Doc Sidhe (27 page)

The gray, lifeless screen of the talk-box stared implacably back at him. Annoyed, he switched it on. The screen slowly brightened into static.

"Gabrielle, I hope you can hear me. I think you can." Harris licked suddenly dry lips. "I'm in the plane with Doc. This is Harris. I'm the one who knows something about you."

Nothing.

"Gabrielle, I don't care how stupid this looks. I think you can hear me. Please talk to me."

The screen wavered into focus and suddenly Gabrielle stared at him. She was her usual solemn self, and looked worried when she saw him. "You look bad," she said.

"No sleep."

"No one has ever called to me before."

"They always used the talk-box operator to reach one another. I bet the operator doesn't know where to find you."

She looked puzzled. "No."

"Gabrielle, can you tell me what you're seeing right now?"

"You."

He shook his head impatiently. He regretted it; his head swam. "I mean, around you. What you're looking into, what you're sitting behind, everything."

"My mirror."

"You're looking into a mirror. Who's the fairest of them all?" He giggled, then cut the laugh off when he realized how strange it sounded. "How did you know I wanted to talk to you?"

"I heard you call my name. I hear talking all the time. That's how I learned about Doc. I heard his name many times. People spoke of him in terms of praise. Excitement. Anger. Sometimes they made plans to hurt him. Finally I looked for him and found him."

"How do you do that?"

"I make eyes on the other side of the mirror open up. Just as I did a moment ago with you." Her expression was so vulnerable, so helplessly open that Harris wanted to crawl through the screen to comfort her.

"A while back, you started to ask me what I knew about you. I didn't understand that then. It's because you don't know anything about yourself, do you?"

She didn't answer, as if by waiting she could make him lose interest in the question.

"Gabrielle, would you show me your horse?"

Her expression went from worried to completely lost. "How do you know about my horse? I've never shown it to anyone."

"I know it has eight legs. Show it to me."

She didn't seem to be able to tear her gaze away from Harris. But she reached out of sight under the table and brought up a stuffed toy, a big, cuddly red pony with too many legs. She clutched it to her as though it could shield her from the world.

"What do you know about yourself?"

She flinched as though he'd raised a hand to strike her. "You're right. I don't know anything. I've been here a long time. I can't get out. No one comes to visit. Maybe I was born here. I never saw anyone until I made the eye behind the mirror open up the first time."

"Gabrielle, if I leave the room for a minute, will you wait here for me?"

"Maybe."

"
Please.
It's really important."

She crushed the doll to her and gave him a tentative nod.

He managed to get to his feet and stumble forward out of the lounge. A few steps more and he was beside the bunk where he'd seen Gaby toss her bag. He parted the curtain.

She was there, tousled, adorable, wearing a long-sleeved green shirt that came to her knees. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes moved back and forth behind her eyelids. He knew it would take a sudden invasion by a marching band to wake her up from this state.

Softly, cautiously, he slipped his arms behind her back and behind her knees and lifted her out of the bunk. She turned and pressed her face up against his chest. He whispered, "Don't wake up, baby. Just a few steps." And he cursed the exhaustion that made his legs tremble as he gently carried her back into the lounge.

He managed to sit back on the sofa without dropping or waking her.

Gabrielle was still on the screen. She looked at Gaby but couldn't see her face. "Who is this?"

"A friend." Gently, Harris shook Gaby. "Wake up, baby. Look at who's on TV."

She stirred. The talk-box picture broke up for a moment. Gabrielle looked surprised. "The eye blinked," she said.

Gaby murmured something incoherent.

"Wake up, Gaby. Look at the TV. It's Frank Langella and Kevin Kline. They're naked."

Gaby's eyes opened. She stared up at Harris, confused, then looked around.

She caught sight of the talk-box.

Her gasp and Gabrielle's were simultaneous.

The picture on the screen started to break up. The two women reached for one another. "Don't go," they said.

Then the picture faded to static.

Gaby collapsed back against Harris and burst out in tears. He held her while her shoulders shook.

"It was transitions," Harris said, his voice slurred and dull. "Moving in and out. That's how I figured it out."

Doc sat on the other side of the lounge's table. "You're not making any sense."

"I know." Harris laughed. The sound was high-pitched and strained. He cut it off. "You couldn't make Gaby's magic go."

"Magic is a discredited term—"

"Oh, just pipe down. But obviously she had a lot of it. Your devices told you so." He chanted the last words to the tune of the old Sunday School song—"Jesus loves me, this I know . . . "

Doc scowled. "Yes."

"You see, the thing was, Gaby knew the fair world before she got here. It didn't freak her out the way it did me. But Gabrielle didn't even know herself. Tried to ask me about her once. You remember."

Gaby, wearing a robe over her nightshirt, was huddled in one of the chairs, her legs drawn up. She still looked upset.

"There's no mystic twin. Gaby and Gabrielle are the same person. When she sleeps, her mind goes running off into talk-box land. Transitions, in and out of sleep, get it? It's like the people who get radio waves on their braces and fillings. Except she's a lot better."

"She must be, if her mind can walk between worlds. She called to me even when she was living on the grim world."

Gaby stirred. "Don't talk about me as though I'm not here."

"I'm sorry, Gabriela." Doc looked apologetic. "It does make sense. I could never coax your ability out . . . because it only works when your mind wanders among the dreams. The conjurer's circle might actually have inhibited you."

"Then what good is it to me? Especially if I can't remember who the hell I am when I'm asleep?"

"There are techniques that might help. We'll explore them after I've slept." Doc fixed Harris with a stern look. "I'm having Alastair come from the cockpit to give you something. You need sleep worse than I."

"No need." Harris closed his eyes. There was nothing behind them but darkness. "Funny thing is, I think I can sleep now." He stood and looked at Gaby. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's irrational, but I feel like that long-lost sister just died."

"I'm sorry. I hope she didn't." He turned away.

He made it back to his bunk and crawled in. For the first time since he boarded the
Frog Prince
, he luxuriated and stretched as he settled in.

He savored the memory of holding her one more time, the way she'd unconsciously nestled against him when he picked her up. Then he slid away into a dark, comfortable place and was gone.

"I want you to listen for the voices," Doc said.

Gaby, eyes closed, sat facing the talk-box. Her expression did not change.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes." Her voice was subdued.

"What do you hear?"

"Talking. So much. I can't make out the words."

"Look around. What do you see?"

Gaby turned her head one way and then the other but did not open her eyes. "My room."

"What's in it?"

"My table. My bed. The walls. It's lonely."

"Go sit down by the table and pick up your horse. We'll give you someone to talk to."

"All right."

Doc picked up the leather helmet from the table and strapped it on. He pulled the mask portion over his face and snapped it in place. He knew the dangling tubes gave him the appearance of the offspring of an elephant and a human, something he'd heard of but never seen. He briefly wondered what sort of devisements would make such a conception possible, and whether either party enjoyed it.

His improvised gear also hung out of the nose of the mask. He turned on the talk-box, then moved around back and attached two wires from his nose gear to leads on the machine.

Harris, rubbing the stubble on his chin, appeared in the doorway to the aft sleeping cabin. He looked very grimworldish in his new jeans and old jeans jacket, and he seemed more rested. His eyes got big as he spotted Doc in this peculiar gear. Doc held up a finger to shush him and waved him to sit in one of the chairs positioned to the side. Harris complied, looking confused.

Doc flipped the switch at his neck. Now, with his mouth muffled, Gaby should not be able to hear his voice, while his words would go out over unused talk-box wireless frequencies. "Gabrielle," he said. "Gabrielle, this is Doc. If you can hear me, please look at me. Please open up the eye beyond the mirror."

He heard the high-pitched whine of the talk-box turning itself on. He pulled off the mask and moved around to the front.

The screen showed Gabrielle sitting, looking more like a lost little girl than he'd ever seen her. She glanced between Gaby and him. "Grace, Doc."

"Grace. Gabrielle, you know why I've called you."

"Maybe. Because of her."

"She's another part of you, Gabrielle. I want you to meet her. Talk to her."

"I'm scared of her."

"Don't be. Please stay."

He turned to Gaby. She wasn't in the deep, eye-moving sleep; that was encouraging. But she was tense, perspiring. "Gaby, in a moment I'm going to ask you to open your eyes. You'll be able to hear voices other than mine. You must not become alarmed. You're safe, surrounded by friends. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Please open your eyes."

Gaby did so and stared straight at her doppleganger.

The talk-box screen faded and twisted, the horizontal and vertical controls both lost, but straightened out again. Gabrielle remained there. She looked ready to bolt.

"Gaby, can you see her?"

"Yes." There was strain in her voice.

"Greet her. You know her name."

"Hi, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle's voice was a whisper, almost inaudible over the engine roar. "Grace."

Gaby was still perspiring; she looked tired, tense.

"Gabrielle, I want you to think about your horse. Hold it to you, think about how it feels."

The woman on the screen was already holding the pitiful plush toy as though it were a life preserver; she clutched it tighter and rocked in her seat.

Gaby's hands came up as though she were holding something to her. Her pose was a mirror of Gabrielle's.

"Gaby, can you feel it?"

"Yes. It's velvet. It smells like cinnamon. Angus Powrie says they've grabbed Caster Roundcap."

"
What?
"

The talk-box screen went to static. Gaby jolted. She looked down at her empty arms. Her face twisted and she bowed her head. Doc realized she was trying not to cry.

He knelt before her. "Gabriela, I'm sorry. You're awake now, aren't you?"

Harris, looking tentative, moved behind her sofa and went to work massaging her shoulders.

"I'm awake. I'm fine. It's so stupid," she said. She wouldn't look up at him; her hair hung before her eyes. "It's not real. The horse. The room. But it's like remembering something I used to love, something I've forgotten about for years and years . . . "

"Why did you say that about Angus Powrie?"

She finally looked up at him. Her expression was an odd mix of hurt and defiance. "I
heard
it. I felt the doll. I could see you through this mirror. I heard this babble of voices, like the cocktail party from hell, and I got this headache. It's still with me." She rubbed her temple. "And then in the middle of it was this voice, this smooth, nasty voice. It said something like, `Angus Powrie has reported in. He's acquired Caster Roundcap. We'll call to you if we have anything more . . . ' And then I lost it."

"Because I shouted." He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry. We did well. Next time I'll try to keep myself under control. For now, you ought to get some rest."

"No, thanks. Noriko is going to give me my first piloting lesson." She reached up and patted one of Harris' hands. "Thanks, Harris. I think I'm all right." She stood, not looking at either one of them, and went forward.

Doc asked, "Does she ever follow anyone's advice?"

"Sure. When it happens to match what she plans to do anyway." Harris' gesture took in the talk-box set. "Was that good?"

"I think so. But it seemed to be a tremendous strain on her. I don't like that."

"Where do I know the name Caster Roundcap?"

"I called to him about you."

"Oh, yeah. The expert on the grim world."

"And now it seems I've dragged him into danger." He sighed. "Obviously the Valks have reached Cretanis already. But we land in less than a bell. Maybe we can get to Caster before anything worse happens to him."

"Can you call ahead and tell the police, the guard, to be on the lookout?"

Doc shook his head. "I could, but then they would be on the lookout for me, as well. I have a longstanding disagreement with Maeve the Tenth that makes it impractical for me to announce my arrival."

"Great. I'm helping a guy that everybody in the world either works for or wants to kill."

Doc nodded. "That about sums it up."

The
Frog Prince
, Noriko and Doc once more at the controls, made a sweet, smooth landing at the Suliston airstrip. The strip had its lights on, but those beacons winked to darkness almost as soon as the plane taxied to a halt inside the designated hangar.

Over his shoulder, Doc called, "Do you have the papers?"

Jean-Pierre's voice floated faintly back up to him. "Right here." Doc heard the man clinking coins through his hands. He smiled.

As he and Noriko went through their shutdown checklist, he felt a sudden stir of cold air as exterior hatches were opened. Moments later, he saw Jean-Pierre walk into view before the plane and approach the arriving officials. Jean-Pierre moved among them, talking comfortably, gesturing proudly at the plane, dropping coins into hands with slippery ease.