* * *
"Those records are archived." That was the normal, bureaucratic answer we received the following morning when we asked about records from one hundred plus years before.
"How can we access them?" Norian asked. He didn't want to pull out his ASD badge, as this was unofficial business.
"Fill out an application, pay a fee and wait three days," came the bored response. The Phinerran didn't care and it showed. He was tall, thin and stiff, as if he'd been working the same job far too long.
"Is there a way to rush this through?" I asked.
"You have to get permission from the Director," tall and thin was getting snippy with us.
"Then take us to your director, and do it now," I laid compulsion quietly. Norian was sweating over this and I hoped I wouldn't have to pick him up and carry him out. That wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Uh-uh.
Tall and thin drew in a breath before leading us to an inner office. We found the Director speaking to someone on a communicator. "Ipsford, what is the meaning of this?" The Director grumbled as he terminated his call.
"You're going to help us out," I laid more compulsion. "We need to get into archived records and we need to see them now. We will be happy to pay the fees." Well, we didn't want Phinerris going broke because we circumvented their decidedly inconvenient, bureaucratic system.
"What are you waiting for, Ipsford, take them to the archival depository," the Director almost shouted at Ipsford. "And scan their credit chip while you're at it."
"Thank you," I nodded to the Director. "And you never saw us," I added. He offered a curt nod and went on with his work as if he hadn't seen us. Sometimes—not always but sometimes—compulsion did come in handy.
"Go back a hundred and twelve years," Norian was almost vibrating, whether from nerves, fear or both, I couldn't tell. I didn't want to point it out by asking him to calm down. I didn't need a freaked out lion snake in the city archives. That might be difficult to explain. We went through all the records of child abductions and disappearances for that year—twice. Then we went through the following year—twice. Nothing. I was worried and Norian was about to have a meltdown.
"Honey, calm down, we'll find them. If not here, then we'll go knocking on doors. I still have my nose, after all." I looked up at him—I was sitting in front of the computer; he was too anxious to sit. "Let's go backward instead of forward," I said, and went to one hundred thirteen years before.
"Honey, look—three abductions very close together." I pointed out each of the records. Three children, all taken from farms in the space of three days. Somebody wanted kids and wanted them fast. One child was seven, another five, and the last one was three.
"But none of the ages listed were my age," Norian muttered. He really was vibrating with nervous energy, now. I was worried that I might have to fold him out of there.
"Nori, they might have been wrong. Or something else might have happened. You know for sure that four was your age? You remember that part well?"
"I was four," Norian insisted.
"Honey, what about your name? None of these kids is listed as Norian."
"Norian wasn't my name, but I don't remember what my name was," he sighed and bumped a fist against his forehead. "All I remember is people calling me Keef. That's where my last name came from. They kept asking me my name and I kept saying Keef. The Norian part I got from the ASD—it belonged to the ship I was transported on. It was called The Norian Sind, after an old king. It was a smuggling freighter and I never did learn where it was from."
"So, Keef could have been a nickname," I wanted to beat my own forehead but held off—Norian was upset enough as it was. I looked at the three names again. "I think we should check these out, Norian."
"Fine, but if they don't pan out, we'll be right back here, looking again." Norian sounded as if that might be the last thing he wanted to do. Honestly, I think he was ready to call it quits and have me get him out of there.
"Come on, honey, let's go check and see if any of these families are still around." I took the information with me and we went back to Ipsford.
After paying even more money to search current records while more compulsion was laid, of course, Norian and I had three addresses. I thought that boded well; the names were still the same as before, so these people were long-lived. Normal Phinerrans lived to be around a hundred and ten. These had to be older than that. I just didn't know how old.
"What are we going to tell them?" Norian was becoming more of a basket case as we went along.
"Honey, where's my Director of the ASD?" I asked gently.
"What?" Norian's fingers were tugging his hair. Tightly.
"Never mind. Let's go check this out," I said, and folded us to the first address.
We walked up a wide lane to a large farmhouse. Built of stone, it looked as if it had stood for hundreds of years, weathered just about everything and seemed prepared to weather even more. Wheat fields lay in the distance, surrounding several barns and outbuildings. I didn't see any domesticated animals, however. No dogs or an equivalent—no cattle, sheep or other animals. I figured I knew the reason; I couldn't imagine that any shapeshifter who turned into a snake got along well with other animals—none of which might understand they weren't in any danger.
An old-fashioned knocker was on the door, so I tapped it lightly and Norian and I stood outside, waiting. A woman answered the door. I'd convinced Norian to split the difference on the ages, and go for the five-year-old who'd disappeared.
"Hello," I said to the woman who answered the door. "My name is Lissa, and this is Norian," I nodded toward Norian, who was shaking slightly. "We're doing an investigation on the child disappearances more than a hundred years ago. We were wondering if there's anyone here who might remember anything about them." I knew right away that Norian wasn't related to this woman, but then we didn't know who she was.
"Oh, that was a sad thing, and still affects the family," the woman replied. "I'm just the housekeeper—the family is all out getting a harvest in. Do you have a card or any information?"
"We don't," I replied. Norian was sending desperate mindspeech—he didn't want to be connected to the ASD right then and he didn't want to frighten these people. "Do you think we might come back later? We can work around their schedule with no trouble."