Codespell webmage book 3, p.15
Codespell (WebMage Book 3), page 15
He chortled. “Of course you do . . . now.” He turned and winked at Athena. “Am I right? Of course I’m right. I’m sure that my girl here’s been putting the fear of goddess in you on the subject. She’s got a talent for that, does our ’thena. Saves me a huge amount of trouble, knowing she’s already delivered the serious part of the lecture for me so I can go ahead and forgive you for being young and a fool. Always looking out for the old man. Aren’t you, dearie?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just swept me out into the hallway and from there to the street, spouting content-free enthusiasm of the “let me buy you a drink” variety the whole way. I found myself thinking of Realtors and used-car salesmen as we marched straight off to the nearest bar. A spontaneous party ensued, with satyrs and dryads appearing practically, or possibly literally, out of the woodwork. The place’s theme was sylvan woodland, and it was entirely possible that a couple of the trees holding up the roof were both alive and inhabited.
Things got blurry after that, though at some point Thalia and the other muses joined the festivities. When I got a moment to ask her about Melchior, she promised that he’d be along in a bit and went back to telling a shaggy-dog story involving actual shaggy dogs, including Cerberus, Ares’s “mutts of war,” Sirius, and a tail without a cat, which for reasons unclear was trying to find its lost smile.
Quite a bit later, I found myself sitting in a corner under a table. That’s when Melchior finally showed up and offered to take me home. By then I was ready to go. The only problem was where. We discussed it while we filled each other in on what had happened while we were separated—not much on his end, a chat with Thalia and a message from Cerberus saying that Nemesis had joined the party Styx-side a few minutes after we’d bugged out. None of that shed any light on our next step.
“Oh, the hell with it,” I finally said. “Let’s go back to Raven House. We probably shouldn’t stay, but at least it’ll let me grab a fresh outfit. Somehow, I don’t think stopping by Athena’s offices and asking for my old stuff back is a very healthy idea.”
“You think all this forgiveness Zeus is raining down upon you isn’t going to carry much weight with Athena?”
“Not an ounce. She’d already decided to kill me. If I stay out of sight and mind for a while, she may eventually decide to just fall back on that whole simple promise option, but I’d rather not put it to the test any earlier than I have to.”
“Sensible.” Melchior cocked his head to one side and frowned. “So was the way you dealt with the clops. Are you feeling feverish? Or”—he looked exaggeratedly worried— “have you been replaced with an alternate-reality Ravirn?”
“I didn’t fight with the rent-a-clops because I couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting Persephone. I didn’t do anything to piss off Athena because she’s the scariest creature I’ve ever met. I honestly couldn’t think of a single smart remark while we were talking. I was too busy sweating.”
“Wow,” said Melchior. “I think I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to meet her. I’ve seen you spit in the teeth of those who were about to kill you.”
“That’s very different, Mel. If I’d been sure she was going to kill me, I might have copped my usual attitude. If you’re definitely going to die, there’s no reason not to piss off the person who’s planning on killing you. If, on the other hand, the matter’s in doubt . . .”
“I don’t know, it sounds like you might be maturing somewhere down in there, but I won’t argue with you.”
“There’s a miracle,” I said.
“So, how do you want to do this? Somehow, just showing up on the grand balcony at Raven House doesn’t seem the brightest of moves.”
“You’ve got a point. Let’s see . . .”
“What do you think?” I asked Mel.
“Looks quiet enough to me.”
We were lying on a rock ledge a few hundred feet above Raven House after coming in via an induced faerie ring and a miles-long hike.
Raven House lay about halfway down the forested slope of the mountain arm that forms the eastern flank of Hanalei Bay, not far from where the Princeville Hotel sits in most of the mainline versions of reality. It’s a beautiful site, with great folds of deep velvety green foliage forming a basin around the heart-stopping blue-green of the half-moon bay. Contrasts are provided by the thin crescent of white sand that separates the two and by splotches of chalky red rock outcroppings or the silvery lines of waterfalls.
The house itself is almost invisible from most angles, its glass-and-marble walls mimicking the sparkle of the waterfalls among the trees. Even from above, the broad expanse of the green mission-tiled roof blends well with its surroundings, an effect aided by the natural mottling of the clay and the moss growing here and there in the channels. If my subconscious really had produced this place essentially from scratch, it had done a mighty fine job.
I climbed to my feet but stayed low so as not to silhouette myself. “Might as well get it over with.”
“I just wish we could see Haemun,” said Melchior as he joined me.
“That’d be nice,” I agreed, as we made our way down to the back of the house.
When we got there, we headed for the side with the master bedroom. Melchior shinnied up a palm tree to its mountain-facing balcony—less exposed than the sea side. I waited impatiently while he scouted around. Finally, he returned, sticking his head out between two of the rail’s posts.
“You’d better come up here and see this, Boss.”
“See what?” I asked.
“It’ll be easier to show you. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around at the moment, but we can’t know how long that’ll last, so I suggest you hurry.”
Then he ducked out of sight. The edge of the balcony was probably fifteen feet off the ground. I might have been able to jump and catch it, but it was simply easier to follow Mel’s example with the palm tree.
The first change was apparent the instant I reached the upper level. The bedroom was carpeted with a living mat of moss. Or rather, it had been. All of the moss was dead, the victim of some sort of rust virus that had turned it red-brown and crunchy. All the bedclothes and curtains had also changed. Instead of the black and green of my personal colors, I found a sea of smoky silver and rusty red.
“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” said Melchior, tugging at one corner of the obviously used sheets.
“Is the rest of the house like this?” I asked.
Melchior nodded. “Much of it.”
Combine that with the fact that Melchior hadn’t found anyone around, and I was really starting to worry about Haemun.
“Closet?” I slipped past him to check, since I was getting tired of the damn tunic and sandals. Same story. “Somebody’s been trying on my clothes. Creepy.”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “Do you suppose this comes from Nemesis or from Dairn?”
“Do you think there’s a difference at this point?” I asked as I fished out a fresh set of silvery leathers and a red T-shirt—we could always fix the color later.
It was something I’d begun to wonder myself, how much of Dairn was left beyond the body. I decided not to take the time necessary to change just then—we had no way of knowing when Nemesis would be back. Besides, if the clothes really were cut for Dairn, they’d swamp me until we had time to adjust them.
“It’s hard to say,” said Melchior. “Nemesis certainly still has Dairn’s memories of you.”
“And the hatred he-she-they directed at me felt very visceral and personal.”
“I wouldn’t go too far down that road,” said Melchior, “I mean, Nemesis is a soul of vengeance. From what Eris said, it sounds like she takes everything personally.
I slung the clothes over my shoulder and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” asked Melchior, trailing along behind me.
“I want to look around for Haemun.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“I notice you’re not arguing with me.” I started down the steps as quietly as possible.
“I’m worried about him, too. Hang on a second.”
Very quietly, Melchior whistled a short burst of binary. Then he reached into an invisible hole, his arm vanishing to the shoulder as he rummaged around. A moment later he pulled his arm back out and handed me the pistol he’d tucked away for me on the night of the party.
“Thanks, Mel.”
“You’re welcome. You might want this as well.” He reached in and came up with a silencer.
“Not a bad idea.” I screwed it into place.
“Well, I figured since we were sneaking and all. Of course, the boy-shepherd-meets-Mission: Impossible look is awfully silly.”
“You know, Mel, I’d never have figured that out without your help. Thank you.”
By then we’d reached the bottom of the stairs and the hall that ran from the enclosed porch behind the main balcony back to the kitchen and pantry. I headed toward the service area, as that was where Haemun’s rooms were and where he could usually be found. As I passed the laundry, I noticed a huge pile of black and green lying next to a couple of big dye vats. I was delighted to have the opportunity to exchange my gear for stuff I was more certain of liking and fitting into. I was much less delighted to find a large pile of Hawaiian shirts beside another vat deeper in.
“These are Haemun’s.” Melchior kicked at the pile.
“Let’s check his suite.”
It was on the end of the house opposite the master bedroom, and it had a ground-floor patio facing the Pacific. The last time I’d been there, the whole room had been done up in surfer drag. I called it that because I’d never been able to get Haemun to so much as try boogie-boarding, much less come out and ride the big waves on a real board. As far as I could tell, he just liked the look. Now, all of that was gone. The big waterbed with its longboard headboard had been replaced with a very Victorian canopy-type thing. The tiki art and Hawaiian motif rugs had likewise vanished, in favor of stark black-and-white prints of underfed nymphs in tight dresses and a white carpet. The closet, formerly full of Aloha shirts, now held polos.
I was poking around in there, when I heard a harsh metallic click from the door behind me—the slide of an automatic. I started to turn, keeping my body between my own pistol and the door.
“Drop it, or I’ll shoot,” said an almost familiar man’s voice when I’d barely gotten halfway around. “I’m quite serious. ”
I let the pistol fall to the floor and finished my turn. Standing in the doorway was Haemun. Like everything else, he’d changed. It was mostly carriage and expression. He looked tight and tense and blank, and he wore a black polo under a black sports coat. But that was all background to the gun, a Glock or some other midsize automatic. It was hard to tell when all I could see was the trigger guard and the gaping hole of the barrel pointed directly at my right eye.
CHAPTER TEN
“Very good,” said Haemun, after I let the pistol fall. I realized his voice had changed, too, developing an improbable British accent. “Step away from the closet and the gun now.”
I held out both hands in front of me. “Come on, Haemun. ”
“Don’t call me that,” he said. “My name is Nous, Rham Nous.”
“Rhamnous?” said Melchior, sounding incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”
The gun flicked to point at Melchior. “No, I’m not.”
“Why is that odd?” I asked.
“Rhamnous is where the sanctuary of Nemesis used to be, near Marathon,” said Melchior.
“Really?” I asked the satyr. “Are you named after the city? Or is it named after you?” Always a possibility when dealing with immortals and demi-immortals. “Or something else entirely?”
“I . . . I . . .” Rham Nous or Rhamnous, or however you wanted to say it, put his free hand to his forehead as though it pained him. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “You’re confusing me.”
“Asking you how you got your name is confusing?” I said. “That’s a little bit odd, don’t you think?”
“I . . . Shut up. Go sit on the bed and shut up. Take your damned pet with you.”
I scooped up Melchior and moved toward the bed. As I did so, Melchior pursed his lips, subtly asking if I wanted him to whistle up a spell. I very gently shook my head. Something deeply odd was going on here. I wanted to know more about it before I committed to anything drastic.
“So, how long have you worked for Nemesis?” I asked as I sat down with my back against the velvet-padded headboard.
There was a long silence, and the satyr rubbed his forehead again. I waited quietly.
“Why do you keep asking questions I can’t answer?”
“Just trying to make conversation,” I said. “It might be a while before Nemesis gets back, and it’ll help pass the time. Is there something else you’d rather talk about? You don’t seem to have a real good handle on your own personal hows and whys.”
“I do, too. I’m Nous, Rham Nous.”
“You did that bit already,” said Melchior. “What else have you got?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the satyr. “I’m just doing my, doing my, doing my. Job.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s talk about that. What is your job? Who do you work for? That kind of thing.”
“I . . . uh . . . I’m the spirit of . . .” He stopped and wiped his forearm across his face, lowering the gun in his other hand.
Melchior raised an eyebrow in question, and again I shook my head.
“What are you the spirit of?” I asked.
“Of . . . of . . . of this place!” he blurted, sounding momentarily triumphant, but his accent was slipping.
“And what is this place?” I asked.
“Nemesis Hou—” He shook his head. “House Nemes—”
“Raven House,” I said.
“Yes—no! I don’t . . .” He dropped the gun and put both hands to the sides of his head. “I feel really strange.”
“He sounds like Haemun, now,” said Melchior.
“That’s because he is Haemun,” I said.
“I am?” The satyr leaned back against the doorframe and slowly slid to the floor. “Are you quite sure about that?”
“I am,” I said.
“Then why was he pointing a gun at us?” asked Melchior.
“And why am I wearing this awful shirt?” asked Haemun, plucking at the polo. “And a jacket! How boring. How trendoid. How mundane. Of course, it’s sartorial splendor compared to the shepherd outfit you’re wearing.” Abruptly, he rolled over on his side and went to sleep.
“I don’t think I get it,” said Melchior.
“Blame my subconscious,” I said. “Back when we first came here, I wanted to find someplace safe, a refuge that would be secret and special. I asked the faerie ring to take us there instead of giving it a specific destination. We ended up here, and Haemun was waiting. Do you remember him telling us he was the spirit of this place and that if we had any problem with his appearance or the house’s, that we should take them up with my subconscious?”
“I do,” said Melchior.
“This whole place is supposed to reflect what I need, what the Raven needs, and that includes Haemun. He is as he is because that’s how I need him to be.”
“That doesn’t explain why he’s changed,” said Melchior. “Nemesis isn’t Raven, and this isn’t Nemesis House.”
“No, but Eris called her my Nemesis as though there were a personal component to the thing. What if a part of the nature of Nemesis is to reflect her target—through a mirror darkly if you will?”
“She becomes what she would destroy?” asked Melchior.
“Something like that. She takes something of them into herself at least. The modern sense of the word nemesis contains that aspect in the way it’s used. Maybe the usage comes from the nature of the goddess. If it does, if she does have something of me in her, then perhaps the house and Haemun can pick up on that twisted version of me and try to accommodate it.”
“That’s it exactly,” said Haemun from the floor. “At first I kept trying to escape. But after she’d been here for a while, I started changing to suit her needs. It was awful. She’s a twisted creature.”
“Then we’d better get you out of here before she comes back,” I said. “We’ll take you someplace safe so it doesn’t happen again.” I paused as a worry occurred to me. “That is, if you can leave this place. Can you?”
“I don’t know,” said Haemun, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Let me think about it for a moment.” He closed his eyes and seemed to be sinking deep into himself. After a while, he nodded and smiled. “Yes. Yes, I think I can, if you need me to.”
“Ah, isn’t that sweet,” said Melchior. “It’s love.”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” snapped Haemun. “It’s formatting. I’m the spirit of this place, and this place is his place.”
“Come on, Haemun.” I crossed to where he was sitting and bent to pull his arm over my shoulders, almost knocking off the replacement leathers I was carrying in the process. “Let’s get you out of here before Nemesis comes back.” When I stood back up, I found him surprisingly light.
“I can’t go anywhere looking like this.” Haemun tugged at his polo. “What if somebody sees me?”
“Mel, grab some of Haemun’s shirts and bring ’em along. Pick up my gun, too. We’re getting out of here ASAP. I’m starting to get that ruffled plumage feeling again.”
It intensified as we hurried through the hall toward the front balcony and the faerie ring there. We were crossing the big enclosed porch when a blue bubble popped into existence off to my right.
“Spinnerette?” I asked, picking up the pace.
“I don’t know,” replied Mel. “Last time I was able to sense the echo of the incoming transfer or whatever it was through the mweb. We’re not connected here, so it’s going to be something of a surprise package, though it does look like the same sort of transfer spell.”
Even as he finished speaking, the spider-centaur appeared behind him.
