The Archimage's Fourth Daughter Page 13

  As Thaling reasserted himself, he felt pressure from another source. A second sprite was starting to struggle for dominance since he had focused his thoughts on the first. I am no accomplished wizard, he growled to himself for the dozenth time. A magician skilled in ritual, yes, but not also experienced dueling with the minds from another realm. He could handle the basics but had no training in dominating more than one demon simultaneously. The ritual would be far easier to perform with others of his own kind handling the steps. But the risk of one of his brothers finding out what he was doing was too great. He would have to deal with these irksome sprites instead.

  Thaling visualized an array of vices in his mind, one for each of the rockbubblers, and mentally began turning the handle for the one who now challenged him. But as soon as he did, two more pushed back with their own wills, mounting defiance. Like an entertainer trying to keep a score of plates simultaneously spinning on sticks, he flitted his attention to where it was needed most.

  A sense of panic began to well up within him. Alone the sprites were puny, but acting together, acting as one…

  Acting as one! Yes, that was what he had to do. In his mind, Thaling arranged all of the vices in a row and welded a horizontal metal bar to the handles standing in line. Then when he moved the rod in a small circle, every one of the jaws simultaneously would contract. At first, the bar did not budge, but then he thought of his mate, and anger added energy to his exertion. Slowly, the vices all tightened about the sprites. In a few moments, the image faded as the small demons bowed their heads.

  “Silence, I said,” Thaling growled.

  “As you wish, Bo… Master,” the demons said and then became quiet.

  “To your positions then,” Thaling commanded the six ‘naked’ rockbubblers wearing the silver rings. “There on the diagram, to each point of the compass as I have indicated the paths. Step exactly to the cadence as I call it out. Trail your quills on the parchment as you proceed.”

  As Thaling counted, the ink left by the six sprites curved out from the common starting place. When they reached a certain distance, they reversed direction and returned to the center following a slightly different path. Soon, the pattern looked like symmetrical leaves radiating from the center of a flowering plant. Next, the leaf tips were surrounded by an encompassing circle, and using where the leaves touched the circumference as starting points, the design was repeated six more times. The exile made them write a third set of motifs surrounding the second, and finally, two concentric circles circumscribed the entire design.

  Thaling waited a few moments for the ink to dry. “You may retreat to the periphery and reestablish your spheres,” he said. “Continue your silence until I have finished my own part.”

  He placed the tracker at the very center of the pattern and then adhered the little clock into a flat place on the backside with the mineral glue. After waiting a few moments more, he dusted a basalt sand over the ink, drying it completely. The ritual was complete.

  Thaling stepped back to admire what he had done. “The circles of life,” he said aloud to no one. “The design is perfect, useful as a basis for so many rituals, and it will last forever.”

  “I don’t get it, Boss,” Littlebutt said.

  “It is all according to the fundamental law of magic, Thaling said. “The Maxim of Persistence — ’Perfection is Eternal.’“

  Not So Safe

  TWO WEEKS went by quickly. A few more dinners, a show or two, even a movie sitting in an empty loge, and Briana did not surrender even a single smooch. One day near the end of the period, she had requested another ride to Hollywood. But other than that, nothing.

  This woman was a loser, Jake thought. He was wasting his time. His first impulse had been correct. He should give her the heave-ho. But then, yes, she was a challenge. Eventually, she would come around, wouldn’t she? And exotic as ever. He had to have her, find out what it would be like.

  Except for the two scoops of ice cream every night, her dent in the pantry was far less than what it took to keep Maurice from getting irritable. The rest of the time, Briana occupied herself with her computer and watching classic movies on TV. She was learning about cultural things faster that way, she had said. But every time he tried a move, she rebuffed him. “You promised,” she would always say. Fourteen days, and nothing.

  The essay did garner an A, and somehow Maurice moving out never did come up. The monk-wannabe handled the cooking when they ate in, and Briana did the dishes afterward. The two of them shared the laundry chores as well. More time for surfing and occasional study when he felt like it.

  Jake approached Briana from behind while she was intent on the TV. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned over, hoping to see something down the front of her low-cut top. Without losing concentration, Briana lifted his hand away.

  “Okay, Okay!” Jake growled. “I have not tried anything for two frigging weeks. I am as much of a saint as that Buddhist hiding in his room all day. I give up. Be explicit. What deed do I have to perform to get anywhere with you?”

  Briana clicked off the TV, turned her head, and smiled. “It took you a while finally to crack,” she said. “But this will be a gift, freely given, right? Nothing in payment expected.”

  Jake studied Briana intently. Her smile looked genuine enough. Maybe with only a little more time… “Yeah, a gift,” he growled.

  “The stock market.” Briana stood and faced him. “I want to be able to query transaction records.”

  Jake frowned. This was unexpected. “What in hell for?” he asked.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Was this an act? Making stuff up. Playing him? But if so, then why? Or was there a true mystery here? Something adding to her allure.

  “Access to market transaction records?” he said. “Be reasonable. How am I supposed to get my hands on stuff like that?”

  “Aren’t you Jonathan Waverton, the third?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “And isn’t your father, Jonathan Waverton, Jr?”

  “So wha… Oh, yeah, my old man. SEC big data. He can get to that.”

  “So, ask him.”

  “It doesn’t work that way with him.”

  Briana came up to Jake and gently squeezed his arm.

  Shangri-La! and everything that might mean danced tantalizingly back into his mind. He sighed. If this was the hoop he had to jump through, then so be it. “Asking him directly probably will not cut it… But I do know someone who can help.”

  “HE LEFT an hour ago for a trip,” the receptionist outside of Jake’s father’s office said as he and his stepmother, Margo, sailed by. “You shouldn’t be going in there.”

  “Shhh! A birthday surprise.” Margo held up a decorated package tied with a large bow and kept walking.

  The receptionist opened her mouth to say more, but by the time she had come up with something, Jake and Margo were in the office and had shut the door.

  “It’s like I remember,” Margo said. “A large desk and one chair on either side.”

  “Most of the filing cabinets are behind the oak panels,” Jake said. “We will have to search behind each one until we find the safe.” He began pushing on the panels one by one until they popped open. About a quarter way around the room, he found what he was looking for.

  “Good! The same one he showed me when I was in high school,” Jake said. “Cheap bastard. Bragged about not spending several grand on a Class One Diebold. A few hundred for this toy from an office supply store. I figured he would never upgrade to the newer one. He has had this for years.”

  Rather than a tall, narrow filing cabinet, the panel hid a small almost cubical safe that was bolted to the floor. On its face was a numerical keypad and a lever; there was no dial like the older models of a generation ago.

  Jake reached into his pocket and withdrew a long hockey sock. In its toe was a short, round cylinder.

  “What did you say the magnet was made of?” Margo asked. “Neodin… neodin
…”

  “Neodymium,” Jake said. “It is a rare-earth element. The world’s strongest magnets are made from it. Something I learned last year in the ‘Science for Liberal Arts Majors’ class.”

  “Why is it in the long sock?”

  “It is so powerful that if I stuck it to the safe itself, I would never be able to remove it again. Now watch this.”

  Jake grasped the magnet through the sock padding and placed it on the safe in the upper left-hand corner. He clutched the lever with his other hand and tried to twist it.

  Nothing happened.

  “What are you doing?” Margo asked.

  “There is a solenoid inside the safe that retracts the locking mechanism from the door when the correct combination is punched in. The magnet is so strong it can move the solenoid core entirely by itself.”

  He began sliding the magnet in the sock slightly in random directions from where he had placed it. After only a few trials, the lever rotated, and the safe opened.

  “That’s-that’s magic!” Margo blurted.

  “Nothing like that. Good ol’ modern technology instead.”

  Inside the safe was a single sheet of paper. Jake took it out and examined it.

  “And just like the old man, too,” Jake shook his head. “A final failsafe if he forgot the usernames and passwords for his computer, firewall, and encrypted files.”

  “Firewalls and encrypted files. How do you know anything about things like that?”

  “Bri-I mean-Maurice surfed the net for me and found out what to do.”

  Jake hastened to the desk and started typing on the keyboard. In a few minutes more, following instructions that ‘Maurice’ had written out for him, he had altered firewall settings so he could log in remotely. He wrote the new user name and password for entry on a scrap of paper and shoved it in his pocket.

  “Well that does it,” he said. “Thanks for coming along, Margo. The receptionist wouldn’t stop Jonathon Waverton, Jr’s wife from entering even if she might for the wayward son. And the wrapped package was a genius touch.”

  “This is how you can thank me,” Margo said as she sat down on the carpet and started to unbutton her blouse.

  “What! No, this is crazy!” Jake said. “I’m coming back up tomorrow anyway. Let’s get out of here now.”

  “Think of it.” Margo began sliding down her slacks. “What better place to shove it to him than in his very own office.”

  Jake started to protest, but his hindbrain took control, and he started undressing as well.

  Things progressed swiftly. They always did with Margo. She was too impatient to bother with all of the foreplay. Then, the outer door of the suite slammed with purpose, and Jake sat up, startled.

  “What was that?” he whispered.

  The raised voice of the receptionist penetrated the closed door. “Why, Mr. Waverton, what are you doing back here? Your flight should be taking off about now.”

  “Forgot an important file,” Jake’s father answered. “I’ll take a later plane.”

  “Ah, wait. Maybe you shouldn’t be going in there yet,”

  “What do you mean?” The elder Waverton puzzled.

  “It’s… it’s a surprise.”

  Jake’s father hesitated for a few seconds, then shrugged and jerked open the door. His eyebrows flew up when he saw Jake and Margo standing there.

  “What are you two doing here?” he asked.

  “Surprise!” Jake said. He thrust forward the package. “And happy birthday!”

  “My birthday is not until next March,” Jake’s father growled.

  “Yes, and that is why it is a surprise.” Margo smiled at her husband.

  The elder Waverton turned his attention to his wife and frowned. “You have been hitting the sauce a little too much lately, Margo. Look at you. Your blouse isn’t even buttoned right.”

  He turned back to Jake. “And you don’t look much better.” Then he scanned the room. “Half of the panels are open. What exactly were you two doing in here?”

  “Trying to find a good hiding place,” the two said in unison.

  Jake’s father eyed the package being pushed at him. He placed his hands on either side of his son’s and drew the offering toward him. “Ah, Passion Flower,” he said as he inhaled. “At least you remembered to get that right, Margo. Some of it has even rubbed off on this package.”

  “Well, surprise over,” Jake said. “We gotta go now.”

  The elder Waverton watched the two scurry out. He put the box to his nose, inhaled again and then frowned.

  “Elsa, get me the number of Acme Detective,” he said.

  BRIANA IGNORED the look as she opened her computer in Jake’s living room and began the logon process.

  “Okay, now you have access,” Jake said. “You can do all sorts of queries on the NYSE historical transaction database.”

  He leered. “I have performed the deed you desired. Now, do I get my reward?”

  He thought for a moment. “Although, it doesn’t really have to be tonight. I have to fly back up north tomorrow and want to be in tip-top shape for that.”

  “Let’s see if the data is of any use.” Briana ignored Jake’s words.

  “What is it you want to know?” he asked.

  “I am searching to see if anyone has been very, very lucky, someone who knows exactly when to buy and when to sell.”

  “You mean a day trader?” Maurice interjected as he came to look over Briana’s other shoulder. “Buddha says ‘Refrain from evil and from strong drink and to be steadfast in virtue; that is the good luck’.”

  “Yes, very short-term trades,” Briana said. “Carl, a friend of mine on campus explained it to me.” She fell silent and continued manipulating the keys. After a while, it became clear to Jake that nothing was going to happen tonight even if he didn’t have plans for tomorrow. He watched her input queries for a few moments more and then backed away. Maybe she would be sufficiently grateful when he returned from up north. The two men retreated, Maurice back to his meditation and Jake to the dolls in his room.

  After several hours, Briana shouted. “A hit! I got a hit!”

  “What, what?” Jake and Maurice rejoined her. “What did you find?”

  Briana pointed at the screen. “There, I have assembled the data. There is a trader in New York, Fredrick Emmertyn. He buys a variety of stocks but then only holds them for a few minutes-five at the most. Then he sells. Or sometimes, he sells short and then buys back minutes later. The dollar amounts are small so that no one would notice. But time after time, every time, over the last three years, as far back as the data goes, he makes a profit. Finally! Finally after all of my searching. I see what looks like proof.”

  Jake watched Briana somewhat surprised. He had never seen her this animated.

  “Sorcery is practiced here on Earth after all!” she said.

  “Sorcery? Here on Earth? What are you babbling about?” Jake asked.

  “It is the perfect use of the craft in a culture such as this. No need to confront. No need to struggle overtly for power. Use the system to build up wealth slowly. Build until you had the wherewithal to buy whatever else you needed.”

  “You’re still not making sense,” Jake said. His leer returned. “Maybe we don’t have to wait until after my, ah, meeting tomorrow. Maybe I can get my reward tonight?”

  Briana smiled. She leaned toward Jake and kissed him on his cheek.

  “That’s it?” he exclaimed. “I risked my butt to give you what you wanted, and all I get for it is a lousy peck on the jaw? That’s the pleasure to come? I don’t understand why this is so valuable to you, but don’t you truly… like me now?”

  Briana thought for a moment. “No, not yet. There is more.”

  “What?” Jake exploded.

  “We have to go to New York and confront this trader. Find out if he is acting on his own or for someone-or someones else.”

  A Disciple of Murphy

  THALING CRANED his head backward a
nd looked up at the apex of Littlebutt’s sphere. No sky showed, but he was anxious anyway. The peak was only inches below the surface. One hiccough upward and the boundary would be pierced. The air the humans breathed would rush in. No, that was not right, he corrected himself. Air from their prison would rush out like that from a failed dam.

  “Why didn’t you think this all the way through?” Littlebutt asked. “I would much rather be hangin’ out at the pool.”

  “What? What pool? You guys don’t have a pool!”

  “It’s a metaphor,” Littlebutt said. “It means not having anything unpleasant to do, like convincing this recluse to come and help. You know, Boss, for a wizard, you’re kinda dumb.”

  “I am a magician, not a wizard,” Thaling ignored the barb. It was better to keep focused on the ultimate objective. “I had no idea the air imps would charge so much for the scrap odometers I wanted.”

  “Right. The mechanical ones are hard to come by now. Not used in newer chariots any more. Instead, we have to connect up electronic ones, small glowing lights in an array forming each digit.

  “And that means,” Littlebutt continued, “we must deal with a gremlin. They’re unpleasant guys. Don’t talk much. Would rather hang out inside of electronics, shooting off sparks to make them fail. The idea of assembly rather than destruction is an entirely new concept for them.”

  “How do you know about these things anyway?” Thaling asked. “When you spend all of your idle time, as you say, hangin’ out at the pool.”

  “Or shooting the breeze,” Littlebutt said.

  Thaling scowled, and Littlebutt hurried on. “The imp who is coming. He calls himself a…” The sprite stopped, held up his hands, extended two fingers from each, and clawed at the air. “He calls himself a ‘Disciple of Murphy,’ whatever that is.”

  One of the sprite’s eyebrows raised for a moment, but Thaling did not react. Finally, it said, “You see what I did, Boss? The sprites above the surface say the humans call the clawing fingers ‘air quotes’. Personally, I don’t get it.”

  He lowered his arms and raised one shoulder as far as he could, let it relax, and then raised the other.