Pacific Fire (27 page)

“Tell me how you're hooked into this thing. Can I just yank the cables?”

“My name is Tom.” His voice was weak, but Daniel saw awareness and intelligence in his eyes.

“Hi, Tom. I need your help. I want to get you out but I don't want to hurt you.”

“Too late for that.” He showed the weariest smile Daniel had ever seen. “Do whatever you have to.”

At least a dozen wire bundles emerged from Tom's flesh. How deep they penetrated was impossible to tell. Severing them might kill Tom or electrocute Daniel, but at least thirty seconds had passed since he'd dropped the rukh eggs and there wasn't time to perform a thorough study.

The blade of his knife sliced easily through the first bundle of wires.

“Still with me?”

Tom moaned. “Keep cutting.”

He cut through a second bundle and watched for Tom's reaction.

“Still good?”

“Keep cutting,” Tom said.

Daniel cut through the third bundle, and waited before cutting the fourth. “One more left, Tom. How are you doing?”

Tom closed his eyes and smiled. “Cut me free,” he said.

Daniel sawed through the last bundle, and Tom sagged. His arms slipped out of the brackets supporting him, and Daniel caught him as he collapsed. He lowered him to the floor.

“You gotta walk, my friend. Get to the ladder and my big, strong buddy will haul you up.”

By the time he finished the sentence, he realized Tom was dead. His mouth was twisted in a grimace of pain, but not as much pain as when he'd been alive. His open eyes stared at nothing.

Otis was so clever at getting Daniel's hands to commit his crimes.

And now what? Continue cutting the rest of the batteries free and hope they survived disconnection longer than Tom did? Go with the original plan and blast the power plant to rubble?

“Daniel,” Sam called from his position at one of the entrances. “Something's coming.”

Daniel smelled it, a redolent, billowing confusion of flame and kraken mixed with his father's aftershave and, incongruously, the raw-egg odor he associated with golems.

Sam identified it before Daniel did: “It smells like you.”

Sam was right, and Daniel was afraid.

“Evacuate,” he said. “Up the ladder, now.”

Em and Sam hurried over from their respective positions. Em got there first.

“You and Sam go back into the cable tunnel. Make sure you replace the vent grate. Then get to the firedrake and finish things.”

She looked at him, questioning. “What about you?”

“Just climb,” he said. He meant for it to sound like an incontrovertible order, but the tone of pleading in it was unmistakable. Understanding, Em started climbing, and Daniel decided he liked her very much.

“What's going on?” Sam said when he reached Daniel.

“Too complicated to explain. Follow Em. I'll be right behind you.”

“That smell … is that who I think it is?”

“I think so.”

“Well, come on, then.”

The odors fell on them like a collapsing wall. The last time Daniel had encountered osteomantic force this strong was when he'd faced the Hierarch. He'd barely survived that encounter. He staggered, but Sam held steady.

“Do you trust me, Sam?”

“I have to,” he said at last.

The hesitation in Sam's answer broke Daniel's heart.

“Then for this last time, do what I tell you. Go with Moth and Em. Destroy the dragon. Let me deal with this.”

Sam lingered.

“Whoever finishes their job first comes for the other,” Sam said.

“Sure.”

“Promise me, Daniel.”

“I promise.”

Sam turned and followed Em up the ladder.

From the vent, Moth looked down on Daniel, waiting for him to come up.

“I'm staying,” Daniel said. “Strawberry field.”

Moth's eyes widened. He looked down on Daniel as if he were already dead.

*   *   *

Daniel plunged his hand into his bag and found the jar of poison he'd stolen from Mother Cauldron. He reached into his cells for sense memories of confusion, of alluding perception, essences from the sint holo serpent, and concentrated them around the cold, polished surface of the jar.

He was standing in the middle of the room when the source of potent osteomancy arrived, alone.

He had more muscle than Daniel. His skin was a light, pasty beige, probably from spending time indoors. His face was hard, his cheekbones more prominent than Daniel's. Above his left eye was a rough, carnation-pink patch of skin, which Daniel knew was the legacy of a horrific wound. He didn't quite look like a twin, even though he was even more closely related to Daniel than that.

He stepped up to Daniel, examining him with keen fascination.

Daniel raised his hands in the air and surrendered to his own golem.

 

SEVENTEEN

Daniel followed his golem. There were no handcuffs or chains or weapons or guards. Nobody took his osteomancer's kit away.

He hoped they'd fight. It would be a good distraction. But this was better. He'd been caught in the act of sabotage alone, and maybe Sam's team could make it to the dragon hangar undetected.

Daniel and the golem went down tunnels and back corridors without speaking, except for an occasional “Watch your step” or “Don't bump your head” from the golem. Of all the things Daniel dreamed of feeling when meeting the closest thing he had to a brother, the very last thing was shyness.

“What do I call you?” Daniel asked him when the silences became too awkward to bear.

“My name is Paul.”

“Paul Blackland?”

“Paul Sigilo.”

“Mom's name.”

Paul gave him a sideways glance. “Huh. Strange hearing someone else call her ‘Mom.' I grew up an only child.”

“Me, too.”

They arrived at Paul's private quarters, a room carved out of the sandstone. Tapestries and a Persian rug and warm lampshades made it seem less like a hole and more like a grand sultan's tent. To gather his thoughts and courage, Daniel made a point of calmly examining the furnishings. The silks were embroidered with scenes from the Far East, of Chinese dragons laid out in osteomancers' workshops, being stripped of scale and skin, of cauldrons full of boiling osteomantic preparations.

“You're a better decorator than I am.”

Paul shrugged. “You're always on the move. I've been here for five months.”

There was a bed and a writing desk, but the room was dominated by a hefty oak table, arrayed with glasswork and burners and jars of tissue samples. Bones, both prepared in jars and raw, were scattered across the table amid books and loose-leaf papers. It had been a long time since Daniel had seen an osteomancer's materials of this quality. It reminded him of his father and induced a pang of something: nostalgia, sorrow, envy.

“I have to search your bag,” Paul said apologetically.

Daniel unslung his satchel and handed it over. Like any good osteomancer, Paul used his nose first, opening the bag and sticking his face in. Only then did he reach inside and begin pulling out items: rukh eggs, salamander-resin charges, packets of meretseger, a bottle of seps venom, matches and spare knife and med kit. He searched inside all the pockets, ran his hands into every little fold, smelled the air in the bag, around the bag, around Daniel.

He handed it back.

“And now you. Sorry.”

Daniel put his hands in the air and let the golem pat him up and down and go through all his pockets.

“You're only carrying basic gear. How were you planning to sabotage the firedrake?”

“I got attacked with tsuchigumo venom a few days ago. It's still in my system. I figured I could just bleed it into your dragon.”

“That wasn't a very good plan. It'd take a lot more than that to harm a Pacific firedrake.”

“It was very cleverly prepared tsuchigumo. It almost did me in.”

Paul shook his head and looked uncomfortable, as if Daniel had said something socially awkward. “Was Otis Roth behind the attack?”

“Afraid so.”

“I'm sorry.”

The sint holo miasma he'd placed around the bottle of toxin from Mother Cauldron's kitchen had escaped Paul's notice, but Daniel was eager to change the subject. He turned to the work table. “Looks like you're a real osteomancer.”

“I was trained by some of the best. Go ahead, look closer. I can tell you're dying to.”

“It's funny that you said ‘dying,' because usually when someone invites me to examine their nefarious plans, it's a precursor to trying to kill me.”

Paul laughed. It sounded familiar. “You associate with a vile crowd, brother.”

Daniel took a slow circuit around the table. He examined skeleton diagrams, detailed studies of muscular and circulatory systems, pages written in osteomantic notation, much of it beyond Daniel's training and knowledge. But not all of it.

“The first time I met you,” Daniel said, measuring his words, “it didn't seem like you'd ever be capable of this kind of work.” He gestured at the table. “This is amazing.”

“I actually don't have memories of that day,” Paul said, moving over to a wood-and-brass cabinet. “I came out of the jar brain damaged. But once Mother brought me to San Francisco, she found some osteomancers who got things working right.” He tapped the side of his head. “But you remember me?”

“Kind of hard to forget. Dad … my dad … was freshly murdered. I went to Mom at a safe house, and she was there for less than three minutes before she introduced me to you and then put you in a car and drove off. I never saw or heard from her again. So, yes, I remember you. That was kind of a big day for me.”

Paul looked at Daniel with sympathy but no pity. It seemed like he wanted to say something but was holding back, and Daniel felt embarrassed.

“Want a beer?” Paul said finally, pulling two bottles from the cabinet. “My own brew.” He popped the tops and handed one to Daniel.

So here I am,
thought Daniel,
having a beer with my no-longer-brain-damaged, genius golem-brother. Oh, life.

“You must have more questions,” Paul said.

“Only very sensitive, personal ones.”

Paul clinked his bottle against Daniel's and took a swallow.

Daniel took his own sip. The beer was cold and richly dark. “You were shot, on your knees, in a strawberry field. Shot in the
head
.”

“How'd you know about that?”

“I consumed some lamassu before a job. Lamassu is a—”

“We call it Sumerian sphinx up north. Very tricky stuff to work with. So you ate some, experienced psionic backlash, and connected with the part of your essence invested in me. Interesting.” He cocked his head and smiled, as if waiting for praise. “Well, yes, that happened. Mother came back for me and they were able to repair me in San Francisco. Again, that's just what I've been told. I don't remember it. Fortunately.”

“All right. So, your brain got better, your head got fixed, you grew up in San Francisco, got some outstanding osteomantic education, and no doubt there are thousands of other things that happened to you and turned you into the person you are. But I think for now, I'd like to skip ahead. This is great beer, by the way.”

“I'm happy you like it.”

“What are you doing in Southern California, Paul?”

Paul picked up an articulated model of a skeleton. It was sleek, with a long, spiked neck and wings.

“I'm here for the same reason you are. The dragon. Though I suspect our intents with regards to it are in opposition.”

“You talk kind of funny,” Daniel said. “But, yeah, I came here to destroy it. That's my role. I'm here to foul things up. What's your role?”

“I'm building a dragon. It's my dragon.” He made the model's wings flap.

“Your dragon? Otis Roth might see that differently.”

Paul made a dismissive gesture. “I needed Otis for the resources. Firedrake remains, osteomantic materials, this facility, which is conveniently distant from my rivals up north. I mean, you're correct, Otis thinks the dragon is his. But he's going to be disappointed. I don't suppose you've seen him recently?”

Daniel mulled it over. “Oh, why not tell you? I've got him packed away. You probably won't be seeing him again.”

“Well, I have to thank you for that. He was useful, but he's an untidy thread.”

Daniel laughed. “It's funny, because that sounds just like something Otis would say. He calculates the value of human lives on an abacus. He's like you. He's cold.”

“Yet you're the one who has him ‘packed away.'”

“That's not cold. That's red-hot rage.”

Paul shrugged. “In osteomancy, extremes of cold achieve the same ends as extremes of heat. Sebastian Blackland's Law of Absolutes.”

Daniel had learned that law when he was eight years old, from the man who the law was named after.

“You didn't know my father.” Daniel said it as a declaration of fact, but it was really a question, and he hoped the answer was no.

“I know his writings. It's standard material in the Northern realm. Though they've scrubbed his name off all his theorems.”

“Then how—?”

“Mother, of course. She told me about our father, and about her life in the South. And about you, of course.”

It bothered Daniel to hear Paul refer to Daniel's parents as his own. It was like having to share toys with his surgically removed appendix.

“Was it satisfying?” Paul asked. “When you killed the Hierarch? They say you ate him alive, over the course of days.”

“That might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I thought so. You strike me as a practical fellow. You'd want to get the job done and move on as quickly as possible.”

“Well, he was the man who killed my father. I was motivated by being really angry.”