Choose Your Enemies Carefully Read online

  "What do you mean by all this, sir? Are you suggesting that I disrupt the Circle in some sort of bid for power? I am loyal to the cause, sir. I will not throw our Circle into chaos on the eve of our triumph."

  "The Circle is weak."

  "We shall be strong when the ritual is completed. The blood will restore the land and the Circle shall become its guardians. We need no longer chafe under the short-sighted leadership of the Lord Protector."

  "Perhaps the Circle will be stronger. But a circle is chain of individuals dedicated to the same ideals. Like any chain, it is no stronger than its weakest link, and no chain can remain intact when that weak link is subject to stresses beyond its strength. The ritual we contemplate is a powerful force. It must be, to restore the balance so woefully tilted when the Lord Protector snubbed unforgiving stars and neglected proper observances. This work shall demand much of any who attempt it, and the forces which will rise to our call shall demand even more from the leader of the ritual team. Our leader must be strong, else things will go awry. We may do more harm than good."

  The old man’s words were disturbing, but not just for their content. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because I have studied you. I think that you believe as I do. That the land should always have been our first concern, and that we have failed as its custodians. We were blinded by our arrogance and thought ourselves rulers instead of stewards. Our species has failed the earth."

  Hyde-White was perceptive and had touched the truth of Glover’s convictions. Or at least the surface of them; even stewards had ambitions. But a good steward knew enough to set those ambitions aside until his charge was healthy. For what was a steward, after all, but a parasite? No parasite survived by killing its host.

  "I see by your face, Andrew, that I am right about you. The land’s pain echoes in your ears as loudly as it does in mine. I am speaking to you because I do not believe you are one of Neville’s sheep. You do not seek the land’s restoration out of some misguided longing for the restored glory of an aristocratic heritage. You know that it is a task that must be done for our very survival. What ambitions you have, you have harnessed to await that time."

  "At first, I thought that you were proposing that we break the Circle. I will not do that. The land must be restored and the ritual is our only chance," Glover said. "You yourself brought the text from which we devised the ritual to the attention of the Circle. Why are you so troubled about it now? Are you having second thoughts about its efficacy?"

  "Second thoughts came and went three years ago.

  I have progressed far beyond them. While Neville and his misguided followers have been chasing down the bloodlines, I have been studying the lore. I fear that all may not be as simple as Neville would have it." Hyde-White paused, allowing the brief moment of silence to add weight to his next words. "The ritual is not entirely safe."

  "We all know that there will be some personal danger. All rituals involve risk."

  Hyde-White nodded gravely. "Risks to the participants are unavoidable; but that is not what I mean. If the ritual is not performed absolutely correctly, the consequences may be grave, indeed. The gathered power may be warped and, in its corruption, grow to threaten the land itself. Are you ready to unleash more horror on our burdened land?"

  "Neville would never allow that. For all his arrogant assumptions of superiority, he feels the land’s pain as much as we do. He would not harm it."

  "He may not be able to prevent the harm from happening."

  "And you can?"

  Hyde-White pressed his thick lips together, the area around his mouth going pale. "I do not know. When we realized that the Lord Protector was blind to the need, we formed our circle and elected Neville as archdruid of our ritual circle. I fear that we may not have chosen wisely and that his leadership will have dire consequences. But my fear will not lead me to abandon you all, and my conscience will not allow such a breach of trust. I will be present and do all I can to see that the ritual proceeds as it should. But if it begins to go awry, I would like to know that there is someone else who appreciates that we may have to change our plans. Someone strong enough to take charge and lead us away from disaster. The land needs our help, Andrew. We must do whatever is necessary to heal it."

  "So we all swore."

  "Indeed, we did. But an oath is not strength in itself. I fear that Neville will not have the strength to see us through."

  "He is a greater shaman than I."

  "You are young and strong. Though your skill and knowledge may be less than his, your power is greater. Skill and knowledge may be increased with relative ease, but raw power is the gift of the young. Once squandered, it may only be bought at a dear price.

  "I am old. With age, my mundane power has grown, while the tribulations of life and magic have leached my occult powers slowly away. I believe I can see clearly what must be done, but I am no longer sure I have the power to do it. You have that power, Andrew. I feel it pulsing in you. I can show you the way, and you can do what must be done."

  Hyde-White lapsed into silence, apparently content to let Glover consider his arguments. If the old man’s fears were real, there was no recourse. The land came first. If this was all a smoke screen for a power play, Glover wasn’t sure that he wanted to be involved. Neville was an influential man; his friends were primarily members of the nobility, who could use their influence to make or break Glover’s mundane career. But Hyde-White was a power as well. His GWN Corporation held a significant portion of ATT stock, as well as controlling interests in several other minor multinationals. The sum of his interests gave him considerable direct influence in the corporate community and made him more powerful than any one of Neville’s cronies. Glover would need time to sort out his options.

  "I will think about what you say, sir."

  Hyde-White smiled broadly. "I have faith that you will make the right decision, Andrew."

  10

  "So his lordship wants them drugged, does he?"

  Sam’s hunger vanished and he stopped instantly, his hand mere centimeters from the kitchen door. Finding the servants’ attentions uncomfortable, he had approached quietly, not wishing to disturb them. If they had known he was hungry, they would have insisted on fixing something for him rather than letting him get his own. Their solicitousness, while pleasant at first. had begun to chafe as much as the confinement. Now he was glad that he had tried to keep his kitchen raid quiet. He listened to the voices on the Other side of the door.

  "That’s what Norman said," a deep voice replied. "I don’t know why, though."

  "You never know, Cholly."

  "Cholly’s got a point, Bert. They may be Yanks, but I don’t like the idea of slipping them something. I mean, what’s it gonna be next? Slitting their throats while they sleep?"

  "Criminy! You’re such a whiner, Georgie. You’re almost as bad as Cholly. It’s not like we were poisoning them or nothing. The stuff is only going to put them to sleep a little early. They won’t feel a thing."

  "But how do you know, Bert? The stuff in that bottle Norman brought could be poison We’d never know it until the Yanks died in their chairs. Then we’d be murderers."

  "You ain’t got nothing to worry about, Georgie. I used this stuff before. Got me my last three wives."

  "Bert, you hound."

  Laughter erupted. The loudest seemed to belong to Bert.

  "They’ll never even taste it in the wine. A couple of sips and fifteen minutes later, they’ll get real sleepy and want to head straight to bed. We just let them. If they was birds, we could have a grand old time. They’d never know. Course they might feel a bit sore in the morning."

  Cholly’s deep voice trammeled on the last gasps of a fresh burst of guffaws. "Burt, why do his lordship want them to sleep?"

  "Blimey, but you are slow, Cholly. His lordship’s got company coming in tomorrow night. He obviously don’t want his house guests to know about it."

  "Why don’t he just ask the Yanks to stay in t
heir rooms?"

  "Because they are Yanks, ya twit. Yanks never do what they’re told to do."

  The scattered laughter was punctuated by the scape of a chair. Sam backed away from the door. The talk continued, but he couldn’t hear it distinctly. He had just settled in a dark corner where he thought he would be safe from a casual glance, when the door swung wide spilling light into the hall. Bert the groundskeeper stepped through.

  "Keep the fire burning, boys. I’ll be back after I make my rounds."

  Assurances and mock insults drifted from the kitchen. Bert waved them off and shuffled down the hall, oblivious to his surroundings. Sam didn’t move until he was sure that Bert had enough time to leave the building. Then he headed back upstairs. There’d be no raid on the larder tonight.

  * * *

  Pretending to be affected by the wine had been easy—far easier than waiting for the servants to make the check on the supposedly drugged guests so that they could assure their master that the ploy had been successful. But they came at last, and Sam’s lack of response to their calling of his name and the tentative prods that followed satisfied them that the Yanks were safely under the influence.

  The house grew quiet.

  Sam crept to Dodger's room, avoiding the boards he had learned creaked the loudest. Together they waited while they heard Glover go to the door to greet his guests. When things again quieted, Sam and Dodger crept forth. From the landing, light spilling into the main hall told them that Glover had chosen to entertain in a room that Sam had been unable to penetrate astrally. A quick check assured him that the barrier still held. Any penetration of Glover’s secrets would have to be physical.

  Sam and Dodger skulked through the upper hall, settling where they could get a view of the meeting chamber. The room’s only illumination was the fire in the massive stone hearth at one end, but that made it far brighter than the hall and upper stories. The sliding doors to the room were open, allowing a rectangle of flickering light to fall across the ancient flooring and scale the paneled wall opposite the door. At first Sam thought that Glover and his cronies were foolish to leave the panels open, but then he remembered his own eavesdropping of the previous night. No servant would creep to the door and listen from concealment, for they would be seen. Any who crept close would be disclosed to those within the room as well; the hall’s flooring would announce their passage and alert the conspirators. Likewise, a servant returning from the upper stories in defiance of his earlier dismissal would be betrayed by the creaking of the old staircase.

  Sam’s position provided him with a partial view of the room. Near its center, Glover sat in a comfortable armchair. In a matching chair at his side, a position of honor, sat an older man with grey hair and a trim grey mustache. From the deference shown to him, Sam pegged him as Sir Winston Neville, the only name he had heard Glover use in greeting the others. Neville’s welcome had been the most effusive, so it was likely that he would be given the most honored seat. A younger man, by the cast of his aristocratic face a son or cousin to Neville, stood behind the chair. Occasionally Sam caught glimpses of three others moving about the room.

  The great outer door opened, swinging wide on silent hinges. There had been no knock or bell chime. A man entered, striding ponderously forward. He was huge and walked with a huffing that emphasized the difficulty he had in moving his enormous bulk. The moonlight sent glints from the sweat that beaded among the sparse white hairs of his head. A casual swat sent the door arcing shut as he started down the hall.

  "Hyde-White is here," announced one of the men in the room. They were all staring at the doorway when the obese man reached the arch.

  Newcomer and gathered conspirators faced each other. They exchanged words in a language that Sam didn’t recognize, although it seemed to have echoes of English. Having finished what seemed a ritual greeting, Glover inclined his head and waved a hand in invitation.

  Hyde-White rolled forward. As the jutting prow of his obesity passed over the threshold, the air in the doorway shimmered. A line of sparks ran around the fat man’s shape, making a glittering outline as he passed the magical barrier that sealed the room. He spoke as soon as the last sparkle died, his voice a resonant rumble like the distant growling of summer thunder.

  "Please excuse my tardiness. There were some affairs in the Atzlan office to sort out, and my personal attention was required. I trust you have not reached any important conclusions without me."

  "We were having Barnett fill us in on his last acquisition," the grey-haired man said.

  "My apologies for the interruption, Sir Winston. Please continue, Mr. Barnett," Hyde-White said as he marched deeper into the room. "I’m sure I will be fascinated."

  The fat man ponderously passed from view. Sam could tell when Hyde-White sat, for the bannister in front of his face trembled slightly. The pinch-faced man, who was obviously Barnett, cleared his throat before continuing.

  "I really don’t have much more to say. My mission went smoothly and there were no problems. It’s a shame that we cannot all say the same. Eh, Glover?" Glover, who had been staring at the fire, swiveled his head around to face Barnett. "Are you suggesting that I have failed the Circle, Mr. Barnett?"

  "Anyone could lose valuable employees in such a venture. Although Mr. Burke was one of our more exceptional agents, I would hardly fault you for his passing. The fortunes of war, I am sure." Barnett sniffed. "I am merely referring to certain loose ends." Stepping around from behind the chair, the younger Neville said, "Yes, Glover. What has become of the shadowrunners who acompanied you from Hong Kong? We have heard that they are still in the country."

  Glover addressed his answer to the older Neville, as if he had spoken, instead. "They are upstairs, asleep."

  "Why haven’t you dismissed them? Were they to stumble downstairs into our meeting it would be most inconvenient. You should have left them in Hong Kong." The younger Neville’s pointing finger of accusation didn’t distract Glover.

  "I did not think that a wise idea at the time, Sir Winston. With Mister Burke eliminated, I deemed the additional protection they could offer to be necessary. Had I encountered additional difficulties, the safety of Monsieur Corbeau might have been threatened. I saw his safe return as my primary responsibility. The day draws near."

  "You should have dismissed them as soon as you arrived here safely," young Neville insisted.

  Glover shook his head slowly. "By then, they had seen enough to connect me to ATT. I thought it inadvisable to let them loose with that knowledge."

  "Then you should have had them killed," Barnett said. "You swore the secrecy oath along with the rest of us."

  "Indeed," Glover said, folding his arms across his chest. "That is precisely why they are still alive. If they were not disposed of cleanly and completely, there would be an investigation. We do not need inquiries from the Lord Protector’s Oversight Board at this time. But once we have completed our ritual, we will no longer need to remain hidden, and without a need for absolute secrecy we may dispose of them easily. For now, they remain here, believing themselves on retainer for an upcoming shadowrun. The deception is sufficient; they remain ignorant of the Circle and our goal."

  "You have badgered Mr. Glover enough," rumbled Hyde-White. "The crucial question is the suitability of Mr. Gordon."

  "Suitability has been addressed and confirmed beyond any question. While Mr. Gordon remains uncrowned, there is no question of the sanctity of his bloodline. Had not the father-in-law of the current holder of the throne been so prominent in the work of gathering the scattered survivors of the royal family, Mr. Gordon would be our crowned sovereign. That unfortunate turn of events is but one of the hurdles we strive to overcome. The false king only contributes to the land’s woes. But crowned or not, Edward Arthur Charles Gordon-Windsor is the chalice of mystic power necessary to restore the land." Sir Winston Neville threw back his shoulders and tugged at his waistcoat to seat it properly. "I spoke with him before coming here tonight. I can assure you a
ll he is ready to accept his part in the ritual. He seems eager to take his place as the seventh, for he believes as we do. The land must live."

  "The land must live," the others echoed.

  The seventh? If Gordon was the seventh, what was the name of Janice Walters doing on Glover’s list? Sam looked at Dodger. The elf was staring fixedly ahead. He seemed intent on listening to the conspirators. There would be questions to ask later.

  11

  Illusion was the heart’s blood of the Shidhe Courts.

  When Hart glanced around her, taking in the wild array of sights, sounds, and smells of the Seelie Court, she could never be sure if what she saw was real or an image that was the result of a magical spell. Checking astrally didn’t always help. The great amounts of magical energy and the almost continual activity of the magicians of the court made assensing difficult. Much of the magic was defensive, for members of the court were often at odds with each other. Open warfare was forbidden, but pranks, taunts, and even clandestine, oblique struggles were common. Some of the magic was defensive on a less immediate level. The court had attracted elves and dwarves from around the world; some were concerned that their appearance was not up to the court standards. They used illusion to glamorize themselves, for the ugly were perforce members of the Unseelie Court, the co-ruling rivals with whom the Fair Folk shared the control of the Shidhe Dominion of Ireland.

  The Seelie Court proclaimed Ireland to be a magical state, claiming that the Shidhe lords were the ancient proprietors who had returned to claim their rightful lands. But although they reveled in magic and officially held technology in scorn, the magician lords took every advantage of science. The computer facilities and combat simulators she had been using for the past week were ample proof of that. Of course, the Shidhe would not speak of such things in public forums. They denied having or even needing such things. They had them, all right, and their technology was cutting-edge. They simply hid their technological workings or cloaked them in illusion. Image was very important to the metahuman rulers of Ireland.