Stiletto

by Daniel O'Malley

  “Let’s all meet in Paris,” said Pim. “A week from today. And we’ll decide what we’re going to do.”

  And?” asked Rook Thomas. “What happened?”

  “We went to Paris,” said Odette sadly.

  Sitting in the lobby café of the Rataxes, Paris’s most beautiful hotel, the seven of them had drawn appreciative looks. They may not have been famous, but when you’re young, able to control your appearance, and dressed in expensive clothing in an expensive place, you get looked at. Plus, their grave expressions made them stand out even more. Beverages and food were brought to them, and they began an extremely quiet conversation.

  “This is where you thought we should have this discussion?” asked Claudia, looking around at the civilians passing through the lobby.

  “I thought it would be best if we all remained calm,” said Pim. “We can’t be productive if we start screaming about the injustice of it all.”

  “And I like to think that none of us are gauche enough to start screaming here,” said Simon. Although it was only midmorning, he was sipping brandy and cream out of a long, thin glass. He was wearing a new suit and a new face that Odette suspected had been specially picked out to go with the suit.

  “Fine,” said Claudia, folding her arms.

  “I’d like to begin, if I may,” said Odette hesitantly. Saskia and Pim, who were the unofficial leaders of the group, nodded and smiled for her to go ahead. She’d finally found her courage. “We’ve all had time to think this over, to move beyond our instinctual reactions. We’re educated people, and I think we’re all clever enough to, well, to see where we need to go.

  “Like you all, the idea of the Checquy makes me deeply uncomfortable. But I’m afraid that we’ve already come to a place where there’s no going back. They know about us, and the rest of the Broederschap is going to join with them. Our teachers, our superiors, our families are going to join with them. Can we really stand against that? Is that what you really want?”

  I tried to talk to them,” Odette told the silent executives in the conference room, “to make them see that there could be a good ending to all this.” She looked down at her hands. “But they wouldn’t budge. They felt they had to fight.”

  Please,” pleaded Odette, “I love you all, I can’t bear this. I can’t bear to watch you ruin everything we have—everything we could have.”

  “A future like that isn’t worth having,” said Pim sadly. “They can’t order us to join ourselves to this profanity, to give up what makes us who we are.”

  “We have to act, Odette,” said Saskia, taking her hand gently. She was exquisite, in a delicate white dress that bespoke elegance and civilization and calm afternoons. “We have to make the changes, the better changes. Please, please, come with us, darling.”

  “I can’t!” sobbed Odette. “I can’t turn on my family! And what about Alessio? You want to bring your fight to him? Why do you have to try and make this worse? Isn’t peace better than war? You don’t know that a future with the Checquy will be a bad thing.”

  “We know,” said Saskia sadly, and there was a momentary stinging sensation in Odette’s hand. Odette looked down and saw a spur stretching out from Saskia’s wrist to touch her hand. A single droplet of blood welled on her skin. She looked up at Saskia in horror. “I’m so sorry, ’Dette.”

  “We all are,” said Mariette, and her words seemed to echo in Odette’s ears. The lobby and the faces of her friends wavered, twisting and blurring. Pim was gazing at her and his eyes were full of tears.

  I love you, he mouthed.

  “We love you,” she heard Simon say distantly. She felt a kiss on her cheek and Saskia’s hand holding hers tightly as she sank into sleep.

  I woke up in the lobby of the hotel three hours later,” said Odette. “They bribed the manager and told him to keep an eye on me while I slept, that I’d just had bad news. A death in the family. They’d even arranged for a waiter to bring me a coffee and some aspirin when I woke up.

  “By the time I was awake enough to think straight, I realized that my friends had been very busy,” she continued. “They’d returned to the big Paris chapter house and lifted a lot of things—materials and tools. Then they killed the house and fled.”

  “They killed the people in the house?” asked Rook Thomas intently.

  “No, they killed the living components of the house,” said Ernst, real sadness in his eyes. “Two centuries’ worth of thoughts, memory, and service, wiped out.” He sighed. “That house was a good friend, a member of the family.”

  “Since then,” said Marie, “they’ve been waging war on the Broederschap in Europe. Infiltrating installations and damaging projects. Some were major endeavors—years of work ruined in a matter of moments. People have been hurt, people have died, and property has been destroyed.”

  “And now they are here,” said Bishop Attariwala.

  “They have been for a while,” said Ernst. “They have already made some attacks. For instance, those people killed in the Italian restaurant the night of our cocktail party. That was the Antagonists’ work.”

  “Oh God,” said Rook Thomas. “Why? Why would they do that?”

  “We do not know their purpose in that instance,” said Marie. “But it is not the only time you have encountered them.”

  “What else?” asked the Rook.

  “The creature in Portsmouth,” said Odette.

  “That gigantic sea monster they dredged out of the Channel?” asked Rook Kelleher, an extremely fat white man who was attended by a dozen iridescent butterflies fluttering in the air above him.

  “We think it is how they entered the United Kingdom,” said Marie.

  “Too good for the Eurostar, are they?” asked Chevalier Whibley.

  “You know what kind of compounds and equipment our work requires,” said Marcel. “They could never have risked shipping it in through conventional means. Using one of our major constructs, they could transport a substantial amount of matériel across the Channel.” He snorted. “If they had managed to do it without running it into a cargo ship, they would have had a very useful engine of war as well. Still, I wasn’t surprised. That creature was experimental, unique, and apparently a complete bitch to pilot.”

  “So who was the dead person inside the creature?” asked Bishop Attariwala. “Which of the Antagonists?”

  “I think it was Dieter,” said Odette weakly.

  “My son,” said Marcel quietly. There was an appalled silence.

  “It had his eyes,” said Odette, “but it wasn’t his skin, it wasn’t his face. He was wearing some sort of white utility epidermis. We have something similar for conducting major surgeries or operating in harsh conditions.”

  “In order to pilot the vessel, he would have had to link his neurons to the creature’s,” said Marcel. “When he crashed into the ship, the feedback would have killed him outright.”

  “That would count as a design flaw in my book,” remarked Rook Thomas.

  “We probably would have worked out that detail,” said Marcel.

  “Why did it come alive again in the hangar?” asked Felicity. She was thinking of those horrible moments when she was trapped in the creature’s living flesh. “Was that part of their plan?”

  “No, we believe it reactivated in response to Odette’s presence,” said Marcel. “With a living Grafter inside it, it turned back on, although the damage it had taken in the collision with the ship meant it would not have survived for very long.”

  “And the people who attacked the car this evening?” asked Chevalier Whibley. “Any ideas?”

  “I didn’t recognize them,” said Odette. “None of them.”

  “They sounded English,” remarked Bishop Alrich. “Tasted English too.”

  “We’re having their fingerprints analyzed,” said Rook Kelleher. “Two of them were in the system—minor criminals out of London.”

  “So the Antagonists are recruiting,” said Rook Thomas sourly.

  “Th
ey wouldn’t,” said Odette. “They might give those men weapon implants, use them as muscle, but there’s no way they’d accept them as equals.”

  “Elitists,” said Lady Farrier. It wasn’t clear if she disapproved or not.

  “Justifiably,” said Marcel. “That group of students was our most promising in decades. They’re unorthodox, but they’re brilliant. All of them.” He put a hand on Odette’s shoulder.

  “And the blond man, the leader?” asked Bishop Alrich. “He was particularly eager to kill Rook Thomas. It seemed almost personal.”

  “I have no idea who he is,” said Rook Thomas. “He was unconscious by the time I woke up in the car, even before the staff from Hill Hall arrived. The holding facility sent me some photos of him, but they rang no bells for me.” She flushed a little. “I have a bad memory for faces, though.” Lady Farrier snorted at this.

  “Currently, he’s comatose,” said Rook Kelleher. “The doctors at the Rookery have examined him. No Grafter implants, so far as we can tell. No explanation for why he went unconscious. We have him in a secure medical facility in the building.”

  “He seemed to be calling the shots,” said Alrich.

  “And he seemed to know who you were,” said Odette to the vampire. “He was horrified to see you.”

  “I can have that effect on people,” said Alrich modestly. Odette blushed.

  “Well, this is all very well,” said Lady Farrier, “but let’s move beyond the minutiae of the situation and focus on the big picture. I’m sure you can understand, Graaf van Suchtlen, that these revelations have cast our negotiations in an entirely different light.”

  “Yes, Lady Farrier,” said Ernst soberly.

  “We, the Court, will need to discuss the implications of this. If you would excuse us?” The Grafters looked at one another and then began to rise. Marcel gathered up his papers. “Dr. Leliefeld, I wouldn’t bother taking those notes with you,” the Lady said.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because this is a dream.”

  Odette woke up. She was in the bathtub of her hotel suite, warm in her gel. Unbelievable, she thought. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that it had been a real meeting, even if it had taken place while she was asleep. She was aware that Lady Farrier could manipulate the dreams of others—she must have reached out to all the attendees’ sleeping minds and gathered them together.

  Amazing, thought Odette. The advantages were obvious. The meeting could be held in secret, without any chance of surveillance, and if it had gone badly and battle had actually broken out, no one would have suffered any harm. It was a disconcerting thought, however, to imagine that the Lady of the Checquy could simply dip into a person’s mind and manipulate it as she saw fit. And I never questioned it, she mused. Just like in a normal dream, I didn’t ask how I came to be there.

  I wonder what time it is. She opened her eyes and frowned. The lights were on in the bathroom, and she was certain she’d turned them off. Was it her imagination or were there wavery figures standing by the tub? She snapped upright, the slime dripping down her face, and looked around to find three soldiers in camouflage, their large automatic weapons pointed directly at her.

  “Evening, miss,” said one of them. “Don’t be alarmed.”

  “Don’t be alarmed?” she repeated. “What in the hell is going on?” He held up a finger and then pressed it against his ear. He cocked his head, and nodded a few times. “Copy that,” he said into a microphone. “Stand down,” he said to his men, and they all dropped their guns. “Well, that’s a bit of good news, miss. It seems the members of the Court decided they believed your story, so we don’t have to execute you or the young lad in the other room. Sorry to have disturbed you. Have a good night.”

  33

  Felicity woke up to the sound of the phone ringing by her bed. She had been banished from the dream-meeting of the Court almost immediately after the Grafters departed, but rather than waking up, she had slid into a peaceful, natural sleep. Until the phone rang. She fumbled in the darkness, managed to knock over a lamp, and finally put her hand on the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Rook Thomas. Can you please come down to room 909?”

  “I—of course, ma’am.” With an effort, she levered herself out of bed and poured herself into the clothes that she’d left scattered on the floor. She rode down in the lift, yawning hugely and trying not to look at herself in the mirrored walls. To her chagrin, she looked exactly like someone who’d inhaled a biological gaseous anesthetic, been in a car accident, and then gotten woken up at four in the morning.

  Mrs. Woodhouse, who let her into room 909, also bore the unmistakable hallmarks of someone who’d had a long, bad night, but she still managed to look several thousand times more together than Felicity did. The executive assistant gestured for Felicity to sit down at a little dining table. Farther in the room, Rook Thomas and Graaf van Suchtlen were seated on opposite couches. There was an odd dynamic to their conversation that Felicity, in her exhausted state, could not quite decode.

  “When were you going to tell us about this, Ernst?” the Rook was saying. “When were you going to tell me about the cabal of Grafters working to destroy our peace negotiations?”

  “Never,” said the graaf without a hint of embarrassment. “Or when they were all dead. Whichever came second.” Odette winced. “It was our problem, and we were handling it.”

  “Well, now they’re our problem,” said Rook Thomas. “You see, you may not have realized this, but the British government is working toward a peaceful accommodation with the Broederschap wherein you will become a part of this organization and of the British government. Did you think that you would just get a Eurostar ticket, a security pass, a desk in the Hammerstrom Building, and it’s all taken care of?

  “This is a horrendously complicated undertaking costing huge sums of money and involving hundreds of people throughout the government who are trying to do it all in secret. There are layers upon layers of lies, illusion, and concealment, all woven into this entire nightmarish, convoluted, bureaucratic tapestry.

  “And I started that process,” said Thomas, “after a conversation with you, Ernst. A conversation in my office during which we agreed that peace between us would be better than the alternative.

  “Because, make no mistake,” she said flatly, “the alternative is still a very real possibility. The Court has decided that they believe you. Mostly. But if knowledge of your Antagonists were to get out to the greater Checquy, I don’t know what would happen.”

  “They are your troops,” said the graaf, “they will obey.”

  “I really don’t know that you’re in a position to deliver pompous observations about commanding people’s loyalty, Ernst,” said the Rook with narrowed eyes. “And while we will try to help you, I can’t bring the full force of the Checquy to bear on this issue. They already hate you, and now it turns out that your kids have been running around committing atrocities on British citizens. Yes, the Checquy are loyal. Yes, they are professional. But that doesn’t mean that I can order them to do whatever I like. I do not want to be yet another Rook who pushed the Checquy into rebellion against itself.”

  “I understand,” said the graaf. “Of course, we will do everything we can to work with you to eliminate this problem quietly.”

  “Good,” said the Rook. “Tell me, please God, that you have some leads.”

  “We had warriors here in London tracking them down,” said Ernst, provoking a choking gasp from the Rook, “but it proved fruitless. On Friday night, they killed all our agents.”

  “Those clothes and guns in Hyde Park—those were your people?” spluttered Thomas.

  “Oh, you know about those? I suppose that was inevitable.”

  “Of course it was fucking inevitable,” said the Rook. “I just can’t believe you had armed soldiers running around London. No other leads?” The graaf shook his head. “Terrific. Well, that brings us to you, Pawn Clements,” she said, turn
ing to the dining area. “And your protectee.” She gestured for Felicity to join them.

  “What about my protectee?” said Felicity as she sat down gingerly on the same couch as the Rook.

  “Before the Antagonists make their next attack, before they push us completely over the edge and into war, we think that one of two things could happen: Odette might go to the Antagonists, or they might come for her,” said van Suchtlen.

  “What?” asked Felicity, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “She is one of them,” said Ernst simply.

  “You think that Leliefeld is a mole?” asked Felicity. “That she’s really working for the Antagonists?” The graaf shrugged. “I thought that you had decided she could be trusted.”

  “We cannot know,” he said. “Not definitively. When she came to us the first day, after her friends fled, there was a great deal of doubt. Even Marcel, her mentor, was cautious.”

  “What about her parents?” said Felicity dazedly. “What do they say?”

  “Her parents are not members of the Broederschap,” said the graaf. “Her father is the son of Marcel’s brother, Siegbert, who died in the war. He was raised as Marcel’s oldest son, and he knows some things, but he is not one of us.”

  “Okay,” said Felicity. “But you don’t know for certain that she’s a traitor.”

  “No,” admitted van Suchtlen. “Not for certain. We have watched her closely and seen no sign of it, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. In her heart she loves them, and they love her.” There was no emotion in the graaf’s voice. He stared into Felicity’s eyes, and she saw nothing but cold calculation. “That is why she was brought here as part of the delegation. We can watch her for any sign of treachery and ensure that she makes no attacks on our places in Europe. Also, they will not strike hard when she is in our custody.”

  “Not strike hard?” repeated Felicity incredulously. “What about today? What about those deaths in the restaurant? And the sleepwalkers?”