Dragon's Teeth Read online

  There appeared to be no spirit for Sarah, which was just as well. Madame Varonsky was ready to pull out the next of her tricks, for the floating objects settled to the table again.

  “My spirit-guide was known in life as the great Paganini, the master violinist,” Madame Varonsky announced. “As music is the food of the soul, he will employ the same sweet music he made in life to bridge the gap between our world and the next. Listen, and he will play this instrument before us!”

  Fiddle music appeared to come from the instrument on the table, although the bow did not actually move across the strings. Katherine gasped.

  “Release the child’s hand a moment and touch the violin, dear Katherine,” the medium said, in a kind, but distant voice. Katherine evidently let go of Sarah’s hand, since she still had hold of Nan’s, and the shadow of her fingers rested for a moment on the neck of the fiddle.

  “The strings!” she cried. “Helen, the strings are vibrating as they are played!”

  If this was supposed to be some great, long-dead music master, Nan didn’t think much of his ability. If she wasn’t mistaken, the tune he was playing was the child’s chant of “London Bridge Is Falling Down,” but played very, very slowly, turning it into a solemn dirge.

  “Touch the strings, Helen!” Katherine urged. “See for yourself!”

  Nan felt Mem’sab lean forward, and another hand-shadow fell over the strings. “They are vibrating . . . .” she said, her voice suddenly uncertain.

  The music ground to a halt before she took her hand away—and until this moment, Gray had been as silent as a stuffed bird on a lady’s hat. Now she did something.

  She began to sing. It was a very clever imitation of a fiddle, playing a jig-tune that a street-musician often played at the gate of the school, for the pennies the pupils would throw to him.

  She quit almost immediately, but not before Mem’sab took her hand away from the strings, and Nan sensed that somehow Gray had given her the clue she needed to solve that particular trick.

  But the medium must have thought that her special spirit was responsible for that scrap of jig-tune, for she didn’t say or do anything.

  Nan sensed that all of this was building to the main turn, and so it was.

  Remembering belatedly that she should be keeping an eye on that suspicious square above. She glanced up just in time to see it disappear. As the medium began to moan and sigh, calling on Paganini, Nan kept her eye on the ceiling. Sure enough, the dim line of light appeared again, forming a grayish square. Then the lines of the square thickened, and Nan guessed that a square platform was being lowered from above.

  Pungent incense smoke thickened about them, filling Nan’s nose and stinging her eyes so that they watered, and she smothered a sneeze. It was hard to breathe, and there was something strangely, disquietingly familiar about the scent.

  The medium’s words, spoken in a harsh, accented voice, cut through the smoke. “I, the great Paganini, am here among you!”

  Once again, Katherine gasped.

  “Harken and be still! Lo, the spirits gather!”

  Nan’s eyes burned, and for a moment, she felt very dizzy; she thought that the soft glow in front of her was due to nothing more than eyestrain, but the glow strengthened, and she blinked in shock as two vague shapes took form amid the writhing smoke.

  For a new brazier, belching forth such thick smoke that the coals were invisible, had “appeared” in the center of the table, just behind the candlestick. It was above this brazier that the glowing shapes hovered, and slowly took on an identifiable form. Nan felt dizzier, sick; the room seemed to turn slowly around her.

  The faces of a young woman and a little boy looked vaguely out over Nan’s head from the cloud of smoke. Katherine began to weep—presumably she thought she recognized the child as her own. But the fact that the young woman looked nothing like Nan’s mother (and in fact, looked quite a bit like the sketch in an advertisement for Bovril in the Times) woke Nan out of her mental haze.

  And so did Gray.

  She heard the flapping of wings as Gray plummeted to the floor. She sneezed urgently, and shouted aloud, “Bad air! Bad air!”

  And that was the moment when she knew what it was that was so familiar in the incense smoke, and why she felt as tipsy as a sailor on shore leave.

  “Hashish!” she choked, trying to shout, and not managing very well. She knew this scent; on the rare occasions when her mother could afford it—and before she’d turned to opium—she’d smoked it in preference to drinking. Nan could only think of one thing; that she must get fresh air in here before they all passed out!

  She shoved her chair back and staggered up and out of it; it fell behind her with a clatter that seemed muffled in the smoke. She groped for the brazier as the two faces continued to stare, unmoved and unmoving, from the thick billows. Her hands felt like a pair of lead-filled mittens; she had to fight to stay upright as she swayed like a drunk. She didn’t find it, but her hands closed on the cool, smooth surface of the crystal ball.

  That was good enough; before the medium could stop her, she heaved up the heavy ball with a grunt of effort, and staggered to the window. She half-spun and flung the ball at the draperies hiding the unseen window; it hit the drapes and carried them into the glass, crashing through it, taking the drapery with it.

  A gush of cold air, as fresh as air in London ever got, streamed in through the broken panes, as bedlam erupted in the room behind Nan.

  She dropped to the floor, ignoring everything around her for the moment, as she breathed in the air tainted only with smog, waiting for her head to clear. Gray ran to her and huddled with her rather than joining her beloved mistress in the poisonous smoke.

  Katherine shrieked in hysteria, there was a man as well as the medium shouting, and Mem’sab cursed all of them in some strange language. Gray gave a terrible shriek and half-ran, half-flew away. Nan fought her dizziness and disorientation; looked up to see that Mem’sab was struggling in the grip of a stringy fellow she didn’t recognize. Katherine had been backed up into one corner by the medium, and Sarah and Gray were pummeling the medium with small fists and wings. Mem’sab kicked at her captor’s shins and stamped on his feet with great effect, as his grunts of pain demonstrated.

  Nan struggled to her feet, guessing that she must have been the one worst affected by the hashish fumes. She wanted to run to Mem’sab’s rescue, but she couldn’t get her legs to work. In a moment the sour-faced woman would surely break into the room, turning the balance in favor of the enemy—

  The door did crash open behind her just as she thought that, and she tried to turn to face the new foe—

  But it was not the foe.

  Sahib charged through the broken door, pushing past Nan to belabor the man holding Mem’sab with his cane; within three blows the man was on the floor, moaning. Before Nan fell, Karamjit caught her and steadied her. More men flooded into the room, and Nan let Karamjit steer her out of the way, concentrating on those steadying breaths of air. She thought perhaps that she passed out of consciousness for a while, for when she next noticed anything, she was sitting bent over in a chair, with Karamjit hovering over her, frowning. At some point the brazier had been extinguished, and a policeman was collecting the ashes and the remains of the drug-laced incense.

  Finally her head cleared; by then, the struggle was over. The medium and her fellow tricksters were in the custody of the police, who had come with Sahib when Nan threw the crystal ball through the window. Sahib was talking to a policeman with a sergeant’s badge, and Nan guessed that he was explaining what Mem’sab and Katherine were doing here. Katherine wept in a corner, comforted by Mem’sab. The police had brought lamps into the seance-room from the sitting room, showing all too clearly how the medium had achieved her work; a hatch in the ceiling to the room above, through which things could be lowered; a magic lantern behind the drapes, which had cast its image of a woman and boy onto the thick brazier smoke. That, and the disorienting effect of the hash
ish had made it easy to trick the clients.

  Finally the bobbies took their captives away, and Katherine stopped crying. Nan and Sarah sat on the chairs Karamjit had set up, watching the adults, Gray on her usual perch on Sarah’s shoulder. A cushion stuffed in the broken window cut off most of the cold air from outside.

  “I can’t believe I was so foolish!” Katherine moaned. “But—I wanted to see Edward so very much—”

  “I hardly think that falling for a clever deception backed by drugs makes you foolish, ma’am,” Sahib said gravely. “But you are to count yourself fortunate in the loyalty of your friends, who were willing to place themselves in danger for you. I do not think that these people would have been willing to stop at mere fraud, and neither do the police.”

  His last words made no impression on Katherine, at least none that Nan saw—but she did turn to Mem’sab and clasp her hand fervently. “I thought so ill of you, that you would not believe in Madame,” she said tearfully. “Can you forgive me?”

  Mem’sab smiled. “Always, my dear,” she said, in the voice she used to soothe a frightened child. “Since your motive was to enlighten me, not to harm me—and your motive in seeking your poor child’s spirit—”

  A chill passed over Nan at that moment that had nothing to do with the outside air. She looked sharply at Sarah, and saw a very curious thing.

  There was a very vague and shimmery shape standing in front of Sarah’s chair; Sarah looked at it with an intense and thoughtful gaze, as if she was listening to it. More than that, Gray was doing the same. Nan got the distinct impression that it was asking her friend for a favor.

  Gray and Sarah exchanged a glance, and the parrot nodded once, as grave and sober as a parson, then spread her wings as if sheltering Sarah like a chick.

  The shimmering form melted into Sarah; her features took on a mischievous expression that Nan had never seen her wear before, and she got up and went directly to Katherine.

  The woman looked up at her, startled at the intrusion of a child into an adult discussion, then paled at something she saw in Sarah’s face.

  “Oh, Mummy, you don’t have to be so sad,” Sarah said in a curiously hollow, piping soprano. “I’m all right, really, and it wasn’t your fault anyway, it was that horrid Lord Babbington that made you and Papa send me to Overton. But you must stop crying, please! Laurie is already scared of being left, and you’re scaring her more.”

  Now, Nan knew very well that Mem’sab had not said anything about a Lord Babbington, nor did she and Sarah know what school the poor little boy had been sent to. Yet, she wasn’t frightened; in fact, the protective but calm look in Gray’s eye made her feel rather good, as if something inside her told her that everything was going wonderfully well.

  The effect on Katherine was not what Nan had expected, either.

  She reached out tentatively, as if to touch Sarah’s face, but stopped short. “This is you, isn’t it, darling?” she asked in a whisper.

  Sarah nodded—or was it Edward who nodded? “Now, I’ve got to go, Mummy, and I can’t come back. So don’t look for me, and don’t cry anymore.”

  The shimmering withdrew, forming into a brilliant ball of light at about Sarah’s heart, then shot off, so fast that Nan couldn’t follow it. Gray pulled in her wings, and Sarah shook her head a little, then regarded Katherine with a particularly measuring expression before coming back to her chair and sitting down.

  “Out of the mouths of babes, Katherine,” Mem’sab said quietly, then looked up at Karamjit. “I think you and Selim should take the girls home now; they’ve had more than enough excitement for one night.”

  Karamjit bowed silently, and Gray added her own vote. “Wan’ go back,” she said in a decidedly firm tone. When Selim brought their coats and helped them to put them on, Gray climbed right back inside Sarah’s, and didn’t even put her head back out again.

  They didn’t have to go home in a cab, either; Katherine sent them back to the school in her own carriage, which was quite a treat for Nan, who’d had no notion that a private carriage would come equipped with such comforts as heated bricks for the feet and fur robes to bundle in. Nan didn’t say anything to Sarah about the aftermath of the seance until they were alone together in their shared dormitory room.

  Only then, as Gray took her accustomed perch on the headboard of Sarah’s bed, did Nan look at her friend and ask—

  “That last—was that—?”

  Sarah nodded. “I could see him, clear as clear, too.” She smiled a little. “He must’ve been a horrid brat at times, but he really wasn’t bad, just spoiled enough to be a bit selfish, and he’s been—learning better manners, since.”

  All that Nan could think of to say was—“Ah.”

  “Still; I think it was a bit rude of him to have been so impatient with his mother,” she continued, a little irritated.

  “I ’spose that magic-man friend of yours is right,” Nan replied, finally. “About what you c’n do, I mean.”

  “Oh! You’re right!” Sarah exclaimed. “But you know, I don’t think I could have done it if Gray hadn’t been there. I thought if I ever saw a spirit I’d be too scared to do anything, but I wasn’t afraid, since she wasn’t.”

  The parrot took a little piece of Sarah’s hair in her beak and preened it.

  “Wise bird,” replied Gray.

  PART

  *II*

  Tales of the

  Secret World

  Chronicles

  Stories Never Previously in Print

  ***

  These are stories from our superhero series,

  The Secret World Chronicles, from Baen Books.

  Never previously in print, some are prequel stories

  set during World War II, and two, co-written

  with Dennis Lee and Cody Martin, are set between

  Book One, Invasion! and

  Book Two, World Divided.

  For Those About To Rock

  Mercedes Lackey and Dennis Lee

  I drink a lot of coffee and tea; I have a minifreezer just for the coffee, ’cause I order it bulk, delivered. Today was a day I was glad I had a lot of backstock, because I was going to need a lot of coffee. Djinni was out on another solo job and Bell had ordered me to keep tabs on him with Overwatch. Keeping track of the Djinni on solo is a lot like keeping track of a flea on a hot griddle; it taxes even my considerable capabilities. Though that’s mostly because he hates magic so much.

  Jeebus. Hates magic. We were not exactly talking right now. We’d had this . . . explosion.

  Actually, he’d snapped at me and jabbed me in the proverbial gut, right when and where I was most vulnerable. It’s as if he has radar for that kind of thing.

  This was how it happened. The explosion, I mean. He’d been on another solo job, right after the Goldman Catacombs. Not a surprise, since he recovers faster than anyone I had ever seen. There’d been a news story just before he went out, courtesy of Spin Doctor. We’d both caught it. He thought it was hilarious.

  I was in the Overwatch room, he was on the system. “. . . and for those curious about last night’s specTACular lightshow over the Nevada desert,” he’d mimicked, “rest assured, those were your own, your brave, your heroic boys and girls of ECHO on some routine training maneuvers. ECHO, training to keep you, your loved ones and America safe!” He’d snorted. “Training maneuvers. Gotta love that friendly fire then. Feels good to be out of the infirmary. Was getting tired of Scope’s retching anytime a new layer of skin grew back.”

  I’d been raw, still trying to get over Herb. “Remind me again why this thing of yours is supposed to be a super power?” But I had a job to do, Overwatch on the Bad Boy.

  He’d been surprisingly civil. “Hey Victrix. You better?”

  I’d toyed with being honest, decided on a white lie. “If I say ‘no,’ Spin Doctor will read me the riot act for ‘negative impact on morale.’ I’m fine, thanks for asking.” I just hadn’t wanted to open myself up to him.

 
“Oh screw him.” He sounded gruffly sympathetic. “He was pushing me to reveal my real face, for the sake of good press.”

  I tried to sound light. Probably hadn’t succeeded. “It would be, if you look like Brad Pitt. If you look like Emo Phillips, not so much.” I couldn’t help it. It slipped out. After all Djinni was the only person besides Bella that . . . knew. Knew that what I’d called up hadn’t been just this giant rock Elemental, but a very dear friend. “I miss Herb.”

  There was a moment of hesitation. Then something unexpected. “Yeah . . . listen, I’m sorry about what happened to him.”

  I don’t know why I said it . . . except that it was true. And maybe he needed to hear that I knew this. “Magic has a price. Always does. Always will.”

  He sounded surprised. “Hey, that’s my line.”

  Finally I asked. “That why you hate it? Everything has a price, you just don’t always know about it.” I guess maybe I was trying to figure a way to make him understand not just where I was coming from, but about how seriously I took magic. How it was so much a part of me that magic and me couldn’t be separated, and I understood the risks I was taking, dancing on the edge of quantum physics as I was.

  He’d paused, a long pause on the freq. “That sums it up, I’d say. Professional habit. I like knowing the odds before going in, and magic complicates that. It’s hard to give estimates to a client when the potential pitfalls of a job range from ‘papercut’ to ‘complete and utter obliteration of everything in existence.’”

  I’d raised an eyebrow over that. What the hell had he—or someone he knew—been tinkering with in his deep, dark past? “Hmm. I take it you’ve never worked with a properly trained mage before. Odds of the latter are pretty insignificant most of the time.”