by Zeppy Cheng
I think I do. But I don’t know how to put it into words. “I’m not the person you think I am. I have no idea what’s going on with my… network. If you can call it that.”
“Oh, yes, you can call it that.” Crayton sighs. “I thought as much. You don’t seem the kind of person to have enough guile to pull off some of the stunts your network is pulling off.”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected Jirgrar and his devils to be this effective. I want to ask what has happened, but I know it will only make me look weaker and stupider. I’ll ask Jirgrar for a full rundown of what he’s doing when I get the chance. Maybe I should have been paying more attention. “Okay. I’d like to make a deal with you.”
“Name the terms,” says Crayton. “You know that old ‘half the kingdom’ bit? I’m thinking on that scale right now.”
I mentally reevaluate the value of what I have been given. “This is going to get complicated, right?” My phone buzzes. “I’m sorry.” I know who it is before I look.
And I’m right. It’s Jirgrar. Don’t make any decisions. Let our lawyer handle it.
Me: Thanks. When is he going to be here?
Jirgrar: Stall for two minutes.
I look up from my phone. “Sorry, that was my parents.”
Crayton looks offended. “Obviously it wasn’t.” He scowls. “Why did you think I would believe that?”
Well, this tangent is as good as any. “I don’t know. I’m just a stupid sixteen-year-old without any experience in the real world.”
“You’re stalling, aren’t you?”
“Well, what if I am?”
Crayton sighs, rubbing his temples. A beep sounds on his pager. He picks it up. “Hello? Yes, yes.” He frowns. “Let her in, then. No, don’t keep her out. This was going to happen anyways. The kid is smarter than we gave him credit for. Barely.” Crayton looks up at me.
Our eyes meet and I’m not tempted to smile. Looks like I don’t have to stall for long after all. Jirgrar sure works fast.
Crayton is still talking into his phone pager. “I’m having a hard time reading him. Be ready for anything.” Crayton then hangs up and steeples his fingers. “We’ll wait for your lawyer to arrive. Mine will, too. Then we can discuss this on the record.” He pauses. “Let’s be clear. I want your recipe, and I know you are capable of producing more. More of the same caliber. This is what I really want. I want a monopoly.” His eyes are sharpening by the second. He taps his fingers on the table. “And though I don’t have the power to take it from you — because of your damned good intelligence network — I can at the very least offer you the sweetest deal you will ever see. I can make you famous.” He grins. “I can make you powerful.” He looks at me with an expectant expression and then turns to the door.
Two people walk into the glass observatory room. One is a strikingly beautiful woman, the other a balding middle-aged man with a paunch. Both are wearing elegant suits.
The woman approaches me. “Markus, I have been hired as your lawyer. As your lawyer, I recommend that you immediately leave with me so that we can have a discussion with the other party in an official context.”
I stand up. “Seems legitimate to me. You, uh…”
“Lacy. Lacy Stevens, head partner of Stevens, Mallard, and Duck.”
Seeing that no one is laughing at this, I take it to mean that the company is very prestigious. This is not a funny situation.
Lacy stands with her Redweld and nods at the other lawyer and Crayton. “Come.” She extends her hand to me.
My phone rings. I pick it up as I join Lacy near the door.
“Markus!” It is May. “Where did you go? Brandon says you left to get some air and haven’t come back!”
“I’ll be there in a minute. I just went for a ride to see the Thames.”
“Did you take a cab? Do you even have that kind of money? Oh, wait, we do. Hum. Well, get back here as soon as you can.”
I hang up, bowing to Crayton. “Well, it seems like my teammates are missing me.” I walk away from the room in the sky with my lawyer next to me.
In the elevator, Lacy frowns. “You have some powerful people on your side. It’s not often I get called this late for a new client. I wasn’t going to accept until a member of the Lords asked me to do a favor.” She sighs. “Since you are obviously the child of some important people, I will say this once, and you can figure out what to do with me. I don’t like dealing with spoiled brats who don’t know anything about the world.”
I shake my head. “My parents are office workers in Manhattan. They’re not rich or important.”
Lacy looks confused. “But you can’t have bought out someone that high up in government without some sort of pull, and you’re a sixteen-year-old Adventurer from out of the country. I don’t understand.” She rubs the bags under her eyes. “I read the report. Apparently, you created some sort of new metal alloy that could upset the world market. I think you called it… Rearden metal?” She grimaces. “I don’t really understand your taste. I mean, Ayn Rand?” She shakes her head.
“Um, Crayton offered me, like, power or something?” I say.
Lacy looks troubled. “Look. Crayton is a bona fide industrialist. He brought himself from a college dropout to one of the richest men in England. He’s exactly the kind of guy Ayn Rand would have loved. But he’s not a good guy.” Lacy sighs. “He’s after entry into…” She pauses. “Let’s not talk about that.”
We reach the ground floor. As we step out, I notice one of my devil-agents dressed as a security guard standing beside the main entrance. I am starting to get wierded out by how pervasive they are around me. What are they getting up to without my knowledge?
Well, for the moment, at least, they seem to be holding my best interests in mind. I decide to defer judgment until I ask Jirgrar what’s going on behind the scenes.
Lacy calls a taxi and hands me a twenty-pound note. “The hotel you’re staying at is close. I’ll pick you up tomorrow in order to start negotiations. You’ll need to stay here in London longer than you probably planned. Talk to your parents to see if this is possible. I’ll contact you by phone and tell you when I arrive.”
“I, um, have honorary Adventurer status. I don’t know if that will change things, but…”
“Yes, I know. I still want you to talk to your parents. You might need them if your visa preparations go south.”
“Visa?” I say.
The taxi pulls up. “Yes, visa. As well as a host of other things.” Lacy pauses as I get into the cab. “Stay safe.” she adds.
She watches as the cab pulls away.
Five minutes later we are at the hotel. I give the driver the twenty. “Keep the change.”
“Well, thanks, lad!” The cabbie drives away.
May is waiting bedside the hotel entrance. “Thank the universe!” She runs to me. “I thought you had been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?”
She appears scared. “There were all these Men In Black, they said they were from the government—”
“The government?” I don’t see any government people hanging around.
“They left ten minutes ago. They told me to ask you to come to an address…” She pulls out a piece of paper. “I don’t know how spy stuff works, but I think it has something to do with your power.” She hands me the paper.
There is an address written on it, as well as a time. It will probably overlap with the negotiations I’m going to make with Esmex if I’m not careful. I slip the paper into my pocket. I am suddenly very tired.
May looks sheepish, casting her gaze around. “I think there might have also been mafia.”
I feel a distant danger approaching me. I am getting in much, much deeper than I ever thought I would.
17 Gala
“So you’ve been operating a… spy network?” I am standing in front of Jirgrar, next to a dumpster outside the hotel. Garage doors line the wall, and trash is piled up next to the bin.
Jirgrar bows like a butler. “Yes. Would y
ou like a description of our methods?”
“Please.” It’s the least of what I want to know.
“We have sent infiltrators into every major group in the criminal underground. They are working to keep these organizations from realizing their plans for you. We have also infiltrated several national governments around the world, using completely legitimate methods, of course.”
“Like what?”
“Perhaps an old representative wants a mistress. Or perhaps he is known for getting close to his bodyguards. He could even be convinced that a reporter has some footage of him performing an unseemly act.”
“That’s the definition of underhanded!” I am almost yelling.
Jirgrar bows again. “Perhaps you would like to explain an easier and more effective way of achieving political power without being elected to an office? Elections, mind you, take years to prepare for. We do not have years. I am, at this moment, certain that as devils we could acquire power legitimately through that method. But that would leave you vulnerable for far too long. Our priority is your safety.”
I grimace. I must admit — the only reason I have not been tied up in the back of a van and knocked out by chloroform is because of Jirgrar and his team. I can’t chastise him because he’s probably saving my life a dozen times a day. I turn away. Mixed emotions — anger, humiliation, gratitude — fill my face with a heat that I haven’t experienced in a long time. “Fine. But just do exactly what it takes to keep me safe. I don’t want money; I don’t want power. I just want to live my life and contribute to society. I have a gift that can change the world, and I want to protect it.” I cross my arms. “I’m tired of lying, of hiding my abilities. I know this is selfish, but I just want to see what I can do for humanity because I think it would be cool and I want to help people. Not because it gains me anything.”
“Politics is a powerful force,” says Jirgrar. “Shaking the status quo, no matter your intentions, will always gain you powerful enemies. You need to be strategic with your… gifts to the world.” Jirgrar’s eyes bore into me.
Defeated, I look away.” Fine, then. But I want to make it clear. I don’t want to gain anything personally from my power or you. I just want to make the best scenario possible for how I can help the world and do things with my powers.”
“Very well. We shall change our modus operandi to suit your mission.” Jirgrar pauses. “Anything else you wish to understand?”
“I’m good.” I turn to the back door of the hotel, which I was let through by a devil working as staff. “My team is probably missing me. I have to explain to them why I’m staying in London, and then contact my parents.”
“Very well,” says Jirgrar. He stands, motionless, as I return to the hotel.
Once I’m in the lobby, I dial my mom’s number.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says. “How are you doing in London? I heard you guys won a prize.”
“We won first place in the bridge portion of the competition,” I say. “And seventh in the perfect gear competition. We’re still waiting for results from the gearbox challenge.” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I’m going to have to stay in London for a little while. The rest of my team is going home.”
“What happened?”
“A major company is interested in my conjured alloy. The deal could be worth a lot of money.”
“More than you make as an Adventurer?” says my mom.
“A lot more.”
“I’m proud of you. Giving your old folks a new car and all that when you just made your money.”
I think for a moment. “Is there anything else you want?”
“Well, the water heater broke and we’re having trouble repairing it.”
“Done,” I say.
“Aren’t you going to ask how much it would cost?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it.”
“I’m glad I raised such a generous son.” I hear my baby sister crying on the other side. “Well, I’m going to have to go now. Please be careful, and make sure you don’t get mixed up with the wrong folk. Bye-bye!” The phone clicks.
I let my arm fall, taking a few breaths, then sit down in a couch in the foyer and lean back. The ticking clock above the reception desk takes all my attention. It’s all I want to think about. If only managing two hundred fifty-one devils was as easy as fixing a water heater.
I don’t know how long I sat there before Brandon walks around the corner from the elevator hall. He sees me and waves. “Hey! I heard you got a lungful of that sweet night London air.”
“Hah. It wasn’t that good. The Thames is dirty.”
“It always has been.” Brandon drops onto the sofa beside me. “What? You look troubled.”
“I’m going to have to stay here in London,” I say. “For a while. Esmex International wants to buy the formula for my Rearden metal alloy.”
Brandon grins. “That’s good, right? If you can secure a job there, you won’t even have to finish school. You’ll be one of those success stories about dropping out.”
“I don’t think I’m going to drop out, exactly,” I say. “I’ll just be here for a while. Besides, summer break is here. I’ll probably be done and home before summer is over.”
Brandon nods with an understanding expression on his face. “I get it. You could call it an internship.”
“Yeah, an internship.” I sigh. “Do you have any advice for me?” My anger at Jirgrar has calmed down a bit.
Brandon gives the sofa a sour look — it really isn’t all that comfortable — and shifts to a recliner next to a potted plant, leaning back and studying the ceiling. “Sure. As an upperclassman, I can probably think of some advice to give you.”
I stick with the couch. “If you have a friend, someone who protected you from something bad but did it by hurting someone else, what would you tell them?”
Brandon seems to think for a moment. “I would thank them but tell them to be more careful in the future. Well, that depends on how badly they hurt that person and who that person was.” He examines the chandelier. “Did this friend of yours do something illegal? Something that could get you in trouble?”
“It was a hypothetical—”
Brandon stops me. “I don’t know how you got into whatever mess you’re in, but I do know that you’re probably in deeper than you can handle.” He tilts his head. “Your conjuring power did upset the competition, after all. That Rearden metal probably put more eyes on you than you realize. I think it’s good to have some friends who can get rough with your enemies.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry about it unless your conscience tells you that you have to do something about it.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that bad. I was just wondering if I made the right choice.”
“If you’re still alive, aren’t in trouble, and have a future, I think you’re going to be okay.” Brandon unfolds from his chair. “I’ll be going to bed now. Be quiet when you enter the room.”
I sit on the couch for a while longer, staring at the clock like before and trying not to think about anything. As time goes on, more and more rich folk begin to flow through the entrance. These are not ordinary rich people; these are the ostentatious kind of rich people that England, and especially London, is known for. Diamonds, furs, and Louis Vuitton purses.
One of my devils, dressed as a butler, approaches me out of seemingly nowhere and bows. He is holding a set of folded clothes in his arms. “Master, your dress for tonight’s social.”
“What?” I say. “Social? What are you talking about?”
The devil presents the clothes. “My name is Togaar. But for now, you can call me Sebastian. I will be your attendant for the evening. Please, put on these clothes.”
I take the clothes. It is a full tuxedo, complete with diamond cuff links. I look at the brand. “Armani. Where did you get this?”
“As master knows, our finances are perfectly capable of absorbing the cost of a simple party dress.” ‘Sebastian bows again.
&nb
sp; I stroke the material. It’s silky soft. “Can you help me put this on? I’m not sure I’ve ever worn a tuxedo.”
Sebastian motions towards the bathroom connected to the foyer. In there, I undress to my underwear and place my arms through the undershirt.
“This is how you button a formal shirt.” Sebastian shows me how to make it look neat. Then I put on my pants, my belt, my cummerbund, my bow tie, my black socks, and my dress shoes. When I look at myself in the mirror, I am surprised at how professional I seem.
Sebastian hands me a tin of mousse. I run it through my hair and pull it back to look fancy. I have a slight cowlick that won’t go down, but I think it will be okay. He adjusts my bow tie and checks the cuff links.
When I leave the bathroom, I feel like everyone is watching me. It’s most likely just my imagination, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Sebastian leads me to the entrance to the hotel’s ballroom. A doorman stands bedside the doors. He holds out his hand. “Your invitation, sirs.”
Sebastian duly presents a letter that, I assume, is our invitation.
“Please.” The doorman opens the doors for us.
I step into a scene straight from a princess movie. Beautifully dressed ladies dance around with straight-looking, professional gentlemen.
“So, what’s this party for exactly?” I ask Sebastian, who hovers behind me.
“This is the gala for the donors to the CCC foundation.”
“Well, then. Why am I here?”
“You are the star of the hour. Your alloy performed so much better than the copper-steel standard that your reputation has already spread through the gentry. You are famous, at least for the moment.”
“Mr. Red!” says an elderly gentleman approaching from the side. “My name is Peter Worthfile. Please remember the name! If you ever have anything you need help with regarding construction materials, I’d be happy to assist!”