The Others 03 Vision in Silver (29 page)

“Especially since there have been many reports of jewelry being stolen from the Toland elite,” Stavros said. “And news reports have droned on about a couple of jewelry stores also being robbed. Humans were trying to blame the Crowgard, which is ridiculous. If an earring or a ring is dropped on the sidewalk that borders the Courtyard, a Crow won’t resist claiming it. But they don’t go into human houses and steal—and they don’t remove the gems from a piece of jewelry and discard the setting.”

“The police have no leads?” Burke asked blandly.

“The police investigating the thefts all wear little HFL pins on their lapels. So do the humans who were robbed. So do the owners of the jewelry stores that reported the theft of loose gems.”

“Elayne might have been caught up in the glamour of being with Nicholas Scratch and rubbing elbows with society people who wouldn’t have acknowledged her otherwise, but she would not have stooped to stealing jewels, and she certainly wouldn’t have put Lizzy at risk by hiding them in Boo Bear,” Monty said hotly.

Vlad leaned forward and said gently, “She found the secret, and she tried to run. They had to stop her.”

He rubbed his face, suddenly tired. “She should have left the jewels. Dropped them in a closet, scattered them over the floor so someone would waste time finding them.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. She still had the secret. So did the Lizzy.”

“Unlike the Toland police, we don’t think anything has been stolen.” Stavros pitched his voice to be low and soothing. “We think these were arranged . . . donations . . . for the HFL movement.”

“With the added benefit of pointing a finger at the Crows and feeding the animosity growing between humans and
terra indigene
,” Burke said.

“Exactly.”

Sickroom voices,
Monty thought.
Do they think I can’t, or won’t, handle the truth, whatever it may be?

“Someone should question Leo Borden,” he said. He couldn’t picture Leo being able to pull off a jewel heist, but he could see the man as a courier—and he could easily imagine Leo thinking that Boo Bear would be a good hiding place for a fortune in gemstones. After all, who would look for them in a child’s toy, especially a child living under the same roof as Nicholas Scratch?

She doesn’t have anything else Scaffoldon or Scratch would want, so Lizzy is safe now,
Monty thought. The father wanted to believe it. The cop knew it wasn’t true, could
feel
it wasn’t true.

“What will happen when the HFL discovers the gems Scaffoldon brought back are fakes?” he asked.

“I believe you humans call it a domino effect,” Stavros replied as Elliot slipped back into the room. “Which brings me to the reason I came to Lakeside. I will, of course, talk to Simon directly, but Grandfather Erebus decided select humans as well as the
terra indigene
should be prepared.”

“Gods above and below,” Burke muttered. “Prepared for what?”

“According to humans, Toland is Thaisia’s center of commerce,” Stavros said. “Many ships dock there, and a great flow of goods comes into the city from other parts of the world. Just as great a flow of goods goes out.”

“Do
terra indigene
ships also dock there?”

“No. We have other harbors for our little ships, harbors we share with the Intuits.”

A sharpness in the words made Monty wonder if there had been trouble in the past: fights, sabotage, other kinds of incidents that had encouraged the Others to keep their distance.

“Our ships don’t dock in the Toland port, but we still pay close attention to what comes into Thaisia . . . and what goes out.”

Monty wondered if the weight suddenly clinging to his bones was a feeling of dread.

“What is going out?” Burke finally asked.

“The Crowgard can probably tell you more than the Sanguinati since they like to poke around in everything, and my kin tend to visit the area around the docks at night,” Stavros said. “I can tell you that ships coming in from Brittania aren’t receiving all the cargo they expected to load, but they’re still being charged for the full amount. Any captain who protests is threatened with being struck off the trade list.”

“What happens to the cargo that isn’t loaded?” Monty asked.

“We noticed that ships bound for the Cel-Romano Alliance of Nations are now loaded late at night when there are fewer observers. We suspect the cargo that is held back from Brittanian merchant ships finds its way into the holds of Cel-Romano ships.”

“Another form of piracy,” Burke muttered. “With your permission, I’d like to have a quiet word with a cousin of mine. He’s a police officer in Brittania, and he keeps me informed of rumors coming out of Cel-Romano.”

“Would he also be willing to use his influence to provide discreet assistance?” Stavros asked.

Burke stared at the vampire for several heartbeats. “I think that would depend on what he was asked to do.”

“Very soon, a storm in the Atlantik will blow a Cel-Romano ship off course. It will run aground off the coast of Wild Brittania and everything will be lost.”

“Including the crew?”

“Oh, especially the crew, since it was the Sharkgard who passed the message along to the Sanguinati with the understanding that
that
bounty will be shared.” Stavros smiled, showing his fangs. “However, the ship will run aground in such a way that the cargo, and the ship itself, will not be damaged and can be claimed as salvage, divided equally between the humans who assist and the
terra indigene
. With one exception, which is where your cousin, the Brittania police officer, would come in. As that particular ship was loaded the other night, the Sanguinati who were watching heard some of the boxes crying—boxes with air holes.”

Monty braced his hands on the table. “You think they’re shipping
humans
to Cel-Romano?”

“We think they’re shipping
cassandra sangue
. Cargo worth thrice its weight in gold,” Stavros said. “Especially to leaders of the Humans First and Last movement.” He looked at Vlad, his eyes full of unnerving sympathy. “Those girls . . . Most are not like your Meg. At least, not the ones who are already addicted to cutting. They don’t want the challenge of having a life. Many have found another way to be sheltered.”

“Prostitution?” Burke asked, his voice stripped of emotion.

“Of a sort. A few prime establishments have sprung up in Toland. Or rather, the same establishments are now calling themselves by a different name. The blood prophets are now paid for each cut. They are pampered, indulged, and want for nothing—as long as they can pay for the care they receive.”

“But they’re still being used,” Monty protested.

“A girl provides the service she was hired, and paid, to provide,” Stavros said. “No coercion, no talk of ownership, benevolent or otherwise. The transition was done so smoothly, and so quickly, we suspect the men who run the establishments had warning that this might happen, even if they didn’t know what would start the chain of events.” He paused. “The girls in those establishments . . . Being there is their choice, and since they are on land that is currently under human control, we will not interfere with them. But the girls who were packaged like cargo . . . Humans have no say when they enter Ocean’s domain.”

After an uncomfortable silence, Burke said, “When that ship goes aground, what is my cousin supposed to do with the girls?”

“That is something the humans in Brittania must decide,” Stavros said. “But the message I was asked to convey is this: Ocean will not be pleased with Brittania’s humans if those girls end up in Cel-Romano.”

*   *   *

Vlad listened while Elliot escorted Burke and Montgomery out of the consulate. Then he turned to Stavros, who said, “Do you think your police officers understand the significance of the
terra indigene
not docking ships in Toland?”

“Montgomery is thinking of his child and keeping her safe, which is only right, but I think Burke will understand eventually,” Vlad replied. Thaisia’s center of commerce could disappear overnight if an Elemental like Ocean unleashed her wrath on Toland.

“Whispers around the docks,” Stavros said. “Thaisia is not the only land dealing with shortages. A lot of things are in short supply in Cel-Romano too. Especially food.”

“A bag of gemstones could have bought a lot of wheat and corn. I wonder if the shortages in Thaisia will disappear now that the real gems are being stored in the Chambers.”

Stavros gave Vlad a brilliant smile. “Know what I’m wondering? How many bushels of wheat and corn will the HFL movement be able to buy with a bag full of colored glass?”

*   *   *

Meg looked at the envelope, picked up the envelope. Sniffed the envelope.

“Doesn’t smell like a farm,” she muttered.

Carefully opening the envelope to avoid a paper cut, she pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Meg,

I tried to write a couple of letters to you since arriving on Great Island, but I couldn’t write them, couldn’t send them. It feels like getting here ate up my ability to do anything.

It’s so hard living outside the compound. I didn’t remember it being so hard. I sent you out in this, so sure it was better. Now I’m not sure of anything. Some mornings Lorna Gardner brings me food because I can’t face even the simple life and people beyond the walls of the guest cottage.

Some nights I remember the things I’ve seen in prophecies when they were using me to make gone over wolf. Terrible things.

Some nights I wonder if I started what’s going to happen by helping you escape.
But this morning, I managed to go outside and watch the sun rise—and I wondered if, by helping you, I did the one thing that might save some humans from what is coming.

Take care of yourself, Meg.

Your friend,

Jean

Meg read the letter twice, then returned it to its envelope and tucked it in the drawer where she kept the notebook that held her lists. Taking out the five postcards she’d gotten at the Three Ps, she set them on the counter and studied the pictures.

The red rocks, the plateau? No. Too different and out of reach.

The pictures of Talulah Falls? Also out of reach.

She looked at the picture of the deer half shrouded by mist. She turned it over, then picked up a pen.

Dear Jean,

I have seen a deer. I have petted a pony. I helped plant a garden. I have smelled earth and felt it in my hands. You watched the sun rise. These things are worth the struggle to live outside.

Your friend,

Meg

Simon,

Can the
cs
see visions without cutting? The scarred girl drew a picture of a Wolf song, so we wondered. Ask your Meg what safe toys we can give the girl. We bought her drawing paper and many colored pencils. She hasn’t cut since she’s been here.

—Jackson

Jackson,

Meg says maybe about the visions. The
cs
weren’t given a chance to try anything besides cutting. Your girl may be finding a new path. Books are good toys. Give the girl photos of the settlement and surrounding land. That will help when she is ready to go outside.

—Simon

N,

Ship blown off course during storm. Search found nothing. Ship, merchandise, and all hands declared lost.

—Pater

Douglas,

Half of the aunties’ gifts arrived broken beyond repair. Am taking the next ship to Thaisia to discuss with you in person.

—Shady

Windsday, Maius 16

O
n Windsday afternoon, Steve Ferryman and Roger Czerneda pulled up in front of one of the semidetached houses in the River Road Community. As he got out of the car and waited for Roger, Steve spotted the six columns of smoke gathered near one of the houses farthest from the entrance to the community.

He raised a hand in greeting. The Sanguinati’s only response was to shift to human form—four males and two females.

Steve didn’t recognize any of them, wasn’t sure how much contact they’d had with humans. Enough that, from a distance anyway, they looked like human teenagers, but looking human and being able to act human were very different things. While the Sanguinati in Lakeside had made it clear that residents from Ferryman’s Landing were not to be harmed, it was obvious to him that six against two were
not
good odds—especially if the vampires were hungry and willing to overlook their promise to behave.

He heard cawing and felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little. Crowgard. He and Roger weren’t alone with the Sanguinati. Then he considered the warning tightness between his shoulder blades and wished they
were
alone with the vampires and Crows.

As Steve lowered his hand, one of the Sanguinati males raised a hand, imitating the greeting.

With that much acknowledgment, Steve turned to Roger and said, “What do you think?”

Roger studied the house. “Do I think I could live in one of these houses? Do I think it’s a good idea to have a community that includes Intuits running small farms and businesses, and
terra indigene
doing the gods only knows what as their contribution? Or do I think Simon Wolfgard is a little bit crazy for proposing this in the first place?”

“He’s not crazy,” Steve replied. “He’s implementing a lot of new ideas in a very short amount of time, and I think he knows he’s moving a bit too fast. But I think he’s pushing to get this community and the changes in the Lakeside Courtyard started because he’s worried. There’s—what?—a couple hundred
terra indigene
in the Lakeside Courtyard surrounded by two hundred thousand humans. If things swing out of control in the city, I’d want some kind of escape route for my people, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would,” Roger said quietly. “And I know firsthand what can happen when things swing out of control.”

Steve swore. “Sorry. I didn’t think about Jerzy.”

“That was a case of a human-controlled hamlet surrounded by miles of wild country controlled by the Others, and the humans started the conflict. Didn’t make the result any easier to accept.” Roger studied Steve. “You got a feeling about all of this?”

Oh, yeah, he had a feeling. The skin between his shoulder blades had been twitching and twinging since they pulled in here.

“About the community? Yes. But right now, I have a feeling we’re being watched,” Steve said quietly.

Roger nodded. “By more than vampires and Crows. Yeah. I feel like I have a target painted on my back.”

Steve looked around and saw nothing unusual. Saw nothing, actually. The Sanguinati had disappeared—and the Crows were silent.

“When I was a boy, Douglas Burke came to visit for a couple of weeks,” Roger said. “Old friend of my father’s.”

“I figured that, since he paved the way for us to hire you.”

Roger kept his eyes on the houses in front of them. “You know how men will tell stories about their lives when everyone else is off doing something, and it’s just them and memories? They know when a kid sneaks back to listen, but they pretend they don’t, and they tell the kind of stories mothers wouldn’t want a child to hear.”

Steve smiled. “The Intuits have a winter tradition called an ‘I Remember’ night when grandfathers and grandmothers talk about how things were when they were young. Same kind of thing. Knowledge passed along from memories. Children aren’t invited, but nobody banishes you if you slip into the room and stay quiet.”

“Uncle Doug talked a bit about his time as a young police officer, serving in human settlements surrounded by the wild country. I remember him saying that there is a buffer of
terra indigene
land that separates human places from the wild country, and how very few humans have ever seen the true wild country and survived.”

“Ming told me once that there is no wild country on Great Island. Most of the island is untouched land that belongs to the Others, but all the
terra indigene
are aware of us, and even the ones who don’t interact with us directly participate in hunting or harvesting that benefits both sides.”

“Intermediaries, like the Others who live in the Courtyards.” Roger paused. “I’ve never forgotten something Uncle Doug said during that visit. He said humans only thought of the wild country in terms of uncultivated land and distance from human dwellings. But when the Others talk about the wild country, they’re talking about who lives on the land as well as the land itself. He said people think the buffer between human land and wild country is always measured in miles, but sometimes the buffer between one and the other can be measured in yards, and it’s when that truth is ignored that people die and human places disappear.”

Steve nodded. “That fits with what I’ve observed about the Others. I think there are tiers of earth natives. The first tier is the one that deals with us. When our ancestors came to this continent, those earth natives watched us and saw skills they wanted to acquire. Maybe they already used simple tools and saw ours as an improvement of what they had. Sure, humans were invaders who were both rival predators and a new source of food, but we lived in packs and were understood to some degree. And some of the
terra indigene
were curious enough or committed enough to their own kind to study us, to become . . . contaminated . . . with our shape and some of the behaviors that make us human.

“The second tier are the earth natives that live in the buffer land and the edge of the wild country and are the same forms as the ones who live in the Courtyards. Maybe they can approximate a human shape enough to use our tools, and
they like some of the things humans make. So they’ll harvest some trees in their territory in order to make paper for books, and they’ll allow some mining for coal and gold and silver and whatever else might be on their land. Some. And they don’t usually deal directly with humans; they deal with the first tier of
terra indigene
.”

“And the third tier?” Roger asked.

“The third tier isn’t touched by humans in any way, and lives on the land that is considered the true wild country—that is most of Thaisia. Those earth natives don’t want us here, have never wanted us here. As long as we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves, as long as we aren’t a threat to their own kind, we’ll be tolerated. But when they decide that they’ll no longer tolerate us . . .” Steve shuddered.

Roger looked at Steve. “That’s what you’re feeling? That it’s the third tier of earth natives who are out there watching us?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Simon Wolfgard likes or trusts most humans. If I were a Wolf, I guess I would feel the same way. And six months ago, he wouldn’t have cared if he woke up one morning and all the humans had disappeared. Now he has a vested interest in
some
humans surviving, and we need to help him believe that we should be among those humans.”

“Gods above and below,” Roger breathed. “Is that why those earth natives are here? To watch us?”

“No,” Steve replied slowly, guided by feelings. “They’re not interested in us. If you believe some of the old stories, earth natives have been around in one form or another since the beginning of the world. They were the top predators then and they’re the top predators now because they change as the world changes, absorbing qualities from new species of predators without losing the essence of what they are.” Certainty settled between his shoulder blades. “They’re not here because they’re curious about a species that isn’t part of their own. They’re curious about Simon Wolfgard and what he’s trying to do here and in the Lakeside Courtyard.”

“Because they’re wondering if he represents the next adaptation of
terra indigene
?” Roger asked. “A Wolf who can take the place of humans but still remain a Wolf?”

Steve looked around the community, the houses and the land beyond them. “There are more storms coming. Big storms. Bad storms. We need to make this
place work. We need to prove to the
terra indigene
that we can share the work and the world peacefully. And that
is
a feeling.”

Roger said nothing. Then he nodded. “I’m in.” He pointed at the house. “I’d like to take a look inside that one.”

“Then let’s take a good look before we head back to Ferryman’s Landing and work up a proposal for what a self-sufficient community would need.”