Must Love Hellhounds

“This asshole almost prevented us from extracting you,” Flechette said, and for the first time Batanya noticed that Flechette was gripping Trovis by the arm. “He tried to persuade the magicians and mechs that you’d sent a false signal, that the minions of Hell would home in on the beacon if they acted on it.”

“I didn’t believe him,” said the young mech woman, with a shy smile. “I called Flechette to overrule him.”

“Can I execute Trovis?” Clovache asked. “He has tried to have us done in more times than I can count, and all because Batanya wouldn’t lie with him and broke his arm making him back off.”

“Ah,” said Flechette. “Perhaps we shouldn’t kill him… but he must be punished.”

Clovache still had the conjuring ball. Though Trovis made an effort to dodge and to twist out of Flechette’s grip, Clovache ran her arm around Trovis’s neck, looked down at the ball, said, “Go back!” Pop! She and Flechette and Trovis were staring at a vast green sea, scraggly palm trees, a wrecked airplane, and a dead man.

“Drop Trovis’s arm,” she told Flechette, who did, at least partly from surprise at getting an order from a junior. Clovache took a step back from the gaping Trovis herself, gripped Flechette’s shoulder, concentrated on the ball, said, “Back to the hall,” and Pop! They were back in the magicians’ hall.

Minus Trovis.

“Brilliant,” said Batanya.

When she’d collected herself, Flechette said, “This is just. No one will dispute it.”

Trials had never really caught on at the Britlingen Collective.

“Who-and what-have you brought with you?” asked the tall, veiled magician who had ushered them in on the day they’d departed. Every magician and mech in the room, even Narcissus’s new admirer, was electrified with excitement at Clovache’s demonstration.

“This is Amelia Earhart,” Batanya said, taking care to pronounce the name correctly. “She is a… She can operate a flying machine, and she left home, which was America, on Earth, in July of 1937.”

“A time traveler,” exclaimed the magician. His eyes, above the veil, were almost glowing with interest. “And that is surely Lucifer’s conjuring ball.”

“It’s the island. That one tiny island,” Batanya said. “That’s the key. Amelia landed on it by accident, and then as she explored the island, she found herself in Hell. The island is a portal of some kind. Once Amelia had come through, she could pass back, with the help of the conjuring ball. She took Clovache and the rest of us through. Then our homing spell finally worked, and we returned through the portal to land here. So the conjuring ball can take you through the portal, if you’re with someone who’s passed through it once.” Batanya couldn’t decide if her theory was complete nonsense or not. The magicians and mechs could study their magical hearts out and tell her their findings.

In the meantime, she would have happy daydreams of Trovis on a deserted Pacific island in 1937 in the middle of nowhere.

“If this proves to be true, you have experienced amazing magic,” the veiled magician told Amelia, who looked heartened by the greeting.

“Well, thank you very much, sir,” she said. “I’ll try to make myself useful. I don’t guess you can send me home? Not to the island.” She shuddered. “But to America? In my own time?”

“Not at this moment,” said another magician, “but maybe we can work on it with your help.”

“Sure,” Amelia said.

“Crick,” Flechette said, “we will take you to the medical rooms. Was your mission achieved?”

“Yes,” he said. He was glad of the two men who came to help him down the steps, but he turned to look back at Clovache and Batanya. “And I was very satisfied with the service.”

A week later, Batanya and Clovache had returned to their favorite courtyard to spar with each other. First they used weapons, then they wrestled. They were sweaty and limber and pleased with themselves when they were through, and though Batanya pointed out a few mistakes her junior had made, they sprawled on the grass in the sunlight in good harmony.

“How is Geit?” Batanya asked.

“Glad to see me again, and very vigorous in telling me so,” Clovache said, smiling to herself. “Did I hear someone knocking on your door at night?”

“Unexpectedly, yes.” Batanya grinned, which made her scar more obvious. But who cared?

“Do tell?”

“Our client,” Batanya said.

“Oh, my honor! Then you’ve experienced…”

“Oh, yes,” Batanya said, her voice rich with satisfaction.

“I didn’t get a very good look in Lucifer’s chamber,” Clovache said, “being in imminent danger and so forth. How is he all… arranged?”

“Very satisfactorily,” Crick said, dropping onto the ground beside Batanya.

“How are you today, Harwell Clansman?” she asked.

“Very well, Britlingen.” He smiled down at her. “But I have to go to Pardua to give Belshazzar his conjuring ball, now that I’m well enough to travel.”

“Will you be there long?”

“Depends on how much Belshazzar believes me.”