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and substances back into his little black bag. I stood there waiting, hoping
he wouldn't get an attack of conscience. He didn't. As soon as he was through,
we walked across the street to his carpet and headed for Westwood.
Traffic was its usual ghastly self. So many carpets on so many flyways meant
there was so much lint and dander in the air that the famous Angels City
sunshine turned pale and washed-out; a lot of people were rubbing their eyes
as they flew. That pollution usually seems worse in St Ferdinand's Valley than
other parts of town, too-, they don't get the sea breeze there to clear it
out.
What they're going to have to do one of these days is design a flying carpet
that isn't woven from wool.
People have been trying to do that for years; so far, they haven't managed to
come up with one the sylphs like. But if they don't succeed before too long,
Angels City isn't going to be a place anybody in his
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right mind would want to live.
I breathed easier literally and figuratively when we got out of the Valley and
back into Westwood
Michael pulled up beside my carpet in the parking lot "Are you going to go
back up to your office and see what awaits you?" he asked.
"Nope," I said "What's that New Testament line? 'Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof? Something like that anyhow. Tomorrow will have troubles of
its own. I'm not really interested in finding out about them in advance."
"As you will," Michael said, "Since it was nearer six than five, he didn't
have any trouble finding a parking space most people who work at the
Confederal Building had gone home. He headed on in anyhow;
now that he was here, he'd do some more work. Maybe he was feeling bad about
his fall from probity.
Me, I didn't feel bad at all. Hungry, yes, but not bad. I jumped onto my
carpet and headed home. I got off at Imperial instead of The Second just in
case more earth elementals with my name on them were waiting for me.
If they were, I evaded them I got home unscathed. I stayed just long enough to
use the plumbing and toss tomorrow's outfit into an overnight case. Then I was
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out the door, down the stairs, back on my carpet, and on my way to Judy's.
Going down St James' Freeway into Long Beach in the evening is a gamble. When
it's bad the carpets might as well be sitting on your living room floor. I
could have got there at nine as easily as a little before eight But I was
lucky, and so I pulled up in front of Judy's place right on time.
I used the talisman to let her building's Watcher know I belonged there, then
went up the stairs two at a time to her flat. I knocked on the door. When she
didn't come right away, I figured she was using the plumbing herself or
something, so I let myself in.
I took one step in the front room and then stopped, staring. For a second, I
thought I'd gone into the wrong flat It took me a while to realize Judy's
spare key wouldn't have let me into any place but hers.
But Judy, as befits a copy editor, is scrupulously neat. The flat had been
trashed Books were scattered all over the floor, knickknacks strewn
everywhere. Some of them were broken.
Earthquake, I
thought, and then, more sensibly, burglars
.
I ran into the bedroom, calling Judy's name as I went. Nobody answered. On the
bed, lying exactly parallel to each other, just the way Judy would have set
them there, were a green silk blouse and a pair of linen pants: the right kind
of outfit to wear to the opening of a nice new restaurant.
The bedspread was white. I am, you will have gathered familiar with Judy's bed
and its bedclothes. The red stain next to the blouse was new. It wasn't a big
stain, but seeing even a little blood is plenty to make your own blood run
cold.
"Judy?" My voice came out as a frightened croak. No answer again. I hadn't
really expected one.
The bathroom door was open. The air in there felt humid as if she'd taken a
shower not long before. She wasn't in there now, though, not anywhere I yanked
back the curtain to be sure.
Burglars faded from my mind I wished the word would have stayed stuff, after
all, is only stuff. You can
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always get more. But an uglier, more frightening word took its place:
kidnappers
.
I didn't want to think it, let alone believe it After what had happened to me
on The Second though, what choice did I have? I ran back to the bedroom, where
the phone was. I snatched up the handset.
Nothing happened. The phone was dead Ichor dripped from the little cages that
held the ear and mouth imps. The front mesh on both cages was pushed in.
Whoever had snatched Judy had taken the time to implode the phone before he
left with her.
I hurried out to the walkway, went to the flat next door. I knocked, hard.
need to use your phone to
I
call the constabulary,'' I said loudly. Someone was home; St. Elmo's fire
glowed through the curtains and
I could hear little noises inside. But nobody came to the door.
Cursing the faintheart to a warmer climate than Angels City's, I ran
downstairs and pounded on the manager's door. He answered; opening the door
was part of his job. He'd seen me going in and out often enough to recognize
me. As soon as he got a good look at my face, he said, "What's the matter,
son?"
I didn't take offense; that s how he talks. Besides, he's old enough to have
fought in the Second
Sorcerous War (and he has a bad limp, so maybe he did), so he's old enough and
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then some to be my father. I said, "May I use your phone, please? I think
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