Orphan of Mythcorp (16 page)

He collapsed against the door, assuming a
seated position, back to the oak, arms on his knees.

When I could think again, I said, “What was
that whole wind thing about?”

The man smiled. “Seriously, dude? That was
magic. I called on the Wind elemental for aid, gave my blood as
offering. I’m half-surprised It answered, considering.”

Magic? Man, my life just keeps getting
stranger. I asked Dex what he did on the door. As he explained it,
he’d carved the Hunter’s name—
Nimrod—
into the oak, adding it to others already
carved there as part of a ward.

“
If he survives Malthus and decides to
try my door again,” Dex said, digging a small joint out of his
jeans pocket, “that old relic will find his insides leaking out. I
should’ve done it ages ago. I’m surprised he never came looking for
me before, actually.”

I was about to ask for a hit off the joint,
when he stood. “Who are you? Wait, don’t answer that because I
don’t care.” He stomped out of the foyer down the hall, past a
grand staircase. A few seconds later a loud banging noise echoed
through the house.

Once my pumper stopped gushing like crazy, I
hobbled over to the stairs and sat down, leaning against the turned
spindles. For five minutes I sat there, mulling over these
events.

Finally, compelled by Marie’s annoying
prodding, I stood and hopped my way down the hall in the direction
Dex had gone. The hallway led to a large white kitchen. Empty. The
house was a dead zone; no sounds from the city could breach its
walls. I couldn’t even hear the storm or the traffic swishing by on
the street.

As I was making my way back to the hallway,
calling out Dex’s name, Marie peeped her head out from the wall to
my right. “Jeez!”

‘
Sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s in here, in
the library.’

I found the door, a dark stained wooden job
hidden among the wainscoting. The handle turned easily enough, but
when I went to push open the door, something resisted my effort.
Castor laughed while Marie suggested I shove harder, insisting
‘Nothing’s blocking it.’

Skinny, with only one good leg does not
offer much in the way of force, but I scrounged up some energy and
barged into the library. The door slammed shut behind me, as if
taken by the wind. From my hands and knees I looked up, scanning
the place. It was . . . impossible. A huge glass dome represented
the ceiling, but it soared, at least five stories up. The house was
only two stories, three if you counted the attic. The great
circular room must’ve been sixty feet in diameter. Curved wooden
bookshelves, the same dark stain as the wainscoting out in the
hall, lined the walls, bisected only by balconies on every floor,
each one about twelve feet tall.

Time itself seemed mutable in this place; I
felt as though I’d been on the floor for hours—and for mere
seconds—when I spotted Dex, scanning an old book on the second
story balcony.

“
Hey!” I called up to him, struggling
to my feet. “I need your help.”

He jumped, nearly dropping his book. Dex
leered down at me. “You again. What are you still doing here?”

“
I was told you could
help—”

“
Go away,” he waved goodbye and
returned to his reading. A few moments later he glanced back down
at me. “You are a stubborn dude, aren’t you? Fine effort, truly.
But it won’t work. I’m not taking on any more apprentices. If you
knew what happened to the last one, you’d be thanking me for not
taking you—”

“
I’m Knox’s son!”

That got the pricks’ attention. Dex briskly
descended the iron spiral stairs, crossed the paper strewn floor
over to me. Setting the large ancient-looking book down on a
trestle beside the door, he began an inspection of my body. It was
mildly uncomfortable at first, and swiftly grew intrusive; he
finished by clasping my ears and humming to himself.

I threw his hands off and hobbled back a
step. “What are you doing?”

“
Hmm. It seems you are indeed his
son.” He turned and headed back towards the stairs, calling over
his shoulder, “This is all the more reason for you to leave. Every
venture I pursued with that man ended with someone dying or getting
shot or stabbed or cursed.”

“
Weren’t you friends?” A desperate
tone was seeping into my voice.

Dex’s hand paused, frozen on the railing. He
lowered his head for a few ticks before turning back to face me.
“We were friends. A long time ago.” His eyes took in the vast
library. “The last thing he did was fulfill his end of a bargain
with me. It is because of his one good final act that we are here,
in this . . . sanctum sanctorum.” A shift in his demeanor seemed to
take him then, just when I was thinking he was about to help me.
“But he was merely paying me back for helping him with that
immortal fellow. We’re square. I don’t owe him or you anything. Go
away.”

I dropped into a stout uncomfortable chair
by the wall and crossed my arms.

‘
You should tell Dex that you know
about the manuscripts,’ Marie said. ‘Tell him that and he’ll open
up. Or he won’t. But at least then you’ll sound like you know what
you’re talking about, and not like some—’

‘
Some lip-smacking babbler,’ Castor
finished for her.

They started arguing and ten ticks later
were gone, probably off to finish their spat in Limbo. I tried to
stand, but all zest for life seemed to have fled. Being manhandled
and shaken by Nimrod will do that to you.

“
Are you still down there?” a faint
voice called down from a few stories up.

I was silent, hoping he’d take that as
confirmation and wander down here to make sure. I figured if I
could keep my jittering and moaning under control long enough, and
get Dex close enough, I might just be able to pull a Mesmer on him.
But I didn’t hear any footsteps on the spiral stairs.

Far overhead lightning lit up the domed
ceiling. I tried to conjure some clever plan.

Something tickled across the back of my
right hand. I peeped down at it, ready to brush aside a feather or
whatever muck this drafty library had blown across it. “Ah, man,” I
screeched and flicked my right hand with my left. The black-hearted
spider flew a few feet away, landed on the floor without a sound.
As I struggled to my feet, pumper beating away, the arachnid
righted itself and snarled at me.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t snarl, but the
thing did give me the evil-eye, sure as sure.

I shivered. Realizing I was on my feet, my
shins in agony, but upright all the same, I limped forward. Kept
glancing back to make sure the spider wasn’t following.

“
Hey Dex!”

A few seconds later: “Why are you still
here? I said leave. What’ll it take to get you to get lost?” He
sounded tired, like the world had been giving him a hard time for a
long time.

“
I um, I just—I know about the
manuscripts.”

Dex finally descended, eventually sidling up
to me again. He considered me with his dilated peepers for many
ticks. “What’s your name, dude?”

The jitters were full blown now; even my
teeth were rattling. A decent human would have offered me food,
bandages, a joint. “Morgan,” I said. “I was raised in the Home with
twelve Morai. The Mythicon Faustus said you could tell me about my
father.”

My knees knocked together and I was ready to
puke from withdrawal, collapse from pain and scream from
frustration.

“
What do you know about the
manuscripts?”

“
Um.”

The man sighed. “Not the brightest bulb in
the pack, huh. Just tell me who told you about the
manuscripts.”

Didn’t see any upside to lying, so I said,
“Marie?”

Dex leaned closer until we were almost nose
to nose. “Marie?”

I sighed and laid it out on the table,
explaining Marie’s post-life existence, etc.

A few seconds of silence, followed by
Dex clapping. “Ha! Inherited thaumaturgic alteration. Amazing.”
When he saw the dumb look on my face, he continued. “You’ve
inherited your fathers’ ability to perceive spirits, dude. You’ve
even inherited his ghosts, for Pete’s sake. Do you know how
he
did it?”

“
I didn’t know he could. I don’t even
know how I can.”

“
Magic.” With that, Dex crossed his
arms and grinned. A few moments later, as if speaking to someone
else, this kooky wizard guy said, “Yes, perhaps he can make up for
the sins of his father.”

He then scampered up the stairs, mumbling
incoherently. After scrounging around for ten minutes, he returned,
lugging reams of papers wrapped in rubber bands, and what looked to
be a plastic shotgun case.

“
Knox left these for you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What are
they?”

“
Here, take this,” Dex handed me the
case. It was surprisingly light. Still toting the three reams of
banded paper, he led me out of the library, uttering some kind of
incantation before opening the door. For him it opened without
resistance.

On the way out, an old fart emerged from the
four-foot wide doorway opposite the library. Dex stopped, and I
nearly ran into him when I jiggered to keep weight off my left
leg.

“
Ah, Argus,” Dex said. “Did you order
those books from the list I gave you?”

The old man, lined and slightly hunched,
sporting a torn green sweater, shook his head. “I told you,
Dextrian, I am not your manservant.”

“
Dang it, man! I told you I needed
those books.” Dex ran his free hand through his spikes. The spikes
bounced back like they were made of plastic. “How am I supposed to
keep Arthur King from entering politics if I don’t know the
specific spells and curses to place on him?”

The old man—Argus—grumped and licked his
lips. “You have thousands of ancient tomes in that dusty old
library, books of magic and magical books and grimoires. You
telling me you don’t have what you need?”

“
No! Those old spells won’t work for
political dealings and the like. Just do as I say!” Dex said,
shoving past old Argus. “We’re not having this conversation
again.”

“
Praise God,” Argus spat. “I hate
reruns.”

Dex spun. “Listen, you old manfac. If you
don’t follow my orders I’ll be forced to—”

“
What? Put a spell on me?” Argus licked
his lips again, making a nasty slimy sound. “We both know if you
try it, my master will have your soul in a jar the second he
returns.”

“
It’s been fifteen years!” Dex
shrieked. “He’s not coming back.”

Argus stepped up to his not-master.
“Then go ahead and put a curse on me.” He waited. “No? I didn’t
think so. Even after fifteen years you’re still scared of him.
He
will
be back—soon. I can
feel his return in my bones.” Then the old man toddled away,
grumbling under his breath.

“
God! I hate that man.” Dex turned and
stepped down into a large formal gathering room. Large windows
draped in cream colored venetian blinds lined the opposite wall.
Dex nodded at an easy chair. I dropped into it.

“
So who is his master?”

Dex waved, as if trying to bat this question
aside. “His master owns this house. I’m just sort of leasing it in
his absence. Not like it matters anyway; the sorcerer’s probably
dead by now.”

I closed my eyes and felt a constipation of
the mind forming from my steaming pile of questions.

“
Ah, son of a with!” A sudden jolt of
pain sprung up in my legs. I opened my eyes. Dex had dropped the
slabs of paper right onto my lap.

Dex snorted. “Dude. What an ironic thing to
say. Okay, now listen, those are all you need. They’ll tell you
everything you want to know and plenty you don’t. Now go forth and
forget you were ever here.” He finished with a dramatic wave of his
hand. “Just . . . be careful. If you’re anything like your old man
. . . well, if you are, you won’t listen to reason, so never
mind.”

“
Can you at least tell me where he
is?”

He pointed at the reams of paper in my
lap.

“
What the flip is your problem?” More
silence. “Fine. What are these?”

Dex stubbed out the joint. He made a
big hubbub of opening a bag of Big League Chew and depositing a
huge chunk in his mouth. “’What are these?’ He says. One thing to
another, never ending. Just like Knox.” Pointing at me, he yelled,
“Well you won’t suck me back into that world, junior.” A pause.
“Look, those three manuscripts comprise the
Mythcorp Trilogy
, written by the Icons Tolkien
and Lewis during the
War
.
There it is. That’s all you’re getting from me. Now go.”

“
Tolkien and Lewis?” I
asked.

‘
That’s right, I remember those guys,’
Marie perked up beside me. She was hanging out a lot now that I was
off the doojee. Before I could stop myself I asked her: “How did
you know them?”

“
It doesn’t matter how I knew them,”
Dex said. “Now—”

“
What happened to them?” I asked both
Dex and Marie. Marie was too distracted by the smoke emanating from
Dex’s ashtray to answer.

“
During the Purge they went into
hiding,” Dex said without moving his lips. He placed a small log on
the fire in the wood stove. “The sorcerer was wise enough to hide
them out here while all the Morai and other products of Mythcorp
were being rounded up and questioned or Recycled.” He sighed. “The
FBI confiscated all the published copies of these manuscripts.
That, dude, is all I know, so don’t ask another question. Just
leave.”