Secondhand Sorcery

David Hampton drove his own car, a light blue nineties-model Fiat compact. “Excuse the mess,” he said as he unlocked the door. “It’s basically my apartment, these days, I’ve got to meet so many people in so many places. It’s probably not bugged, but I can’t promise anything … at least it’s out of the wind, right?”

Keisha peered inside; it was littered with old fast-food cups and trash. She put out a hand to stop him from opening the door. “Before we go in there, Colonel, I’ve got a question: does this Titus Marshall have any espers working for him?”

“Espers? As in clairvoyants? We can’t rule it out entirely, but it’s not likely. Why?”

“Their presence would have a big impact on my freedom of action here. I have a way to guarantee that we won’t be overheard in that car by any electronic means, but if Mr. Marshall has talent watching the city right now, it’d be as good as setting off fireworks.”

The Colonel thought it over. “Worth the risk,” he decided. “We’ve had our eyes on him for a while and never caught a ripple of countersurveillance. Go ahead, Chief Graham, and thank you.”

She eased her way into the passenger seat, moving a duffel bag to the tiny backseat and kicking napkins out from underfoot. Then she looked up and down the street, but nobody was close enough to see her; the Colonel had parked outside a museum which didn’t seem to have a lot of Sunday visitors. Still, she crouched down before pulling out her pipe.

After four years of training and six of practice, it came easy to her. All she had to do was concentrate for a second, control her breathing, and exhale gently through the instrument, her fingers barely moving its keys and valves. Only the tiniest drop of shimmering white ectoplasm came out of the end, wavering in the draft of her breath before it swelled up in a bubble, then popped and resolved itself into a tiny white moth. She leaned over to rap on the driver-side window while it fluttered around the interior.

Hampton got in and buckled up, noticed her construct, and raised a hand to swat it. Keisha grabbed his arm. “Don’t, sir. It’s mine.”

“You put vermin in my car?”

“It’s an angelfly. Literally the first thing we learn to make at TBS. Harmless. It doesn’t really do much of anything, beyond living for ten or fifteen minutes and generating just enough of a halo to mess with recording devices.”

He watched it land on the dashboard. It shone very gently, and stood out from the “real” world around it like digital imagery on a film. “So that’s ectoplasm.”

“Not much. Milligrams. And I can replenish my stock if I need to.”

“Huh.” He started up the ignition. “You should know, if you haven’t guessed already, that I don’t have much of a background with that aspect of paraphysical operations.”

“Yes, I gathered.” She’d had no intention of asking what it was he did, or used to do, if he didn’t offer. That wasn’t the kind of question you asked in the Numenate. David Hampton (Colonel, US Army) might have had a boring background in logistics, or he might have been mixed up in a scheme to traffic slaves and narcotics for third-world kleptocrats. Which, she supposed, was also “logistics.” Either way, she didn’t want to pry.

“The truth is, I don’t like any of this shit. That’s why they kept promoting me.” He pulled down his seatbelt. “They knew there was nobody they could trust as far as the fussy codger dreaming of the good old days when R&D got done by honest war profiteers instead of witch doctors.”

“I’ve met plenty of servicemen like that. In and out of the Numenate.”

“Well, this one sitting next to you has been a liaison to emissors on four continents now. Hated every one of the bastards. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t professional in my dealings with them.” They were rolling now, but not fast. Hampton didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

“And Titus Marshall?” Keisha prompted. His attitude was starting to irritate her, but if he could be professional, so could she.

“Is the worst yet. I’m still courteous. My question is, what kind of options do you bring to the table against him?”

“Not much, if you’re thinking direct assault. If men like Mr. Marshall are packing swords, this piccolo here is more of a Swiss Army knife. Way more versatile, better for delicate work, and discreet, but in a real fight there’s no contest. I’d lose.”

“I find it hard to believe we train warrant officers to handle ‘Swiss Army knives.’”

“It’s just a metaphor. The point is, I can’t—and won’t—just straight-up kill Titus Marshall for you. The odds aren’t good enough for me to take the risk of trying and failing.”

He only grunted, and turned a corner. They were headed north, uphill, towards the old part of Thessaloniki.

The risk of trying and failing, she’d said. But the risks of not trying anything didn’t look good either. The more she thought about it, the less she liked the situation here. Not just the fast and sloppy way she’d been thrown over here, or the vagueness of their mission, or the fact that she had no experience with diplomacy or espionage or whatever the hell this was. She was used to a certain amount of screwiness while the people up top tried to figure out what was going on. No, there was a bigger problem than that.

“Colonel. Do your orders include anything about Marshall’s children?”

“I wondered when you’d get to that. No, they don’t. We’re not being asked to kill them. That’s something, right?”

“And when their father gets eliminated? Do we just walk out the door and leave them to sort out the aftermath?”

He shot her a look, but said only, “We should probably concentrate on how we’re going to get rid of the man himself. From what you’ve just told me, that’ll be the hard part.”

“Yes, sir.” She knew the answer already, anyhow; an unknown and unknowable number of those kids had familiars. However they reacted to the death of their adopted parent, they couldn’t be allowed to walk free. Their government, or their allies, would either cut out the middleman in the minors-with-WMDs game, or take those assets off the table permanently.

And Colonel David Hampton had to have figured that much out a long time ago. What did he think of their current orders? Did he even care? Another question it was better not to ask.

The old part of Thessaloniki was like the old part of a lot of ancient cities Keisha had been to: an unplanned snarl of narrow, winding streets between small, short buildings. In this case, it was all up in the hills, so the alley-width streets had a steep grade as well. At least most of the streets were asphalt in this case. She’d been places were they were poorly laid brick, or plain dirt.

Hampton pulled over in an alley. “There’s a couple of things we need to go over before we get the pleasure of meeting the man himself. First, do you have any idea why the powers-that-be decided to haul ass rush-delivering me an assistant who can’t help me against our target?”

“I really couldn’t say. Sorry.”

“Did somebody up top just cock up completely, or is there something going on that I’m not being told?”

“It’s the Numenate, sir. There’s always more going on, and nobody knows the whole story. But I honestly don’t know what they expect me to do with my VRIL against multiple familiars. I can be useful in other ways,” she added, pointing to the angelfly. It was running out of steam now, just twitching its wings on the ceiling.

“Bugs,” Hampton growled, and shook his head. “Still, I guess the next step up in firepower is another goddamn emissor, and I don’t need one of those even if they could spare any.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that kind of backup, sir. At least you wouldn’t be totally outgunned.”

“Sure I would. He might have eight of them up there.” Hampton glowered at the dashboard. “But there’s another problem: that pipe. He’ll have us searched, and maybe the car.”

“Easy.” She bent down again, and after thirty seconds’ play sat back up holding a battered box of playing cards. It was significantly shorter than her piccolo, but she opened the top flap and slid it easily inside, closing it after. “We’re not going to be in there for more than six hours, are we?”

“No, but he might run a dowser over us. Will that show up?”

“Very dimly.” She tossed the deck into the glove compartment. “It’ll look like cards inside for anyone but me. Anything else?”

“What’s your cover? They did get around to that, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Lieutenant Sarah Lawrence, new assistant to the military attaché at the embassy in Athens.” She pulled out her new ID to show him.

Hampton didn’t bother to check it. “It’ll do. He’ll assume you’re there to snoop, whatever you call yourself.” He took a deep breath. “As everything’s got to be done in such a big damn hurry, consider this your briefing: we’ll be giving Mr. Marshall his latest contract offer. I strongly advise you to contain any curiosity you may feel about his domestic situation. If you see anything that looks like it might be a kid out of the corner of your eye, look away. Hell, don’t look at anyone but him if you can help it, unless it’s a goon with a gun. He’s got plenty of those.”

“Have you ever seen any of the children?”

“I’ve glimpsed children, yes, but as far as anyone can tell he’s got at least a dozen in there. He’s got plenty of ambition left in him. He’s also going to fuck with you, as best he can. Guaranteed. If you go into that room with him, he’s going to start messing with your head. Directly.”

“You mean paraphysically? His familiar? That’s as good as pointing a gun at your head. Hard to believe even he’d cross the line that far.”

“Don’t tell me what you can’t believe about the man when you haven’t even met him. There’s been something in the room with us every time. Can’t tell you what; he keeps it just out of sight behind you, but you can tell it’s there. It’s going to be hard to control yourself. I’ve had some training in that department—“

“So have I, sir.”

“Really.” He gave her a funny look, then shook his head. “I won’t ask. Anyway, that makes things simpler. Just be aware that he’ll be prying at us as soon as we step in the door. Especially at you, since you’re new and might be easier. If that isn’t something you’re prepared to face on short notice, I can drop you off here.”

Keisha had to bite back some sharp words. “I’ve been in dangerous and high-stress situations more times than I can count. Literally—I legit can’t remember all the horrible places they’ve shuttled me off to. I can cope with a little valence pressure. Just let me know what kind of ‘prying’ I’m in for.”

“That’s the screwy part. There isn’t any one specific valence. No narrative, no images, nothing. He just yanks you in every direction, one after another, bam-bam-bam,” he said, snapping his fingers three times. “Whatever it takes to knock you off-balance.”

“But familiars don’t do that!”

“Well then, it isn’t a familiar. Maybe his talents lie elsewhere. Or he might have a friend helping him from the next room. We’ve both heard the stories about special interrogation assets.”

“I’m not interested in speculation. Whatever it is he does, you’ve come out of it alive plenty of times. If you can take it, so can I.”

“We’ll see,” Hampton muttered, and put the car back into gear.