I lift the boy in first, laying him gently down on the floor just to the side of the window. Then I crawl in, careful to make no sound, my eyes on the pile on the bed.

  Some instinct makes me dive and roll forward an instant before I hear movement back where I just was. I come up colliding with the bed, disrupting the pile of toys that hold up the covers.

  I turn as the changeling lunges after me, hissing and slapping. I brace myself. Take the momentum of its charge with the mantle. Then I knock its hands aside. It twists as I miss grabbing its hands and snaps those teeth at my face. It misses. My elbow to the side of its head knocks it back a step.

  It’s dazed a moment. All the time I need to grab its wrists and hold them apart.

  It struggles as it realises it’s caught, and I see it preparing to bite again. A headbutt to its stubby little nose discourages that idea. All as quietly as possible.

  If only I’d also remembered the bugger has claws on its feet. Or are they talons? I notice them kicking up in time to release it and step clear.

  It tumbles to the floor, and scrambles to rise again. It doesn’t make for the window. This one doesn’t seem inclined to run. Good.

  Though surrender would be preferable. I dislike fighting. It feels so inelegant. Like I’ve failed at every other approach to a problem. But as a Border Guard, it often seems the only option.

  As this idiot seems determined to fight the inevitable, I give him the inevitable punch in the face, laying him out. And hurting my hand, but probably not as much as being bitten.

  There’s a call from downstairs to ask what the noise is. I freeze. No sound of someone coming up the stairs yet, so maybe he’ll give up. No time to waste. After binding the changeling, I carry the boy over to his bed. Wet, but I don’t have time to find him something dry. I need to clear out.

  I’ll admit to a sense of satisfaction at having dealt with the problem. That lasts the couple of seconds it takes to realise I’m satisfied about doing my job as a Border Guard. It makes me feel dirty. And not in a good way. I’m slipping into the role a bit too much. I have to remind myself I’m just playing the part of the Border Guard. This isn’t me.

  There are noises outside as I grab the changeling, but I don’t stop to check. Lifting him, I head for the window.

  And stop at a knock downstairs. The front door.

  I peek out the window, aware of more lights outside than were there a minute ago.

  Soldiers. The Iron Corps. Damn. They’ve found the bound changeling and are hauling it towards an iron cage in the back of a truck.

  I duck back as some look this way. Not good. They’ll be up here soon.

  There’re footsteps on the stairs, and urgent voices.

  No time.

  No time to call the Sentinel for the prisoner, even if I was sure that was the wisest move.

  I grab stones from my pouch and hurriedly arrange them in a circle.

  Hauling the changeling over my shoulder, I cross my fists downwards in front of me, meeting at the wrist. I raise them, and mutter the key phrase to take me to the circle in the council’s citadel. Where I might have to face an irate Lawbinder.

  Chapter 16

  There’s anger and frustration in every step as Tirae paces back and forth across the office. Olin and I sit in facing armchairs nearby. They’re comfortable enough, if a bit austere for my tastes. I shift my position until I realise that I’m doing so.

  Despite the casual air, and Olin’s less irritated reaction to the news, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being judged.

  ‘You should’ve called for aid on realising they were changelings,’ says Tirae.

  ‘There was a child missing,’ I say. ‘That can cause trouble if noticed. I focussed on cleaning up all traces as quickly as possible and not waiting for them to take the kids before I found them.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t clean up the traces.’

  I almost did. But that doesn’t count. And they probably worked out that the children had been taken and then returned.

  ‘You let them take a captive,’ says Tirae.

  I hardly let it happen. ‘They were putting it in an iron cage when I last saw it. I wasn’t sure how the Sentinel would deal with the iron.’ Or what damage it’d do to the humans, though I’m not sure she cares.

  I made the right choice in prioritising the children, though.

  ‘The choice to maintain secrecy was wise,’ says Olin. ‘Tactical matters in the field, I leave for Tirae to assess. Later, when passions have cooled.’

  She stops pacing and meets his gaze. Then she stares suspiciously at me, as though I planned all of this to make her look bad. She still blames me, or at least suspects intentional mischief.

  ‘You should’ve taken the first one as soon as you realised what it was,’ she says. At least her tone is calmer, if chilly. ‘It’s always better to take a target when you have them in sight. Before they have the chance to run.’

  ‘I lack the experience to be sure I could do so quietly.’ That sounds reasonably diplomatic. I’ll focus on my inexperience, and the risk assessment. ‘I was sure the first one I spotted hadn’t seen me, so he’d have no impulse to run. If I’d taken him, there was the chance the parents could have discovered the child missing, and alerted the town.’

  Tirae’s mouth twitches in frustration, but she offers no response. It was a reasonable decision.

  That doesn’t explain why I didn’t call her. But I’m hoping to move on from that.

  ‘You can review the operation later,’ says Olin. ‘For now, we should address the urgent subject of a fae held prisoner by the human military. This can’t be allowed. They could learn too much, providing the proof you say they need to assure funding for their operation.’

  I’m still not clear on the Lawbinder’s opinion of my link to them. Or how he reacted when Tirae informed him, presumably soon after I told her. He didn’t order it halted and hasn’t exhibited Tirae’s open objection. As a politician, he’s no doubt more comfortable with subterfuge.

  Tirae stares at me. ‘You’ll have to deal with it.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You have access to their base.’

  ‘Limited access.’

  ‘More than I have,’ she says.

  ‘It’ll be securely held.’

  ‘Be better.’

  It seems she’s decided on this course of action. ‘This could ruin my cover.’

  ‘Maintaining secrecy is too important,’ says Olin, his magical eyebrows creasing. ‘While your access is useful, the danger of allowing them to hold living proof of the perceived threat is too great. We must delay them expanding their operations as long as possible. At least until we can recover the keys in circulation.’

  ‘Changelings are hardly sparkling conversationalists,’ I say. ‘We needn’t worry about it talking soon. It’ll take time for tests to prove it’s not just a native mutation that’s gone undiscovered. What do you expect me to do if I reach the thing, anyway? What if it’s too securely contained for me to get at? I’d be going in blind, without a clue of the security in place, or clear objectives. What do I do if I can’t get it out? Kill it?’

  ‘If that’s the only option,’ says Tirae, more serious than I was.

  ‘They’d still have a body they could autopsy. And that’s ignoring that I’ve never killed, and I’m not prepared to.’

  ‘Then focus on recovering it,’ says Tirae. ‘Even a corpse is evidence. We’ve no idea how much their science can determine from our bodies.’

  ‘They could expect us to try recovering it. What if they prepare traps? I’m not close enough to the command structure to know, and have no wish to share a cell with a changeling. Have you been close to them for any length of time? Serious personal hygiene issues.’

  ‘Then listen to those who know such things,’ says Tirae. That’s hardly helpful.

  She takes a small case from her pocket, opening it to reveal a plain ring and a beetle. While it doesn’t move, I get the sense it’s still alive.

  I glance questioningly at her, awaiting enlightenment.

  ‘Grasping the ring allows you to direct the insect,’ she says. ‘And to see and hear through it.’

  I stare at it a moment, then at her. ‘What, really?’

  ‘Did I not just say so?’ she asks with an expression that betrays nothing.

  ‘But, it’s literally a bug. Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. Maybe some irritation showing. ‘Why?’

  ‘Seriously? A bug? Are you punking me or have you absorbed no human culture?’

  Tirae sighs. ‘I’ve found little culture to absorb. Don’t go native on us. Do your job.’

  She extends her hand further, and I have little choice but to take the case.

  ‘Securing the freedom of the changeling will be your secondary objective,’ says Olin. ‘Your first will be to avoid joining it. If the circumstances appear impossible, do not push yourself into an inescapable situation. One creature might be dismissed as an anomaly. Two would be more conclusive. While we’d prefer that they have none, two would be far worse.’

  For me, too. At least he shares my objective of me staying free. Because he still has a use for me.

  Not so much that he doesn’t want me going in at all, and I suppose I should try to get the changeling out. I may not like them, but the thought of even those things stuck in an iron cage is uncomfortable.

  I’m pulling a prison break.

  And I still don’t know whether Tirae was messing with me.

  Chapter 17

  The base is on predictably high alert when I arrive. I thought I might not even get inside. As it is, it takes a few times the normal wait. I also have to undergo a thorough search of my car, and a light frisking. Not enough to require him buying me a drink, but close enough that he should offer.

  There are rumours everywhere, and I find a few of the other folklorists near one of the surface structures. Through the large door we see the caged changeling, looking like it’s not long arrived. It must have come by truck rather than helicopter. Maybe they’re worried it’d interfere with the electronics while in the air.

  They changed its cage for a more modern-looking one. There’re still iron bars, but the floor is plastic. It’s curled up in the middle - the cord I bound it with gone - cringing away from the iron. Even for one of them, I can’t help but empathise.

  From the general whiteness of the space, albeit faded by age, I’m not sure the building has seen much use. There’s a large hydraulic lift in the centre of the room, for taking cargo down to the sub-basement levels. Larger than necessary for the changeling’s cage, which could fit in a freight elevator. They’re playing it safe.

  There’re enough guards. A few of whom make sure we don’t get too close. A distinct danger with this lot.

  The army has drawn more heavily on faerie chasers than academia for its brain trust. I suppose it makes sense, if you want to cut down the number of nutters out there who might stumble over what you’re looking for and announce it too loudly.

  Kevin’s wide-eyed when he finally notices me standing beside him. ‘It’s real. It’s really real.’ He’s shaken, unsure whether to laugh or cry, testing himself with brief spurts of both. I think he’s always wanted to believe, but was afraid to fully commit himself and be proved wrong. His faith has now been rewarded.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, matching the bewildered looks of the others.

  ‘A changeling,’ says Kale. There’s no excitement in his voice. Very little of anything. He’s probably waiting for someone to write a book about it. ‘Or at least it matches some descriptions I’ve read. I heard there were suspicions of children being abducted. Anyway, it’s dissection should tell us more.’

  ‘Dissection?’ says Kevin, aghast.

  ‘This is a military operation,’ says Kale. ‘They’re hardly subtle.’

  Colonel Steele strides in with Captain Edmunds at his side.

  ‘I want it secured in section G,’ says Steele. ‘Move.’ The troops do so, and he turns to our group. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your interest, and we’ll arrange for you to have access to the prisoner later. For now, we need to secure it and perform preliminary tests. Needless to say, discussions on this subject may only be carried out on the base. Thank you.’

  It seems he considers science more useful than us gawping at it.

  He strides away as the cage is properly situated on the lift, and the guards take up positions around it.

  I slip the bug out of my pocket, where it hadn’t interrupted the frisk.

  Do I use it on the changeling, or Steele? Locating the thing would be useful. But would the iron confining it interfere with the bug’s signal.

  I surreptitiously toss the bug at Steele as he passes, and guide it to grab hold and take a trip with him.

  I join the exodus of civilians back to our section. There’s a mixture of excitement at the catch, and disappointment that our inspection was cut short. I settle for appearing lost in thought. It isn’t hard, with my mind partly elsewhere.

  ‘The questioning has so far proved useless.’ Sarah’s voice sounds odd through the beetle’s ears. As though I’m hearing a translation of what the vibrations do to the bug’s body. The view will also take getting used to, but at the moment it’s just corridor walls waving back and forth. I block the visual aspect from interfering with what my eyes see, so that the motion doesn’t make me sick. ‘It doesn’t respond to English, or Spanish. We’ll try a few other languages, to check. If the suppositions are correct, and they do impersonate children, they must acclimate to the language at some point. We’re not sure how long it’ll take.’

  ‘Then we take time,’ says Steele. ‘Get it right. We study everything we can about it.’

  ‘The science staff are wondering about...’ She hesitates, sounding uncomfortable. ‘Looking inside it.’

  ‘No,’ says Steele. ‘Blood tests, scans, okay. We stick to non-intrusive tests. But they’re not dissecting it unless it dies of natural causes. Until I’m ordered otherwise, it’ll be considered an enemy combatant, and afforded all appropriate rights, within reasonable limits. We’ll need to review the security protocols, though. In case of any rescue missions. I’m not convinced that’s the kind of group we’re dealing with, but I want to be prepared. Their SOP so far has been to leave no evidence. Draw up plans for me to review.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ says Sarah. I glimpse her striding away down another corridor.

  I’ll want to move before they get further security implemented. Pretty much as we’d planned.

  I split off from the rest of the crowd and head toward my quarters.

  The lounge is hardly as relaxing as it sounds, anyway. Its décor is indistinguishable from the rest of the complex, just with a large screen TV on the wall - second-hand. The chairs are admittedly less torturous than others in the facility. I imagine they may have furnished an officer’s lounge a few decades ago. It’s only a lounge compared to its surroundings.

  Part of my mind remains focussed on the beetle, but Steele has returned to his office and seems to be doing work that won’t affect my immediate concerns.

  I check my watch. I don’t like this. Being here has kind of been fun, though the risk might have influenced that opinion. So why do I find myself reluctant to increase that risk?

  I doubt it’s concern about betraying them. My very presence is a betrayal of those who brought me in, and it hasn’t bothered me so far. I often work against their interests.

  Although this’ll be a more serious blow. This time they have proof to support their mandate, and I’m taking it away.

  The elation they’re feeling? It’s my job to kill it. To trample their dreams.

  Okay, maybe that’s overstating it.

  I don’t think of this as a job, anyway. Maybe a complex prison of lies I’ve built around myself, that I’m hoping to navigate my way free of. I’ll work with anyone to find my freedom, but I’m not on their side for more than fleeting convenience. I’m on my side. The only way I get out of this mess is to remember that.

  It’s not as though all this angst will stop me doing what I have to, anyway, so I try to ignore it.

  I should focus on how I’ll get it out of here. But having little clue of the security, I’ll have to make it up as I go along. The planning will be posthumous, when Tirae tells me what I should’ve done.

  The quarters are too spartan to justify spending much time in them. The bed, small desk, and open-fronted wardrobe take up most of the room. The shared facilities are down the end of the corridor.

  I have few personal effects here. Some spare clothes in case they’re needed. Toiletries, for overnight stays. The couple of books on the desk are from the base library, and not allowed off the premises. I also have a collection of stones I hope no one paid any attention to. They may’ve drawn comment if I’d brought them in this time.

  Wiping the stones clean of prints, I dump them in my pocket.

  I check my watch again. Nearly time. Waiting is always the worst part of an operation like this. Or you hope it’s the worst part. Obviously, if you fail and get caught, then that becomes the worst part. But usually waiting is the worst, because it gives you time to consider what’ll happen if you fail and get caught.

  And to wonder whether this is the time to cut and run, hoping to stay ahead of the Border Guards until they lose interest. That remains a possibility. As it’d also mean abandoning this cover, there’s little to lose by carrying this forward a little further.

  It isn’t long until the lights flicker. I step into the corridor as the alarm sounds.

  A pair of soldiers are passing by an adjoining corridor. They hesitate the moment it takes to register that the base is under attack. Then they’re off.

  As am I.

  Tirae’ll put on a show up top, keeping them distracted as long as she can. It’ll include some magic that should do to their cameras what travelling via the stones does.

 

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