The Artifact of Foex (31 page)

“It was just me and the new guy. He had a big
bag slung over his shoulder, bristling with weaponry. Maybe he was
their ordinance logistics man, I don’t know. The guy had at least
three stones on me, so I danced out of the way and jumped on a
table to keep the Raptus—and myself—out of his grasp. He flung the
bag down on the nearest surface and came after me... the nearest
surface being right beside the lit gas stove.” Journey paused, her
face breaking into a grin. “He was clearly not the brightest
doedicu there ever was.”

Chet blinked, remembering the explosion he’d
heard. Journey’s burnt, hole-stricken clothes seemed evident of an
explosion as well; even the wet duffle was speckled with little
black burns. “He had something explosive in his bag?”

She nodded. “First we ran around a while. I
don’t know why he didn’t just draw a gun and threaten to shoot me.
He had enough firearms in that bag, I should think. He seemed to
really be enjoying himself, chasing after me in my underwear. He
was getting off on it—at one point he told me exactly what he
wanted to do to me once I was pinned. Asshole. During our scuffling
around, I kicked his bag onto the gas stove proper. It caught fire,
and about a minute later—boom.”

“You weren’t hurt in the explosion?”

“I saw it coming in advance—not by much, but
enough—and ducked out the backdoor into the hall. The big guy had
just made it to the doorway when the galley exploded. He was a
great shield for me, though of course it wasn’t so good for him.
The shockwave was the worst part, but the fireball that followed
was more helpful than not. From my perspective, you
understand.”

Journey, of course, would not have been
affected by the fireball, and had probably felt perfectly at home
inside of it. Chet nodded succinctly.

Knife frowned, though. “You were lucky not to
get hit by shrapnel. And you might have a concussion from the
shockwave.”

“Yes, thank you. I have the headache of a
lifetime, anyway.
He
was knocked out, or dead, what have
you. The galley and hallway were on fire. I fled and went looking
for you guys. Fenimore and the other attackers weren’t anywhere in
sight or earshot by then.”

Journey fell silent, her expression grim.
Remembering what she’d found next, Chet assumed. He took a breath,
wishing they didn’t still have the body on board. He wondered what
to do with it.
No, one thing at a time
. The shoreline was
growing closer by the minute.

“Knife, want to go next?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but mine’s real brief.
I was in the lounge: drinking, gambling and considering a mark.
She’s a Tarro affiliate known to me who evaded the law about a
decade ago. Ran a string of brothels and ruined what Flame she
could draw in. It would have been a perfect time to make the first
move; she was relaxed and only had two lackeys on board. She was
considering her own mark, a professional gambler whom I gather owes
her money. I decided not to pursue her, though. I figured she’d
complicate things, and we don’t need complications. I’ll circle
back to get her later, now that I know where she’s located.”

“I see. Thank you.” Chet could make out the
Plainsdaugheau shoreline, now. He headed toward one of the many
docks. Chet glanced at Fenimore. “Fen?”

“Yeah.” Fenimore glanced up, his eyes glazed
and tired. “I, too, was busy for quite a while. That didn’t end
well and I left. I thought to locate one of you, anyone who was
still up, but got turned around. I heard strange noises and looked
through this cunning glass window in a door. I saw those men
holding Journey down. As she said, I rushed them.” Fenimore
shrugged. “Some night in the future, when we’re deep in our drinks
and carousing wenches, I’ll share each move in detail. For now...
they were neither daring nor competent fighters. The explosion and
fire with the chaos of the other passengers kept me from coming
sooner. I apologize for my lateness. But at least I was able to
catch that Metacor-like strumpet of a professor before she got the
Raptus or injured one of you.”

“I see.” Chet angled around docked boats and
ships, looking for an opening at which they could dock. He, too,
privately thought Clementina resembled one of the ancient,
legendary monsters, first children of the mother of gods, Aerora.
“We need to figure out what we’re going to do with, with Aureate’s
body. Should we... I mean, should we go to the police? She was a
Plainsdaugheau citizen. I assume that means something around
here.”

Knife and Journey looked upset and depressed
at the thought of getting rid of the body. Journey said, “I’ve been
in Plainsdaugheau enough times to trust the local police force with
our affairs. There are Flame here who are
on
the force,
eccentric body as it is. That said, I would rather not have to
explain ourselves. Her death was mysterious enough to elect
questions, and they’d want to detain us for further details. We
need to keep moving and keep control over the Raptus. We should get
transportation to Ventris next, to talk to Doyen, then on to
Knife’s home in Allistair to complete our journey. We can’t stop
now.”

Knife grunted. “They might speak to the
police in Wetshul by telephone. They can do that quite easily now.
I’d rather not have to lie, starting with our names. It would only
make us look guilty of murdering Aureate if they uncovered contrary
evidence. The best way is to avoid the issue entirely.”

Chet spotted an opening on the dock and
headed in. “How do we get rid of the body, then?”

“Open sea," Knife said immediately. “Should
have dropped the body in earlier except we didn’t have weights.
It’ll float, you see.”

“Won’t the body disintegrate?”

“No. Bones, muscles, organs and tendons don’t
melt. We need to find something to weigh it down. Rocks are good.
They can be tied in to that loose sweater she was wearing.”

Chet docked the boat and helped the Flame
onto the wooden dock. He scouted around, barefoot on the splintery
wooden, Knife at his side. They found a substantial length of
discarded string—nylon pilot cord by the feel of it—and, at Knife’s
urging, Chet trespassed onto several boats until he found a modern
sea anchor. Chet also grabbed a lifejacket. His years on the lake
had taught him prudence, and he felt itchy without one. Making his
way back to the motorboat, Chet realized how exhausted he was; he
ached all over from exertion and emotional turmoil. In contrast,
his genitals felt oddly satisfied and relaxed. So inappropriate,
considering what had just happened.

“How far should I go out? About half a mile,
say?” Chet asked.

“I guess.”

Knife sounded strange. His shoulders were
drooped and shaking. He sank on the dock next to Journey, and she
curled into his arms. They were both crying, Chet realized. Now
that they were no longer at sea, they were free to let their
feelings out. Fenimore sat to one side, holding his hurt leg. He
looked uncomfortable at the display of emotions. The silk scarf
wasn’t soaked with blood, nor did he seem in excessive pain.

Chet bowed his head as he faced the Flame.
“Do you want to say goodbye to... to her?”

“That’s not Aureate anymore. We’ll see her
again," Knife said, his voice cracking. Despite his tears, his
expression radiated assurance, his spine straightening at this
statement. “Pelin willing, we’ll see our friend again.”

Chet climbed back into the motorboat, feeling
empty inside. Knife knew his goddess personally. His faith in her
abilities was rock solid, beyond reproach. Chet almost wished he
had a god on
his
side. Not that gods were particularly
comfortable people to talk to, he imagined. To judge from their
footnotes, Magicians had considered Foex a prickly character, his
temper vivid and always bursting to the surface. No one could have
equaled him as a teacher, though.
What a random thought.
Chet sighed and cast off.

He glanced back at the distant dock,
determined to remember it. If there was anything he’d learned
during lakeside vacations, it was terribly difficult to distinguish
one dock from another from a distance. Especially in the dark. The
image he saw was vivid: the two Flame were rocking and crying in
each other’s arms with Fenimore sitting off to one side. The scene
somehow struck him as odd. As wrong.

Chet faced forward, frowning. He just needed
to focus on one thing at a time. It was the only way to get through
this.

It was quiet in the boat. Chet’s only company
was the corpse, hidden by Fenimore’s wet discarded clothing. He
wondered whether Aureate’s ghost lingered near her body... yet
Knife had said that Pelin took up souls. Chet felt nothing of
Aureate’s presence. Not that he’d expected to.

This is insane
. Of course, when had
dumping a dead body in the ocean ever been a sane activity? They
had been on the move for about ten days—a whole week—yet they’d
left two bodies in their wake. The first two dead bodies in Chet’s
life had occurred since they’d found the Raptus.

The deaths were too personal to be random
events.

Were the Flame responsible? Chet compressed
his lips. Flame probably
could
go insane, given the
pressures, prejudice and pain they faced on a daily basis, but Chet
could have sworn that both Journey and Knife were on the level. He
trusted Journey almost implicitly at this point. Certainly she was
a thespian with a masterful ability to act and control her facial
muscles, but her reaction to both Tibbet’s body and Aureate’s
ruined remains had seemed genuine beyond any skill as an actor.

As for Knife, he—no, she—was too slippery for
such trust. It was probably due to her nature; she seemed most
comfortable in the shadows, a lone hunter tracking nocturnal prey.
She’d certainly cornered him back in Wetshul, buttoning his mouth
with an efficient hint of force. Knife’s alibi both times had been
vague. If Chet asked other gamblers on the passenger ship, would
they have confirmed Knife’s presence in the lounge?

Wait. She’d had a silk scarf in her pocket.
Chet
had
seen that scarf before: it had belonged to the
female smoker they’d seen before the performance. The Tarro
affiliate? Knife’s story was too consistent for the peripheral
evidence to be coincidental.

Fenimore seemed the most likely candidate for
murder. He grew uncomfortable and relieved at the oddest moments.
Chet was willing to bet Fenimore was a sociopath, functioning
without emotion or moral values. Hadn’t Knife said something of
that nature back at the dig site? What words had she used? “He is a
libertine who will lie, cheat and steal to meet his ends.” Given
Fenimore’s words and actions since then, Chet could readily believe
each accusation.

Then again, perhaps Chet was judging the
mores of Fenimore’s vanished culture rather than his personality.
Had a bad first impression prejudiced Chet’s opinion? And a bad
second impression, and a bad third impression...

Fenimore was a tougher nut to crack than the
Flame, but what on Uos might have motivated him to murder Professor
Tibbets? They hadn’t even formally met. As for Aureate, the timing
fit. Fenimore could have listened at the window, pushed Aureate to
her death, then found the galley where Journey was being
attacked.

No! He could have
followed
the
black-clad group up through the ship, tracking them silently. Then
he could have watched through the galley door
while
Journey was attacked. That was much more believable than happening
on the galley randomly.

But... but
why
would Fenimore
murder Aureate?
That made no sense, either. Fenimore didn’t
hate Flame. Not like a certain professor from Semaphore
University.

Professor Clementina had been present both
times. She’d had the means, opportunity and even a certain amount
of motivation. Who was she really? Chet had always assumed she was
exactly what she’d seemed: a bulky woman frustrated by an
artificially dead-ended career, married to wealth. Yet she was
surrounded by strange, unaffiliated thugs who wanted the
Raptus.

She’d seemed shocked when he’d insinuated she
wanted to rule the world. What did she intend with the Raptus? No
one made tea and dumplings with the thing, after all.

This was ridiculous. He didn’t have enough
information. Fenimore had complained back in Wetshul that scholars
asked too many questions. Chet’s lips turned up at the memory. Of
course
he needed to ask questions; he had even more
questions waiting in his queue as soon as these had cleared
out.

Like... what was he doing with his life? That
one was too hard. He’d dived into the deep end of the pool of both
history and sexuality, yet he had no direction. Worse yet, he was
barred from returning to his old life. Even if he didn’t land in
prison, his father had trashed his educational prospects. There was
no turning back, but he had no answers. Rory was already lost to
him. He’d given her up—less than twenty days ago?—of his own
accord. Such a stupid thing for him to do. He wanted Rory at his
side even now—her presence would be soothing, helpful. Chet had
flubbed their relationship without help from anyone, let alone
Fenimore, Professor Clementina and the Flame.

To ask what he was doing with his life was
almost as bad as asking why the Raptus had chosen him. And it
had
chosen him. Him specifically. The more he thought
about it, the more personal the binding seemed.

Chet glanced back at the shore; he seemed far
away enough now. He cut the motor and uncovered Aureate’s body. It
seemed smaller, and the hissing sound had ceased... because the
body had no skin left. Chet gulped, nausea rising in his throat. It
occurred to him that he’d made love to this body less than two
hours ago. He turned, swallowing hard, but there was nothing in his
belly to throw up. He had to do this. He had to touch... it.