"Oh, come on," the other elf said. "Go ahead. If I wanted to drug you, I've got some friends outside who'd just love to help me out."
Serrin took the cigarette. His own brand. He accepted a light from the elf and breathed in the smoke.
"Who are you?" he asked him.
"I think I'm the one who'll be asking the questions, wouldn't you say? But you can call me Magellan. You've been causing some trouble, I'm afraid. Oh, before you consider doing any flashy stuff with your magic, I'd advise you to forget it. We've spread a powerful magical damper around here. You wouldn't be able to get off the feeblest little squirt. There are also half a dozen big Zulus with a variety of exciting weapons outside, so you don't have a hope in hell of getting out of here."
He was confident, Serrin realized. Maybe too confident. And didn't even seem to be packing a weapon.
"Trouble?" he asked.
"Well, let's put it this way," Magellan said, pouring himself a glass of red wine from a bottle sitting next to the ashtray on the small table, "you've been trotting around the globe a lot lately. Which, I'd guess, must have something to do with that business back in Heidelberg."
"Why don't you just ask me what you want to know?" Serrin said, then wanted to kick himself for being so dumb. He should be playing for time, but the after-effects of the drug were playing havoc with his ability to think straight.
"It's more a question of my finding out what you do know and what you don't," Magellan said evenly.
"And what depends on that?" Serrin asked.
"Stop playing games, fool. Somebody tried to snatch you, but you got away first. So now you want to find out who called the hit, and get revenge on him."
"Right on time," Serrin said. Things weren't really as simple as all that, but Magellan seemed to have everything so scripted that he decided to go along to see where it would all lead.
"You got the troll for muscle and Sutherland for brains. The decker does some investigating into missing mages. Clever but predictable. You start putting pieces together and find someone else who escaped a snatching. You make it to the Zulu Nation to talk to him. Tell me why you hit Cape Town first. I want to hear that."
Serrin judged that Magellan didn't actually know, and his heart skipped a beat. This elf wasn't one of the original kidnappers, he was sure of that. He was working for someone else. It also meant he genuinely needed to know some things.
"Michael said we should go there first because he knows the city. We picked up some weapons and some medikit stuff. We needed that out at Umfolozi."
"What about the girl?"
"Look, Michael knows this brothel, says no one would ever find us there. The girl, well, she's a little bit of a looker, right? I enjoyed myself." Serrin hated himself for those words, but it was a story Magellan might just buy.
If Serrin could keep some of his cards close to his chest, he might yet have a chance in this poker game after all.
Magellan looked at him intently. Serrin met his gaze and didn't flinch.
"So you jazzed around a little," the other elf said. "That doesn't explain why you took her along to the Nation? If Sutherland's been there before, he knows that her Xhosa face would make her about as popular as a garlic pizza to a vampire."
The analogy was deliberate, Serrin was sure. He gave a slight start, deliberately, to clue Magellan that he knew that part of the puzzle.
"She said she knew about the local critters. Button spiders, poisonous snakes, that kind of thing. Said that would be useful to us."
"Hah! What would a kaffir know about the wilds of Umfolozi?"
"You got me," Serrin said, "but that's what she told us." He spoke with a forcefulness based on the fact that he was actually speaking the truth. "Guess she liked the money and thought it might be a kick to go along for the ride."
Magellan looked long and hard at him, then nodded. "All right. So you find Shakala. What does he tell you?"
"He saw enough to describe one of the kidnappers. The description matched someone who'd also come after me. Guy with a scar."
Magellan nodded again. He poured a glass of wine for Serrin and the mage took it, sniffing it suspiciously.
"Didn't I already tell you that if I wanted you drugged "
"And I heard you, loud and clear. But what I ate played hell with my guts back at the club and I don't think either one of us wants to see me zooking it all up right now."
Magellan leaned back slightly and laughed. "Serrin, I like you. I really wouldn't want to kill you unless I have to."
"Thanks," Serrin said, risking a sip of the wine.
"I mean it," Magellan insisted. "Not someone like you. But it all depends on where we go with this conversation."
Someone like you. The other elf gave those words a peculiar emphasis that made Serrin wonder if his survival would depend on figuring out exactly what Magellan meant by that. And he'd have to be figuring it out at the same time he was thinking hard about every word he uttered. A bead of sweat formed on his brow and trickled down to his eyebrow.
Michael had barely jacked in to begin his work before the sound of the girl frantically hammering at the door forced him to jack out again double-quick. Sobbing uncontrollably, she ran in and flung herself into Tom's arms. It was several long minutes before they were able to get the story out of her.
"Try to think, Kristen. Please," Michael said exasper-atedly, ignoring Tom's hostile glare. "We can't help Serrin unless we know exactly what happened. Listen to me. Think carefully amp; who followed him into the men's room? Did you see anyone unusual, anyone you might be able to recognize again?"
She shook her head and started to cry once more. Michael was desperate to keep her talking, but had to back off and leave her weeping in the troll's arms. By the time he'd poured a drink and got the urge to shout at her under control, she was finally managing to mumble some more details in response to Tom's gentler queries.
"So you're sure he didn't come back into the club? That probably means they went out a back door from the men's room. And if you didn't see anyone unusual follow him in, they must have hired locals to do the job. And that means, almost certainly, that someone at the club knows what went down. We'll have to ask some questions."
"What about the police?" Tom asked.
"Not an option. We're traveling on fake IDs, remember? That plastic got us through immigration, but we can't risk anyone looking too close," Michael said. Then something occurred to him.
"Tom, that spell lock of Serrin's. Have you ever handled it? Could you trace him, astrally?"
The troll shook his head. "Slot, man, you don't go around handing out your locks for another magician to play with. Besides, I don't have the skill to trace him." Tom shook his head sadly again. "I just can't do it."
"But you've got to try. There are lots of his things here. You've got a link."
"Even if I could, it would take many, many hours. Face it, chummer. I just can't do it," the troll said wretchedly. He knew only too well his own limitations as a shaman.
"Tom, you've got to try," Michael pleaded.
Tom breathed in hard and cast his eyes down at the floor. "All right amp; I'll try, I'll do what I can. But it ain't gonna work," he said. He let go of the girl and plodded slowly toward the door. "I need to be alone. Peace and quiet," he said, then shut the door behind him.
"Kristen, you're going to have to take me back to that club. But first I have to ask you something," Michael said, not sure how to ask the question without offending her. "Did you get looks from people? For being a Xhosa?"
She nodded.