Soothsayer (23 page)

"You know what I mean,” said Penelope seriously. “I may just be a little girl, but I have a good memory. Someday you'll be sorry."

"Someday I'll be dead of old age, too,” said the pirate with a shrug. “In the meantime, though, I suggest you think about what will happen to your friend if any harm befalls me."

He walked out of the parlor, and the door closed behind him.

"You've got one Standard day to find your unknown friend,” remarked the Mouse. “Or, more to the point,
he
has one Standard day to find
us
, since it doesn't seem very likely that we're going to get out of this suite unless someone kills all of the Clipper's guards."

"We'll get out,” said Penelope with certainty.

"How?"

The little girl shrugged. “I'm not sure yet. There are a lot of futures."

"There always were,” said the Mouse. “The question is: can you influence some of them enough to get us out of here?"

Penelope made no reply, and since she seemed to be concentrating on something that only she could see or fathom, the Mouse slipped a disk into the holo player and watched a selection of three-dimensional advertisements of the local entertainments. She learned that she had just missed a Wild West pageant, recreated from Earth's ancient past, as well as a much-ballyhooed match for the freehand middleweight championship of the Inner Frontier. Upcoming attractions included a visit from the Cluster's most famous circus, the conclusion of a foot race around Calliope's equator that had begun 82 days previously, and a recreation of the decisive battle of the Sett War, which would take place on the sprawling savannah some 15 miles to the west of Xanadu.

"Damn!” muttered the Mouse. “It just isn't fair!"

"What isn't?” asked Penelope.

"All my life I've dreamed of a world like this, teeming with fat men and fatter wallets,” said the Mouse, “and now that I'm finally here, I'm locked away in a hotel so close to all that money I can almost taste it.” A wistful expression came over her face. “Do you know what Merlin and I could do here, how much money we could make?"

"I thought I was your partner,” said Penelope in hurt tones.

"You are,” the Mouse assured her.

"Then why are you talking about Merlin?"

"Because Merlin is my partner, too—and he had the deftest fingers I ever saw,” answered the Mouse. “You and I are good at other things—but Merlin could have started at one side of this hotel's lobby, walked to the other side, and picked up 20 wallets by the time he got there.” She smiled. “And oh, what he could have done circulating in the crowd at the racetrack."

"I can make you more money than he could,” said Penelope.

"I don't doubt it."

"We don't need him."

"We need all the help we can get, from anyone who will give it to us,” said the Mouse.

"Not from Merlin."

"Why are you suddenly so concerned with Merlin?” asked the Mouse. “You haven't mentioned him in weeks."

"We were happy without him,” said Penelope.

The Mouse sighed. “You have to understand that you don't stop liking a friend, or being loyal to him, just because you've found someone you like better."

Penelope stared at her.

"Do you really like me better?"

"Yes,” said the Mouse. “But don't forget—Merlin has been leading Three-Fisted Ollie and Cemetary Smith and some other bounty hunters away from us for weeks now.” She paused. “What kind of friends would we be if we didn't want him back after he risked his life for us?"

"You're right,” said Penelope after some consideration. “I'm sorry."

"It's all right,” said the Mouse soothingly. “You don't have to apologize."

"I just worry about being alone again."

"I worry about how we're going to get out of here,” responded the Mouse. She started making another round of the parlor—her fourteenth since arriving—testing the walls, the windows, the floors, the ventillation system, looking for weak points and finding none.

"There are lots of ways,” said Penelope, as the Mouse continued walking around the parlor, probing for possible means of escape. “I just don't know which one I can make happen yet."

"Do they concern your friend?"

Penelope shook her head. “He doesn't even know who we are."

"Then how can he be your friend?"

The little girl shrugged helplessly. “I don't know."

"Are you certain you're right?"

"I
think
so,” said Penelope. “Picking the right future isn't as easy as it used to be. I see more things now, things I don't always understand."

"What kind of things?” asked the Mouse, finally completing her latest inspection of the premises and turning back to the little girl.

"I don't know,” said Penelope. “Just things."

"Pictures? Images? Whole scenes?"

"I can't explain it,” answered the girl. “It's just much more complicated than it was.” She paused, frowning. “You'd think it would get easier now that I'm getting bigger."

"Maybe you're getting more powerful,” suggested the Mouse. “Maybe you see more things and can influence more things."

"Do you really think so?"

"It's possible."

"Then why can't I always understand what I see?” asked Penelope.

"Because you're still a little girl, and you don't have enough experience to know all the things that you're seeing, all the permutations of each choice you make."

"I don't know what you mean."

The Mouse smiled. “When you do, then perhaps you'll also know what you're seeing."

"I hope so,” said Penelope earnestly. “It's very confusing. I used to see everything so very clearly. Now there are some things that I don't see at all, that I just seem to
know
, and other things that I don't understand."

"I'm sure someday it will all make sense,” said the Mouse.

"I'm glad you can't see what I see, Mouse,” said Penelope. “Sometimes it can be very confusing—and scary."

"Scary?"

Penelope nodded. “I can see the Iceman and the Forever Kid finding us, and I can see the Yankee Clipper killing you when he finds out."

"Oh?” said the Mouse apprehensively.

"I won't let it happen,” said Penelope. “There are lots of other futures."

"I certainly hope so."

"But I don't understand all of them."

"Just pick one in which I don't get killed, and I'll settle for it,” said the Mouse.

"You won't get killed,” Penelope assured her.

"Are Carlos and the Kid on Calliope already?” asked the Mouse.

"I don't know,” said the girl. “But I know they'll find this room by tonight, so if they're not here, they're very close.” Suddenly she tensed.

"What is it?"

"In some of the futures they die, and in some they don't."

"Let's hope for one in which they don't,” said the Mouse.

"That's what I'm seeing now,” said Penelope.

"Then why do you look so upset?"

"Because if they both come into this room, they're going to try to kill each other."

"Why?” asked the Mouse, puzzled.

"Because of me."

"You're absolutely sure?"

Penelope frowned. “No. The Iceman hasn't made up his mind yet."

"About what?"

"About whether to kill me or not."

"Well, if he tries, the Kid won't let him."

Penelope closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate. Finally she opened them, visibly shaken.

"I don't know. I can't see who wins."

"Carlos is a middle-aged man who probably hasn't fought anyone in years,” said the Mouse. “The Kid is a professional killer. I've seen him in action. There's no way that Carlos can beat him."

"I still can't see,” repeated Penelope. Suddenly she started trembling. “We have to get away from here, Mouse."

"That's what I keep saying."

"You don't understand,” said the girl urgently. “I don't want to be here when the Iceman gets here. If he wants me dead, and he can kill the Forever Kid, I'm not strong enough to stop him yet."

"Yet?” repeated the Mouse.

"Someday I may be, but not yet.” Penelope's face was ashen white. “Don't let him kill me, Mouse!"

"I won't,” said the Mouse, putting her arms around the frightened little girl, and wondering how strong Penelope planned to become if she lived long enough.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The door slid open and the Yankee Clipper stepped into the parlor.

"I'm sorry to trouble you lovely ladies,” he said. “We'll be just a minute."

He was followed by a pair of bounty hunters Mouse recognized from Westerly. One of them took a couple of steps toward Penelope, who stared at him curiously but without any trace of fear, then nodded to the pirate. A moment later both bounty hunters left.

"The interested parties are beginning to arrive,” explained the Yankee Clipper. “Each, of course, wants to make sure that I can really deliver Penelope Bailey, so I'm afraid we'll be intruding upon your privacy from time to time."

"I can tell how it upsets you,” said the Mouse sardonically.

"Believe it or not, I take no pleasure in selling human beings,” said the pirate. “But we're talking about a great deal of money here—and frankly, I'll feel much safer once she's halfway across the galaxy.” He paused. “And of course, she's not being sold into slavery. Given the price that she commands, I'm sure she'll be treated with the utmost consideration and kept in luxury.” He smiled again. “At least, it comforts me to think so."

He left the parlor, and one of his guards entered a moment later.

Penelope busied herself dressing Maryanne with the new clothes she had ordered earlier in the day, while the Mouse activated the holovision and tried to concentrate on the results of the day's seemingly endless procession of sporting events. Twice more the Yankee Clipper brought people up to the suite—once it was a member of the Democracy's military, once a nondescript woman who might have been anything from a bureaucrat to a bounty hunter—and finally the Mouse ordered lunch for herself and Penelope.

A waiter from room service arrived about ten minutes later, guiding a small aircart that held their meals. He waited patiently while the guard searched him, then walked across the room to the polished hardwood table where the Mouse was sitting.

"Your lunch, madam,” said the waiter.

The moment she heard his voice the Mouse turned from the holoscreen to look at his face.

The waiter, his back to the guard, winked at her and smiled, and suddenly the Mouse felt an enormous sense of relief.

"Where will the young lady be taking her lunch?” asked the waiter.

"Right here,” answered the Mouse, hoping that her voice didn't reflect her excitement.

"As you wish,” said the waiter, arranging a place setting for Penelope, who was still playing with Maryanne and seemed oblivious to his presence.

"Excuse me,” said the waiter, turning to the guard, “but there seems to be an extra dessert here. Would you care for it?” He smiled ingratiatingly. “There will, of course, be no additional charge."

The guard shrugged. “Why not?"

The waiter placed a covered dish at the far end of the table.

"Bring it over,” said the guard.

"Certainly,” said the waiter. He picked up the dish and walked across the room, stopping in front of the guard.

"What is it?” asked the guard.

"One moment, sir,” said the waiter, removing the lid from the dish and handing it to the guard.

The guard leaned forward to take the dish, and suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a small laser pistol.

"Where the hell did you get that?” he demanded.

"The hand is quicker than the eye,” replied the waiter. He reached over his head with his free hand and suddenly pulled a bouquet of flowers out of the air. “Take a sniff,” he said, holding them up to the guard's nose. “I know they're not roses, but this is less painful and less permanent than forcing me to use the gun."

"What are you—?” began the guard, who collapsed before he could complete his question.

The waiter looked at the unconscious body for a moment, then tossed the bouquet on top of it and turned to face the Mouse and Penelope.

"Hi, Merlin,” said Penelope.

"Am I ever glad to see you!” said the Mouse, getting to her feet. “What are you doing here?"

"Save your questions for later,” said Merlin. “We're got to move fast. I shorted out the monitoring device just before I entered the suite, but it'll only take them a couple of minutes to figure out that it's not an electronic failure."

"Are the other guards still outside in the corridor?” asked the Mouse.

Merlin nodded. “Mean-looking bunch. There's no way we can get out past them."

He walked to the window and examined it. “Is it rigged?” he asked the Mouse.

"Of course not,” she answered. “We're seventeen floors up. Who is going to break in?"

"You've got a point,” admitted Merlin.

As they were speaking, Merlin examined the huge picture window, then made a fist and pressed his ring up against the glass, very near the bottom. “I just love magician's props,” he said with a grin.

The Mouse could hear the whirring of a tiny motor inside the ring, and it cut through the glass with no difficulty. Merlin completed about 320 degrees of a large circle, perhaps 30 inches in diameter, then reached into his pocket for a small suction device, which he attached to the glass. He then cut the remainder of the circle, and used the device to pull the glass into the room.

"Even if the building has enough handholds, someone's bound to see me before I climb down to the ground,” said the Mouse. “And even if no one saw me, there's no way the two of you could follow me down the side of a building."

"You're not going down, you're going
up
,” said Merlin.

"Up?” she repeated.

He nodded. “This is the penthouse. The roof's about eight feet above the window."

"And what about you and Penelope?"

Merlin took off his timepiece and pressed a hidden release.

"Here,” he said, withdrawing a thin, incredibly strong wire from the band and attaching it to the Mouse's waist. “It's a titanium alloy with a tight molecular bonding; it'll hold more than a ton before it snaps. Once you get to the roof, tie your end to something secure, and then Penelope and I will climb up."