Tremble in the Dark: A Gwen Farris Novel (4 page)

So
it surprised her a bit when her Westmorland friend chimed in.

"Yes,
I was thinking to ask if he wished to attend with me? We've met, but I'm afraid
I've been remiss in keeping in touch with him."

That
got Agatha to go silent, since trolling wasn't a thing she'd probably ever had
to deal with. Not on her rather polite and proper show. She rebounded amazingly
though, Gwen thought.

Perfectly,
or nearly so.

"Wonderful!
Well, it's rude to ask to be put on a guest list, so I won't mention it
directly, but everyone at home, please note how my voice is cleverly trailing
off now..."

Gwen
moved in a little closer, "naturally we'll be inviting you, Agatha. This
will be in a few weeks, since Beth and I have to go off on assignment in the
morning. We could also invite King Ferdinand and The Marduk. I'm sure they'll
be too busy to attend, but we're on good terms. That's the polite thing to do,
right? Extend the invitation?" She should probably ask the other world
leaders too, just in case. It wouldn't do to insult them. The Empress of the
Chinoise was a person that she'd seen once after all, after being stabbed in a
room full of insane people that were trying to open a gateway to the voidic
planes. That, as she'd learned about half a second later, was a horrible idea.
The woman had lived however, and might be up to doing something by then.

That
left the Prime Minister of Europa. She'd seen him too, in passing, but wasn't
really sure which sacrifice he'd been. That one was alive too, she'd heard. It
couldn't hurt to ask, but he wouldn't come. The Western Kingdom and Europa
rather famously didn't get along, and Debussey and her crew had blown up their
Capital too.

Things
were tense there, because it was clear that they didn't really believe that a
small group of people had done it. They were, if covertly, blaming Ferdinand.

If
you only knew of one gun existing, and you got shot in the night, it would be
kind of natural to jump to conclusions, wouldn't it?

There
was more chatter then, that lasted about fifteen minutes. Agatha was polite,
but socially manipulative, which was a thing that Gwen couldn't match, so she
ended up agreeing to invite several high society people, ones that they were
all certain would want to come. When the line broke, without even so much as a
goodbye being said, Ethyl smiled.

It
was sort of fierce.

"There.
That should show them. If I support you in having a bizarre set of guests a
time or two, and let people know about it, then people will attend and I can
write the whole thing off to your youthful exuberance. People will come, as you
said, to see Lizzy Farris, and at the same time, still be attending at
my
home, served to our normal standards." She looked nearly smug for a bit,
and Beth nodded far more happily about the idea than she'd seemed before, but
then the older woman froze in place, her eyes going slightly wide suddenly.

"Or,
I mean, if you don't wish me to put it that way, I can back out now. We can
claim that you're working, since you mentioned that..."

It
seemed genuine, but that didn't mean much. Gwen didn't let her slight
irritation show, or let herself seem sullen.

 "Whatever
works for you, mom." The woman had asked her to use that form of address
before, though, honestly she'd said to call her
mother
. They all knew
what the word meant for some reason. It was a part of their culture that Gwen
hadn't seen yet though. Everyone else used either the full word or mum.

That
didn't keep Ethyl from beaming at the moment however. She actually moved in and
gave Gwen a little hug.

"Thank
you dear. I know that I shouldn't have presumed like that, but it was such a
good idea. Mine that is. Yours wasn't horrible, but I do think that it might
not translate perfectly to this social climate. People are being a bit
conservative right now, after everything. Shall we set it for three weeks from
now? I can start on the planning and invitations. We can hold it in the main
gardens, I think." She nearly walked off then, as Beth and Gwen stood
there, looking at her as if bemused by her antics.

It
was good to know that Gwen wasn't the only one to feel that way. Sometimes it
really seemed like everyone else was on the same page all the time and she was
the one constantly outside, standing by the window and looking in, like a Dickens'
street orphan. Alone.

Not
this time, since clearly Beth had no clue what to really make of the older
woman at all either. Shared confusion was still sharing.

It
counted
.

She
waved at the woman and then moved over to the door, gesturing for Beth to come
along.

"We've
packed, right now we need to get to practice, since we don't know when we'll be
getting another chance. We'll contact you on the telestat every few days or so,
if possible. If not, I'll send letters. I know, letters are the polite way to
do it, but really, how many repetitions of 'We're on a train. It's nice. Not
dead yet.' do you really want cluttering up your desk?" She had one of
those. A great writing desk, and actual filing cabinets, all made of wood.
Those were mainly for social correspondence. The business normally went to
Robert's offices.

Wherever
those were. Gwen needed to learn about that. Not that she planned to take over
the business or anything, but that kind of thing was a lot more family oriented
here, and if she was going to claim to be part of theirs, she had to pull her
own weight. She was nearly certain that idea had come from a movie or
television show, but it made sense to her. It might even make some to the
people on the Telesar that thought that the evil Vernors were basically holding
her hostage.

The
latest bit that she'd caught, a few days before, had it that they wanted an
heir and were planning to force her into a marriage to make sure one was
provided. Oddly enough, the public had seemed to be split on that one, as far
as she could tell. Half of them were shocked at the idea, and mortified that it
would be suggested by anyone. The others mainly flipped their hands up and said
that it sounded like they were taking their parenting duties seriously, which
was the proper thing to do, if they weren't going off to prison for their
daughter's crimes. For their part, all the Vernors had ever really done was
suggest that some nice, very eligible, young men could be contacted, if she
were so interested. True, Ethyl had, on several occasions, tried to sell that
idea pretty hard, but it always seemed to be fairly playful when she did it,
rather than a demand or ultimatum.

That
was good, since Gwen was pretty certain she'd be an awful wife. After all, all
she knew about doing that involved some online porn and sit-coms. That wasn't
the best battle plan for a lifelong commitment.

Also,
she thought of marriage as needing a battle plan, apparently.

Still,
it wasn't that pressing, she didn't think. A lot of girls that had any kind of
career in mind didn't get married until they were older. Nearly twenty-five or
six even. It was important to pick correctly, since you had to know the right
people to ensure you could have an annulment. Divorce was, she'd found out some
months back, a real thing here, but you had to go to court and most weren't
granted. Not even for spousal abuse. It pretty much had to be cheating, and
even then, a lot of judges would make people live together for years before
letting the paperwork go through, in case they could work things out.

She
walked and thought at the same time, noticing that Mrs. Vernor had actually
followed them a way down the hall, and looked like she wanted to add something.
What that would be, Gwen had no clue. Something about the party, most likely.

She
stopped and turned, smiling. They still had to change for the practice to come,
since they'd sweat, and doing that in the dress she was wearing was to be
avoided if possible.

"Mother?"
She used the word again, which got everyone to freeze for a moment, since it
hadn't been that common for her lately. It felt a little odd, but Ethyl smiled
and batted her eyes, which were starting to water a bit.

"It's
only that Robert and I got a rather unusual letter last evening. It's probably
nothing, since those with money are often targeted for rather vile threats at
times, but I was wondering if you and Beth might look at it? I didn't want to
bother you with it, but Winslow suggested that we use the resources available,
and since you're both rather fine detectives..."

Gwen
snorted, then covered her mouth.

"Beth
is a Detective. I'm more in the side-kick category, but I'd like to look at it.
Normally such things would be run by Con-Sev, I think. Unless it was posted
locally? Then the local Constabulary would get it. In my world we have a
division like that at least. But, we
are
here, which has to count as it
being at least polite for us to look at, in case it's nothing. We wouldn't want
to waste those other agencies time. Not right now." The very odd thing
there was that she really meant it. People were still reeling from the rifting
of Worthington, which would have been the same as Washington D.C. being nuked.

The
population here was smaller over all, but it had been a major city and nearly a
million people just stopped existing a few weeks ago. Dead. So fast that even
someone trying to teletransport out, which was normally considered instant,
wouldn't have made it. They weren't even tabulating the monetary cost of the
damage. The lives were enough. It was one of the most evil things to have ever
happened on their world. Worse, it had been an act of pure and real terrorism.
Doctor Debussey and her freak helpers had used the fear generated to try and
open their gate to the plane of the Elder Gods.

Bethany
however gave her a smile that, while very subtle, seemed to indicate that Gwen
had said something wrong. It was hard to tell, because her words went in a very
different direction than that. Maybe she was just wrong about the expression?
That happened. A lot in fact, even after a year.

"I
have to agree with that assessment. After we look at it, would you be open to
us handling the issue for you? We might need to report it to others. Is that
permitted? For that matter, will we be allowed to look at the content of the
letter? You mentioned it being vile, but if it contains delicate facts, we'll
understand if you wish to keep it private." Bethany sounded very
professional suddenly, as if they'd been called in by some random couple to see
to things for them. Possibly in secret? That...

It
was all right there, wasn't it? In her own words. At least if you looked at
them right. Ethyl had come to
them
, instead of the constabulary, or the
Continental Service, which was pretty much the FBI for this place, for a
reason.

Beth's
words got a soft sigh and a slightly prim look from her.

"I'd
rather hoped to avoid the letter being read by anyone. It's," there was a
pause that took nearly five breaths. Gwen counted, staring at the woman the
whole time. "Well, it's not a dark letter, but it contains a threat of,
well some rather vile things. Against you, Gwen."

Then
she shifted.

"You,
as well, Beth. You might find it distressing. I did and my name wasn't
mentioned at all. Robert's name was the one on the outside of it, but he opened
it after dinner, when we retired to the sitting room."

That
would explain why Gwen didn't already know about it then. She'd gone off to
practice her precognition skills. It wasn't a fun program she was on, but it
wasn't pure torture either. That would apparently come later. In fact, Beth had
nearly promised that. Westmorland super-soldiers, or even their detectives,
weren't people to play around with things like that, it seemed. That was, of
course, the biggest understatement that Gwen had ever made. About anything.
They were balls out crazy when it came to whipping her into shape and didn't
think that a spot of torture to keep a body motivated, every now and then, was
a bad idea at all.

Everyone
else would, if they knew about it, so it was kept pretty much a secret.
Because, as everyone knew, when you had a problem with your society, the best
thing to do was to hide it and lock it away in a deep vault, so that no one
would ever find out and try to fix it. The Westmorlands didn't get a choice in
the matter, and she didn't think that it was really her place to correct an
entire culture on something like that. Not yet. She was searching pretty hard
for a rationale, to tell the truth, but nothing had occurred to her yet.

She'd
gotten what amounted to the training that little children had done to them,
when they were about nine or ten. If they were Westmorland orphans. She still
had nightmares about it, waking up in cold sweats and fearing the pain. Nearly
as much as she feared the tentacles that might rip a hole in space and carry
her off to the void. That last bit was worse, but it was only that greater fear
that let her keep up with the training. The kids didn't get any choice at all,
and by the time they were adults, the Westmorlands all thought it was more or
less normal, and
had
to follow orders. That included torturing children,
and the cycle just kept going.

The
letter was in Robert's office, which was a nice and manly looking space, with a
lot of brown wood and leather, with a new brown throw rug in it. The man
himself wasn't in, but the letter was laid out very properly, with the envelope
it had come in next to it. That was the first thing to look at.