City of Fire (City Trilogy (Mass Market)) (14 page)

Bayang thanked the guard and ushered them back the way they had come. When they were out of earshot, she shook her head in self-reproach. “That was my mistake. We should have headed for the terminal.”

“Well, that was a waste,” Koko complained. “First, you crashland us and then you take us on a wild-goose chase.”

“Leave her alone,” Leech said. “We agreed with her, didn’t we?”

“Why are you taking her side?” Koko asked, hurt.

It was a small thing, but Bayang hadn’t expected her prey to defend her.
Blast him! Why does he have to be so likeable?

“Who’s this Roland guy anyway?” Koko asked.

“One of the richest men in the world.” Bayang frowned. It was even worse news to hear that Badik was allied with such a powerful human. “He’s got a finger in everything, so chances are every day
you use something his factories made, whether it’s the shirt you wear or the car you ride in or the meal you eat. It’s said he dines with the King of England one week and the Czar of Russia the next. His nickname is the Uncrowned Emperor.”

“I saw him once in the palace in Bactra,” Kles said. Bactra was the ancient capital of the Kushan empire. “He was on his way to dine with the emperor. He must be behind the theft.”

“But why risk an international incident to steal the ring?” Scirye wondered. “Is it magical, Kles?”

The griffin shook his head. “Not that I know of, but the ring’s so ancient that people may have forgotten how to use its magic. Without the proper knowledge, a magical ring is just another band of stone. However, I doubt if there’s anything supernatural about the ring. It’s priceless because of its symbolism and the fame of its previous owners.”

Badik, though, was only interested in power, not money, so he would never hire himself out as a mere thief, Bayang thought. “The ring has to be more than an antique. If it’s not magical, perhaps showing the ring to the right person will give Roland access to a special treasure.”

“Oh, like a pawn ticket lets you claim something,” Koko said.

“But whatever the purpose,” Bayang went on, “you can bet the ring is part of some major plot.”

The hatchlings stopped walking, digesting that news uncomfortably, and Bayang thought how small and young and helpless they looked at that moment. Perhaps this would discourage them enough so that they would no longer get in her way.

But then Scirye lifted her head. “We could talk all day and never figure out why Roland wants it. So why don’t we go ask him?” She added grimly, “Once we get back the ring.”

Despite her determined words, the hatchling’s voice trembled
slightly, and Bayang found herself admiring the little human’s courage, if not her sense.

“It’s the only way.” Leech nodded.

Koko tapped the side of his head as if trying to unclog his ear. “There must be something wrong with my hearing, because I just heard you saying you were willing to take on a dragon and one of the most powerful men in the world.”

Leech grinned infectiously. “You were the one who said you were getting bored.” Grabbing Koko’s arm, he broke into a run. “Come on,” he urged, dragging his friend along.

“This is not a game!” Bayang called in exasperation.

Leech turned around, backpedaling as he answered Bayang. “I know, but we still might as well have fun.”

Despite herself, Bayang found herself enjoying his spirit— Scirye’s, too, for she was racing alongside them, laughing as if they were on a holiday at the beach. These hatchlings made her feel young and carefree again in a way she had not felt since the days long ago before Badik had attacked her clan.

After that terrible battle, her one thought had been to turn herself into a warrior capable of destroying Badik. In that single-minded pursuit, she had shed such notions as enjoying herself. Seeing the hatchlings now, though, she began to wonder if she had missed something.

Her longer legs would have allowed her to catch up to them, and she almost gave in to the temptation. However, she caught herself just in time. What if Roland had spies out? So she stayed in disguise by hobbling along. She had been Bayang the Assassin too long to change now.

Which meant that Leech would have to die sometime.

Scirye

Driven by a strong sense of urgency, Scirye and the others didn’t stop where travelers were gathering to wait with their luggage for the bus shuttle. Instead, they kept on going, almost jogging along the causeway and then northeast up a broad street called California Avenue.

At the same time that Pan America had opened its terminal on Treasure Island, San Francisco had also staged a world’s fair there. Most of the fair’s structures had been constructed with cheap materials because they were only meant to be temporary, but the seaplane port’s buildings had been more permanent. The semicircular building on their immediate right had been the fair’s administration building but now served as a control tower and terminal. Farther up the road were two former exhibit halls whose graceful arches and tall
windows made them resemble cathedrals, but which were now hangars.

The rest of the fair’s exhibits and gardens were being replaced by other airport facilities and additional hangars. Clearly, business was booming at the seaplane port.

Passengers were bustling in and out of the terminal, the walls of which curved like a giant smile, and they entered through the main doors into a high, spacious lobby. A huge aluminum mobile hung from the ceiling. A globe with the skeletal framework of the continents symbolized the earth. About it bobbed huge rings on which seaplanes had been soldered, suggesting the different flight paths of the airlines. More bold metal artwork adorned the upper part of the surrounding walls, while flowers and small trees served as ornaments to decorate the lower areas.

The noise inside hit them with the force of a tidal wave. Hundreds of people were all chatting in dozens of tongues above the slapping sound of shoes, boots, and sandals on the marble floor. There were diplomats from the Dahomey kingdom, Azteca from the southern realms, Turkomans in fezzes and with mustaches large enough to damage an eye. Brushing shoulders with them were furry kobolds from the Russian steppes and airy ifrits from the Saharan deserts. All that was missing were penguins from Antarctica.

Kles gazed at the different colorful costumes passing by. “This is just like back in Bactra. It almost makes me homesick.”

Scirye, who barely remembered her life there, made a vague grunt.

“Pan American Flight 54 to Honolulu will be leaving shortly,” a voice boomed from a loud speaker.

Bayang scanned the people hurrying by. “I’ve seen Roland’s face in the newspapers and newsreels, but there’s just too many people.”

“Couldn’t we page him?” Scirye offered.

“He’d just send one of his underlings,” Bayang said.

“Sometimes two nostrils are better than a pair of eyes,” Kles said. He turned his head in a slow circle, sampling the air until he straightened. “I’ve caught the thief’s scent.” Then he rubbed his beak with a forepaw, suddenly puzzled. He sniffed again and his gaze fell on Bayang.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked. “Did you lose the trail?”

Kles’s eyes narrowed suspiciously but all he said was, “No. The thief’s over there.” And he pointed a claw.

“What if he’s already handed the ring to Roland?” Scirye asked.

“Then we’ll see if the thief knows where his former employer is going,” Bayang said, “before we take care of him.”

They followed Kles’s directions through the crowd to the huge Pan American counter where uniformed clerks were taking care of the passengers.

“That’s Roland,” Bayang said in a low voice.

Scirye had been expecting some slick-haired, pencil-mustached villain like in the movies. However, Bayang nodded to a tall, well-built man with long blond hair and delicate features—the kind who might have been seen conducting an orchestra.

He was dressed in a cream velvet coat with wide lapels and white pants. In his hand was a straw panama hat. Scirye had been at enough diplomatic receptions to recognize simple but elegantly tailored clothes.

There were a half dozen suited men and women with him, one of whom was handling the actual tickets.

Kles pointed his beak toward a young man in the back. He might have looked handsome if he didn’t have such a sour expression on his face. “He’s the thief.”

“Keep an eye on them,” Bayang murmured to the children, and then surveyed the terminal until she saw a uniformed airport policeman. A veteran would have slouched comfortably, but this one stood at ramrod attention. Hunching over again like an old woman, she
walked toward him. As she drew closer, she saw how young he was— and also eager to prove himself.

“Did you hear about the theft at the museum?” she asked.

The officer nodded toward a bank of lights where new headlines streamed across. “We just saw it now.”

“Well, the thief is right here trying to escape,” she said.

The children were still where she had left them and they signaled to her.

Roland had only moved a few paces away from the counter and was now talking with a beaming, bald-headed man.

Bayang pointed at the disguised dragon. “There’s the thief.”

Roland turned as the determined young officer bore down toward him. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

When the bald-headed man turned, the officer stopped in mid-stride. “What’s the meaning of this, Jenkins?”

Jenkins touched the visor of his cap respectfully. “This lady”— he indicated Bayang—”says that this gentleman”—he waved his hand now at the shape-shifting dragon—”is the museum thief.”

Roland seemed amused. “What sort of prank is this, Pete?”

“One in very poor taste,” Pete said.

It seemed clear to Scirye that Roland’s money was protecting the thief as well as himself. It was too much for the girl to stand and she charged over.

Scirye drew herself up and tried to sound like her mother when she was carrying out official business. “I represent the Kushan Consulate,” the girl announced. “They’ve got the ring.” As she waved a hand at them, the bundle of axes clinked. “Search them all. And their luggage, too.”

“I am the manager of this seaplane port, young lady,” Pete spluttered. “Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t go about making such wild accusations.”

Jenkins looked as if he were having second thoughts. Even so, he
stuck to his guns. “Maybe so, sir. But we can’t let them go until we find out the truth.”

The dragon must have had heard the clinking noise from within Scirye’s bundle and took the opportunity to whisper his suspicions in Roland’s ear.

Roland raised his cane and knocked the rolled-up carpet from her arm. Though the fragment hung in the air, the axes with their golden shafts clinked loudly on the marble tiles.

“I believe, Officer,” Roland drawled, “that you’ll find the axes were stolen from the museum.” He motioned his cane toward Bayang and the children. “There are your real thieves.”

Scirye was furious when she saw that Jenkins was staring at them angrily. “He’s lying.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Roland,” Pete apologized.

Roland raised a hand and fluttered his fingers. “No need. The poor granny must have gone senile, and she’s convinced her halfwit grandchildren about her fantasy.” Though he had spoken in a breezy tone, his eyes were hard.