The Necromancer's Gambit: Salem
Nicolas Wilson
I hesitate in the doorway to the hospital room. He isn’t dead, that much I know, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dying. I don’t know how I’d handle that. But I force myself inside.
He’s awake, wearing a little pair of librarian spectacles and hunched over a tablet. At first I think he’s still hard at work, and wonder if it’d help to chastise him, or if he’s so damn stubborn he’d throw my concern back at me by working himself still harder. But then I hear a familiar chime, and realize he’s playing a game.
“You know if you want to seem like less of an old man you could skip the botox and just change out Minesweeper for something a little more modern- Plants vs. Zombies, Angry Birds, a little Cut the Rope.”
“I’m playing it on an iPad. What more do you want from me?”
“A rational explanation for how that game doesn’t put you to sleep- though you get bonus codger points for calling any tablet an iPad, regardless of whether or not it was made by Apple.”
He ignores my second thought. “It’s a fascinating game, ostensibly about strategy and keeping the brain flexible, but there are moments where it’s pure chance, where there’s no good answer, and you’re as likely to blow yourself up as save the day. Or I’m old, and anything with colors and flashing lights is enough to stimulate me- part of my progressive infantalization as I slide towards death; soon it’ll be enough for you to jangle your keys over me while I crap myself.”
“So long as you try not to spit up on my coat when I burp you.”
“I’ll try. But I can’t promise I won’t get an erection while you do.”
“Well that goes without saying.”
“And yet I said it, anyway. Old man erection, digging into your sternum. And no, it’s not a roll of quarters; it never is, and it never was.”
“So… how’s the whole being shot thing working out for you?”
“It turns out to be an excellent way to lose weight. And contrary to what fifteen year old me thought, despite having an extra hole for several hours now I’ve had no desire to fuck it.”
“Well you’re showing remarkable restraint; it’s all I can do not to try to put my penis in your gunshot wound.”
“You know,” he says, and his voice gets quieter, “everyone else has been nicer to me.”
“They’re worried you’ll die.”
“And you’re not?” I didn’t have a ready reply for that. “Just because you don’t worry about it, doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen.”
“It’s a gunshot, and not a particularly bad one.”
“And I’m an old man who barely survived a heart attack only a few months ago. And I don’t really mean this. We’re at war. I’ve always been more lover than fighter. And I have the most wanted scalp. And we’re without our castle.”
“Rook can handle it.”
“I’m not questioning her dedication- but she isn’t prepared for this. She’s being overly courageous even volunteering, but I’m worried about her safety, too. I don’t need a bullet catcher.”
“And you think me coddling you is the solution?”
“No. With Castle gone, I’m afraid you’re the only one who would be honest with me. And I want to know if you think we can win this, or if it’s all bravado. Because I’d as soon hand things over, rather than murder us all through stubbornness.”
“You think they’d let us live?”
“I don’t think they’d let us stay. But I also don’t think they’d put too much into chasing us, either. And maybe it’s time I took myself someplace warmer.”
“Now you want to move to Florida? You’re turning into an elderly cliché before my eyes. All that’s left is”
“Maybe you should leave.”
“for you to tell us kids to get off your damn lawn- but I guess that’s a reasonable facsimile.” I turn to go. But his question tugs on me, and I can’t leave until I give him what I’ve got for an answer. “Right now, I’m not sure. I think Han was a good get. I think it was the first time we peeked through the chinks in their armor; now we know they’re human underneath, and vulnerable. And if they’re sticking to a six man Gambit, this puts us even again.”
“I suspect,” he said, “that they aren’t sticklers for the usual order.”
“That’s fair. And if Baldur is working with them, then they’ve got a hell of a lot of Pawns. But from what we’ve seen, they aren’t ideologically organized like we are. A vampire warlock and an Order hunter? I bet they’re at each other’s throats as often as they’re at ours. In the end they might implode before”
“they murder us?”
“It’s still early. We don’t know enough. I’m not ready to,” my phone starts to vibrate, and I’m happy to have the out. “I should take this.”
I step into the hall and pull out my phone. A nurse with a phone and a pager on his hip glares at me. “Sir, I have to ask you turn off your phone. They can interfere with some of our equipment.”
I show him the caller ID, which says, “FBI tch,” and tell him that “it’s a national security thing, but I’ll take it outside.” He doesn’t stop glaring, but he also doesn’t care nearly enough to fight me on it, and walks away, through a pair of doors marked ‘staff.’
“I completely hate you,” Thomasina says over the phone. “So the fact that I’m calling ought to tell you something.”
“That you still find me attractive after all these years?” I say.
“I know your man of mystery schtick gets Maureen’s panties moist, but for you, I’m dry, like the Sahara, during the most arid parts of the summer, during a draught, understand?”
“Given your post-menopausal status, I’d have thought moisture was an issue, generally.”
“And lest you forget: I know who you really are.”
“A die-hard Twin Peaks fan? A 32 waist in a 34 waisted-man’s body? A baritone?”
“A jackass and a con-artist who will eventually share a cell with the people you put behind bars.”
“Maybe you have me confused with someone else.”
“Nope. I stopped mistaking you for someone I could rely on some time ago.”
“So it’s about the sexual tension, then. I know sometimes I still can’t sleep at night, wondering will we, won’t we?”
“I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“Don’t sell yourself short; you could be her older sister. Her much older sister, maybe from a previous marriage. But the gist is you’re still not a fan of my vague but undeniable charms.”
“I specifically deny them. I refute them, reject and rebuff them. But I’m calling because that prisoner of yours is fucking up a federal prison. Specifically, he beat the hell out of two prison employees,”
“Let me guess, one guard, and a male nurse in the infirmary.”
“Male nurse; that’s a little sexist.”
“No, just specificity.”
“But I didn’t know you’d added psychic to your fakery resume.”
“That’s a mistake; I meant to add it to my bakery resume- that one’s always been a little thin- but I’m getting pretty good at predicting how long it’ll take to bake a cake.”
“By looking at the box.”
“Or maybe I just know Han’s MO.”
“Or more than you’re telling. But in both cases the employees were injured under strange circumstances, strange enough that they’re on administrative leave pending recuperation and an investigation. But it’s not just the two isolated incidents. All manner of Poltergeistery has been happening- and I already checked, the penitentiary wasn’t built on an Indian burial ground.”
“You know that’s an ugly stereotype. Native Americans aren’t any more likely to haunt than anybody else; if anything, the fact that every single inch of the continent isn’t haunted is proof that their whole one with nature schtick made them pretty forgiving on the whole. But I gather the weirdness all coincides with the transfer of Han.”
“A few days’ lag time, but he’s the only transfer since, and frankly, the only one with the kinds of red flags that would make me suspect him.”
I want to ask her what, exactly, would red flag someone as a sorcerer, but for once I shut my mouth. “And you want, what, exactly, from me?”
“I need it to stop. The day Han crippled the nurse, he stole his clothes and credentials and made it all the way to the last checkpoint before a guard stopped him. The officer had him between two locked gates and decided he needed a closer look at his ID badge before he buzzed him through. There was one door between him and freedom. Were it not for a single guard being extra twitchy that day he’d be out right now. Han’s supposed to be in solitary, after he attacked the guard, but they keep finding him wandering around gen pop. I’m trying to secure him a spot in a Super Max, at least until we can arrange for transport to the Hague, but that’s so unconventional I’m not even sure DOJ will be able to approve it.”
“Okay, that tells me what you want. But in exchange for…”
“You’re asking for a bribe?”
“I’m asking why, as someone you never call except to vaguely threaten, I should help you?”
“To prove me wrong. And because you put this asshole into a cell for a reason. I don’t care what that reason is, because that’s where I want him, too. But we both want to make sure he stays put. And stop acting all butthurt because I refused to keep helping someone who lies to me.”
“I tried to tell you the truth; I can’t help that you don’t like the answer.”
“Yes. Magic. I remember. And I’m still insulted you think I’m that stupid.”
“And I’m still insulted you didn’t get me so much as a card for my birthday. I mean, I’m certain the date’s in my file. But not even an e-card. Text message. A tweet. 140 characters is all it takes to tell someone you care.”
“You in, or does my animosity towards you get a lot less passive?”
I don’t like the way she talks to me, but Han getting loose… that’s not something I can let happen; he’d throw the scales right back out of whack. So I guess I’m going to Salem. “Sure. But you’re buying me lunch. And gas. And a four-pack of Red Bull. Bag of Reese’s Pieces, the big one, the multi-pound one, and-”
“You have a rider, now? Fine, but that’s the end of your shopping list, unless you’d like to end up on my shit one.”
“It’ll take today for me to get things in order, but I’ll drive in, you can fill me in at lunch tomorrow. And I’d tranq Han for the night, just as a precaution.”
She hangs up without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. But if I’m going to Salem, I know there’s someone else I have to call. I dial her in. She hasn’t changed her number, because it’s ringing through; she always was a traditionalist. “I’m coming in on some official business.”
It takes her a second to recognize my voice. “I officially don’t give a shit what the gambits do,” Sister Magdalene says on the other line.
“No, I mean Federal kinds of official.”
“The FBI cunt?”
“I knew you’d remember her. But I wanted to give you a heads up before I showed up on your doorstep.”
“With Rook, I presume?”
“She’s going to be staying with us a little longer, helping out.” She doesn’t respond to that. “Can I meet you some place?”
“What for? You rekindling old flames?”
“I’d like to talk.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
“It’s different.”
“You want to squeeze me, one way or another.” She’s right, and I assume that means she’s going to freeze me out. “My place. I trust you still know how to find it. If not you should be able to follow your pecker- he always seemed to know the way.”
“I’m not sure he’s interested anymore.”
“So you’re out, now? I always knew it. That why the Queen hired you, to have his own little boy toy on the staff?”
“That is a strange accusation coming from a woman who keeps her own harem, but how bout we wait until tomorrow to squeeze each other?” I ask her.
“It’s a date.”