Eden's Jester (3 page)

Engineers gain understanding from one another. Their lore was guarded. Each Discipline was a guild, mastering its own craft and building skills to be passed from member to member.

I had no Discipline. I had to learn by spying or seeking out other teachers.

There were others in this world that could teach me; others who were often ignored by Engineers. This rock was one of their places. I waited.
 

Late into the night, the sand began to tingle against my back. It seemed to hum, or maybe sing. It was a subtle change. The stillness deepened as a hush spread out across the gravel pit. Silvery wisps of smoke traced the white veins of the rock. An elemental was passing through. I had no idea what its purpose might be, but it really didn’t matter. Tonight was about observation. Class was in session.

I couldn’t abandon the matter that made up my body without giving away my presence. Instead, I extended my senses to the rock, descending past the building blocks of the rock’s atoms. An elemental wasn’t a thing of energy or matter. I studied them often over the years, hoping to understand how they interacted with the world. Engineers manipulated ambient energy—as much as they could store—and people to accomplish their evolutionary objectives. Elementals intertwined space, time, energy, and matter to form the universe itself. That skill struck me as useful.
 

I watched the elemental as it wove through the rock, performing some duty I assumed only one of its kind could understand.
 

Hair-thin tendrils of silver spread out from a tangled center as it wove its way along the quartz veins. Wispy fingers darted among small pockets of crystals, then to lumps of ore. It wasn’t following any pattern I could fathom.
 

I decided to gamble. I paced it for a few seconds as it approached a cluster of green copper deposits. I focused my senses on the essence of the copper, hoping to be right there when the elemental did whatever it might do.
 

As it approached the ore it paused for a fraction of a second. Then, before I could react, it darted into the deposit and out again. It retreated slightly, then did what I could only say was a small circular dance before moving along its original course.
 

Did that thing just make fun of me?
 

Being disrespected was something I was used to. But that elemental didn’t even know me. I felt profoundly insulted.

“Hey. . . thing,” I projected at it, assuming normal lines of communication between immaterial beings would work. “You could at least say ‘excuse me’ or something.”

I inspected the copper the elemental had touched. It was changed, but only slightly. A small cloud of sub-atomic fireflies buzzed and drifted into the ether. I looked closer and saw what was happening. Some of the copper had been converted to its energy equivalent, which the elemental had used for some obscure purpose. It had used a tiny puff (was the only way to describe it) of the ether to gently unravel the matter, which then reverted to its primordial state.
 

I’d always considered matter a fabric of frozen energy, but now I could see how that weave could be undone and the energy “thawed.” Interesting.

I pulled my senses back and breathed deeply. The clear night air of the pseudo-desert felt good in my fake lungs. “I mean, we’re practically neighbors,” I said aloud. The night echoed my words back at me. It sounded hurt.
 

The attempt at communication hadn’t been a complete failure. I learned they can detect me when I’m close.
 

There’s very little information about elementals out in the open. Engineers act like they don’t even exist. It stood to reason that their ability to terraform the planet would make elementals excellent allies. Why would the orthodox Engineers be so tight-lipped concerning elementals? Most likely the fact that the Doctrines—supposedly ordained by the Preceptors—made no mention of them had something to do with it. And it was exactly that kind of omission that made me believe the party line was just that—a line. I was suspicious by nature and paranoid by choice. So when an entire race acts like another entire race doesn’t exist, I look for the conspiracy. And if everything we knew was nothing more than a line, where was the truth? If your only source of authoritative information had an agenda, who could you trust? No one.

Man, did I hate Engineers. And Preceptors.
 

I leaned back and watched the stars revolve slowly around the North Star. The sky spun as it had for eons. It was all too big. The orthodox Engineers had a neat set of Doctrines that tied a nice bow on the whole world. They had an answer for everything. It all fit together very well, in their systematic way of thinking. But that just made it more suspect.

I laughed at the stars. Orthodox Engineers. The only unorthodox Engineer I knew was me. I was the only one asking the hard questions. They couldn’t even see them through their haze of doctrinal interpretation. Was it possible that I alone had insight? I laughed again.
 

I was confused and isolated, ignorant and alone. But I knew it. Those fools didn’t even guess that their traditional orthodoxy, whether it be of Law or Chaos, might be a house of cards built on a Frito floating in the midst of an uncaring ocean.
 

Well, that was their problem. I had at least four friends, and truth was out there somewhere. That wasn’t nothing.

I stood up and brushed the sand from my jeans. The sky to the south, above the small town next door, was turning crimson with the dawn. “Red in the morning . . . “ I mumbled. “Fantastic.”

I didn’t look back at the black rock as I walked through the Egyptian-like desert, toward town.

CHAPTER THREE

Oxford is about fifty miles north of Detroit, placed right in the middle of several large gravel pits. It’s my kind of town.

I sat in a coffee shop at the corner of Dennison and Washington, considering, over a Grande Double Espresso, how I would spend the next few weeks.
 

Many Engineers forgo the manifestation of human flesh and bone as a normal way of living. I love my flesh and bone, especially when it is infused with a Grande Double Espresso.
 

My great powers of discernment, which fail less than half the time, told me that whatever Aeson was up to, it would be harmful to North America. And while I don’t run the place, it’s home. I didn’t like Aeson, his methods, or his buddies. I really didn’t like them messing with my town. Screwing with Aeson and his plans was an ancient hobby of mine. This time, it would be personal.
 

Unfortunately, my network of friends is small and not up to the challenge of getting ahead of Aeson. So I’d have to figure out how to delay him. Social movements could be hard to stop, once started. I’d have to see Melanthios and try to stir up more opposition there. That shouldn’t be too hard. I guessed from his absence at the Gathering that he was already inclined to resist Aeson’s ideas. I’d also have to find Aeson’s primary operatives among the people of this great nation and arrange a messy end. That wouldn’t be too hard. Hunting down and killing human operatives is relatively easy, once you get used to the idea--which I had.

My favorite table sat alongside the storefront on Washington Street. I watched the morning commuters as they passed. The buildings were from the late nineteenth century, but in good repair. The town was healthy. I realized that Oxford came close to Aeson’s ideal community. It was small, surrounded by farmland and open fields, and most of what a person needed was within walking distance of the center of town. If you lived in the original neighborhood, you really didn’t need to drive anywhere. Crime was practically nonexistent. The fact is, I liked Oxford because it manifested the very qualities Aeson extolled at his Gathering.

I pulled a ball of napkins from my pocket and picked it apart. Three napkins had Aeson’s name written at the top. The others I wadded up and pushed back into my jeans. My files on Aeson weren’t extensive, but they spoke to me. A well-written napkin can make the most marvelous mischief.

“Hello, Elson,” said a familiar voice next to my table.
 

I turned to see a black-robed figure, his face shrouded in the shadow of a large hood. The robe looked as if it had been made in the fourteenth century.
 

The figure moved to sit opposite me and pulled back his hood. There I was, staring Death in the face.
 

I hate it when he does that.

“Hello, Death. It’s nice to see you. Which I say only because I know you can’t kill me.” He smiled a smile that I didn’t like one bit--lots of bone-grey teeth and a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes. “What brings you to the great village of Oxford? Killing one of my neighbors today, are you?”
 

Death wasn’t an Engineer. He was something else. I didn’t know what. His power and scope of responsibility were enormous, as was his sense of humor. Which was good, I suppose. That job could get to you. But your worldview can be irreparably damaged when Death plays a practical joke on you. I don’t recommend the experience.

“Elson, Elson. I have lots of things to do besides my day job. I’m getting into all kinds of new things.”

“Really, then why do you still wear that getup? It’s been, like, five-hundred years now.”

“Style. It’s all about style. You’ve got to have style, as they say.” He leaned back in his chair and loosened his robe. “And it scares the hell out of people. What are you drinking?”

“Espresso. Want one?” I asked.

“Sure. Make it a double,” he said.
 

I signaled Jill, behind the counter. She nodded. Jill always took care of me. She was young and still optimistic about the world. But underneath that perky exterior, I sensed strength--wisdom. Don’t ask me how I could tell. Maybe it was the way she moved around the store, going about her simple duties like a Shaolin priest. Maybe it was the way her smile was more motherly than girlish. Maybe it was the way her eyes caught yours and wouldn’t let them go. I don’t know what it was. But she radiated goodness and peace. Part of me wondered if I’d frequent the coffee shop with such commitment if she weren’t a part of it.
 

In a few moments a steaming cup of java was delivered to Death himself. She stared at his black robe and raised an eyebrow.
 

“He’s from Sweden,” I said.
 

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. Death gave her a nod and a wink. One day I’d have to share his real identity with her. She’d laugh.

“I came because I need a favor,” Death said.

Now, I’m not the brightest lighter at the concert, but there are some things that even the village idiot can’t miss. Death doesn’t need favors. He doesn’t need anything. Well, maybe he needed a new wardrobe and some time off. The little voice inside that murmurs things—nasty things that get me into real trouble—was telling me to step carefully. I ignored it.
 

“A favor? That means you’d owe me. I’m interested.” Having Death owe you was better than cash.
 

“I’m good for it. You know that.” He looked at his watch. Why does Death carry a watch? And how would I know that he would ante up when I cashed in? He’d never owed me before. Deja vu tapped on my shoulder. I ignored it, too.

“Okay. What’s the gig?” I said.

“There is a certain boat that I need sunk. Total wreckage. No survivors, of course.”

I see. So Death wanted me to kill for him. No problem.

“Say again?”

“Dead, Elson. I need you to kill them for me.”

I sipped my coffee and blinked hard a few times. That little voice was now a shrill wail, warning me that the boogie man was right on the other side of the table. But unusual experiences captured my attention like flies on honey. I couldn’t walk away from this for anything. But it was too strange.

“Excuse me, but isn’t that your job?”

“Let’s just say I can’t be involved. I’ll be far away.” He looked at his watch again. That was just creepy.

“You need an alibi? Death needs an alibi for killing people? I don’t get it,” I said.
 

My understanding of the universe, feeble as it was, became crippled.

“Trade secret. Will you do it?”

“You know, there must be a myriad of Engineers out there. A multitude. Why do you come to me? I can’t be the best you’ve got to work with.”

Death sighed. More creepy. “Because Elson, you’re unique, and you always come through.”

“Really, Death. I’m a mediocre Engineer without a cause. I don’t get it.”

“Okay Elson, I’ll spell it out. Not a single Discipline will admit that you’re a practitioner or member of their specialty. No domain claims you as a citizen. No one wants to admit they know you. And yet, you somehow turn up at every Gathering and no prince has ever successfully kept you out of, or in, his domain. Half of them think you’re a Designer in disguise and the other half think you’re retarded. And neither side of the Schism, neither Law nor Chaos, admits you’re working with them.
 

“Remember that time you pretended to be the Angel of the Lord in the desert? How’d that work out? Even today no one can say for certain whether it served Law or Chaos, and no one has a clue why you did it.
 

“Law or Chaos, genius or retard, you’re the perfect agent. What’s not to get? Besides, I don’t talk to many Engineers. It’s bad for business.”

Ah. “And what do you think about me?” I asked.

“Retarded, but effective. Will you do it?”