Zinnia (36 page)

Feather scowled. “Where the hell you gonna find those?”

“The public library, where else?” Cold amusement flowed through Nick. “Even the most obsessive matrix-talent on the planet would have found it impossible to destroy the microfilm records of every library in the tri-city-states.”

“Never thought of that.”

“Maybe whoever is behind this didn't think of it either.” Nick considered that more closely. “Especially if he moves in the corporate world. He would have been focused on covering his tracks from the business and financial angles. Even a matrix makes mistakes.”

“You're sure whoever's behind this is a matrix?”

“Zinnia's right. It has the feel of a matrix scheme.” Nick yanked his jacket off the hanger. “I'll start with the main branch of the New Seattle Public Library downtown.”

Feather surveyed the crumpled black tuxedo. “You going to go back to the casino and change first?”

“No time.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find the second mugger. By now he probably knows what happened to his friend. He'll be running scared. Check New Portland and New Vancouver and
all flights leaving for the Western Islands. Check the freighters, too.”

“I've already got people on it.”

Nick shrugged into his jacket as he headed toward the door. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Feather.”

Feather reached into a pocket and pulled out an object. “Guess this means you won't be needing this, huh?”

Nick glanced at the deadly little blade lying on Feather's broad palm. It was small enough to smuggle into a hospital room but sharp enough to cut the plastic tubing that led to a piece of vital equipment, or anything else that a man facing insanity might want to slice. His wrists, for instance.

“No.” A soul-deep shudder went through Nick. “I won't be needing that. And for the record, you can cancel all previous instructions relating to it.”

“Glad to hear it. I never did like that part of my job description.”

Zinnia knocked a third time, but there was still no answer.

“Professor DeForest?” she called loudly.

Still no response.

“Great. I guess this means the gardens.” She had hoped that she would not have to take another tour of the maze.

She walked reluctantly around to the back of the old house and crossed the stone terrace.

The innocent-looking trellised entrance to the vast garden maze loomed at the bottom of the steps. She glanced around, wishing that Newton would appear.

There was no sign of the chubby-cheeked horti-talent.

Zinnia walked cautiously to the gate of the dark maze and stepped just short of the feathery leaves that had woven themselves through the latticework.

“Professor DeForest?”

“Afraid he's busy at the moment. But I'll bet I can help you.”

“What?” Zinnia whirled around. She stared at the wiry man who was striding toward her across the terrace. There was something familiar about his voice. And about the way he moved.

“Took you long enough to get here,” the man said.

Zinnia did not like the swift way he was closing in on her. She assessed the situation quickly and knew at once that there was no way she could get past him if she chose to make a run for the house. He must have sensed her thoughts because he gave her a cruel grin.

“Not like last night, huh? You haven't got that damned matrix to help you this time. How's he doing by the way? Swinging from the chandeliers yet? Or did he try to cut his own throat or take a hike across a busy freeway? We weren't sure how the fog would get him. Kind of an experiment, y'know?”

“You were one of the men in the garage.” The one she had hit with the trash-can lid, she realized.

But he was not wearing his mask this time. In the light of the fading sun she could see his haggard angular face very clearly. The fact that he was allowing her to get a good look at him worried her more than anything else. He obviously did not expect her to be in any position to go to the police with a description at some point in the near future.

“Name's Stitch. Pleased to meet you.” Stitch's pale eyes glittered with malice. “Look forward to spending a little quality time together before he gets here.”

“Who?” Instinctively Zinnia stepped back a pace, past the feathery leaves that guarded the maze entrance. At that moment the terrible garden of carnivorous hybrids seemed preferable to falling into this man's clutches.

“Never mind. You'll find out soon enough. Come on out of there, now. I got a score to settle with you.
My head hurt all night on account of that trash-can lid. I'm gonna make sure you do some hurtin', too.”

“Stay away from me.” Zinnia took another step back.

“You don't want to play in that garden. I hear it's some kind of maze. If you get too far in, you'll get lost. Be dark in another couple of hours. You don't want to be wandering around in there after the sun sets. No telling what you might find.”

Zinnia took one last look into Stitch's vicious eyes and made her decision. Nothing in the maze was as nasty as this creep. Thanks to her earlier visit with DeForest, she knew what awaited her in the garden. If she was very careful, she would survive it. She did not even want to think about what Stitch intended to do to her, let alone what the mystery man had planned.

She dropped her purse, whirled, and ran several steps down the nearest green corridor.

“Damn bitch. Come back here.”

The leafy canopy overhead thickened rapidly within a few feet of the entrance. By the time she reached the first intersection it had blotted out most of the waning sunlight.

Things sighed and rustled in the foliage around her. It seemed to Zinnia that there was an air of hungry anticipation in the small disturbing noises. Feeding time at the plant zoo.

She kept her hands close to her sides and watched where she put her feet. The important thing was not to touch anything, she told herself. She must not provoke any of the little green monsters.

“I said, come outa there.
Aaah.
What the hell? Bat-snake shit. I'm bleedin.”

Zinnia realized that Stitch had run afoul of one of the plants. She wondered if the experience would cut down on his eagerness to pursue her.

“Goddamned matrix whore. You're going to pay for this.”

Stitch's footsteps resumed. He was moving faster, more recklessly now. Zinnia could almost feel the rage that was propelling him forward.

“Shit.”
Stitch's voice rose. “What is it with these damned plants?”

She edged deeper into the unpleasant maze. Glancing down, she saw that she was not leaving any footprints on the thick, eerie green moss that carpeted the floor of the maze. Stitch was no doubt using the sound of her own retreating footsteps as a guide.

She tried to walk more softly but she soon discovered that it was nearly impossible to move both quickly and stealthily at the same time. At least it was impossible for her. She had a feeling that Nick would know how to do it.

She inched past a row of barbed leaves and caught a glimpse of something that could have been a green tongue.

A slithering sound overhead made her flinch. She peered into the shadows. A thick meaty-looking vine curled down from a matted stretch of leaves. It appeared to sway slowly, as if in response to a light wind.

But there was no wind. Not even a breeze.

The vine swayed closer. There was something almost hypnotic about the way it swung gently across the width of the narrow corridor. It had uncurled to a point about three feet off the ground.

Back and forth. Back and forth. The longer Zinnia watched it, the more harmless it looked. It was just an ordinary vine. She could brush past it easily.

No. She must not touch anything, she reminded herself.

She froze in place, aware of Stitch's approaching footsteps.

“Where are you, you stupid woman? If you go any deeper, you won't be able to find your way out. Then what will you do?”

Slowly Zinnia sank down to the ground and crawled under the questing vine.

The ropy vine descended a few more inches in response to her presence but she managed to scoot beneath it without touching it.

“All right, bitch. You win. I'm not going to follow you any farther.
Five hells.
Damn this stuff.”

Zinnia whirled. He was too close.

Stitch came around a corner, nursing a bleeding arm. He stopped when he saw her standing on the far side of the swaying vine.

“Well, well, well.” Stitch's small eyes brightened with malevolent excitement. He started forward more quickly. “There you are. Come on, we're going to get back out of here before we get lost.”

“We're already lost, hadn't you noticed? Don't come any closer.” Zinnia stepped back. “I'm warning you. Some of these plants are extremely dangerous.”

“I'm not afraid of a few thorns.” He rubbed a hand on his pants. The motion left a streak of blood on the fabric. “And this'll slice anything in this damn maze to ribbons.” He held up the long-bladed knife.

“Don't count on it.” Zinnia turned away from him and walked gingerly down another green corridor.

“Damned fucking bitch.” Stitch lunged after her.

Zinnia heard a soft deadly swoosh.

Stitch's ear-splitting scream froze the blood in her veins. There was a terrible thrashing in the bushes behind her. The dreadful screaming halted abruptly on a strangled note.

Zinnia swung around, searching for the entrance to the corridor that she had just exited. But all she could see was a wall of green. She knew that she was only a few steps away from Stitch, but she was completely lost and disoriented.

“Stitch?”

There was no answer.

She waited a few more minutes but there was no further sound.

After a while, she turned and walked slowly down another green-walled corridor. DeForest had told her that the maze was designed to funnel anyone who entered it straight to the grotto. If she got that far without running afoul of one of the plants, she could sit on the stone bench and wait for Nick.

She did not doubt for one minute that he would come looking for her.

A few minutes later she stumbled, unscathed, into the clearing that surrounded the grotto. The stone bench was there, just as she had remembered. It would make a cold perch for the night, but at least it was a safe spot to spend the next few hours while she awaited rescue.

She did not see Newton DeForest until she started to sit down.

A scream rose in her throat.

Newton floated face down in the grotto pool, enmeshed in a net of fibrous water plants.

Even as Zinnia stared in horror, several more tendrils snaked out from the shrubbery that clung to the rocks. They drifted across the surface of the water until they reached Newton. When they reached the body, they twined themselves around his legs.

Demented DeForest was feeding his plants one last time.

Nick gazed at the enlarged frame of the microfilmed edition of the New Portland Corporate Registry and felt the last connections click into place. Fire and Ice Pharmaceuticals, the company that had committed to underwriting the Third Expedition through the University of Portland had gone bankrupt a few months after the expedition was supposedly canceled. But that was not what interested Nick the most.

What fascinated him was the name of the CEO of Fire and Ice.

It had taken him a while to find what he needed but his hunch had been correct. Not even a matrix could successfully wipe out all records of a large business that had existed as recently as thirty-five years ago.

The public librarians of St. Helens took their profession seriously. They could give matrix-talents lessons when it came to one type of obsession, Nick thought. They were a passionate lot when it came to the preservation and storage of information. All kinds of information.

It was more than an obsession for librarians, it was a sacred trust. The First Generation colonists had learned the true value of information storage and retrieval the hard way. Shortly after the Curtain closed, stranding them, they had seen their only hope, their computerized databases, start to disintegrate along with everything else that had been manufactured on Earth.

The colonists had known that without the advanced technology of the home world, they would need the ancient skills of a more primitive time in order to survive. The secrets of those old crafts were buried in the history texts stored in their computerized library.

A scriptorium had been set up to copy as much basic medical, agricultural, sociological, and scientific data as possible before the computers failed. Teams working with rough handmade paper and reed pens had labored around the clock for weeks in a frantic effort to record the most essential information before it disappeared. Everyone had understood that the more that was lost, the less chance there would be for survival.

Technologically, the colonists had been thrown back to a period roughly equivalent to the late eighteenth century on Earth.

When the Founders had crafted their vision of a society that would be strong enough to ensure their survival, they had embedded two values most deeply into their design. The first was the value of marriage and family. The second was the value of books.

Librarians, Nick thought with a sense of keen appreciating, had been zealous in honoring the Founders' trust. Because of their commitment to hoarding every scrap of information, including old phone books and corporate registries, he now knew the identity of the person who had murdered his parents.

None of the library patrons bothered to glance more than twice at the sight of a man dressed in wrinkled formal black evening wear running through the book stacks toward the door.

Half an hour later when he broke the lock of Zinnia's loft and slammed into the apartment, Nick was no longer basking in the rush of satisfaction that had hit him in the library. He was fighting a rising tide of fear.