The Tower of Endless Worlds (10 page)

Conmager shuddered. “It is possible. Their eyes are sharp and their ears clear, and their senses extend into worlds unknown to mere mortals. They could have tracked us. Not to precisely here, no, but they could know where I am.”

“They?” said Simon. “Them? Do you mean there are more than one of these things?”

Conmager laughed. His voice held no mirth. “There are many thousands of these things. Some still dwell in my homeland. Others have come to your land.” 

“Who are you, really?” said Simon. 

“I have told you already,” said Conmager. “I am Conmager, formerly of Carlisan.” His lips twisted. “Now I am Conmager of Nowhere, it seems.”

“Carlisan?” said Simon. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Few in your land have,” said Conmager.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Simon. “Who do you work for? Or…better yet, what’s going on?” 

Conmager shrugged. “I am unsure myself. Suffice it to say my homeland was invaded by men bearing powerful weapons. I barely escaped with my life, and decided to track the weapons back to their source. After a long and perilous journey, I found my way here.” 

“You’re a refugee, then?” said Simon. Perhaps Conmager was a political refugee. Maybe the government wanted him captured for some reason. Then he thought of the winged creature, and his explanation fizzled. 

“A refugee?” said Conmager. “I am not familiar with the word.”

“Aha! So you are a foreigner.” Conmager gave him a blank stare. Simon rubbed his forehead. “A refugee is a person who has fled his home because of war or strife or famine.”

Conmager nodded. “Yes. Then I am a refugee.”

“So…so you’re from some country on the other side of the world, right? Someone invaded your home with guns. You traced them back here, to Chicago.” Conmager nodded. That explanation made sense. But it fell apart when he came to the winged creature with its burning eyes. “Why were you trying to break into Wycliffe’s compound?”

“His what?” 

Simon scowled. “The place where I saw you. You first talked to me across the street from there. Then I saw you inside, at Senator Wycliffe’s office.”

Conmager blinked. “You mean the fortress with the trucks.”

“Yes! That place,” said Simon. “Why were you trying to break inside?” 

Conmager shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I was not trying to break inside. I was trying to get away.” 

Simon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I had been in that dreadful place for two weeks,” said Conmager. “I saw that there was nothing I could do there. So I tried to escape. Yet the gun merchant is cunning. He realized my absence, and sent his minions out to capture me.”

Simon frowned. “I still don’t understand. Why were you in there in the first place if you didn’t want to be?”

“It is how I found my way to your nation,” said Conmager. “I followed one of the caravans that delivered guns and bombs to my land. I hid myself within its ranks, and eventually we came here.”

“You don’t mean…but…but that would mean…” The realization hit Simon like a lead weight. “Oh my God. He’s a gun-runner. Senator Wycliffe’s a gun-runner.” It all made sense. Wycliffe's trucks were sealed, and no one was allowed to look inside. The man had come to wealth with blinding speed. How better to make a fortune than selling guns to insurgents across the globe? Simon remembered the article about Demeko-Kurkov’s connections with the Russian Mafia. Did Wycliffe buy up old Soviet army materiel through them and sell it off at a higher price? Or did he use Demeko-Kurkov as middlemen? 

It didn’t matter. Simon remembered the convenient suicides of Wycliffe’s political opponents. Another forgotten fact lodged in his memory came to light. Eddie Carson, the reporter who had gone berserk at Senator Fulbright’s campaign headquarters, had been doing an investigative report on Wycliffe at the time. 

Simon ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Too convenient. Just too convenient.”

Conmager frowned. “Are you well? You look ill.”

Simon winced. “We have some serious problems.”

Conmager nodded. “On this we can agree.”

“Okay,” said Simon. “Okay. I can believe everything you said. About the gun-running and the smuggling. But what about that winged thing? What is it? Where did it come from? Why…”

Conmager held up a hand. “Perhaps you should not think too much about it. You have grasped as much as the truth as you can, I deem. To think more about it might unseat your mind.”

“Yeah,” said Simon. “Yeah. But…”

“Simon!” Maura’s voice rang down the stairs. Conmager froze. “Who are you talking to down there?”

“No one, Mom!” said Simon. “I’m doing laundry.”

“I thought I heard voices.”

Simon looked around. “Um…I was fiddling with the old TV. I got some sound on it for a minute.”

There was a pause. “Well. I’m going to bingo, boy. Try not to work too hard, and get to bed at a godly hour. There’s some leftover stroganoff in the fridge, if you want supper.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Simon. He waited until he heard the back door slam. 

“Who was that?” said Conmager.

“My mother,” said Simon. “She doesn’t know you’re here. I didn’t want to get her involved.”

“That is wise,” said Conmager. “What I have seen would try the sanity of a strong man. It might well destroy an old woman.” 

“What am I going to do with you?” said Simon. “Why did you have to fall into my lap?”

Conmager tensed. “You will not surrender me to my enemies?” 

“Of course not!” said Simon. “You’d probably cut my throat if I tried.”

Conmager blanched. “I would not! You have aided me. And you have taken me under your roof and let me partake of your food. For a guest to murder his host is among the blackest of crimes, worthy of Marugon and Goth-Mar-Dan.”

“Did you say….” Simon blinked. “Never mind. The name sounded familiar, that’s all. Besides, how could I turn anyone over that winged creature?” The mere sight of the thing had filled him with paralyzing dread. He shuddered to think of what it might have done to Conmager. 

What it might still do, if it caught them.

“Then what shall you do?” said Conmager.

“I don’t know,” said Simon. “I can’t go to the police. Wycliffe would kill me.” He shook his head and looked at Conmager’s glittering eyes. “And how do I know what you’ve told me is true? You could be waiting to kill me and take my credit cards. It could be a scam.”

“The winged one,” said Conmager, his voice soft. “You know I am telling the truth because you have seen the winged one.” 

Simon closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“I will go,” said Conmager. “You are right when you say you cannot aid me. You dare not. My enemies would obliterate you if they learned of it. I will go with all speed.” A hint of desperation tugged at his face. “Perhaps…perhaps I can hide from the winged ones, continue to turn aside their eyes…”

Guilt ripped Simon’s mind. “Wait. Do you know how to drive?” 

Conmager’s thin eyebrows knitted. “Drive?” 

“A vehicle like my van,” said Simon. “Do you know how to operate one of those?”

Conmager nodded. “Well enough. I learned how during my journey with the caravan to this place.” 

“Here.”  He reached into his pocket and thrust out his keys. “My van. Take it.”

Conmager blinked. “What?”

“Take my van, you idiot,” said Simon. “Will you have a chance of outrunning those…things if you can drive?”

Conmager nodded. “I could. Your nation is vast. I have seen maps. If could run fast enough, I could lose myself in your great cities, or in the vast plains.” His feverish eyes glittered. “Your vehicle could help me.” 

Simon pushed the keys into Conmager’s bony hand. “Then take it. Here. Take all the food you can carry from the pantry. And this.” He dug out his wallet and pulled out all the money it held, about a hundred and twenty dollars. “This money might help.” 

“But your vehicle? How will you account for its loss?” said Conmager. 

“I’ll….” Simon snapped his fingers. “I know. I’ll say you jumped me, took my keys and money, and stole my van.” He frowned. “But that’ll get the police after you.” 

Conmager grinned. “Before I turned from my old ways and was made an apprentice of the White Council, I was a thief and a highwayman. I am well-skilled in avoiding the eyes of the city guard. Men of the law are the same, no matter where you go. What are a few more men chasing me? I can avoid them, and it will remove any suspicion from you.”

“Then go before they figure out you’re here.”

Conmager nodded. They hurried up the basement stairs, Conmager carrying a load of cans in his skinny arms. They walked into the driveway and the summer heat. Simon opened the van’s rear hatch, and Conmager dumped his load inside. Simon would miss his van. He hesitated, then thought of the winged thing, and shoved his doubts aside. He could not let anyone, not even this peculiar stranger, fall into its claws.

Simon stepped back. “I’ll rough myself up a bit, so it looks like you jumped me.”

Conmager nodded. “I will go to…no, I won’t tell you.”

“That’s wise. I don’t want to know.”

“Thank you, Simon Wester, for all the aid you have given me,” said Conmager. 

“Yeah. Whatever,” said Simon. “Just go.” 

Conmager nodded and climbed into the van. He started the engine, backed out into the street, and drove away. 

Simon watched him go. He turned and walked back into the house, his mind composing explanations.

###

“You want to tell me exactly what happened, sir?” 

Two grim-faced policemen stood on the back porch. Simon rubbed his wrist, grimacing at the pain. He had tried to rough himself up and had overdone it. Maura paced back and forth near the railing, a cigarette smoldering in her fingers.

“Um,” said Simon, wincing. “I went out the back door, on my way to the driveway. I wanted to go get some fast food for supper.”

Maura shook her head and ground out the cigarette. “You should have had the stroganoff for supper, boy. None of this would have happened if you had just eaten my stroganoff for supper…”

“Ma’am,” said the officer. “Please.” Maura fell silent. “Show us what happened, sir.”

Simon pointed. “The van was locked, and I was digging for my keys. I thought I heard someone coming up the slope from the woods. When I turned around this man in a black uniform was there. He pushed me, I hit my head on the driveway, and blacked out. When I woke up, he was gone, and so was my van.”

“And so were your car keys and wallet,” said the officer. 

“No. Well, not quite. My keys were gone. I found my wallet,” Simon pointed, “lying over there, against the garage door. All the money was gone, though.”

“How much did you have?” said the officer.

“About a hundred and twenty dollars,” said Simon. 

“Did he take any credit cards, your driver’s license, things like that?”

Simon shook his head. “No. Just the money.”

The cops were buying the story. Simon felt a twinge of hope, and he tried to keep it off his face.

“You look a bit ragged,” said the officer with the notepad. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No. I’m fine, considering,” said Simon. “I just have some scrapes.” 

“Mmm,” said the officer. “This man. What did he look like?” 

“Um,” said Simon. “He…was short, and kind of fat. Caucasian. He had slicked-back hair and a big jaw.” Simon realized he had just described Senator Wycliffe. “Um…brown hair, and…blue eyes, I think. They might have been green. I wasn’t really sure.” 

“That seems pretty thorough, considering you only saw the man for a few seconds,” said the officer. “Is it possible you’ve seen him before?”

Simon blinked. “I…you know, I have. I saw him outside work.”

“Where do you work?”

“Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping,” said Simon. “He asked me for some change.”

“Splendid,” said Maura. She lit another cigarette. “Just splendid. My son has a stalker.” 

“Well,” said the officer. “We have what we need. We’ll put out a description with your vehicle’s make and license plate number. It’s a bit weird, frankly. Considering you drove an old Aerostar van with almost two hundred thousand miles on it, it would make no sense for someone to follow you and steal it. A crime of opportunity. The guy saw his chance and took it.” 

“Will you be able to catch this hoodlum?” said Maura. 

The officer with the notepad shrugged. “We’ll probably find the van someplace in a few weeks. Or it’ll be stripped for parts. The money’s as good as gone. As for the perpetrator himself, we’ll do our best.”

“Thanks,” said Simon.

“We’ll send a car past a few times tonight. Call if you have any more trouble. Sir. Ma’am.” The officers turned and walked back to their cruiser. 

Simon watched them drive away and sighed in relief.

They had bought it 

He looked at his mother. “How was bingo?”

Maura scowled. “Don’t give me that smart talk, boy!”  She paced back and forth as much as her stiff legs would allow, a fresh cigarette smoldering in her fingers. “I come back home and find out that you’ve been mugged. Mugged!” 

He felt bad for deceiving her, but the truth would have upset her even more. “I’m fine.”

“You should have called me right away,” said Maura. 

“And what good would that have done?” said Simon. “You would have driven straight home and worried the entire way. You don’t drive well when you’re worried.”

“I should have been here…”

“I’m twenty-six years old, Mom!” said Simon, his temper flaring. “I can take care of myself!”

Maura stomped towards him. “So well that you go to work for that Wycliffe villain in that horrible neighborhood, so well that some drifter tracks you home and steals your van and money! Yes, boy, you take care of yourself very well.” Her smoke-scented breath washed over Simon. 

Simon snatched the cigarette from her hands and ground it out beneath his shoe. “Don’t blow that thing in my face!” Maura blanched and stepped back. Simon turned away, his hands curling into fists. “You’ve had four since the cops showed up. You don’t need any more. And I’m fine. It could have been worse.” He thought of the winged creature. “But…but at least he has what he wants. He won’t came back.”