Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) (5 page)
The room looked to be manmade. Scars from metal tools lined the walls in neat rows. On one wall at knee height, the original rock had been left to jut out in a solid bench. The space could be used as a convenient place to sit or as a bed for someone smaller than Cantor. Protrusions scattered across two walls at random intervals.
“I have a number of theories about those,” said Bixby when Cantor reached out and touched one. “They could be hooks for hanging clothes. Some of them might have held a slab of wood for books or various knick-knacks.”
Cantor humphed a gentle laugh. “Sanctuary wardens enjoyed sitting on the cold, hard benches while admiring their collection of knick-knacks?”
Bixby laughed. “Maybe not knick-knacks.”
“Decidedly not knick-knacks.”
“I concede.” Bixby held up one elegant finger. “But they could have been hooks for clothes. Or hammocks.”
Cantor studied the protrusions for a moment. “So I won’t have to scrunch my huge self to sleep on that bench thing? Bixby, you are a wonderful girl.”
He took pleasure in the way her face lit up at the compliment.
Ducking his head, he concentrated on his pockets. He
found his camping hamper, and out of that removed a hammock. While he attached the hanging bed to two outcroppings of rock, he asked what would be the routine for the morrow and how could he help.
Bixby wrinkled her nose. “Read books. Read scrolls. Look at maps. Read more books. Read more scrolls. Look at more maps. Until we find the exact date, or rather the way to calculate the exact date of the rogue planes’ arrival, we are stuck in the mountain.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It is.”
“But necessary.”
With a great sigh, Bixby agreed. “It is.”
“Are you going to show Bridger to a sleeping room?”
“Yes. In one of the other tunnels, there are larger niches. I remember how he grows when he sleeps.”
Cantor laughed. They’d had trouble moving Bridger when he was drugged and growing with every minute that passed.
“That was a special case. No doubt the narcotic acted as a stimulant to his growth. In two years, he’s never topped that night.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She stood in the doorway, watching him. He fidgeted with the hammock, wondering why she hadn’t hurried off to do her next assignment. She remained still, and her eyes did not waver from his face. His nerves twitched under the steady gaze.
“What?”
“Do you really dislike him so much? Are you still looking for another mor dragon to be your constant?”
Closing his eyes, he blocked out her pathetic, sad puppy look. Bixby didn’t fake emotion or hide her thoughts. She
really was concerned about his chafing at having a constant thrust upon him instead of being able to choose. Granted, she was probably also concerned about Bridger’s having to endure his disdain.
“He’s been with me two years, Bixby. I can’t count the times his lack of self-discipline has taken me to the brink of disaster.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Though, to be honest, he’s never left me in the lurch he’s created. He can be adept at rescue, but not necessarily in a quiet, discreet manner.” He made a face, just to show how much he didn’t want to say the next words. “I like him.”
He turned around, looking at her sympathetic face and wishing her away. “Why don’t you go usher him to bed?” He smiled, trying to soften his words. “If he manages to drop you in a crevice or pile rocks on your head, give me a call, and I’ll come help restore order. I’ve gotten pretty good at restoring order.”
Cantor flipped out of the hammock at the first shriek. At the second, he relaxed. Bridger. Something had excited the dragon. The cry was not of imminent danger but of discovery.
The light globe brightened the room as soon as he removed the covering cloth. He reached for his jerkin as the pattering sound of delicate footsteps came down the corridor. He had it over his head and began to thrust his arms into the sleeves. The person stopped at the entry and gasped.
Annoyed, he hurried. As the neck of his stretchy jerkin popped down around his throat, he studied Bixby. Her white skin flushed scarlet. She blinked rapidly, then whirled to face the other direction.
“Bixby!” He almost laughed. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”
Her hair flew as she shook her head. “You looked like a boy then.”
“You’re making me feel uncomfortable. Turn around. I’m decent.”
She obeyed, but her eyes flicked from one object in the room to the next, never settling on her friend. “You were decent be-before. I mean, well, I mean you-you aren’t the type to be indecent. In-in words, you know. And, of course, you’re decent now, but before, I was in a hurry, and-and you startled me.”
Cantor had buckled his belt around his waist, put on his tunic, and now sat pulling on his boots. “What was the hurry all about?”
She clapped her hands and gave a little hop. “He did it. He figured it out.”
“Bridger?”
“No! Dukmee.”
“Oh, I heard Bridger a minute ago.”
“He sort of squealed when Dukmee told him.”
Anticipation grew in his chest, along with excitement that wasn’t entirely his. He eyed the tiny woman. He’d been a close friend to Bixby two years ago. Renewed proximity must have reawakened the bond they had developed then. That relationship had felt like a sibling rapport. He was well aware that he didn’t feel brotherly toward the girl waiting for him now. One more reason to keep the emotions under wraps.
Pushing away the thought, he stood. “Well?” he prodded her. “What news?”
“Dukmee has calculated the date the rogue planes will interpass with our planes.”
“How
long do we have?”
“Sixty-four days.”
Sixty-four days
. His heart jumped to his throat. Carefully, he tamped down the desire to cheer. Finally! A problem out in the open, one that could be planned for with exact dates, locations, and participants. And not four months away but just over two. No more mindless wandering and endless waiting.
Maintaining an outer calm, he unhooked his hammock and stuck it in the hamper and shoved the hamper into a pocket. “Then I guess we’d better get moving.”
C
antor and Bixby found Dukmee in the Orrery Chamber. The mage had placed extra shining orbs around the walls and in between the devices. In the bright light, the machines seemed more alive than before. The orreries hummed, clicked, and glimmered with activity.
Bridger sat on a bench against the wall with Jesha in his arms. He whispered as they came into the room. “We’re staying out of the way.” The dragon nodded his head toward Dukmee. “This is the third time he’s put his theory to the test. It has to do with disproportionate displacement as opposed to formulaic cubic diatrams.”
“What does that mean?” asked Cantor.
“I have no idea. I don’t know if I even got the words in the right order, or the words that belong together in the same phrase. And there were three other words I can’t remember. One of them had six syllables. Saying ‘orreries’ is easy
compared to the one that started with alogor —” Bridger ended his statement with a shrug.
Dukmee mumbled as he worked. Numbers and letters tripped off his tongue in rapid succession. He stood back for a moment, lunged forward, and adjusted a globe that had jerked a bit. Then the scholar paced back and forth with his thumb and forefinger framing his chin.
A grin grew above Dukmee’s scruffy jaw. He must have worked all night, with no sleep and no morning shave. Cantor lifted his fingers to his own cheeks. Yes, he was unkempt as well.
The orrery under Dukmee’s watchful eye clicked twice and stopped. Lyme Minor and Lyme Major hung on their rods inches away from the nine-stack planeary system. In the gesture of a stage magician, the mage extended his arms wide.
He turned and bowed to his small audience and made his announcement with theatrical flair. “We have the date . . . and the hour . . . and the
location
of the interpass.”
Bixby clapped and bounced. Cantor gave a cheer, and Bridger whooped. Jesha jumped from Bridger’s arms and flounced over to Dukmee. The cat did an intricate circling of his legs, weaving in and out from under the hem of his long, elaborate robe.
Dukmee first looked down with pleasure. His pleasure turned to annoyance as Jesha persisted.
Cantor sympathized. The dragon’s cat could wear out her welcome in any number of ways. He had been tripped when he’d been her favored person of the moment. She also kneaded with sharp claws. And on occasion, Jesha arbitrarily decided Cantor could be her designated giver of food. Then he received a scratch and shrill meow to announce an empty stomach.
In Cantor’s opinion, the cat Jesha was a lot like the dragon Bridger.
Jesha’s adoration ended abruptly when the mage scooped the multicolored fur ball away from his legs and into his arms.
Turning his attention to Dukmee’s experiment, Cantor studied the location of each plane. “How is it that you suddenly have the answer?”
Bridger stood. “I did it.”
Cantor couldn’t help but raise a skeptical brow.
“No, really.” Bridger looked to the mage for confirmation, and Dukmee nodded his affirmation. “I cleared the table for our dinner last night, and after we washed the dishes and put them away, I returned the papers to the table. Only they weren’t in the same order.”
“And?” Cantor looked from Bridger’s smug face to Dukmee’s self-satisfied grin.
The mage stepped to a table and picked up an insignificant looking paper. “He took this paper that had been at the bottom of a pile and put it on the top of the pile next to the one I was working on. They go together, you see. And at one glance, I saw the smaller page held the key to the formulas on the larger.”
“And this combined formula tells us —?”
“Lyme Major will pass between Richra and Derson while Lyme Minor passes between Derson and Zonvaner. So we can now see where to put our defenses and when.”
With his fingers templed in front of his chin, Cantor let out a huge breath of air, then turned to face Dukmee. “But do we know anything about the Lymen themselves? How are we to plan our strategy?”
Bridger nodded his huge head. “It’s fit and laudable to know when and where we fight. This information enables us
to meet them as they invade our planes. However, there is the unaddressed problem. What do we do to repel them? We need an offense as well as a defense.”
The dragon stood and paced to the archway, swiveled and returned. His arms lengthened to stretch under his wings. With his hands clasped behind him, his claw-tipped fingers interlaced, he looked like an odd professor brooding over a weighty question.
Cantor leaned his tall frame against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Bridger with a reluctant twinge of amusement.
Bixby perched herself on a stool to watch. “Do be careful of your tail when you pivot, Bridger.”
The dragon turned neatly at the opposite wall and started back. He didn’t answer Bixby.
“Do they fight with spears?” asked Bridger. “Swords? Poison sprays? Bows and arrows? Ball bats? Fleas? Are they afraid of water? Do they lose focus if you sing to them? Do shellfish make them break out in spots?”
Cantor’s mouth had drooped open during this recitation. Dukmee looked equally lost. Bridger’s musing lacked logic even beyond the dragon’s usual standard. Cantor pressed his lips together and tried to make Bridger’s rambling nonsense connect to the matter at hand. He couldn’t. “Spots?”
Again Bridger’s head bobbed up and down. “My cousin gets red welts when he eats crabs or shrimp. All over. Even behind his ears and between his toes. It’s a sight to see. He itches and burns and complains.”
Bridger ran his hands across his skin, demonstrating how his cousin reacted. “I’ve thought before that he must be careful not to eat shellfish before a competition.”
He looked
around at his three friends. They didn’t respond.
“He’s a competitive fisherman.”
His audience still stood dumbfounded.
“He’s won several tourneys.”
“I know!” Bixby’s blurted declaration brought Dukmee and Cantor out of their befuddlement.
Cantor examined her excited face. “You know about Bridger’s cousin?”
