by M. K. Hobson
“Why not, indeed, use the broad side of a barn?” Miss Jesczenka said. “I don’t see the profit in this line of inquiry.”
“Because you do not know your Russian mythology,” Perun said. “You never learned the story of Baba-Yaga and the God of Oaths.”
“I know that story,” Emily said. “My father told it to me.” She searched her memory. “My father said I was supposed to tell it to his friends when I found them. And only in Russian, never in English.”
Perun nodded, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.
“Tell us now, Miss Edwards,” he prompted gently.
“Baba-Yaga had a house with four chicken legs,” Emily said, remembering the strange tale. “The God of Oaths had the heart of his true love locked away in a box of silver and gold, and demons wanted to take it from him. Demons with knives for fingers, and razor sharp teeth. So he hid the box in Baba-Yaga’s hair.” Emily reached up, fingered one coppery-brown curl. “He told me the story when he was washing my hair. He washed it with something that burned.”
Perun looked at Miss Jesczenka.
“Lyakhov would never have been so careless as to hide the complete secret in one object only. He would have employed more complex means—a two-part code. One part on a pair of hair sticks. The other on the hair itself.”
“Then you are implying that he was a monster,” Miss Jesczenka said, her words clipped. “For only a monster would have hidden such a deadly secret in the hair of his own child. What about his wife? Wouldn’t she be a more likely candidate?”
Perun opened his silver case, tapped a cigarette against it quickly.
“He would not have put the secret in Catherine Kendall’s hair. She was cursed. Possessed by the vengeful spirit of a Warlock one of her ancestors pressed to death,” Perun said. “She could not be trusted.”
“And a five-year-old child could be?” Miss Jesczenka said.
“Miss Jesczenka, I am looking at this logically,” Perun slammed down the cigarette case on the table. The samovar rattled.
“No. You are looking at it desperately, as a man who has lost his last hope.” Miss Jesczenka glared at him. “You have lost the poison. You are scrounging for a shred of promise where none remains.”
The two of them glared at each other for long moments. Perun was the first to break the gaze, lifting his hands.
“Fine. There is an easy test to see if I am right. Shall we conduct it? If I am wrong, I will allow Miss Edwards to go her own way. Whether that’s with you, back to that crumbling Institute and Mr. Stanton, who is in no position to protect her from the blood sorcerers who want to kill her … well, that’s her decision to make.”
“What test?” Emily asked.
“I will require a small piece of your hair.” Perun reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors.
“All ready, I see,” Miss Jesczenka observed, her eyes narrowing.
“I anticipated that this would be necessary,” Perun countered. He looked at Emily, his gaze softer. “May I?”
Emily leaned forward. Perun snipped a small curl from behind her ear. He lifted his teacup and set it aside, sprinkled the strands of hair into the saucer. He snapped his fingers meaningfully at Dmitri, who stepped out of the room and returned quickly with a rattling leather bag.
“If Lyakhov encrypted the information as I believe he did, he would have chemically treated Miss Edwards’ hair in a special way. The chemical will have changed the structure of her hair’s follicles, so that no matter how much hair she loses, the hair she regrows will contain the same properties.”
“What properties?”
“You know that it is the shape of the hair follicles that results in the hair’s curliness, do you not? The exact shape of the curl defines a precise sine curve. The measure of that curve is the value to which the information on the hair sticks is coded.” Perun took the leather bag, opened it, fished inside for a small bottle. “This type of two-stage encryption has been used within the Sini Mira before, for highly sensitive information.”
He pulled the cork stopper from the bottle. A sharp odor filled the room as he swirled the liquid between his fingers.
“The chemical used to etch the hair follicles changes the molecular structure of the hair in a unique way. This chemical will indicate the presence of that unique molecular structure. If I am correct, the hair in this dish will glow with a blue color.”
He dripped the chemical into the saucer. Emily watched as the hair curled, damped, and glowed the blue of a summer sky. Nodding, Perun pushed the dish toward Miss Jesczenka and Emily so they could examine it more closely.
“Ingenious, isn’t it?” He capped the bottle, placed it back into his leather bag.
“And just as likely to be an ingenious deception,” Miss Jesczenka said. “You scientists have chemicals that will make anything do anything. I know the tricks of science, just as I know the tricks of magic.”
“This is no trick,” Perun said. “It is the one slim advantage that remains to us.”
“So slim, indeed, as to be indiscernible. Pray elaborate.”
“I believe the sangrimancers will examine the hair sticks, find that they are unable to fully decipher them, and refrain from their immediate destruction. Thus, there may be a chance to retrieve them.”
“Well, that’s an optimistic supposition!” Miss Jesczenka snorted. Emily had never heard the woman snort before. “What conceivable need would they have to decipher the formula? There’s no reason not to simply destroy the hair sticks and be done with it.”
“But unless they decipher the writing on them, the Temple cannot be sure that they have what they think they have,” Perun noted. “They cannot be sure that it is the formula for Volos’ Anodyne. And so … they need Miss Edwards to be sure.”
“Then Miss Edwards is our slim advantage.”
“They’ve already expressed a very pointed desire for her death, so it’s possible that they’ve intuited the connection already.” He paused. “It’s clear that no matter what, she’s in grave danger. They will not stop at clipping a curl of her hair. They will not rest until she is dead, her body burned, and her ashes scattered to the wind.”
Miss Jesczenka shook her head, sighed heavily. But it was a sigh of resignation, not disagreement. She tilted her head at Perun once more. “What do you want, exactly?”
“I want the Institute’s help,” he said.
“Even if the Institute were willing to help the Sini Mira, it is in no position to do so,” Miss Jesczenka said. “It is not strong enough.”
“But you have a way to rectify that situation, don’t you, Miss Jesczenka?” Perun’s voice was suggestive.
“What is he talking about?” Emily said, but Miss Jesczenka did not even look at her.
“How did you know?” Miss Jesczenka asked softly.
“I know enough about credomancy to recognize the makings of a classic Talleyrand Maneuver. And I know about you and Fortissimus. The rest was easy to deduce.”
Miss Jesczenka studied the table’s colorful cloth as if there were something fascinating in the paisley pattern.
“We must have the Institute’s help if we are to reclaim the hair sticks,” Perun said. Then more gently, he added, “It would also be nice to rescue Emeritus Zeno, don’t you think?”
“But Emeritus Zeno is dead,” Emily said.
Perun turned a piercing gaze on her that made Emily squirm uncomfortably.
“What did you say?” he said, his voice terribly quiet.
Hadn’t they discussed this? If so, when? She couldn’t remember now. But why had she thought … Emily knit her brow.
“I’m sorry. But … I …” She looked at Miss Jesczenka for help, but the woman’s eyes were full of anxious hurt, ice to Perun’s fire. She looked away quickly. “I saw it. I saw him die. In the Temple … his throat was slashed. He was bleeding, so much blood … I saw it all in a vision. A Cassandra.”
“You see visions?” Miss Jesczenka prompted softly.
Emily fell into silent recollection and did not speak for a long time. Then she shook herself.
“I get them from Ososolyeh, just as Komé did. Ososolyeh … shows me things.” She looked toward Perun, but did not dare meet his gaze. “Things as you have described them. Temamauhti, a world transformed by Black Exunge, a Goddess with knives for fingers …” She looked back down at the table. “All of it.”
“Such a connection with the Great Mother is rare indeed,” Perun said, his voice distant. “That is a terrible shame about poor Benedictus. A very great shame.” He passed a hand over his eyes, held it there for some moments. When he let it drop, however, there were no tears—only the shine of uncompromising determination.
“I will give you one day,” he said to Miss Jesczenka. “Make the arrangements necessary to deliver the coup de grâce of the Talleyrand Maneuver.”
“One day?” Miss Jesczenka almost shrieked. “Perun, you can’t—”
“When the power of the Institute has been restored, you must swear you will ensure that it is used to thwart the Temple of Itztlacoliuhqui.”
“If I agree, I will be swearing to help you find the poison that could undermine the practice of magic. My entire life’s work—everything I’ve built for myself—may be for naught.” Miss Jesczenka’s brown eyes sparkled with fury. “If I don’t, my entire life’s work will certainly be for naught. Destroyed, along with the rest of the world, in a blood apocalypse of unimaginable proportions.” Miss Jesczenka spoke through gritted teeth. “Damn you, Perun. What do you expect me to say to that?”
“Checkmate?” Perun suggested.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Talleyrand Maneuver
“Dmitri and his men will be at your disposal,” Perun said, after Miss Jesczenka’s long silence seemed to satisfy him of her acceptance of his terms. “He will see that you are provided with everything you need.”
Miss Jesczenka narrowed her eyes at him. “You understand that I must return to the Institute to perform my work. I know Miss Edwards will have to stay, but—”
“You will work from here.” Perun seemed to recall that he hadn’t had a cigarette in quite some time; with a trembling hand he reached for the case on the table and the cigarette he’d tapped against it sometime before. He struck a match and lit it, looking at Miss Jesczenka through the flame.
“Impossible.” Her voice was clipped. “All my things … address books, press lists, contacts … Those are the tools of my trade. How can you expect me to operate without them?”
“You’re a brilliant woman, and I’m sure your memory is excellent.” Perun blew out the flame with a small puff. “I cannot allow you to leave. This location is secret, and must remain so.”
“I was blindfolded when I came. I can be blindfolded again.” She paused. “Are you saying I am a prisoner?”
“I am saying that you must do what you can from here. You will not be allowed to return to the Institute. Miss Edwards’ safety and the safety of Volos’ Anodyne are now one and the same. I will not allow either to be put in jeopardy.”
“I must be able to contact the outside world,” Miss Jesczenka said. “Even you can understand that!”
Perun nodded. “Writing supplies will be provided for you. Dmitri will arrange for messages to be carried.”
Miss Jesczenka glanced at Emily, and Emily could see her internally debating whether to speak the words she spoke next.
“Mr. Stanton won’t be able to hold up without my help,” Miss Jesczenka said finally, quickly. “He’s upset about Miss Edwards’ disappearance. You must let her contact him, or it could destroy the last bit of power he has left before I’m able to execute the Talleyrand Maneuver.”
“No,” Dmitri said curtly. “The less he knows, the less likely he is to send a squadron of his thugs into the streets looking for her.”
“To send men to rescue her,” Miss Jesczenka corrected him sharply. “From her kidnappers.”
“Miss Jesczenka, why must you continue to hold us up in such an ugly light?” Perun asked. “We saved Miss Edwards’ life. We mean neither of you any harm. We cannot afford the smallest of false moves. You must understand this.”
It was his last word on the subject. He swept from the room in a cloud of smoke, slamming the door behind himself.
“Follow me, Miss Jesczenka,” Dmitri said. “I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”
Upstairs, in another small crate-packed room with a tiny creaky table for a desk and a dusty kerosene lamp to shed light on it, Miss Jesczenka threw up her hands. She looked at a pile of paper and a pen that had been neatly arranged on the table. She picked up the pen, looked at it, and threw it down with restrained fury, as if it was the sole author of her annoyance.
“One day? Without any of my tools? I can’t possibly pull it off!” She sank into the chair and pressed a hand to her cheek. Her brown eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. “But of course, he’s right, it must be on Thursday. Otherwise we’d have no choice but to wait until Tuesday, and by then …”
“Pull what off?” Emily asked. “What is all this about? What’s a Talleyrand Maneuver?”
Miss Jesczenka glanced over at Dmitri, who was standing guard by the door, then gestured to Emily. Together, they moved to a far corner of the room, sat on a packing crate by a window that overlooked the narrow backyard below. She put her head close to Emily’s.
“There is something I must tell you, Miss Edwards,” Miss Jesczenka said in a low quick voice. “I’m afraid it will be rather shocking.” She paused, drawing in a breath. When she spoke, the words were slow and carefully measured. “I am the one destroying the Institute.”
Emily gaped at her.
“I am the one subverting Mr. Stanton’s power. I have been playing both sides of the fence. But not to destroy him,” she added quickly. “To help him. It’s a very advanced credomantic technique called a Talleyrand Maneuver.”
Emily held her mouth tight, stared at the woman. Fury kindled beneath her breastbone. “Did you put out that book?”
“No.” Miss Jesczenka held up her hands, as if she were afraid Emily might jump her. “I swear to you, that was Fortissimus. I’m sure he had that vicious thing ready and waiting long before the Investment. My suspicion is that he invited General Blotgate and that odious wife of his with the specific intention of reinforcing the book’s destructive power. But everything else, everything after that, was me. I sabotaged the public Haälbeck doors. I made the shelves collapse in Mr. Stanton’s office, and I caused that annoying lawyer to break his leg. Furthermore, I have been in discussions with disloyal professors who believe me to be one of their own. In all ways, I have worked to undermine Mr. Stanton’s authority.”
Emily couldn’t think of even one word to say. Miss Jesczenka saw the hurt and puzzlement in her face. She placed a hand over Emily’s, but Emily snatched hers away.
“Please, hear me out,” Miss Jesczenka said. “What I’ve done, I’ve done for Mr. Stanton’s benefit.”
“Really?” Emily said softly. “Or are you lying, too, just like everyone else? To serve your own ends?”
“I’m not lying,” Miss Jesczenka said. “I really do want to help Mr. Stanton. A Talleyrand Maneuver, if executed properly, will leave him stronger than he was before, with the full power of the Institute returned to him and then some. Now please stop scowling at me and let me explain.”
She took another deep breath.
“The Talleyrand Maneuver takes its name from a brilliant French politician who was born over a hundred years ago. His name was Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord. He was thoroughly corrupt, he was a blatant opportunist, and he was a traitor to every master he ever served, from the Pope to Napoléon Bonaparte to King Louis Philippe.”
“It sounds as though the two of you have quite a lot in common,” Emily commented frostily.
“While I understand that was not intended as a compliment,” Miss Jesczenka said, “I am honored to be compared to Monsieur Tall
eyrand. He was one of the greatest credomantic practitioners in recent history. I have made a special study of his life and methods.”
“So Mr. Stanton is to be your Napoléon?” Emily said bitterly. “You’re going to throw him to the dogs for history to chew over?”
“No, Miss Edwards. Mr. Stanton is not Napoléon. He’s not even Louis XVIII—though Talleyrand’s manipulation of that monarch’s fortunes most closely parallels my actual intent. Really, Mr. Stanton isn’t any of the temporal heads of state that Talleyrand used as pawns. Mr. Stanton is larger than that, metaphorically.”
Emily waited for the other shoe to drop. When it did not drop immediately, she prompted: “Metaphorically?”
“Talleyrand was a traitor to every master save one,” Miss Jesczenka said. “France.”
“So Mr. Stanton is France. And while you are a traitor to Mr. Stanton, you are not a traitor to France.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, then,” Emily said. “That clears everything up entirely!”
Miss Jesczenka frowned at her. “Sarcasm really does not become you, Miss Edwards. And there is a difference between not understanding and being willfully obtuse.”
Emily let out a breath. After a moment, she gestured for Miss Jesczenka to go on. Miss Jesczenka smoothed her skirt and rested one slender white hand over the other.
“Talleyrand once said, ‘The art of statesmanship is to foresee the inevitable and to expedite its occurrence.’ After Emeritus Zeno’s disappearance, it was inevitable that Mr. Stanton would lose control of the Institute. It was inevitable that Fortissimus would attempt to take it from him. It was inevitable that Mr. Stanton would not have the strength to defend against him, even with all the ammunition the Institute has stockpiled against Fortissimus—”