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  He picked it up and shook it. Its soft material didn’t make a sound. He turned to the proprietor. “How much?”

  The man launched into a sales spiel, “It’s soft and lightweight, yet it’s been oiled to shed water.”

  The man took a breath to continue but Tarc barked, “How much?!”

  The proprietor’s eyes swept appraisingly over Tarc, “Six silvers.”

  “Two.”

  “Four.”

  Tarc got out three silvers. Holding them out, he said, “Take them or leave them. I don’t have time to screw around.”

  “But—”

  Tarc turned and strode toward the entrance.

  The man called out, “Okay, three silvers.”

  Tarc spun, threw the man his three silvers, took two steps back, picked up the jacket, and strode for the entrance while shrugging into it. To his relief, it fit well enough. Would’ve been embarrassing to have to ask him if he had something similar in a different size, he thought, chagrined.

  Out on the street, Tarc pulled off the jacket and looked both directions, still hoping for inspiration.

  Lizeth strode up and snatched the jacket out of his hand. “What the hell? You’re shopping for clothes?!”

  Embarrassed, Tarc spoke in a surly tone, “I thought I needed something dark to wear if we come back at night.”

  “What are you?” Lizeth asked, “A girl?” She was twisting the jacket into a long straight bundle.

  It was a stiff bundle.

  Tarc frowned, “You’re wrapping something in my jacket?”

  “The arrows you sent me for. Do I need to go find a bow so you can do this in time to help those poor girls? I’ve got a sick feeling we don’t have much longer.”

  “The king’s in a room, remember!”

  “A room with a window!”

  “First of all, that window’s low. If I were to shoot an arrow from out here in the city, over the wall, and into that window, it’d enter at too steep an angle to hit anyone. Unless you can get them to come over and stand right in front of the opening?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Second, the window has glass in it. That’d deflect the shot. Third, I probably can’t hit anything with a bow I’ve never drawn before.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to kill the son of a bitch. You just wanted to scare him. An arrow blasting through his window ought to do that pretty well.”

  “No one’s going to be frightened if the arrow doesn’t even hit the window!”

  Lizeth stared at him for a moment, then her expression crumbled. “Come on, Tarc,” she said, a pleading tone in her voice. “Think of something. I’m not going to be able to stand it if we just stand by and…” her voice broke, “let those girls get raped.” Her eyes had filled with tears, which was terribly disconcerting to Tarc in view of Lizeth’s usual fearless attitude.

  Tarc put his arms around her. “I’m sorry…” he began.

  “Clear the damned road!” A big voice bellowed, “Do your sniveling somewhere else!”

  Tarc looked up and saw a big man bearing down on them from atop a large horse. Tarc reached out with his ghirit, searching for the man’s semicircular canals… Then he stopped and jerked Lizeth out of the man’s way. From the way her shoulders shifted, he knew she was drawing her sword. He tightened his grip around her, leaned his mouth close to hers and hissed, “Put that sword away! I’ve finally had an idea; but you’re about to screw it up.”

  Her shoulder dropped convulsively and Tarc heard the snick as her sword shot back into its scabbard. “What is it?” she asked eagerly.

  But Tarc let go of her as soon he felt sure she wasn’t going to stick the big man with her blade. He was running back to the palace.

  Lizeth ran hard to catch up. “What’re you going to do?” she asked eagerly.

  Tarc said, “I can make him sick from out here.”

  “Sick?” Lizeth asked. They were approaching the T-junction where their little street joined the road that circled the palace. Lizeth caught up to him just as Tarc slowed and started sauntering across the street at an angle. Tarc threw a familiar arm around her and staggered a little as if he’d been drinking. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Lizeth hissed.

  In a slurred voice Tarc loudly said, “Come on honey. Gimme a kiss!”

  Lizeth started trying to push him away.

  Pinning her against the wall, he tucked his head in next to hers. “Hold still! At least pretend you’re kissing me.”

  “What?!”

  “We don’t want the guards wondering what we’re doing!”

  “Well then,” she hissed furiously, “tell me what we’re doing.”

  “We’re sending our ghirits into the King’s chamber to find out what’s going on.”

  “Oh…” Lizeth said, relaxing.

  Assuming that Lizeth was sending her ghirit in, Tarc sent his own. The king was still in the same chamber, as was his advisor or whatever the other man was. There were four people in the hall outside, but the door opened and they started coming in. Two of the four people were smaller than the other two. With a sinking sensation, Tarc realized they had to be the two girls the king had sent for.

  A creepy anticipation in his voice, the king cheerfully said, “Hell-lo, ladies.”

  “He’s got them,” Lizeth said angrily. Then, with anticipation, “What’s your plan?”

  The way she’d been yelling at him, Tarc was surprised to hear her sound confident in his ability to do something. “Um, I’m going to tell him not to…” he trailed off, suddenly reluctant to actually say “rape.” “not to do it.”

  “What?! You think a man like that won’t do it because you tell him not to? A guy that big’s probably his entire life spend his entire life doing whatever he wants!” They’d been holding one another as if they were a pair of lovers, but now she pulled her head back, trying to see his eyes, “Wait, how’re you going to tell him? You don’t have a bow. Are you going to try to throw a knife in there?”

  “Snuggle back up to me,” Tarc said exasperatedly, tugging her closer.

  She pulled back harder, “He’s about to rape those two girls and you’re trying to grope me?!”

  “No!” Tarc said, letting go though not pulling away. “I’m still trying to make the guards think we’re… hot to trot.”

  “Geez!” Lizeth said sounding disgusted, but letting him pull her back close. “I’ll bet. Now, explain your damned plan!”

  “I can send my voice in there and talk to him. First, let me send in my ghirit and find out what’s been going on while we’ve been… arguing.”

  Lizeth didn’t say anything. Presumably, she sent in her ghirit as well.

  Tarc heard the king’s voice speaking, “… but Sylvia, your dad said ‘No.’ I thought a father’d love his daughter more than that, but it seems like his money’s more important to him than you are. What do you think I should do?”

  “I don’t know,” one of the girls said, her voice sounding stricken.

  “Could you talk to him?”

  “I can, but… I don’t know… whether he’ll listen. He doesn’t… care much about… what… happens to me.” With each word and pause, the girl’s voice got smaller, and slower, and sounded more horrified.

  “You know what’s gonna happen if he doesn’t come through, don’t you?”

  “I… I think… Please…! Have mercy?” The girl’s voice was practically inaudible at the end.

  “Do something!” Lizeth said urgently,

  Simultaneously, the big man said, “I think, before you talk to your daddy tomorrow, you need to understand exactly what’s going to happen to you if…”

  The second girl began to recoil, evidently already understanding what the king intended, but the big man’s hand lashed out and grabbed her.

  Since, at this distance, Tarc didn’t have good enough control to grab molecules inside the man’s ear canal he just grabbed some air close to the big man’s head and vibrated those, sending his voice, pitched low, “U
ray! Let the girl go.”

  The king’s head spun, evidently trying to see who’d spoken. Seeing no one, he scooped up the frozen Sylvia, jerked the other girl in by the arm he’d already grabbed, then moved to put his back to the wall. He crushed a girl against him under each arm.

  The second girl flailed about in his arms.

  Sylvia seemed paralyzed with fear.

  “Let, them, go,” Tarc sent, trying to freight the words with menace, but not sure he succeeded. He wondered what he was going to do. He’d planned to vigorously swirl the man’s semicircular canals. But if the king pitched over as violently as many people, his massive body might land on top of, and seriously injure one of the girls.

  “Who’re you?! Where are you?!” the king asked, sounding uneasy but not as frightened as Tarc’d hoped.

  “I’m right where you hear me. I’m invisible. Let go of the girls before I have to hurt you.”

  The king snorted, “Yeah, right. How’s an imaginary voice going to hurt me?” He shoved Sylvia aside and grabbed the second girl’s blouse, ripping it open. Sounding resolved, he said, “Time for you and me to show Sylvia why she needs to change her dad’s mind…” He grunted suddenly, crouching and clapping a hand to his crotch.

  Tarc had just thumped his testicle. From eight meters away (26’) he couldn’t hit it hard. From that distance, he could only exert forty-two grams-force (1.5 ounces of force). But, to compensate, he’d narrowed the blow so it struck an area slightly less than a millimeter wide (~1/32 inch). To his queasy surprise, it punched through the scrotal skin and testicular capsule, then a significant distance into the organ’s tissue.

  From the big man’s reaction, it was evident the blow caused a lot of pain.

  Tarc’s ghirit showed the king releasing the girl, so he spun the fluid in the man’s semicircular canals. The king’s head twisted and he lurched to the side. Trying to catch his balance was pointless, but his feet nonetheless tried, sending him stumbling rapidly across the room to smash into the far wall. As he collapsed to the floor Tarc mercilessly swirled the fluid again. The king’s back arched as if he were having a convulsion and he flopped over.

  The two girls crept into a corner, clinging to each other.

  The king’s advisor ran for the door and bolted out of it, shouting, “Help! Something’s happened to the king!”

  The two guards started toward the king, then came to a sudden halt. Tarc could imagine they feared whatever’d come over the king might be contagious. Even if it wasn’t, getting close to a muscular two-meter man who was flailing violently about would be risky.

  Tarc grabbed some air molecules near the girls and sent his voice, speaking calmly. “Just keep quiet and wait. I’ll do my best to protect you.” He moved the source closer to the second girl, “I know Sylvia’s name, what’s yours?”

  She said nothing for a moment, then whispered, “Nerri.” A second later she begged, “Please, get us out of here.”

  “I can’t do it right now, but I’m working on it,” Tarc said.

  The two guards stood staring at their master. Tarc moved his voice to a spot between them and said, “Stay away from him.”

  The way their heads whipped around to face the source of Tarc’s voice made it evident they hadn’t heard him talking to the king earlier.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have talked to them. Tarc thought for a moment, If the king had been the only one that heard me, they might’ve thought he’d gone crazy. He reconsidered, No, if I’m going to try to modify the king’s behavior and attitude, yet leave him alive and on the throne, I can’t erode his position with the guards.

  The king was groaning in an odd fashion. Tarc thought he was straining to keep from throwing up.

  Out by the palace wall, Lizeth spoke in Tarc’s ear, “What the hell did you do?!”

  “I spoke to the king, telling him—”

  “I heard what you said. How’d you do it?”

  Tarc reminded her that sound was the vibration of the molecules in the air, “My telekinesis can shake the air molecules, making sound.”

  “Yet one more thing you can do that I can’t, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tarc said. He thought he should’ve sounded regretful, but the way she’d been yelling at him, he wasn’t inclined to feel sorry for her.

  “So, then what happened to the bastard?”

  “I, um, hit him in the balls.”

  “What?!”

  “You know, with my talent. From this far away I couldn’t hit him very hard, so I needed to hit him somewhere where even a little blow’d really hurt.”

  “I think you succeeded in that objective,” Lizeth said, laughing. “But I’ve seen a lotta guys get hit in the balls. They just curl up and moan. After the king grabbed his crotch, he went staggering off across the room like some kind of clumsy drunk.”

  Tarc explained the effect a little swirling of the semicircular canals had on someone’s equilibrium. “But, I didn’t want to do that while he had a hold on the girls. I was worried he’d stagger off with one and fall on top of her… So I punched him in the nuts to get him to let go of them.”

  Lizeth snorted, “I think he needed a punch in the nuts either way. What’s next?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.”

  “You haven’t thought this out very well, have you?”

  “No!” Tarc said, irritatedly. “It’s been coming a little fast to allow careful long term planning.”

  “What happens when he stops being dizzy and decides to take it out on the girls?”

  “They didn’t do it!”

  “He doesn’t know that. What’s he gonna think’s more likely, that one of the girls is a witch, or that some stranger’s standing outside the wall of the palace doing things to him while pretending to make out with his girlfriend?”

  Tarc’s thoughts snagged a moment on the fact that Lizeth still thought of them as boyfriend-girlfriend. Then he thought, No time for that now. He said, “I’ll just tell him the girls didn’t have anything to do with—”

  “Better get on it then,” Lizeth interrupted. “Looks like he’s trying to get back to his feet.”

  Tarc sent his ghirit back into the room. The two girls still huddled in the corner. The advisor hadn’t returned, but it looked like he’d sent more guards—four more men were coming through the door.

  The king was starting to push himself up off the floor. Tarc sent his voice close to the man’s ear, “Stay down or I’ll have to knock you down.”

  The king was on his hands and knees but didn’t try to rise any farther. Instead, he widened the position of his limbs the way you might steady yourself against an earthquake.

  Tarc spoke somewhat conversationally, “We don’t want to kill you. But, we can’t let you go on raping young girls, that’s got to stop.”

  “When I find you,” the king growled, “you’re going to die.”

  Tarc spun the king’s ears, more gently than before, but hard enough that he flipped over once, then turned again to spread-eagle flat on the floor. To Lizeth, Tarc said, “He doesn’t seem to think it’s the girls. Probably because he’s hearing a man’s voice.”

  “He doesn’t think that now, but he might come to that conclusion soon.” Her tone got apprehensive, “I have a sick feeling about this. You need to get them out of there. And free any other girls he’s holding too.”

  Tarc turned his attention back to the guards in the room. The six men had gathered together and, though he couldn’t tell which direction their eyes were pointed, he thought they were staring at their sprawled king. Sounding doubtful of their sanity, one of the four new ones said, “…you’ve been hearing voices?”

  The one who’d been asked turned suddenly and aggressively toward the one who’d posed the question. “We’ve been hearing one voice. Both of us… And the king has too!"

  “And the king’s been having seizures?” the newcomer asked quietly.

  “He says it’s just dizziness.”

  “That last thing looked lik
e a seizure,” the newcomer said hesitantly.

  The king growled, “It’s just dizziness. Spread out and find who’s doing it. He’s throwing his voice somehow. Check the adjoining rooms.”

  Tarc sent his voice generally into the room, “Stay away from the door or you’re going to suffer dizziness as well.” Then he sent his voice over to whisper to Terri and Nerri. “Besides you, how many other girls does the king have?”

  Sylvia merely shrugged, but Nerri said, “I’ve seen three more. But I might not know about all of them.”

  The guards started moving toward the door as commanded by their king, Tarc spun the ears on the one closest to it and he stumbled forward, crashing clumsily into the door.

  The others stopped. One said, “Paul?”

  The only response was a violent regurgitation of the man’s lunch.

  Tarc’s voice spoke cheerfully, “I told you to stay away from the door. Now, I have some questions for each of you. I’m going to whisper the question next to your ear, and I’ll expect you to whisper the answer back to me.” He chose the guard next closest to the door and said, “How many more girls are being held?”

  The man shook his head, saying nothing.

  Tarc spun his canals, pitching him over backward. Tarc tried the same question on the next man with the same result.

  The third man turned toward the source of Tarc’s voice and whispered, “Four.”

  When the third one had turned to answer, the fourth man had shouted, “Don’t answer that!” Tarc spun the fourth guy’s canals. Unfortunately for him, he staggered directly toward the king, crashing into the wall and collapsing on his liege.

  The king didn’t take this well, surging up and violently throwing the guard off.