Rubber duck debugging is a problem-solving technique in coding where you explain your code, line by line, to a rubber duck (or any inanimate object.) By walking through the code, one often identifies mistakes or comes to understand the problem better.
Sometimes you explain it to the duck. Occasionally, the duck explains it to you.
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Given that I’d not eaten much at the Bell Tree, and I knew that it was going to be a long day, I stopped at the corner diner and settled in at a table with a newspaper and ordered a plate of scrambled eggs. The waitress wasn’t the same who had served myself and Tristan, so I was spared some humiliation for the morning. The coffee was bitter, but the eggs were decent enough, and I managed to choke most of them down before my body started to rebel against the idea of swallowing anything else.
I spent a little while longer in the diner, reading the paper and nursing the overbrewed coffee, looking for anything in the news that might have had any ties to my case. I found nothing, however, and at length, signaled the waitress for the check. I left a bill on the table and deposited the newspaper back in the basket for the next patron.
I unlocked my car and slid into the driver’s seat, checking the time. It was past nine in the morning now, so I could start making phone calls without feeling too terribly bad about waking the other party. I closed the car door, started the engine and keyed on the Bluetooth headset as I backed out of the parking space. Once connected, I dialed my decorator, Emmy Cooper. She answered on the second ring.
“Emmy, good morning. Jedah Shestin calling. How are you?” It wasn’t pleasantries; that’s how I started phone calls. Call me old-school, but I preferred to be polite and not jump into things immediately. Granted, I didn’t spend too long on idle chatter either.
“Not too bad, all things considered, Mister Shestin,” she replied cheerfully, and I grinned as I turned and merged into traffic, heading across town. “What can I do for you today? Ready to add some color to your décor?” Emmy, like Suzu, believed that my simplistic choice of a white interior was in desperate need of contrast. I preferred the crisp and clean effect. I always won.
I chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I rather like my monochromatic existence.” She had no idea. “I need a Malm bedroom set from IKEA delivered later today. Queen size, mattress, bedding, and duvet. All white, of course, for the furniture, and if you must opt for a pattern to the bedding, keep it masculine. No flowers, and please, nothing nautical. Or polka dots.” Emmy had gone to great lengths one day, finding white on white polka dots. She’d argued that they were within my décor requirements, but in the end, the polka dots had been returned.
“Yes, Mister Shestin, though I do wish you’d allow even the smallest contrasting color. Perhaps a hunter green or a dark blue for effect?” This was routine, though the colors sometimes changed to maroon and brown. We both knew that additional color wasn’t going to make its way into the bedding. I gave her mental points for trying and turned into my parking lot.
“White on white stripes shall be fine, Emmy. Put it on my American Express, and don’t short yourself on the fees this time; I am aware of what IKEA costs.” Emmy frequently discounted her fees, and I just as frequently sent her checks to offset the difference. It, too, was part of the game. “And set it for a…” I considered what time Tristan was likely to be on his feet and added a few hours. “Set it for a one pm delivery today, please. I’ll cover the rush charges.” I parked the car and rang off the line, depositing the Bluetooth back in the cup holder where it lived without me, and slipped into the quiet townhouse.
Tristan was still asleep, so I busied myself for a while with the case file, reading the reports again and considering what I’d learned in White Point Garden in addition to what I already knew. The victims all appeared to be what Vanessa Ravenswing should have looked like, had Valen not twisted the young woman into a farcical eight-year-old appearance. And the kidnapper? According to the ghost of the Captain at White Point Garden, the kidnapper looked like Valen Ravenswing. It was a neat little circle that got me nowhere in the contemplating. I pushed the files away, and sat back on the edge of the loveseat, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“You’ll not find him that way,” Tristan’s voice came from the stairs, and I almost jumped in surprise. Opening my eyes, I watched as he moved into the living room and settled down on a chair opposite me, reaching out to flip the case file around and peer at it. “You need a miracle,” he observed, flipping through the papers. “Magekin or not, without something to go on, Da, this case is as good as cold.”
I growled in agreement, lowering my hand and sitting forwards to wave at the file. “At this point, it is cold. Unless I get a hell of a break in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to have to tell that woman’s brother that she’s probably dead.” He winced, flipping a page and continuing to peruse the file. “I’ve nothing by way of identification beyond what Miss Calhoun told me, and what I learned from a ghost. Neither of which are particularly admissible in court. “
He nodded. “That’s a valid point. And if another girl goes missing, that means that the one you’re currently trying to find is probably dead. Got any idea why this guy is taking these girls? They all fit one general description, and the age range is terrifyingly narrow. I’d say you’re right in the idea that he’s looking for someone.” Tristan waved at my handwritten notes on the legal pad next to the folder. “If we could figure out what he’s after, then maybe that’s a way to track him down.”
We. Just like that, my son was using the word ‘we’ to reference myself alongside him. I ignored the number of years I’d spent trying to figure out how to bridge our gap. Christ, but today was one for the… bridge. Gate. Vanessa was the target, and the demon was after the Gate. Vanessa had enough power to control a Gate and if the demon could get that power, then he’d be able to travel at whim. He was kidnapping girls that matched Vanessa’s description and expected age.
“Son of a bitch. He’s after the Gate. He wants to find a girl, yes, I know which one he’s after, and siphon off her powers so that he can claim a Gate. If he controls a Gate, then he can travel at will and have freedom to cause havoc where-ever he damned well pleases.” Christ. Why hadn’t I seen it before? I looked up to see Tristan staring at me much like a cat, expectant. “No, that doesn’t help figure out where he is, but that’s something.” I wanted to pace. I didn’t. Instead, I grabbed up the paper and pen and started to write as fast as I could.
Tristan watched me for a few minutes, and then he leaned back in the chair and let his gaze wander around the living room. “All right…” he said slowly, “If that’s the case, and that’s what he’s doing, where’s the Gate that he wants, and where is the nearest nexus of power? Are they ley lines here? Any power nodes where magics are boosted? He could be using those as central points, perhaps hiding in buildings or residences.”
Those were words, but I wasn’t following. At least, not at first. But then the implications of what he’d said came crashing down on my head and I stared in horror. “Charleston has a network of ley lines, and half a dozen node-points. Christ, Tristan, you’re a genius.” I was sketching now, drawing out the shape of the Charleston peninsula, ghosting in the ley lines where I remembered them to see where the node-points settled.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
My son looked insufferably pleased with himself for thirty seconds, and then he frowned. “Please don’t tell me that you’re planning to locate and storm the not-so-proverbial castle. That’s tantamount to suicide. No, you can’t call the mundane Police in on it, but there has to be some other plan, some other way of handling this.”
I looked to Tristan, watching him deflate as he realized that the only way to go about this was to visit each node in person. “I’ll start with the closest most powerful nodes to the Gate. Then I’ll branch out to the lesser before going to the more powerful and farther. That means I’ll start here,” I tapped my finger on one hand-drawn node, “and spiral out along these to this.” I tapped a node that was within walking distance from the Gate, but not overwhelmingly powerful. “One of these nodes will be the one; I’ll be able to sense the residual magic. I’m guessing that what’s killing them is the ritual to transfer power.”
“And what if he decides that you’ve got enough power, Da? What happens then? Will you be able to fight him off if he gets a circle around you? Hell, do you have the power to control that Gate? Because if you do, don’t even think about getting close without some sort of backup and plan. I’m all for rescuing a damsel in distress, but damned if you’ll go off half-cocked.” Tristan looked positively indignant at the thought, and I suppressed a quick smile.
“I’ll wager I have enough power for that Gate, and I figure I have a pretty fair chance of being grabbed. He’s grabbing at certain types of women because he knows one for certain has the power he seeks. Thing of it is, a lot of innocents are getting in the way, Tristan, and I can’t just sit by and allow that. There’s no Police force, no magical council or representative government that can pass judgment on this guy and punish him. I’m going to have to goad him into a fight, and that usually means fighting on his turf.”
Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but instead of doing so, he rose from his chair and muttered something about getting food before he moved into the kitchen and started to bang around. I thought the extra slam of the pantry door against the unused cookware inside the pantry was a bit over the top, but who was I to argue? Only his father.
“Tristan…” I sighed, standing and walking across to lean against the archway into the kitchen. “Look, it isn’t a perfect plan. It isn’t much of a plan at all. But there’s a young woman who is depending on me to get her out, and she doesn’t even know it. As far as she is probably concerned, she’s alone with Christ knows what, and it wants something she doesn’t have. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to find it pretty damned hard to sleep while I know that.”
He banged a deep pan, I think it was called a saucepan, against the sink, and turned the faucet on with a short, sharp gesture. Water spilled into the pan, and he yanked the faucet closed and slammed the pan on the stove, glaring at it. “I just got you, Da. You finally opened that door and let me in to your world, and what? I’m supposed to let you go risking mind and limb and whatever else just because some mundane and boringly normal girl might still be alive?” He turned a dial on the front and glared at the stove some more.
I shook my head. “That mundane and boringly normal girl is someone’s sister. Someone’s daughter. Her brother is a police officer I’ve worked with.” Right, so that was stretching it a little. Call it creative license. “I can’t leave her, Tristan. It’s my job, my duty, to find her and bring her home, no matter what.” I watched him move around me and rummage in my pantry for a moment, returning with a plastic wrapped packet of college-kid style cheap Asian noodles. I had no idea where they’d come from; he must have brought them in. Christ, not only did I need furniture, I needed food as well. I’d fix that. Later.
“I understand now. Why you were never home, why you sent me off to school and couldn’t ever come to visit. Why I got shipped up to Ireland with a letter and a wallet.” His voice was soft, and my stomach clenched. I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was being accusatory or observant. “Auld Peg always told me that you were off doing good things, that there was something about you that was important, only she didn’t know what. Maggie just called you her rotten brother. Try growing up with that and see how screwed up it’ll make you.” Okay, he was being accusatory. “I never gave up hope, though. That one day, I’d get to know you, and you really would be something good, and not some sorry son of a bitch going round and leaving kids in your wake.”
I wasn’t certain how to answer that, so I told him the truth. “As far as I am aware, you are the only blood relation I’ve left to my name, Tristan. There was another, a daughter, but she died long before I met your mother.” Tristan couldn’t remember when he was young, how I’d held him every chance I’d gotten, how I’d rocked him to sleep and toyed with the tips of his tiny little ears. He’d been my son… a part of my heart… and it had torn me in half to leave him and go back into Ravenswing’s service. Of course, yes. That was why Ravenswing had done it. “You were my son, no matter that I couldn’t be there. I loved you anyway.”
“I know, Da. That’s why I don’t want you to go off now.” I watched him drop the brick of noodles into the water and suppressed a shudder. “If whatever demon this is decides that you’re the perfect tool, I’m not strong enough to pull you out of it. Not by myself.” As the solid mass of noodle began to break up in the boiling water, he stirred it with a fork and glanced at me for a moment. “Isn’t this a reverse? Aren’t I supposed to be the one ready to run off into danger?”
Except it would be more dangerous for him than it would for me. He could be killed. I couldn’t die. “Perhaps under normal circumstances, yes. But this is far from normal, even for magekin. Tell me, Tristan, when was the last time you saw me? It was what, twenty years ago in London? An awkward meeting where you’d tracked me down to get more of your family tree information for the Extended Archives. And I didn’t have it. You’ve grown a little older. I’ve not changed, have I?”
“I thought that was because of the magic. You’re a self-healer, right? You can look whatever age you want to.” The noodles took his attention for another moment, and then he looked back to me. “What are you telling me, Da? You dead or something?” He turned the heat off on the stove and dumped in the seasoning packet while I chewed on my reply.
“No, I’m not dead. Quite the opposite, in fact. Can’t die.” I turned to lean against the refrigerator and let my gaze wander off into the distance. It was easier than watching him react. “That’s why I’m going to go do this. No matter what this guy, demon, whatever he is, does… I’ll live.” I closed my eyes for a moment, and felt something in the room shift. When I opened my eyes to look around, Tristan was standing uncomfortably close, his matching blue gaze meeting mine.
He searched my gaze for several heartbeats, and just as I was going to make some off-color observation about homoeroticism and one’s own son, Tristan stepped back and moved to the stove again. “So, you’re saying that because “you can’t die” is reason enough to go off on some madcap suicide mission to rescue some woman you’ve never met. I can’t decide if you’re altruistic, or insane.”
“Possibly both.” I moved away from the refrigerator, then opened it and pulled out a bottle of water. As I unscrewed the top, I bumped the large door closed and took a drink. It turned out to be almost half the bottle. “But it is what it is, Tristan. And that also means that you’re staying here. I’ll not have you out there where whatever this thing is can get you. You can die, or worse, you can be put in a position where you want to die but can’t.”
“So can you!” My son exploded, the pan banging back down onto the stove with a splash of ‘oriental vegetable’ flavored salt water. “This guy can keep you in whatever horrific thing he wants to for all of eternity. And you won’t have the luxury of gaining freedom through death.” He grabbed the towel from the front of the stove and began to mop up the liquid. “That’s just… I’ve not enough words for how horrible that would be.”
My son was worried about me. Honestly and truly worried. It made me smile, even though the discussion was nothing to smile about. “I’m not without a few tricks up my sleeve, Tristan. If I must, I can be quite formidable. A young lady once described it as ‘going all Avatar’ on someone.” I didn’t understand the reference, but by his expression, he did.
“Great. We’re talking life and not-death, and you throw a fictional animation reference into the mix. Da, this isn’t fiction. You won’t turn all glowing white and gain impossible elemental powers.” I watched him for a moment, and then he sighed, closing his eyes in a manner that struck me as terribly familiar. This must have been how I looked when I argued with Xelander. “Fine. I understand. I don’t like it, but there isn’t anything I can do, is there? I mean, other than follow you and hope you don’t notice me.”
“And now that you’ve told me that you intend to, I’ll be certain to notice you and that means I’ll be torn between fighting this guy and protecting you.” That would make things far more difficult, but I’d be damned further if I allowed something to happen to my son. “I won’t let you get hurt on my behalf, Tristan.” I knew he wasn’t going to shift on this, and I knew that if Xelander caught wind of this, he’d be right there with Tristan. And if Tristan knew Xelander was in the area… “Fine. Prove to me that you have enough skill and power to protect your ass, and we’ll do this together. But eat first.”