In the Empire of Shadow. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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“I had,” Elani replied. “But naught of it, i’truth, for I’ll have the risk, an you’re quick. We’d the gate to Earth a time or two ere ever Shadow caught us at it, and all I ask is that we have at the ready a way to make good our flight when the portal again closes. For that, ’twould seem wise to know better where we stand.”
Amy hesitated. “You mean you want to wait until we know where we are?”
“Certes, you have it.”
Amy would greatly have preferred it if Elani had opened the portal immediately, but that evidently wasn’t going to happen. She frowned, but in the heavy gravity and thick air, with her stomach uneasy, she found that she didn’t have the energy to argue.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll wait.”
* * * *
Pel watched with interest as the black-garbed nobleman and the purple-uniformed colonel stood almost nose-to-nose, glaring at each other.
“Colonel,” Raven said patiently, “imprimis, you know naught of this land. Would not it be wise, then, to heed the counsel of those who do? Secundus, is’t not but common sense to dissemble, when in the enemy’s lands?”
Carson glowered at Raven.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “I want my men in uniform. We aren’t a bunch of spies.”
“Are we not?” Raven demanded sarcastically. “What are we, then?”
“We are a fighting squad sent to destroy this Shadow of yours, Mr. Raven, or whatever your name is.”
“And you think, then, that such a motley party as this can best a power that has laid waste twice a dozen kingdoms, and brought all this world ’neath its sway?”
“I think, sir, that one properly-disciplined squad of Imperial soldiers can do a better job of damn near anything than any bunch of foreign barbarians!”
Raven threw up his hands in anger and disgust. He turned away, and spotted Prossie Thorpe.
“Mistress Thorpe,” he called, “come hither, lend me your counsel!”
Several sets of eyes swiveled toward the telepath, who had been leaning against an immense oak and picking idly at the bark.
Prossie started and looked up, dropping flakes of bark. “Me?” she asked.
“Aye,” Raven said, beckoning. “You.”
Prossie had not expected anyone to notice her presence; she had no idea that she would be dragged into an argument between Raven and Colonel Carson, and had hardly even been listening. She sometimes had trouble paying attention to people whose minds were closed to her, and telepathy did not work in this universe—in what Amy called “Faerie.” Prossie had picked the name up in passing, and rather liked it.
She still found it somewhat odd, being so out of touch with the thoughts of those around her. In fact, after the crowding at Base One, and the constant buzzing of thoughts on all sides, it was rather restful.
And it wasn’t the same horrible cut-off loneliness she had felt in her cell on Earth, because here she was in constant contact with her cousin Carrie. That was the communications line between this party and the people back at Base One; it was also a natural and comfortable link between the two women. The two of them could chatter away while Prossie took in the physical sensations of this strange new world.
She had been in Shadow’s world once before, but weeks ago, and in a different place. The trees here were taller, older, more imposing, the atmosphere more restful—if warmer, perhaps uncomfortably so.
It was rather intriguing to look at things, to touch things, to smell them, without having any preconceptions impinging from other minds about what the things should look like, should feel like. Prossie had really been too concerned with other, more urgent matters to take an interest in that before.
So instead of listening to the others she was picking at the bark of a gigantic oak when Raven called to her, picking at it and enjoying the feel of it.
She started and looked back at the others.
“Thorpe,” Carson said, “get over here.”
Reluctantly, Prossie left the oak and obeyed. Her stride was brisk and military; her expression was not.
“Mistress Thorpe,” Raven said, “you can look into the minds of others, is’t not so?”
“Well, ordinarily, I can,” Prossie admitted hesitantly, “but not here, or on Earth. Only in normal…I mean, Imperial space.”
“Then you cannot see what I am thinking, nor what Colonel Carson believes?”
“No, sir.”
“Is that right?” Carson demanded angrily.
“Yes, sir,” Prossie said.
“Well, then, what the hell did they send you for,” Carson shouted, “if you can’t read minds here?”
“I can maintain telepathic contact with my cousin Carrie, sir—Registered Master Telepath Carolyn Hall, that is, back at Base One,” Prossie explained. “I can still handle communications with General Hart and the High Command.” She did not add that he had been told all this previously; she knew perfectly well that Colonel Carson had ignored most of his briefing, assuming, as he always did, that he knew better than all the pantywaist experts and fat-bottomed generals.
Carson glared at her, and Raven took the opportunity to ask, “But ere we left Base One, you could see into the minds about you?”
“Yes, sir,” Prossie admitted warily. Although it was an interesting novelty, she was never entirely comfortable when her telepathic ability was blocked off, and any sort of talking to other people without it was unpleasant. This questioning, about matters she preferred not to discuss, was much worse than ordinary conversation. She had no way of knowing whether Raven suspected that she had illicitly eavesdropped on him earlier. He hadn’t suspected anything at the time, but the idea could easily have come to him after the ship passed through the warp.
“And your cousin Carolyn Hall,” Raven continued, “she can still see into the minds of others about her?”
“Yes, sir,” Prossie admitted, “but there are strict rules to protect privacy.”
Carson rumbled, muttering something that might have been a remark about it being a damn good thing. One good thing about having her head blocked off, Prossie thought, was that she could ignore the distrust and hatred everyone felt toward telepaths.
Raven nodded. “Assuredly,” he said. “But then, perhaps you could answer a question of mine, as it regards the thoughts of General Hart and the others above you.”
Prossie hesitated. “Maybe,” she said.
“Perhaps you can tell me, Mistress Thorpe,” Raven said, “why these men should have chosen to saddle me with a blockhead such as Colonel Carson.”
Prossie’s mouth opened, and then closed again. Someone snickered.
Had the time come to admit what she had done, and tell them all the truth?
“I didn’t snoop…” Prossie began uncertainly. Then she stopped. Her expression wavered for a moment; Raven, who had started to turn away from her to argue further with Carson, saw the colonel’s expression and turned back.
She had been nervous as Raven and Carson questioned her, but Carrie, who was listening in, had thought the whole affair was thoroughly amusing. Prossie could sense her mental giggling. Carrie could afford to giggle; she was safe at home, not out here in an alien forest.
But then Raven asked why he had been saddled with Colonel Carson, and Carrie, at first amused by the question, had read what Prossie knew.
And suddenly she wasn’t giggling, mentally or otherwise. Her amusement