World Walker 1: The World Walker (14 page)

Seb whistled in admiration as he stared straight at the most famous young actor in America - as well-known for the sheer volume of equally famous actresses he had dated as he was for the eye-watering pay checks he picked up for his blockbuster movies.
 

"Man," said Seb, "that's incredible." A young woman walked past, glanced at them, then looked back at Walt, her eyebrows nearly leaving her face as she realized who she was looking at. She screamed in delight, than fell over her own feet and took a dive into the middle of the dining car, her vodka tonic ending up in the lap of a very unhappy businessman.

"What the hell are you doing?" the business man said, half-standing and dabbing at his pants with a napkin.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked, "I'm sorry, it's just, it's just that, well -" She backed up a step and looked over at Walt. Walt - his face now his own again, smiled innocently up at her.

"Can I help you, Miss?" he said. Her face colored and she coughed, her eyes darting all around her in a desperate attempt to locate the missing celebrity. When she accepted she couldn't possibly have seen what she thought she'd seen, she practically ran for the door, knocking the irate businessman back into his seat as she passed.

Walt chuckled. "I gave you something a little less ostentatious," he said. "It has to be someone I can picture easily. You should be honored. I gave you Sid's face."

Seb realized that - despite the quantity of wine he'd drunk - he felt completely sober.

"Look, Walt," he said. "Thank you for what you did. Don't think that I'm ungrateful. But I feel like I'm losing my mind here. I've been attacked, now I'm being hunted."

 
He leaned forward and grabbed Walt's wrist, his voice cracking. "Nothing - nothing is what I thought it was. Something has happened to me - I've changed. I don't know. Everything is different. I feel like I should have lost my mind, but I'm just about holding it all together. And now you. You seem to know what's going on, you just happen to be on this train, just happen to be sitting at the only table with a free seat, just happen to be able to change my face - my face! - when the bad guys come calling. Don't take this the wrong way, but why the hell should I trust you?"

Walt opened his mouth, but Seb leaned further forward, his face only inches from the other man. Was that a sudden flash of fear in Walt's eyes?

"I'm not stupid," said Seb. "Who are you - and how did you know I was here?"

Nearly half a minute passed in silence as the two men stared each other out.

"Ok," said Walt. "Ok. It's true, it's no coincidence." Seb released Walt's wrist and sat back.

"But I didn't find you," said Walt.

"What do you mean?" said Seb.

"You found me."

Walt stood up. "Look, Seb," he said. "I don't expect you to trust me right off the bat. But you're here for the same reason I walked into Sid's store that night. I didn't come looking for you. I was on this train before you were, right?

Seb frowned. He had no idea how long he had been on the train, or where he'd been before he boarded. Was 'boarded' even the right word?

"You found me," repeated Walt "You need me. But I knew you were coming. Look, it's late, we're both tired. Sleep on it."

Seb laughed. "I don't feel like I'll ever sleep again."

"Take my word for it," said Walt, "you'll sleep like a dead man tonight. Sorry," he said, as Seb winced, "bad choice of words. I'm getting off at Albuquerque. You?"

Seb remembered the tickets. "Me too," he said.

"Let me give you a ride tomorrow. There's something I want to show you. And I have a proposition."

Seb hesitated. Walt put out his hand. His face was serious and sincere. Seb sighed, reached out and shook the older man's hand.

"You're going to find it next to impossible to find anyone who understands anything about what you're going through. And friends can be few and far between when you've discovered Manna, believe me. Go to bed. We'll talk in Albuquerque." He turned and walked out of the dining car.
 

Seb looked after him for a long moment.
 
Manna?
 

 
Getting on the superliner bed fully clothed, he stretched out and sighed. He had never been a good sleeper. And after the craziest day of his life, he was convinced he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

Three seconds after his head touched the pillow, Seb slipped into the deepest sleep he had ever experienced. And - for the first time in as long as he could remember - there were no dreams.

Chapter 14

The day was well established by the time Seb opened his eyes, sunlight flickering through the flimsy curtains. Never a morning person, he marveled at the energy he felt as he sprang out of bed and went into the bathroom. He didn't need a shower to make him feel invigorated, but took one anyway. He rubbed his chin. Still no stubble. Shame, he had always thought he looked better with a couple days' growth. He grabbed a brush and looked up at the mirror again, immediately dropping the brush, stepping backward, slipping and nearly ending up back in the shower.

Five seconds earlier he had been clean shaven. Now he had stubble.

This is going to take some getting used to.
 

The dining car was half full, the breakfast crowd having thinned out. Seb ordered a coffee and watched the landscape roll by the window. Halfway through his second cup, Walt slid into the seat opposite.

"Sleep ok?" said Walt.

"Unbelievably well," said Seb.

"Told ya," said Walt. "So what do you say? Going to give me a chance?"

Seb shrugged. "I don't know who you are," he said. "And I'm not stupid. But you were right about friends. I can't even get in touch with the ones I have. I know they'll be watched. Whoever is after me seems to have the FBI at his disposal. I can't risk contacting M-, er, anyone. My options are limited and I do want to find out what's happening to me. I guess I could come with you today."

"Love that enthusiasm," said Walt.

"No offense," said Seb, "but I don't trust you. Yet."

"You'd be crazy if you did," said Walt, smiling.

It was just before midday when the Southwest Chief slowed to a stop in Albuquerque. Seb stepped off the train, a slim case in his hand. The case contained a wash bag and his clothes. He had felt terrible cramming such a beautiful suit in there, but when he took it out to refold it, he realized it looked freshly pressed. As did the shirt. All the clothes appeared to be recently laundered, too. Seb had a fun couple minutes screwing the suit and shirt up as much as he could - even stamping on them for a while, then shaking them to find they looked brand new again.
 

When he climbed down from the train, Walt was on the platform, handing his suitcase to a short, dark-haired man. As Seb approached, Walt turned.

"This is Steve, my assistant, accountant, chauffeur, concierge. Steve, this is Seb."

"Good to meet you,"said Seb, shaking his hand. Steve eyed him impassively.

"Steve doesn't speak," said Walt, "but he listens real good."
 

They followed Steve to Walt's car, a black Chrysler 300. Steve held open the door and they both got out of the heat into the cool, air-conditioned leather interior.

"This thing makes me feel like a gangster," said Walt. As the car pulled away, he pushed a button and thick security glass slid up between them and Steve. Seb was a little surprised at Walt's choice of vehicle, but said nothing.

"There's little Steve doesn't know about me," said Walt. "He knows I'm a successful magician performing mostly for Hollywood royalty and CEOs, and an even more successful gambler who cheats to maintain his luxurious lifestyle." Walt laughed. "And the rest of it he pretends he doesn't see. Now, settle back and enjoy the ride."

"Where are we going?" said Seb.

"Mind if I keep that a secret a little longer?" said Walt. "I think you're gonna like it. It's going to take a few hours to get there and I promised to finish my story." He reached forward and pulled a couple of bottles of water from a small fridge in the center of the car. Seb accepted one gratefully.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Seb.

Walt sank back into the soft leather, his memories coming alive for him as he continued his story.
 

"Sid Bernbaum was the most powerful man in Chicago. It only took me a couple weeks to realize that. He understood that information is power, and whoever held the most information ultimately held the most power. He knew the Chicago underworld better than anyone. He also knew everything that was going on in the police department, the mayor's office: every level of local government."

"How?" said Seb.

"He spent the first week showing me what he'd set up. The florist store was the perfect cover for his real business. And no one ever suspected a thing. How could they? It was beyond their comprehension. Sid pretty much implemented a covert bugging operation before electronic bugs were invented. He started by sending flowers to the wives or girlfriends of the Bosses. Once a bouquet was in the house, the Manna would infiltrate any other plants in the vicinity. Then, unless the plants died or were thrown out, he could listen in on any conversation in town."

"Manna?" said Seb. "Magic?"

Walt nodded. "It's been called many things over the hundreds - possibly thousands - of years since it was first used. Magic is one. Still gets called that occasionally, although it's usually Magick with a capital M and a k at the end. The Power Of The Gods, or The Great Power was popular in the 18
th
and 19
th
centuries, but faded out of use. The Craft still remains fairly popular. I - and many others - use the word 'Manna'. We don't know what it is, but using a word associated with an ancient mystery reminds us of our ignorance and our quest to know more."

"We? How many of you are there?"

"A handful. Possibly no more than a few hundred on this continent. Thousands worldwide. With varying degrees of talent, both shut-eyes and open-eyes."

"Woah," said Seb, "you're going to have to explain some of this."

"Open-eyes use Manna knowingly, shut-eyes have abilities but don't know it. Sometimes they survive car wrecks or become aware of events that have happened thousands of miles away. Most call them miracles and leave it at that. Some explore their talent. Then one of the groups or the Order pick them up."

Seb frowned and Walt laughed.

"I'm sorry," said Walt, "I know it's a lot to take in and I'm not going to be able to explain every last detail now. Just let me fill you in a little more about my background, then we'll see where we are."

Seb nodded and motioned Walt to continue.

"Sid showed me how his network of living plants and flowers gave him power over everyone of significance in Chicago. After secretly listening to them for months, he would contact them individually, hinting he had information about their enemies. Politicians, newspaper moguls, mobsters, they would treat him to lunch in the swankiest restaurants, be liberal with the champagne, try bribing Sid with money and women. He'd reveal enough to convince them he could bring down their rivals. Then, while their greedy minds plotted the downfall of their enemies, he would quietly tell them something he knew concerning them personally. He had enough dirt on each of them to ruin them forever. Then the conversation would take a different turn, the tone would get ugly. Threats would be made. But Sid was way ahead of them. He told them he had documents in lawyers' safes all over the country, ready to be sent to the press on his death. After they'd finished ranting, most asked what would happen if he died of natural causes. I used to enjoy that bit. He told them the press got the documents no matter how he died, so it was in their interests to keep him healthy."

Walt chuckled at the memory. "Sid used to laugh about this all the time. Because if he ever got even a cold, he'd be checked into a private clinic and treated like a king. Funny thing was, he was just messing with them. I don't think he ever really got sick - not while he was using Manna. "

Walt looked up at Seb, who raised an eyebrow.
 

"Yeah, it keeps you healthy, too, as long as you keep it topped up. Manna users need to replenish their supply regularly. For some, this means every day, for others every few weeks or even a couple months. Sid could go six months at a stretch, he was famous for it. Don't ask - it'll be easier to show you.

"Sid didn't ask for much in return for keeping his knowledge to himself. He lived above his shop rent-free, someone else picked up his tab at local restaurants and stores, his bank account was always healthy although I never saw him deposit more than a few dollars. He didn't do it for the money, he did it because he could influence those with influence. He was a realist like me, he knew he couldn't clean up the city, but he also tried to keep innocents out of harm's way. He made sure no Boss ever got too powerful. In his own quiet way, he ran Chicago. "

"How did he teach you?" said Seb. "I mean, what did you do, day to day?"

"You have to be trained by an adept to learn to control Manna," said Walt. "Women are supposed to make the best adepts, but a higher proportion of women join the Order, and their teaching is very formal. They have a system, and no one outside the Order can use it as it involves a collective...ah, it's complicated. It's enough to know that training outside the Order is more hit-and-miss, but the most powerful users have been developed our way. Sid said I'd need patience and discipline, neither of which were my favorite word.

" 'Just sit with me, boy,' he said. 'Sit, don't ask questions and be aware of your mind. It will fight you. It will do everything it can to stop you simply being here, simply sitting, simply letting pure awareness be present.' "

Seb realized with a start that Walt was describing Contemplation perfectly. Contemplation, belying its name, was anything but relaxing. It involved constant vigilance, awake-ness, being entirely centered in the moment.