Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (12 page)

Unfortunately there was one pressing need. And, as he knew little of this world’s customs, he would rather not risk Mickey’s wrath by pissing on a bush.

He strode to the door, cracked it open, and peered outside.

All clear. He eased through the doorway and headed down the narrow corridor toward the
urinals
, which he guessed to be some sort of latrine. Given the wondrous contraptions he’d observed thus far, gods only knew how even a basic piss-pot might have been transformed.

Halfway down the corridor a door opened and a man stumbled from the room, yawning widely. He wore faded blue trousers riddled with holes, and a white top that brought to mind the one Opal had worn, except this one was sleeveless and not as form-fitting. His footwear had once been white and came to the ankle—a shoe rather than a boot. Each shoe had different colored laces: one set the brightest orange Danbur had ever seen, and the other set an equally eyeball-searing poisonous green. Both laces were undone, and as the man lurched down the hallway it was a wonder he didn’t trip and measure his length on the floor.

Danbur lengthened his stride, unable to contain his curiosity about another denizen of this shelter.

The man veered right and pushed open a door. Danbur followed him in, only to halt at the row of shiny white basins jutting from one wall. They looked like larger, oval-shaped versions of the basin in Sera’s bathing room. But considering there were a number of smaller basins—each with its own spigots—affixed to another wall, he couldn’t for the life of him imagine the purpose of these larger ones.

Bathing? He eyed them doubtfully. Surely not. They were too oddly shaped to be practical. And there were pipes but no obvious spigots that he could see, and no means of bringing water to the basins… unless one drew water from inside one of the side-by-side narrow partitions shuttered by gray doors. He scratched his head, reluctant to investigate and risk looking the fool.

The man—a too-thin fellow with pitted skin and lank brown hair—had paused before one of the large basins. And it quickly became obvious what he use he was putting it to.

Inwardly shrugging, Danbur chose a basin. He shot a glance at the man to confirm how it was done, unlaced his trousers, and proceeded to empty his bladder, directing his stream into what was probably the
urinal
… unless he was mistaken, and this man had led him astray. In which case, doubtless he’d hear soon enough from Mickey or Max. Of the two, Danbur would prefer to be taken to task by Max. He got the feeling Mickey would tear him a new arsehole. And then punish him with whatever the equivalent of latrine duty happened to be in this world.

From the corner of his eye Danbur spied on the man, who’d finished pissing and was washing his hands in one of the smaller basins by the opposite wall. He splashed water over his face. Finally he slicked his hair back with his palms and left the room.

Simple enough.

Danbur set his clothing to rights and washed his hands and face. Further ablutions could wait until he returned.
If
he returned. It depended on the lengths he would be forced to take to warn Opal about the Crystal Guardian.

He retrieved the carry-bag with his leathers from his room and followed his nose until he reached the front door exit. He was reaching for the door handle when someone called his name.

“Hey, Danbur.”

Mickey. Damnation.

“You’re up early, she said, yawning widely as she trotted toward him.

“Yes.” Her tongue had been pierced, too, Danbur noted. With a silver ball-shaped stud. Interesting. He’d seen body piercings before but not a piercing of the tongue. The warrior caste disdained piercings. It was too easy for them to be caught or ripped out during a skirmish.

She gave him a thorough head to toe examination through narrowed, assessing eyes. “Somewhere to be?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Will you be needing a bed tonight?”

“Perhaps.”

Instead of pushing the point, as he’d expected, her gaze softened. “You’re welcome here, anytime.”

He inclined his head. “My thanks. And if it proves possible I will return to work off my debt.”

“What debt?”

“The meal. The bed.” He swept an arm down his torso. “The clothing.”

She waved off his explanation. “It’s what we do. Help out if you can but there’s no obligation, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Good.” She opened her mouth ever so slightly, just enough for him to see she had caught her tongue piercing between her teeth. “Still got those pains in your stomach?”

He figured there was little point lying. She was far too astute. “Yes.”

“You need to get it checked out.” She waggled a finger at him when he attempted a protest. “There’s a free clinic about a half hour’s bus ride from here. Won’t cost you anything to get looked at.” She reeled off a string of barely comprehensible directions and then paused, giving him a hard look—the kind that would have made a lesser man whimper. “Promise me you’ll head over there and see someone about those pains. Today.”

Danbur expelled a sharp breath through his nose. He didn’t give out promises lightly. It sat uneasily on his soul that this was one promise he had no intention of fulfilling. “I promise,” he bit out, despising himself for deceiving her.

“Do you need bus fare?”

He shook his head. That at least was the truth. He had no intention of getting on a
bus
—whatever one might prove to be.

“Good. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and call that doc, and have Max tackle your ass and sit on you until he gets here.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I would like to see Max try.”

“Me, too,” Mickey said, grinning. “I’d sell tickets to that one.” She yanked open the door and leaned against the frame. “See ya, Danbur.”

“Goodbye, Mickey. Be well.”

He glanced back over his shoulder once he’d reached the pathway beside the road. She was watching him. She raised her hand in farewell and then shut the door.

Pain lanced his belly and he ground his fingertips deep into his stomach muscles. He was on his own. With no idea where he was, or what to do next. All he knew was that it was imperative he find Opal and Sera. And that something inside him, some compulsion that was too strong to be ignored insisted that he head—

Left.

It was obvious as a blossoming flame tree that this compulsion was the doing of the Crystal Guardian—this Peter Stone. And likely the old man’s magic had caused Danbur’s stomach pains, too. He
wanted
Danbur to come to him. Now.

Very well. The godless old bastard would get exactly what he wanted… and something he did not expect.

Logically, the best way to keep Opal and Sera safe was not to try and convince them that the old man meant them harm. If Opal’s reaction to the idea Danbur had emerged from the “wishing crystal” given to her daughter was anything to go by, likely she would think him insane. No, the best way—the most efficient way—to insure their safety was to dispose of the root cause of their troubles by killing the sorcerer intent on manipulating them all for some dark reason of his own.

With luck, Danbur might even survive the encounter.

He turned left, hoping Mickey didn’t spy him heading in the opposite direction to the one she’d suggested.

He’d taken but a dozen steps when the absolute rightness of his decision hit him. He kept walking. And by the time he reached a spot where roads intersected, he no longer had to consciously think about which direction to take. The compulsion drew him onward like a child guided by leading strings.

A variety of noisy
cars
whizzed past, their drivers often invisible through their shaded front screens. Many were even bigger than Roth’s SUV. Surprisingly, they didn’t assert their superior size and flowed smoothly along with the smaller conveyances.

Danbur waited for a sizeable gap in the flow of traffic… that never came. He grit his teeth, and was debating sprinting across the street and hoping for the best, when a young couple appeared from a nearby building and headed his way. They halted beside him and the male reached out to smack the pole beside the path. They both stood patiently, yawning in between sipping beverages from strange cups topped with white lids.

At some signal Danbur could not discern, the approaching conveyances halted. Whatever devices powered them were still rumbling, however. And then he heard a loud, harsh buzzing sound.

The young couple stepped off the pedestrian path and set off across road, walking briskly. Danbur followed, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end, expecting at any moment one of the cars would lurch into motion and run him down.

When he reached the opposite side, he halted and shook himself, hugely relieved to have made it across unscathed. He turned to stare across the road, waiting for… something. He caught a flash of green, and then the conveyances growled to life again and shot off.

Fascinating.

A warning throb in his belly prodded him to move. He imagined having been lassoed with an invisible rope that was tugging him onward. And, strangely, the pains in his belly eased the closer he got to his unknown destination. The Crystal Guardian’s doing, no doubt. A little syrup to sweeten the pot and encourage him to do the old bastard’s bidding.

A feral snarl curled Danbur’s lips. If he found no suitable weapon before their next encounter it mattered little. His bare hands would be weapon enough to crush the old man’s windpipe before he could cast another spell.

Danbur had passed stores pedaling gods only knew what wares, as well as all manner of abodes. Some were recognizably similar to Sera’s home, erected a ways back from the roadway on a fenced patch of ground. Others were situated much closer to the roadway and constructed in rows, so at first glance they appeared to be one very wide building decorated in a variety of colors. And still others appeared to have been constructed for purposes Danbur could not fathom.

The air he breathed stank. He suspected the blame for that could be laid on the many conveyances using the roadways. Larger ones, especially, belched noxious fumes from their rears. His nostrils twitched as he passed a waste receptacle attached to a pole. The putrid odor coated his throat. He quickened his stride.

By now the sensation in his belly had been reduced to an occasional twinge, and he took this to confirm he was almost at his destination. A relief, indeed. Already his senses were so dulled by the constant barrage of noise it was difficult to remain focused and alert. He didn’t know how much more of this strangeness he could take.

A large expense of green caught his eye. It appeared out of place among the buildings and pathways and roads. A portion of the area contained bizarrely shaped, brightly colored structures. He could make head nor tail of their purpose until he registered the small figures swarming over and through them.

A playground.

Danbur had witnessed children make a playground of a bare expanse of sand and a ball of rags. This area would have awed and delighted the small boys of his home world. He ground his teeth. He didn’t relish the thought of turning it into a killing ground. He would have to rethink his options.

The compulsion tugged him across the grassed area. And then he saw her. Seraphine. Standing at the top of a tall structure that incorporated a long, tongue-like metallic strip stretching toward the ground.

Her name threatened to burst from his throat and, as he clenched his jaws to subdue it, his mind whirled with a startling possibility. He might have been mistaken. It could be
Seraphine
summoning him, not Peter Stone. After all, Sera had called him from the chunk of danburite. He and the child were connected in some strange way, Danbur knew. And it could be no coincidence that she would be here, innocently playing in the very place he’d been drawn to. Likely she, too, was controlled by the sorcerer—another pawn in the old man’s game.

His warrior instincts smacked him upside the head. It behooved him not to announce his presence until he’d assessed possible threats. Best he not stand here like a witless stripling, an exposed and easy target for someone lying in wait. But before he could take cover Sera spotted him.

“Dan!” she shrieked. And launched herself down the metallic strip, sliding on her bottom, legs outstretched, arms waving wildly above her head. Despite Danbur’s concerns his lips tugged up at the corners. He couldn’t help being enchanted by her exuberance. If he weren’t a grown man on a mission he might be tempted to try the ingeniously constructed “slide” himself.

Sera trotted toward him, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with her forefinger, a huge grin splitting her face. When she neared, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms about his thighs. “I told him you were coming,” she said, peering up at him. “I could feel you getting nearer all the time and then I knew you were here!”

Danbur scooped her up with one arm and settled her on his hip so he could better read her expression. And shield her body with his own if it proved necessary. He already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but there was always the minute chance he was mistaken.

Gods. Please let him be mistaken.

“Who did you tell, Sera?”

“Mr. Stone,” Sera said. “He’s looking after me ’til Mommy gets back tonight.”

A chill gripped his heart. The tiny prickles dancing down his spine morphed to claws that dug deep. The sorcerer had convinced Opal to abandon her daughter to his care. And the stakes had been raised tenfold.

Sera pointed toward a low bench shaded by the spreading branches of a large tree. “See? There he is.”

Before Danbur could think how to react Sera wriggled from his arms. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bench where an elderly man dressed in a gold shirt and sturdy blue trousers lounged, legs outstretched, booted feet crossed at the ankles. To the ignorant, he resembled any other elderly gent enjoying a pleasant morning nap.

After four steps Danbur halted and gently but firmly pulled Sera to a stop. He knelt, facing her. “I must talk to your Mr. Stone,” he said. “It will be a boring adult conversation, I fear. Why don’t you go and play on the…
slide
?” With luck she would understand his meaning.