“Do you know where the Thames is?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I know—”
“Rhetorical,” I said, cutting him off. “Of course I know where Flushing Meadows is. I was born and raised in this city.”
Monty reached over and pressed his hand on the decorative mound above the dash. A medium-sized screen, about eight inches wide, rose into view several seconds later.
“What the…? How long has that been there?”
“Since we received the new vehicle. Didn’t you read the manual?”
“There’s a manual?”
“Of course there’s a manual,” Monty said, as he pressed buttons on the touch screen, bringing up different displays until he located what he was looking for: the GPS system.
“We have GPS, really?” I asked, surprised. “Does it only work for this plane, or is it interplanar?”
“Interplanar?” Monty asked. “Have you been imbibing too much of your flask? No GPS could be functionally interplanar. This works for this plane only.”
“That’s pretty amazing.”
“Is this your first experience with GPS?” Monty asked, as he kept manipulating the display. “It’s actually old technology. Even I know about it.”
“That humor of yours is practically Saharan,” I said. “Of course I’ve heard of GPS. I just didn’t expect this much tech in the Dark Goat.”
“Every SuNaTran vehicle is equipped this way. How do you think Cecil locates this vehicle to bring it to us? Divination?”
“I thought it was some kind of runic tracking beacon, or something like that.”
“I’m sure he could devise something like that, but Cecil is not a mage. Besides, why use runes when he has technology?”
Monty pressed a few more buttons, zooming out and then back in until he located Flushing Meadows. A few more presses and he had managed to input a route to the park from our location using the navigation system.
“You know, you’re pretty tech savvy for a mage senior citizen.”
“It’s a common misconception that science is the antithesis of magic. Those who would balk at my use of runes and manipulation of energy have no issue channeling electricity through metal and plastic boxes, which they then use to communicate across the planet.”
“Well…when you put it that way, it sounds—”
“It sounds like magic,” Monty said, still looking at the display. “According to the GPS we need to cross the Ed Koch Bridge.”
“No, wrong.”
“It says so right here.” Monty pointed at the map. “This is the Ed—”
“No one calls it the Ed Koch anything. That is the 59th Street Bridge, or in a pinch, the Queensboro Bridge—never the Ed Koch, ever. The same way the Triboro will forever be the Triboro Bridge and not the RFK anything.”
“I had no idea this was such a sensitive subject,” Monty said. “I stand corrected. For having such thick skins, New Yorkers can be quite sensitive.”
“We’re territorial that way,” I said. “It would be like me calling the Tower Bridge the London Bridge, which would be—”
“Incorrect,” Monty said with an edge to his voice. “It is not and has never been called the London Bridge.”
“Good thing you aren’t sensitive about the subject,” I said with a small smile. “What is the name of the river it crosses, again? The Windy Twisty River?”
“You know full well it’s the Thames.”
“Right,” I said. “Now you know why it’s called the 59th Street Bridge.”
“You’ve made your point.”
I nodded, satisfied that I had won the minor skirmish in upholding the naming of my city’s landmarks.
“What else does that display show?”
“I’d suggest you read the manual first,” Monty said, still arranging some of the settings. “I thought you never used it because you were a purist and refused to accept this much technology in your vintage vehicle.”
“You mean the same vintage vehicle covered in death runes that make it an indestructible mobile menace? That vintage vehicle?” I asked. “The one we added suicide doors to so we could accommodate a certain sprawlificent hellhound?”
“Well, there is that,” Monty admitted. “The manual is quite informative. When you have time, I recommend perusing it.”
“Did you study it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I’m good,” I said. “At least one of us has the information.”
“I don’t even know why I try sometimes.”
“Wait, do we have machine guns, oil slicks or nitrous oxide?”
“You are confusing this vehicle with a particular fictional Aston Martin driven by a British spy,” Monty said. “There are no armaments on this vehicle that I know of. One could argue this vehicle is a weapon unto itself.”
“Good point. The runes of death are enough to creep anyone out. That, plus being indestructible, is plenty.”
“More than enough, I would say.”
“I think I’m going to have to read the manual,” I said, swerving around traffic heading to the bridge. “Maybe there’s an eject button?”
“It’s a solid roof,” Monty said, glancing upward. “An eject button would lead to a broken neck.”
“I’ll double check for one when I read the manual,” I said. “Can you go into more detail about this Auer person?”
“She is an archivist of sorts,” Monty said as we sped uptown. “Her site is similar to Professor Ziller’s library, except, unlike Ziller, she exists in a fixed point of time and space. The knowledge contained within her archive spans most of human history.”
“So, she’s the ultimate encyclopedia?”
“No, she possesses more information than any encyclopedia can ever hope to contain,” Monty said. “Her ability as an Auer allows her to assimilate and compile the sum total of human knowledge.”
“Is she even human? Wouldn’t that much information destroy anyone’s mind?”
“She is decidedly not human, she’s an Auer. They are specifically trained to manage the amount of information they encounter.”
“They? There’s more than one?”
“Archives? Yes,” Monty said. “Auers are rare. I only know of this one.”
“What makes her different from Ziller’s living library?”
“Professor Ziller and his library have a very specific focus—all things magical,” Monty replied. “If we need an obscure rune or a special cast, then Ziller is perfect. If we need information on how to find dragons in this city, we need to speak to the Auer.”
“Are we putting her in danger?”
