Part 1 (2/2)
”How many people are we talking about?”
”A dozen at least. The list is still growing. Probably two dozen, by the time all are accounted for.”
”I'm surprised you're permitting so many to cross at once.”
The Shadow's lips tightened but he said nothing. Clearly he was not about to discuss the business of his secretive Guild with outsiders.
Two dozen visitors. It wasn't beyond the capacity of the grey man's operation, but it would certainly strain his resources. ”Will there be children in the group?”
”Given the nature of the party, I imagine so.” The Shadow raised an eyebrow. ”Will that be a problem?”
”Of course not,” he said hurriedly. ”But I'll need extra time to gather the necessary supplies.”
”You will have two weeks. No more, no less.”
The grey man nodded tightly. There were beads of cold sweat on his forehead, but he didn't want to do anything as obvious as reach up to wipe them off. In truth, he hated dealing with children. Infants weren't a problem-transporting them was his bread and b.u.t.ter-but once a child reached the age of p.u.b.erty things became . . . well, complicated. They changed so fast it was hard to get everything right. He knew of one case where the improper handling of a teenager's pa.s.sage had resulted in a three-week temporal displacement. Which wasn't a major issue as far as his Guild was concerned-it was well within the bounds of acceptable distortion-but the boy's parents had been livid. Something about a university examination he had missed, lifetime opportunities now compromised forever, etc., etc. Far be it for the grey man to point out that maybe if the exam had been so important the boy should have been home studying for it, rather than playing walkabout on strange worlds. But logic bore little weight in such a dispute.
It was rumored that the operator responsible for that incident had been rea.s.signed to a mosquito-laden swamp in the middle of nowhere, which might or might not be true. No one had heard from him for a long time.
”I'll need their profiles as soon as possible,” the grey man said.
The black eyes glittered coldly. ”I'm familiar with what the process requires.”
The grey man flushed. ”Forgive me, my Lord. I just . . . I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
”It will go smoothly,” the Shadow said coldly. ”I'm certain of it.” The unspoken message was clear: nothing else is acceptable to us.
The grey man bit his lip and said nothing. It had taken him years to acc.u.mulate enough seniority to be a.s.signed to this prestigious post, but he knew that he could lose it all in a heartbeat. Rivalry within his Guild was fierce, and the displeasure of a Shadowlord could impact who was promoted . . . or demoted. If anything went wrong at this facility he might well find himself a.s.signed to some dreadful backwater, where the locals hadn't worked out the basics of personal hygiene yet.
And in fact, something had gone wrong. Odds were that more than one head would roll for it in the end. Maybe even his own.
For one brief, mad moment he was tempted to keep his silence. Let someone else tell the Shadows the bad news. Let someone else explain why their usual strategies wouldn't fix things in this case. It isn't my fault, he told himself defiantly. Surely they will see that!
As if the Shadows were known for their sense of justice.
As the visitor turned to leave, the grey man thought he saw a wisp of darkness flit across his robe. A ghost, perhaps? Some said that the Shadowlords drew spirits of the dead to them like flies, in such quant.i.ties that even common men might see them. Others claimed that the dead were as wary of the Shadows as the living were, and that only a ghost who had lost all vestige of free will would ever come within ten feet of one.
The grey man was glad he did not belong to the Guild whose job it was to keep track of such things.
The Shadow paused before the archway, bracing himself for pa.s.sage. A faint golden light seemed to flicker about him.
Tell him what's wrong, the grey man urged himself. Right now. It will only get worse if you wait.
”My Lord.” The words came out in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. The sweat on his forehead felt like ice.
Slowly the Shadow turned back. His eyes were mirrors that reflected the grey man's own fears back at him. Perhaps other men's fears as well. Who could say how many souls were hidden behind that gaze, each one pa.s.sing judgment upon this moment? The thought of it made his skin crawl.
”They know,” the grey man told him. ”They developed a science we didn't foresee, discovered things they weren't meant to learn. They're talking to each other now, all across this world, asking questions as a group that no one would have thought to ask alone. And others are starting to listen.”
The Shadowlord stared at him. There was no way to read that half-dead expression or to guess at what thoughts lay behind it. Anger? Condemnation? Uncertainty? The grey man held his breath, bracing himself for the worst.
Then, with a sharp nod of dismissal, the Shadow turned back to the arch. He paused for a moment in concentration, then quickly stepped through. Wisps of darkness that might have been ghosts followed him into the void, like pet dogs at the heel of their master.
And then there was silence.
After a long moment-when it was finally clear that no one else was going to come through the Gate-the grey man dared to breathe again.
I did my job. Now the Shadows know the truth. They'll decide how to handle this mess.
It wasn't a rea.s.suring thought.
1.
MANa.s.sAS.
VIRGINIA.
TOMMY?”
No answer.
I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the house. The interior was gloomy, not at all what you'd expect on a summer afternoon. It took me a few seconds to register that all the curtains had been drawn shut.
I called for my brother again. ”Tommy?”
Still no answer.
On a normal day, that wouldn't have worried me. My little brother generally spent more time in imaginary worlds than in the real one, and I strongly suspected that his ”chest cold” earlier that day had more to do with a World of Warcraft game taking place during school hours than anything rooted in biological causes. He was probably hooked up to his computer right now, ear buds blasting game feed straight into his brain, and wasn't even aware that I had come home.
But.
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