four of us nervous.
“It sure don’t look like something somebody threw up over the weekend,” I said. Believe it or not, some Karentine subjects are wicked enough to ignore established regulations and will construct something illegal while the city functionaries are off duty.
Nobody stepped up to the wall. Until Singe snorted the way only a woman can do when she’s exasperated with men being men. She shuffled right up till her pointy big nose was half an inch from the limestone. “The track of the boy goes straight on, Garrett. And this wall smells almost the same as the odor I found where the two elves fell on one another.”
Playmate took a few steps backward, found a bit of broken brick that hadn’t yet been scrounged by the street children. (They sell brick chips and chunks back to the brickyards, where they’re powdered and added to the clay of new bricks.) He started to wind up, but paused and said, “Garrett, have you bothered to look up?”
I hadn’t. Why would I?
None of the others had, either.
We all looked now.
That wall wasn’t part of anything. It might not even be stone. It just went up a ways, then turned fuzzy and wiggly and lizard’s belly white. Then it turned misty. Then it turned into nothing.
“It’s an illusion.”
Playmate chucked his brickbat.
The missile proceeded to proceed despite the presence of a wall that appeared completely solid, if improbably cold and damp when I extended a cautious finger to test it. Saucerhead Tharpe isn’t nearly as careful as Mama Garrett’s only surviving son. He reached out to thump that wall. And his fist went right on through.
We all stepped back. We exchanged troubled looks. I said, “That’s an illusion of the highest order.”
Singe said, “I hear someone calling from the other side.”
Playmate observed, “An illusion that persists, that can be used as camouflage, requires the efforts of a master wizard.”
I grunted. In this town that meant somebody off the Hill. It meant one of six dozen or so people who are the real masters in Karenta.
Singe said, “There is somebody over there. Yelling at you, Garrett.”
I asked Playmate, “What do you think?” I admit to being intimidated by Hill people. But I’ve never backed down just because they stuck a finger in somewhere. I wouldn’t back down now. Kip’s kidnapping had me irked and interested. Of everyone I asked, “Anybody want to walk away?”
Nobody volunteered to leave, though Saucerhead gulped a pail of air, Playmate seemed to go a little green and Singe started shaking like she was naked in a blizzard and didn’t have a clue which way to the warm. She made some kind of chalk sign on a real wall, maybe to ward off evil.
“You’re the Marine,” Playmate said. “Show us your stuff.”
Saucerhead pasted on a huge grin. He was ex-army, too. And he had heard my opinions concerning the relative merits of the services more often than had Playmate. He refused to see the light. It’s a debate that seems doomed to persist forever because army types are too dim to recognize the truth when it kicks them in the teeth.
Saucerhead’s whole face threatened to open up. I thought the top half of his head was going to tip over backward onto his shoulders. He gasped out, “Yeah, Garrett. Let’s see some of that old Marine Corps ‘Hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle.’”
Ominously, Singe said, “There is no yelling anymore.”
“I’m thinking about giving you some of that good old, big boy.” I took a deep breath and squared off with the illusory wall.
Saucerhead chuckled. He knows I’d never come straight at him if I did think I had to get after him. Business led us to butt heads briefly once upon a time, long ago. The results had been far from satisfactory from my point of view.
I whooped like I was going in, back in my island warfare days, straight up the middle indeed. Something that we did not actually do very often, as I recall. Us and the Venageti both
“It sure don’t look like something somebody threw up over the weekend,” I said. Believe it or not, some Karentine subjects are wicked enough to ignore established regulations and will construct something illegal while the city functionaries are off duty.
Nobody stepped up to the wall. Until Singe snorted the way only a woman can do when she’s exasperated with men being men. She shuffled right up till her pointy big nose was half an inch from the limestone. “The track of the boy goes straight on, Garrett. And this wall smells almost the same as the odor I found where the two elves fell on one another.”
Playmate took a few steps backward, found a bit of broken brick that hadn’t yet been scrounged by the street children. (They sell brick chips and chunks back to the brickyards, where they’re powdered and added to the clay of new bricks.) He started to wind up, but paused and said, “Garrett, have you bothered to look up?”
I hadn’t. Why would I?
None of the others had, either.
We all looked now.
That wall wasn’t part of anything. It might not even be stone. It just went up a ways, then turned fuzzy and wiggly and lizard’s belly white. Then it turned misty. Then it turned into nothing.
“It’s an illusion.”
Playmate chucked his brickbat.
The missile proceeded to proceed despite the presence of a wall that appeared completely solid, if improbably cold and damp when I extended a cautious finger to test it. Saucerhead Tharpe isn’t nearly as careful as Mama Garrett’s only surviving son. He reached out to thump that wall. And his fist went right on through.
We all stepped back. We exchanged troubled looks. I said, “That’s an illusion of the highest order.”
Singe said, “I hear someone calling from the other side.”
Playmate observed, “An illusion that persists, that can be used as camouflage, requires the efforts of a master wizard.”
I grunted. In this town that meant somebody off the Hill. It meant one of six dozen or so people who are the real masters in Karenta.
Singe said, “There is somebody over there. Yelling at you, Garrett.”
I asked Playmate, “What do you think?” I admit to being intimidated by Hill people. But I’ve never backed down just because they stuck a finger in somewhere. I wouldn’t back down now. Kip’s kidnapping had me irked and interested. Of everyone I asked, “Anybody want to walk away?”
Nobody volunteered to leave, though Saucerhead gulped a pail of air, Playmate seemed to go a little green and Singe started shaking like she was naked in a blizzard and didn’t have a clue which way to the warm. She made some kind of chalk sign on a real wall, maybe to ward off evil.
“You’re the Marine,” Playmate said. “Show us your stuff.”
Saucerhead pasted on a huge grin. He was ex-army, too. And he had heard my opinions concerning the relative merits of the services more often than had Playmate. He refused to see the light. It’s a debate that seems doomed to persist forever because army types are too dim to recognize the truth when it kicks them in the teeth.
Saucerhead’s whole face threatened to open up. I thought the top half of his head was going to tip over backward onto his shoulders. He gasped out, “Yeah, Garrett. Let’s see some of that old Marine Corps ‘Hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle.’”
Ominously, Singe said, “There is no yelling anymore.”
“I’m thinking about giving you some of that good old, big boy.” I took a deep breath and squared off with the illusory wall.
Saucerhead chuckled. He knows I’d never come straight at him if I did think I had to get after him. Business led us to butt heads briefly once upon a time, long ago. The results had been far from satisfactory from my point of view.
I whooped like I was going in, back in my island warfare days, straight up the middle indeed. Something that we did not actually do very often, as I recall. Us and the Venageti both
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