, tea, sugar, and a huge vat of clotted cream. She'd also brought a bundle containing a fresh set of tights, a tunic, and a pair of court boots I'd left behind after my earlier convalescence. She set it beside my other gear, apparently rescued from beside the faerie ring while I slept. When I finished my tale, Cerice gave me a long hard look.

"I think I begin to understand why everybody ignored Cassandra," she said, sounding exasperated. "That's nothing like what I heard. And my sources were pretty reliable. Why should I believe you?"

"Because I have a naturally trustworthy face?" I asked hopefully.

"Ha!"

"All right. I didn't think that would fly. How about because I was there, and you weren't?" I asked.

"That only works if I believe you're a reliable witness," she said.

"That's the crux of the matter, isn't it?" I sighed. "I wish I could tell for sure whether you weren't believing me because of the curse or just because of me. But I suppose it doesn't matter. Okay, let me pose a question. Whose testimony are you relying on to contradict mine? I doubt you've spoken with the Goddess of Discord, not that she's reliable. Also, she was only there by proxy. Laric was both reliable and present, but he's dead." I closed my eyes for a minute. I was going to have serious hysterics about that, just as soon as I could find the time. "Which, I must admit, is wholly my fault. Hwyl would rather have his tongue torn out than say a kind word about me. Dairn is likewise a partisan witness. Also, they both arrived on the scene late. Melchior is hopefully on the mend." I brushed my hand across the skin of his forehead. "But if you won't take my word, I can't imagine you'd take his."

"Actually," said Cerice. "I
would
take his word quite seriously if you hadn't just spent the last ten hours rewriting his memory."

"Ouch," I said. "I give up. Whose word are you taking over mine?"

Cerice turned her attention to Ahllan. "How much does he know?"

"Know about what?" I interjected.

"No," said Cerice. "As I said before, it's not my secret."

"Wait," I said. "Does this have something to do with how you knew what Atropos was up to?"

Cerice shook her head. "I can't tell you that."

"It's all right," said the troll, smiling gently. "He has all the pieces. He'll figure it out eventually."

"Don't bet any money on it," said Cerice, derisively. "It took him almost four years to figure out he had a thing for me. And the only reason he finally twigged to that was because I hit him over the head with it. Deduction isn't his long suit."

"Gosh, thanks," I said, shifting in my seat. "Now what are you talking about?"

"You're sure it's all right," Cerice asked Ahllan. The troll nodded.

Cerice stood and pulled Shara from the compartment on the back of her armor, paused for a moment, then started peeling the armor off. While she changed, so did I. Getting out of the outfit I'd spent so much of last two days in felt heavenly. Apparently, Cerice felt much the same way about shucking her armor.

"That's so much better," she said as she peeled off the last greave. She gave her breastplate an assessing look and flicked it with a fingertip. "This was custom-made to fit me. It's supposed to conform to my shape, not make me conform to its. Oh well."

She flipped open the purple clamshell of her laptop and typed a command. The rounded curves of the computer slithered about until they had become the even more rounded curves of Share's goblin form. The little purple temptress threw me a wink and hopped down to the floor. She walked over to Melchior.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a mess like this?" she asked, patting him on the cheek. There was genuine sadness in her voice, and I was touched.

"He keeps bad company," I said, dropping back onto the couch. I wasn't yet recovered enough that I felt like spending any more time than I needed to on my feet.

She turned an appraising look at me. "I don't know about that. Cerice's taste isn't half-bad. If you were three feet shorter and I was anatomically correct, I'd give her a run for her money."

"Shara!" said Cerice, sounding shocked.

"You gets what you programs," said the webgoblin. "Or perhaps I should say; lechery in, lechery out."

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," said Cerice, though she blushed.

"Of course you haven't, deary," said Shara, tipping her mistress a broad wink.

"I hate to interrupt," I said. "But we're losing focus, and for me it's only a short step from there to losing consciousness at the moment." I nabbed a mug of coffee. If I was going to have to stay vertical for a while, caffeine was a necessity. "You still haven't answered my question about sources, and I'd really like to find out what in Hades' name I'm supposed to have done."

"Fair enough," said Cerice, picking up a dense shortbread biscuit drizzled with dark chocolate. "Shara, show us the feed from Tinka."

"You didn't say the magic words."

"Or else," growled Cerice.

"Here we go," said the webgoblin, grinning again.

Shara opened her eyes and mouth wide. A three-dimensional scene appeared, centered on a miniature Doric temple. The Temple of Fate marked the point where the three demesnes of the Fates intersected. It was where they met in conference. It was also where the machines that housed the Fate Core were located. Tall fluted marble pillars were painted a rich purple, the stairs crimson. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos stood close together on the steps. Off to one side hulked a fourth squat shape I recognized as my grandmother's webtroll, Phalla.

"We are betrayed," said Atropos.

"Yes," agreed Clotho, "seemingly. And by flesh of our flesh."

"That has not yet been proven," said Lachesis, but her tone was resigned.

"Let me show you the evidence," said Atropos.

The three figures entered the temple. Inside, the classical Greek trappings had been swept away. Thick carpet filled the long room, and a heavy mahogany table ran down the center. Off to one side stood Atropos's familiar, Kalkin. The view seemed to focus very tightly on the troll's heavy features, and I found myself paying more attention to them than I ever had in the past. Something about the eyes drew my gaze. On closer inspection, I realized what it was. His left eyelid was twitching in a nervous tic. For a long moment, the point of view held there, and the twitch became something that might almost have been a wink, but the picture shifted before I could be certain.

"Wait a second," I said. "What's going on? How did you get this? Kalkin's a vicious carnivore. He never winks."

"Wait and see," said Cerice, holding up a hushing finger.

Our point of view focused on the table where the Fates had taken seats. Atropos beckoned, and Kalkin edged up beside her.

"Kalkin," said Atropos, bobbing her head regally. "Witnesses For The Prosecution. Execute."

The troll opened his piggy eyes and huge mouth wide. On the table, a scene took shape. My own point of view closed in so that this new scene was all that was visible. Hwyl lay on a low pallet. The focus zoomed in on the charred puncture in his thigh, then pulled back to show his face.

"It was Ravirn, grandmother," he said. I was shocked. There was no growl in his voice. It was completely human and utterly subservient. "I found him with Laric's corpse."

The point of view suddenly shifted to a close-up of Laric's face with the coins on his eyes. It paused there for a moment, then panned to the ruined athame and the scorch marks on his arm.

"Ravirn gave me this," continued Hwyl, gesturing at his wound. "Then he had his familiar open up some weird kind of gate, and the two of them dropped through it."

The point of view pulled back, and Dairn stepped into view.

"Then I arrived," he said. "I offered to care for Hwyl, but he told me to go after Ravirn. Apparently Ravirn isn't as clever as he thinks, because he forgot to close the ley link behind him. I was able to follow him without having to craft my own path."