Chapter 3: SETI
New Gwandala.
"Werewolves?" Henry glared at Robert in frustration, not that it was his fault. "You gotta be kidding me."
"Sorry, I'm not. Werewolves have become increasingly numerous recently. The Order of the Yellow Hand recruits them heavily."
"And now they have Neal," Sara said bleakly.
"Not for long," Henry promised. "We'll get him back." Although exactly how wasn't clear. He realized their string of good luck couldn't last forever, but this case had looked to be in the bag. Why did it have to be a werewolf bag?
They'd made it back to the bookstore without a hitch. Robert parked his vehicle, a sleek hovercraft, at the back entrance to the bookstore. When they got out, there wasn't a sign of trouble. It was only when Robert unlocked the door that the werewolves sprang their trap. A large net dropped on top of them seemingly from midair. Robert to his credit yelled a warning about werewolves, although that wasn't much help. A little advance notice about them would have been helpful—especially on how to take them down. As soon as Henry tore himself free from one, another pounced on him. Robert yelled a command in the Language for the net to seize all werewolves, but by the time they were immobilized, Neal had vanished.
To compound their issues, the net didn't hold the werewolves for long. That wasn't Robert's fault. He said the net simply wasn't strong enough, but it was the only tool he had to work with. The werewolves weren't interested in anyone else apparently. As soon as they freed themselves, they raced off.
Now Henry and Sara were back in Robert's office to iron out the details of Plan B. If only they had a Plan B.
Henry had felt something was off about the tomb even before they entered it. He should have listened to his instincts. Those moths he'd spotted might have been werewolf spies.
"The werewolves probably followed us from the tomb," Sara said. "But if they wanted the orb, why didn't they seize all of us?"
"Most likely because they thought Neal had it," Robert said. "Since he's a dragon, they assumed he would have claimed possession."
"Hang on, Neal's not a dragon," Henry objected. "Why do you think he is?"
Robert stared at him in confusion. "But his aura ... He's not a dragon?"
"No," Sara said firmly. "Besides, we were told the level of chaos is so high here that dragons can't tolerate this world."
"I'd wondered about that. I thought that perhaps Neal had a way to build up a higher tolerance. That could be why they seized him."
"Could werewolves tell if he's a dragon?" Henry asked.
"Possibly. A Fae definitely could."
"Like the scientist you told us about?" Sara asked. "The one who works for SETI?"
Robert nodded. "She could see his aura like I can and would make the same assumption. I've met dragons, and their auras appear to my eye identical to Neal's."
#
"Why isn't he sicker?" a bass voice said.
Neal didn't dare open his eyes. but he could sense the man hovering over him. The air had an antiseptic smell.
He didn't remember much after the net fell over him. His attackers had long fur and yellow eyes that reminded him of wolves. He'd felt a prick at his neck. That was probably a hypodermic. The next thing he was aware of, he was lying on a hard surface.
He could feel straps securing his legs and arms. His captors seemed to think he was unconscious. That sounded good. All he had to do was avoid reacting. They might not think he was sick, but he was nauseous. His head pounded.
"How high did you ramp up the level of chaos?" the man asked.
"It's at maximum." That was a woman. "A dragon shouldn't be able to breathe."
"Are you sure he is one?"
"Of course, I am! Aren't his scales sufficient proof?"
Scales? Neal longed to open his eyes. Where did he have scales? His skin felt the same.
"Forgive me, but I've never seen that odd greenish-blue color on a dragon."
"Dragons have different colors based on the kingdom they come from. I admit his coloring is unusual. It could indicate he's a hybrid."
A hand probed the skin around his right eye. Without warning, his eyelid was pried open. Neal willed himself not to resist. He stared blankly at the face of a woman. Her blonde hair was now tied back into a knot. She wore a lilac-colored jumpsuit. She seemed familiar ... Phyllida Cartwright? Luckily she was no longer holding his eyelid open. As it was he had to force himself to remain motionless. The last time he'd seen her, she was disappearing into a wormhole with Chad.
"Notice his red eyes," she said, blithely ignoring the dismay she was causing. "His dragon self is trying to emerge but is unable to. That's because of the chaos in the chamber. This demonstrates he's not fully immune. He may be a prototype, a product of advanced genetics. Take more blood samples."
"Do you want tissue samples as well?"
"Not yet. First I'd like to reduce the level of chaos and then administer a truth serum. We may succeed in getting useful details from him. If not, we'll begin dismemberment."
Not happening. Although how he'd prevent it wasn't clear. Would the truth serum work? How much would he reveal about himself? About Sara and Henry?
"Should we dispatch werewolves to pick up the orb?" the man asked. "Since the dragon doesn't have it, the librarian probably does."
"He would have already returned it to the Library. In any case, the orb's already served its purpose. This planet had algolnium before. The odds of deposits reappearing have now increased exponentially."
Neal heard the opening of a cabinet door. Some sort of liquid was poured into a receptacle. A feeling of languor gradually washed over him. He was relaxed, drifting ...
Sometime later, he heard the two voices again. He had the vague impression they'd been talking for a while.
"You see, the drug's working," Phyllida's voice was soft and soothing. "He no longer shows his dragon attributes."
"Neal, can you hear me?" she asked gently.
"Yes," he said. This was going to be fun. He still had his wits plus he'd never felt so self-confident. He was as buoyant as a balloon. Henry probably felt like this all the time.
"Are you a dragon?" she asked.
"Yes." No reason to deny it. They already thought he was.
"How long have dragons known about Arkham?"
"Uncounted ages. The town is a secure outpost." He should be feeling the effects of the truth serum, but he'd never felt more alert. How did they expect him to act? He decided he should emphasize that dreamlike quality he'd experienced when they first gave him the drug.
He forced himself to speak slowly with no emotion. The Fae were worried about how a dragon could survive in a world high in chaos. He could work with that—not give any specifics but reveal how scientists had genetically modified dragons. He'd then be too valuable to kill. Sara and Henry were looking for him. He just needed to give them time to find him.
"Then you're one of a new breed?" the man asked.
Neal nodded. If they thought he'd been modified, they wouldn't know how he would react to the truth serum. Maybe it was toxic to his system ... He started slurring his words, letting his sentences trail off into long pauses.
"Neal, how are you feeling?" Phyllida asked.
"Weak," he whispered. "Need ... rest." He uttered a few soft shantak hisses. That should confuse them.
"We can't stop now," the man objected. "This information is vital."
"And we'll mine him for days to come. The dose we administered was too strong." Neal heard her adjusting his IV. "We'll resume tomorrow morning."
Their footsteps receded. He heard the soft snick of a door latch. The ambient light in the room was turned down to a low glow. Had he faked his symptoms too well? He was overwhelmed by the need to sleep. The truth serum hadn't worked, but whatever soporific they gave him was quite effective.
A sound roused him. So soon? It seemed like he'd just fallen asleep. He decided to fake it so they'd leave him alone.
"Neal?" Sara breathed in his ear. "Can you hear me?"
He gasped, but she placed a hand over his mouth. "The room may be bugged," she whispered.
He nodded his understanding. Henry and Robert were there as well. They released the straps holding him to the table.
Henry placed his hand on the bandage holding the IV in place and mouthed, "You ready?"
Neal ripped off the bandage in response. Robert was standing guard at the doorway. Neal felt in reasonably good shape, but as soon as the IV was removed, his thoughts scattered. He was vaguely aware of Henry and Sara helping him off the table. His legs wobbled like they were made of jelly.
Luckily that didn't matter. Henry and Robert half-carried him out of the room. Neal's eyes closed despite his best efforts to keep them open. The motion made his insides rebel. He focused on not ejecting his stomach's contents during the escape.
The journey seemed interminable but finally, he heard the sound of a car door. He collapsed onto the back seat. They'd made it. Sara got in on the other side and cradled his head in her lap. There were worse ways of traveling.
#
They didn't linger after they returned to the bookstore. Sara didn't trust the werewolves to stay away. A few hours ago, she'd made a fast trip back to Arkham via the Library portal while Robert and Henry searched for Neal. She stayed only long enough to give Lavinia the orb and provide a brief update. The orb would be tested to determine if it behaved similarly to the orb they'd found in Antarctica. Perhaps someday they'd find a useful purpose for them ... or discover they were Trojan horses loaded with time bombs.
She'd debated bringing the dagger with her when she returned to New Gwandala. She'd tested it on Neal and Henry after their return from Tirelia, and it no longer appeared to be enchanted, at least not on their world. But after seeing the effectiveness of Robert's use of the Language, she yearned to try it out in Coppelia's galaxy. Lavinia advised against it. Introducing an alien artifact into that world could have the same effect the orb did, and who needed more werewolves?
Their team was only gone from Arkham for a day but Neal took two days off before returning to the university. He didn't bounce back from the ordeal like he had on previous occasions. Sara appreciated the healing effect of Celaenian wormholes more than ever. Elizabeth determined that his blood pressure was abnormally low but she couldn't identify the drugs that had been used on him.
When they held their wrap-up discussion at June's, Phyllida was the top item on their list.
Neal was positive that the Fae on New Gwandala known as Phyllida Vetva was the same person who'd called herself Phyllida Cartwright in Arkham. Did that mean that Chad was also on New Gwandala? Perhaps he led the Order of the Yellow Hand on that world.
"Phyllida may have taken the stolen information about algolnium to New Gwandala," Mozzie speculated. "Perhaps she thought it would help seed the element."
"There's something else you should know," Neal said from his position on the couch. "When Phyllida tested me, she commented that my dragon characteristics were visible. She was convinced that I'm a dragon."
Sara stared at him, speechless. This was the first time he'd mentioned it. That alone indicated how uneasy he was about the incident.
"Exactly what characteristics did she mention?" Lavinia demanded.
He winced. "My skin was supposedly covered with greenish-blue scales. They were probably about the same color as my amulet. My eyes were red. I was keeping my eyes closed to fake that I was unconscious so I can't verify anything."
"You were lucky she thought you were a dragon," Mozzie said. "That indicates she's only had limited communication with the Ymar and no one has told her about your true nature."
"I hadn't thought about it that way, but you're right," Neal said thoughtfully.
"I wouldn't fixate on those symptoms," Elizabeth advised. "They could have been caused by the drugs you were given."
"Exactly," Neal agreed eagerly. "Or I could have hallucinated their comments."
"Until we know more, we shouldn't leap to any conclusions," Peter said. "But we're already aware of a linkage between Celaenians and dragons."
"In any case, you've always had a thing for dragons," Henry pointed out. "When you were a kid, you were fascinated with them. Maybe that was caused by something in your genes."
"Henry's theory is provocative," Peter said. "I remember you telling me that your favorite children's books were My Father's Dragon and The Hobbit. You were probably rooting for Smaug."
"And wouldn't you rather be a dragon than a shimmering serpent?" Sara joked.
Everyone was trying to keep the mood light and Sara was glad to see Neal didn't dwell on the issue.
"I just hope you're not too envious when I sprout wings and achieve lift-off," he said, slapping a smile on his face.