Thirteen Orphans (19 page)
Brenda flushed. “Yeah. Me either, I guess. I’m sorry. I guess this has all caught up with me. I’m not sure what difference getting to Auntie Pearl’s is going to make, but I feel like it should make some.”
Riprap raised his broad shoulders in a casual shrug.
“Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I’ve learned though, from playing and coaching both. You can’t control the rest of the team. You can’t control the weather or home-field advantage or any of that stuff. What you can control is yourself, and as I see it, we’re seven innings into this game, and the other side has scored lots of points. If we’re going to pull a save, I can’t be expecting one of the star players to do my part as well as theirs.”
Brenda blinked. “That’s quite a lecture.”
Riprap grinned sheepishly. “You should hear me when I get all inspirational on my players. Don’t get me wrong, Brenda. I don’t think these tricks I’m learning will let me do anything spectacular. I just don’t want those who can use the big guns to be kept from doing so because they’re busy pulling my butt out of the fire.”
Brenda, remembering her father yelling, “Brenda! Down!,” remembering how both men had moved to protect her against the “mugger,” thinking how her own cockiness might have made matters worse, not better, flushed again.
“You’ve got a point, coach. I’ll remember. I guess I’ve been thinking that the ‘game’ will start when we’re there. You’re right. It’s ongoing, and we’re not winning. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
When Des arrived about forty-five minutes later, though, Brenda was glad for a chance to stretch.
“Come out into my yard,” Des said. “I’ve set wards, so even if someone catches a glimpse of us, they’ll not see anything odd.”
Brenda, accustomed to the open yards of the Southeast, understood his “even” better when they were outside. Des’s yard was completely walled, the thick adobe uneven and picturesquely crumbling in places. Along parts of the wall, red and yellow trumpet vine spilled over in a wild wash of color that relieved what was otherwise dirt brown.
The yard itself showed that Des wasn’t much of a gardener. Near the walls there were scattered shrubs and off in one corner was an apple tree that even Brenda’s untrained eye could see needed pruning. Dominating the enclosed area was a flat area of smooth packed earth, neatly swept clean of any debris.
There were benches on one side, and on these Brenda saw an assortment of oddities, including the tiles she and Riprap had made two days before. These had been strung on parallel bands of thin elastic.
“Put those on,” Des said. “I strung them for you last night after I checked to be sure the spell was live.”
Brenda’s bracelet fit a little loosely, but Riprap’s had to stretch to go over his big hand and fit very snugly around his wrist.
Des frowned. “In later versions, we can incorporate a few beads to give you more play, but this will do for now. Who wants to go first?”
Brenda glanced at Riprap, and the big man shrugged. “Your call.”
“I guess I will, then,” Brenda said. “What do I do?”
“Move to that open area,” Des said, “and when you’re comfortable, take off the bracelet and smash it onto the ground.”
“Won’t it break?”
“More easily than you imagine, especially if you throw it with the intent that it will break and so release the ch’i—that is energy, in this case, magical energy—you trapped within. Ready?”
In answer, Brenda moved to the open space. The bracelet slipped easily over her hand. With a decisive snap of her wrist, Brenda threw it hard onto the packed dirt. As soon as the bracelet hit the ground, the fourteen tiles immediately vanished, leaving a trace of white dust against the brown.
Brenda was still struggling to accept this phenomenon—polymer clay didn’t break that easily, and when it did, it didn’t explode into dust; it cracked or chipped—when a translucent dragon’s tail swirled around her and took her into its embrace.
The dragon’s tail was colorless, and yet she felt confident that it was also pale blue shadowed with brown. The image was so detailed that Brenda could see how the individual scales decreased in size as the tail narrowed toward its tip, even though the image no more obstructed her vision than would a fingerprint on the lens of her sunglasses. It was as if some previously dormant part of her mind, rather than her eyes alone, was responsible for the seeing.
Odd as this was, perhaps the oddest thing was that although Brenda couldn’t see the entire dragon—only its tail, and only the part of the tail that crossed in front of her—she could sense a bulk, a force, surrounding her, much the way the press of a crowd is felt even when no one in that crowd is making actual physical contact.
She shivered in her skin, simultaneously delighted and mildly claustrophobic.
Des trotted over to close with her. The dragon’s tail reacted to his proximity with rippling undulations, but it wasn’t until Des took a swing at Brenda’s face that the coils rose and interposed themselves. Brenda jumped back, and found that the entire coil moved with her.
“Hold still!” Des commanded. “You need to learn to trust the protection.”
Brenda did as ordered, but she flinched anyway as Des’s balled right fist came toward her face. It stopped about six inches short of impact. He brought his left fist up in a sharp uppercut that she didn’t even see until the dragon’s tail stopped it.
Riprap had come over to join them.
“So she doesn’t need to direct it,” he said. “It intervenes on its own. Nice. How long will it last?”
Des shrugged and kicked out at Brenda’s shin. “Depends on the strength of the caster, on the strength and type of blows being blocked. This one probably has at least another fifteen minutes in it. Take a swing. I want you to see how it feels.”
Brenda felt a mixture of indignation and pleasure as Riprap obeyed orders with alacrity. He pulled his hand back, shaking the fingers slightly.
“Didn’t exactly hurt, but I knew I was hitting something.”
Taking advantage of his greater height, he aimed a blow from above. Brenda saw the tail snake across to block, but also saw that the coverage was less complete.
“Careful,” she warned.
Des nodded. “This is a pretty basic protection. It works best for attacks from front, rear, and sides, less from above and below. It will work against fists or weapons, but a really skilled practitioner might be able to slip a blade through the coils. It works less well against missile attacks, and even less well against those that involve a scattered projectile of some sort—birdshot, flame, or liquid. It can’t stop gases, but it might slow them long enough for you to do another spell.”
“Basic,” Brenda agreed, “but cool. What about if I trip and fall—like when I was trying to dodge you—will it catch me?”
“Maybe,” Des said, “but don’t count on it, especially if it’s blocking an outside attack. Protecting from outside menace is its first order of business.”
Des went back to the bench and returned with a pair of outlandish-looking things—sort of a cross between brass knuckles and garden cultivators, but a whole lot more menacing-looking. He slipped them over his hands with accustomed ease.
“My grandmother—the Exile Rooster—had these made. She called them the Rooster’s Talons.”
Again, without giving warning, he slashed out at Brenda’s face. She managed to hold her ground, though her eyes squinched shut.
“What did you see when the Talon hit?” he asked.
“There was,” Brenda said, “a sort of bluish light, a thin line of it where the Talon slashed the dragon’s tail.”
Des nodded in approval. “If you see that, watch out. That means whatever weapon that hit your spell has the ability to weaken its ch’i.”
“So the spell will break faster?” Brenda asked.
“Right,” Des said. “Then would be a good time to cast a follow-up or get out while you can.”
Riprap had been about to take another swing, but now he let his hand drop, obviously not willing to risk breaking the weakened barrier.
“Can she do anything from inside there?” he asked. “I mean, anything to attack.”
“Sure,” Des said. “She could cast spells or even throw a punch.”
“The dragon’s tail won’t get in the way?” Riprap asked.
“Somewhat,” Des admitted, “but as you’ll see when you’re inside, the coverage isn’t complete. You can work around it. But, to repeat myself, this is a very basic spell. Its greatest virtue is it is relatively easy to create, and reliable within its limits. If you get interested in combat armor spells, there are others that are more versatile.”
“But harder to do,” Riprap said.
“Exactly.”
Brenda scooped up a few pebbles from the ground and experimented, imagining that a shrub was one of their enemies. She decided that if she practiced, she might even hit occasionally. Her own lack of skill, not the Dragon’s Tail’s blocking, was the greatest impediment to success.
But I doubt we’ll get too much practice
—
at least with the spells,
she thought.
These bracelets take too long to make for us to use them up
—
especially with real enemies out there.
—
at least with the spells,
she thought.
These bracelets take too long to make for us to use them up
—
especially with real enemies out there.
Brenda’s spell didn’t last much longer, and she gladly changed places with Riprap. She was interested to see that unless she concentrated hard, she couldn’t see Riprap’s dragon’s tail at all.
“Is that because I’m not really the Rat?” she asked, dancing around and taking jabs at Riprap, feeling more than seeing the solid, flexible force that kept her blows from landing.
“No,” Des said. “It’s because you have very little training. There are spells that permit the caster to see magical energy. They’re very useful, and you’ll all be learning how to do at least a simple one.”
“As a bracelet,” Riprap said.
“At first,” Des agreed. “In time, you should learn how to focus your ch’i on demand.”
After the lesson was over, they went back inside. Des presented Riprap with a selection of amulet bracelets.
“My crafting,” he said, “and somewhat generic. However, they will give you some protection as you’re traveling. Pearl brought some along for Nissa. We don’t expect either of you to have trouble in public areas, or even in private, but it never hurts to be careful.”
“I will,” Riprap promised, sliding the bracelets onto his wrists and practicing getting them off smoothly. “I assure you, I will.”
The next morning, Brenda and Des drove Riprap to the airport in Albuquerque. The previous day hadn’t been all work and lessons. Des had taken them for a walk through several historic areas, and later to dinner at a high-end restaurant called the Pink Adobe that was quite proud that its building had once been a brothel.
Almost everywhere they went, Des was greeted like an old friend by someone or other. Apparently what Pearl and her dad had said was true. Even in a city known for being a haven of movie stars, artists, and writers, Des was something of a celebrity.
As they went from gallery to shop to cathedral, Brenda couldn’t help but notice that for all Des chattered away about the local sights in a relaxed and animated fashion, he also kept them to areas where they were always in the vicinity of other people. She also noticed how Riprap kept scanning their surroundings and fingering the bracelets on his wrist.
Brenda was surprised at how quickly she had started to feel naked without the one she’d made, but when on their way back from the airport she asked Des if she could have a couple, just for now, he assured her that for now he’d protect her.
“Besides,” he said, grinning at her sidelong in a way that reminded Brenda that Desperate Lee was a father and teacher, as well as local celebrity, “wanting some amulets of your own is the best incentive I can think of for you to stop worrying and start doing something—even if it is something as demanding as making those bracelets.”
Brenda, who knew she’d been hoping to get out of the routine drudgery, found herself laughing as she hadn’t since a piece of paper thrown in a LoDo parking garage had transformed her father, and in the process changed her as well.
Pearl was glad when Nissa came over to the hotel bearing a bag packed with takeout sandwiches from a local shop. She had spent less than thirty-six hours with Foster by then, but the dual roles of jailer and host were proving unexpectedly wearing. She’d made the excuse of having picked up a touch of the flu during her flight from California to explain both her keeping to her room and her need to have meals left outside her door.
However, while the hotel did breakfasts well, their other food was indifferent, and the smoked-turkey club that Nissa had provided as proper invalid fare was very welcome.
Other than delivering food, Nissa could provide Pearl only a limited amount of help. She’d agreed to work her usual hours at the pharmacy for the next few days—the least she said she could do since Bob wasn’t firing her.
“And since keeping my job, even if I’m not drawing a paycheck, lets me keep my medical insurance,” Nissa said, “even if I do have to pay more, I’m eager to please.”
“I’ll take care of the premiums,” Pearl assured her, “and send Bob something interesting in the collectibles line once I have time to rummage in my attic. After all, our goal is to remove disorder from our lives. What good would that do you if you ended up unemployed?”
“I’d be alive and have my memory,” Nissa said softly, “and know that Lani is safe. That’s plenty.”
They were sharing sandwiches at the small table in Pearl’s hotel room during Nissa’s lunch break. Foster sat cross-legged on the floor watching educational television and eating his own sandwich and a salad with his fingers, licking off the honey-ginger dressing with an appreciation he had not shown for the two slices of provolone cheese that were set neatly to one side.
“You have a cell phone, right?” Nissa asked.
“Of course.”
“How about a computer? Did you bring a laptop?” Pearl shook her head. “No.”
“Oh.” Nissa frowned thoughtfully. “I know you told me that certain things are not to be discussed on the phone or e-mailed, but I think we should keep in touch. Brenda has her computer with her, and I’ve e-mailed her more pictures of Foster. I’ve also sent a bunch of me and Lani.”
Pearl nodded. “That’s fine, but remember, no discussion of anything arcane. Think of it as a matter of security.”
“And you,” Nissa said, rising and stuffing the trash into the bag, “consider that we’ll be worrying about you and Riprap while you’re on the road. You’ll call me when he gets here?”
“Promise. And if anything else changes.”
Riprap arrived that evening, about an hour earlier than Pearl had dared hope.
“Flight was on time, rental car was ready, and the lady at the counter gave me good directions. I slept on the plane, so whenever you want to leave, I’m ready.”
Pearl reached for her cell phone. “Let me call Nissa. I’ve already handled late checkout, explaining that a friend was going to drive me to the airport, but I wasn’t sure when.”
“They were okay with that?” Riprap asked. “Most hotels charge extra for late checkout.”
“I thought they would,” Pearl said, “but instead they asked me to sign a few pictures for them. I think this room is going to get a ‘Pearl Bright Slept Here’ sign.”
“Pearl Bright,” Riprap said, glancing over to where Foster was huddled in a corner, watching him with dark eyes that seemed as much fascinated as afraid, “and someone else.”
“But they don’t know about the someone else,” Pearl said firmly. “My hypothetical flu has been ample excuse for no one coming in here other than Nissa.”
“How’re we going to get your guest out without anyone seeing?” Riprap asked.
“There’s a back stair,” Pearl said, “that leads to the lot where guests can park. It’s locked from the outside, and so doesn’t see much traffic. In any case, if anyone sees him, we’ll say he arrived with you.”
“Okay,” Riprap said.
“Now let me call Nissa,” Pearl said. She got through, and Nissa said she could be over in a half hour.
“I want to meet this Riprap,” she said. Unspoken was her need to be assured that Pearl was leaving of her own choice, and in her own right mind.
“I’ll tell Bob I’m bringing you a care package. Can you use anything?”
“Shampoo,” Pearl said. “My travel bottle is empty, and I don’t care for the hotel’s choice. I could also use some deodorant for my young friend.”
They discussed brands for a moment, then Nissa rang off.
“Before Nissa gets here,” Riprap said, glancing over at Foster, “there’s something I want you to know. I’ve brought a handgun.”
He opened the briefcase he’d carried up with him and allowed her a quick glimpse of a gun resting in a holster. Pearl knew only enough about guns to guess this one was an automatic. It was relatively small, but looked deadly efficient.
When Pearl nodded, Riprap snapped closed the briefcase and zipped open a side compartment.
“Here,” he said, “is my paperwork. The gun is registered, and I have all the appropriate permits to carry it in most of the states we’ll be passing through—my work with ‘disadvantaged’ kids takes me into some pretty rough areas, and my teams go outside of Colorado pretty regularly. I also want to tell you before you ask, no, I don’t plan on shooting anyone, but there are a lot of people out there who can be dissuaded by the sight of a gun pointed at them.”
Pearl nodded. “I can’t blame you for wanting to have that edge, but I ask you to be very careful when you choose to use that thing.”
“I will be,” Riprap promised. He tapped his wrist where the white tiles of an assortment of amulet bracelets shone against his dark skin. “These first. Fists second. Gun only if that’s my only choice. I’ve got a mini-safe to keep it in when we’re at your house, so there’ll be no need to worry about Lani or anyone else getting their hands on it and causing harm.”
“You seem to have thought of everything,” Pearl said, permitting mild amusement to color her voice.
“I’m trying, ma’ am. I’m trying.”
Nissa arrived inside the promised half hour, bearing not only shampoo and deodorant, but chocolate bars, bottled water, trail mix, and a separate bag containing a small packet of antidiarrheal pills and another of antacids.
“Bob’s gift,” Nissa said with a grin, handing the small bag to Pearl and setting the larger package on the table. She turned to Riprap and offered him a hand.
“Nissa Nita, apparently the Rabbit—or the Hare.”
“Charles Adolphus,” Riprap said, making her hand vanish in his own, “but call me Riprap. I’m just getting used to this Dog thing. Can you scout ahead and see if the stairs to the parking lot are clear? I moved out Pearl’s luggage, and didn’t meet anyone, but I’m just sure that when we move him …”
He gestured toward Foster. The young man was neatly clad in clean clothes. His alert expression showed that he was fully aware of the changes, and more than a little worried about what they implied.
“Right,” Nissa said. She took up the bag of goodies, balanced it on one hip, and flipped open her phone. “I’ll call from the stairwell and let you know if anyone’s there.”
There wasn’t, and they got Foster out to the car with ease. Pearl settled him in the sedan’s roomy backseat and, after hugging Nissa, got in beside Foster.
“We don’t know how he’ll react,” she said, “so Riprap is going to have to play chauffeur to my grand lady.”
“Driving Miss Pearl,” Riprap said. He shook Nissa’s hand again. “Pleased to meet you. See you in California.”
Foster jumped when Riprap turned on the engine, bracing long fingers against the seat, but otherwise not expressing any fear.
He’s brave,
Pearl thought, as Riprap took them onto the road and Foster’s fingers tightened their hold.
But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. It almost certainly makes him more.
Pearl thought, as Riprap took them onto the road and Foster’s fingers tightened their hold.
But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous. It almost certainly makes him more.
Brenda and Des caught a flight from Albuquerque to San Jose after Pearl and her guests were safely arrived in San Jose. The five days they had spent together in Santa Fe had alternated between intense focus and casual touring.
Each day, Brenda worked on making at least one amulet bracelet. She wasn’t the only one doing so. While she settled in at Des’s dining-room table, Des took his own equipment into an adjoining room. He never let her see the end results of his work, probably because he knew she’d try and compete with him. Focus, rather than speed, was what was important, as Brenda found to her chagrin on the day she proudly presented Des with two completed sets of tiles, only to be informed—and then shown via a spell of Des’s casting—that the tiles were nothing more than beautifully carved polymer clay beads.
Every day, Des took her to see some of the museums, galleries, and natural wonders that made New Mexico a tourist destination. Noticing that Des continued to choose places where they would be in the company of other people, Brenda began keeping a nervous watch on her surroundings. A few times she thought people were following them, but as tourists tend to cross and recross each other’s paths with a certain predictable regularity, she couldn’t be sure.
Even though she felt positive he’d laugh at her, Brenda confided her suspicions to Des.
“I don’t claim,” she said, “to be any great detective, but I was in student government all through high school, and it sort of gives you an eye for remembering people.”
“And I bet Gaheris has taught you,” Des added, “the value of remembering a name and a face. I believe you when you say you’ve noticed the same people over and over again. Point a few out to me, especially if they seem really persistent.”
Brenda did, but whether because of their watchfulness or because the people in question were really innocent tourists, no harm came.
And the worst thing,
Brenda thought,
is that we can’t even be sure what our enemies look like. It would be a mistake to think that they’re Chinese because Foster looks Chinese. Even if they are Chinese, we know they must have local allies.
Brenda thought,
is that we can’t even be sure what our enemies look like. It would be a mistake to think that they’re Chinese because Foster looks Chinese. Even if they are Chinese, we know they must have local allies.
Riprap and Pearl reported that they had learned little or nothing from Foster. His life before he had awakened in Pearl’s hotel room was completely gone, and he clung to them as the familiar constants in a steadily changing world. He was, however, showing himself very adaptable and very intelligent.
“Television helped,” Pearl admitted. “During our first several days of driving, I would frequently hear him say ‘I saw that, on the picture box. I saw that.’ He’s also picked up a few words of English, but certainly not so much that we need to worry about him eavesdropping.”
Despite the phone and e-mail contact, it had been a relief to get on the plane for San Jose, to know that soon their scattered forces would be joined. Brenda knew the reassurance she took in this was irrational, but didn’t deny herself this slight comfort when everything else was so unsettled.
At the airport, Hastings, Pearl’s driver, was waiting for them.
“Miss Bright sends her apologies for not meeting you herself,” Hastings reported formally, “but she said she needed to remain with her other guests. She said I should ask you if there are any stops you need to make before we go to the house.”
Des asked to stop by a craft/hobby shop, and took Brenda in to help him clear the shelves of white polymer clay, various etching tools, brushes, and paints. When Brenda protested mildly that surely Pearl had some of this stuff, Des said with a laugh, “Absolutely, but what makes you think she’ll want a bunch of novices messing up her tools?”
San Jose proved to be a pleasant city. From the guidebook Des had given her, Brenda knew that the city had a population of nearly 900,000, but it didn’t seem like a big city. The airport was pleasant, even intimate-seeming, and although there were clusters of tall buildings, the residential areas they glimpsed from the freeways were varied and attractive.
The area where Pearl lived was long-established, if the size of the trees and shrubs was any indication. Green lawns, flowering shrubs, and large but genteel houses seemed the rule. Brenda liked the area immediately.
Brenda didn’t know what she had expected Pearl Bright’s home to look like. All she knew was that the house the chauffeur drove them up to was not it. For one, although Pearl’s house was located in a very nice neighborhood, there were no towering gates, no sweeping circular driveways, no sense of show. The tidy stone walkway that led to the steps up to the front porch began behind a waist-high wrought-iron gate that Brenda could have climbed over with ease.
The house itself was fairly narrow at the front—probably no wider than two large rooms and an entryway, Brenda guessed. It was painted a soft dove gray that held just a trace of lavender, the shutters painted a few shades darker. Although the overall impression was one of modesty, the house possessed at least three floors and seemed to extend a fair way back into the lot. Touches of stained glass over the front door and windows provided a little flourish.
Yes. Pearl’s house was nicely kept, even elegant, but nothing Brenda hadn’t seen before. The plants in the flower beds that bordered the small front porch seemed to be mostly roses, not the exotica Brenda had subconsciously expected from a movie star’s home in California. The front yard was small, what might be described as “tidy,” but there were hints that the backyard was much larger.
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