“Was it Blue?” Tucker asked.
Gannon nodded. “I saw him heading down the hall, all loaded up and ready to travel. I sent Mercier after him while I went and checked to make sure it wasn’t a mass exodus.”
“What does it matter to you who comes and goes here?”
“Well, Inspector. Remember your pretty little speech about us all sticking together until we got through this? I just didn’t want to be left out on the flight home. That’s all.”
“Well, he’s gone now. Where’s your man Mercier?”
Gannon shrugged. There was a familiar smell in the air. Gunsmoke mixed with blood. Once you smelled them, you didn’t forget. He kicked aside the tarpaulin and they both stared at the blood.
“Not a whole lot left of him,” Gannon said. “I wonder where your biker friend stored the body. He probably took it with him and dumped it in the field for the wolfmen’s breakfast.”
Looking at the blood, Tucker shook his head. Something didn’t fit here. Though he and Blue had had their differences, he just couldn’t see the biker gunning someone down in cold blood. And Gannon’s answers were all just a little too pat.
“Just what did you tell Mercier to do when he caught up with Blue?”
“To detain him, Inspector. Nothing more.”
“And if he wasn’t into being ‘detained’?”
“I left that up to Mercier’s discretion. From the looks of things, he made the wrong decision. Unless, of course, the biker got the drop on him and just blew him away.”
“No way. That’s the way you people operate.”
“And you know the people of Tamson House well enough to give them all such sterling character references? Let’s not play games, Inspector. They know far more about all of this than they’re telling us. They can’t have lived in this place for so many years without learning how to control this hopping between worlds.”
“I don’t buy that, Gannon. They’re in this with us. Their lives are in as much danger as our own.”
“It appears that way. . . .”
“It is that way. You’ve got one man left, Gannon. Keep him in line—keep yourself in line—or it’ll be my pleasure to send you both out to say hello to your dead buddies. Got me?”
Gannon regarded him steadily, cold eyes glinting with amusement. “And what would your superiors say if they knew what a bloodthirsty man they have representing them?”
“If you’ve got a grievance, Gannon, you’re welcome to go find one of my superiors and take it up with them. There’s a door to the outside right behind you.”
“I think I would rather see what Dr. Traupman has managed to come up with in regards to our sorcerous Mr. Hengwr, if it’s all the same to you.”
Keep it up, Tucker thought, as he followed Gannon out into the hall. Just keep it up, asshole.
But as they made their way upstairs, he had to think about Blue himself. What was the biker trying to pull with this fool stunt? They’d agreed yesterday that any exploration of the Otherworld was going to wait until they had a bit of a better idea as to what they could expect out there. Blue had better have a damn good explanation ready, or he’d find himself in deep shit when he got back. If he got back.
Tucker paused at a window and looked out across the fields to the forest. Trouble was, the law didn’t mean dick out here. The words “out of my jurisdiction” had come to take on a whole new meaning for him.
Traupman awoke with a start, wondering sleepily what had roused him. His back was stiff from having stretched out in a chair for most of the night and there was a buzzing in his ears. He glanced at Tom, then realized that the sound came from outside. It sounded like a motor. Rising awkwardly from the chair, he made it to the window just in time to see Blue’s trail bike with its double load weaving drunkenly across the field. At the edge of the forest, the bike stopped. Traupman watched the biker relieve himself of a limp body, then head off, deeper into the woods.
Strange, Traupman thought.
He stood looking out the window, trying to work out what was going on. When the tragg’a reached Blue’s burden, Traupman turned from the window and shivered. You couldn’t pay him enough to go out there. Blue was either a brave man or a fool. He wondered what had sent the biker into the forest. There was nothing out there but the wolfmen, Hengwr’s mysterious enemy, and bushland. Or at least, that was what they had all assumed. Perhaps Blue was simply going out to establish the validity of those observations.
Who knew what lay beyond the forest? Traupman admitted a strong curiosity himself. But his prime concern was the well-being of Thomas Hengwr. He would simply have to wait until Blue returned with the information. He wondered briefly whose body it was that the biker had left for the tragg’a. If it was another casualty, he hoped it was one of Gannon’s men.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he studied Tom. It was frustrating not being able to do anything. Hengwr was resting easily, but he still couldn’t be roused. The wounds on his face were simply old scars now. Traupman put his fingers against Tom’s throat. The pulse was steady. He lifted one eyelid, then the other. The eyes were still rolled back. Traupman couldn’t understand what it was that kept Tom in this catatonic state.
He looked up as the door opened.
“Good morning, John,” he said. “Mr. Gannon.”
“Morning, Dick. Any change?”
Traupman shook his head. He perceived the tension that crackled between the two men and wondered if Blue’s burden had anything to do with it. He decided to wait until he and John were alone before asking.
“I can’t seem to bring him around, John.”
“Can’t you give him a shot of something?” Gannon asked.
“I’m afraid that a stimulant might just trigger a more regressive response. We’re dealing with a very delicate situation here. With the proper facilities, there might be something we could do. But here . . . I suggest we continue waiting.”
“What if he never comes around?” Gannon said.
“Then we figure another way out of this mess,” Tucker growled.
Gannon shrugged. “Let me know when you’ve figured it out, Inspector,” he said and left the room.
Tucker glared at his back.
“What was all that about?” Traupman asked.
“We had a little argument,” Tucker replied. “The biker—Blue—killed one of Gannon’s men and took off on a trail bike.”
“Killed . . . ?”
Traupman had realized that Blue’s burden was dead, but the question of murder hadn’t entered his mind.
“I don’t think Blue had a choice, Dick. I suspect Gannon’s man just leaned too hard on him.”
“And now Blue’s fled and we’re short two more men.”
“He’ll be back,” Tucker said. “The way Gannon told it, Blue looked like he was going on a scouting mission. Remember he talked about that yesterday?”
“Yes. But with this killing. . . .”
“That won’t stop him from coming back. His friends are here. No matter what he thinks of Gannon or us, he won’t leave his friends to fend on their own. Besides, where the hell can he go out there?”
As he spoke, Tucker remembered his recent conversation with Gannon. He mentioned Gannon’s suspicions to Traupman.
“It’s possible, John. What do we really know about these people?”
“Don’t you start on me, too! They’re in as much danger as we are, for Christ’s sake.”
“I suppose,” Traupman allowed. “But at this point in the proceedings, we should keep our eyes open and not settle into any assumptions. It’s easy to side with the residents of Tamson House against both the wolfmen and Gannon. But we have to remember that we really don’t know these people.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Tucker muttered.
Walking back down the hall, he shook his head. This he didn’t need. He knew Dick was right—it just wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Because if Jamie and Blue were taking him for a ride as
well. . . . Goddamn! He really didn’t need this. But he couldn’t get away from it either.
“Lived here long?”
Sally looked up, then smiled at Maggie and made room for her on the couch. She’d been trying to straighten up the long room that ran off the Silkwater Kitchen without a lot of luck. This was where she and Blue had spent a lot of time. The Sony Betamax and 20” screen TV were in here. Blue’s worktable was up against the window overlooking the garden. The opposite wall was taken up by bookcases that held souvenirs of Blue’s sojourn in Arizona and stacks of old Popular Mechanics and biking magazines.
At the moment, the contents of the bookcases and shelves were heaped under them. Sally had been straightening the paint containers and sketchbooks on the worktable, then found herself sitting on the couch going through a sketchbook that was mostly filled with studies of herself. Blue had never shown these to her. A lot were head and shoulders, sketched from a number of different angles. A half dozen more were of her doing her tai chi.
Looking at them, remembering the news that Jamie had given her this morning about Blue taking off on his bike, she’d felt a lump rising in her throat. There were two different men living in that big lug’s body. She wondered what he would have been like if he’d never gotten mixed up with that biker gang. Then she wondered if she’d still care for him as much—for he wouldn’t be the same person. That was part of what drew her to him. Not the violence. Just the intensity, the assurance that went into everything he did, whether it was making love, working on a bike, or painting.
Laying aside the sketchbook, she brought her knees up under her chin and turned so that she was facing Maggie.
“It feels like I’ve lived here forever,” she said, “though it can’t have been for more than a few weeks. A lot happened in a little time in this place.”
“Too much,” Maggie agreed. “Where are you from originally?”
“Granville, O-hi-o. It’s a small college town. I ended up here by way of California and Vancouver.”
“I saw some of your artwork up in Jamie’s study. I like it very much—especially the washes. Is that your sketchbook?”
“No. It’s Blue’s.”
“May I?”
Sally hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. Why not?
“These are beautiful,” Maggie exclaimed as she leafed through the book. “There’s so much expression in them, and yet there’s a . . . stillness, a sense of peace, at the same time. It’s hard to imagine—” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“That’s okay. He doesn’t look the part, that’s for sure. And with what he pulled this morning. . . . It’s not like him. I’m not saying that because I care for him or because I haven’t known him for that long. Sara and Jamie both told me the same thing—back before all this mess started. He’s got to be pushed pretty hard to let himself go like that . . . to . . .” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words “to have killed somebody.”
“Everybody’s been under a lot of tension,” Maggie said.
“I know. But. . . . You know, he told me he was going this morning, and I was too sleepy to register what he was saying. I don’t know if I even said goodbye to him and now . . . now I might not see him again. Not if those monsters get a hold of him. I was trying to clean up in here and found that sketchbook with all those studies of me in it and . . . I just feel so lost.”
Maggie laid a hand on Sally’s knee. “Your friend Jamie’s been brooding about it all morning as well,” she said. “I can’t say everything’s going to work out, because I don’t know what’s going on in the first place, but maybe if you talk to Jamie you’ll feel a little better. It might make you both feel better.”
“I don’t feel I know Jamie well enough, to be honest. And now, first with Sara disappearing, then this mess, and Blue taking off . . . Jamie really depends on Blue. I think that’s what’s kept Blue straight for so long. Because both Jamie and Sara depended on him. Him and Fred. Have you met Fred?”
“Briefly. He doesn’t say much.”
A small smile tugged at Sally’s lips. “Ask him about his gardens.”
Maggie looked out the window. “I find it strange that they’re still there,” she said.
“Blue and I were talking about it last night. We figure that there’s a Tamson House on two worlds and when this shift came, just the inside of the House and the gardens were moved into this Otherworld.”
“So the House is still standing back in Ottawa?”
Sally shrugged. “Well, at least the outside of it is. And maybe the inside of the one on this world.”
“It all sounds very confusing and highly improbable—if it wasn’t for the fact that we are here.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Maggie asked: “Want a hand with this room?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Sally got up and replaced the sketchbook on the table, then the two of them started in on the bookshelves.
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” Sally asked as they worked.
“Mmhmm. That’s how I met John—the Inspector.”
“What’s he really like?”
“Stubborn as a mule and about as patient. He’s got his own way of looking at things, and woe be to the person who tries to tell him different. But under all his bluster, he’s a good man. Much like Blue in many ways—though a lot straighter.”
“That’s what I told Blue. Not that they were alike, but that although the Inspector’s straight, he’s not a gangster like that Gannon.”
Maggie paused, with a book in her hand. “He gives you the creeps, too?”
“Does he! It’s bad enough being pulled out of our own world and dropped God knows where, without having to put up with those guys at the same time.”
Maggie put away the book she was holding, then regarded Sally seriously. “It’s not a nice thing to say,” she said, “but they’re as much monsters as those creatures outside. I know their type and I don’t like them. I can feel their eyes on me when I walk by. . . .” She shivered. “I’m almost glad that Blue shot one of them.”
Sally nodded. The thought had crossed her mind as well. But all she wanted was to have him back. She couldn’t bear to think of what might be happening to him out there.
“The biker’s dead,” Chevier whispered. “If the wolfmen don’t get him, I will.”
“In time,” Gannon said, “in time. I have the feeling he’s gone for help. That there’s someone or something out there that he knows of, that they can go to for support. The more I think of it, the more it seems to me that Tams and the lot of them know exactly what they’re doing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hengwr’s ‘coma’ isn’t just one more little fix-up to keep us guessing.”
Chevier popped a mint into his mouth and chewed slowly. He’d found a new supply in one of the kitchen cupboards.
“I’ve had it,” he said. “I’m sick of this place, sick of those things that howl outside, sick of it all. Don’t you think it’s about time we just grab one of them—say the old man who plays with the computer, or one of the women—and cut the truth out of them?”
Gannon shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll give it until nightfall. But if we don’t get some answers by then . . . well, we’ll just have to make sure we get the midnight shift and take Mr. Tams off to the cellars or some place where no one can hear him. Meanwhile, we’ll just mingle. Have you noticed any place that they treat like it’s off limits?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the way I see it,” Gannon explained, “is there’s got to be some mechanism that moves this place around from world to world. If their ‘magics’ were all that great, they would have gotten rid of us and the monsters a long time ago.”
Chevier thought about it for a moment.
“It’s Tams’s computer,” he said finally. “Got to be. Either that, or the gardener’s got it stashed away in with his flowers somewhere. He plays dumb, but he’s always watching. Didn
’t want me to go out in the garden this morning. Said it was for ‘guests’ and not the likes of me.”
“Do you know anything about computers?” Gannon asked.
Chevier shook his head.
“Then you go check out the garden while I pay another visit to Tams’s study. I just wish I knew what I was looking for.”
After leaving the House behind, Blue found that the forest swept north and south, giving him a few hard moments as he headed due east, then thinned into hilly meadows where all he had to keep a watch out for were fieldstones. The roar of the bike was loud in the still woods, but for the first time he didn’t give a shit; he had a little angst to burn off. He’d had another run-in with the tragg’a—about ten minutes into the woods—but soon left them behind, turning left for long miles before circling back to the hills again. He hadn’t seen a trace of them now for a couple of hours. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen a trace of anything since he’d left the House. Just virgin woodland.
Drawing up on a knoll, he found a level piece of land, shut off the motor and put the bike on its kickstand. He got off, working his stiff muscles loose. The sudden silence that fell echoed the quiet that had finally settled inside him. The hard riding he’d forced himself through had done its job. It always did.
That moment of sheer unadulterated rage had left him shaken and scared. He hadn’t realized he was still capable of that kind of a killing frenzy. It was okay when you were riding with a gang, if you didn’t care who you took out or what happened to you. But he’d mellowed out, and to have it come back just like that. . . .
Okay, he’d thought as he’d pitted himself and the bike against the rough terrain, choosing the routes that had him fighting just to keep the damn machine on its wheels. It happened. It’s happened before and now it’s happened again. But Mercier had it coming, pushing him like that. Mercier, Gannon, Chevier—they all had the same eyes. They didn’t care about anything except themselves. That’s where the old gang and men like Gannon differed.
Right or wrong, the Devil’s Dragon still had one loyalty, a thing they held above themselves. They rode for the club and the club meant more than the individual. But the Dragon lost his loyalty when they left him to catch the tab in a little backwater town between North Bay and Toronto. He’d barely gotten out of there with his ass in one piece.