Stiletto

by Daniel O'Malley

  “Sir?”

  “Last night, you left the reception at the hotel to inspect a manifestation site.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Myfanwy.

  “Your absence was noted.”

  “That’s hardly astounding, since I told several people, including Bishop Alrich and Lady Farrier, that I was leaving,” said Myfanwy tartly. “And the heads of security for both the Checquy and the Grafters.”

  “I’ll have to ask you not to call them that,” said Bishop Attariwala. “It may be an offensive term.”

  “Excuse me? You mean Grafters?”

  “Yes. We’re not certain, but it may be a term of hatred.”

  “I think it’s probably a term of hatred because of our long history of hating them,” said Myfanwy mildly. “If we called them the Shimmery Pistachios, Checquy operatives would use that as an epithet.”

  “Be that as it may, until the committee comes back with a decision on it, kindly do not use that word. We must make every effort not to insult them, which is why your desertion of our guests last night was so ill-advised.”

  “But—” began Myfanwy. She was about to point out that it was hardly desertion of their guests since she had taken Graaf Ernst van Suchtlen and his apprentice with her, but the Bishop cut her off.

  “And you took Graaf Ernst van Suchtlen and his apprentice with you! It was highly inappropriate and highly irresponsible.” Despite herself, Myfanwy felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “Rook Thomas, you are well aware of how dangerous manifestation sites can be. Just this morning, one of the investigators encountered something at the burned-out row house. He was enveloped in a cloud of mist and his skin began to melt. What if something like that had happened to either of your guests last night? You could have done irreparable damage to the negotiations!”

  Myfanwy couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d taken down monsters and men, but she was having trouble mustering up an attack on a reasonable argument.

  Crap, she thought, he’s right. It was stupid. Unforgivably stupid. Of course, there was no way she would admit that to him, but it burned inside her. She kept her mouth shut and her expression unimpressed.

  “Matters are even more complicated, however,” said the Bishop. “I have seen the preliminary findings from the row-house investigation.” Myfanwy felt her face twist a little at that. She hadn’t had time to review those findings yet. “I noticed that the head of the assault team put in an encrypted request for consultation with the Rooks.”

  “Yes,” said Myfanwy.

  “What did she want?”

  “I don’t know,” said Myfanwy. “By the time I got to the phone, the connection was broken.”

  “Hmm,” said the Bishop. “So far, in the ruins, they have found huge sections of charred meat with human skeletons in the middle of it.”

  “Something ate our people?” asked Myfanwy.

  “Possibly,” allowed Attariwala. “It seems to have been occupying a rectangular space. So, this large entity may have swallowed them or tentacles may have come out of it and pulled them into itself, where they were absorbed.” Myfanwy felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. The Bishop was describing one of the weapons the Grafters had mobilized against the Checquy a few months ago, before the overtures of peace had been made.

  “What are you saying?” she asked weakly.

  “Nothing, at this point,” said the Bishop. “Although Pawn Odgers, the head of the assault team, was one of the few familiar with the flesh-cube weapon in Reading and she knew that it was deployed by the Broederschap. I wonder what she wanted to tell you.” He shrugged. “The investigation will continue, and we shall see what it uncovers. But I am very concerned about the possible implications. After all, the Broederschap has proven itself capable of planning and executing a multifront war.”

  “But we’re at peace,” said Myfanwy. “The Checquy and the Graft—the Broederschap—are working to join together.” Inside her head, she was frantically thinking through the angles. Was it possible that the Grafters had played her? That Ernst had played her, used the negotiations as a prelude to an attack?

  Well, anything is possible, she thought. I’m an amnesiac with the power to control people’s bodies with my mind. But it’s just not how I read the situation. I was sure these negotiations were genuine.

  “I certainly hope that is true,” said Attariwala. “And, of course, the negotiations will continue in good faith. But until we have confirmation on this issue, you will do everything in your power to make sure that our Broederschap allies are kept safe from harm. And from doing harm.”

  “Yes, Bishop Attariwala,” said Myfanwy reluctantly. Additional guards and measures would need to be put into place at the Grafters’ hotel, and she’d have to have a quiet (and extremely distasteful) word with the heads of the security detachment about what kind of protection they might be called upon to provide.

  “Now, unless you have anything you’d like to discuss, I have some preparations to make for this morning’s meetings,” said the Bishop.

  Myfanwy shook her head and stood, still taken aback by the revelations. When she reached the door, however, the Bishop spoke again.

  “My predecessor worked very hard to bring you into the Court,” he said calmly. “And it suited him to afford you a great deal of independence.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Myfanwy warily.

  “However, my predecessor was also a traitor in the employ of the Broederschap.”

  Now she understood. Not only the Grafters were under suspicion; apparently, she was too.

  10

  The Checquy executives were pleased, if somewhat startled, to discover that Felicity and Pawn Chopra were alive. They assured her over the telephone that someone would come to pick her up shortly. In the meantime, Cedella procured her a cup of tea and some clothes (in that order, which reflected a very realistic set of priorities) and guided her to the room where Chopra was now awake, lying in a normal hospital bed. He would be remaining under observation for exhaustion for a while longer.

  “Sanjay,” said the nurse as she led Felicity in, “your friend has come to check on you.”

  “Thank you, Cedella,” said Chopra weakly. He was tucked up in bed, and a decidedly nonregulation but extremely bright patchwork quilt had been carefully laid over him. The sight of him in pajamas was a little ridiculous. He didn’t look sick, just tired and wan.

  “Miss, you sit with him for a while, and I’ll get you when your ride comes,” said the nurse. She smoothed Chopra’s hair and moved out of the room.

  “Well,” said Felicity. “She’s pretty bossy.”

  “Isn’t she marvelous?” said Chopra. “I was so lucky to have her and the other nurses to visit while growing up at the Estate.” Felicity wandered over to the tray of food by his bed. It appeared to be rice and peas with spices, and it smelled absolutely heavenly. Apparently, knowing the nurses your entire life ensured you weren’t subjected to the standard-issue hospital food.

  “And how are you feeling?” asked Felicity.

  “Knackered.”

  “You look terrible,” she said lightly. “Nice pj’s, though.” From the look of them, they weren’t standard-hospital-issue either.

  “They keep a few pairs for me.”

  “So, you always have to rest here afterward?” she asked.

  “Ah, well, it’s always a bit of an effort,” said Chopra dismissively. Felicity smiled weakly and looked away. The memory of the journey through that . . . place was unsettling. The complete darkness, the burning cold. And the two of them, clinging to each other, his warmth the only solid thing. She could easily imagine having been torn away from him there, left to flail helplessly in the frozen blackness until she died.

  “Thank you,” said Felicity. “Thank you for saving me, for taking me with you.” He smiled and looked down.

  “Have you heard anything about the rest of the team?” he asked. “The ones who didn’t come in with us?”

  “No, but I haven’t really sp
oken to anyone yet,” said Felicity.

  “Do you think they got out all right?” he said. There was tension in his voice.

  She sat down in the chair next to the bed and took his hand. His grip was surprisingly weak, but his fingers were warm around hers. “They’re damn good,” she told him. “They can handle themselves.”

  They didn’t say anything else, just sat like that until the nurse came to tell Felicity her ride was there.

  The silence was torturous.

  Odette and Alessio sat in the back of a long car across from the glossy young man who had been assigned to escort them. At the hotel, the delegation had been divided up into seven groups, and each group put into its own black car. Their escort had introduced himself as Pawn Bannister from Apex House. He’d placed special emphasis on the “Apex House” part and had seemed a trifle disappointed when they’d failed to react.

  Pawn Oliver Bannister was the youngest of the escorts, in his midtwenties, and the expression on his handsome face had become a little fixed when he realized that he’d been assigned to the youngest (and, therefore, least important) of the Grafters. His suit was well cut—Odette suspected it was from Savile Row, or at least wanted to be mistaken for being from Savile Row—and his teeth and hair were both extremely shiny. Conversation in the car had withered and died after some observations about the weather and reassurances that the hotel was nice and that they’d slept well.

  “You’ll notice that we aren’t hitting any red lights,” said Pawn Bannister finally. His accent could have cut glass. “None of the other cars are getting stopped either. They’re opening up seven different routes through the city. It’s playing merry hell with the rest of the traffic.”

  “And this is for security reasons?” asked Odette warily. In addition to the driver, there was also a Checquy guard in the front seat. Are they worried about some sort of assassination attempt? No one is supposed to know we’re here. Or that we exist.

  “It’s for security, certainly, but also convenience,” said Bannister. “After all, you’re VIPs. We want to remove as many distractions as possible so that we can all focus on our goals and work toward a satisfactory and successful end result.”

  God, he speaks like a motivational-management course, thought Odette.

  “It’s very impressive,” she said encouragingly. “Such . . . strategic capabilities.” Bannister nodded happily. Apparently, she’d hit the appropriate level of jargon. “And you said that you’re based out of Apex House?”

  “Yes, indeed,” he said. “I was placed there right out of the Estate.”

  “What’s your role there?” asked Odette. “When you’re not stuck escorting us?”

  “Well, I’m in international affairs and relations,” he said airily. “Diplomatic work.” Odette made polite interested noises. To her dismay, he continued to talk about himself for the rest of the car ride. He spoke of reviews he’d worked on, junkets he’d traveled on, and meetings he’d attended with high-ranking officials. It was simultaneously the most boring and the most intimidating lecture Odette had ever received. I’m so far behind in my career, she thought glumly, having forgotten that she wasn’t even in the civil service. By the time the car pulled up at Apex House, she was beginning to question if she’d ever accomplished anything in her life.

  The door was opened by a security guard, and Alessio and Odette both slid out of the car as quickly as possible. Odette snapped out an arm and caught Alessio in an iron grasp.

  “Don’t even think of leaving me with him,” she said between gritted teeth. She looked around for the other cars and saw that they were the first to arrive. Behind her, Bannister was talking loudly on his mobile phone. “Suddenly the excursion to the museum is looking a lot better, isn’t it?” she said.

  “I’m still wearing this uniform,” said Alessio. “And according to your new boyfriend, it’s a lot to live up to.” Back in the car, Bannister had also mentioned his accomplishments at the Estate. He’d congratulated Odette’s little brother on the outfit and then informed him that it came from a proud tradition. Alessio had mustered a sickly smile and, in the name of diplomatic relations, kept his mouth firmly shut. “What do you think his power is?”

  “Why, to entrance us with his résumé,” said Odette sourly. “Although apparently he possesses preternatural skills at rugby as well. Frankly, I’d have thought that someone who works in diplomacy would have mastered the art of feigning interest in other people.” She looked around as the object of their conversation approached, shooting his cuffs so that his cuff links caught the light.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “The rest of the cars should be here shortly. In the meantime, welcome to Apex House.” He gestured grandly to the building in front of them. Odette looked up and took an involuntary step back. She’d seen pictures in the Broederschap’s files, but standing before it in person, under the gray skies, she had to clench her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

  It loomed. A large white building with columns, it struck her as the architectural equivalent of Pawn Bannister’s conversation—ostensibly there to be enjoyed, but really designed to intimidate. This was a structure that spoke of centuries of wealth and discreet influence. It had watched the rise and fall of an empire. It had tolerated the Great Stink of 1858. Pea-soup fogs had enshrouded it. Suffragettes and toffs and flappers and anarchists and mods and rockers and hippies and punks and a million others had passed by it, all unaware of the power that resided within. It had weathered the Blitz. It endured. The leaders of the Checquy governed supernatural Britain from within those walls. Apex House was the stronghold of her family’s oldest enemies.

  I don’t want to go in there, thought Odette. Everyone in that building hates me just on principle. If I go in there, I don’t think I’ll come out.

  It started to rain.

  “Well, we’d better go in,” said Bannister. “There’s no sense in getting soaked.” Odette looked around hopefully, but no other long black cars materialized and the rain was getting heavier.

  “Fine, yes, let’s go in,” she said. “Alessio, put that damn hat back on.” They hurried up the steps and through a massive rococo revolving door that deposited her in a semicircular marble-floored lobby. The walls were paneled in dark wood and rose very high. Large, impressive double doors stood at the head of the room, flanked by two sets of smaller, much less impressive doors. Behind each of two large marble counters sat two uniformed security guards. All of them were staring at her fixedly.

  “Oh, hi,” she said awkwardly. It wasn’t immediately clear which counter she should be addressing. The guards at the right-hand desk stood up, and she turned to them.

  “Good morning, Miss Leliefeld,” said one of the guards flatly.

  “Welcome to Apex House,” said the other guard, equally flatly.

  “Thank you,” said Odette, taken aback by their foreboding expressions and the fact that they knew her name. Their eyes flicked to the door behind her as Alessio and Pawn Bannister emerged into the foyer.

  “You’ll be signing them in, Pawn Bannister?” asked one of the guards on the left-hand desk.

  “Yes, might as well get started,” said Bannister. “Getting everybody logged in will take ages. How far behind are the other cars?” The guard put his hand to the side of his head, and Odette saw with a shudder that he had no radio or earpiece.

  “Next car should be here in about three minutes,” he said.

  “All right, well, let’s get the paperwork out of the way, at least,” said Bannister, sounding terribly bored. “Alessio, we’ll do you first.” Odette’s little brother looked a trifle alarmed as he was ushered to the right-hand desk, but he nodded obediently.

  Odette had not been at all certain what the process of entering Apex House would involve. She’d been braced for laborious computer entry, typing in massive amounts of personal data and history. Or a shadowy member of the Checquy would glance at her and then give a silent nod. Or maybe she would stand in a scanner and
guards would look at her naked. She hadn’t been prepared for a photocopied form on a clipboard and a piece of carbon paper underneath.

  “Fill that in, please,” said the guard to Alessio. “Full name, address, date, and time. Oh, and do you have ID?” Alessio, whose personal effects consisted of a chunky wristwatch that monitored various vital signs including glucose and hormone levels, a mobile phone, and the ugliest hat in the whole world, looked at Odette, panicked.

  “I’ve got your passport,” she assured him, and she retrieved it from her bag and handed it over along with her own. The guard examined the photos in the little burgundy booklets that were stamped with the Belgian coat of arms.

  “Fine,” he said, returning them to her. He typed away on his computer and printed out a flimsy piece of paper with the word VISITOR in big red letters. He slotted it into a clear plastic sleeve clipped to a bright red lanyard and gave it to Alessio. “Keep that around your neck while you’re in the building,” he said sternly. “And be sure to hand it back in when you leave.” Odette was feeling a little torn—the guards were intimidating, but the casual security arrangements seemed almost absurd.

  For heaven’s sake, we’re monstrous foreigners who have used our dark science and warped God’s handiwork to suit our own twisted needs. We tried to invade your country, and my centuries-old ancestor infiltrated your organization. The least you could do is pat me down or take my fucking picture, she thought in irritation.

  “I, uh, thought there was going to be some scanning?” she said to Bannister as she signed her name on the form.

  “Oh, certainly, in the next room,” he said. “This is just your visitor’s pass.”

  “Thank you,” she said to the guard as she hung her pass around her neck. The guard nodded back without smiling.

  Bannister led them to one of the sets of smaller, unimpressive doors, which clicked and opened with a grinding noise. She felt slightly mollified when she saw that they were massively thick and made of layers of metal, wood, and stone sandwiched together.

  Beyond the doors was a long, bland room with various pieces of bulky equipment dotted around it. The entire place—ceiling, floors, and walls—was covered in white tiles. A portly gentleman of African descent and wearing a lab coat approached them. Trailing behind him were a line of anxious-looking men and women in lab coats or scrubs.