God, I Pity the Violins by StarSpray

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Chapter 11

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Maglor did not wake until long after the sun had risen cheerfully into a clear blue sky. He stepped outside to a puddled world still sparkling with the remnants of last night's rain. In spite of the bright sun the air was still heavy and damp, and even in the air-conditioned cabin he could feel his hair curling with it. Inside Lumorn and Radoriel clattered around the kitchen, bickering over what to make for breakfast with all the enthusiasm of those who almost never had to cook for themselves. Maglor had refused to be drawn into it, claiming a glass of orange juice and making his escape to the deck.

There was a hummingbird feeder at the far end, and a pair of hummingbirds, throats winking ruby-red in the bright morning, were chasing each other in circles around it, while at the larger feeder a few feet away a cardinal and a handful of house finches perched, calmly picking at the sunflower seeds. Beyond the deck was a small, neat yard, which led directly into the forest. In one of the trees near the edge Maglor saw movement, and recognized Calwë high in the branches, though he couldn't quite tell what she was doing. The woods were dense and the edge, at least, was thick with honeysuckle and blackberry brambles still in flower, lending a sweet fragrance to the air that otherwise smelled only of clean wet leaves and damp earth. As he leaned against the railing he heard flute music from just below him, and looked down to see Daeron lounging on the grass, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, heedless of the wet, with his eyes closed as he trilled a short ditty.

"Good morning," said Maglor when Daeron paused to take a breath. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," said Daeron, opening his eyes. "It is a relief to sit outside on the grass and see the sun and sky again. And to know that there will be no more strange experiments done in that place." Maglor hummed in agreement. "Have they stopped arguing in the kitchen? I would like breakfast, but it is too early for lengthy debate over the merits of waffles over pancakes."

"Waffles are clearly superior," Maglor said. "Alas, they were still deep in discussion when I passed by. Would you like me to get you a banana or something in the meantime?"

Before Daeron could answer, the door to the kitchen slid open, and the smell of waffles wafted out onto the deck. As Daeron got to his feet and tried to brush wet grass off of his jeans, Maglor turned to see Quynh stepping outside, barefoot and with her hair sticking up in tufts. She yawned a somewhat garbled "Good morning" before sitting down at the little round table near the bird feeders—only to leap up again with a yelp, having sat squarely in a puddle.

"Careful," Maglor said a beat too late. Quynh glared at him. Joe, who had come out just behind her, earned a glare of his own by laughing.

Radoriel poked her head outside. "There are waffles!" she announced. "Shall I bring a platter outside?"

"Someone should bring towels," said Maglor. "The seats are rather wet."

Nile was the one to emerge with the towels, and a bemused look on her face. Radoriel came out with a staggering tower of waffles, and Lumorn and Linnoriel followed with plates and other necessities. There was no formality to the meal; folk came and went as they woke. Calwë appeared, retrieved a plate and drowned her waffles in maple syrup, and vanished back up the tree. Daeron perched on the deck railing and between bites held an apparently engrossing conversation with a red-winged blackbird that came to perch atop the bird feeder. Nile watched this for a while before turning to Maglor, who had chosen to sit at the table. "Is that normal?"

"No," said Maglor. Before Nile could reply he added, "Normally he seeks out the nightingales, but they are not native to these lands." Nile gave him a baleful look, which Maglor only smiled at before returning his attention to breakfast.

Once everyone had eaten Maglor went to the dining room, where the palantír still sat beneath the table. He drew it out of its bag and regarded the dark surface. It was suddenly so tempting to try to use it to look across the seas, perhaps back into the deeps of time to his gold- and silver-tinged youth. "What are you doing?" Quynh asked from the doorway. "Andromache wants to know when we're going back to check on things," she added.

"It has occurred to me that we may not have to go back," Maglor replied.

"I thought that was dangerous," Quynh said.

"Palantíri can be tricky," Maglor said. "But the only real danger is if someone were to throw it at your head." Quynh snorted. Maglor took a seat at the table, took a breath, and drew the palantír to him, keeping his hands on either side, and focused his gaze on the depths of the stone, and his mind upon the ruins of Turralba's headquarters. As he stared, points of light like tiny stars began to appear in the depths of the palantír, and they wheeled and spun around each other until the light came together to be almost blinding, only to dissolve into a scene of ruin. As though from an eagle's eyes Maglor could see the crumbled concrete and torn and wrenched steel of the building, and the scatter of broken glass glinting in the grass and on the asphalt of the parking lot. In places smoke could be seen curling up from the wreckage.

There was also a handful of people milling around. There were no police cars with flashing lights, or ambulances, or fire trucks, which was a good sign when it came to their risk of getting arrested, but also a sign that whatever Turralba was doing there even the wholesale destruction of the property was not enough to make them willing to let the authorities start looking around. As Maglor continued to watch the vision lowered so that he could make out the people standing in a clear portion of the parking lot. There were half a dozen or so, and all of them were dusty and bruised, and several had dried blood on their faces or in their hair. Most of them were large men, and they all carried themselves like soldiers. A large SUV with tinted windows stood with the doors open. One man, slightly shorter than the rest, with sandy hair just a touch too vibrant to be entirely natural, leaned against the front of it. He held himself stiffly, with a bottle of distressingly yellow Gatorade in one hand, and the look on his face was one of carefully controlled rage as he scanned the scene before him. Dennis Newman, it seemed, had survived the night almost unscathed.

Maglor watched Newman bark orders at his men, and then they all piled into the SUV. He watched them drive through the winding mountain roads as though he were a bird coasting on the breeze above them. The image drew back and widened so that he could see where the roads the SUV was taking were leading, and—

He sat back from the palantír, blinking the image away rapidly. Quynh sat across the table, watching him the way a cat might watch birds outside the window. "What did you see?" she asked. In the doorway stood Andromache and Nicky and Nile, who eyed the palantír like it might sprout teeth and bite.

"Dennis Newman is on his way here," said Maglor, as he got up from the table. He heaved the palantír back into its bag and left it on the table. After a moment's hesitation he took the Elessar and slipped it into his pocket. It was of little use at the moment, but it was as comforting in its way as his father's gem around his neck. On his way out of the door he grabbed the knife he'd been given in France.

"Mothfuckerer," Andromache hissed as he passed her.

"I knew we should've thrown him out a window," Nile muttered.

"Where are you going?" Quynh wanted to know.

"Does anyone want to explain bullet holes in the walls to the people Lumorn rented this place from?" Maglor asked.

"We'll be gone by then," said Andromache.

"They probably have insurance," Nicky said at the same time.

"They'll also call the cops," Nile said, rolling her eyes.

"And we'll be gone," Andromache repeated.

"Wait," said Nile suddenly, "how could they know where we are, anyway?" She turned back to the pile of loot and started to dig through it, examining each artifact as though she were seeking some specific mark. Maglor paused to watch. At last she picked up one of the rings and turned it over, the gem glinting in her fingers. "There's a chip stuck to this," she said. "Like, a micro chip sorta thing." She picked up another. "And on this one. But why these and not some of the other stuff…?"

"What does that mean?" Quynh asked. "What is a micro chip?"

"It means they were able to track us," said Andromache, and cursed again, fluently and eloquently, in several languages.

"Someone warn the others," said Maglor as he turned back toward the front door. He hurried down the long, winding driveway, hoping he would be quick enough to intercept the car on the road—and that the other vacation homes nearby were empty. Quynh and Andromache were right behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder he saw Nicky and Joe take up a position behind some trees that offered good cover. When they reached the end of the driveway Maglor could hear a car engine in the distance, and turned toward it. A minute later the dark SUV rounded a bend.

"Is that them?" Quynh asked.

"Yes." Maglor stopped in the middle of the road, on the double line. He held his knife loosely in his hand as he watched the car approach, wondering if it would stop or if Newman would try to run them down. If he did he would be in for a nasty surprise, as Maglor had on the tip of his tongue some words that would make the very earth buckle beneath the tires. But in the end he did not need to use them. The car did not slow down, but a shot rang out and one of the tires burst, and the car went swerving past Maglor and Andromache and Quynh, over the embankment and down a steep slope, stopping only when it was caught between two trees sturdy enough to withstand the collision.

"Where…?" Quynh spun around, scanning the road.

"Nicky," Andromache said, already moving to the top of the bank. Maglor followed her. "Looks totaled," she remarked, as someone struggled to open one of the passenger doors.

"A good lesson in following the speed limit," Maglor said. Andromache snorted. The door came open and one of Newman's bodyguards staggered out. He was holding his nose as blood poured down his chin. "And in wearing one's seatbelt," Maglor added.

"Newman's probably fine," Andromache sighed, as the bodyguard turned around and reached into the car. "Is that him?"

"Yes." Newman did look more or less fine. He moved stiffly, but he'd moved stiffly before. He looked up the slope and for a moment locked eyes with Maglor. His face went sickly white, and he turned and spoke to his companions. One of them leaned out of the car, which was listing dangerously to the side and down the slope, and took several shots—at Maglor or Andromache or Quynh, it was impossible to tell. Andromache pushed Maglor down and Quynh leaped in front of Andromache, taking all three bullets to her chest. Both Maglor and Andromache shouted her name as she fell, lifeless, to tumble and slide down the slope until a bush caught her, leaving a smear of bright red blood on the leaves. Andromache landed hard on top of Maglor, who landed hard on the pavement, driving all the breath from his lungs. As he gasped for breath Andromache rolled to her feet and fired her own gun down the slope. By the time he sat up, Quynh was stirring and Newman and his men were gone, except for one man—the one who had shot Quynh, Maglor thought—hanging lifeless halfway out of the SUV.

Boots on pavement and gravel heralded Nicky and Joe and Nile's approach, but Maglor did not wait for them. The bank was steep enough that he slid more than climbed down to where Quynh was rolling over. As she sat up she grinned at him, and at Andromache, with blood on her teeth. "Can you keep going?" Maglor asked her, knowing the moment the words left his mouth that of course she could.

"Race you," she replied, and launched herself down the hill, laughing as she ran. Andromache laughed too and went after her, leaving Maglor to catch up as best he could. He leaped down the slope, and in the distance caught a glimpse of a black suit moving through the trees.

It was almost invigorating, this chase through the mountain forest. It remained hot and heavy, but the air smelled of earth and life—the tang of pine, the mouldering leaves of years past, the occasional sweet fragrance of honeysuckle as Maglor ran through a thicket—and each breath brought new vigor to his limbs as he ran. He caught up to Andromache and Quynh at the bottom of the slope, passed them, and then held out his arm to slow them down. They halted, and above the sound of their breathing he heard crashing in the brush, ahead of them and to the right, heading back toward the road. Maglor followed the noise.

"Do you have a plan?" Andromache asked, panting behind him.

"No," said Maglor.

"Awesome."