Stiletto

by Daniel O'Malley

  “I don’t care what you people say!” Felicity burst out suddenly, and everyone in the room jumped. “We are not using a font that does not have fucking serifs!” Odette buried her face in her hands. The servers exchanged horrified looks and left hurriedly.

  “Yes . . . very good, Pawn Clements,” said Eckhart. “Good improvisation. Now, shall we eat?” All four Grafters produced large pill organizers and began opening sections. The Checquy people affected not to notice.

  “You mentioned something about the melted man’s face?” said Marcel as he began his meal.

  “Yes,” said Security Chief Clovis, “and that is one of the things that is most troubling. It turns out that he was in possession of one Broederschap implant. Everything rotted except his face, which remained relatively pristine.” He looked at Odette. “You had mentioned that the Antagonists would be wearing different faces.”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “It’s not a terribly difficult matter to arrange.” The Broederschap had 3-D printers that worked in collagen and skin.

  “So they can look like anyone?” asked Chevalier Eckhart.

  “Well, their faces can,” said Odette. “The size of one’s skull affects things, obviously, and if I showed up wearing Security Chief Clovis’s face, you’d twig pretty early on that something was amiss.”

  “Of course,” said the Chevalier. “But it sounds like it could be a very effective disguise.”

  “It can be,” said Marie proudly.

  “Marvelous. My concern is that we can no longer be certain that anyone in your delegation is who they say they are. Is that correct?” This was met with an awkward silence. “I see that it is. The situation is getting increasingly complicated.”

  “And you have called us here to help uncomplicate it,” said Marcel.

  “Well, that, and, of course, it gave me a chance to confirm that everyone here is wearing his or her own face,” said Rook Thomas. The Grafters looked around uneasily, realizing that the Rook had been using her powers on them. Marie put a hesitant hand up to her cheek as if she could feel Thomas’s mind sorting through her skin. “Don’t worry. All of you are who you say you are. If you weren’t, you’d be lying on the floor awkwardly handcuffing yourself.” She took a thoughtful sip of wine.

  “Anyway,” continued the Rook, ignoring the Grafters’ stricken looks, “this does not solve all our problems. It solves barely any of them.” She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to be gathering her strength. When she opened them, she said, “To begin with, we’ll need to ensure that there are no moles in your delegation wearing someone else’s face.”

  “We’ll set about testing everyone’s DNA,” said Marie. “Immediately.”

  “That’s not enough,” said Chevalier Eckhart. “I want Rook Thomas to read their faces. Is your entire entourage coming to the event tonight?”

  “Not everyone was supposed to come,” said Marie uncertainly.

  “They are now,” said Eckhart flatly. Rook Thomas winced.

  “And thus the chefs of Apex House will be goaded into a collective nervous breakdown,” she said.

  “There will be armed guards at the reception,” said Clovis. “If Myfanwy identifies someone wearing the wrong face, I will have no compunction about blowing that person’s brains into his or her salad.”

  “If she identifies someone wearing the wrong face, I’ll have that person vomiting up his or her lungs,” said Marie darkly.

  “Until we confirm the identities of all the Grafter delegates, I will have armed guards in every negotiation room,” said Clovis. “Don’t worry, though, they’re extremely discreet. In fact, one of them is actually coating the table in conference room B.” At that, Odette took her hands off the surface of the dining table and wiped them on her skirt.

  “Now, let’s go back to the puddle that used to be the blond man,” said Eckhart, blithely putting a spoonful of soup to his lips.

  “He was already dying when we came in,” said the Rook. “I could read it in his flesh. His organs were falling apart under my mind’s touch. I expect that bashing his own head in was simply some sort of gesture. The med staff are about to start testing the remains. Tell me, are they going to find anything?”

  “Doubtful,” said Marcel. “The effect you’ve described doesn’t leave any identifiable information.”

  “What about her?” said the graaf, pointing toward Felicity. She flushed as everyone turned to look at her. “Your Pawn who can talk to dead bodies.”

  “Well, first, that’s not what she does,” said Rook Thomas tartly.

  “Liquids are tricky,” said Felicity. “I can try, but the further back in time I look, the longer it will take. The sooner I start, the better.”

  “How long to look back forty-eight hours?” asked Eckhart.

  “With liquid? About twenty-four hours, sir,” said Felicity.

  “I don’t think we have that much time,” said Myfanwy. “They said they were building toward something big. We’ll have to follow all the other leads first. For instance, why would they perform a vasectomy on the blond guy?” she asked. Felicity looked around with interest. The Grafters seemed particularly bewildered by this revelation. “That was the only modification our doctors found.”

  “They missed the face?” asked Marcel.

  “They noticed he had one. I think they stopped looking after that.”

  “I can think of only one reason for a vasectomy,” mused Eckhart. “Well, two, if you take into account that time we were trying to see how many things Pawn Wampler could grow back. And that was a dare at a stag do anyway.” Deathly silence greeted this tangential recollection.

  “It doesn’t sound right,” said Odette finally. “Birth control is one of the very first things we address when we start getting modifications.”

  “Well, that strongly suggests that he wasn’t one of the Antagonists,” said Ernst. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s one more mystery to write down on my list of Stuff That Makes No Sense,” said Rook Thomas. She scribbled on a notepad at the side of her plate. Felicity, who was sitting next to her, noticed that the heading actually was “Stuff That Makes No Sense.”

  “And he had no weapons, not even any spur mechanisms,” Odette said.

  “I don’t know why you children even use those things,” sniffed Ernst. “If you’re going to poison someone, why not just spit at them? Or give them some doctored schnapps?”

  “We’re veering off topic here,” pointed out Rook Thomas.

  “They’re discreet, Grootvader,” said Odette. “And I managed to take out a couple of attackers with them, so that should make you happy.” Ernst didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look unhappy.

  “So, we don’t really have any further leads on the Antagonists,” said Eckhart sourly. “Unless we get lucky and there’s another attack on Myfanwy.”

  “It’s difficult,” said Marie, “since they took so much when they absconded. And, of course, they have a great deal of money. That sort of independence always makes it harder.” Odette’s great-uncle cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Marcel?” said van Suchtlen.

  “I have been reviewing the portfolios of our runaways. Simon de Wilde’s is especially relevant. Owing to his experiments with his own modifications, he requires certain exotic compounds to be applied to his body on a regular basis. These compounds are not common, and they are not cheap, so perhaps this will help us find him. I will pass on the details to Marie and Mr. Clovis.”

  “Well, that’s something,” said Chevalier Eckhart.

  “Not much,” said Rook Thomas. She looked at her watch. “All right, if you’d like dessert, feel free. Clovis, you can put all this on your corporate card and I’ll sign off on it. I have some things to get done.”

  “Yes, you and I have to go talk to the Court,” said Chevalier Eckhart grimly.

  “Yeah, but first we have to inform the head chef at Apex House that a lot more people are coming to the rece
ption tonight.”

  “Oh, well, that you can do by yourself,” said the Chevalier.

  “Are you serious?” asked the Rook. “It was your idea. You have to come tell him.”

  “Absolutely not. That man terrifies me.”

  “What’s his power?” asked Ernst curiously.

  “He doesn’t have any power,” said Rook Thomas. “He just shouts a lot.”

  37

  Do you have a dress for the reception?” Odette asked Felicity in the car after lunch. “Or do you have to wear a uniform of some sort?”

  “I think if a woman showed up to a Checquy reception in a uniform, Lady Farrier would have her assassinated,” said Felicity. “The quartermaster has my measurements; they sent over a gown while we were out.”

  “You haven’t even seen it?”

  “I’ll see it in ten minutes,” said the Pawn, “when we get to the hotel.”

  “I’d put it closer to twenty,” said Odette. “The traffic is terrible.” Their car was progressing in fits and starts, like an opera singer who had been hit with a hockey stick right in the middle of an aria but who was determined that the show would go on.

  “Rush hour.” Clements shrugged. “Just be glad you’re not out in it.” Hordes of pedestrians washed by the car, and the Pawn averted her gaze as if they were all naked.

  “You’re not a fan of crowds, are you?” asked Odette. The Pawn looked at her and seemed to be weighing something.

  “I’m not a fan of the public, really,” she said finally. “You know, normal people. They make me nervous. They always have, ever since I moved here from the Estate.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. There’s so many of them. And they just wander through life, completely unaware of everything that’s going on around them. It’s like they’re cattle. And we’re watching over them.”

  “Cattle,” repeated Odette.

  “Or sheep. Sheep that could rise up and burn us all at the stake if they found out about us. We’re always told at school how important it is to keep ourselves secret. And mostly it’s because of what the knowledge would do to the British people if they found out. But we all know it’s also because of what they would do to us.” She looked out the window. “So many of them,” she mused. “So few of us.” Then she frowned. “Huh.”

  “What is it?” asked Odette.

  “I think I know that guy,” Clements said, squinting through the glass.

  “Yeah? Which one?”

  “The homeless gay guy.”

  “What?” said Odette. “How can you even tell he’s gay? Or homeless, for that matter?” she added self-righteously.

  “Don’t give me that look. He’s holding hands with another man,” said the Pawn. “And he’s dressed like he has no home. Or at least no wardrobe.” Odette peered out at the crowd and identified the man in question. She had to admit, Felicity had a point. The man was middle-aged and dressed in sweatpants and a rumpled and heavily stained T-shirt. He had the sort of hesitant, patchy beard that looks decidedly unplanned and the blank stare of one who has been partaking of substances of dubious legality. In contrast, the dark-haired man whose hand he held appeared to be in his midtwenties and was dressed in a beautifully cut blue suit and designer sunglasses.

  What an odd couple, Odette thought. “And how do you know him?” she asked as the two men walked away down the street. It was a sign of the slowness of the traffic that the peculiar pair were proceeding far more swiftly than the cars.

  “I’m not sure,” said Felicity. “I realize this sounds dreadful, but he doesn’t look like anyone I would know.” She shrugged. “Maybe I don’t know him after all.”

  They settled back as the car made absolutely no progress whatsoever.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Odette after several long minutes.

  “Sorry, Miss Leliefeld,” said the driver. “It’s the worst time of day, and there was an accident on the A4, so traffic’s a nightmare everywhere. I thought this route would be quicker.”

  “It’s not your fault, Tom,” said Odette. “It’s just, I rather need to go to the bathroom.” The traffic ahead showed no sign of dissipating and, indeed, appeared to be hunkering down for a long hibernation.

  “Tom, I think we’ll walk the rest of the way,” said the Pawn.

  “Are you sure?” asked the driver.

  “Yes, it’s fine. It’s just a few blocks to Park Lane.”

  The world outside the car was much brighter, warmer, and noisier. Shoppers, tourists, and commuters were all bustling up and down Oxford Street. Felicity seemed to sway against the roar of the city, but then she braced herself and gestured for Odette to follow. They weaved their way through the populace, all of whom seemed to be going in the opposite direction purely out of spite.

  “Wait a minute,” said Clements. She grabbed Odette’s sleeve. “Wait a minute.” Her eyes were narrowed in frantic calculation.

  “What?”

  “I think I know how I recognize that man.”

  “The homeless guy who might be gay or might just be unbound by the traditional strictures of heterosexual male friendship?”

  “I—what?” asked the Pawn, coming out of her thoughts for a moment to cope with this new observation.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Shut up. I know who that guy was.” Her free hand slid inside her coat.

  “Who was it?” asked Odette, bewildered by the Pawn’s intensity.

  “Where are they? Did we pass them?” Clements was scanning the pavement, but the crowd prevented her from seeing very far. “Shit. What should we do?” she wondered, almost to herself. She hadn’t let go of Odette’s sleeve. “I need a discreet place to call the Rook. Damn it, where’s the car?”

  “Felicity, who was that man?” Finally, the Pawn looked at her.

  “One of the sleepwalkers,” she said. “One of the people abducted by your friends.”

  And then the screams began.

  Blocks ahead of them, there was a huge, impossible plume of . . . smoke? Mist? Odette couldn’t tell. It was boiling up into the sky, already as tall as the buildings around them. Is it a volcano? she thought ridiculously. The column was thick, yellow-green, and impenetrable, and it roiled gently, its whorls and tendrils reaching out.

  As she gazed at it, Odette realized that the cloud was expanding, filling the street and washing down toward them. Its size in the sky had made it seem slow, but it was cascading between buildings, surging forward. There were gasps and cries of panic from the crowd, but very distantly, from inside the cloud, came screams of a different kind. It wasn’t the sound of people panicking; it was the sound of people in agony.

  What did you do? thought Odette, frozen in horror. Oh, Pim, what did you do?

  Beside her, Clements was not frozen in horror. She pulled Odette back and pushed her against the wall of a shop. The crowds were rapidly coming to the realization that they should flee. People turned and pressed and shoved against the two women, scrabbling to get away. They spilled off the walk and out of the buildings into the streets. Motorists abandoned their cars and joined in the exodus.

  “Clements, we have to go!”

  “Wait,” said the Pawn, taking out her phone. She looked at Odette calculatingly, and her hand closed more firmly on Odette’s wrist. “What is that? What have they done?”

  “I don’t know, I swear,” said Odette. “But it doesn’t sound good. We have to try to get away!”

  “That’s not our first priority.” She hit an icon on her phone screen. “This is Pawn Clements. There is an explicit manifestation in the city of Westminster.” She paused. “Good. Advise them that there are screams coming from within the cloud.” Another pause. “Well, then, please advise Rook Thomas—and only Rook Thomas—that it is confirmed to be the work of the Antagonists. I witnessed a sleepwalker accompanied by a young male in sunglasses wearing a blue Mus and Gloucester suit proceeding along Oxford Street toward Park Lane a few minutes ago . . . no, you don’t
need to know what that means. They’ll be able to find them on the recordings.” She hung up.

  “Okay, great, you’ve done your duty. Now can we run away?” demanded Odette. The cloud was bearing down on them.

  “Absolutely,” said Clements. She didn’t say what they both knew—that they couldn’t outrun it and that they would never have been able to even if they’d started running as soon as they saw it. At least it will give us something to do, Felicity thought. The two women turned and joined the stampede fleeing down Oxford Street.

  Felicity and Odette were immediately buffeted on all sides. The legendary willingness of the British people to form an orderly queue had, quite understandably, been shattered by the appearance of this nightmare. Images of the Blitz, memories of various terrorist attacks, and the instinctive fear of the inexplicable had all combined to drive the crowd forward like panicked bison. Except they weren’t animals. There were no children or elderly people lying abandoned in ditches. As the mob ran, a man off to the side stumbled and fell, and Odette saw two people pull up and stop to help him, dragging him to his feet. The crowd pushed on, but no one was crushed or trampled.

  Possessions had been ditched, shopping bags and satchels dropped. A bicycle lay on the ground, its owner presumably having realized that he could make no headway with it. Felicity leapt over it, and her iron grip on Odette’s wrist meant that she had to leap over it as well.

  “Come on! Come on!” Clements said, panting, which Odette thought was rich, after the Pawn had made them wait. “Come on!”

  The wall of fog was casting a shadow over them. Odette risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that it was barely meters away. It was dense, like a yellow-green ocean wave, and there were vague silhouettes of people falling as it overtook them. The screaming was closer too, hundreds of voices strong, so it seemed like the cloud itself was shrieking.

  “Come on!”

  Then the fog washed over them, and the sun was cut away.