milessaratish. Into medaron co versakhan. '
Hart replied to the formal dismissal with the ritual recasting of Lady Deigh's commands. 'I leave my existence behind, Lady. At your word, I am the death of your enemies.'
The sky was beginning to grey with the coming of dawn. As it grew, the light let them make out the sentry. Their patience had paid off; he was drowsing.
So far their departure from the mansion had gone unnoticed. The last barrier, the gate, lay before them. Once through, they would be out of Glover's hands. They knew from Dodger's tap of a NavSat that Glover's estate lay in the southwest of England. There was a town only a few miles away. From there, transportation to the Bristol metroplex would be a simple matter.
Sam drew his Narcoject Lethe.
The guard jerked at the impact of the dart and slid to the ground in a subdued clatter. While Sam injected an antidote, Dodger tapped into the gate control system. Three minutes later they were on the road to Taunton, the gate closed and locked behind them. In a few more minutes, the sentry would awaken, propped against the guard house. With little evidence to the contrary, he should think that he had dozed off naturally. If their luck held, it might be an hour or two until their absence was noticed.
The Black Down Hills were strange territory, but for those first minutes of freedom, Sam felt more at home than he had on Glover's estate. The growing dawn dampened his spirits as it unveiled a desolate landscape. Like much of England, the hills had been ravaged; first by overpopulation and industrialization, then by the ecological terrorism to which the country had been subjected in the early part of the century. It was a scarred and battered land, tortured further by the natural and man-made disasters that had plagued it in the last few years. The awfulness began to weigh him down.
Dodger trudged at his side. He and the elf had talked little beyond the necessary planning for their escape. Dodger's contributions had been terse, completely lacking in his usual banter and archaic style. Sam hadn't minded; he wasn't sure that he wanted to talk to Dodger just yet. The druids' talk last night had raised uncomfortable questions.
They reached the outskirts of Taunton without observing any signs of pursuit. The relief must have heartened Dodger; the elf tried a conversational gambit. Perhaps he was motivated by the need to discuss some matters before they were surrounded by curious ears.
'Sir Twist, don't you find it intriguing that so august a personage as Sir Winston Neville would be involved in these druidical shenanigans?''
'No,' Sam replied brusquely. Druids weren't the only ones who were pulling shenanigans.
'What about this 'uncrowned sovereign' business?
Does not that compel your curiosity, Sir Twist?'
'No.'
'Sir Twist, the paucity of your response suggests that you harbor some unspoken concern. Is this so?'
Of course it was so. Dodger's nagging at the druids' plans only gave credence to Sam's suspicions. They were not safe yet and they were beginning to encounter people, so all he said was, 'Yes.'
The elf lapsed into silence again.
Taunton's grimy buildings soon surrounded them.
The town offered them a chance to get some supplies. Beyond the obvious necessities of food, water, and ammunition, they had need of protective gear; there was a stage four smog alert in Bristol and a sane person wouldn't be outside a breath mask. If they wanted to reach their destination quickly, they also needed a means of transportation.
Finding connections wasn't easy, and Sam didn't make it easier. He stubbornly remained silent, forcing Dodger to do all their talking. Watching the elf struggle to conduct his dealings with the locals, Sam felt a perverse satisfaction when he saw the sidelong glances that the passing Brits gave Dodger. Though most concealed their feelings behind a veneer of politeness whenever addressed directly, Sam was sure that the locals didn't like elves much.
They got what they needed, but the locals drove harder bargains than seemed reasonable, even allowing for the fact that they were dealing with strangers. Dodger was forced to pay a premium price for the beat-up old bike, which was the only vehicle anyone would part with. The decrepit thing was alcohol – powered, and its hard rubber tires were gouged and greying. They'd be lucky if it didn't disintegrate at the first bump, but they didn't have time to wait for a better deal.
Though pursuit remained unseen, they had no assurance that the druids were not busy trying to track them down. Dodger and Sam would be safer in a metroplex where outsiders were more common and they could lose themselves among the masses. The sooner they hit the plex, the safer they'd be. The ride to Bristol was every bit as bone-shattering
I as the bike's condition promised. Unlike Seattle, Bristol didn't have a wall; it wasn't an enclave of alien territory in the midst of a green and fertile land. The drab grey and brown countryside gradually seemed to
Iblue into drab grey and brown cottages that merged almost imperceptibly into drab grey and brown multistory buildings. They passed the boundaries of the sprawl without noticing.
Dodger abandoned the decrepit bike as soon as he spotted a rail station, announcing that they would be able to use the public transportation from there. Bristol, though a separate entity, had good transport links with the great English Sprawl that slashed across the island from Brighton to Liverpool. The elf seemed to assume that the bigger metroplex was their destination, and made vague references to connections he had there.
Now that they were in an urban environment,
Dodger appeared to be in less of a hurry. He dragged
Sam through a series of seedy pubs and squalid shops. Several rounds of haggling later, the elf was in possession of the access code to an over-priced, underheated flat on the twentieth story of a pillar high-rise. The building was supposed to have been part of the support system for an enclosing dome, fashioned after the one over the London district of the English Sprawl. Bristol's dome, like those of every other sprawl district except downtown London, had never been completed. Fragments of the biofibre mesh that had stretched between the pillar high-rises still clung to one edge of the building. The splotchy fabric fluttered in the clammy breeze from the Bristol Channel. Sam wondered how much the ambiance contributed to the price. The apathetic owner did not bother to accompany his new tenants to their flat. While Dodger prowled around, Sam stared through the filthy transparex. Across the channel, Sam could see the smog bank that hid the Cardiff' plex. Beneath him, grey Bristol bustled about its business; but the smog covered any sign of the activity and hid the tawdry Christmas decorations and neon and trideo exhortations for gift-giving that had festooned the streets. It could be any day, any sprawl. He and Dodger were safely ensconced for the moment, anonymous among the masses of humanity. Time for a confrontation.
Without turning from the window, Sam said, 'You knew that Janice was never on their list, didn't you?'
The sudden cessation of sound behind him told him he had achieved the effect he wanted. He turned to find Dodger staring at him. The elf's expression was uncertain.
'Sir Twi… Sam, I will not lie to you. I knew, but…'
'You already have lied to me,' Sam said bitterly.
'I never said that the name on the list belonged to your sister. I merely suggested that…'
'You meant for me to believe it. You deliberately deceived me. Go ahead. I want to hear you deny it.'
Dodger swallowed, then spent a moment considering what to say. 'I cannot deny that I deceived you.'
'Why not? What's another lie? You're very good at words; surely you can find some. Don't you want me to trust you anymore? Or doesn't it matter anymore?' Sam asked. 'Why not lie again? Tell me that you were deceived, too. Tell me that somebody forced you to fake the list. I'll believe it. I'm just a stupid norm, ripe for a few elven tricks.'
'Sam, I…' Dodger ran a hand through his shock of hair. 'What does it matter? Whatever I say, you won't believe me. How you got involved isn't really important. You're involved now, and you have to believe what is happening.'
'Do I?'
'Yes, you do. These druids are serious trouble. They've got to be dealt with. You may not want to believe me about the importance of what is going down, but the facts should convince you.' Dodger tapped his cyberdeck.
