Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency -- 6. Here Be Dragons, and Tatami Matting (A)
6. Here Be Dragons, and Tatami Matting
WITH the election suddenly due next November people started asking me what sort of campaign I’d be running this time. Not having any answers I stalled, and after Easter, when the media began to tell me more insistently that the electoral cycle really ought to start running hot, I had a coyote moment and refused very publicly to campaign, there being no point I could see and the carbon footprint enormous. Citizens knew perfectly well who I was and what they would or wouldn’t be voting for, and what did anyone expect me to say that I hadn’t already ? Nearer the time I would support my slate-independents, and sure, rivals were entitled to debates, so if some declared they could have one, but meantime I had better things to do than waste a lot of taxpayers’ money and my time.
Adam didn’t stop laughing for a week, and only advertising people were unhappy, though state and local races began to take up some of their slack. The media allowed that I was continuing to campaign differently, as promised if not as expected, and my only concern was turnout, with resultant degrees of political clout, but all sorts of people with the ex-kiddos network were happily taking care of that. The idea of voting as a duty as well as a right and privilege had gained a fair bit of traction, but a team Andrea put together had the database of my ten-buck voters, and awareness was reinforced with hashtags that made me cringe (#VotingOrders, #ElectionDues, #MoreMercy) but seemed to be working. There would be a nationwide carpet of events to push registration and get out the vote, with Election Day-and-Night parties around what promised to be a stonking gig broadcast from Sacajawea SP. And as no-one else had yet declared, main-party rumps deciding to spend limited money only on races they thought they might win, debates stayed moot.
Garnering second-term policy ideas was another matter, governors of all stripes agreeing to arrange six regional conferences in the Fall to spur thought and consider problems. I would attend with appropriate staffs, so that was alright, but though I can’t say I was at a loose end I found myself for the first time feeling short of satisfyingly presidential things to do. Much was in motion, from the Columbia Restoration to proliferating geothermal taps, a now very substantial shift from road to river-freight with interesting cultural effects, buffalo heading south to places they hadn’t been seen since the 1870s, integrated SAR, and the green lurch all over. But it all had momentum, my Independents pushing hard at local and state levels, and did not need counterproductive micromanagement, so I needed to let them all get on with it.
Frank was much busier, pushing the Magical Entente and Others 101 everywhere, not only because the path started over with every new first grade. What was preternaturally practical had been shifting fast, and excursions to see, or with older kids peacefully enter the Longwoods to camp in strictly designated places, were developing nationwide. I happily lent my presence where it would help, but presidential visits unavoidably disrupt and after a while I decided occasionally dropping in unannounced on a campfire - deadwood only, or else - was a better bet. Adam and Jesse liked coming with me, as much for the atmosphere of Big Magical Woods as groups of very happily thrilled fourth to eighth graders, their nervy teachers, and Buffalo Ranger guides, a really interesting bunch. It also proved useful because on an early visit some pixies and brownies warily introduced themselves, and it turned out many places in the Longwoods already had resident earth fae, looking out for trees as well as armed trespassers and passing on news in return for space to grow vegetables. I was happy for the trees, and well-informed earth fae were a good match for curious kids as well as nervy teachers, so that was better than alright, and yet another thing I didn’t need to worry about.
Even mundane presidential SOP was in some abeyance, time having been automatically allotted for campaigning I wasn’t doing, and lack of organised opposition in Congress making for a political tickover Jeremiah and Irpa herded along. There were running green-tech decisions I was auditing, but scientific consensus was strong, finance in place and easing as power-costs fell ; and I had people harnessing the resulting business windfall into harder self-greening, backed by dire threats of draconian legislation if necessary - all new power plants being federal and a business-rate hike needing only a presidential directive. I did human-interest stuff, visiting places or receiving folks at the Paramount Tipi, including First People and others who’d done good work for bison, Duckpond Fund scholars, various first responders, and lots of my Independents for photo-ops. Having more cooking-time was a happy bonus, and the pack got some benefit meals, but in DC I couldn’t invade the kitchens too often. Longer workouts and joining a full-moon hunt or three were also welcome, but I still had a sense of twiddling thumbs, and reluctantly conceded to Adam that I seemed to be permanently waiting for a second shoe to drop without knowing what the first had been.
Some of it was a presidential norm, and some what I called a severe heroic hangover, making Adam snort, but he agreed things had gone quiet, though whether in shock or anticipation he wasn’t sure. There was also a now familiar combination of liking whacking problems with large magical sticks while knowing it was not wise to do so without pressing need. Adam agreed being given thunderbolts had not helped, but thought that power and always hitting things thrown at me clean out of the park had scared off any wannabe pitchers. I gave him a look and he grinned.
“Face it, love. Cantrip you killed with bare hands. For Bonarata you drew Excalibur from better than 1200 miles away. And for the Navigator you produced a three-ton rock moving so fast it was blurred even at 850 frames per second. You’ve given even fruitcakes pause, love, never mind physicists.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Nature didn’t often go viral, but a piece by Georgetown U. physicists analysing the momentum of the Navigator and energy released in the explosion had put general crogglement on a solid footing that interested many and neither Charles or Adam had let me ignore. Stopping the SUV dead had not in itself been truly draining, however hunger had snarled, but the energy needed to halt what they reckoned at not less than 7500 pounds doing about 64 mph (the uncertainty was about transfer to the wrecked police car, though they had its weight and measured its trajectory) was to the head-scratching authors just as profoundly astonishing as containing far more energy with the thunderbolt’s coherent strength in expansion. Their maths had Darryl frowning, but a final calculation suggested Skuffles and I had for four consecutive seconds considerably exceeded the peak output of the power station that supplied metro DC. In public I’d said only that it had felt like it, and once was quite enough, thank you, but I hadn’t been able to stop Georgetown U. and a local residents’ association commissioning a statue of me + pre-explosion thunderbolt, for which Jesse was still trying to persuade me to sit. Given the weight-loss I’d suffered Charles and others thought any accurate measure of magical power useful, and Irpa confirmed that when she’d said I had the juice to use thunderbolts the magic of cancelled momenta had been well within her ballpark, though not the demands of the explosion.
“I was expecting you to squish something, not unsquish it. My bad, but really.” Large shoulders shrugged. “Your power is distributed in Skuffles and your artefacts, Mercy, but it adds right up and has a conduit Underhill, so as you use it all just fine when you need to you must know what you’re doing, however you can’t always articulate it so well. Or just don’t want to. I’ve never been sure.”
“Pass.” I sighed. “Some of both, I think, though if anyone asked earth, air, and fire for reinforcements it was one or more of the artefacts, not me. I wouldn’t have presumed. But I’m not sure about thunderbolting, even now - it was always a godly power, and despite everything using one of those just sits wrong. So while I’m happy for Herne and the Hunt I’d like any further outings to be … more mundane sounds silly, but nasty criminals or whatever, not national crises.”
“Mmm. They’ve been wondering, and quite fancy being back in business on the Paths of Assertion and Mercy, but someone with pure and righteous anger has to call their justice down. ID by name isn’t essential, but makes things easier.”
“Interesting. Let’s try open serial-killer cases, then. Hard to object there, and some Feebs are driven by pure rage, however it’s professionally harnessed. But that might turn up some black witches or wizards. What happens if the Hunt goes after one of those ?”
A troll hand waggled back at me. “Depends. Strongest ones could probably evade the Hunt’s spell for a while, and might divert it to any humans involved in the guilt. The rest are toast like anything else but if they’re being taken alive containment will be needed.”
“Can the Hounds take harm ?”
“Not permanently, though black witchcraft is always unpleasant and often painful. And they cannot be enslaved by it, in their natures.”
“Good to know. In any case, float a designated FBI caller-down with some protocol for selecting cases ? And I’ll talk to the AED and the Farouts’ witch people, and find out what’s needed to delegate deputising the Hunt properly each time.”
“Surely, and I’d think Herne will go for that happily. But you want it sub-presidential ?”
“Oh yeah, Irpa. I’m happy to throw a reception annually - we can have a Hunt Ball - but I am done with legendary vengeance for a while. Dues paid in full, this term at least.”
A Hunt Ball was thought another fine idea, and as the Hunt’s traditions were very much about the powerless in desperation, not as an adjunct of established power, making events in Georgetown a notable exception turning on a direct threat to an Elf-friend and two holders of life-roses was useful PR, while the FBI were as into setting them on serial killers as you’d imagine. I was quite looking forward to whatever might be agreed when I learned that Gwyn ap Lugh had requested a formal private meeting, wondered what the problem was, and shortly found myself in deep left field, even by coyote standards.
He came with Baba Yaga, as ambassador, and though polite, as always, brought a high sense of formality with him into the Oval Office. I offered hot drinks to go with my own chocolate but they declined, ap Lugh looking distinctly austere before giving me a faint smile.
“Mercedes Elf-friend, the protocol is because I am here to pass on a formal request for aid. The only obligation is on us, to pass it on, and I requested the privacy so you are not pressured by others, but I will add that we would be most glad if you can find a way of assisting those who ask.”
I took a deep breath. “So noted, Gwyn ap Lugh. A formal request from whom ?”
“The four orders of dragons.”
There was a silence I let stretch a little while I swallowed surprise.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea or coffee ? I suspect this may take a while.”
It did, but with Baba Yaga taking point, as apparently better acquainted, I learned that we were talking Chinese elemental dragons, not the Beowulf kind that burn things, eat people, and lie about between meals on large heaps of gold, which was a relief ; that to the Fae they were acknowledged as cousins of some strange kind, but could not in their nature go Underhill because they were, like Elder Spirits, rooted both Overhill and in some spirit dimension of their own ; that while all four kinds could fly, or equivalent, the water and earth varieties weren’t so keen ; and that having been, like so many beings, driven by human encroachment into more and more marginal land, there were families of all four orders looking to emigrate who had heard about the Longwoods. At that point my questions became more pointed, but while they were predators their dual inhabitation of material and spirit worlds meant they didn’t eat anything like as much as you’d think, and it was mostly small creatures, fish and shellfish, and for the fiery variety, oddly, insects. They wouldn’t harm anything larger, unless attacked, were very eco-conscious, and fae enough to keep oaths absolutely.
“Well, that’s all good, Gwyn ap Lugh, Baba Yaga, and while there are others whose consent is needed - Ol’ Manitou River, Elder Spirits, and First People, primarily - I imagine that will be forthcoming. I notice, though, that you have not said anything about any connection between these orders of dragons and the elements to which I have a conduit.”
Ap Lugh gave one of his elegant shrugs and Baba Yaga waggled a hand.
“That we have been debating, Mercedes. Plainly there must be one, but you have dealt with the elements more closely and recently than any other.”
“Maybe so, Baba Yaga, but dragons are new to me. Some history would not be amiss.”
I got more shrugs, and ap Lugh leaned back.
“All I can aver is that the elements and the dragons are both older than any living fae, and what the nature of their relation might be is beyond our ken. We acknowledge the relationship we perceive, but have had only occasional dealings with the dragons, and until this departure the last of those was long ago. It is plainly probable that your contact with the elements is a moving factor, but how so we cannot say.” I got an ap Lugh look. “But by all means sleep in the Garden of Manannán’s Death if you wish. Any dreams you have there will be a better guide than anything we might say. And there is a further element to the problem, I regret to say, for if the dragons could come directly I suspect they would have done so, but while all orders can fly, none can fly over salt water.”
I blinked. “Dragons are allergic to oceans ?”
Baba Yaga grinned. “More or less. Water dragons are of the fresh kind, and you know salt has many magical properties.”
As it crumbled both dead newbie vamps and (Coyote said) wendigos, I did, and frowned.
“Huh. Alright. How big are the dragons who want to come ? Or … how much space do the would-be travellers need ?”
The shrugging returned.
“Of varying sizes, Mercedes, and quite a lot, I would imagine. We convey the request in large part because we cannot aid them ourselves. If they coulduse Underhill, they would be permitted to do so.”
“And huh again. Do they have problems with metal ?”
“Not as the Fae do, but they have an aversion not unlike that of Elder Spirits, so any prolonged contact would probably be unwise.”
“Un huh.” Elder Spirits used metal when they had to, but their animal kinds being fairly averse it wasn’t a favourite thing, except for Wolf and his Japanese swords, and that was aesthetics. “And do you have any suggestion as to how any necessary transport might be provided ?”
“I’m afraid not, Mercedes. Nor did the dragons, but they expressed some faith that you would be able to think of something.”
I gave ap Lugh as fishy an eye as I’ve ever managed, and with a deep breath told them I would make necessary consultations and, assuming no insurmountable objections arose, consider the problem. I would also be glad if they were to stay available to answer questions, as a considerable number were going to be asked, not least by Ol’ Manitou River, and might they perhaps seek out the manitou while I set other balls rolling ? Ap Lugh agreed they might, and I saw them both out before doing a certain amount of stomping on my way back to the Oval Office. Dragons, yet.
Then again, a pleasantly absurd idea had popped into my head, that might actually work and promised some amusement, so by the time I was able to tell Adam what had been asked, in the private apartments, I had regained some equilibrium. He was just as croggled as I’d been, but the idea of resident dragons had some serious upsides, despite all the problems, and when I told him my absurd idea he got the look in his eye I’d expected, and with Jesse tied up on campus all evening we took ourselves to bed.
Once I’d cleared the urgents from my morning desk I did some harder thinking about procedures, shuffled my diary a little to clear space, and during an afternoon break put in a call to Ol’ Manitou River.
“You’ve seen Gwyn ap Lugh ?”
I have, Mercy, and all four orders of dragons sound more fun than not. The mini-manitous agree, so we have no problem in welcoming these creatures so long as they live harmoniously with all that is already present in the Longwoods.
“Good to know, thanks. Are dragons new to you ?”
They are, but from what I could read from Gwyn ap Lugh I believe they are not wholly unlike Elder Spirits, inhabiting two realms though in a distinct manner.
“You read Gwyn ap Lugh ?”
Not as I have read you, but he offered me what he knew, as did Baba Yaga. The mindvoice became thoughtful. It was interesting, for the Fae seem at once surprised, the dragons’ request being wholly unexpected, yet also unsurprised that something further should happen involving you and the elements.
“Un huh. I noticed that myself. Go figure. But I’ll get back to you once I’ve had a nice long nap in the Garden of Manannán’s Death.”
That was now top of my agenda, and not wanting to presume on Underhill any more than I had to it seemed easiest to combine it with actual sleep, so with apologies to my special squad and a promise to stay inside next day Adam and I went to the Garden of Manannán’s Death soon after we’d eaten that evening. I was unsurprised to find Underhill waiting, but had not expected her slightly rueful tone as she greeted us and we sat on wooden benches that as ever felt a great deal more comfortable than one would expect.
“I regret our need to impose on you the dragons’ request, Mercedes Elf-friend, but we could not ignore them in their need.”
“I would not expect you to, Underhill, and presidents as much as Elf-friends are there to be called on in such need. And from what I have so far learned of them, I have no objection to any of the orders of dragons. It is only that in introducing new and powerful magical beings to a young magical environment that already contains much it behoves me to have some idea of what I’m doing.”
“Indeed.” Colours turned in her eyes. “Yet there are matters here beyond our knowing, as beyond yours. As Gwyn ap Lugh told you, the dragons and elements are older than we, and while I rest on those elements, and am in great measure of them, I do not contain them, nor direct them.”
Beside me Adam shifted a little.
“Forgive me if it is a foolish question, Underhill, but may I ask about the … nature of the elements ? Human science now uses that term for atoms of differing weights and make-ups, and there is for some a … dissonance in using it for earth, air, fire, and water.”
“I hear no foolishness in that, Adam Hauptman, and you are correct that the four elements are not distinct as, say, gold and diamond are. Say rather that they are states in which the materials of the world may be - solid, ethereal, fluid, and in conflagration. And though I cannot aver it, I believe those states were and are sufficiently real for the interactions of matter and magic to generate the elements as I know them.” She waggled a hand in the human gesture. “It may be that it was not unlike the way great manitous arise, from divisions of the land as much perceived as they are real.”
“Huh. That’s interesting. The four elements as emergent properties of common interactions between what we now call elements makes sense to me, Adam.” I shrugged. “In so far as there is sense to be made. But that’s not what bothers me, Underhill. As President I have an absolute obligation to think ahead as well as sideways, and I have been wondering if the dragons’ request is … only what it seems, or if it has an element of … strategy - a move upon which a further move may depend.”
It was Underhill’s turn to shrug. “I understand your asking, Mercedes, but can only aver that I know of no purpose in this request beyond itself.” She looked thoughtful. “And I am not sure the elements consider such things as strategy. They simply are.”
“Un huh. And the dragons ? Beyond a strategy to emigrate, I mean.”
“Who knows save the dragons themselves ? But by all means ask the elements of them as you dream here.” She looked at Adam. “Would you share your mate’s dreams this night, Adam Hauptman ?”
Adam blinked. “If I may, Underhill, I would be glad to do so, though understanding such things is not my strength.”
“Maybe not, yet dreams are for all. Make sure the cloak covers you both and I shall ask it of the elements.” She rose. “Sleep well. None shall disturb you here.” A flashing smile. “Save Skuffles perhaps, who comes and goes as she will.”
“Tell me, Underhill, but she’s busy talking to Elder Spirits and some chiefs on my behalf. I don’t think they’ll mind Longwoods dragons either, but it would be rude to assume.”
“Indeed. As Skuffles is hard to refuse.”
She moved off among the roses, vanishing, and Adam and I looked at one another before we both shrugged.
“So how does this work, love ?”
“Don’t ask me, but if we treat the bench as a bed it’ll feel like one.”
I got a quizzical look, but when we did, it did, and I’d no sooner spread the cloak over us than sleep claimed us both, hard, and the dreams came at once. I was aware of Adam only as a sensed presence but the elements were … I don’t know about clearer, but closer, or deeper, or something, and certainly more responsive. I got the impression that dragons were forms their magic expressed before it learned to express Underhill, as well as a deep and soothing conviction that dragons were of their four orders and so intrinsically in balance, wherever they might be. Timing was a trickier concept, but it did seem that the dragons had asked them to alert Underhill, and there was no sense of intent in the asking beyond what amounted to the desire of the Longwoods trees themselves, space to grow and fruit. It was tricky, because I don’t think the elements quite understood wanting to be in one place rather than another, or perhaps they just thought equally well of the Tibetan plateau and Great Plains, finding altitude and topography irrelevant, and I made the mistake of being curious about the aversion to salt water, receiving a lengthy explanation I didn’t really understand but involved salt as earth and water as water being mingled in a way the elements could sustain but not the dragons, and had nothing discernible to do with any intrinsic magical properties of salt. It took up dreamtime, and the last thing I managed was a detailed image of how I’d thought dragons might be transported across oceans, receiving a sense of bafflement at human technology overlaid with an agreement that it should work well enough if my image was to scale before the sense of their presence faded and Adam and I woke as simultaneously as we’d gone to sleep.