Nightlord: Orb (42 page)

“There are thousands of the things!  It’s like… like…”

“Chinese ideograms?  A logographic script where each icon represents a word or concept?”

“Exactly.  This is a
language
.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I said I’d help.  You work on a vocabulary list.  I’ll see if I can speed things up.”  She went back into the house and I watched her go, wondering what she had in mind.  If Tort were here, she’d be carving symbols on her own; she knew what she was doing.

I miss Tort.  I try not to think about her while there’s nothing I can do about it.  It hurts.

I got back to work.  I was going to keep missing Tort as long as I stayed here.  It was becoming more and more important to establish two-way communication and travel between my farmhouse and Karvalen.  It wasn’t urgent, but if I waited until it was urgent, it would be too late.  That seems to be a rule.

Sunday, November 8
th

Mary cut her hair again, so I stayed out of the basement.  She has some weird thing about me seeing her with a shaved head.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s a female thing.  Maybe she has a treasure map tattooed on her scalp.  I wouldn’t know.

First thing this morning, I took down the stand.  I had my cordless drill holstered on my tool belt as I walked down the street toward where the stand stood.  It stood its ground like a tree, though it knew its time had come.  All I needed was a set of jingling spurs as I approached.

“You’re goin’ down,” I told it.  Whistling the theme to
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,
I got to work.  Disassembling the charity stand didn’t take as long as I anticipated.  It helps when “disassembled” is a relative term.  I broke it down to four main parts and lugged them back to the barn.

Francine stayed behind to guard the house.  We’ve gone over what to do about general people on the property, people near the house, and Myrna in particular.  I also put up a “No Trespassing” sign on the front gate.  We’ll see if Myrna continues to be a nosy neighbor.

The Four were in the barn shortly after I put up the sign.  They climb the driveway gate rather than go through the walkway gate.  They might not have seen it, or they might not think it applies to them.  They’re right; it doesn’t.

Once I stood down the stand, I went into the city to play with people who like beating on each other—that is, my martial arts class and the medievalists.  This also gave me a chance to invite people out to play at my house on the weekend.  It would save me a trip into the city, and I have enough property to host a war.  Besides, I’ve been working out rules for battle chess and need people to playtest it.  Maybe I should write down the rules.

While I was in the city, I made a detour to see Mark.  Since it was during visiting hours, they let me.  He was doing much better.  He was conscious, he recognized me, and he was well on his way to walking again.  I told him about the charity drive and assured him he was going home to a real house.  He seemed pleased and mentioned Fred already told him.

There were four cards on his side table, including the one I sent.  I didn’t bother to look at the signatures; I knew where the other Three came from.  I wondered why none of the adults in the neighborhood sent him a card.  Maybe they only knew him as the beer-breathing angry guy.

I also took the opportunity to juice up his healing spell, but I didn’t tell him.

When I got home, Francine reported no incidents, aside from losing a ball in the long grass and one exceptionally fast rabbit got away from her.  She also reported some terrible monster in the hayloft—she heard it wailing and screeching and banging while the Four were up there.  Francine has no appreciation for their musical talent.

The Four spent the afternoon in the barn when they weren’t playing with Francine.  If they think it’s their barn and their dog, I’m okay with that.  They’re kids.  They should have a place to play and a dog to play with.

They also refilled Bronze’s manger with charcoal.  That was nice of them, especially since they didn’t ask for explanations.  Bronze certainly appreciated it.  Could be they think she’s a steam-powered robot.  On the other hand, they also watched some video with her.  I’m not sure how well that stacks up with the idea she’s a robot horse.

Knowing my luck I’ll get nasty comments from parents about it.  “My kids want video in their own rooms and say if your
horse
gets one, so should they.”  I really hope that doesn’t happen.  It’ll be awkward.  Maybe they’ll keep quiet about it and watch video with her when they can.

Sebastian called while I was in transit.  He wanted to know the progress on my schedule; the client in Mexico was asking.  I assured him I was working on it.  Then I called BitRate and had a completely innocuous conversation, mentioning I was planning to get a passport soon and I also needed to start thinking about my Christmas shopping—did he have any suggestions?  He did, and we left it at that.  I expect a passport to show up soon.  He’ll have an envelope show up in his mail.

I got Diogenes to look up the place in Mexico, someplace called Puerto Peñasco, and compile a report on it.  He hummed to himself, a little bit of “Back In Time,” by Huey Lewis and the News, I think.  Diogenes isn’t a strong AI—that is, a true artificial intelligence.  He—okay,
it—
is a collection of really good weak AI’s.  A weak AI is a program designed for problem-solving within a narrow field, such as interpreting human speech.  He understands what I say and can speak to me in response.

I downloaded a voice template that sounded like Paul Bettany, or this world’s version of him.  I think it’s the most wonderful thing.  Yes, I’m a geek.  I admit, I’m easily entertained, but it’s the perfect voice for a computer.

Other programs in his system include a cybersearch AI, data integration tools, and all that stuff.  He even includes one to make him develop human-like touches over time, which probably explains the humming.  It didn’t really mean anything; it was like hold music on the phone.

But he sure seems real when I talk to him.  Could I upgrade him magically?  I’d need some sort of spirit—not only vital energy, but a living spirit of some sort—to make him truly think, I think.  What would his code look like after that?  Could it be copied?  Would the copies be alive, as well?  Can I create code for a strong AI by giving a computer a spirit of its own?  How would that affect his programming in other ways?  Would I wind up with Cameron’s Skynet or Weber’s Dahak?  Forbin’s Colossus or Heinlein’s Mycroft?

Someday, when I’m feeling brave, maybe I’ll find out.

Puerto Peñasco was on the Gulf of California, in Sonora.  It was a nice vacation spot, large enough to have all the amenities, small enough to not feel like a tourist mill.  Population near sixty thousand, here’s a map, the address you asked about is marked on it, and any of these three hotels are ideal for your stay, sir.  Would you like to drive or fly?  According to Diogenes, it could be done on a power road the whole way and would take about twelve hours.  Or we could fly and take about four.

It was an impressive dossier on the city, made even more impressive by the fact it was compiled in under thirty seconds by an automated series of programs.  At least, it impresses me.  Back where and when I come from, that’s travel agent territory.

Diogenes told me about the city while I scrolled through the digital map.  He even added restaurant recommendations when I pointed out I’m not fond of strongly-flavored food.  That’s an important consideration when visiting Mexico.

I think I’ve underestimated the usefulness of modern computer programming.  I gave Diogenes a list of things to look up and briefings to prepare—crystal structure of gemstones, for example, and some medical questions that bugged me while I was developing healing spells, just to name two.

With that in progress, I checked on my gems again.  I already pulled them once for the raid on Tyrone’s house; now they were back in their growth medium.  I’m thinking if I get some carbon black, I can generalize the spell for growing diamonds.  If I put several diamond chips into the carbon, apply heat and electricity, and tell the crystals to grow… as long as they don’t grow into each other, they should all grow independently and at about the same rate.  Maybe I don’t have to do this one gem at a time.

Therefore, I broke the largest one into pieces, planted them in a tray of charcoal powder, and started the process.  We’ll see how they’re doing in a few days.

Meanwhile, I wonder if Mary wants to take a vacation in Mexico?

Tuesday, November 10
th

Puerto Peñasco is even nicer in person than on-line.  The streets are clean, there are no homeless cluttering the alleys, the buildings are colorful, and the natives are friendly.  It’s a lovely Mexican resort town.

Is the place so nice because a family of magi live here?  Or do they live here because it’s so nice?  I don’t know how to tell.

Mary and I drove down.  It’s hard to bring firearms aboard a plane and she really wanted to bring a gun.  Mary assured me the border cops don’t care.  We went across the border at night so we wouldn’t have to explain a corpse.  The guy who found the gun—in a case, unloaded, with a locking device on it—also found some loose folding money in the case with it.  We breezed on south without any trouble.

Mary likes the town.  She’s itching to steal something.  I can tell.  She won’t, though.  International travel has too much in the way of records.  We show up, three or four places get burglarized, and we leave.  The Federales can do the math without even reaching for a pencil.

Instead, she’s enjoying the night life.  There’s dancing, shows, outdoor recreations of all sorts, even midnight swimming in the Gulf of California.

I’m okay with most of that, but I had to explain about my weight problem.  I can’t swim; I sink like a brick.  I sink like a
lead
brick.  As a result, I don’t swim; I walk on the bottom.  She was disappointed, not only that I couldn’t come along, but someday she might have the same problem.  She likes swimming, the weirdo.  I thought vampires were supposed to hate open water.  I know
I
do.

She did show me a neat gizmo, though.  Someone’s come up with an artificial gill.  The mouthpiece is like a snorkel; you hold it in with your teeth and breathe normally.  Water flows over a mask-like thing that covers the lower half of your face.  Oxygen comes out of the water, some of your breath is recirculated for air volume, and you breathe pretty much normally.  Oh, maybe you have to breathe a little harder, but it really is that simple.  They even have a full-face thing combining a scuba mask with a breathing gill.  I had to get one. I love gadgets and despise drowning.

During the day, Mary curls up in the modern version of a steamer trunk.  It locks, and we’re staying in a five-star hotel.  She says she feels pretty safe.  I didn’t think so; I added a little aversion spell to the trunk to keep people from being too curious about it.  It’s not that I don’t trust the housekeeping staff… well, okay, no, I don’t.  The possible price for an accident is too drastic to take chances.

While she’s down for the day, I’m visiting Esteban Juan Manuel Jesus Mendoza.  He’s an elderly gentleman and has the longest moustache I’ve ever seen outside a martial-arts B-movie.  He speaks fluent English with a slight British accent and seems stiffly polite.  I don’t think he likes me.  I’m not sure why, other than I’m not Hispanic, Catholic, or a citizen of Mexico—apparently all of which is an insult to him.  Maybe it’s because I didn’t drop everything and rush to do his bidding.  Or because I have spells he doesn’t.  I look younger than he does.  I didn’t dress in a three-piece suit to meet him.  My deodorant needs to be stronger.  Who knows?  I don’t.

I walked into his house and immediately realized it was built on a major nexus.  I’m no expert on ley lines and nexus points, but the magical environment was much more powerful than the typical background level.  It was strong enough that I wondered what he wanted a power-concentrating circle for.  Anti-aging spells, maybe.  The place felt at least close to home—half-strength?  Two-thirds?  Somewhere in there.

I swear, I’m going to create a scale for measuring this sort of thing.

The place was also quite large, but sounded empty.  Aside from servants, I didn’t see anyone.  Was his family avoiding the stranger in the house?  That seemed impolite.  Maybe they were all off elsewhere in the world, doing whatever magi do when they’re not chanting in the basement.  Maybe they’re all dead and he’s planning to resurrect them.  Not really my business, and he didn’t seem at all inclined toward chitchat.

On the other hand, he’s quite content to have a small circle of power immediately inscribed on a worktable and a much larger one in progress in the back yard.  The larger one is getting chiseled into the concrete surrounding the pool.  It’s not a perfectly circular pool—more egg-shaped—but the whole thing will be inside the circle.  I warned him about spells going away when taken in or out of the circle; he didn’t think it was a problem.  Maybe he wants to enchant the water or something.

I should be finished with it tomorrow.  Then I should probably talk to Sebastian about turning a large pile of cash into digital money—and about finding a tax accountant.  Does Sebastian know how to launder money?

On the other hand, having a large pile of cash can be useful, too.  Still, I should check.  Like cash, you never know when a money-laundering friend might come in handy.

While we were sitting at the edge of a park that evening, listening to the outdoor music, Mary leaned her head on my shoulder and said my name.

“Vlad.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you noticed any relatives in town?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“You’re the only relative I met by accident,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s a major metropolitan area.  This place is much smaller.  I’d expect to run into someone by now.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have anyone.”

“With this much going on?  With all these people passing through?  This is prime turf.  There could be dozens here and nobody would go hungry.”

“So?”

“It’s odd.”

“Maybe the place is too religious.  I’ve seen a lot of churches around here.  The place could be full of professional vampire-hunters.”

“No, those don’t like to work in public.  Too much chance of friendly fire and too many explanations with the law.”

“Fair enough.  I—wait.  There
are
professional vampire hunters?” I asked.  She lifted her head to look at me.

“Of course.  That’s another reason we go so such lengths to avoid publicity.  Well, some of us,” she added, winking at me.  “But you don’t leave much in the way of witnesses.”

“Huh.  How do these people operate?”

“I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve been told, they stalk their suspect, confirm their suspicions, then blow the suspect away.  I’m told they try to make it look like a terrible accident—gas leak, house fire, that sort of thing.  Occasionally they attack with volleys of gunfire to cripple the target, then nail it to the ground and burn it.”

“How nice.”

“You asked.”

“So, what’s to say there aren’t hundreds of them in this town?”

“Too quiet,” Mary disagreed, shaking her head.  “No vampires.”

“But it’s prime turf,” I argued.  “Could it be the place is kept so nice to use it as bait?”

“Huh.  You raise a good point.”  She looked around.  Nobody seemed to be taking any notice of us.  “If you didn’t want to go out, you could have just said so, instead of being such a buzzkill.”

“Sorry.  I only thought of it a second ago.”

“Fine,” she sighed.  “What do you want to do?”

“Have another dancing lesson.  I think I’m getting the hang of the tango.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously,” I insisted.  “I don’t think we’re being targeted.  I only want to be aware of the dangers.  That way, if a crazy man with a flamethrower screams and charges out of the kitchen at me, I’ll have some idea what to do.”

“No, not that.  The tango.  Do you really think you’re getting the hang of it?”

“Oh.  Yes, I think so.”

“So, delusions are part of getting old, too?”

“You’re not too old to spank,” I pointed out.

“Talk, talk, talk,” she teased, waving a hand dismissively.  “You never follow through on such delightful threats.  I really wish you would.  Come on.  I’ll help you justify your illusions.”

We danced.  Well, she danced; I came close.  She got several compliments and a number of invitations to dance, even while I was sitting right next to her.  She raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged.  She danced.  While she was on the dance floor, I got invitations to buy drinks, mostly from pretty ladies but also a few from pretty guys.  Apparently, I don’t dance well.  At least, not the flamenco or the tango.  When I didn’t pay attention to my feet, they tried dances from Zirafel.  I know this because Mary told me I actually had rhythm and timing when I wasn’t watching.

Tha candle in the center of the table flared brightly.  I put a small plate over it and smothered it.  Not a good time.

Why do calls always seem to happen during dinner?  Is it a universal law?

Walking back to the hotel, Mary practically skipped along.  If she couldn’t steal stuff, at least she could ride the high from being filled with vitality.  That suited me, as long as she didn’t take so much it fatigued the whole room.  I stuck to siphoning off energy from belligerent drunks and other unpleasant people.  When they were too lethargic to make much of a fuss, it helped everyone else have a much better time.

We made it back to the hotel without incident and Mary pointed out no one followed us.  I hadn’t thought she was watching.  I said so.

“If I looked as though I was watching for a tail, they would work harder at not being seen,” she pointed out.  “For someone as old as you are, you miss the obvious.”

“Hmm.  Well, the subtle I get immediately; the obvious takes a while.  I don’t normally live in a state of heightened alertness, constantly checking every shadow for threats.  It’s a habit I haven’t developed but probably should,” I admitted.  “So, you think we weren’t followed?”

“Just because you think of someone who might want to doesn’t mean they instantly come after you.”

“There seems to be a correlation.”

“Maybe you’re psychic, like Thessaloniki.”

“Oh, yeah.  I am.”

“You, too?”

“Sorry.  Forgot to mention.”

She growled as a reply.  “Fine.  One night, I’d like you and I to sit down and discuss exactly how you’re different and how you’re similar.”

“Well, when a baby is conceived, it gets and X chromosome from it’s mother.  It gets either an X or a Y chromosome from the father—”

She hit me in the face with a well-thrown pillow.  I don’t think it would have damaged a human, but I’m not sure.

“You know what I mean!”

“I do.  Okay.  Some evening soon.  For now, the morning is coming.”

“Which reminds me.  Why are we here?  You said you had business, but you’ve been with me every night.  Are we waiting for the business to show up?”

“That’ll be part of the discussion of differences.”

“Okay.  I guess it’ll wait.”  She kissed my cheek.  “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”