The Late Great Wizard Page 16

  “Crooked though they might be.” Brian straightened his shoulders. “I remember an alliance or two as well as a betrayal and more.”

  “Oh, now your brain is wakin’ up,” Steptoe said dryly.

  “You should be pleased. If I were more awake, you’d probably be even less trusted. I tend to agree with my companion Mortimer, for he has been by my side through hard and lean times, and that I do remember.”

  “Something you cannot claim.” Mortimer looked down his nose at his target, difficult to do at his height, but he managed. “You cannot bandy loyalty about.”

  “Oh?” Steptoe raised an eyebrow at him, before adding smoothly, “I might have an idea where your wife is and who took her and why, but no one wants to ask me.”

  “Don’t you be dragging Goldie into this!”

  Brian glided swiftly in between them, and Morty shouted over his shoulder.

  I waited for the fuss to die down a bit before asking, “Do you really?”

  “I said I might. I’d ’ave to ask around about, ’ere and there, but it’s not beyond the realm of imagination. I could find out.”

  “That’s a favor I won’t be making a bargain with you for!”

  Steptoe shrugged at Mortimer. “Suit yourself. Not like he’s going to be any help for a while,” and nodded to Brian. “Not that I want to be dragged into this, but did you ever think she might have gone over, that she was never taken at all?”

  Morty exploded, and I don’t know how Brian held him back as the two of them scuffled but Brian did, or maybe the new crystal in the cane had an effect because it blazed white-hot when Brian threw his arms up to stop Morty in his tracks. Steptoe danced a quick two paces back.

  Whatever it was, it worked, a little, although Morty’s shoulders went tense and stayed that way. He made noises like an old train’s steam engine while his ears blazed red, and I made a note to myself to stay out of his way if he ever got this angry again.

  “Don’t. Ever. Mention. My. Wife. Again.”

  Steptoe put his hands up in the air. “I’m not givin’ away any secrets here, Master Broadstone. She comes from a tribe born on the dark side of the street, more oft than not, and ’er family, the sisters in particular, were none of them too ’appy when she took up with the likes of marrying you. That’s to her credit, of course, choosing to follow a lighter side, but who knows? She might have regretted that decision later, and now that I’ve said my piece on that, I’ll keep my tongue as you wish,” he ended up, even as Morty shrugged one last mighty time against whatever hold Brian had on him.

  “Now I sense that whatever ’elp I might have asked from any of you ’as up and gone. My fault, I know, but some words just need to be said.”

  “I’m still listening.” Three heads turned to look at me. “Well, I am. I don’t seem to have the same kind of baggage you guys have.” I shrugged. Just a missing, presumed-dead father with gambling problems, not magic and alliances gone awry. Not that it wasn’t fascinating trying to listen and try to read all that seemed to be going on between the lines, but if I had thought my reality was freaky, all I had to do was step into theirs. “I still don’t know what it was you wanted from the professor in the first place.”

  “The library,” said Steptoe. “I need a book from the professor’s precious library.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, so I wondered if there had been something more.

  “Which you got burned. The entire house went up in flames,” I reminded him.

  He shook his head. “Not that room. Warded, it was, and inspectors have it taped off, but it stands, a little bit worse for smoke and some water, but the library stands. I can’t get into it though, with the inspectors poking around and the professor not about to give permission.”

  “Does it stand? Really?” Brian’s voice broke. I remembered vaguely that Carter had told me that. Events had chased it from my thoughts.

  “It does, and all I’m askin’ is a bit of wisdom from one o’ the professor’s valuable books. Not the whole book, mind you. Just a look-see at its precious pages. Won’t touch the book, won’t keep it, just a read.”

  That almost sounded innocent unless I remembered that his cohorts were willing to beat the permission out of Brandard in the first place. Still, it seemed doable, depending on the book and if the professor, once restored, would allow it. I traded looks with Brian. He gave a diffident twitch of his head.

  “All right,” I told him. “I’ll do my best to get you an entrance into the library and a look at a specific book, if I get permission from the professor and authorities to do so.”

  “Best deal I’ve ’eard all day. Done.” And Steptoe put his hand out for a shake.

  We touched and I could feel a tingle across my palm, a little shocking and definitely surprising, and from the quick expression on Steptoe’s swarthy face, he had been caught unaware, too. We dropped hands quickly.

  “Now.” He fished out ten or so of those explosive pebbles and dropped them into my palm. “Just a tad more powerful than the last batch, seeing as you might need them.”

  “Th—”

  “Don’t ever,” Morty cut me off and stated, “thank one of us.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It leads to more complications.”

  “Ooohkay. That’s very kind of you,” I substituted.

  “Better.” Morty tugged his vest and shirt back into place, like a cat smoothing down his fur after a troubling patch, plaid coat wrinkling over massive shoulders, and motioned toward the street beyond. “We’d better head back.”

  “You’re all done here?”

  Brian hung back in doubt. “You think we’re not?”

  Steptoe drew his lips together and made a little face. “I grant that little bauble does light up the day, but . . .”

  “It’s not nearly all that’s needed.” Brian let out a sigh. “Keep a watch,” and before any of us could say, “Don’t do it!” he was back over the railing and up the steps to the block on top of it and this time, without a boost from Morty, he hitched himself up until he was nose to nose with the bronze crab again. Holding on by one elbow, he tossed the cane to me and then swept the crevice about the sculpture with his free hand. The only thing that came scuttling to life this time was an impressive orange and red autumn leaf, which had evidently been imprisoned between the stones since last fall. It had held onto its temporary glory, keeping its colors and suppleness despite the fact that its many peers had browned and gone to dust long ago. He let it drop and it wafted to the ground near my shoes, so I picked it up and pocketed it, Steptoe watching every movement. He smiled as I finished and began walking off to the street.

  He called to Brian, “Wot now, professor?”

  Brian jumped down and cast a look to the sky in thought. Then a slow smile came across his face. “I feel like a smoke.”

  “What?”

  He dipped his head to the rest of us. “Quite. A bit of fine tobacco while we’re in the city, and I know just the place, on Broadway, not far from Columbia. A little cigar boutique. It may have lost some of its cachet now that we can trade with Cuba again, but it should still be doing business.”

  “Smoking?”

  “Indeed.”

  It seemed to me like a little bit of power had gone to Brian’s head, but he had a point. While we were in the city, now would be the time to visit a tobacconist. We headed toward the edge of the park, the ribbon of the street coming into view when they hit us, out of the sky, like a tornado.

  Because I was in the front, I caught the brunt of the ambush, feeling a whoosh of foul-smelling air before a heavy object crashed into me, knocking me off my feet and into the brush, as a screeching tore the calm out of the afternoon and set my ears to bleeding. Senses reeling, it was the only thing I realized as I clapped my hands to my head and brought them away dribbling with blood.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

&n
bsp; THEY CAME SWOOPING in on big, angry gray wings that looked as though they rode on a storm, which caught us up and enveloped us. Strong winged women in full voice, their screeching battle cries clawing at my senses, as devastating as the clubs and blunt swords they swung, whirled about us. I rolled on the ground, recoiling out of their way, unable to even count how many of them came after us. A stench rolled in ahead of them, nasty and stinging to my nose, and my eyes ran with tears in response. Steptoe knelt beside me, shrugged off his dapper jacket and began to stretch it in his hands, pulling and expanding it, larger and larger, until at parachute size, he dropped it over both of us and we huddled under it. He gave me a wink as he tucked it into place. The sound dimmed, and that awful smell faded.

  He put a finger to his lips and I nodded. An invisibility cloak of sorts, but we’d break the illusion if we spoke and gave our position away. He handed me a clean handkerchief, and I wiped off the trickles of blood from my eardrums and sent a prayer for good hearing. I tucked the kerchief away in a free pocket just in case, not too eager to give Steptoe a sample of my blood or DNA. I looked through the thin weave of the fabric, a smoky yet nearly transparent window, and watched the battle overhead.

  The harpies circled about once, twice, searching, as Brian shouted words of power that sent a jolt of command through me, though they hurt the bird women far more. With high, eerie cries two dropped from the sky, bouncing to the ground, their wings disappearing, as they became nothing more than tall warriors with fierce scowls contorting their faces. Morty shoved them away from Brian as the cane swung in Brian’s hands, trailing sparks of silvery-white all about.

  The screeching and cackles grew louder. I got to my knees, ready to run if any of them blundered into us and we were found. One of the blunt swords slid across the ground as Morty pulled another woman out of the sky, and the weapon skidded until it stopped, protruding into our shelter. I reached out and quickly pulled it all the way in with us, and wrapped my hand about the handle, feeling a little better instantly. I was not a sword fighter but I knew what to do with a stick! I edged to the bottom of our cover, praying that Morty and Brian could handle it. The downed women flanked Brian and, as one, delivered leaping attacks, feet first, aimed at his head for the takedown.

  Morty batted one out of the air and Brian’s crystal flared wildly. The second leaper screamed out, twisting in midleap, falling prone to the ground and flailing in pain. I thought I saw a lick of white fire race along her body before she went still, burying her face in her arms with a sob.

  That left four still in the air, as two broke off, lunging downward at their sisters, grabbing them about their thickly padded shoulders and bearing them off, back into the swirl of storm clouds that hung about all of us. I crept about, hunched over, counting those four diving about us, and the two standing on their feet.

  Regardless of the cloud cover, the sounds of the battle could be heard. Someone had to be on their way, some civilian had to have called 911 after hearing the din of cries and battle yells, as Brian’s voice grew hoarse and the howling shriller. Strange things happening in the city might not be all that strange, but an attack would bring help. Surely.

  Knowing it hadn’t arrived yet, I began to straighten, my hand tightening, white-knuckled, about the crude sword. It hadn’t been made for slicing, but for bludgeoning. For bone-cracking hits. For head-numbing thumps. For ankle-snapping thwacks. I decided I was up for it and reached a hand to twitch aside our camouflaging cloak. Steptoe lashed out and caught me before I could. He shook his head violently.

  “Coward!” I spat lowly.

  He shook his head again.

  “Flash bangs.”

  “They’d laugh at you.” He lowered his whispery voice even more. “They’ll take this too, ducks, if we reveal it.” And he held tightly to my arm as if our lives depended on it. He pointed outward with his other hand.

  I turned on one foot to see the four winged women circling in close about Brian, he standing with his arms akimbo, moving with them, alert but surrounded. The trail of snowflake-like sparks looked to be sputtering out, although the gazing crystal stayed alight. He wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer, and the attackers, as if sensing his weakening, swung lower and closer. What was Morty waiting for?

  This, it seemed. With the back of his hand, he lashed about, and caught Brian on the side of the head. Brian grunted in pain and I tried to bolt out of our hiding spot but Steptoe still had his hand firmly holding me back. Brian dropped and one of the harpies dove down to seize his cane. She pulled and tugged and let out a scream worthy of a banshee but he held tight. A second harpy darted at him to pick him up by the ankles and the two played tightrope with him in midair. I twisted away from Steptoe and burst out of our cover, swinging my stick as Morty just stood and watched.

  They flew out of my reach, now cackling with amusement and victory, the other two bird sisters getting a firmer hold on Brian. They carried him off as I flung their sword at them. Like a spear, it arrowed right at the last one only to thunk ineffectively off her leather corset, and they vanished into the storm.

  I flung myself at Morty, fists knotted and landing but I might as well have been pelting a brick wall. “What did you do? What?”

  He held me aside, his brow knotted tightly, his attention searching the skies as they cleared and went silent. “It seemed best to give them what they wanted, for now.”

  Steptoe emerged from hiding, his hands winding and winding the parachute-like blanket about, squeezing it down into the semblance of the old, dapper suit coat again. He tilted his head at Morty.

  “Waiting, are you? Why? You made a deal but they’re not meeting their part of the bargain, are they?”

  I looked to Steptoe. “What kind of deal?”

  Steptoe beckoned. “He’s expectin’ his wife back.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Don’t ’ave to. You’ve betrayed us all. Given up the wizard and you’ve nothing. And you were telling th’ miss here to be careful about the assurances she made! What about you? What ’ave you got now? Nothin’, that’s what.”

  Morty slashed his hand through the air and came about at Steptoe with a growl. Instead of mowing us over, he plowed to a halt, lifted his chin and let out a shout, in a voice that sounded of the earth itself, an avalanche of heavy boulders and stones grinding into each other as they slid into nothingness and the last notes disappeared into silence. Big, heavy tears ran down his cheeks. He put his hands to his face as he went down on his knees.

  “She’s not coming.”

  “Don’t look like it, guv.”

  “I’ve done it, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve betrayed all of us,” Steptoe said flatly. He shrugged into his suit coat and fidgeted until it fit him perfectly once more.

  “What do we do now? We have to get him back.”

  Morty stayed silent. Sort of. I think I could detect a slight moan of grief.

  “Might be time to get that smoke, after all.”

  I managed to close my mouth enough so I could ask, “Why?”

  “Because it’s likely that’s where the biddies took him. So it seems. Since the professor seemed right intent on going there, and if they’re lookin’ for the same sort o’ stuff we are.”

  “Are we taking him?”

  The two of us considered Morty.

  “Can’t very well just leave ’im here, can we? He knows too much.” Steptoe reached down to ratchet Morty up onto his feet.

  “Oh.” That did make sense, as I stepped onto the curb and looked for Sam and his shuttle.

  And that’s how the police found us on the edge of Central Park.

  * * *

  • • •

  New York’s finest seemed an efficient lot. I mostly kept my mouth shut because there wasn’t anything I could say that 1) they would believe or 2) would get me out of trouble in any way. I was rather
hoping, as the squad cars pulled up and the uniforms began to mill around, that it might be possible to get lost in the shuffle. They were asking questions and containing the scene, as police in uniforms do no matter where you are. Despite our troubles in Richmond, I kept a healthy respect for the police because that seemed the wisest course of action. We’d never been arrested, Mom and I, although we’d been in the station a few times to give statements, and then follow-up statements to our statements. That brought me back to what Carter had let drop at the train station, which kept me in frowning silence and busy, busy thoughts.

  Then the fourth car rolled up, the doors opened, and out stepped our tall Virginia policeman as if summoned.

  Luckily, he looked as surprised as I felt.

  He wasn’t alone, of course. He did do a double take and seemed to count noses. He said something to the head guy who climbed out of the front seat, and then pointed himself in my direction.

  The uniformed cop stepped aside as we both said, nearly in unison, “What are you doing here?”

  “I,” I told Carter, “am evidently getting into trouble. You?”

  “I’m up here starting two weeks of training ride-alongs, a liaison thing. That’s why I came through DC yesterday. And what kind of trouble?”

  I didn’t intend on incriminating myself. I looked about. “Maybe disturbing the peace? Not quite sure.”

  The cop said helpfully, “We had calls about women screaming and some sort of fight. No witnesses to the actual scuffle, but a lot of people heard the noise.”

  Carter looked me over, from toe to the top of my head. “You don’t look any the worse for wear. Were you the one screaming?”

  “No, sir. There were some ladies on the footpath back there,” I jerked a thumb behind us, “had some words with each other about boyfriends and the like. You know the kind of catfight that can be. We booked soon as we heard them.”

  “Mmmm.” He scanned my face closely again before looking to the other two. “Where’s the other one?”

  “Brian? We, ah, left him at a Starbucks. He didn’t seem interested in Central Park. Now we just have to remember which one. Place is full of them.”