Might be a way to run it if you’re a monopoly though and the in-fighting over who runs each product line is open to popular elections. Democracy is probably better than all the other governmental systems we humans have fucked up, but it sure does invite corruption and backroom dealing. Fuck me, the Anima Detection Lenses account has half a billion in it and it’s just sitting there . . .
No wonder I was beating these cocksuckers.
Give me that half a billion and I’ll cure Anima Madness in a year . . . be quicker, but I’m probably gonna spend the next three months of my life locked in a room having nonstop sex with my girlfriend.
I flew to another row of filing cabinets, only to frown after opening a file inside of it. Different information. Guild portfolios on the members. Aiden Ridgeway, Auxiliary Member . . . copyedits scientific papers and design documents. Next file . . . Nile Riggs. Alphabetical. Okay. So whose file did I want to read? Massey and MacNess for sure, Plutrach . . . and Paine?
MacNess was first up. Give it up to the Guild, they’re thorough at least. Ulysses MacNess, born in Inverness, Scotland. Older than I thought by about ten years, graduate of Her Royal Majesty’s . . . blah, blah. Geomancer, Ultra . . . blah, blah. Failed to master a single artifact design in his first year as a Journeyman . . . transferred to Golem Crafting, showed little aptitude there as well. Third year finally placed in auxiliary division as an accountant. Fourth year allowed to enter law school. Seventh year raised to Auxiliary Member in Artifice. Last year, placed in charge of the entire Guild legal and accounting departments and raised to Master Craftsman.
You’re a boring son-of-a-bitch for someone with such a badass name, Ulysses MacNess.
There were a few other notes as well, by various Head Craftsmen, Counselors, and even by Massey. Particularly gifted at self conjurations, but not physically intimidating enough for Project Titan. Hmm, slightly interesting. Project Titan, sounds . . . phallic and plenty intimidating to me.
Next file on my list.
Alexander Massey. Old as fuck, born in London, blah blah, Ultra, blah blah. Here we go . . . Twelfth Generation mancer. Son of Hebert Massey, a Head Craftsman in his day. Graduated First in Class for his year at Her Royal Majesty’s. Standards in Britain must be worse than the Asylum. Created the one-hundred classical designs of artifice in three years. Slowpoke. I think. I don’t actually know how long it usually takes since I never bothered trying. The one-hundred classical designs of artifice are pure, old-fashioned shit that makes Anima Detection Lenses look like new tech. Didn’t interest me at all.
Spent five years being passed from production line to production line—floro-seeders, spectro-portraits, lenses, fauna-callers, scio-curtains—before being transferred to research and development. The Guild does R&D? First time I’ve heard of it . . . Twelve years there before being raised to Master Craftsman. Seven years more in R&D, given Inventor Badge for something called a Sunray Jacket. Raised to Head Craftsman to run Sunray Jacket line . . . line ended as insolvent after six years. I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t the cocksucker who out sucks all other cocksuckers. Alexander Massey, The One Who Sucks. Replaced some other guy as head of the Floro-Seeder production line, doubled profits by pushing them into India, Brazil, and China despite chastisement from then Guild Master Welf.
Even in prison I can’t escape the fucking Welfs. Massey becomes Guild Master two years later by pushing to extend all lines into those markets. Enter almost twenty years of Massey dominating Guild policy, which is money, money, money, death to all Wilders, State Artificers, and King Henry Price.
Next up . . . Paul “Plutarch” Nixon.
Felt like finding my grandpa’s porno stash.
All of this was an invasion. Of knowledge, of privacy, even of history. Little under six months ago I’d sat in Plutarch’s workshop for the first time in my life. Drank vodka with him, heard stories about Plutarch and Fines Samson I’d never even known existed. Drank and listened as an old man mourned the only friend he had left. These files didn’t have anything like that in them.
MacNess and Massey’s had given me no clues into fighting off their legal shenanigans. Plutarch wasn’t even my enemy . . . just a mentor. Just the man who trained me to be an Artificer, who saw my need and showed me how to make a golem shell, no matter how legally gray the act might have been. We’d never see eye to eye on most stuff, but did I really want the clinical view on Plutarch? Or did I want more nights like that one in his workshop?
Even six months ago, I’d have read the file.
Tonight I put it back.
Which left . . .
Obadiah Paine.
You get no secrecy or sympathy from me. Nothing easy, nothing kind, no softness or doubt where you’re concerned, you evil piece of shit. Only hate, only disgust, only the emotions I was good at as a teenager. Couple more days. Pocket and Jesus will know where you’re hiding. Maybe I’ll tell Ceinwyn . . . maybe not. Maybe I’ll save it so I’m the one gets to come and smash your face in. Why should ESLED have all the fun, right?
Obadiah Paine.
So much hate for someone who is your superior in all things, little dog, I heard his voice, how can you ever understand my glory? That harsh rage, that pride and superiority, even the mechanics of it seemed wrong to the ear, like his jaw was wrenched too tight, like statements only exploded from him once they couldn’t stay hidden any longer.
Obadiah Paine.
Graduated First in Class for Class ‘90 at the Asylum. Fuck me, really? Don’t know why, but I always just assumed Ceinwyn took the top spot. Same year as Moira von Welf too, granted she was more concerned with luring Fredrick von Welf into bed than she was grades. Still, beat out two Maximus for the top spot . . . if they were a Maximus at the time. Here’s hoping Val’s had a better time finding info on that than I have. Okay . . . Paine . . . the file read like the guy was a prodigy. Granted the title of Full Member in Artifice within nine months? I don’t know if even I could’ve done that. SEVEN inventor badges? Considered for Master Craftsman but rejected as too young at twenty-three? Obadiah Paine created the first Portable Anima Detector prototype? The evil ass, nutjob Curator has saved hundreds if not thousands of mancers from Anima Madness? Are you shitting me? Sure, the Guild never did anything with it until Ceinwyn pushed for it in the last few years, but . . .
Was in R&D his entire time at the Guild. Granted a special operating budget in 2000 for an unknown project. Brought up on charges of censure for actions unbecoming a member the next year, listed as dead a week later. Clinical, just the facts, ma’am, I thought of this paperwork again. No mention of him experimenting on how to wipe out mundanes to curb Anima Madness. No mention of Amis Valet or Ceinwyn Dale. The personal notes from higher ranked members were effusive in praise, but all blacked out as to what they had said. A note after his death listed that his inventions were marked as illegal by the Guild Master and banned from production. Follow up note in 2015 about Portable Anima Detectors being reassessed.
“Well, you weren’t much help, were you?” I complained to the file as I stuck it back in the cabinet marked ‘P.’
I glanced at the backup phone I’d been using to take pictures with. Val had the main camera. Could call T-Bone . . . if he was up at the moment. It had been two hours, but I had no idea what that meant when you considered time zones. Do know that in two hours I had found nothing useful. Phone didn’t have much power left, maybe I could give it to Val to charge up at her place, let her keep it. Maybe even ask her to send all the data we had so far to T-Bone.
Who’s probably worrying his big, black ass off right about now. King Henry is radio silent destroying who knows how many elf cultures, Jesus and Pocket are chasing after the Three Queens, and what am I doing, Vicky? I’m just sitting here! Should we have sex or play video games? Or both?
“Keeping it all running smooth just like a good man in charge, T-Bone, maybe I ask Val to give you an update too, keep your blood pressure down. One of us needs to be calm, cool, and collected, cuz
I sure as hell ain’t.”
Val wasn’t hard to find, as expected. Light from her Magic Wand led me around and into an area dominated by tall bookshelves. Sitting on the ground, she was surrounded by thick binders that reminded me of Russell Quilt’s collectable card collection. The We Don’t Play With These, King Henry variety. She had her Wand in her mouth, shifting it back and forth among a pair of binders she had open in each hand. Her eyes-without-irises were intent on what she read, brow furrowed as she struggled to flipped pages with just her thumb.
That kind of imagine, well, I couldn’t help myself. “Hey, if you wanted to suck on something phallic, we could be trying a lot more interesting activities than reading.”
She glanced up at me, clearly more interested in what she’d found than any of my jokes. The only communication I got from her was a roll of her eyes.
“Also, you might get cancer or ebola or something even worse from having foreign anima stuck inside your mouth,” I tried again.
She put one of the binders down, to take the Wand in hand and to get her mouth free so she could quip, “Last I checked, King Henry, this is bigger than any phallus you’ve shown me.”
Gave her a grin as I sat down beside her, both of us going Indian-style next to the other. Probably a less offensive term than that nowadays, but it’s the one that got thrown around in kindergarten, so I’ll use it just fine, you politically correct fuckers. Shit, don’t even know which Indian it’s offensive to . . . is it tech support or casino? Both?
Bueller?
Leaned over her binders to try to get a look at them. “If you think that thing is bigger than what I’m packing, then you need your eyes examined. Might need your vagina examined too . . .”
She casually wiped her spittle from the Wand off on my geomancer’s coat.
So . . . this is love, huh?
“What did you find?” Val asked.
“Filing cabinets.”
“With?”
“Personnel records, accounting data, boring math stuff mostly.”
“Did Massey have one?”
“And Paine . . . and Plutarch too, but I put his back without looking.”
“What a softie you’re becoming,” she teased me.
“Do what you did to that Wand with me and I guarantee I’ll be anything but soft,” I pointed out.
“With all these jokes I take it you whiffed then?”
Shook my head in denial. Still couldn’t read the binders as she covered it with her hands. Was like she had the prize winner for show-and-tell and I’d just have to wait for her moment of glory. “Nah, not a total whiff,” I told her. “Got the client list for about half their product lines; should come in handy one day if I try to put them out of business.”
“How does that help with finding the truth though?”
“I mean . . . I mean . . . ya know . . . somehow.”
Val nodded like she felt my pain. “So . . . ninety-nine percent whiff?”
“Complete whiff.”
“Mega whiff?”
“Total fucktard who bows before your greatness, Valentine Ward.”
“I whiffed at first too,” she admitted.
“On what?”
She grimaced. “A shelf dedicated to biographies for Guild Masters.”
“If I’d tried to read that, you’d have found me with my eyes cut out of my head just so the pain would stop.”
She nodded agreement, “Very boring. Interesting note: Wilhelm von Welf has no fewer than twelve different biographies in his honor.”
“Massey have any?”
“Three so far.”
“How to Fail Upward, the Alexander Massey Story?”
“Pursuit of Expansion was one. I didn’t even bother skimming it. Though I imagine I’ve read novels with dragons in them that had fewer fables.”
“Likely saved your life. What’s with the binders?”
Val wiggled her blond eyebrows. “Don’t know if you’ve earned them. All those dick jokes were pretty lame . . .”
“You want me to actually kiss your ass? I’ll do it, just tell me which cheek you want it done on.”
Instead of continuing my torture, she put one of the blinders aside and pushed the second into my hands. She highlighted a line of text with her finger.
“Alexander Massey: You are right, of course. It’s a bother, but I will need four of you to enter the Vault with me tomorrow so we can update our records,” I read aloud. “Records for what?”
Val tapped on the page. “These are transcripts from Massey’s meetings with the Counselors.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure where she was heading. “But chunks of it are blacked out to keep the Head Craftsmen nice and blissful. What does the non-censored part get us if they’re hiding all the good stuff?”
“Yes, obviously, it would be better if we saw the originals, but they haven’t blocked out all of it. Here, you can see on the page before.”
Again she pointed at a line and I read aloud, “Alexander Massey: I have the solemn duty to report to you the death of Fines Samson, truly a great mancer and a warrior in the fight against . . . blacked out . . . I will be traveling to the Institution to attend the funeral myself, if any of you would like to join me, you only need to give the word. You tracked down the meetings from the day that Samson died?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “You said yourself he was likely a Maximus, so it seemed obvious they might mention it then.”
Proving once again that while I have my moments, on most days Val is way smarter than I am. “See, all I did was count on luck and you damn went and used that brain of yours, that’s unfair. Might break a few rules in fact.”
Chuckling at me, her finger drifted the rest of the way down the page. “The remainder is excuses from the Counselors not to leave with him for the Asylum, then one mentions Samson’s ‘special status’ and what might happen with his replacement. One of the others goes as far as to say the title I think, at least it fits in where a phrase was blacked out, and then a third mentions a sciomancer from Spain named Itzal Moreno as surely the most powerful left alive after Samson.”
“Alexander Massey: Let us hope not, the man is a recluse and highly unlikely to reenter society. We need a blacked out more than ever to combat the Were Nation and Vampire Embassy threat and hopefully he isn’t another damn Yank. Not bad, Val . . . not the answers we need, but some not bad sleuthing.”
“But more importantly,” she pointed out, “we know there’s a record about living Maximus mancers somewhere in the Vault.”
“Okay, good work. We’ll get on that tomorrow. Guess that leaves us with two hours free for the night then,” I led with rather singular intent. “Wonder what we could spend it doing in this dark room with no one else around . . .”
She tapped me on the forehead with the Magic Wand like I was a dog getting smacked with a rolled up newspaper. “Or we could use those two hours to travel back to the Vault and know what being a Maximus means tonight.”
“We could do that. If we really had to. Or maybe we could—”
“If,” she interrupted my fantasies, “we finish up with stealing this information we need in the next two or three days and you’re still in prison then I might be up to spending a few nights in those plush apartments you keep mentioning. As is . . . I think one time in the dirt was enough for both of us, don’t you?”
“Yeah . . . that would be good . . . only I was chaste for six months and you’ve reminded me what a horn dog I am with that little taste earlier and I might die if I go without you in the next three days.”
She leaned in to give me a kiss that I knew before it even touched my lips would never be anything more than a kiss. “You’ll survive.”
“Why chance it?”
“Fifteen minutes of us trying to find the right bits in this darkness, on a table if we’re lucky enough to find one, versus six hours of us in a bed,” she whispered into my ear, “use your smart brain and weigh which sounds more enjoyable.”
“My brain is completely with you, it’s my impulse control that wants to rip your jeans off with my teeth,” I whispered back.
“Your teeth?”
“Or blast off your zipper with some geo-anima, your pick.”
“I’d have no bottoms for the rest of the night if you did that.”
“Don’t think I see a problem with that, Val”
“Poug might blush.”
“He’s too dark for us to see it.”
Another kiss and then she pulled away to get to her feet, hands out to help me up.
“Putting my curiosity in front of my sex drive, what’s the world coming to?” I complained as I stood as well. “Next you know, I’ll be telling you I love you again.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Val agreed as her smile twitched. She slid the two binders back into their spots like they’d never even been disturbed. Suppose if we did have sex in here then some Head Craftsman might wonder what all the stains on the carpet are about . . . then with my luck he’d swab them, run a DNA test, and there would be the proof of me robbing the Guild, all cuz of my leftover semen.
“You’re a good influence, it’s disgusting,” I told her to distract myself from the mental image of the very fun activities we could currently be doing with each other.
“I’ll try to be naughty and make it up to you once we get into that bed.”
“Not helping to fight off my sex drive with comments like that!”
She laughed as she grabbed one of my hands. “Think Poug will be waiting for us on the other side? How angry? Spitting curses, calling down the wrath of the Great One, or just a stern talking to like we’re a pair of spoiled children?”
Both of our Magic Wands clicked off as I found my World-Breaker in its hidden pocket. “I’d like to try something else,” I decided. “If you trust me.”
“I remind you that I do have access to pyro-anima in this room and that if you grab my butt in the next few seconds I might use it,” she flippantly warned me.
“Thanks to you, my mind is on nothing but the Mancy and what it means to me,” I said into the darkness. Pitch black. Couldn’t see a thing. All I could feel was her hand pressing against mine. “But I’d like to try to slip from here to the Guild Vault with no Geo Realm in-between.”
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 29