Napier's Bones (7 page)

“Oh, yeah,”
agreed Dom. “There’s a lot of mojo out there we may never see, because it’s
stored away in private collections, owned by rich fucks who have no idea what
it is they’re sitting on. But every once in awhile something hot and new shows
up, and if you have the right connections, you can often get the jump on
whatever competition is floating around in the neighbourhood.”

“How much
competition is there?” asked Jenna.

Dom shrugged.
“Don’t know. I’ve only run into about twenty people in the time I’ve been
numerate, and not all of them were in person. Some online, some with just the
scent of their numbers showing that they’d been in a place a few days before
me, and of course the person who’s making this trip so necessary.” He pushed
himself off the hood of the car and walked to the bank doors, which were just
being opened by an older woman in a dark blue business suit. “Your name is
Lisbeth while we’re here,” he said over his shoulder to Jenna, then he turned
to greet the woman at the door. “Sandra, good to see you again.”

The woman
blinked, obviously trying to remember his face, then smiled. “Mr. Wood. What a
pleasant surprise! Back from your business trip so soon?” Her voice sounded of
a lifetime of cigarettes, her face was weathered and filled with deep lines,
and her teeth when she smiled flashed yellow and brown. Dom had never thought
about it before, having always been in Bozeman alone, but both people he knew well
here—Sy and Sandra—were heavy smokers. He wondered if there was a numerical
reason for it.

Dom shook the
hand she offered, nodding his head. “Yup. And off on another one right away.
Sandra, this is my . . . trainee, Lisbeth.”

For a second
Jenna stood there, staring blankly at the two of them, but she quickly
recovered and also shook the banker’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Why don’t you
have a seat, Lisbeth. This shouldn’t take too long.” He turned back to the
banker. “Sandra, I need to get into my safe deposit box.” He pulled out his
wallet and handed her his license as they walked to the back of the bank.
“Proof that I’m still me,” he said, grinning.

They exchanged a
little more small talk on the way to the back room, and then Sandra excused
herself and went to get the box. After she delivered it to Dom she thanked him
for remaining such a good customer and then left the room. Dom fished the key
out of his pocket.

“Quite chatty,”
said Billy, keeping his voice low.

“Small town born
and raised,” replied Dom. “It’s why I chose this branch; she keeps on top of
things for her customers, and watches out for them as well.”

As he inserted
the key into the box’s lock and twisted it there was a hollow whooshing sound
and a flash of light from inside the box. “Shit shit shit shit shit!” said Dom,
lifting the lid and waving at the smoke that was rising up from inside.

“What happened?”
asked Billy. “Did they get us again?”

Dom stood on the
chair and wove some numbers around the smoke alarm so that it wouldn’t go off,
then pulled some more numbers and formulae into a ball and raced it around the
room, chasing the remaining fragments of smoke and scooping them up like a
Pac-Man trying to get a cheap high. That done, he compressed the ball into a
hard little marble and tossed it to the corner, where it landed with a soft
click against the baseboard; it was temporary, would probably last only ten
minutes at best before it evaporated and released the smoke again, but it would
have to do. And there was no way he wanted to carry anything on his person that
could track back to the numbers being used by their pursuer. “Last thing I want
is for the alarm to go off and have to stick around and explain why to the fire
department and the cops, especially if word about me is starting to spread.” He
turned his attention back to the box, reached inside but quickly pulled his
hand out again. “Guess I’ll give it a minute to cool down.”

“This was Them
again,” said Billy, and this time Dom could both feel and hear the
capitalization. “I can smell the numbers, more acrid than the smoke.”

“Yeah, but this
time they didn’t do the damage they were hoping to,” replied Dom, deciding that
even though they didn’t know any names, he wasn’t going to give them the
benefit of a special capital letter.

He reached
inside and picked up the wire, blowing fast and loud puffs of air on it in a
futile attempt to keep it from burning his fingertips. Then he dropped it in
his palm and flipped it back and forth from one hand to the next, trying to
cool it without scorching his skin. Numbers drifted up from it, red hot and
angry at first, but quickly cooling as they made their way to the ceiling.
“Seems this time didn’t work out for the bitch,” said Dom. “I think this baby
still has all of its mojo. Didn’t hurt that it had already been in a fire.”
Finally it was cool enough, and he dropped it back on the table and with a
couple of hard twists tore it in half. One half went into his pocket, while the
other went on his left wrist, wrapped into a makeshift bracelet. With one
frayed end he poked at his skin and drew blood, felt the rush of protection as
the numbers entered his body. “Yow. Is that ever a relief.”

“You sound like
a junkie. May I ask what it is?” inquired Billy. Dom shut and locked the box
again. “Wait until we’re in the car and Jenna has the other half of this.” He
patted his pocket. “She may as well hear it, too.”

Billy nodded,
and then Dom stood up and walked to the door. “Thank you, Sandra,” he said as
he walked to where Jenna was sitting. “I’ll see you next time.” The banker
stood and waved and then headed for the room where the safe deposit box still
sat, while Jenna stood and followed Dom out the door. “We’ll get in the car and
drive a little bit first,” he said, throwing her the keys. “Any direction, as
long as we get away before she starts to make a fuss about the smell, or the
smoke that’s soon gonna follow.”

“Smoke?” Jenna
climbed in and started the car, pulled out in a pause in the traffic.

“Our
friend, still trying to make life difficult for me,” said Dom. “Give me your
hand.” One hand still on the wheel, Jenna reached her right arm across. Dom
took the second piece of wire from his pocket, wrapped it around her wrist,
then poked her with its end. “Ow!” A tiny droplet of blood rose up, dark red bead
intermingling with the wire. “That smarts,” said Jenna, briefly looking down
before returning her eyes to the road. “Oh! I can see the numbers that surround
it. But why are they jumping away from me?”

“Son of a bitch!
That’s not supposed to happen.” Dom reached over and stroked the wire,
whispered to the numbers and convinced them to return. After a pause, they fell
back to Jenna’s arm, surrounded the wire and burrowed in under her skin,
pushing their way—reluctantly, it looked to Dom—into the tiny wound, little
bubbles of black and grey and orange moving aside minute pieces of skin. As
they did so, he experienced another momentary flash—as if he was looking at the
world, at the road they were driving on and down to the numbers burrowing into
her skin—through Jenna’s eyes. And then, just as suddenly, Dom was back in his
own body. He shook his head to clear it, worried but not wanting Jenna to see
it. Voice deliberately calm, he said, “That’s better. It’s okay. Just watch the
road and let it happen.”

“What
is it?” Jenna’s voice rose in panic, and Dom had to grab the wheel and steer
the car over to the side of the road, where she at least had the presence of
mind to put on the brakes.

Dom shifted the
car into Park and shut it off, taking the keys out. “Sorry,” he said, “I
should’ve thought about this before I let you drive.”

Now the numbers
had entered Jenna’s bloodstream, were flowing throughout her body, following
the rhythm of her heart. It was like watching an X-ray movie of the human
circulatory system, but with numbers instead of blood, and Dom knew Jenna could
see it as well. And already they were finding their way into her nervous
system, where they would do the most good. “It’s mojo,” he said. “Should go a
long way to protecting us from disaster until we can get our hands on more.”

“Where did it
come from?” asked Billy.

“Well, until I
tore it in half so that Jenna could use it as well, it was a necklace I’d made
out of wires salvaged from Apollo 13. That’s why the numbers have to find their
way inside. The wires were the nervous system of the spacecraft, and connected
to the craft’s circulatory system, so this is mojo that works best from the
inside-out.”

Jenna was
staring at her arms, face pale. “I saw that movie,” she responded after a
moment of trying to regain her composure. “They almost died.”

“But they
didn’t, and that, combined with its wonderful series of synchronicities is what
makes this little bit of metal—” he waved his wrist in the air “—so damned
valuable to us.” After saying this he finally noticed that Jenna wasn’t looking
any better. “Here,” he said, opening his door and climbing out, “you scrunch on
over and let me drive for awhile. I’ll explain as we go.”

Jenna climbed
over the bucket seats and tried to settle in, but her knee bumped against the
glove compartment, which noisily popped open. Inside was a manila envelope
which slid down onto Jenna’s lap, as if pulled along by an invisible wire.
Numbers swarmed everywhere, but none of them appeared to be dangerous, and when
Jenna delicately picked up the envelope with her fingertips they all faded
away.

“Jesus,” said
Dom. He’d opened the driver’s side door but had stayed outside when the
envelope appeared.

“Open it,”
suggested Billy. “The numbers that were here didn’t seem dangerous.” After a
few seconds of dubious thought, Dom nodded in agreement.

Jenna slowly
peeled open the envelope, then shook the contents out onto her lap. Two U.S.
passports. Carefully, Jenna picked one up and opened it, closed it again and
handed it over to Dom, eyes wide open.

Dom climbed into
the car and leaned back before he opened the passport. He noted with some sort
of distant interest that when he did look inside, he felt no surprise at what
he saw. A picture of him, accompanied by the name Eric Wood; even his signature
using that name. He turned to look at Jenna, saw the passport she was holding
up, her own picture inside accompanied by the name Lisbeth Sorenson.

“Someone else is
in on all this,” said Dom finally.

“Someone who
wants to help us, I think,” replied Billy.

“But why
passports?” asked Jenna. Her voice was tight and quiet, but Dom could hear the
quiver of fear there.

Dom started the
car. “First thing, we’re off to Canada.” He pulled out and headed for the
highway.

“Canada? What do
you mean? Why Canada?” Her voice was even more panicked now.

Billy put a hand
on her shoulder. “Settle down, Jenna. Give Dom the time to explain things
instead of getting so upset.”

She closed her
eyes, leaned her head back and took a series of deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” she
finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “The passports coming out of
nowhere, that picture of me I
know
was never taken, and I have trouble
with blood at the best of times, and seeing those numbers crawl
inside
me like that just made it worse. It was like something out of a horror movie,
bugs climbing inside you and making your skin bubble and crawl and flow through
your blood and you can see it like you’re watching a Discovery Channel
documentary and they’re little and even though you say they’re supposed to
help, they—”

“Whoa!” yelled
Dom. “Jenna, your freaking out is freaking
me
out. Shut the fuck up a
minute and let me explain what’s going on.”

She turned to
look at Dom, lip quivering but eyes set hard. “All right. Tell me, please.” Her
voice was deathly quiet now.

Dom took a deep
breath, concentrating on the traffic for a minute. “Right,” he finally said.
“First, the passports. They’re pretty obviously a gift from someone who knows
what shape we’re in. I doubt that crossing the border is going to help us get
away, but there are things I have squirreled away in Canada, things that can
help us deal with our situation here. And since they’re closer than anything in
the States, it makes sense to go that way. Although . . .” He scratched the
bridge of his nose as he thought for a few seconds. “Don’t know if I like the
idea of someone out there knowing that about me already.”

Billy shrugged.
“Too late to do anything about it now.”

“Not so,” said
Dom. “We could drive somewhere else, mess up their plans.”

“We have the
wire you just got us,” replied Billy. “Will it last long enough if we have to
go further?”

Dom pursed his
lips. “Probably not. Shit. So Canada it is.”

“What about the
wire?” asked Jenna. “Why’d you have to poke me with it?”

“Well,
synchronicity is what makes our world go round,” said Dom. “Any time there’s a
sequence of numbers that hold some sort of coincidence, artefacts connected
with that coincidence can be of great aid to numerates. Mojo.”

She nodded,
staring straight ahead.

“So Apollo 13
was loaded with mojo. The rocket blasted off on the 13th of the month, and it
did so at 1313 hours. Coincidences like that create a rush of numbers that push
their way in, forcing out the bland, everyday numbers that make up the fabric
of life. When they do that, there’s a dynamic that’s created, one that
numerates can use to their benefit.”

“But I thought
the number thirteen was supposed to be unlucky.”

Dom shrugged.
“I’m sure for some people it is. But how unlucky was it for Lovell, Swigert and
Haise?”

“Who?”

“The astronauts
on that ill-fated flight to the Moon,” answered Billy.

“Oh.”

“The three of
them survived the disaster,” continued Dom. “There was no way they should have
made it back, but they did, and the sheer genius that they used to figure their
way out of such a mess just added to the mojo. Numbers would have been flying
in all directions during the time they were trying to fix things and map their
corrections, burrowing into the wires and panels and diodes and everything else
on board that capsule. So it stands to reason that artefacts from on board
should be even stronger than normal, what with the synchronicity of the numbers
on liftoff and the addition of all those numbers that saved their lives.” They
were finally leaving the city and heading north. Dom accelerated to a shade
past the speed limit and then turned on the cruise control. “But all of the
numbers were put to use to save the day, not to attack, not to take anything
away from someone else, and not for personal gain, unless you count living to
see another day as personal gain. And so the numbers in these wires,” he waved
his hand again, “are burrowing into us in order to protect us from trouble
coming from the outside. They survived the onslaught of an explosion in the
vacuum of space, they’re going to help us survive the onslaught of this woman
and her shadow who think they can get to us.”