Trapped

Her voice faded away. After a moment, Myoko sighed. 'I made Sebastian promise to keep his powers a secret; but when kids fall in love, they hate hiding anything. If Sebastian confessed the truth to Rosalind, she might have reported it to her mother… and we all know what kind of woman Elizabeth Tzekich is.'

Pelinor scowled in outrage. 'You mean Rosalind betrayed him?'

Myoko shrugged. 'I don't think she wrote her mom and said, 'I've met a guy you should enslave.' But she might have written, 'I've met a guy I love very much, and I know you'll let us get married because he's got these powers that are really special.' '

'But if that's so,' Impervia said, 'wouldn't the mother just tell the girl, 'You have my blessing, bring the boy for a visit?' Perhaps when Sebastian arrived at the Tzekich home, the mother would throw him in chains and tell Rosalind the wedding was off; but until then, there'd be no need to use force.'

'Besides,' put in the Caryatid, 'the Ring of Knives might kidnap Sebastian, but they wouldn't murder Rosalind at the same time. A mother would never kill her own daughter.'

'I've heard that mothers kill their own children more often than they kill anyone else,' Myoko said. 'But maybe it's not Mother Tzekich at all. Maybe there's a spy in the Ring of Knives who learned Rosalind's secret. Maybe the spy told a rival criminal family, so the rivals killed Rosalind and kidnapped Sebastian.'

'Or maybe,' Impervia replied, 'no one at all has been kidnapped and you're talking pure fantasy.'

'Everyone calm down,' Chancellor Opal said, holding up her hands to prevent further argument. 'Let's gather more facts before we get lost in what-ifs. Myoko, Phil… search Sebastian's room.'

'What are we looking for?' Myoko asked.

'Anything unusual. You two know the boy better than the rest of us.'

Myoko turned to meet my eyes. I nodded. She'd been Sebastian's psionics mentor; I'd been his don. Between the two of us, we might notice if anything was amiss in the boy's room.

'We'll go,' Myoko said.

Opal nodded, then shifted toward the Caryatid. 'I'd like you to try a Seeking spell on Sebastian's note. See where the boy is.'

'If he's a strong psychic,' the Caryatid said, 'I won't pick anything up. The more psionic power, the more resistant a person is to Seekings.'

Opal gave a ladylike shrug. 'Do what you can. As for the rest of you, start searching the neighborhood. Possible places Sebastian and Rosalind might meet. As Impervia says, the simplest scenario is that the boy is out in the dark somewhere, waiting for Rosalind to show up.'

The others murmured agreement. Annah, still sitting beside me, glanced quickly my way. An egotistic voice in my head whispered she was sad I'd be going with Myoko instead of staying with her; a more sensible voice told me to stop being a self-centered jackass. Before my two mental voices could start arguing, Opal stood briskly and gestured toward the door. 'Go. Be useful. Find something.' She paused. 'And nobody wander off alone. In case there are shapeshifters in the bushes.'

6: BLADES AND SADDLES

Myoko and I headed for Sebastian's room. We walked in silence the whole way… and I could feel rage building up in her, a seething fury utterly unlike the cheerful drinking buddy I knew. I couldn't remember ever seeing her the least bit angry — not in the middle of bar brawls, not when complaining about the most idiotic of students. The worst I'd witnessed was when she'd walked past the mirror in our faculty lounge and noticed a gray hair on her head; as she yanked the offending strand, she'd embarked on a curse-laden diatribe bewailing the cruelty of a universe that made gray stand out so glaringly amidst 'youthful black tresses.' Only the initial burst of annoyance had been genuine: the ensuing tirade was comic relief, purely for the benefit for those of us watching.

That was the Myoko I knew. Funny. Fun. Playing off the disparity between her outward appearance (dainty, demure) and her joyfully wicked mind. She was one of those rare women who could truly be 'one of the boys' — joking more crudely, swearing more colorfully, belching more forcefully, and always with exquisite timing. Best of all, she never went too far: everyone has seen women act more loutish than men, but only gentle-ladies with a feel for the game can make one laugh rather than wince. Myoko had made me laugh a lot; I'd felt comfortable with her from the first day we met.

But not now. Not with her walking tensely beside me, arms crossed tight against her chest, her mouth a severe line. As if the two of us had just had a fight.

Maybe in her mind we had: the ongoing fight between psychics and everyone else. It wasn't something she ever discussed in public; but now that the subject had been broached, Myoko didn't suppress her long-simmering resentment. Though she'd told us how low-powered she was compared to 'real' psychics, she must have lived her life in constant fear someone would decide she was worth enslaving.

Her fear was well-based. Naive old Pelinor might have been surprised about psychics being treated as cattle; but that just proved he wasn't really a high-born knight. Those of us who'd truly been born under a famous coat of arms knew what powerful families did behind closed doors.

We Dhubhais had always equipped our houses with 'resident psychics.' They were treated with respect, fed well, dressed well, and provided with suitably eye- pleasing companions — but they were never allowed off the grounds, and one could often catch them staring into the distance, their expressions carefully blank. Other rich families in Sheba mocked us for our softhearted ways. Those neighbors ruled their 'chattels' with an iron hand.

Was that what was waiting for Sebastian?

Myoko clearly thought so: that's why she'd concealed the truth about the boy, even from those of us who thought we were her friends. She'd wanted Sebastian safe; and what place was safer than Feliss Academy? No one expected a gifted psychic at a school like ours. If you truly wanted to conceal a person's talent — if you wanted to pretend your powers weren't worthy of attention — the academy was an excellent cover.

Which brought up the question of Myoko herself.

I'd always assumed she was like the rest of us — competent enough to teach students the basics, but an utter mediocrity compared to real professionals. Even a small chore like levitating Impervia seemed to require Myoko's full concentration, not to mention a plenitude of preliminary brow-furrowing. However: after tonight's squabble at The Pot of Gold, Myoko had chatted casually while holding Impervia aloft… and for a brief moment, it appeared as if Myoko wasn't exerting herself at all.

Could she be stronger than she pretended? Could she too be using the academy as camouflage?

Things to think about as we walked unspeaking through the halls.

I was carrying an oil lamp, borrowed from Chancellor Opal. When we got to Sebastian's door, I handed the light to Myoko while I got out my pass key. This broke some wordless barrier between us, because Myoko shuddered and said, 'There's something in the air tonight, Phil. Something big.'

'Is that a psychic premonition?'

She shook her head. 'I don't do premonitions. Just TK. Sebastian, on the other hand…'

'He did premonitions?'

'He did everything,' she said. 'TK. Telepathy. Remote perception with all five senses. I've never seen anyone like him.' She paused. 'My teachers at psionics school would say it was impossible.'

I gave a weak chuckle. 'Imagine that! Teachers being wrong about something.'

'Granted. But it's the nature of psionics that…' She broke off. 'Phil, you've studied science. Do you know how psionics work?'

'I've heard many theories… but they're all hot air and hand-waving. The only thing scientists agree on is that psychic powers come from outside intervention. Alien high-tech. And sorcery's the same. Someone a lot more advanced than Homo sapiens decided to get cute.'

Myoko didn't look at me; she let herself lean back against the wall beside Sebastian's door. 'You think the League of Peoples did something? To Earth? To humanity?'

'It's the only sensible conclusion. Maybe they thought it would be a good joke to make human myths come true. Or maybe they thought they were doing us a favor — fulfilling our oldest fantasies. Maybe they had some secret agenda we'll never figure out… but it's no coincidence everything changed at the exact moment they showed up.'

Myoko didn't answer; she'd turned her gaze toward the oil lamp, watching the flame's soft glow. Finally, without looking at me, she said, 'You know something, Phil? You're right.'

I waited for her to go on. She didn't. Finally I asked, 'What do you mean?'

'I mean… psychics know. The teachers who taught me — they know exactly what happened.' She turned her eyes toward me. 'It's a deep dark secret, but…' She shrugged. 'Do you want to hear?'

Her voice was nearly inaudible. I said, 'Do you want to tell me? If it's a deep dark secret?'

'Sure. Why not.'

She was right about there being something in the air. A night for revelations. I fell silent as she began to talk.

'Do you know what nanites are, Phil? Nanotech? Microscopic machines the size of bacteria… or even smaller, viruses, single molecules. You've heard of such things?'

I nodded. OldTech fantasies had predicted nano would solve all the world's problems… provided the stuff didn't destroy the planet first. But before nanotech had progressed beyond a few rudimentary prototypes, OldTech civilization disintegrated to the point where we couldn't even make steam engines, let alone microscopic robots.

'This may surprise you,' said Myoko, 'but thirty percent of all microbes on Earth today — things that look like bacteria and viruses — are actually nanites in disguise.'

'What?' My voice was suddenly shrill: loud enough to wake half the boys on my floor. I lowered it immediately. 'What are you talking about?

'Outside intervention, just like you said. Someone covered our planet with nano: land, sea, and air. The nanites are designed to replace natural microorganisms, then work together to make sorcery and psionics possible.'

A door opened behind me. The future Duke Simon Westmarch peered out to see who'd been shouting. He wore his stethoscope around his neck, like a medallion dangling over his pajamas. 'Go back to bed,' I told him. 'Everything's under control.'