“You heard my statement,” Avior interrupted. “What more do you want?”
“Statements aren’t worth much if you’ve turned king’s evidence.”
“I haven’t.” Avior didn’t seem upset by the accusation. “You’re imagining things because you’re stressed, but if you think clearly, you’ll recall that killing him means as much to me as it does to you—more.”
“Because you want to summon a ‘demon’?” Lindo snorted. “Haven’t you given that nonsense up?”
“Never.”
“Really,” said Lindo. “Then why haven’t you been pestering me to return your ‘expert’?” She was addressing the other prefects as much as Avior. “Lucio found some hack who promised to help him summon a demon—without even checking whether he was an employee for the CSS, which he was. I arrested him, naturally. And since then, Lucio has barely mentioned him! He certainly hasn’t begged for him back. Is this the man he wants us to think he is? The man who’d do anything rather than let his one chance at summoning a demon slip between his fingers?”
“Wait, we’re not doing the summoning?” Tey asked. “I thought that was, like, a thing.”
“We are doing it,” Avior said, cold fire burning behind his eyes, “if you want my support. I haven’t been pestering you for Jon back, Graça, because I have a replacement—someone almost as good.” He twirled his hand my way. “Jon’s apprentice.”
The room erupted into a mass of confused questions, shocked exclamations, and suspicious mutterings:
“Her?”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“Prefect Edenfield’s into demonology?”
“I thought she wasn’t your agent. Does this mean she is your agent?”
“So we have another crazy prefect. We were only ever going through with this summoning thing to appease Avior—why not appease her, while we’re at it?”
I coughed into my fist until I got their attention. “I believe,” I said, “that I know what Lucio is referring to. As many of you are aware, I worked alongside of Jon Nordfeld for several years in his capacity of cryptanalyst. Unfortunately, that’s where the difficulty comes in. You see, in my opinion, Jon Nordfeld is the last man in the world to be involved with demonology. He certainly never mentioned it to me, and he is, besides, an eminently respectable individual.”
“Demonology is perfectly respectful,” Avior said.
I flatted my lips to indicate that it certainly was not, even as I said, “Be that as it may, it is my belief that Avior’s expert contacted him under an assumed name—Sr. Nordfeld’s name—to protect his identity.”
“So why were you expecting him here?” Lindo shot at me.
I blinked at her. “Why,” I said, “because he told me that Prefect Avior had invited him. He was quite honored. I assume,” I said, with perilous humor, “that Prefect Avior didn’t tell him the reason for his invitation. What a nasty shock he must have gotten! He guards his reputation terribly, and this will be a blow.”
“So we’re not doing this pretend demon-summoning thing?” Tey pressed.
“It’s not pretend!” Avior snapped. “You don’t have to believe in it, but you do have to do it—that was the deal. And if you renege, you’ll find yourself a greater enemy than you can imagine!”
“What grown man believes in demons in this day and age?” Silvertip wondered. “And if he doesn’t believe, why insist on the summoning? What does he get out of it?”
“A demon?” Tey suggested, and tittered.
“No,” Canopus said, staring hard at Avior. “He gets us. He gets us, in the time and place of his choosing, making a treasonous declaration. That’s what he wants: evidence. Something to put on record.”
“That’s what Nordfeld was for,” Lindo realized. “An eminently respectable individual, and a member of the Carinan Security Service, to witness. Maybe he has a specialized recording device; maybe he doesn’t need one. The word of a CSS man must be worth a lot, when paired with a prefect.” Her eyes narrowed. “My knights didn’t find anything when they searched him, which means Avior must have been planning to pass the device on . . . or, more likely, record the meeting himself.”
“None of that is true,” Avior protested. “You know I don’t care about the politics or any of the rest of it: I want my demon, and you promised me you’d help me summon one. You promised.”
“I don’t believe him,” said Canopus. “Do you?”
“No,” Lindo said, “I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” Hemmel put in.
“This seems strange,” Fjordland murmured. “Why are you attacking Lucio? He’s a good boy.”
“If Nordfeld’s not available, is there any harm in doing the summoning?” Silvertip wondered. “If that’s what Avior actually wants, let him have it. He gets his way (if that is his way), and we get ours. Problem solved.”
“But I can’t do it without my expert!” Avior protested. “You, Edenfield, why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t do it?”
“I did,” I said, but I didn’t think Avior was listening any more this time than the last time.
“That plan solves nothing, you blithering idiot,” Canopus spat at Silvertip. “He’s betrayed us. What if the king already knows, and this was meant only as the final proof? Or what if he runs off to warn him?”
Avior crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere until I get my summoning.”
“Then we keep Avior and Nordfeld where we can watch them until after we deal with the king—obviously,” Silvertip told Canopus. “Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?”
“We will summon my demon,” Avior insisted.
“Why don’t we—” Hemmel began, but no prefects heard the rest of the sentence; they were too busy shouting at one another.
I sat back and watched them. Batata caught my eye and rolled his, but I looked away.
“SHUT UP!” Lindo bellowed. “EVERYONE, JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”
No one shut up, and no one listened. No one but me paid Lindo any attention whatsoever except Hemmel, who looked faintly ashamed for her. I’d witnessed that more than once, over the past couple of days: that the other prefects dealt with Lindo’s irrationality by ignoring it and hoping it went away—and that, for the most part, it did. I was therefore not overly shocked when, after her first few attempts to bellow herself into prominence, she pulled out her phone and began texting furiously.
How weird would it be if I went for a bathroom break? No, they were too suspicious. Francis, you idiot, I thought again, and stopped there, because I was the idiot who’d told my sleep-deprived brother about Torben . . . and had made no effort to get Francis back afterward.
I could just imagine how pleased Francis was with me, after more than thirty hours locked up in the knighthouse. Maybe if I apologized really sincerely—
Lindo slammed her phone down on the table. She didn’t bother with yelling again. She grabbed Avior’s chair, dragged it back and, when he tried to stand, slammed him down with a hand on each shoulder. “You want us to believe you’re innocent, you’re going to have to prove it,” she informed him.
We heard her this time. We could’ve heard a tack drop.
Avior was more peevish than impressed. “How am I supposed to prove anything when you’ve kidnapped my expert and that woman”—a finger jabbed my way—“refuses to help?”
True, but not fair. “I told you—”
“Excuse me, I was talking,” Lindo interrupted.
I was quite impressed with myself, the way I chomped down on my response and gestured submissively for her to continue.
Avior wasn’t so politic. He grumbled, “If Jon were here, I could show you. You had no right to keep him away from me. And she”—glowering at me—“didn’t tell me until too late that she was useless . . . could have broken him out if I’d known she wasn’t going to help . . . still could . . .”
“Do stop whining,” said Canopus.
Lindo slammed her
fist down on the table. “If any of you would listen to me, you’d know that Jon Nordfeld isn’t in Lindo. He’s in the woods, camped out with my women.”
Avior’s complaints died off, leaving his mouth open.
“My knights started traveling the moment I left,” Lindo went on, satisfied that she finally had our full and undivided attention. “They arrived Monday night. I knew I’d need them, and I wanted them on hand. I’ve just ordered them to move in. Edenfield Manor will be under my complete control in twenty minutes.”
The others started yelling again at that—
“You brought your knights here? Here?”
“Are you insane?”
“You did what?”
—but I was slower. A train of thought chugged through my brain, hooting and whistling, lights flashing, wind whipping the moisture from my tongue.
I’d been content to play Bo’s stand-in, to relay everything back to him (or back to Torben’s sheaf of papers), but I was more than Bo’s voice in the conference. I wore the ring of Edenfield Prefecture. I was Prefect Edenfield, not just acting, but the actual prefect, until such a time as Bo returned, with all the powers and duties that entailed. And the number-one priority of any prefect is to protect the sovereignty of her prefecture—and thereby protect her citizens.
I was Prefect Edenfield, and another prefect had, without permission, brought her knights into my prefecture with the intention of taking control of my manor, my seat of power. She had done this, furthermore, for the purpose of preventing me from acting freely.
That was bad enough on its own. But for another prefect to do this during the conference, when the king was on his way, was absolutely—was beyond—was—was simply not acceptable, and it was up to me to stop it. And I had to stop it here, because fine knights though Olaf, Roald, and Torben undoubtedly were, no way could they beat back the full power of Lindo Prefecture.
I stood abruptly, rocking the table. “If you’re declaring war on Edenfield,” I said, voice sturdy and furious, “have the decency to do so before you invade.”
“Sit down, Edenfield,” Lindo snapped. “This isn’t about you.”
She was taller than I, but I’d had more practice. I shot her a double-barreled glare through my glasses and kept my shoulders back, my head up. “This is my prefecture,” I said. “Your knights are not permitted here without my explicit permission.”
Lindo snorted. “Having proper backup is more important than stroking your piddling pride.”
“I have backup.”
She laughed at me. She wasn’t the only one.
“After spending an hour complaining about how stretched thin you were?” Hemmel said, in between chuckles. “You were begging for reinforcements!”
“I haven’t seen a single knight since arriving,” Tey put in. “Do you think she has anyone except those ancient servants?”
“How could she fit any, in that tiny knighthouse?”
The two of them might have really hurt my feelings, if I cared what they thought. As it was, I let them prance and otherwise expose themselves. I wouldn’t look at them, wouldn’t acknowledge them, wouldn’t engage with them.
I said, “Prefect Lindo, I forbid you to bring knights into my capital or to my manor. I demand that you remove all knights from my prefecture at once.”
“Or what? Face your displeasure?” Lindo rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Edenfield. You’ve no more power here than Batata, and it’s high time you realized that.”
“Maybe she’ll try to arrest you, if you don’t do what she says,” Silvertip told Lindo, snickering. Had even he lost his fear of me?
“I have sworn to protect Edenfield from hostile forces, and that includes those from other prefectures. Remove your knights, prefect,” I said, still focusing solely on Lindo. “I will do what is necessary to fulfill my duty.”
“What’s necessary is you calming down,” said Avior.
Lindo looked down her nose at me. In another of her unpredictable shifts, she was not out of control now—not now she felt she was in control. “My knights aren’t hostile toward you unless you act against me,” she said, as one speaking to a child. “And before you try,” she warned, “know that, as a precaution, my people have disabled local phone and internet access.”
Knocking out communications: the first task of any hostile force intent upon invasion.
“Sit down, Edenfield,” Hemmel said.
“You’re taking this too seriously,” Canopus said.
“Go cool your head,” Tey said.
There’s nothing quite as infuriating as being told you’re overreacting . . . except possibly when you wonder if you are . . . except when you know that, regardless, you can’t do anything about the situation.
I’ve tried my best, throughout my life, to never show my anger when I can’t follow through on it. Lindo had looked absolutely ridiculous, throwing a fit that no one listened to and no one took seriously—and that she hadn’t the power to enforce.
Real power doesn’t require fits, and if I started yelling, I’d only be demonstrating my level of powerlessness. Absolutely the only reason to do that would be if I wanted to make myself look ridiculous—and how would that help me with my end goal? I needed to get back to the children’s room, pick up the recording, and escape, not deal with this.
But oh, how it burned.
I sat and said stiffly, “I’ll expect an apology from you over this, Prefect Lindo. In the form of favorable trade negotiations.”
“I don’t see that I have anything to apologize for,” she said.
I smiled pleasantly and fantasized about throttling her. “Maybe not,” I said, “but our fellow prefects may wish to consider the precedent you are setting.”
“Let’s get back to what’s important,” said Avior. “Jon Nordfeld. I want him. I insist on having him. And I insist that everyone uphold our bargain. We summon the demon, or I’m out.”
The other prefects didn’t tell him to shut up. Unlike Edenfield, Avior had money.
“Here’s what I propose,” said Lindo: “we bring Nordfeld here. My knights will search him again before he arrives to ensure he’s not carrying any illicit technology. Once he does his summoning—regardless of whether it works—we lock him up until everything’s finished. In the meantime, we search Avior to make sure he’s not carrying anything.”
Avior put his phone on the table. “Now I’m not,” he said, and stepped back. Without being asked, without a hint of bashfulness, he stripped to his underwear and let Silvertip and Hemmel pat him down while Lindo went through his pockets. She found a few tissues, a wallet, a bit of lint—and absolutely nothing that could be used as a recording device. She pocketed the phone herself, presumably to be returned at some later date.
“Clear,” Silvertip pronounced.
“Get dressed,” Lindo told Avior. “My knights will arrive soon with Nordfeld—and I don’t want anyone to give the game away. When Nordfeld gets here, Avior will ask him where he wants to summon the demon. Once he gives his answer, we’ll search his chosen room. If we find anything out of place, we’ll know he’s a spy and treat him accordingly.”
“And when you don’t find anything, you’ll go through with the summoning,” said Avior.
“If we don’t find anything.”
Avior beamed at us as he buttoned his shirt, serenely confident. “You won’t.”
Chapter 29:
Apostasy
Prefect Lindo’s knights were admirably quick and efficient and reached us two minutes earlier than expected. That gave me plenty of time to worry about them finding the spy equipment in the attic but not nearly enough time for me to figure out a satisfactory plan for turning such a discovery to my advantage.
Or to figure out how to stop them from jumping from that find to wondering whether, maybe, there might be spy equipment planted somewhere else as well. Such as in the conference room.
The knights arrived. Tey pulled aside the curtain, and we looked out to the west, toward t
he tree line on the opposite side of the manor from the knighthouse. Knights swarmed out of the woods in orderly jogs and spread out in every direction, gushes of turquoise and charcoal gray. Dozens of them, and likely dozens more I couldn’t see. The vast majority were women: stocky, compact, and in peak physical condition. Not one showed a flicker of feeling that it was, perhaps, not entirely appropriate for them to be taking over Edenfield Manor.
I watched them, prefects crowded on either side of me, and thought that if I had tried to escape, back when the prefects had been arguing, I wouldn’t have made it far.
The door opened behind us, but it was only Prefect Lindo stepping out for a moment to speak with her knights. When she returned, she brought Sr. Nordfeld with her.
His suit was rumpled, his face tired, his complexion unhealthy white over pink. He looked every one of his thirty-five years and entirely out of his element. He belonged in a comfortable office, solving a puzzle or raising his eyebrows at me over the edge of his newspaper, impeccably attired with a cup of tea by his hand. He didn’t belong here, dirty and fatigued, being drooled over by scheming and treacherous prefects.
Yet here he was, because it was his duty.
He saw me as I saw him. I loosened my arms and gave him a hint: “Jon,” I said, smirking. “How nice to see you.”
His expression, already impassive, went completely and carefully blank. “Mercedes, what is this?” he asked. He glanced around at the company I was keeping and asked lightly, “Have you become a prefect in my absence?”
I extended my hand, showing off the ring. “Excellent guess, sir.”
“So he didn’t plan it,” Avior murmured. “Interesting.” He didn’t interrupt us, though, and neither did the others; they were busy watching Sr. Nordfeld with intense and unhealthy attention.
Sr. Nordfeld’s eyes traveled around the room, taking them in: Avior’s satisfaction, Batata’s resignation, Canopus’s contempt, Fjordland’s vague geniality, Hemmel’s patience, Lindo’s aggression, Silvertip’s knowing amusement, Tey’s anticipation . . . and the normal Edenfield’s absence.
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