The Crossover (6 page)

“Well done!” Lodrán bowed.

“A pity,” said Chelinn. “You have the makings of a competent sorcerer, in a time when magic is rarely needed.”

“It’s still pretty awesome,” said Chuck.

Chapter 3 – The Plot

A sunny and dry late Thursday afternoon found Lodrán bored and restless. “I need to get out for a while,” he said. “The—the children. They made me nervous.”

“You’ll be alright, walking alone?”

Lodrán laughed. “An odd thing to be asking a Silent Artist, Chelinn!”

“Well hey,” said Chuck, “if you’re just going for a walk, how about walking down to Burger Billy’s and picking up some supper?”

“I could do that. It’s that way, right?” Lodrán pointed.

“Right. Just get three Number Threes to go, no drinks.” Chuck unzipped the pocket where he kept his wallet and took it out, then laid three bills on the counter. “That’s thirty bucks. The total will be around twenty-three and change, so give them all three. They’ll give you change.”

“Change?”

“Oh, sorry. When the guy at the register tells you how much, just give him this. He’ll give you some other paper and coins. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, and please resist the temptation to ply your skills while you’re out,” said Chelinn. “Chuck tells me that some of these devices can contact their owners with their current location. We don’t need any of that kind of trouble.”

Lodrán laughed, nodded, then took the bills and slipped outside.

This was the early part of what Chuck called “rush hour,” although it lasted several hours. Now that Lodrán was over his initial fright, this world was just one more strange sight in a lifetime of strange sights, and he found it fascinating. Few people walked anywhere that their cars could not carry them, thus the sidewalks were uncrowded. Cars clogged the street, making walking nearly as fast as driving. A woman passed him, a member of the Jogger tribe if he remembered correctly. She wore the Jogger uniform: a shiny tight singlet of gaudy colors, with matching shorts, showing off her spare figure. Her braided hair switched back and forth as she ran. Lodrán thought her clothing impractical—it could conceal none of his tools or weapons, let alone any prizes taken from the unsuspecting. Or conceal himself. Another strange custom: these people had so much leisure time, they had to engage in otherwise pointless exercise to stay fit.

The light changed up ahead, and he caught up to the Jogger woman at the corner. Lodrán thought her pace to be a rather easy one; he could match it for several miles without tiring. After a quick glance, she ignored him but continued to bounce as if running nowhere. At last, the lights turned green and she went her way.

The walk to Burger Billy’s was otherwise uneventful, as was procuring the food. People lined up in a sort of maze, delineated by ropes, then told the youngster at the counter what they wanted. They paid, then moved down the counter to pick up their food. “A rather efficient way to do things,” he said to himself, drawing a curious glance from someone behind him.

On the way back, Lodrán noticed someone ahead acting oddly, stealing glances over his shoulder and moving in a furtive manner.
Amateur
, thought Lodrán, ducking into the doorway of a boarded-up shop to see if he could identify the amateur’s target. Seeing no one obvious, he remembered the words of his first safehouse master:
If you cannot find the target of such a one around you, the target may be yourself
. Lodrán had no idea who might be interested in him, but he moved his knife to his belt, where the bag in his left hand would conceal it. He then resumed his walk, taking a few french fries out of the bag and popping them in his mouth, one by one.

The amateur ducked into an alley—the same one that the priest (may he rot in Hell) sent them not a week ago—taking an obvious glance back as he did. Lodrán muttered a curse and threw the last fry in his mouth, moving to the brick wall and slowing his pace.

Lodrán thought he could not have timed it better, had he tried. About two paces from the alley, the amateur stole his final glance around the corner. A moment later, Lodrán had him backed against the alley wall, hands raised, knife point at his throat.

“You,” he said, recognizing one of the fools from the store. “You were supposed to leave town, on pain of death, as I recall.”

“I—I—they left me!” the fool stammered. “I—I saw you going the other way. Just wanted to talk!”

“What do we have to talk about? If it had been Chelinn, he’d have stuffed your corpse in one of those iron trash boxes already.” Lodrán did a quick pat, finding no weapons. The fool wore shoes that resembled those of the Joggers, and those shoes could not conceal anything dangerous. “Where are your friends?”

“Like I said, they left without me! We took Shiv out to the hills and threw him off a bank. He musta still been frozen, ‘cause he went to pieces when he hit the rocks. I started puking, and Cal and Tommy jumped in the car and took off without me.”

“Hm.” Lodrán stepped back, knife still at ready. “Chelinn would probably cut you a break—is that how you say it?—in that case. If you’re telling the truth.”

“I am! I am! All I’ve been able to think about is how quick and smooth you guys are. Whoever—whatever—you guys are, you’re for real. I was…” he looked down. “I was hoping maybe you’d show me how you do that.”

“You mean, teach you?” Lodrán frowned as the fool nodded. “I’m no safehouse master. In fact, I hope to be leaving town myself soon.”

The fool sighed. “Yeah. I know. You don’t owe me.”

“I might be able to show you a few things, though,” said Lodrán, wondering why he was taking pity on this fool. But
The Hand guides one where it will.
“What is your name?”

“Freddy. Freddy Wilder.”

“Very well, Freddy. Follow me.” Lodrán turned and left the alley, hearing his new student scramble to follow.

“Where are we goin’?”

“Back to the shop. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can explain yourself to Chelinn. Worst that happens, he’ll tell you to leave town on your own. He’s not bloodthirsty, he won’t kill you if he doesn’t think you’re a threat.

“Now, here’s your first lesson in the Silent Art: your clothes are all wrong. Your pants are too tight, they won’t let you move freely. Your shoes would be good for indoor work; but for the street, you need a good pair of boots that can conceal a knife. Your jacket has too many insignia—”

“Too many what?”

“Those things.” Lodrán tapped several patches. “They give enemies a way to recognize you. You need to be plain, to blend into a crowd. Blue is not a good color, either. You need black or dark grey, so you can be a shadow among shadows. A jacket with an inner pocket is useful, too.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Most of what I’ll have time to teach you will be things that, as you say, make sense. And we’re here. Let me do the talking at first.”

• • •

“So that’s the way things are,” said Lodrán, standing with Freddy in the office in the back of the shop. “I think you said this once:
a fool who wishes to improve himself is no fool after all
.”

Chelinn folded his arms and glared at his friend. “A foul thing, using a man’s own words against him.” He smirked. “Very well. He can live, and learn from you, as long as he stays out of the way and does not try stealing from noted Robinson any further.”

“Yeah,” said Freddy. “I’m not
that
stupid.”

“And a wise man understands his limits.” Chelinn grinned. “Do we need to divide our ‘Number Threes’ with you?”

“Nah. I already ate.” But Freddy stared at the pile of fries, and Lodrán slid a fourth of them to his new student. Chuck brought out a large soda bottle, with four cups made of a strange white substance, and poured for everyone after Lodrán tried and made his cup foam over. Lodrán offered half of his large cheeseburger to Freddy, who waved it away with some reluctance.

“Anyway,” said Chuck, “while you were out, I was telling Chelinn that we need to get stuff packed up for the con. It starts Saturday morning, but we’ll be spending tomorrow night setting up our booth. I’ve already got you guys vendor passes, which will get us into the auditorium the back way so we won’t have to deal with lines—”

“You’re going to that convention Sunday afternoon?” Freddy asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, it runs from Saturday morning through Thursday, but yeah. We’ll be there Sunday.”

“Shit. I heard some assholes say they’re gonna bomb it Sunday afternoon!”

“
What?
” The others started speaking all at once.

“Wait! Wait!” Freddy waved his arms. “One at a time!”

Chelinn looked around. “Freddy. Are we in danger now?” He seemed to swell and darken.

“No, no.” Freddy shrank back, as far as he could. “They’re gonna bomb the auditorium. Not this place.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“My uncle owns a bar called the American Eagle. The rednecks like to go there. I work there keeping the place cleaned up. It was last night, must’a been after last call, because I was sweeping the floor and wiping down empty tables. I heard four of ‘em at a table, talkin’ about how one of ‘em had a job at Engwald Auditorium. They said they could bring the bomb in Friday night while all the nerds were settin’ up and not payin’ attention. One of them said they could leave a rental car in the parking lot with a Koran in it, and the cops would blame it on the Muslims.”

“You’ve said several words that I don’t know the meaning of,” said Chelinn. “But that word
bomb
seems to be most important. What does that mean?”

Freddy gaped. “Are you for real?”

“They’re foreign,” said Chuck, looking grim. “It’s an explosive device, Chelinn. Same principle as a gun, just a lot bigger and not channeled. If it’s big enough, and in the right place, it could bring down the entire building.”

“Killing everyone inside, or near enough,” said Chelinn, turning back to Freddy. “I have many questions, but the one I think is most urgent is
why
? From what Chuck has said, the people attending the con are honest, harmless folk. What is to be gained from killing them?”

“God only knows,” said Freddy. “Rednecks pretty much hate anyone who ain’t just like them. Nerds would be an easy target, too.”

“Another tribe by association. Rednecks.” Chelinn gave him a sour look. “I presume you have contacted the authorities with this information?”

Freddy shook his head. “There’s a couple of warrants out for my ass. Nothin’ major, but they’d just throw me in jail and not pay attention to anything I try to tell ‘em.” He matched Chelinn’s sour look. “Cops. Another ‘tribe’ I prefer to avoid.”

“An anonymous tip, then,” said Chuck. “We’d have to call it in from a phone booth to keep it anonymous, or maybe from an auditorium office.”

“But if the police are swarming this auditorium before they bring in their device, wouldn’t that spook the plotters?” Lodrán began chewing his mustache. “Then they could just melt away and wait for a more opportune time, no?”

“Not to mention the authorities prying into our own affairs. As Chuck puts it, we are here illegally by the definition of the law.” Chelinn grinned. “If only they could exile us home, we would simply turn ourselves over!”

“So three of us are afoul of the law, and the fourth might cast suspicion on himself by shedding light on a plot he should know nothing about.” Lodrán now chewed both ends of his mustache. “So we let this happen?”

“They intend to bring their device in tomorrow evening, and commit their mayhem come Sunday afternoon, no?” Chelinn thought for a moment. “If we allow them to bring it in, there would yet be plenty of time to sound the alarm.”

“But what good would that do?” asked Chuck. “They still get away, whether or not their bomb goes off.”

“Perhaps not. Use one of your devices to record an image of their faces.”

“Take a picture?” Chuck stared at the wall for a few moments. “That could work. If we find the right guys.”

“How do we do that?” Lodrán looked skeptical.

“I could spot ‘em,” said Freddy. “Three of ‘em are regulars at the bar. BJ and Terry Lewis, their cousin Sam Gross, and some out of towner, they call him Hunter.” He shook his head. “They’re mostly a bunch of loudmouths. If I hadn’t heard ‘em talking about it like it was a done deal, I’d never believe they’d actually do something like this.”

“You would have to join us, then,” said Chelinn. “Share our hazards. Chuck must attend to his business, so he would be out of harm’s way. But as our spotter, they might recognize you as well.”

“I’ll take that chance. I’ve pissed my life away doing stupid shit. My uncle keeps tellin’ me it’s time to man up. I guess he’s right.”

“You’ll be fine, anyway,” said Lodrán. “Chelinn is one of the best tacticians in all of Termag. He takes it personally if he loses one of his own.”

“Termag?”

Chelinn sighed. “We’ll explain later.”

• • •

“Second lesson,” Lodrán had said, “
act natural
. If you’re looking over your shoulder all the time, you’ll attract attention. And for our kind, any attention is unwanted. Part of being unnoticed is to act like you belong.”

Freddy slouched in a dark corner of the loading area, where he could see everything going on. He wore an old, dark grey suit jacket over a black t-shirt. Black jeans and sneakers completed the ensemble. His vendor pass, identifying him as an Age of Heroes employee, dangled from his jacket. If anyone noticed him at all, they saw only a slacker playing with his cellphone. Freddy smiled. When it came to slacking, he needed no coaching.

They’re here
, he texted.
Sam’s the aud employee. Others have white catering outfits.

“They’re posing as caterers,” Chuck told Chelinn, who was helping to assemble the booth, and muttering curses in the goblin-tongue among others. “I’ll call Lodrán.”

“I see them,” said Lodrán into his phone. “Tell Freddy to follow them in.”

“Hello?” said Freddy into his cellphone. “Yeah. Okay, I guess I can take a break from break time.” He was already moving, the targets ahead of him but in sight. He pocketed his phone and shuffled along, keeping pace, hands in pockets. This was like acting. He’d performed in several plays in middle school, and really got into his characters. Like with everything else, though, the crowd he’d wanted to be in didn’t act in plays. What Lodrán called “the Silent Art” was a lot more interesting than his old life, so far.