The Dragon Man - Brian Stableford [59]
The captive shadowbat only needed a couple of minutes to measure out the dimensions of its cell, and to discover that there was no escape therefrom. Then it settled on the glass, positioned over one of the translucent smears as if it were a paint-daubed image. It did not move again.
The five remaining fliers seemed to realize that something was amiss. They fluttered around the nightlight as if they were taking account of their number and fretting over its inadequacy. Then, very suddenly, they shot out of the window into the night, and were gone.
Sara followed them, but they were invisible in the darkness. She had no idea which way they had gone.
“Is there anyone there?” she called, tentatively. She did not dare to shout, in case her parents heard her—although she realized soon enough that there was little prospect of that, given that the hometree was carefully designed to protect its residents from extraneous and unwelcome noises. She filled her lungs again, ready to repeat the question, but then she thought better of it, and let her breath out silently.
It was too silly. If someone were there, lurking behind the garden hedge, they would not reply to her call. Nor was there any real reason to expect that anyone would be there. The shadowbats might have flown for a kilometer or more, from any direction.
She stared out into the darkness for half a minute, pensively weighing the jar in her left hand. Then she closed the window, gently.
She went to her desktop and called up the local directory. When she had found the number she wanted she typed out a text message, taking care to avoid using conventional abbreviations or making any spelling mistakes. MR WARBURTON, the message read, I’VE CAPTURED ONE OF THE DRUNKEN SHADOWBATS. I’LL BRING IT TO YOU IN THE MORNING, SO THAT YOU CAN EXAMINE IT. SARA LINDLEY. After a moment’s hesitation, she pressed the SEND button.
She hesitated for several seconds more, her fingers hovering uncertainly above the keypad as she wondered what to do for the best.
The spirit of far play eventually moved her to log on to the local noticeboard and post a hastily-typed public message, which read: IF 1 OF 6 SHADOWBATS MISSING, DON’T WORRY. IS SAFE. NOT STOLEN. WILL RELEASE, OR TELL U WHERE U CAN COLLECT, SOON AS CHECK OUT ANOMALY IN ITS BEHAVIOUR. She knew that she ought to amend the final sentence in the interests of clarity, but eventually decided that it would serve its purpose. She also thought about signing the message, but decided not to. After all, she didn’t know who she was writing to, so why should he—or she—know who the message was coming from?
Satisfied, in the end, that she had done everything she needed to do, for the time being, Sara left the jar on her desk and went back to bed. She carefully smoothed her rose flat so that she could sleep unhindered by any further inconvenience.
CHAPTER XVII
When Sara got up the next morning and wandered absent-mindedly into the communal dining room she found all of her parents waiting for her—even Father Lemuel. She knew as soon as she stepped through the door that she was in trouble.
“What did I do?” she asked, although she knew well enough that trapping the shadowbat was likely to be the last straw that had broken the proverbial camel’s back. She was quick to add: “How did you know? Is my room being monitored? Or are you just keeping track of my mail?”
“The resident AI is programmed to take note of anything...unusual,” Father Gustave told her, having the grace to look slightly shamefaced about it.
“We already knew about your visit to the astral tattooist, of course,” Mother Maryelle put in.
“How?” Sara waned to know, having decided that she had a right to be annoyed. “Did he tell you—or Ms. Chatrian? What happened to client confidentiality?”
“It wasn’t either of them,” Father Stephen assured her. “We didn’t need any human informants, although...well,