The sky was beginning to grey with the coming of dawn. As it grew, the light let them make out the sentry. Their patience had paid off; he was drowsing.
So far, their departure from the mansion had gone unnoticed. The last barrier, the gate, lay before them. Once through, they would be out of Glover’s hands. They knew from Dodger’s tap of a NavSat that Glover’s estate lay in the southwest of England. There was a town only a few miles away. From there, transportation to the Bristol metroplex would be a simple matter.
Sam drew his Narcoject Lethe.
The guard jerked at the impact of the dart, and slid to the ground in a subdued clatter. While Sam injected an antidote, Dodger tapped into the gate control system. Three minutes later they were on the road to Taunton, the gate closed and locked behind them. In a few more minutes, the sentry would awaken, propped against the guard house. With little evidence to the contrary, he should think that he had dozed off naturally. If their luck held, it might be an hour or two until their absence was noticed.
The Black Down Hills were strange territory, but for those first minutes of freedom, Sam felt more at home than he had on Glover’s estate. The growing dawn dampened his spirits as it unveiled a desolate landscape. Like much of England, the hills had been ravaged; first by overpopulation and industrialization, then by the ecological terrorism to which the country had been subjected in the early part of the century. It was a scarred and battered land, tortured further by the natural and man-made disasters that had plagued it in the last few years. The awfulness began to weigh him down.
Dodger trudged at his side. He and the elf had talked little beyond the necessary planning for their escape. Dodger’s contributions had been terse, completely lacking in his usual banter and archaic style. Sam hadn’t minded; he wasn’t sure that he wanted to talk just yet. The druids’ talk last night had raised uncomfortable questions.
They reached the outskirts of Taunton without observing any signs of pursuit. The relief must have heartened Dodger; the elf tried a conversational gambit. Perhaps he was motivated by the need to discuss some matters before they were surrounded by curious ears. “Sir Twist, don’t you find it intriguing that so august a personage as Sir Winston Neville would be involved in these druidical shenanigans?”
“No,” Sam replied brusquely. Druids weren’t the only ones who were pulling shenanigans.
“What about this ‘uncrowned sovereign’ business? Does not that compel your curiosity?”
“No.”
“Sir Twist, the paucity of your response suggests that you harbor some unspoken concern. Is this so?”
Of course it was so. Dodger’s nagging at the druids’ plans only gave credence to Sam’s suspicions. They were not safe yet, and they were beginning to encounter people, so all he said was, “Yes.”
The elf lapsed into silence again.
Taunton’s grimy buildings soon surrounded them. The town offered them a chance to get some supplies. Beyond the obvious necessities of food, water, and ammunition, they had need of protective gear; there was a stage four smog alert in Bristol, and a sane person wouldn’t be outside a breath mask. If they wanted to reach their destination quickly, they also needed transportation.
Finding connections wasn’t easy, and Sam didn’t make it easier. He stubbornly remained silent, forcing Dodger to do all their talking. Watching the elf struggle to conduct his dealings with the locals, Sam felt a perverse satisfaction when he saw the sidelong glances the passing Brits gave Dodger. Though most concealed their feelings behind a veneer of politeness whenever addressed directly, Sam was sure that the locals didn’t like elves much.
They got what they needed, but the locals drove harder bargains than seemed reasonable, even allowing for the fact that they were dealing with strangers. Dodger was forced to pay a premium price for the beat-up old bike, which was the only vehicle anyone would part with. The decrepit thing was alcohol-powered, and its hard rubber tires were gouged and greying. They’d be lucky if it didn’t disintegrate at the first bump, but they didn’t have time to wait for a better deal.
Though pursuit remained unseen, they had no assurance the druids weren’t busy trying to track them down. Dodger and Sam would be safer in a metroplex where outsiders were more common and they could lose themselves among the masses. The sooner they reached the ’plex, the safer they’d be.
The ride to Bristol was every bit as bone-shattering as the bike’s condition promised. Unlike Seattle, Bristol didn’t have a wall; it wasn’t an enclave of alien territory in the midst of a green and fertile land. The drab grey and brown countryside gradually seemed to blur into drab grey and brown cottages that merged almost imperceptibly into drab grey and brown multi-story buildings. They passed the boundaries of the sprawl without noticing.
Dodger abandoned the decrepit bike as soon as he spotted a rail station, announcing they would be able to use the public transportation from there. Bristol, though a separate entity, had good transport links with the great English Sprawl that slashed across the island from Brighton to Liverpool. The elf seemed to assume the bigger metroplex was their destination, and made vague references to connections he had there.
Now that they were in an urban environment, Dodger appeared to be in less of a hurry. He dragged Sam through a series of seedy pubs and squalid shops. Several rounds of haggling later, the elf was in possession of the access code to an overpriced, under-heated flat on the twentieth story of a pillar high-rise.
The building was supposed to have been part of the support system for an enclosing dome, fashioned after the one over the London district of the English Sprawl. Bristol’s dome, like those of every other sprawl district except downtown London, had never been completed. Fragments of the biofibre mesh that had stretched between the pillar high-rises still clung to one edge of the building. The splotchy fabric fluttered in the clammy breeze from the Bristol Channel. Sam wondered how much the ambiance contributed to the price.
The apathetic owner did not bother to accompany his new tenants to their flat. While Dodger prowled around, Sam stared through the filthy transparex. Across the channel, Sam could see the smog bank that hid the Cardiff ’plex. Beneath him, grey Bristol bustled about its business; but the smog covered any sign of activity and hid the tawdry Christmas decorations and neon and trideo exhortations for gift-giving that had festooned the streets. It could be any day, any sprawl.
He and Dodger were safely ensconced for the moment, anonymous among the masses of humanity. Time for a confrontation.
Without turning from the window, Sam said, “You knew Janice was never on their list, didn’t you?”
The sudden cessation of sound behind him told him he had achieved the effect he wanted. He turned to find Dodger staring at him. The elf’s expression was uncertain. “Sir Twi…Sam, I will not lie to you. I knew, but—”
“You already have lied to me,” Sam said bitterly.
“I never said the name on the list belonged to your sister. I merely suggested that—”
“You meant for me to believe it. You deliberately deceived me. Go ahead. I want to hear you deny it.”
Dodger swallowed, then spent a moment considering what to say. “I cannot deny that I deceived you.”
“Why not? What’s another lie? You’re very good at words; surely you can find some. Don’t you want me to trust you anymore? Or doesn’t it matter anymore?” Sam asked. “Why not lie again? Tell me you were deceived, too. Tell me somebody forced you to fake the list. I’ll believe it. I’m just a stupid norm, ripe for a few elven tricks.”
“Sam, I…” Dodger ran a hand through his shock of hair. “What does it matter? Whatever I say, you won’t believe me. How you got involved isn’t really important. You’re involved now, and you have to believe what is happening.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do. These druids are serious trouble. They’ve got to be dealt with. You may not want to believe me about the importance of what’s going down, but the facts should convince you.” Dodger tapped his cyberdeck. “Before we left Glover’s mansion, I swiped a few copies of a few files and stashed them in a little-used corner of an ATT mainframe. Once I knew we were dealing with druids and that the Solstice was almost upon us, I used the date as a cue to run a similarity search. I could see I was getting somewhere, but that it would take time, so I set a few special programs to work. If no one has disturbed my creative time-sharing arrangement, I should have a few revealing files to be read. Will you look at them?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere for a while; looking won’t hurt.”
Despite his predisposition to disbelief, Sam found himself engrossed by the files Dodger had cracked. If they were real and not another concoction, Glover and his cronies were involved in evil doings. The files told a tale worse than Haesslich’s murders. The dragon had sacrificed lives in his search for personal aggrandizement; murders, yes, but incidental to his desires. These druids were methodically planning death.
Most of the data was in a language that the computer tentatively identified as Old English. Without the proper translation programs, most of the files remained unreadable, but enough of the contents were clear to make the druids’ intent unmistakable. It all seemed to revolve around a special ritual of immense power. There were several unambiguous references to the “king who must die” as the key to the “cycle of restoration.” Other passages referred to “scions of untainted bloodlines” as important components of the ritual. Sam had little doubt that these “scions” would turn out to be the people on Glover’s infamous list. They, too, were to be sacrificed as the druids sought to end human lives for the magical energy that would be released. Deliberate, cold-blooded human sacrifice. Black magic of the worst kind.
It was all too horrible to be believed. If it could be believed.
“I don’t like what you’re showing me, Dodger. I don’t like it at all.”
“Neither do I, Sir Twist. ’Tis what I feared, though. Suspicion of this evil drove me to deceive you. Had I simply told you about it without evidence, you would have rightly scoffed.”
The elf so casually admitted toying with Sam’s belief in his honesty. Hadn’t they been friends, shadow brothers? Where was the elf’s trust? Didn’t he think he could be open with Sam? Sam had considered Dodger a friend ever since the elf had helped him after his escape from Renraku. How had he deceived himself into believing he was a friend? Friends didn’t lie to friends. Friends didn’t deceive friends.
He let his bitterness fill his voice as he said, “You deceived me right into helping them with their foul magic.”
“I had thought we could stop it from the inside,” Dodger said forlornly.
Sam couldn’t help but wonder if the hint of regret he detected in the elf’s tone was real. If it was real, did the elf regret what he had done, or did he regret the lost opportunity to work against the druids? Did it matter?
“Well, we’re not inside anymore, and I don’t see how we can stop them. If the druids mean to try their ritual on the Solstice, there’s no time left. We’re thousands of miles from our home turf. We’ve got no resources but what we’re carrying, and some of these druids are the heads of major corporations. They could put out a contract on us, and the bill would show up in petty cash. What could just the two of us do?”
“I have friends in London.”
“Why am I not surprised? Why didn’t you just take on these druids with them? Or was it too much fun to dupe the norm?”
Dodger sighed. “I thought you would understand. I thought that you would see the need to stop these people.”
“Oh, I can see the need to stop them, all right,” Sam snapped. “Anyone planning their kind of evil magic must be stopped. I would think so even if you hadn’t dragged me into the middle of this. You could have just asked me, but instead you had to play the puppet master. You made sure that I was involved, didn’t you? You made me a party to their crime.”
Dodger straightened away from Sam’s accusing finger. “We both became involved inadvertently, Sir Twist. I will not take your guilt on my shoulders alone. You agreed to and completed the snatch on Sanchez before anyone knew what these druids planned.”
Dodger was right about that. They had gotten involved before Dodger had shown him the false list. Sam had been the one who had arranged the run with Mr. Johnson-Glover. Dodger had had nothing to do with it beyond his decking responsibilities.
If Dodger hadn’t led him into sticking with Glover, Sam might never have learned of the druids’ plan until after they had performed their sacrifice. Then, he would have been an accessory without any chance to avert the crime. As things stood, he had a chance to rescue Sanchez and Corbeau and the others. Were Sam’s hurt feelings worth people’s lives?
“Your London friends have resources?”
Dodger nodded.
“Then we’d better figure out where and how to apply them.”
Dodger offered a tentative smile. Sam returned it, offering a truce. Once the druids were foiled, there would be time to sort things out. Until then, there was work to do. Arguing would not get it done.
“I will contact my friends immediately,” Dodger said.
“Hold on. I want to make sure we are in agreement as to exactly what is going on. We can’t know what we need to have until we know what we need to do. I want to have as little involvement with your ‘friends’ as possible.”
“Very well, Sir Twist. I trust you will evaluate the problem clearly. I trust you.” Dodger paused, offering Sam the opportunity to make a statement of reconciliation. Unready to do so, Sam let the silence grow. Dodger cleared his throat and said, “So, Sir Twist, where shall we start?”
“If this ritual involves the shedding of royal blood, it’s designed to channel a lot of power. That kind of magical energy needs to be confined and focused. They would need a special ritual site, someplace that would allow them to concentrate and then direct the energies they unleash.”
“’Tis a reasonable conclusion. From the look in your eye, Sir Twist, you have a thought.”
“Yeah. Remember what I told you about the druids being something of a religion?”
“Yes.”
“Well. Religions have holy places, and an important shrine would seem a likely place for their ritual. For the druids, holy places were groves of trees and circles of stones. Once Britain was dotted with them. By now though, most of them are gone.”
“Mayhap archaeological survey records?”
“It would take a lot of time to sort through. England’s got a lot of history. Besides, we don’t really know what might be druidic and what’s not. We could play guessing games for days.”
“’Twould seem there is no other choice.”
“I recall a theory that stated all magical places are connected magically. According to the model, there are connections between such places through which mana can flow, sort of like datalines in the Matrix. Once the magic came back, some magicians found that these connections actually worked sometimes, allowing spells to be cast beyond normal parameters. Nobody really understands what these manalines are or how they work, but most of the research was done in Britain since there seems to be a high concentration of them crisscrossing the island. A lot of the pathways coincided with a network of religious and archaeological sites charted about a hundred and fifty years ago by a guy named Watkins. His charts don’t match the modern ones exactly, I don’t know how; my memory’s kind of fuzzy on the subject. I do remember that these pathways use the name he coined, ley lines. If we can find where bunches of these ley lines meet, we might find a likely place for the ritual.”
“Render unto me the references for the magical texts, Sir Twist. If they are online, I shall strip them of the pertinent material and mate the data with current orbital cartography. Within half an hour, we shall have a map of places of power and the highway of your ley lines.”
In manipulating the Matrix, Dodger was as good as his word. Using a hookup to the squat’s trid unit, the elf displayed the map he had constructed with his cyberdeck. Sam stared at the screen, scrolling the image and tracing the lines. Line after line converged on a nearby nexus, but the node was small compared to a greater one to the southeast. He checked the map reference and sighed. He should have known from the start, but how could he have been sure that it was I still there? So much had changed in the world, so many antiquities destroyed, and England had seen its share of turmoil. But the site remained. And it was only two steps from a minor nexus at Glover’s mansion.
Sam tapped out commands on the cyberdeck’s keyboard, expanding the image until a ghostly picture of sarsen stones filled the image area. Dodger’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Stonehenge,” they said together.