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Authors: Jayne Castle
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forget to lock the back door." The door swung inward with a small sound of protest.
In the shadows Zac stared balefully at the open door. "Son of a-"
"Now what, fearless leader?"
"Don't look so smug. You've probably left prints all over the doorknob." He took out a handkerchief and wiped vigorously. "Don't touch anything else, understand?"
"Gotcha." On an unexpected wave of excitement Guinevere followed Zac inside the house. "Too bad we can't turn on a light."
"I've got a small pencil flashlight. Given what you've told me about programmer mentalities, I figure that if there's anything important to find, it will be around his home computer."
The route from the kitchen down the hall to the front room was an obstacle course dotted with candy wrappers, discarded socks, a towel, and several huge piles of computer magazines that were stacked precariously on the floor. The burst of excitement Guinevere had experienced as she stepped into the house faded into a more reasonable nervousness as she followed in Zac's wake.
The house smelled musty, as though it had been closed up for several days. It was also obvious from the odor that the garbage under the kitchen sink hadn't been emptied for a while. Then again, perhaps the homes of nerds always smelled this way.
The front room, revealed in brief glimpses under the gleam of Zac's small flashlight, appeared to have been done in post-college-dorm decadence. Apparently Cal was still under the influence of the academic environment he had left behind only a year previously. Several advertising posters from software firms decorated the wall. The furniture was an eclectic combination of Goodwill discards except for the large desk that supported an IBM personal computer. It was a little difficult to spot the computer at first because it was nearly hidden beneath a maze of empty ice cream containers, magazines, operation manuals, and printouts.
Guinevere glanced around uneasily as she halted by the desk. "What a mess."
"Remember what I said. Don't touch anything."
"If you'd paid attention to those articles on modern management you claimed to have read, you'd know you're supposed to give orders in a positive, supportive manner, not a negative, bossy style."
"I'm still studying the subject," he told her absently as he scanned the surface of the desk. "Stay here while I take a quick look in the bedroom."
Zac moved off toward the hall on surprisingly silent feet. For such a solidly built man he moved very quietly, Guinevere realized. She stood in the darkness, watching him disappear, and came to the obvious conclusion that he'd done this sort of thing before. The thought was not vastly reassuring. She wondered why he had been so insistent on bringing her along tonight. Surely he could have moved more quickly and assumed fewer risks if he'd come out here alone. The small puzzle occupied her while she peered down at the shadowed desk.
There was just barely enough moonlight filtering in from the window for her to see a plastic box full of computer disks sitting amid the rubble. She was leaning across the desk to lift the lid of the box when Zac materialized at her shoulder. Guinevere jumped in spite of herself.
"Don't sneak up on me like that! You want to give me heart failure?"
He ignored the question. "What's that?"
"A box of disks. I was just wondering if any of the Elf Hunt material is stored in there. Larry has been sinking rapidly into a decline because he's had to wait for Cal to finish some piece of the game."
"Elf Hunt?" Zac's tone was sharp.
"Named after a close friend of yours, I'm afraid," she told him. "I gather Cal and Larry couldn't resist the play on Elfstrom's name. Shine your light in here."
"I told you not to touch anything." Hastily Zac pushed her hand aside and opened the box with the aid of the handkerchief.
The rows of neatly labeled disks popped into view. Carefully Zac began flipping through them, reading the titles. There were word processing programs,
In the shadows Zac stared balefully at the open door. "Son of a-"
"Now what, fearless leader?"
"Don't look so smug. You've probably left prints all over the doorknob." He took out a handkerchief and wiped vigorously. "Don't touch anything else, understand?"
"Gotcha." On an unexpected wave of excitement Guinevere followed Zac inside the house. "Too bad we can't turn on a light."
"I've got a small pencil flashlight. Given what you've told me about programmer mentalities, I figure that if there's anything important to find, it will be around his home computer."
The route from the kitchen down the hall to the front room was an obstacle course dotted with candy wrappers, discarded socks, a towel, and several huge piles of computer magazines that were stacked precariously on the floor. The burst of excitement Guinevere had experienced as she stepped into the house faded into a more reasonable nervousness as she followed in Zac's wake.
The house smelled musty, as though it had been closed up for several days. It was also obvious from the odor that the garbage under the kitchen sink hadn't been emptied for a while. Then again, perhaps the homes of nerds always smelled this way.
The front room, revealed in brief glimpses under the gleam of Zac's small flashlight, appeared to have been done in post-college-dorm decadence. Apparently Cal was still under the influence of the academic environment he had left behind only a year previously. Several advertising posters from software firms decorated the wall. The furniture was an eclectic combination of Goodwill discards except for the large desk that supported an IBM personal computer. It was a little difficult to spot the computer at first because it was nearly hidden beneath a maze of empty ice cream containers, magazines, operation manuals, and printouts.
Guinevere glanced around uneasily as she halted by the desk. "What a mess."
"Remember what I said. Don't touch anything."
"If you'd paid attention to those articles on modern management you claimed to have read, you'd know you're supposed to give orders in a positive, supportive manner, not a negative, bossy style."
"I'm still studying the subject," he told her absently as he scanned the surface of the desk. "Stay here while I take a quick look in the bedroom."
Zac moved off toward the hall on surprisingly silent feet. For such a solidly built man he moved very quietly, Guinevere realized. She stood in the darkness, watching him disappear, and came to the obvious conclusion that he'd done this sort of thing before. The thought was not vastly reassuring. She wondered why he had been so insistent on bringing her along tonight. Surely he could have moved more quickly and assumed fewer risks if he'd come out here alone. The small puzzle occupied her while she peered down at the shadowed desk.
There was just barely enough moonlight filtering in from the window for her to see a plastic box full of computer disks sitting amid the rubble. She was leaning across the desk to lift the lid of the box when Zac materialized at her shoulder. Guinevere jumped in spite of herself.
"Don't sneak up on me like that! You want to give me heart failure?"
He ignored the question. "What's that?"
"A box of disks. I was just wondering if any of the Elf Hunt material is stored in there. Larry has been sinking rapidly into a decline because he's had to wait for Cal to finish some piece of the game."
"Elf Hunt?" Zac's tone was sharp.
"Named after a close friend of yours, I'm afraid," she told him. "I gather Cal and Larry couldn't resist the play on Elfstrom's name. Shine your light in here."
"I told you not to touch anything." Hastily Zac pushed her hand aside and opened the box with the aid of the handkerchief.
The rows of neatly labeled disks popped into view. Carefully Zac began flipping through them, reading the titles. There were word processing programs,
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