Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men by Robert N. Charrette Page A

John realized that Trashcan Harry was saying something to him. The same thing, over and over, like a chant.
    "You stop now."
    He stopped resisting the custodian's iron grip.
    At least Trashcan Harry wasn't a cop. But relief faded as fast as it had come. Trashcan's work-relief job probably required him to report anything that disturbed the peace of the campus.
    John looked around. Trahn was the only one left, and he was looking at John with wide eyes. Even Winston's buddies had deserted him. Kelley wasn't present either. Had she ever been?
    Winston lay on the pavement, bloody and breathing raggedly. Had John done all that damage? He didn't remember.
    "Where'd everyone go?"
    "Nobody likes trouble," Trashcan said.
    Trouble. Yeah, there'd be trouble, all right. Winston was not in good shape.
    Trashcan tugged on John's arm. "You go get cleaned up."
    "What about him?"
    Trashcan Harry looked down at the fallen bully. "I take care. You not worry."
    Worry? An incident like this would trash his new job at the museum. Worse, it'd mean more sessions with Dr. Block. Regular sessions. Probably cost him his place on the fencing team, as well. Sure, why worry?
    And Kelley. Had Kelley seen it all?
    There was no one in sight along the lane. The campus was quiet at the end of its day. No one here to stand over Winston but John, Trashcan, and Trahn. And Trashcan was chasing Trahn off, exhorting him to go home and be quiet. John just stood there, pinned by Trahn's accusing stare.
    What had he done?
    Trashcan tugged on his arm again. "Go get cleaned up."
    "I've got to do something about him."
    "Done enough. Go."
    Embarrassed and scared, John went. He didn't run home, but he wanted to.
    Faye, what am I going to do?
    Faye?
    CHAPTER
    4
    Technically, Mr. Sorli was a dwarf, his legs being far shorter than normal for a man with his breadth of shoulder. Yet he showed neither the unsteadiness of gait so characteristic of those afflicted with dwarfism, nor any of the other deformities common among ordinary dwarves. But then, Sorli was not ordinary. If he had been, he would have had no business taking up any of Pamela Martinez's time.
    He walked into the room and headed for the chair—just one special chair today—facing her desk. He walked confidently, paying no attention to the rich furnishings. Most people could not stop themselves from gawking at the art on the walls, the fine furniture, or, at the very least, the soft thick carpet under their feet. This office was of a quality beyond the means of most, a chamber suitable to the president of the North American Group of the Mitsutomo Keiretsu. Sorli paid it no more attention than a commuter might pay to a subway platform. The dwarfs indifference to her office irked her more than his brusque manner.
    She let him sit long enough for the chair to take a baseline and match it against the file readings. While he waited for her, she watched the tracings fall into line on her desktop monitor. For all he would know, she was reading the Wall Street Journal.
    Sorli didn't wait for her to speak.
    "I'm busy."
    Was that irritation in his voice? Yes, the monitor confirmed it; she was getting better at reading him. She was pleased; it made him a little less mysterious. But she was also displeased that he would have the temerity to imply that his time was more valuable than hers. He was on her payroll, after all. Besides, she knew he was busy; she'd read her watchdog's report. As she pretended to cut off the monitor, she said, "You did not report to me when you returned from Maine."
    He shrugged. "There was nothing conclusive."
    "We expended resources at your request. I expect a report. From you."
    "Very well." Sorli drew a breath. "A! Churdy was killed by a creature of the otherworld, probably one of the Red Cap cult."
    The otherworld. She'd been hearing about it for years now, and still the very mention of it sent shivers down her spine.
    Though the monitor said he was telling the truth, she asked, "You can verify