Ninth Beginning: Deadline Extension

It was on a sultry evening after a restful but largely nondescript day that Narnia the Wanderer contracted a mild case of death. His companions were annoyed. They would have been more sympathetic if he’d contracted a more severe case, of course. The more horrific his death, the more they would have had to talk about to their other friends. But, other than the complete cessation of breathing and blood circulation, all Narnia had to show for his demise were drippy sinuses. The resulting snuffles and sneezes were unattractive and irritating rather than harrowing.

“You know, I bet you were murdered,” said Cassandra. A lissome, dark Vampiress, Cassandra took her name seriously. She reveled in making predictions that no one believed. There was no curse involved in this, no matter how forcefully she might argue that there was. She was simply never right and everyone knew it.

“Oh, poor Narnia!” The soft, graceful fingers of the Siren, Svetlana, smoothed the Wanderer’s hair and caressed his brow. He had been besotted with the riparian temptress for months and now she was his only sympathizer.

“Oh, kiss him goodbye and have done!” said the Wizard Madmanmann. “Dead is dead and it’s time for this dead guy to move along.”

“Not if we can prove he was murdered!” Svetlana clutched at Narnia’s shoulder’s. The tall, seated Wanderer sniffed and clutched back, trying to look brave and resigned.

"Aargh! Why me? Why are you trying to drag this out? He’s dead! Gone! Finito! Pffft! His corpse should be exorcised and buried. This is a no-brainer, here. We will grieve for the dearly departed, but first he will have to depart!” The wizard was pitching a snit.

“Yeah,” said a young Werewolf named Sassurpathlac - - a name which, in his native language, meant Leg Humper. “It’s time for him to get spiritually uplifted. His sniffles are boring and he smells clammy. Let’s pop him down to the medium’s shop by Baskin-Robbins while there’s still some night left to the night.”

But Cassandra was delighted to argue against the idea. And Svetlana, though trembling with doubt because Cassandra was never right, was willing to grasp at straws. She had been coolly flattered by Narnia’s attentions and was now surprised at the sense of loss his passing would cause. The group descended into bickering.

All right!” Madmanmann bellowed. “We can ask the medium to do a reading first. But I won’t pay the extra charge. I know Svet doesn’t have it. How about it Cassandra? Money where your grotty predictions are?”

Cassandra was not pleased. It was her delight to be doubted. Proof, one way or the other, smothered doubt.

Narnia sniffled and patted his tunic, looking beseechingly at Svetlana. She reached gently into his tunic. He sighed in adoration as she pulled out three cards from an inner pocket. The symbols on the cards writhed and twisted. He folded his large hands around her small ones, as she held them, and gave a couple of cooling pats.

“Oh,” she said, “he wants me to sell his magic cards. He’ll pay for the reading himself. Oh, you dear man.” She turned to hug him and he sighed and sniffled in bliss.

“Aw, jeez!” Werewolves were obviously unimpressed by dear men. . . particularly dead ones. As the group grumbled toward Four Elements, the medium’s shop, Sassy loped off to get a banana split. He said he’d be back later. . . maybe.

The Four Elements was a dim, incense-filled room. When they rang for the medium, a voice from the shadows said, “Yes?” Everyone turned slowly to show that they were not uncool enough to be startled. A light seeped on, revealing a lounging, leering young man dressed entirely in black.

“Nick?” said Cassandra. “What are you doing here?”

“Filling in. Larry the Lame is drunk again. Normally the place would be closed but the landlord put in a little clause, last renewal. If he calls and there isn’t a prompt, sober answer, he calls me next. I come fill in. Anything I have to do to collect from old Lare is considered to be gravy.” Here Nick the Necromancer grinned demoniacally.

This is a waste of time,” Madmanmann blustered, backing toward the door. “I’ve heard of you. No way have you completed a course in spirituality.”

“Equivalency,” leered Nick. “I passed the test. Plus I have a certain, mmmm, feel for the subject. Now pay up or push off.”

“We were hoping you’d take these in trade,” Svetlana began.

“Not much of a hope, of course,” Madmanmann interrupted. “We know the fad for these things is fading.”

Svetlana passed the cards to the lounging Necromancer and patted Narnia’s arm, to reassure both of them.

“Hey, Narn, How’s it hanging?” Nick looked the cards over.

Narnia sniffed and patted Svetlana back.

Sorry to hear it. Fortunately, I’m still collecting these.” The Necromancer parked the cards in a back pocket. “So what’s the problem?”

Narnia is dead.” Svetlana’s voice was low with dread. “We were hoping to prove that he had been murdered, so that we could seek an extension. But if he wasn’t, then. . . then. . . .” Here the Siren’s voice broke. She turned and buried her face in the chest of the corpse in question. Narnia snuffled and held her close.

“All right, I admit it! I murdered him.” Cassandra gasped at Madmanmann’s confession. “Can you blame me? Well, can you? I have, after all, some sense of aesthetics! Narnia the Wanderer, he calls himself. But does he wander? No! He’s Narnia the Stationary! Or Narnia the Hoverer! The Wanderer? Please! He wanders as much as your average brick.”

The entire group stared in disbelief at the Wizard. He was not ranting. He was explaining, reasonably, why he had murdered one of them.

“Come, now. You all remember how I warned him? How I chided him for the discontinuity?”

“He used to wander,” said Nick, “before he met Svetlana. I guess you didn’t know him then.”

“No, Svetlana introduced us.”

"Oh! Now I feel terrible!” the Siren wailed. “Madmanmann killed you because of me!”

“Well, since we know that he was murdered,” said the Necromancer, “we can get on with the extension.”

“Just a moment,” Madmanmann lifted a lecturing finger. “It has not been officially determined that the deceased has been murdered.”

There were murmurs of disapproval, including a threatening sniff from Narnia.

“I will cooperate fully in this sordid little enterprise, but only if the Wanderer promises to wander. No wander, no cooperation. No cooperation, no extension. I can tie this up in technicalities for months. Are you sure the shade will linger that long? Gaagh!”

Madmanmann’s last word was forced through a throat surrounded by chilly, constricting fingers. Narnia snuffled in outrage as he lifted the Wizard by the neck and prepared to shake some sense, or at least some cooperation, into him.

“No, my sweet, think!” Svetlana plucked desperately at the Wanderer’s sleeve. “If you injure him you prejudice your case. And if you kill him, you cannot be extended. You need his life force.”

“Please?” Tears brightened the Siren’s eyes. “Is wandering so bad?”

Narnia lowered the Wizard to the ground but kept a grip with one hand. With the other he mimed drinking water.

“Yes, I know. I must stay near water. But you could wander back to me.”

“Or you could wander together,” said Cassandra, who was sulking over being right and just wanted everyone to leave. “You know, like up Putah Creek to Lake Berryessa?”

“You could check out the drowned town at the bottom of the lake.” Sassy spoke between licks as he cleaned out the bottom of his container. He and his banana split had returned in time for most of the excitement.

“Or you could go up the Sacramento and pan for gold. There must be some route that would take you to Tahoe, too,” the Necromancer added.

Narnia looked into Svetlana’s eyes. He was waiting for her answer. The Siren froze. She knew that her life was too confined. Her mother was always after her to expand her circle of friends, to get out of her little pond. But wandering? Her mother would not approve.

And it was dangerous to make two life changes together, wasn’t it? If either the relationship or the wandering didn’t work out, the failure of one would poison the chances of the other. Still, the Wanderer was devoted. And she did need to stretch her horizons.

“I promise to wander with Narnia for a year and a day,” she heard herself say. “After that, we’ll see. He can change his name, if necessary. But not to ‘the Stationary,’ that’s stupid. Perhaps ‘the Devoted’?”

Narnia released the Wizard. He and Svetlana held each other’s hands and gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Oh, please,” grumbled the Wizard, rubbing his neck. “This is saccharine. And you know you’ll hate wandering, Svet. You’ll miss us.”

The Necromancer snorted. The couple’s hands and eyes still held, undaunted. Svetlana sighed. Narnia sniffed. The Wizard flapped his hands, giving up.

“All right, all right! I’ll accept it. As irritating as he is, maybe I’ll be lucky and his natural span will elapse before the year is out.”

“Speaking of irritating,” said Nick, “we’ll just make sure you have an heir to carry the extension if you should happen to . . . pop off.”

After all the technicalities were over and everyone else had gone home in a huff, Narnia and Svetlana wandered to the gazebo in Shield’s Grove. The fork of Putah Creek that ran through the grove had been dammed at both ends, turning it into a very long pond. It was a good intermediary step between a small pond and truly running water. And the moon reflected beautifully there. Svetlana appreciated the thought.

Since he had been deprived of his voice all day, Narnia talked all night. He did his best to say thoughtful, reassuring things, although he was still mad at her friends and sometimes he had to talk about that.

Svetlana curled up on a bench with him and agreed or disagreed with him all night. By the time the moon had set, she had decided that she truly enjoyed the sound of his voice, which had a murmur like the sound of water. And if it was time for her to go out on adventures, perhaps it would be nice to have the company of someone dependable to lead her. . . or to follow.

Fifth Beginning: Shrink Wrap

On a dusty brick shelf in a dusty brick alcove sat an oversized coat button and a three by five card with the words DEPRESS BUTTON written on it in neat block letters. Summermoon thought of it as an alcove, though she would not have objected if another person thought of it as a porch or an entryway. At least she would not have objected if there were a door at the end of it. Currently there was just the shelf with its two display items.

The button and card were lit from no discernable source, which wasn’t unexpected, since the alcove itself was much darker than the afternoon shadows would have made it, naturally, even five paces in. Typical decorator’s magic. Nothing to impress. Apparently Charles thought that the items on the shelf were of a higher order.

“You see. This is exactly your sort of thing. I’ve tried all of the usual methods of entry and nothing has worked. It’s almost a puzzle.”

Charles Lindwood rocked back on his heels, hands gently clasping the lapels of his morning coat. The coat was an affectation just a little short of costumery. In addition to the coat, his hair had been thinned and grayed for an appearance of added age and his easy movements made it obvious that his rounded belly was adding no actual weight to his frame. His use of cosmetic magic annoyed his guest on many levels, but his countenance annoyed her more. His round face was beaming with satisfaction.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

“Oh, come now. You can’t let a thing like this just go.”

“No payment, no performance.”

Summermoon Dempsey, Sums for short, was, unlike the smiling man beside her, a person of actual, rather than faux middle age. She did not believe in cosmetic magics and currently had to decide whether one or two little medical procedures that her doctor was recommending were too close to cosmetic to accede to.

“Be reasonable.” His face was still looking smug and amused, chins tucked down to his chest. One day Sums would get annoyed enough to trace his actual age. “It would take weeks to set up a purchase order. The Council. . . “

“The Council has allowed your department the use of charge cards for purchases under a thousand.”

“Yes, well, perhaps after we’re inside there will be enough for you to do to justify an expense. . .”

“They also,” Sums cut him off, “allow you to request an emergency amendment to my professional services master contract.”

“This is hardly an emergency.” He began an avuncular chuckle, which cut off suddenly as the unpleasant thought sank in. “You have a master contract? But they take months to process.”
“You annoyed me last time. I warned you that you were annoying me and you persisted. If this isn’t an emergency, you can run an expedited amendment through the departments in three days, if you carry it.”

“You can’t hold me up for three days, this is urgent.”

“Either it’s an emergency and you can get the purchase order now, or it’s not and it can wait three days.”

Charles began tugging at the bottom of his vest.

“Perhaps after we’re in.”

“$500 to get in, on the card, and $5,000 minimum on the PO. You can begin by explaining the situation. The display of a button is not nearly enough introduction to a new project.”

$5,000!” Charles sputtered.

“At least. I’ve checked the going rates.”

“You don’t even have a certificate!”

“I don’t have a systems certificate. Fortunately, I’m listed as an auditor. I’m credentialed well enough for that.”

“Auditor? I don’t need a summary of energies expended. I need creative thinking.”

“You need to get into this building. You also need something else after you get in, but you’re not willing to tell me what. Very well. I’ll get you in. I may do whatever needs to be done once we’re inside. The main portion of my contract will be to provide you with an energy expenditure analysis for your files so that other inspectors and city engineers can refer to it in similar cases.”

“Very forward thinking of me.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it will appear as if you contracted the analysis and then used the results to determine your course of action.”

She knew she had him there.

Charles tried looking at her in varying poses of incredulous distress and disappointment, but it impressed her as much as his sartorial magic did. Eventually his efforts collapsed like a badly shored trench in the rain. Which is to say, gradually and messily right up to the big final slump.

In the end, he admitted that this was a building inspection. The alcove they were standing in was located in the Transitional Area of the City, out beyond the suburbs. Low Density Residential uses were fine, as were Light Manufacturing, Distribution, and mixed Residential/Light Manufacturing. They had gotten an anonymous report that the building was being used as a High Density Residence, perhaps even as an illegal Hotel.

“Is there any reason that you can’t call them and demand that they open their doors for an inspection?”

“Well, you’ve heard about the recent spam attacks? With the person information extraction?”
Sums shuddered. “Yes. A nasty piece of spellware. Walk through one and suddenly you’re surrounded by garish advertising illusions. Everyone involved should be jailed or expelled.”
“Do you have the current dismissal filters?”

“I don’t have that sort of connection. I have a reversal amulet.”

“Surely that interferes with your communication?”

“It doesn’t seem to be stopping you.”

“But, dammit, I had to track you down and physically talk to you.”

“Yes.” Sums smiled contentedly.

Charles blustered a bit, but quickly deflated into, “Well, at least it won’t interfere with communications here. The owner, a Mr. Asmundson, has complained repeatedly about being the target of spam attacks. It has been an escalating item between him and the City. It’s not over, by any stretch of the imagination, but the most recent upshot was a notice sent to the City that he was installing a blocker, much like your amulet, but larger and more powerful.”

“So he can’t be contacted and he can say that it’s the City’s fault that they can’t contact him.”

“Essentially. With more recrimination, of course.”

“Any chance that the anonymous complaint came from someone in the City?”

“I certainly hope not. It came in from the access point at the Public Library.”

“Any chance of just waiting for him to make his next complaint?”

“Not with as many feathers as he’s ruffled. We can’t be seen to be paying back in inconvenience, but we can’t give special consideration to a complainer, either. That sort of thing would get around too quickly.”

“I can imagine.”

“And it doesn’t help that this whole building is so obviously sealed off. No doors. No windows.”

“Sure they’re not just hidden?”

“No. I had it scanned. There’s an access spell, here, but no door. No windows. There may be something on the roof, but nothing in the walls.”

“So. Either I depress the button, or there’s no inspection until the next time Mr. Asmundson comes out to complain.”

Charles signed elaborately. “All right. $500 on the card. An amendment to your contract for up to $5,000 if there is an analysis or written report required. I’ll have to do that back at the office and it will take at least a week.”

“No written work delivered without the amendment.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

Sums turned and bent down to address the button.

“You call yourself a button? Look at you. You’re a disgrace! Scratched and faded! Do you think that anyone is ever going to look at you twice, let alone use you to hold two pieces of cloth together?”

Charles was confused, but before he could complain the light in the alcove began to dim. Something was happening.

“You might as well crawl into the nearest wastebasket now. You’re a cheap little bit of unmatched plastic! You’re too small to use as a hopscotch marker and too dull to use for decoration.”

The alcove was now completely dark. The street noises faded. Perhaps the other end had sealed off. It was too dark to tell.

“You can’t be recycled. You’d be nasty to burn. You’re just a waste of space.”

A dim light rose in the front of the alcove. The wall and shelf were gone. Ahead was a dim room. They stepped forward and let their eyes adjust. An unpleasant smell rose up through their nostrils and insinuated itself against the base of their brains.

As they were trying to pick out what sort of bad smell this was, they began to notice the bodies.