[Kelvin 03] - Chimaera's Copper (with Robert E. Margroff) (27 page)

"Technology. What's the difference, as far as we're concerned? What it means is that it's a one-way transporter. No one can leave by it."

"No one?" Kelvin's knees began to feel like cooked macaroodles.

"No one. That's why the king's men don't use it."

Kelvin tried to think. To be confined to this dull frame forever. Never to see Heln again. To be, furthermore, in a world where there was no way to raise an army and defeat a tyrant? And what about the chimaera? The chimaera would be waiting for the dragonberries he had promised. He had every intention of fulfilling that promise, and would be mortified to renege on it.

"Perhaps there's a little hope," his father said unexpectedly.

All looked at him, the big stranger who had been mainly silent. Marvin looked hardest.

"Look," John Knight said, spreading his hands. "We're as much victims here as you are. But if the transporter is technology, or even if it's not, there may be a way."

"How?" Marvin demanded, showing some interest. "You going to kill off those headbees?"

"Maybe. The chamber beside the transporter chamber--I'm certain it didn't exist in any of the other frames. Maybe there's something that will make the transporter two-way. Possibly a control." "The king's men would have found it," one of the men said.

"Maybe not," John said. "Not if they didn't know what to look for. I remember how difficult it was to make a computer work, when you didn't know the codes; you could make random guesses all week and never get anywhere, and the damn machine wouldn't tell you."

"You think you know what to look for?" Marvin demanded.

"I might. If it's technology."

Kelvin's gauntlets twitched. What did that mean?

Marvin put away his sword. His grim face showed acceptance but no real belief in John's words. "There'd better be an army in this," he said. "There'd better be, or that's the end of all of us."

But the gauntlets were cooling. That gave Kelvin hope.

CHAPTER 20

A Meeting of Kinds

Charlain woke up rested. The camp was quiet now, the wounded up and around. It was--good heavens, it was late in the day!

She met Lomax as she was scrambling out of the tent. He was grinning as he came with arms wide for a hug. She let him embrace her and then tell her how many lives she had saved and how grateful they all were. "But now," he finished, "we'll be making our big drive and it's not fair to you--"

"You want me to leave."

"Before we reengage the enemy. Yes, ma'am. There will be more casualties, but we have a good supply of bloodfruit and you have discovered the mysteries of the doctor bag. We can manage, although--"

"Yes," she said. He wanted her to stay with them, she knew, and she didn't want to. She had after all come here for just one purpose, and that was to save Lester's fading life. She had done that, and now wanted very much to get well away from this mindless carnage.

"Then you--"

"I mean I will return home now, where I will be safe. That is what you were saying?"

He looked astonished, then crestfallen. He had asked from a sense of duty. She knew that the last thing he had expected was that she would comply. She felt guilty for disappointing him, but she did have to go.

"I'm not really a nurse or a magician," she said. "I'm sure you will manage with those who assisted me. My daughter may need me, and then there's my son and his wife. Heln is having my grandson."

"I--see." He was doing his unsuccessful best to mask his disappointment. If he were a very few years younger, he'd have to cry. It was nice that she was going to be missed.

"Keep the bandages changed, administer bloodfruit syrup as needed, and keep that boy out of the fighting."

"You mean Phillip?"

"That's the boy. He's reckless as my Jon was at his age. I read his cards and he's at continued high risk with the uncertainty card. Keep him safe."

"I'll try. But Phillip was a king. He's hard to control."

"No harder, I suspect, than Jon. And Phillip of Aratex doesn't have a big brother with magic gauntlets and a prophecy. If Jon was here you'd know what unmanageable is."

Lomax tried a grin, albeit weak. He motioned to a passing soldier. "Corporal Hinzer, saddle Mrs. Hack--eh, Charlain's horse and bring it to her. Have two unwounded men escort her to the border."

"That won't be necessary," Charlain assured him. "I know the way and there shouldn't be any danger for one old woman."

"Not old!" Lomax protested in a manner that had to be automatic. "But if you're sure--"

"You need all your men. The war isn't over."

"Yes. Yes, thank you, Charlain. Thank you for your help. You saved many lives."

You may not thank me always, she thought with regret. When things go against you and I'm not there. Then you may want to curse me for abandoning you.

With some justice, unfortunately.

She waited patiently while her mount was brought, then climbed up and into the saddle. She was a little stiff from all that kneeling. She was about to ride out when Lomax came running to her, his face flaming red. He handed her up a packet and a jug.

"I forgot you hadn't eaten! Here's traveling biscuit, dried meat, and tuber fruit. Wine's in the jug. You must be famished!"

"Not really," she said. "We witches seldom eat."

"Witches?" His face paled perceptibly. For a moment he looked as though he believed her.

"It's what Phillip said when I got to him. And who knows, if I had had a good teacher he just might have been correct!"

She nudged Nelly with her knee, rode through the camp, and out to the road that led to the border.

It was half a day later at leisurely horse-walking speed that she met the cat. It came from the bushes, tail raised, yellow eyes fixed on her, and she knew instantly that this was why she had left the camp.

She said, "Whoa, Nelly," though the horse was already stopped. The cat came nearer. It was very black, blacker than mortal hide ought to be. It sat down, washed itself carefully, pawed down its whiskers, and then did what Charlain had somehow expected. It turned its back, looked over its shoulder once, flicked its tail, and proceeded up a path.

"Follow that cat, Nelly!" Charlain said to her mount. It was silly and impossible that she do so, but Nelly obeyed. That, she thought, had to be the result of magic!

She held the reins loosely in her hands and let the horse plod on at the cat's pace. She sighed and closed her eyes, resting. Not once did she question herself about why she was here or where they were going. She did not even wonder whether it would be a long or a short trip. Somehow she had known that something like this would happen. That had been part of her urgency to get away from the camp. It was as if she had laid down another card, and it had told her to leave the place where she was needed, to find one where she was needed more.

Eventually the path reached its end and they stopped. Here, in an otherwise empty glade, was a huge gnarled tree. Under the tree, waiting, was an old, bent woman, leaning on a stick. Now who would that be, except--

"Helbah? Helbah the witch?"

"Who else, Charlain?"

She felt a cloud lift from her. "I am here," she said without thinking. "Here, as I know you directed."

"You have done well," Helbah said. "Now you will do even better."

Charlain knew that Helbah spoke only the witching truth. Heln watched behind half-hooded eyes as Jon added seeds and crumbs to the tray on the windowsill. Her task done, Jon glanced at her, saw her apparently asleep, and tiptoed out.

No sooner was the door closed than Heln was out of bed and scuttling, a way she found natural of late, across the room to the window. She stood stealthily waiting until the dark-headed sparren lit on the tray's rim. Bright-eyed, the little bird regarded her carefully. Heln remained frozen, unblinking.

The bird picked up a corbean from the tray, cracked it, and proceeded to eat. Pleased with the fare, it put its little head back and warbled cheerily.

Instantly Heln's hand shot out like a snake. Her fingers snapped closed like jaws on the tiny bird before it could flutter. She raised it to her mouth, her stomach growling for sustenance. The bird raised its beak desperately.

Heln opened her mouth. Easily, without seeming volition, her head snapped forward. Her teeth closed on the bird and crushed it.

She was just swallowing, and brushing crimson stains from her lips, when Jon entered. Jon stared at her and the tray. There were feathers on the tray. There was blood on Heln's mouth.

"Why, Heln, what--" Jon was too surprised and confused to finish the sentence.

"An eagawk dropped on a sparren. I tried to get here and chase it away, but--"

Jon's eyes were large. She was suspecting if not actually aware that Heln lied. Disbelief fought with another suspicion. The kinder, more logical thought survived.

"Oh, Heln, how terrible for you! I know how you love songbirds, how you enjoy seeing them! To have an eagawk drop on one right on the tray!"

"It was only following its nature," Heln said. Stealthily she wiped blood from her mouth and lips, sweeping her hand as if brushing away a crumb.

"Yes, I know, but--Heln, did you hurt yourself?"

"Bit my tongue when I tried to shout at the preybird." She turned all the way from the window. She forced herself to move slowly, as a pregnant woman should. Without another glance at Jon she got back into bed.

"Don't you want to go for a walk this morning?"

"No!"

"But it's so nice out!"

Heln merely closed her eyes as if bored with Jon's presence, which was hardly an exaggeration.

Jon moved to her side and felt her forehead. "You have no temperature, Heln. You seem cool--cooler than I'd think natural."

"You ever been with child?"

"You know I haven't!"

"That's the way it is. For roundears, at least."

"Oh." Jon never seemed to accept that her ears were different from her brother's and Heln's. It was as if the girl thought they were all of the same species. Little did she know!

"I might take another cup of tefee," Heln said, making another attempt to get rid of her.

"I'll pull the cord for the servant. Would you like something to eat, too, Heln? You hardly touched your groats this morning. You aren't sick again?"

"No. I told you I'm all right." When would this nuisance of a girl go away? Two of Jon's fingers reached out to the corner of Heln's mouth. They picked out a tiny feather. Jon eyed it, and her.

"I was too close to the kill," Heln said. "Blood and feathers sprayed on me."

"That must have been it," Jon said, sounding unconvinced. She held the feather, then carried it as though to dispose of it. But she walked not to the pullcord but to the door. She hesitated, giving Heln a peculiar look, then exited.

Heln delivered herself of a long, low hiss. So good to be rid of that one, if only momentarily. She'd like to be out in the sun, soaking up its rays, warming herself and the other through and through. But Jon, she knew, would think it strange, and the doctor would find it unacceptable. Later, after the other was born, she might go with it into the sunny desert and bask in the warming light and practice--what? She had lost the thought, frustratingly.

A mosqfly buzzed near her mouth, attracted by the stains. It lit on her upper lip, the foolish thing. Instantly her tongue darted out and rolled it into her mouth. The insect buzzed as she swallowed it.

At the same moment she felt the scuttling inside. Reaching down she patted her bulging stomach. Don't fret, Little Three Heads! Mama will feed you well.

There was no coherent answer, just a mental growl. It was too soon for the human minds to manifest. But soon that would change. All she had to do was find proper food.

Another mosqfly buzzed through the open window. She waited, rock-still, ready to capture it.

Dr. Sterk listened quietly as Jon described Heln's recent behavior. It was unfortunately evident what was happening to her. "And you're certain she ate it?" he asked.

"She must have! Blood all over her mouth, and this feather." She held up the tiny feather to show him.

"The mind comports itself strangely in pregnant women. Her behavior may seem abnormal, even bizarre, but I assure you it's all part of the process."

"Really, Doctor?" The girl had understandable skepticism.

"Really. Just keep watch and report anything that seems different. If necessary, I can always administer a stronger medicine."

"Oh, Doctor, you've made me feel so much better! You don't know how concerned I've been!"

"I can imagine. But even pointeared women develop strange appetites and behave oddly while carrying. Just go on as you have been, and everything should be all right."

He ushered her to the door and out. Then he allowed himself the grimace he had been suppressing.

Everything would not be all right, he thought dismally. Everything pointed to the chimaera syndrome. If that was what it was, and he was sickly certain this was the case, nothing would save that girl and her child except a certain powder.

And for that, he thought bitterly, I'd have to go to a dealer in such powders. Alas, he knew full well that any dealers who existed had to operate in some far-removed universe.

St. Helens heard them talking through the thick door. Then their jailer had the door open, and they were coming inside. He stood, reminding himself that they were royalty and that, as the saying went, brats would be brats.

They stood there with their golden crowns on their heads, two identical and apparent young boys.

"I'm Kildee, General Reilly," said the one on the right. "I'm Klingland's monarch."

"I'm Kildom," said the other boy. "I'm king of Kance." St. Helens permitted himself a slight bow. In name only, he thought. In name only are you the rulers. And in his home world of Earth, any royalty that still existed in England and France was purely nominal. No two frames were quite the same, but certain trends did seem to carry through.

"It is our hope," said Kildee, "that you will agree to come over to us."

"You mean--" St. Helens could hardly believe this, "switch sides?"