recordings.
Jones scowled blackly and flung her boots back up onto his desk with another shower of salt. Rime, he thought, from a nonexistent sea. Salt was supposed to proof against ghosts, but not these ghosts. He shuddered but she was too annoyed to notice.
"We're getting along fine." She glared at him.
Underneath his fingers the Tell became hot. She was lying. By the looks of her she might well be here in a last effort not to be thrown out of the group, if she hadn't been already. Not that he cared about that too much: with money she could buy them back or recruit others who were more willing to risk their lives.
"I might be able to lay my hands on some cash," he said and set his butt down on the perfectly polished surface of his desk, hands in pockets, head low and thoughtful. "In return the Fey Court will accept any news you have on the Three." He didn't and wouldn't name them properly-the Three Sisters. I saw three ships come sailing in ...: the damn tune ran through him before he could stop it and he shivered uncontrollably. "And the ghost details," he added.
"Ghost activity has increased two hundred percent in the last three weeks," she said. "More manifestations of greater density and articulation, plus more variants. And many more inside world-envelopes, not just out in I-Space. There are a lot of new apparitions. And the major spectral constellations and their various minor entourages are migrating out of the deep towards the shores, away from the void and towards material planes; world spaces and specific locations. We know that much."
He couldn't stop himself asking, "The Fleet?"
"Grows with every appearance. Sailed off its usual path. Heading for an ocean near you." She grinned, the wild light back in her eyes that made him go cold inside.
"Otopia?"
She nodded once, slowly, never taking her eyes off his.
"Is the Admiral's guest ... ?" He meant the sister, the one Zal had oh-so-casually mentioned to him as if meeting them were a common thing and not a one in a billion chance. Zal had been picked out of I-space by the Fleet when by rights he should have drowned there, lost down some unknown tributary between Zoomenon and the other worlds or Zoomenon and nowhere. His rescuer appeared to have been one sister. Malachi didn't like to think about that. Having such a thing take a personal interest in someone he knew, even if only slightly, was far too close for his comfort. And the middle sister too; pregnant with creation.
"Still aboard," Jones said, ending his reverie.
"What happens when they dematerialise?" Ghosts dematerialised all the time, but the sisters were not ghosts.
"Don't know." She held out her hand, palm up.
"Where does she go?"
"Don't know."
"They keep their history," he said almost to himself, thinking of the Fleet's vast dimensions and all the vessels it contained; seafaring, airborne, spacebound. "Are they all actualised versions of objects that existed or will exist in time?"
"Don't know." Jones stabbed the fingers of her hand towards him and pointed into her palm. "But I suggest we find out fast because they're not the only things on the move out there. And some of them make the Fleet look like bath toys."
"What do you mean?" The Tell had suddenly gone so icy cold that he had to snatch his hand out of his pocket or be burned: important information, and true.
"I mean dragons and Other things. Ghostforms I haven't seen before. Not actual yet. They stay deep but they're very active. I can feel them. And I've been to the Edges myself. You may think you've got problems with openings to the void from the established worlds, but the Edges are becoming permeable too. I can run them a lot faster than I used to be able to, and with less effort. Don't even need portals to get into Alfheim now-I can just push through. Probably why there's a lot more than simple Mothkin out running around Otopia. You should get onto that shit. Before it all goes amok. The soul eaters will follow them."
The
Jones scowled blackly and flung her boots back up onto his desk with another shower of salt. Rime, he thought, from a nonexistent sea. Salt was supposed to proof against ghosts, but not these ghosts. He shuddered but she was too annoyed to notice.
"We're getting along fine." She glared at him.
Underneath his fingers the Tell became hot. She was lying. By the looks of her she might well be here in a last effort not to be thrown out of the group, if she hadn't been already. Not that he cared about that too much: with money she could buy them back or recruit others who were more willing to risk their lives.
"I might be able to lay my hands on some cash," he said and set his butt down on the perfectly polished surface of his desk, hands in pockets, head low and thoughtful. "In return the Fey Court will accept any news you have on the Three." He didn't and wouldn't name them properly-the Three Sisters. I saw three ships come sailing in ...: the damn tune ran through him before he could stop it and he shivered uncontrollably. "And the ghost details," he added.
"Ghost activity has increased two hundred percent in the last three weeks," she said. "More manifestations of greater density and articulation, plus more variants. And many more inside world-envelopes, not just out in I-Space. There are a lot of new apparitions. And the major spectral constellations and their various minor entourages are migrating out of the deep towards the shores, away from the void and towards material planes; world spaces and specific locations. We know that much."
He couldn't stop himself asking, "The Fleet?"
"Grows with every appearance. Sailed off its usual path. Heading for an ocean near you." She grinned, the wild light back in her eyes that made him go cold inside.
"Otopia?"
She nodded once, slowly, never taking her eyes off his.
"Is the Admiral's guest ... ?" He meant the sister, the one Zal had oh-so-casually mentioned to him as if meeting them were a common thing and not a one in a billion chance. Zal had been picked out of I-space by the Fleet when by rights he should have drowned there, lost down some unknown tributary between Zoomenon and the other worlds or Zoomenon and nowhere. His rescuer appeared to have been one sister. Malachi didn't like to think about that. Having such a thing take a personal interest in someone he knew, even if only slightly, was far too close for his comfort. And the middle sister too; pregnant with creation.
"Still aboard," Jones said, ending his reverie.
"What happens when they dematerialise?" Ghosts dematerialised all the time, but the sisters were not ghosts.
"Don't know." She held out her hand, palm up.
"Where does she go?"
"Don't know."
"They keep their history," he said almost to himself, thinking of the Fleet's vast dimensions and all the vessels it contained; seafaring, airborne, spacebound. "Are they all actualised versions of objects that existed or will exist in time?"
"Don't know." Jones stabbed the fingers of her hand towards him and pointed into her palm. "But I suggest we find out fast because they're not the only things on the move out there. And some of them make the Fleet look like bath toys."
"What do you mean?" The Tell had suddenly gone so icy cold that he had to snatch his hand out of his pocket or be burned: important information, and true.
"I mean dragons and Other things. Ghostforms I haven't seen before. Not actual yet. They stay deep but they're very active. I can feel them. And I've been to the Edges myself. You may think you've got problems with openings to the void from the established worlds, but the Edges are becoming permeable too. I can run them a lot faster than I used to be able to, and with less effort. Don't even need portals to get into Alfheim now-I can just push through. Probably why there's a lot more than simple Mothkin out running around Otopia. You should get onto that shit. Before it all goes amok. The soul eaters will follow them."
The
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