Part 4 (1/2)

”Other side?”

Ahira shrugged. ”Somehow or other... never mind, for now. But if I'm Ahira, who are you?”

Doria glared at the dwarf, then clasped Jason's good hand in her two. She was wearing a long, high-necked robe, belted tightly around her waist. ”Easy, now. Don't let him rush you.”

Jason s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away and slapped at Doria's sleeve. It didn't even dent; it was like slapping a brick wall. ”It works.” In the game, Doria of the Healing Hand had a robe like that, a magical one.

She smiled rea.s.suringly and waved her arm, the tightly woven cloth flapping. ”It's just like in the game. Feels like a cotton robe from the inside, but from the outside it's like armor. Just like in the game.” Her face sobered. ”And all of us, we're our characters. Sort of.”

”Which means that I'm Lightfingers.” A small leather pouch dangled by a thong from her sash. He let his head loll forward as though he were fainting again, slipped his hand across her body while his head movement distracted her, and fingered open the pouch without disturbing the strap that attached it to her belt. He dipped two gnarled fingers in, lifted and palmed a coin, closed the pouch with a gentle tug, and tucked the coin into a pocket inside his sleeve with a practiced flip.

Elapsed time less than three seconds. It felt natural, as though he'd done it thousands of times before. But I've never stolen anything. It'sa”

”A nice try, Jason.” Ahira shook his head. ”But I was watching for it. Give it back.”

”Watching for what?” Doria's brow furrowed in exasperation. Now that was strange; she always deferred to the little cripple.

Oh. He isn't little anymore. Or crippled. Just short. The snotty b.a.s.t.a.r.d must be having the time of his life.

”He just picked your purse.” The dwarf chuckled. ”Give it back. Now.”

”I don't know what you're talking abouta”and who are you to be giving orders, anyway?” He braced himself on his stump and slid his feet under him. It was the practiced routine of a thief when caught: First deny, then challenge, then run.

Ahira grabbed his sleeve and shook the coin out. Picking it up, he handed it to Doria. ”Don't worry; I'm not going to give him a hard time. This once.” He turned back to Jason. ”But we're in enough trouble as it is; I don't want you adding to it. Understood. Lightfingers?”

”My name is Jason.” But the name felt strange in his mouth. ”And I want to go home.”

The dwarf helped him to his feet. Standing, Ahira's head barely came up to his chest. Ahira picked up his battleaxe from the damp gra.s.s and tapped a well-chewed thumbnail against the blade, ”Two things. In answer to your question, this says that I'm in charge here. Back home, the group chose me as team leader. That's the way it is; that's the way it's going to be.

”And second, we are going home.” Ahira opened his mouth; shut it. He shook his head. ”Just take it easy for a while, get your bearings. Doria, let's go see to the wizard.”

Karl Cullinane had often thought of holding Andy-Andy in his arms, but nowhere in his imaginings had she been crying. ”Everything will be fine.” He patted her clumsily on the back.

But these weren't his arms, this wasn't his body. Not quite. Karl was of average height, and skinny. Was. Now, he towered over her as he held her, careful not to squeeze her tightly; somehow, he knew that his grip could break a strong man's back.

After a while, her weeping died down. He let her go, then took a loose sleeve of her gray robe and wiped at her eyes. ”Feeling better?”

”N-no. I'm scared. What happened?” She rubbed at her temples. ”I... feel so strangea”how do I know that I could turn invisible, or make you fall asleep, or charma”it's like there's something in my head, trying to get out.”

Her mouth started to move; he clapped a hand over it. ”Don't. Just listen to me, but don't say anything.” Her eyes grew wide; she brought up her hands, vaguely pulling at his arm. ”No. Nod if you understand me. and I'll lake my hand away.”

Her head moved; he let his hand drop. ”Don't do that again,” she said, planting a palm against his chest, shoving.

He could have laughed, almost. But he took a step back. ”Okay, but be careful what you say. You've got three spells in your head, and they're trying to get out.”

”How do you know?”

He shrugged. I don't know. But I do. ”It's... like I've got two minds. One is Barak; the other is me.” That a wizard had to constantly rein in spells was something Barak would know. It had to be: Karl hadn't known it; it wasn't part of the game. He stooped slowly, and lifted his scabbarded sword from the gra.s.s. ”Barak knows how to use this, not me.” The sword was long, almost three-fifths his height. Without drawing it from its scabbard, he knew that it was single-edged like a j.a.panese katana, but straight, not curved; primarily a slas.h.i.+ng weapon, it still could be used to thrust. ”And why not to strap it to anything; it'd take too long to draw it.” He gripped the cord-wound handle with his left hand almost at the pommel. To draw the sword, he would slip the scabbard away, add his right hand in its place on the grip, and strike. That was one of the rules: Get your sword into play, and worry about picking up the scabbard later.

It was important to keep the blade clean and dry; an image of his handsa”his handsa”cleaning the blade with a dead enemy's hair welled up, unbidden.

”But what happened?” She gestured at her robes, at him, at the boxes on the hillside. ”We're in the place that Dr. Deighton described. Look.”

He looked to the east. The early-morning sun sat over the far walls of the city below. Karl raised his hand to his forehead to s.h.i.+eld his eyes. The walls were solid and wide; a few bowmen stood on the pathways girdling them. People, and horses drawing two-wheeled carts, swarmed in and out of the gate.

To the north, a vast expanse of dark water spread across the horizon, waves rippling in toward a rocky sh.o.r.e. Off in the distance a broad-beamed schooner glided slowly in toward the docks.

But there was more than Deighton had described; he hadn't mentioned the fis.h.i.+ng village to the north, and Karl hadn't visualized it.

How did he know that it was a fis.h.i.+ng village?

It was too complicated, too strange. He shook his head. ”You're right. I don't know how, but somehow we're here.” He stretched his arms, letting his shoulders strain against the seams of his leather jerkin, and drew in a deep breath. It was clean air, fresh and sweet with a tang of ozone; this world had never known the stink of the internal combustion engine. ”But doesn't it feel fine?”

”For you.” She was nearing tears again. ”But how do I get home?”

”I don't know. And I didn't mean it that waya”not that I wanted to stay here forever.” It was one thing to play at being a warrior, but a fuzzy memory of his sword opening someone's belly like an overripe fruit... that didn't feel right, not to Karl Cullinane. But I'm not just Karl, not anymore. There's a lot of Barak in me, now. Then again, maybe that's not all bad. He and Andy-Andy used to be close to the same height, although when she wore heels she'd look down at him. Now he towered over her by a foot, or more. When he stood close to her, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She wasn't changed, though, at least on the outside, except for the loose robes that had replaced her jeans and s.h.i.+rt.

And the fear in her eyes. That was new. ”Karl, how are we going toa””

”I don't know,” He shook his head. ”But someha””

”This a private conversation, or can anyone join?” Walter Slovotsky's voice boomed from behind him.

Karl spun around. He hadn't heard the big mana”no, not big anymore; I'm half a head taller than he is. ''Don't do that.”

”Don't do what?” Slovotsky smiled innocently. Except for Andy-Andy, he was the least changed of the group, at least physically. His skin had darkened a shade or two, his black hair was slightly straighter and a bit longer, and there were hints of epicanthic folds around his eyes, but that was all. Even his all-is-right-with-the-world smile was intact.

”Don't sneak up on me. I don't like it.”

Slovotsky shrugged, muscles playing under the bare skin of his chest. He was dressed as Hakim would be: s.h.i.+rtless, a blousy pair of pants belted lightly to his waist, the cuffs tucked into the lacing of his sandals. From the left side of his waist, a wickedly curved scimitar hung in a leather scabbard; from the right, a tangle of knives and straps. Slovotsky rubbed at his temples. ”I guess I should apologize, or something. It's just that moving silently seems to come naturally to me. It's sort of like a new toy, Karl. Or should I call you Barak7”

”Karl.” He forced a smile. ”Barak would give you a clout on the head as a reminder.”

”Good point. You had better call me Walter. Hakim would slip a knife between your ribs, fora”” He stopped, puzzled, raising a palm. ”Sorry. That wasn't me.”

”I understand.” Karl unclenched his hand from the hilt of his sword. ”But the question isa””

”What the h.e.l.l are we going to do?” There was a new strength in Andy-Andy's voice. Just a little.

Karl gave her a smile. ”Right.” She was adjusting. A few minutes before, she would have put the emphasis on do instead of h.e.l.l.

”In theory, it's simple,” Slovotsky said.

”Nonsense.” She waved a hand at their surroundings. ”Simple?”

”Everything's simple, actually.” He held up a well-manicured finger. ”First, you figure out what you want.”

Karl didn't like the way Slovotsky's eyes roamed up and down her as he said that, but he let it pa.s.s.

”Second, you figure out what you have to do to get it.” Another finger. ”And three”a”he added a third, tapping all three fingers against his other handa””you do it. That's the way life works.'' He jerked a thumb toward the city below. ”Somehow or other, we're in the world that Doc described, no?”