Pathspace: The Space of Paths (31 page)

He edged down the corridor, ears straining
for the faintest sound that could be a guard coming. As he passed
another door with a barred window, he did a quick
transparency-weave to see if it was occupied. It wasn't, and
neither were the next three.

After a while he realized he was going the
wrong way, heading deeper into the prison.

He realized this because the corridor came
to a dead end. Cursing under his breath, he turned and rewove the
pathspace to let him see back the way he had come and make himself
invisible, or at least very transparent, from that direction.

He was wasting time. He headed back the way
he had come, picking up the pace. In less than a minute he was
passing his own door. He knew that because it was the only one
open.

He passed it and continued down the
corridor. There should still be hours before the guard came back.
There was still time to make his escape.

He should have known better. Coming around
another corner, he near walked right into the guard, who was seated
at a little table, sharpening his sword with a whetstone.

What prevented him from running into the
guard (whose back was too him), however, was not his own caution,
but a wall of bars. In it, directly behind the guard, was a door.
It was locked.

He could open that lock, he knew, because it
was probably opened by the same key that opened his cell door. But
unless the hinges were oiled, the man would hear the door opening
behind him. And there was no way to slip past him without touching
him.

Cursing mentally, Lester went back to his
cell and closed the door. He threw himself on his cot and nearly
forgot, before he forced himself to get up and un-weave the
pathspace keeping the door unlocked. He tried the knob to make sure
it wouldn't turn, then flung himself back on the cot and tried to
get some sleep.

The guard unlocked the door for him and
stood aside as Jeffrey entered the cell. He heard the click as the
door was re-locked behind him. It didn't make him afraid he would
be trapped in the cell with Lester. Nor did it fill him with
reassurance that the prisoner would not escape. All it did was
engender amusement in him. As far as he could determine, the
apprentice did not appear to be desperate enough to attempt forcing
his way out of the cell.

Like a domino striking
another as it fell, the thought triggered another:
why
isn't he? If I were in here, aware that the pope wanted to turn me
into a human torch to illuminate the dangers of trafficking with
“demons”, I'd certainly be desperate to escape!

Lester was sitting on his cot, staring at
the breakfast tray in the middle of the floor. Oddly, there seemed
to be a trace of perspiration on his forehead. He wiped it with a
sleeve self-consciously when he noticed Jeffrey looking at him.

“
I thought you might like
some donuts,” Jeffrey said, lifting the cover off the dish he was
carrying. Twin wisps of steam arose from two cups of cocoa beside
the stacked toroids.

Lester stared at the donuts, then his gaze
raked Jeffrey's face, as if searching for something. “Thanks,”he
said, lifting one from the dish and turning it over in his hands,
regarding it as if it were something mysterious he had never seen
before.

Jeffrey picked up one himself. “What? You
don't have donuts in Rado?”

Now the apprentice looked puzzled. “Of
course we do,” he said, taking a bite. “We have everything you do
here,” he paused, “except the TCC.”

At the mention of the Church, Jeffrey
grimaced, but only momentarily, because he saw with some surprise
that he and Lester shared a secret vice: they were both dunkers.
After taking a bite of his own, Jeffrey immersed the broken ends in
the hot cocoa, letting the sweet mystery of it soak into the cake
before he took another bite. What, after all, was the point of
having donuts and coffee or cocoa if you couldn't combine them?
Dunking sweetened the cake (for these were the old-fashioned cake
donuts, and not the lighter, sugar glazed 'raised' variety) and
simultaneously cooled the beverage as it permeated the dough.

“
I see,” he remarked,
“that we have this is common.”

“
What?” mumbled Lester,
his mouth full of soggy donut.

“
Dunking. Did your mother
try to discourage it? Mine always said it was a vulgar affectation.
I could never get her to appreciate the pleasure of it.”

“
No,” said Lester, picking
up another one. “My whole family dunks. Even Gerrold.” As he said
the name, a shadow seemed to pass over his face. But the donut soon
fixed that.

“
Who's that? Your
father?”

“
No,” said Lester,
regarding the half-eaten donut pensively before adding, “He's my
stepfather. My Dad was killed by Texas men.”

“
I'm sorry to hear that,”
said Jeffrey, recalling his own sense of vicarious violation when
he had seen Brutus's men savaging the farmer and his family. He
felt soiled, stained by it, even though the only surviving
witnesses were the perpetrators and himself. “War always involves
killing. But they're only supposed to attack the other soldiers,
not harmless farmers.”

“
Not all farmers are
harmless,” Lester pointed out. “Mine certainly wasn't, when he saw
his crops burning. If they hadn't used their crossbows, his
pitchfork would have gotten at least one of them.”

Jeffrey picked up the last donut and broke
it in half. “It's wrong to waste food like that,” he said, handing
Lester half of it. “But you know how it is. Armies burn what they
can't take with them, to deny food to opposing armies. It's a
double curse. First killing, then famine. I hate it myself. But
it's even worse when commanders let them murder and rape
civilians.”

“
I'm glad we agree on
that,” said Lester. “I could tell you and Brutus were not made from
the same mold. Apparently you don't agree on
everything.”

“
How could you know
that?”
After what you saw, probably years ago in the last
war, I wouldn't blame you for thinking all Texas men were
animals.

“
From your argument with
him in the cell, back in Rado,” Lester said. “I was listening in
the corner, invisible. Back then, it was the only magic I knew.” He
dunked his piece and finished it, then picked up the
cup.

Back then?
“So I
was right in thinking you learned how to make a swizzle here in
prison? Without a wizard showing you? How did you do
that?”

Lester sipped his cocoa. “It's complicated,”
he said, eventually. “Considering how your Church feels about it,
It'd be a bad idea for you to know too much of what they call
“demonic lore.”

“
Well, it's still
impressive that you were able to do it.”

“
Not the word your Pope
would use, I'd imagine.”

Jeffrey grimaced. “He's
not
my
pope. Don't you have
churches in Rado?”

“
Sure,” said Lester.
“Every village has one. In fact, that's the old definition of the
word 'village' – a community big enough to have its own church.
Places smaller than that are called 'hamlets'. But ours don't
listen to the Pope.”

“
Well, neither do I,” said
Jeffrey. “Dad and I argue about that. He says the TCC helps us to
control the people. I say it's a bad idea to be in bed with
superstition-mongers.”

Lester leaned back on his cot. “There's
another thing we agree on,” he said. “I haven't been to church
since my father died.”

Jeffrey was surprised by this. He thought
people raised to be religious generally stayed that way. “Why not?
You said your churches have nothing to do with Texas.”

“
I guess I got tired of
the old 'God watches over us' line. After what happened to Dad, it
got clear to me real fast that even if God does watch, He sure
doesn't reach into our world to help much. He might make it rain,
for all I know, but he doesn't provide umbrellas. He doesn't stop
arrows or armies. We have what you might call 'irreconcilable
differences' on the value of human life.” He stared at the floor.
“I couldn't watch cruelty and no do anything about it. But He
can...if he exists.”

When he looked up again,
Jeffrey avoided his eyes as a pang of guilt made him close his own
for a second. I couldn't save them by myself, he told
himself.
You didn't even try!
I
know, but it wouldn't have accomplished anything.

He opened his eyes and look at Lester, who
was watching him. “My father values Brutus as a field commander,”
he said. “I tried to bring him up on charges,” but my father won't
let that happen.”

“
Don't worry about it,”
said Lester. “When the time comes, I'll take care of him for
you.”

Jeffrey didn't have to ask what he meant.
“But you weren't even there!”

“
I was, ten years ago,”
Lester told him. “When he killed my father.”

His meeting room was
brightly lit, by candles, so many that individual flickers from
random air currents could not noticeably diminish the illumination.
Despite this, His Holiness could feel darkness closing in. The
Devil never gave up trying to snuff out the light of the
world.
But he will not succeed, Lord, for I am here to be
Thy servant.

“
I'm sure you were
surprised at my summons,” he told his guest. “Does anyone know you
came here?”

“
No,” she said. “I
sometimes leave the house on errands. I'm sure nobody wondered
where I was going or followed me. But I was surprised when Father
Dominic slipped the note into my hand during communion. Why now?
Have I done something wrong?”

Instead of answering immediately, he poured
wine for both of them. “Not at all,” he told her, handing her the
goblet. “You've done quite well. There does not appear to be the
slightest suspicion that your insertion into their household was
deliberate.” He sipped the wine. “As a domestic, your position
allows you to be near the ruling family without attracting
attention. And now it is time to use your unique access to help the
Church.”

She downed her wine. “How can I help, your
Holiness?”

“
The Honcho has a prisoner
that needs to be turned over to God's justice,” he informed her.
“We have made it clear to His Excellency that it would be in his
interests to do so, but has begun to drag his feet. He hasn't
actually refused to hand him over, but We get the distinct
impression that he is artfully stalling. We need you to find out
why this is so.”

For the first time she appeared troubled. “I
can't exactly ask him why, Holiness. What sort of incentive have
you offered him? If I knew that I might have a better chance of
learning from what I overhear whether he has decided to go
elsewhere for it.”

He considered his answer, taking another sip
to buy himself a moment. “Sometimes,” he said, “We find ourselves
reined in, Our freedom to act hindered by the decisions of Our
predecessors. It is what has happened in this case.” He met her
gaze. “It has to do with the papal ban on the use of the Gifts of
the Tourists.”

“
I don't understand,” she
said. “What does that have to do with a prisoner
transfer?”

“
While it is true,” he
said, “that reliance on the Gifts caused the fall of the
civilization of the Ancients, it may have been...a bit of an
exaggeration for Our predecessors to label them
demonic
and prohibit their use on
theological grounds.” He finished his goblet. “Certainly it would
be a mistake in the long term to place too much reliance on things
that will eventually fail. But in the short term, the Honcho needs
to use some of them to help the Army become more effective against
his enemies. To that end, he requested that We make available to
him some of the confiscated Gifts.”

She absorbed that. “And even though you
agreed, he hasn't turned over his prisoner?”

“
I'm afraid not. Can you
keep your ears open, Esmeralda, and learn if he, as you so aptly
suggested, has some alternate source?”

“
Certainly,
Holiness.”

Xander was doing push ups when Kristana
arrived. Daniels was watching with a disgruntled look. It was clear
the doctor thought he was about to lose an argument.

“
What do you think you're
doing?” the Governor demanded.

Xander did a few more push ups before
stopping. “I could state the obvious and say I am doing push ups,”
he said. “But hopefully you've spotted that. Since you just got
here, I'll be more forthcoming and say I'm proving a point.” He
stood up and pointed to his chest.

His chest was bare, so it was easy to see
that the scabs had fallen off. The skin near the site of his injury
was still reddened, but the wound had closed. More to the point,
his vigorous exercise involving pectoral muscles had not torn it
open again.

“
Yes, I'll conceded that
your wound is closed,” said Daniels. “I would hesitate to say that
constitutes a full recovery, but it's clear you can do some
physical things without reopening it and risking a
relapse.”

“
In other words,” said
Xander, “you have to let me go try to help Lester now.” He turned
to Kristana. “Call off your dogs. I can pee by myself now, and I've
got to rescue my apprentice, if he's still alive, that
is.”