The Crossover (4 page)

Across the street, they retraced their steps back to the promising shop window. They took a minute to study the weapons on display—up close, Chelinn’s assessment of their utility proved obviously true. Beyond the window were rows of shelves, too dim to make anything out. Colorful flyers hung in the window below the weapons.

“Shall we try this, then?” asked Lodrán.

“We’ve come this far,” Chelinn grumbled, “and we have nowhere better to go.” They walked through the door.

• • •

The door made a strange piercing chime noise as they entered, making Lodrán flinch. Behind a desk in the middle of the shop stood a soft-looking man.
Merchants are the same here, too
, he thought. His hair was somewhat darker than Chelinn’s, and streaked with grey; both hair and beard were unruly.

“Great outfits!” He gave them an enthusiastic grin. “You’re ready for the con this weekend, huh?”

“Con?” Lodrán considered the word. At home, the word meant either
deceiver
or
opposed
. The accents were strange and varied here, but most of the words made sense. Most of them.

“Fantasy South Con?” The merchant pushed a flyer across the desk. “You have to know about it.”

Lodrán picked up the flyer. He could not read the writing, but the artwork depicted a man—whose appearance reminded him of Chelinn, except this man was bare-chested—facing something that looked like a stylized dragon. Next to the man was a woman whose huge breasts threatened to burst through her armor. Both of them swung massive swords. The style was a little garish, but not unfamiliar. He looked up, remembering a word. “Fantasy?”

Chelinn stepped forward. “You know about magic, right?”

“Sure,” the merchant said. “We have the Bloodstorm decks and booster packs over there.” He pointed to a shelf nearby. “If you want individual cards, they’re in the display case around this side.”

Chelinn and Lodrán looked at each other. The individual words made sense, but put together? This merchant could have been speaking South Sea Islander.

“Uh, you guys look a little confused,” said the merchant. “Is there something I can help you with? I’d guess you’re in the right place, but… well, if you’re druggies, I’d just as soon you leave. I’ve got enough trouble right now.”

“That’s a good word,” said Chelinn. “We’re confused. We’ve had a rough day, and we’re new in town. We need someone who can help us out.”

“You here with the con, then? Advance publicity or something? I’d love to help you with that, especially if there’s a
quid pro quo
.”

“Just tell him, Chelinn,” Lodrán sighed. “I doubt it can make things any worse.”

“True.” The big man addressed the merchant. “We got blown here by a priest. I think he was trying to curse us to Hell, but my friend here disrupted the curse and we ended up here instead. Wherever
here
is. We were hoping to reach the rainbow before it dissipated, because I could use it to get us back home, but it’s gone. We saw the weapons in your window—even if they’re not really weapons—and we thought you might understand our situation.”

The merchant laughed. “Good one! Is that some kind of theme for the con? Makes sense—everyone goes home when it’s done.” He laughed again.

Before they could respond, the door made its strange noise again. Four young men stepped in, looking like they owned the place. The merchant’s laughter turned to a fearful anxiety. “Bad news.”

One of the four veered away into the shelves; the other three ignored Chelinn and faced the merchant. “What’s shakin’, nerd-boy?” one of them asked.

“Can I help you with something?” The merchant was careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Yeah,” the biggest one—obviously the leader—said. “Just hand over the cash register.”

At last
, Chelinn thought,
something familiar. Thugs robbing a merchant.
“And why should he do that?” he growled. The three turned to face him, a tinge of fear swept away by contempt.

“Oh look,” the big one said to his friends. “A geek who thinks he’s tough in his dress-up!”

“Let’s see how tough he is,” another suggested. A device in his hand sprouted a tiny knife blade with a nasty snapping sound. They grinned and the others drew their weapons as Chelinn took two steps back, hands raised.

“What are you doing?” Lodrán asked the youth stuffing his pockets with small packages.

“This don’t concern you, dip-weed,” the youth said.

“It does. You steal, but have no stealth. No style. You’re an embarrassment to the Silent Art.”

“Whatever. Shove off.” The youth pulled a small knife, in what Lodrán thought a clumsy maneuver. “Unless you want me to cut you a new smile.”

Lodrán’s dagger came to hand. To the youth, Lodrán flicked his hand and the weapon just… appeared. “Put those things back,” Lodrán ordered. “Or just leave them here on the floor. Unless you think you can take me.”

“Hey!” the youth yelled, taking a wide-eyed step back. “Over here!”

Chelinn’s hands came down, his sword Gonfanlon in one hand, dagger in the other.

The big thug snorted. “Like you can actually
use
those?”

Chelinn gave them a monstrous grin. The dagger flashed, and all three felt a draft and a stinging across their stomachs—they looked down, and saw their shirts slashed open. Blood oozed from a scratch across each of them. “I’m not the greatest swordsman on Termag, but I can indeed use these well enough. I suggest you go on your way. And don’t come back.”

The youth grinned at Lodrán as his friends rushed from the desk; the grin turned to a confused grimace as they ran through the front door. He took a step back, waving his pitiful knife at Lodrán. “Stay back!” he yelled.

“Just leave what you would steal, then you’re free to go.” Lodrán tossed his dagger back and forth between his hands, giving it a lazy twirl in flight. The youth watched this display with horrified fascination, then dropped his own knife and the stolen goods.

“Good.” Lodrán stepped out of the aisle, leaving the way out open. The youth bolted past him and out the door.

“Oh… I wondered what happened to the last one,” said Chelinn, still grinning. “I see you took care of him. Any trouble?”

Lodrán looked as if he wanted to spit. “Against
that
? I’ve faced dead men more dangerous.”

Chelinn chuckled and turned to the gaping merchant. “If they have any sense, that’s the last you’ll see of them.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Lodrán asked him.

The merchant shook his head. “No. But I’m not so sure they won’t come back. They’ll either bring guns, or torch the place some night.” He grinned. “But I kind of don’t care—that was amazing!” He gave Chelinn a goggle-eyed look. “When you swung that knife, I thought I was gonna have a bloody mess to clean up for sure! It might have been better that way—the police would ask questions I’d have a hard time answering, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. So who are you guys?”

“I am Chelinn sim Chell, scion of House Chelor of Dacia. I have been called both Captain and Madman, but I gave up one title and laugh at the other. This is my companion and friend, Lodrán sim Marl, of Ak’koyr, a practitioner of the Silent Art.”

“Of Roth’s Keep,” Lodrán corrected. “I was born in Ak’koyr, but I will not claim it as my heritage.”

“Dacia? Ak’koyr? Where the hell are they?”

“Our world we call Termag,” said Chelinn. “We’ve already concluded we’re somewhere else. What do you call your world?”

“Um… Earth. Or Terra. Oh, and I’m Chuck Robinson. This is my shop, Age of Heroes.” Chuck shook his head. “Damn. You two are awesome. Are you professional actors? I mean, you haven’t broken character
once
. I really appreciate you showing up when you did. I don’t know what they have against me, but…” He shrugged. “They’re gonna kill my business. My employees quit because of these guys, and I can’t blame them. But what are you gonna do when they come back with guns?”

“What are guns?” Lodrán asked. “Some kind of magic?”

Chuck threw up his hands. “Dudes. Time to drop the role-playing and get serious. Firearms. Handguns. Sawed-off shotguns, maybe. What do you have to beat those?”

“I am serious,” said Lodrán. “Chelinn can use magic to defeat them, but you need to tell him what they are.”

“Show me,” said Chelinn. “Explain what these ‘guns’ are, to the best of your ability. Lodrán, you look around. Study the wares our friend has to offer so you can help anyone who comes in. For now, we are his assistants.”

“Uh…” said Chuck. “There’s a bunch of paperwork. I’d have to get your Social Security numbers, fill out the I-9 forms—”

Chelinn waved away the objections. “You need our help, notable. And we need yours. We need a place to stay, someone to tell us about your world’s customs and so forth, and to take us to the next rainbow so we can return home.”

“All right, all right. I guess y’all will want supper and so on too, right?”

“I presume hunting is not allowed inside the city? Or cookfires? Then yes, we’ll need food. Now… to the task at hand?”

After about ten minutes, Chelinn called across the shop to Lodrán. “It’s some kind of projectile weapon,” he said. “A flash fire inside a confined space drives a small piece of metal at its victim. I’m not sure, neither is our host, but we think my armor would stop the less powerful kind. A magical shield should help with the others—”

The door chimed, but it was only a customer. Lodrán stepped forward. “May I help you?”

“Nah,” said the newcomer. He looked at the desk. “Hey Chuck! This is awesome, putting your employees in costume, but you need a wizard outfit for yourself! Did the order come in?”

“Just this morning, Phil,” said Chuck, bringing out a package from under the desk. “Why don’t you look it over?”

“Yeah, good idea.” Phil opened his package, while Chelinn looked on. Lodrán drifted to the window to watch the world go by. Although the glass was amazingly clear—perhaps it was magic that made it free of ripples and bubbles—it made the oddness beyond somehow more tolerable.

“Looks good,” said the customer, and looked at Chelinn. “Dude. That is one
quality
outfit. I know Chuck doesn’t sell anything that good. You look like you could’ve stepped off a movie set. Or out of a
Dragonlance
book.”

Chelinn nodded. “Thank you. It took a long time to… to assemble.”

“Yeah. Well, it was worth it. I hope I see y’all at the con; you’ll win best in show for sure!” He took his package and left.

The rest of the afternoon went without incident. Chelinn was keenly interested in the clocks and especially the computer, while Lodrán marveled at the lighting and Chuck’s cellphone. When “school let out,” as Chuck put it, the shop suddenly filled with children. This made Chelinn and Lodrán a little nervous, as they were not used to dealing with children and worried about what might happen if the four fools returned. But the children left after a while, to their relief.

When the clock on the desk displayed
6:00
, the shop was quiet. “I’m going to grab us some supper,” said Chuck. “Chances are, there won’t be many customers in the next half hour. Maybe some browsers. If someone wants to buy something, just say you haven’t been trained on the registers, and have them wait a few minutes for me to come back.”

“And if the four fools come back?” Lodrán asked.

“Call 911. Tell them there’s a robbery.” Chuck lifted the receiver, and showed Lodrán the buttons to push.

Chelinn watched Chuck leave. He thought to himself,
We will tell them there are four dead criminals to remove from the premises.

The next half-hour passed with only one person coming in. He complimented Chelinn’s “costume” and left without buying anything. Lodrán wandered the shelves, trying to make sense of the merchandise. Finally, Chuck emerged from the rear, carrying several large paper bags. “Supper! Such as it is,” he said. “Not home cooking, but—”

The door banged open and the four fools stormed in. “Hey Sword Geek!” the big thug yelled. “You wanna try your sword on this?”

Chelinn looked at the device in the fool’s hand—metal, of course. It looked like a pipe with a handle. “I suppose this is one of those ‘gun’ devices that I’ve been hearing about?”

“Duh. Hey, where’s your friend? We got some business with him too.”

“I’m sure you do. He’s behind you.”

They laughed. “Oldest trick in the book,” the big one said. “You think we’re dumb enough to fall for that?”

Chelinn shrugged. “You were stupid enough to return. I may be ignorant about much in this world, but I do know you are threatening my life—after I spared yours. Attack me now, and I will show no mercy.”

“You callin’ me stupid?” The thug grinned. “You’re just makin’ this easier and easier. Tommy, you get the cash. If the geek gives you any grief, cut him.”

“Sure—hey, where’s my switchblade?”

“Looking for these?” They turned; Lodrán pointed his dagger at his feet, where their knives lay, then back at them. “Come and get them. If you think you can.”

“Keep him busy,” their leader growled, “I’ll take care of Sword Geek first.” He turned to Chelinn and shot.

Chelinn winced at the horrific noise, but the three slugs fell at his feet. He picked one up, feeling the heat through his gloves. The other three turned at the sound of gunfire, and murmured fearfully at the sight.

The shooter fired again, then looked at Chelinn and saw icy fire in his eyes. “You were warned,” said Chelinn. A blue-white beam shot from his hand, and the thug died standing up, encased in an inch of ice, still pointing the gun. The other three screamed, and Chuck gasped.

“You three should die as well,” said Chelinn. “But if you do two things, you may live: take your friend away, and then leave this city. If I see you again, you die. Understand?” They nodded, wide-eyed. “Good. Don’t touch that ice unless you want to lose your hands. Use gloves.”

• • •

“Are you sure you don’t want this, noted Robinson?” Lodrán asked, holding up the last burger.

“I can’t believe you guys can eat after that,” said Chuck, looking a little pale. “You just killed someone. Sure, he deserved it, but…” he waved his hands.