32 FRANCOIS
I’d planned to immediately split off towards sector four, but a lumbering servant jogs up to me, dull-eyed and panting.
He holds a tablet. “I’m to record your hunting adventure, sir.”
“Not necessary,” I say, waving a hand to dismiss him.
The man turns a dull, ashen gray beneath his brown skin. “Um, sorry, sir. If you don’t mind? The Director insists.”
“And I also insist. I do not enjoy being filmed.” I’m about to deal with the problem hypnotically, but the drudge unconsciously pulls at his neck, revealing a shock-collar.
“Sorry again, sir. But would you reconsider? I’ll get, er, reprimanded if I don’t do what I’m told.”
Fuck.
My new-found conscience is irritating at the best of times, and now, absolutely infuriating. Having to let this haggard, worn-down slum-man be punished, doesn’t sit well with me.
Hmm. I guess he can tag along for a while, then I’ll make his recording device ‘malfunction’. That should ward off too hard of a beating.
I eye his shock collar again. It has a small digital receiver blinking green. If I’m not mistaken, that is a proximity sensor. I imagine it is set to a perimeter that traps him within the grounds.
He’s a prisoner.
Maybe I will destroy both the sensor and the tablet when the time comes. Give him at least a chance to run free.
Though in his current malnourished state, the idea of him running anywhere seems unlikely. One thing seems certain, he’s not my enemy.
“Come along then.” I click my fingers and he looks up gratefully, stumbling after me into the woods.
Navigating the dense timberline of Sector Four with this shadow trailing in my wake requires every ounce of my fading patience. His movements are stiff and slow, though he does his best to keep up. As soon as we are somewhere more discreet, I’ll ditch him and shift.
“Sir,” he gasps, jogging behind me. “You said you didn’t like being filmed, but there are cameras in the trees too.” He indicates towards a tall birch.
Ah, yes. I see the dark, unblinking lens nestled in the ivy. “Thank you for the information. Do you have any more to share? Especially the location of the main prize.”
His eyes narrow with disgust before his expression blanks back into subservience. “No, sir,” he mumbles, then trips, going down hard into the freezing mud.
Merde. This is not working.
“What’s your name, man?”
“James, sir.”
Before he can utter another syllable, I slide a hand inside my coat pocket, tracing a tight geometry, while muttering a cast. I send an artificial burst of static interference into his device—a temporary moment of privacy.
“Do the cameras in the trees have audio?” I ask quickly.
“No, sir.”
Perfect.
We can be seen but not heard.
I herd him into the nearest thicket, then lay a hand on his shoulder. “I take it you are not here of your own free will?” I pin him with my gaze, just enough to get the full truth from him. “What would you do if I disabled your collar?”
He sucks in a breath, looking over his shoulder then back at me. “I-I…”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I would worry that it was one of the Director’s tests. I would fail it if I didn’t immediately report the incident. If you fail a test, there are no second chances.” James grimaces, like he can’t believe the honest words came out of his mouth.
“But if you knew it was not a test, then what?”
“I’d run. Run back to Ashgrave. Find my wife. Gods, my poor wife. First our daughter is locked up, then she loses her husband.” My attention tightens, even though I have so little time for the personal agonies of this working-man.
“A daughter locked up? In Quo?”
“Yes, sir. My daughter Layla. She’s a good girl though. Always trying to help, even if her methods aren’t exactly legit.” His voice trails off and he looks down to his battered shoes.
Layla—I see it now. This man, James, has the same bronze skin-tone, and troubled eyes of Taliesin’s muscle-bound sidekick.
Tout devient plus compliqué.
Everything is getting more and more complicated. I have a certain feeling that Aurora would not be pleased if I left her friend’s father in the hands of the Director.
But there is so little time.
Mind made up, I take his head between my hands. “I am a friend of Layla’s. You completely trust me. Going forward, you will help me fully and unconditionally. You will not reveal my mission to anyone.”
He sways a little on his feet then blinks. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then we have to find the main prize. It is a girl I am bound to rescue. We must work quickly and efficiently, understand?” I race to formulate a plan.
How can James be an asset rather than a hindrance?
I’ll need to cover as much ground as possible, scanning for heat below the muddy surface. My basilisk senses are incredibly honed to the vibrations of the earth, and I can also ‘see’ the infrared radiation caused by body heat.
James will be no help there, but four hands will be better than two when it comes to digging up a coffin. But he’ll need to keep up with me, and that’s impossible in his feeble state.
He’ll have to ride on my back. A degradation I promised myself I’d never allow.
And what of the forest cameras?
I can produce an aura around my body which should cause distorting static whenever we are in their vicinity. That will do.
“James, I am going to shift. You will climb onto my body and hold on tightly. Do not make a sound, and for the sake of whatever Gods you pray to… do not fall off.”
His eyes blink several times, but my hypnosis takes away the terror as I transform back to my basilisk skin in a sharp, grinding ache. My torso, newly knit back together, groans under the strain of the shifting bones.
I keep my form somewhat compressed, just a fifteen-foot column of iridescent, midnight-black scales. My girth is that of a sturdy tree trunk. James whimpers slightly as he approaches my coiled form and straddles my upper back, locking his arms and legs around me with a death grip.
Au boulot!
I slither quickly into the dark, sending my focus outwards.
My vision works like a thermal camera. The forest is deep purples and greens, with the driving rain a freezing sheet of violet.
But the mud shows a generalized subtle warmth.
Here and there my attention is caught, but it is a squirrel, or mouse.
Higher up, I see birds sheltering in the tree branches. And the hot heat signature of camera batteries.
What I need is a localized pocket of warmth generated by a living, breathing human body trapped beneath the clay. I glide silently, as fast as I can without toppling my…guest. James is a dead weight on my back, his breath coming in gasps against my neck, but he retains his holds.
We cover ground at a punishing pace.
I scan a shallow ravine—nothing but the cold blue of stagnant water.
I sweep past a hollow oak—only the small, clustered orange glow of a sleeping fox.
Where is she?
Screams in a distant pasture send violent vibrations into my brain.
I cannot pause. Cannot stop.
How much air does she have?
Is it already too late?
I pivot, driving deeper into a dense, overgrown patch of brambles. My company will be torn to shreds, but he’ll live beneath the scratches, whereas Aurora’s lost lamb will not.
Suddenly, a tiny, localized pulse of amber heat blooms in my vision. It is faint, heavily insulated by layers of freezing earth and suffocated by the cold downpour, but it is undeniably there.
A small, fading candle of body heat trapped beneath the roots.
It has to be.
I’ve found her.