The Native Star Read online

  Rabbits.

  There were huge rabbits with red eyes, and a train …

  A flash of light, followed by a rattling boom, threw the room into stark relief. The brightness and noise startled her, making thoughts fly from her head like frightened birds.

  The beating of her heart was subsiding now. She blinked, holding the nightgown tightly around herself. Why on earth was she standing out in the hall? She didn’t remember coming here.

  Letting out her breath, she softly closed the door of her room and went back to bed.

  And when she woke the next morning, she’d forgotten that she’d dreamed at all.

  In fact, all she knew was that she had slept deeply, and for a long time, and that she felt a great deal better for having done so. The next thing she realized was that the sound of explosions had ceased. She went to the window and peeked through the curtains. The sun was high in a clear blue sky. Birds darted over the trees, chirping merrily.

  From behind her came the sound of a cleared throat, followed by mock thoughtful, soft-drawled words:

  “All the way from California with a succulent little skycladdische. How very nice for our dear Dreadnought! I wonder if they’ll put that in the serial.”

  Emily whirled, frowning. Tarnham, Mirabilis’ red-haired secretary, stood leaning against the doorjamb. In his arms he had a package wrapped in paper. Her hand flew to the neck of her nightgown.

  “What the devil!” she spluttered.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?” Tarnham’s voice was oily with assumed innocence. On his shoulder, the ferret watched her with beady eyes, climbing across the back of Tarnham’s neck to get to his other shoulder. “My mouth, it has a mind of its own sometimes.”

  “I couldn’t care less the kind of mind your mouth has!” Emily blazed, lifting a finger to point at the door. “Get out of here!”

  “Now, now. Don’t get all huffy. I was asked to bring you this. It’s a clean dress.”

  “Well, you can leave it on the table,” Emily said. Tarnham complied, but didn’t stop grinning. He paused at the door on his way out.

  “The Sophos and that Friendly Society person are downstairs waiting for you. I suppose you’ve got a lot of practice throwing clothes on quickly. I’ll tell them you’ll be down soon.”

  Then, chuckling to himself, he pushed himself away from the doorjamb and vanished, not even bothering to close the door.

  Cheeks burning, she crossed the room and slammed the door shut, locking it. How had the door gotten unlocked, anyway? She remembered locking it before going to bed.

  No, she must have forgotten. But she certainly wouldn’t forget after this.

  She took her time unwrapping the package Tarnham had brought; in fact, she took a good long time. What exactly did he mean, a lot of practice throwing clothes on quickly? And that word again, “skycladdische”… She didn’t know what it meant, but she’d only heard it out of the mouths of men like Tarnham and Caul, which meant that it couldn’t be anything nice.

  The dress he’d brought her, while clean, was coarse and gray and looked like a servant’s uniform. Emily pulled it on with the resignation of one who’d become accustomed to being dressed like a moron, a pauper, or both. It was overlarge and overshort, which meant that her ugly men’s boots would be on full display. The one piece of luck was that the dress buttoned up the front, but even so, it was hard to get the buttons done up using just one hand.

  When she was finally ready, she walked downstairs slowly. She hardly looked in Tarnham’s direction as she noticed him waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, stroking the ferret tucked under his arm.

  He grinned. “Decided to teach me a lesson?”

  “You did not enter my thoughts in the smallest degree,” Emily said frostily. Tarnham gave a mellifluous, rippling laugh.

  “Oh, so you’re one of those.” He sidled up to her, uncomfortably close. “The kind who take themselves seriously. Like the burlesque dancers who think they’re artistes. How cute.” He paused, waving a dramatic hand. “Well, never mind then. I won’t josh with you anymore. Though I must say, it’s too bad when a girl can’t have a sense of humor about herself.”

  Tarnham showed her to Professor Mirabilis’ office—a spacious, book-lined room that smelled of leather and beeswax. There was a large stained-glass window directly behind the enormous desk, red-velvet draperies, and heavy carvings of black walnut. The ceiling was a trompe l’oeil of a sky at the precise moment of sunset.

  Professor Mirabilis and Miss Pendennis were sitting together in leather chairs arranged before a large fireplace of black marble veined with gold. Miss Pendennis looked up as Emily came in, her face pursing sourly as she looked Emily up and down. Mirabilis rose, crossed the room, and took Emily’s hand in his. He smiled broadly.

  “Good morning, Miss Edwards. I trust your rest was refreshing?”

  “I slept well,” she said. She glared at Tarnham’s retreating back but said nothing. “I’m glad the attacks have stopped.”

  “I promised you would be safe,” Mirabilis said. “As I told you, I have friends in high places.”

  “None of them women, obviously.” Miss Pendennis eyed Emily’s gray dress with outrage. “Or else you wouldn’t have dared to send this … this … squink of a dress! What’s your game, Mirabilis? Humble her and keep her off balance? What exactly are you softening her up for?”

  “Miss Pendennis, I won’t stand to be spoken to like that,” Mirabilis growled. The words made Emily cringe; his voice echoed in the same way Stanton’s had up at Cutter’s Rise, but it was filled with an entirely different kind of menace and threat.

  “Wrathfulness,” Miss Pendennis said knowingly, discomfited not in the least. “It’s no use, Mirabilis, I know all the credomantic tricks. Anger will not disarm and bewilder me. And I won’t let you use it, or any other tactic, to control Miss Edwards.”

  A look of grudging respect crept over Mirabilis’ face.

  “Miss Pendennis, you really are something. I can honestly say I’ve never met your equal.”

  “Flattery,” Miss Pendennis said. “Skip it.”

  Mirabilis smiled to himself as he struck a dignified pose by the fireplace. “I have been thinking things over carefully,” he said. “And I have come to the conclusion that there is only one course of action.”

  “Take the rock out of my hand?” Emily said.

  “No,” Mirabilis said. “We must create a Precedent.”

  “A what?” Emily looked at Miss Pendennis, but all the woman’s glaring attention was focused on Mirabilis.

  “In credomancy,” Mirabilis continued, “power is built by setting Precedents. For example, you’ve heard of the defeat of the Spanish Armada?”

  Emily stared at him. “What does the defeat of the Spanish Armada have to do with my hand?”

  “Who is the greatest naval power in the world?”

  “Britain?” Emily felt it was probably the answer he was fishing for. She was rewarded with a smile.

  “Correct. Before the defeat of the Spanish Armada, were the British known for their naval power?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Well, they weren’t. And they wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t been for that one historic action.” Mirabilis made a conclusive gesture. “That is a Precedent. An action so decisive and unanswerable that it sends ripples outward throughout the rest of history, alters the fundamental fabric of reality. From that moment, the world believed that Britain was a great sea power, and so it became a great sea power.”

  “Are you going to make Miss Edwards into a sea power?”

  Mirabilis smiled frostily at Miss Pendennis’ impertinence, then looked back at Emily. There was a look on his face that reminded Emily of a salesman, waiting for just the right moment to bring up the matter of price.

  “This is my proposal. With that stone, I will set the boldest Precedent ever,” Mirabilis said. “I have called a Grand Symposium for this evening. Credomancers, animance
rs, and, yes, sangrimancers will help decide on the disposition of the stone together.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Miss Pendennis was on her feet. “You can’t trust sangrimancers!”

  “It is by trusting them that I will make them trustworthy.”

  “But they are depraved!”

  “The worse we believe them to be, the worse they will become.”

  “How much worse can they get? They murder people and steal their blood!”

  “What is to say that they might not be changed? If we do not believe they can change, they never will.”

  “Believe them into being good?” Miss Pendennis snorted. “I tell you, Mirabilis. I’ve heard my fair share of credomantic bunkum over the years, but this takes the cake. It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible,” Mirabilis said.

  There was a long pause. Emily was acutely aware of her own breathing.

  “That stone contains vast magical potential,” Mirabilis said finally, “the heritage of every Warlock and Witch who has ever lived or will live. Can you not see, Miss Edwards, that it is only fair, and it is only right, that representatives from every magical tradition have a say in its disposition?”

  “Don’t answer that!” Miss Pendennis barked. “He’s trying to trick you into agreeing!”

  “Miss Pendennis, please.” Mirabilis’ words were an attenuated sigh. His gaze remained fixed on Emily. “It’s not a trick, Miss Edwards. It’s simply a question. Will you attend the Grand Symposium tonight?”

  “What if I refuse?” Emily said.

  “Then you are free to leave,” Mirabilis said.

  “Leave?”

  “And walk right into the arms of the Maelstroms, or the Sini Mira?” Miss Pendennis blazed. “Let whoever grabs her first take the stone and use it however they like?”

  “Don’t be idiotic, Miss Pendennis. It does not suit you. Whatever Miss Edwards’ decision, her hand will remain here, under my protection.”

  “What?” Emily leaned forward in her chair, outraged. “You’re just going to … commandeer my hand?”

  “What else would you have me do?” Mirabilis asked. “Do you not see the almost impossible responsibility you have placed upon me, Miss Edwards? The knife’s edge I must negotiate to save you, the Institute—even the future of magic?” He paused. “Your participation in the symposium—specifically your connection with Komé—will be of great help in navigating that treacherous edge. I would be most grateful for your cooperation. But if I cannot have it, I must do without.”

  There was a long silence, broken finally when Miss Pendennis slapped the arm of her chair.

  “Well, isn’t this a fine kettle of fish,” she bleated. “And folks wonder why Witches need a Friendly Society!”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Mirabilis narrowed his eyes at Miss Pendennis, his voice taking on a tone of inspiration. “I’ve forgotten all about the Witches’ Friendly Society. Why, your troubles are at an end, Miss Edwards! I’m sure the members will be delighted to open their homes to you—a kind of underground railroad of one. Of course, they’ll be putting their husbands and children in the path of the Maelstroms, but that’s just a minor detail. Go on, then. You females work it out among yourselves. I’ve clearly wasted my time trying to come up with a solution when one was staring us in the face all the time.”

  Emily glanced at the woman for her reaction. Even Miss Pendennis’ seemingly unflappable brusqueness had transmuted into obvious consternation. Emily felt suddenly trapped and alone.

  You are alone, carissima mia.

  Emily winced at the sudden slight pain, but it faded quickly, and in an instant she had forgotten it. She drew in a deep breath, let it out.

  “Well, what’s in it for me?” she said, with more petulance than she had intended. Mirabilis’ eyes widened, but Emily pressed on. “Mr. Stanton promised me payment. Will you honor that arrangement?”

  “Of course, Miss Edwards,” Mirabilis said. “If that is what you want.”

  “I want twenty thousand dollars,” Emily said. It was, of course, an impossible sum. It was the kind of money that people talked about in hushed and respectful tones. No one really had twenty thousand dollars; it was a number with far too many zeros to be believed. But it was the amount of the bounty that had been offered for her and Stanton. They were worth that to someone.

  To her surprise, Mirabilis grinned broadly and clapped his hands together. “Done,” he said.

  Emily gaped at him with all the astonishment of one who had been expecting “truth” and had gotten “dare.”

  “You can’t really mean it …” Emily sputtered. She wondered, suddenly, if she hadn’t been trapped in some exquisitely cunning fashion.

  “Of course I do!” Mirabilis said. “I’ll have a contract drafted immediately.”

  “And if some harm should come to Miss Edwards during this suicidal adventure?” Miss Pendennis asked.

  “I will add a codicil that the money shall be paid regardless. It could pass to your adoptive father.”

  Emily knew that she would never again have the chance to make such money—a fortune! It would fix her for life … and even if the worst happened, she’d know that Pap was provided for. It was an opportunity she could not pass up.

  Firmly, she extended her good hand to Mirabilis. But just as she was about to shake on it, she abruptly pulled her hand back.

  “One more thing,” she said. “Miss Pendennis must be allowed to participate in the Grand Symposium and advise me as need be.”

  Mirabilis sighed.

  “As you wish,” he said, reaching for her hand, but again she held it away from him. She watched his face closely as she spoke the next words.

  “And Mr. Stanton, too.”

  Mirabilis’ eyes widened, then narrowed again, calculation shifting behind them. He was silent for a long time. His hand hung in the air. He made no move to take hers.

  “Impossible,” he said.

  “I’ve heard you say several times that nothing is impossible.”

  Mirabilis continued to stare at her. She began to feel quite uncomfortable under that gaze, so she blurted out: “Mr. Stanton’s attendance is a condition of my participation.”

  Mirabilis smiled gently at the force of her statement, but there was no pleasure on his face. He reached for her hand with a sigh. He gave it three firm shakes.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “Well, that was infinitely worse than I expected,” Miss Pendennis said, not very encouragingly, as they left the office and headed back upstairs.

  “Do you think he really believes that setting some kind of ‘Precedent’ is going to work?” Emily puzzled. “Or was it all just eyewash to get me to participate?”

  “Well if it was, he sure wasted his fine breath, didn’t he?” Miss Pendennis said wryly. “Given that all he had to do was offer you a little money.”

  “I don’t know what kind of sums you’re used to,” Emily looked at her, “but twenty thousand dollars is hardly a little money.”

  “It is if someone’s asking you to cut your own throat to get it,” Miss Pendennis mused, but then said no more. “Anyway, I have no idea what Mirabilis really has up his sleeve. But one thing’s for sure. If it’s a credomancer’s plan, it’s sure to have a half dozen double-reverses, with some curlicues and manipulative filigree tacked on for good measure.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of plaint to the pitiless heavens. “Oh, give me good old earth magic anytime!”

  Emily nodded in agreement as they reached Miss Pendennis’ door.

  “Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do, and less than fifteen hours to do it.” Miss Pendennis’ face brightened when she saw that there were two large steamer trunks sitting in the center of the floor of her room. “Thank the goddess! They’ve arrived.”

  The big woman knelt before one of the chests, unlocked it, and threw up the lid. A large square leather case bound in steel and fastened with two heavy steel hasps was nestled into the top of the trunk. M
iss Pendennis took this case out, straining against its weight, and laid it aside. She pulled out the wooden shelf insert that had supported it. When the drawer was removed, a compacted foam of silk and lace billowed out extravagantly.

  “It’s the best I could do on short notice,” Miss Pendennis said as she looked through the trunk. “Have a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  There was a little table in the corner of the room; on it was a pot of coffee and the morning newspapers. Emily sat, glimpsing a picture of something snakelike.

  Pulling the newspaper closer, she saw that the front page featured a hastily composed engraving of the Cockatrice. The picture was surrounded by smaller cartouches in which were depicted some familiar faces: there was Stanton—the expression on his face somewhere between dauntless and displeased—and his father right next to him, the pair of them surrounded by illustrated swags of bunting. Farther down was a menacing-looking picture of poor old Hembry, and below, in a pretty flowered cartouche, a dreamy-eyed Rose Hibble.

  “Credomancer Thwarts Attempt on President’s Life!” the headline screamed in black blocky text. “Warlock Son of Senator Argus Stanton Subdues Wild-Eyed Anarchist Miscreant!” the subhead exclaimed. “Extreme Excitement at the Philadelphia Exposition!” the sub-subhead added rather tiresomely.

  Emily scanned the thrilling account. She noted with interest how the story had been altered to avoid any mention of the Manipulator, or of her own presence on the scene. In fact, the stories mostly focused on Stanton’s superhuman heroics, his forthright desire to uphold the principles of Justice and Liberty upon which American Democratic Ideals were based, and the admirable modesty of his assertion that he “really didn’t do anything.”

  Miss Pendennis straightened, a dress in her hand. When she saw Emily reading the paper, she snatched it away and tossed it aside.

  “Don’t bother with that garbage,” Miss Pendennis said, shaking out the dress. “You can’t expect the truth from any of the metropolitan newspapers. They’re all credomantic tools nowadays.” As a replacement, she handed Emily a copy of Practitioners’ Daily.

  “Journal of record for the American magic user,” Miss Pendennis said. “Generally trustworthy. Can’t go wrong with it.”