The Last Protector (17 page)

"It's seven o'clock,” Nalia said. “I imagine he's praying for the Gifts of Spafu."

"What gifts are those?"

Nalia shot him another one of those looks. “Everything we need. Everything's a gift of the Dragon."

When they reached Syb's Tavern, they found the hole Scrornuck had cut in the back wall now sported a fine wooden door, and customers were coming and going as though it had been there forever. “No hard feelings, I guess,” Jape said.

After sniffing and tasting the first round of drinks, “just in case they're poisoned,” Scrornuck found a dim corner from which he could keep his eye on the table where Nalia and Jape met with a succession of unsavory-looking locals. A wide-brimmed hat kept his face in shadow as he nursed a pint of beer and thought, why does the mating dance always take so much longer than the actual coupling? Each interaction ended with the exchange of a silver or gold piece for a slip of paper or some whispered words—why did the preliminaries take so long?

What's this?
The latest local didn't look all that unsavory—in fact, he looked positively respectable. Dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief, fashionably but conservatively attired in new clothing, and wearing jewelry that conveyed a message of wealth without pretense, he looked like he belonged in the Guest part of town.
What's he doing in a place where I'm comfortable?

The stranger whispered something in Jape's ear that seemed to spark some serious excitement. He took a seat and unrolled a document on the tabletop. Scrornuck kept waiting for money to change hands, but Jape's purse never came out, not even when it was time to pay for drinks. Strange, and to Scrornuck, a bit suspicious. Eventually the stranger got up, slowly, as if his legs were stiff from sitting so long, shook hands with both Jape and Nalia, and left.

Jape signaled it was time for Scrornuck to join him. “I think we've found a great source,” he said.

"Who was that last guy?” Scrornuck asked.

"He calls himself Tremmlowe. Of course, who knows what his real name is? What matters is, he has information and connections that can get him more."

"I don't trust him,” Scrornuck said. “The guy's too well-dressed to be a regular in a dive like this. And he gave you some papers, but you didn't pay him. Doesn't that make you suspicious?"

"It was a sample, to show the quality of his contacts,” Jape said. “If the document checks out, we'll make a deal on some better stuff tomorrow night."

"Well, be careful—I remember what happened the last time you found a guy who seemed to know everything and didn't want a penny in return."

Jape laughed. “You mean deAvalo? Everything he told us was accurate. The spiders weren't poisonous."

"Yeah.” Scrornuck stuck a finger in Jape's face. “But your buddy forgot to mention they were twelve feet across!"

"Minor detail. Besides, you were having the time of your life!"

"Tied up in webs, knee-deep in spider guts, with six more of those things trying to make lunch out of us?” Scrornuck grinned. “Yeah, it was fun, wasn't it?"

"See, I told you. Now shut up and drink your beer—and that's an order!"

Scrornuck saluted. “Yes, sir!” He polished off his pint in a single gulp. “Speaking of orders, I hope you ordered more."

Jape indeed ordered many more, and by the time they left the bar, Scrornuck's smile was more lopsided than usual.

"I'm amazed you're standing,” Nalia said. “How many did you have?"

"An even half-dozen, I think.” Scrornuck caught his toe on a cobblestone and spun about to stay upright.

"And they're not affecting you in the least,” Jape said. “Now straighten up—we're coming to the Square and I don't want you getting into another argument with Rosaiah."

"Why not? I could crush that pompous ass in the jaws of logic and reason..."

Nalia giggled. “I don't think you could reason through a ‘knock-knock’ joke."

"Try me, madam. Make it a really filthy one, please."

"That's enough,” Jape said sternly. “Low profile, got that?"

"Aw, you're taking away all my fun..."

"Mister Saughblade, you will keep out of trouble, understand?"

"Yes, Ranger,” Scrornuck said meekly.

As it turned out, there was a major rumble going on at the foot of the Temple steps and everyone was too busy to worry about Scrornuck. Nalia started explaining before Jape could ask. “The Servants of Spafu and the Snakers are at it again. See the guy with the picture of Spafu on the back of his jacket? That's Ferinianne, the leader of the Servants. He tried to pick me up a couple times, but I blew him off—the Servants are just too damn obsessive about offerings. As for the Snakers, they believe Spafu is the most recent incarnation of the feathered serpent Quetzo—Quetzo-Cocktail or something like that. I only dated the Snaker guy for a couple weeks. He was just too weird. Anyway, it seems they're always fighting, and nobody but them is sure why."

"So much for the joy of sects,” Jape said. Giving the brawl a wide berth, the three crossed the Square and headed into the Guest Quarter.

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In the resort's courtyard, Scrornuck fought a pitched battle with an invisible enemy. He leaped over chairs, rolled beneath tables, danced along the decorative walls, swung from the trees that grew around the pool, all the time swinging Ol’ Red furiously. The sword changed shape—one moment a long and slender dart, the next a broad meat-axe, a moment after that a flickering, fluid thing that looked more like a flame than a blade. From time to time he connected with something that sent bright red debris flying. Jape sat quietly in the midst of the battle, sipping his coffee and reading the messages on his softscroll.

"Hey, what's going on?” Nalia shouted from the balcony, entertained but mystified by the show.

Scrornuck stopped to look up, and got smacked right between the eyes by something that splattered like a rotten tomato. He shot Jape an accusing look. “Hey, pause that thing!"

Jape tapped the scroll. “Sorry, I had it on automatic."

"What's going on?” Nalia asked again.

"Just some practice.” Scrornuck wiped the red gunk from his face with a pool towel.

"Practice at what?"

"Spotting threats, blocking attacks—just another day on the job,” Jape said. “We set up launchers all over the pool area. The scroll fires these practice rounds and he knocks them down."

"Or they hit him, like that red thing?"

"That was just a lucky shot. Hey, Jape, how many do we have left?"

"About fifty. Why?"

"I'm feeling real loose today. What say you throw the whole schmear all at once?"

"You think you can handle them all?"

"I think so. Besides, if I miss we'll just get some red stuff on us. C'mon, push the button!"

With a sigh, Jape tapped the softscroll. “If you miss, you're doing the laundry!"

"That's what room service is for!” Scrornuck said, as all the launchers fired at once. He jumped atop the table, shoved Jape down with his foot, and swung Ol’ Red wildly. The sword's blade whipped about, curving, stretching, snapping back, slicing through one flying object after another. The “whole schmear” lasted fifteen seconds, during which it looked more like he was dancing at the center of a lightning storm than swinging a sword.

The firing ended, and Scrornuck stood atop the table, panting. Jape sat up and said, “I think it's over; you can stop posing now."

Funt!
A launcher fired behind Scrornuck. He whirled about, raised Ol’ Red, and delicately caught the flying object in midair. He bounced it around with his sword as if playing hackey-sack, and held it out in front of Jape's face. “You skunked me with a delayed last shot once, you won't do it again!"

"Want to bet on that?"

Funt!
Another launcher fired, again from behind. Scrornuck whipped the sword around, throwing the object he'd just caught at the one streaking toward him. The two met in midair with a satisfying
splat,
flinging red stuff around the pool deck. “Yeah, I'll take that bet. You're buying the beer tonight."

Jape sighed. “What else is new? I've got the expense account."

"So let's use it.” Scrornuck rubbed his rumbling stomach. “Last one to the restaurant buys breakfast!"

Scrornuck made sure that Jape was last to the restaurant. By now he hardly noticed the fourth chair at their table for three, an ornate throne festooned with images of Spafu the Friendly Dragon. What he did notice, between bites of his vast meal, was that there had been more disappearances. “Paper says another Squatter went missing last night. Doesn't it bother anyone that people are disappearing?"

Nalia shrugged. “Why should it? The article doesn't mention foul play. Maybe he left town, or just snuck in past the Guards. Squatters aren't the most law-abiding people, you know..."

"Actually, we don't know,” Jape said. “Just what is a Squatter?"

She briefly held up the token that hung from her neck. “If you don't have a Residence Pass, you have to live with somebody who does, or live on the street. Or you break into an empty apartment and live there till the Guards kick you out. That's Squatting. So you see, it doesn't mean much when a Squatter drops out of sight—maybe he just moved in with somebody who has a Pass."

"That's not news!” Scrornuck complained. “News is when people get eaten by dragons, or kidnapped, or something like that. ‘Boy meets girl, boy moves into girl's apartment’ isn't news!"

"Mister Saughblade,” Jape said, “remember where we are. The news is just another part of the show."

"Harrumph.” Somewhat irritated, Scrornuck turned to the funny pages, which were at least honestly about entertainment. “Hey,” he said, “they've got a bridge column!"

"You play that game?” Nalia asked. “I could never figure it out."

"I can't, either,” Scrornuck said. “I just like reading the column. It's like translating technical stuff. I recognize the words, they fit into sentences, but I have no idea what they're talking about. Here's one:
Overcall the no-trump and ruff partner in dummy's suit, you should get at least three tricks.
That sounds like something a cross-dressing hooker would do!"

Jape pushed his empty plate aside and unrolled the softscroll. “Well, let's see what's new today,” he said, bringing up the morning's messages. “Would you look at that—control codes for a weathersat."

"A what?” Nalia asked.

"It's a kind of eye-in-the-sky camera that tells us what the weather will be."

"Why don't they just look at the calendar? If it's Monday, it rains at four in the morning, if it's Thursday, it rains at two..."

"The weather's not this well-behaved everywhere,” Jape said. “Some places have warm sunshine at breakfast and snow for lunch.” He returned his attention to the scroll. “What's next—something about the Alpine Lake Winter Sports Complex? Looks like they decided to move it two miles to the east.” The document contained a vague map with hand-drawn corrections. “Doesn't say much, but it gives an idea where the place is.” He called up the map he'd been building since their arrival and added a vaguely round splotch entitled “Alpine Lake."

"As for the other queries—nothing yet on our friend McGinn. The crypto team's making progress, but between archaic formats and deliberate encryption, it's harder than expected. Current estimate for translation is no earlier than Sunday afternoon. Better than nothing, but it makes us more dependent on Mister Tremmlowe."

"I don't trust that guy,” Scrornuck said. “He's too upper-class for Syb's."

"What choice do we have?” Jape held up his ring. The jewel had turned from yellow with a trace of orange to just plain orange. “The crossing's barely nine days away, the pressure's building, and we don't even know what the Orb is, let alone where to find it. We need information and we need it now, so we deal with Tremmlowe. We'll just have to be careful."

"You mean I'll have to be careful for the both of us."

"Same thing."

"I saw that,” Scrornuck said, as Nalia turned to get a better look at the well-muscled young man crossing the pool deck.

"You're not jealous, are you?” Nalia said, shifting her lounge chair to look at Scrornuck. “I said you've got a nice tush.” She yawned. “Never thought I'd say this in the Guest Quarter, but I'm bored out of my skull."

"Sorry,” Jape said, “we just have to wait till tonight. Life's not always as exciting as one of Mister Saughblade's stories."

"Now there's an idea,” she said. “You could tell us another story."

"I suppose it'll take your mind off Mister Hunk,” Scrornuck said. “Might as well pick it up where I left off.” He signaled for a fresh beer. “I helped the Stranger rescue the fair damsel and dispose of the terrible beast—"

"Did you get paid?” Nalia interrupted. She stuck a hand out in Jape's direction. “Speaking of which, today's three gold pieces, please."

Jape sighed and reached for his purse as Scrornuck continued, “Yeah, I got paid, but not quite the way I expected—"

Life is good, Scrornuck thought as the big black motorcycle carried him north out of Roswell. Good, but sure full of surprises. Like the pay he'd received for disposing of the monster—not gold, not silver, just a big wad of green paper that he'd at first been reluctant to accept. But, as the Stranger had assured him, the green paper spent very well indeed.

The sweaty blue jeans that clung to his legs were a less pleasant surprise. While the Stranger said the men of this land didn't wear kilts, Scrornuck felt it was high time they started. As far as he was concerned, pants were works of the devil.

But having to wear pants was a small price to pay for being in a land that had motorcycles. Scrornuck took to the jet-black Knucklehead sport-model like a duck to water, roaring around mountain curves, scraping exhaust pipes and undercarriage. The cycle was like a magical horse that ran like the wind and never tired, despite being fed only the foul liquid called gasoline. The days of early summer were one delight after another as he wandered from the cool and misty coast through the mountains and high desert, riding by day, camping by night, occasionally meeting up with others who were enjoying the American southwest of 1949 by motorcycle.