Harry Turtledove The Case Of The Toxic Spell Dump

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The CI spook looked me over. "We take an interest in Huitzilopochtli," he
said. "Maybe you'll tell me what you know about the recent manifestation you
uncovered."
So I told him. And as I talked, I found myself wondering just what the devil I
was getting into. Every step into the toxic spell dump case seemed to drag me
deeper into a polluted ooze from which I feared
I'd be lucky to escape with my soul intact.
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After I was through, the spook sat there for quite a while without saying
anything. I watched him, I
watched the chair through him, and I tried to figure out how the puzzle pieces
fit together. Evidently my visitor from Central Intelligence was doing the
same thing, because he finally said, "In your opinion, what, if anything, is
the relationship between the various elements you have outlined the leaking
spell dump, the monastery arson, the possibilities inherent in the Garuda Bird
project, the decline of the local Powers, and this trouble with the curandero
and his potions?" didn't think there was any connection between the
Chumash and the rest of the mess," I exclaimed; that hadn't even occurred to
me. "As for the other things, I'm still digging, and so is the Angels City
constabulary. If you want my gut feeling, I think some of the other things
will prove tied together, but I don't see how right now and I don't have any
sort of evidence to back me up."
"Never underestimate the value of gut feelings," the spook said seriously.
"You ignore them at your peril.
The finding at Central Intelligence is essentially- the same as yours;
otherwise they would not have sent out a spectral operative" that's spook-talk
for spook "to bring an overview back to D.StC."
Etheric transport is of course a lot quicker than the fastest carpet the spook
could just cut directly through the Other Side from the District of St Columba
and back, a privilege denied to all mere mortals save a handful of saints,
dervishes, and boddhisatvas, none of whom, for various good reasons, was
likely to be in the employ of Central Intelligence.
I said, "Since you've come crosscountry to interview me" that seemed a politer
phrase than interrogate me
"maybe you'll tell me something, too." When the spook didn't say no, I went
on, "Is this case somehow connected with worries about the Third Sorcerous
War?"
The spook got up from the chair, took a couple of steps toward me. "How did
you make that connection?"
His voice was quiet, and cold as hemlock moving up toward the heart. He took
another step in my direction. I don't have a big front room; he was already
halfway across it. Three more steps and he could do I didn't know what, but
I'd read enough spy thrillers to make some guesses: reach inside my head and
pinch off an artery, maybe. Unless a good forensic sorcerer helped do my
autopsy, I'd go into the
Thomas Brothers' demographic records as just another case of apoplexy, younger
than most.
I skipped backward, yanked open the closet door, whipped out the blasting rod,
and pointed it at the spook's midsection. "Back off!" I told him. This rod is
primed and ready all I have to do is say the
Word and you're cooked," Of course, my flat would be cooked, too; a rod
operates on This Side as well as the Other. But I figured I had a better
chance of escaping from a burning flat than from a CI
spook.
He stood very still. He didn't come forward, but he didn t move back, not even
when I thrust the rod out toward him. As he had before, he said, think you'll
want to reconsider that. Unless you're packing
I
something very much out of the ordinary, you'll hurt your books and furniture
much more than me."
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I knew the military had developed some high-level protection for their own
spectral operatives; it seemed reasonable that a Central Intelligence spook
would enjoy the same shielding. Come to that, some of the goetic technology
has trickled down to the Underworld, which makes constables unhappy. On the
other hand
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"This is a Mage Abramelin
Magen David
Special," I said. "I don't care how well you're warded against
Christian or Muslim magic: this is the fire that dealt with Sodom and
Gomorrah."
Now the spook backed up. Being transparent, his features were hard to make
out, but I thought he looked thoughtful. "You could be bluffing," he said.
"So could you."
"Impasse." He went back to the chair, sat down again. I lowered the rod, but I
didn't let go of it. The spook said, "Since we are uncertain of each other's
powers, shall we proceed as if the recent unpleasantness had not taken place?
Let me ask you again, with no threat intended or implied, why you believe this
case my be connected to national security issues."
"Well, for one thing, why would you have walked through my door if it
weren't?" I said.
The spook grimaced mistily. "Heidelberg s Thaumaturgic Principle: the mere act
of observation magically affects that which is being observed. I console
myself by remembering I'm not the first to fall victim to it, nor shall I be
the last."
I didn't want any kind of spook, not even a philosophical one, in my front
room. I went on, "If it makes you feel any better, I was worried about it
before I ever set eyes on you. Too many big Powers involved:
Beelzebub, the whole Persian mess I haven't got to the bottom of yet, now
Huitzilopochtli." I didn't mention Charlie Kelly. I wasn't sure he deserved my
loyalty, not any more, but he still had it. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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