Part 13 (1/2)
”Invent a company. Get people to invest in it. Pocket the money.” Will's expression quirked into cynicism. ”The easiest kind of fraud. And if Morgus has got her claws into him, he won't be worrying about the future. Magical influence makes your mind furry around the edges. Your sense of self-preservation goes. At least, that was how it felt all those years ago when Alimond summoned me. I should think this would be something similar.”
Ragginbone gave a nod of acquiescence. Gaynor said: ”What about the goblins? Have they come up with anything?”
”They don't investigate,” Fern explained. ”They simply watch. Dana is watched, Luc and Kaspar are watched-”
”Luc . . .” Ragginbone murmured, with a swift glance from under lowering eyebrows.
”Even Wrokeby is watched, from a safe distance. A couple of weeks ago, Morgus bought a litter of puppies. I know it seems unlikely, but Skuldunder was very positive. Any suggestions as to why?”
”Maybe she likes dogs,” said Gaynor doubtfully.
”She's got a cat,” said Fern. ”Witches have cats. It's traditional. She isn't a doggy person. I could imagine her with a tank full of poisonous octopi, a pet cobra, a tarantula on a golden chain-but not puppies. She would kill anything that s...o...b..red on her skirt.”
”What kind were they?” Will asked.
”Don't know. Goblins don't like dogs of any description. Does it matter?”
Will shrugged. ”We can't tell what matters. Maybe you should draw the circle again . . .”
”Too dangerous,” said Ragginbone. ”Have you forgotten? Potent magic attracts elementals. The many eyes of Oedaphor would be watching: Morgus has called him up, and he could betray Fern's whereabouts. We were too quick for him last time, but that would not happen again. We are not yet ready for the big confrontation.”
”Does it have to happen?” Will said. ”If Fern can't defeat her, maybe there's some other way . . .”
”She's looking for me,” Fern said. ”There were magpies around Dale House. Bradachin tackled the telephone-he thought it was important I should know. He says they were marked in blue, though it didn't show when you looked at them directly. They're birds from the Tree, spies for Morgus.”
”Bradachin used the phone?” Ragginbone was distracted. ”Goblins hate all technology: they see it as a kind of sinister contemporary magic. He must must have thought it was important.” have thought it was important.”
”He's exceptional,” Will said shortly.
”I have to face her.” Fern was following her own train of thought. ”But not now.”
”What about the Old Spirit?” Gaynor asked diffidently. ”Is he involved in all this?”
”Gaynor has a point,” said Ragginbone. ”He is always involved. We would do well to keep that in mind. If any of you see or sense him, even in your dreams-especially in your dreams-” something in Fern's expression, in her silence, drew his attention; the other two followed his gaze ”-share it with us.”
”Haven't you told him about your dream?” said Will.
”Not yet.” She didn't like talking about it, having to describe it again: the high office, and Azmordis, and the scritch-scratch of the quill as she signed the doc.u.ment she did not need to read. ”It came again last night. It feels more real every time. I know it's the Dark Tower, like in stories, only it's modern, a black soaring skysc.r.a.per, all gla.s.s and steel. I think it's in a dimension of its own, like the Tree, but not separate: it connects to the City, maybe to all cities. I'm looking for it, so I find it, and I sign in blood, sealing the bargain. Selling my soul, my Gift. My Self.”
”It can't be a prophecy,” said Will. ”It might be a warning.”
”Maybe,” said Ragginbone.
”I thought Azmodel was his his place.” Gaynor was frowning. ”I don't understand about the Tower.” place.” Gaynor was frowning. ”I don't understand about the Tower.”
”He has many strongholds,” Ragginbone explained. ”Azmodel-the Beautiful Valley-is the most ancient. But the Dark Tower is old, nonetheless. Once it had dungeons and arrow slots, a spiral stair where now there is an elevator and an escalator, a stone chamber instead of a carpeted office. It has fallen and been rebuilt, adapting to history. He He moves with Time, growing closer to Men, battening on their weaknesses. Long ago the Tower stood in a barren waste; now, as Fern says, it is in every city. He makes it easy for the great and the good to beat a path to his door.” moves with Time, growing closer to Men, battening on their weaknesses. Long ago the Tower stood in a barren waste; now, as Fern says, it is in every city. He makes it easy for the great and the good to beat a path to his door.”
”Not Fern,” Will a.s.serted positively. In a rare gesture, he reached for his sister's hand. ”Don't worry. We know you would never do that.”
”Worry,” said Ragginbone. ”Prophecy is a gray area, but the insights of the Gifted are not to be ignored. What are you thinking, when you sign?”
”I don't really want to,” Fern said instantly. ”It's as if I have no choice. There's someone in danger-someone I love.”
”That old chestnut,” said Will, and ”One of us?” from Gaynor.
Fern shook her head. ”I don't know.”
”We can take care of ourselves,” Will said.
”I remember.”
”Don't be sarcastic. People can learn from their mistakes. You should learn, too, and not just from dreams.”
”Meaning?” his sister queried.
”The Gifted are always alone. Not just Alimond and Morgus; think of Zohrane. Even Ragginbone, in his wizardly days. Power isolates. Like Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot. Maybe they had a Gift of a kind: who knows what drove them? The point is, they didn't have friends, only minions. Henchpersons to do their dirty deeds, courtiers to adore them and listen to their rantings. No one they truly cared for or who cared for them, no one to take them out of their little selves. Their lives were bounded in a walnut sh.e.l.l, and they tried to fit the whole world in there with them. Result: madness.”
”I respect your arguments,” Ragginbone murmured, ”but I would like to point out that I at least am not mad.”
”Debatable,” said Will. ”Anyway, you lost your power. More important, you gained Lougarry. She may well have saved your sanity.”
”Are you saying,” Fern interjected, ”that without you lot I might end up like Zohrane?”
”Yes,” said Will. ”That's exactly what I'm saying. You keep things from us, you distance yourself, you try to 'protect' us. That's incredibly dangerous-for you. I think that's the princ.i.p.al danger of the Gift. Power plus solitude equals disa.s.sociation from reality. Hence arrogance, paranoia, and so on. You told me if Zohrane became attached to one of her body slaves, she would have him killed. Your friends and family aren't your weakness: we're your strength. You have to accept that.”
”And the risk?” said Fern.
”All life is risky. For myself, I believe it's better for me to die than for you to become a megalomaniac witch queen.”
”Me too,” said Gaynor, before Fern had a chance to ask.
”Wisdom,” Ragginbone remarked, ”springs from unlikely sources. Your brother may indeed have pinpointed the true peril of Prospero's Children.”
”Did they all turn to evil,” Fern asked, ”in the end?”
”Let us say that few turned to good.”
”I lose either way, don't I?” said Fern. ”My friends, or my head.”
”The choice isn't yours to make,” Will retorted. ”We've chosen. Forget your dream for the moment, and the Old Spirit. We have to deal with Morgus first.”
”If we can,” said Fern. She turned to Gaynor. ”Did you get hold of a translation of that Welsh stuff?”
”Mm.”