“Yup.”
“You and your foul mouth.”
“Gonna get me killed one day, I know.”
Her ageless eyes were sad for once. “Let’s hope no one else dies for awhile yet.”
There was a knock on the front door.
“We’re in a meeting!” the Lady yelled. She glanced at Fines Samson, still snoring away in his chair. “Some of us . . . Rin and Wolfgang, I’m sure both of you know not to speak of this in public, yes?”
Both of them nodded, although Wolfgang von Welf looked like he wanted to have a private talk with his sister-in-law and maybe one with his brother as well. Does Papa Welf still not know? Wish I could be a fly on that wall. Or even one of Alfred Pemberton’s moths . . . or whatever equally gross bug he’s currently breeding.
Another knock, more insistent.
“And, of course, Mordecai—”
“Dead men tell no tales and neither do I,” Root actually told a joke.
Everyone stared at him like he’d lost it.
Root grunted, glancing down at his feet. “Just . . . excited to have another avenue of investigation is all. Now that Miss Hayes does have quite the motive. There is still the incident with Mr. Welf confronting the deceased to clear up, but . . . with this great deal of new information to put into my formulas he might no longer be the prime suspect.”
“Never again, King Henry, not even to Victoria or young Mr. Welf,” the Lady ordered me, “it’s not your secret. As for your theories on what happened to Leonardo, I’d say we’ve more than heard you out. Still . . . despite your dramatics, it’s a thought to consider and Mordecai will look into Catherine a second time to be sure. No more investigation from you. No more blurting family secrets. I won’t expect you to be a good boy, but at least study like Paul wants you to for once. Focus on becoming an Artificer, please.”
Being smart enough to keep my mouth shut this time, I only nodded. Suppose whether I stop pushing or not depends on if they really find the killer in the next few days. Didn’t seem like they thought Welf did it. Maybe not Catherine too, although . . . bitch was up to something. I is rightly confused, yes I is.
Last, the Lady gave long studying looks to both Ceinwyn and Mama Welf. “The three of us will talk about this later. None of us are blameless. We don’t see eye to eye, but we’ve also weathered the storm together. It’s her last year. It’s almost finished.”
Wasn’t just a knock this time, it was two fists banging at the same time.
One of Root’s Constructs moved to open the door . . .
And . . .
Fuck me if it wasn’t Teresa Garcia, one of the Three Queens in the flesh. Teresa’s odd expression from earlier in the day had only deepened. No anger, no threats, just a rising insecurity about the world around her. The way I imagined a person looked when they got struck temporarily blind. All them colors gone. What if they never returned? What if it was just this blackness . . . forever?
Teresa blinked at us, hands working their way up into her thick black hair like she might rip it out.
No one said anything, expectations on what words would leave the Queen’s mouth too high.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear, I couldn’t help but add silently. Well, maybe not the devil, just one of the prime demons likes to burn unbelievers alive.
Speak of my big mouth . . . might be all happy and smiling at you most the time, but Ceinwyn’s got an even bigger mouth on her than I do and she just had to tempt Fate to slap us all across the face.
“We found another body,” Teresa cringed as the words were forced out of her. “You need to come. Please, come! Please!”
Session 170
I chose my battleground carefully.
Some fucker crazier than even me had put a bench directly in front of the Pit Artifact.
Or as close as you could get to the Pit Artifact with the way it was cordoned off with glass walls.
Couldn’t imagine many people willingly sat at this bench, but today . . . today I made an exception to the norm. The thick almost oppressive geo-anima struck less like a wave and more like a tsunami at this distance. Didn’t pass through you, it consumed you, rose up above and beyond you, covering you in nothing but geo-anima. For a few seconds after the blast, I felt all muddled; tried not to think of it as drowning, but was hard not to.
Afterwards and before, however, I could feel it as it built and coalesced. I could feel it preparing to knock waiting mancers on their asses.
I’d been sitting on that bench since Watson woke me up and handed me off to Salt and Pepper. Even the golems seemed to hesitate before they settled in on either side of the bench. Ain’t so bad as far as gods go, I thought, eyes running along the length of what I could see. Was so close to the glass that all its workings were exposed. Pretty gut you got, darling. Wasn’t exactly a straight pillar at all, but had some curve to it. Made me think of Science class and the pictures they show of how magnetic fields work. That curving up and around, meeting in the core.
Always thought sphere when I thought about the Holding Room or now the Pit, but maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe it wasn’t a blast from the center never to return. Maybe all that geo-anima was returned somehow and reused. That center pillar ain’t the artifact, I realized after awhile.
The Pit was the Artifact.
We were inside of it. Had us the view of a bug caught in a V8 engine.
If we stay long enough do we go splat on the pistons? Maybe we burn up or suffocate long before that hour comes?
A giant artifact.
Closed-recharged.
Not waves or tsunamis or whatever force of nature on the open ocean, but a wave pool at your local water park.
Could I build that?
With the entire Guild standing behind me in solidarity, could I even build that monstrosity?
Don’t know.
Didn’t see much of the Guild ever standing behind me. Unless it was to stab me in the back. Case in point: Alexander Massey arriving to preen over his successes and flaunt his domination over my lot in life. Came alone. No Counselors. Not even MacNess. Guess it’s the honest kind of conversation for once. Kind of conversation you don’t want repeated, especially with witnesses to back up the accusations. Massey playing the wrong game still, while the real game goes on without him ever being aware.
Couple more nights and I’d be done.
I’d be out.
Conquering fucking hero.
All according to plan.
Mostly.
Long as I fought the urge to improvise.
Was hard returning to my prison cell for the few hours sleep I managed. Standing in Val’s apartment, her bed a few feet above my head. How easy it could have been to say ‘fuck it’ and dive under the sheets with her. Starting to feel exhaustion creep ever closer, now that the plan is coming to completion. So easy to just . . . stop. But instead of that bed, I just kept going, kept working, kept falling and hoping for a bungee cord wrapped around my ankles.
Called T-Bone from her place, had a chat that contained some worrying information about Jesus and Pocket. Both of them were fine, but the Three Queens had found the trackers embedded in the fake artifacts and destroyed them. Meant that my personal FIND team would have to go old school, use some of the skills they’d learned in the last few years. Use the floro and fauna of Seattle to trace it all back to Paine’s hideout.
All while the Three Queens know someone is on to them. Lot more dangerous than what I’m up to in here, no matter what Massey does to me in his little trial or hearing or Artificial Court. Whatever buttfuckery he’s dreamed up. Massey’s a cocksucker, but he’s a cocksucker wants to own me, not see me dead.
Sent two of my friends into Seattle and the only thing a mancer finds in Seattle nowadays is death.
And a quick death is a deal better than what happens to the Vamps who take the risk for all that juicy, untouched food the Embassies won’t let them hunt no more.
Some of the shells had been found . .
. not one of the blood bodies though.
Experimenting on them to try to find a weakness, Paine? Or are you up to something worse?
Only admirable part of Paine really . . . likes killing him some vampires.
Ain’t a sliver of light in the man, just darkness that does humanity a good turn on occasion.
“I wonder . . . what are you contemplating to remain so very focused, Artificer Price?” Massey asked as he stopped directly behind me. No sitting here. No equality. No act of a gentle or common man.
“Thinking about how plans don’t always go the way we want them to. Thinking about how it can get so fucked up and still not explode,” I told him, getting double edged with my meaning.
It being Massey, the double edge went right on over his head and lopped off some of his perfectly coiffed graying hair. “You’re young still; you have time for other plans, Artificer Price.”
“Are you trying to console me?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Merely highlighting the error of your ways. It was not completely your fault that you have ended trapped in this fate. Ceinwyn Dale led you astray. You are not the first Artificer to fall to her way of thinking, nor the first to be burned in the fall.”
Now Massey is actively giving me information I want . . . starting to get a little too nice around here for my tastes. You planning something, Fate? Got something up your sleeve? Still, I couldn’t pass it up. More loot. Easy loot. I took the bait and I said the name, “Obadiah Paine.”
“Yes,” Massey grunted awkwardly. “Him . . . and others we have managed to reel back in. We are valuable in the supernatural world. We are the only ones who can give the other disciplines many of the items they covet. We are also the only authority who can look them in the eyes and tell them ‘no’ to their desires. As I’ve already explained to you, it is one of our many responsibilities to know what not to allow.”
“Went ahead with Portable Anima Detectors, went ahead with your SDR copies,” I pointed out some hypocrisy.
“After decades of study in one case and . . . you forced my hand in the other. Why choose this bench?” he changed the subject. “I’ve always found it unpleasant in the Cleansing Sphere. You aren’t one of those poor souls who have grown to enjoy being without anima are you?”
“No, don’t like being without anima at all. But, I figured discomfort or not, this pretty was worth studying. Being able to hold on through the pain is what makes us human, right? What gives an Ultra the power to evolve beyond what they’re told of their limits.”
Another awkward grunt. “Yes, I had heard that you already cracked a number of skills reserved for the more mature among us . . . luckily for you, that is not a particular crime I am allowed to punish you for breaking.”
“Haven’t heard the other crimes as is,” I led him.
Massey hadn’t glanced up at the Pit Artifact once yet. If anything, he seemed to be avoiding its reality. Didn’t like looking my way either. Kept studying Salt and Pepper’s casings so he wouldn’t have to. “If an arrangement was made, then perhaps you would not have to hear the disciplinary charges. Perhaps no one would.”
“Thought you wanted your hearing to distract the Guild?”
“A distraction is sufficient, but a victory, even one sans distraction, would have much longer range applications for my political future.”
I chuckled a bit, cold and cruel. Showed some canine with it all. “Now it your plan not going the way you want?”
Massey played it strong, even if some of the strength was a bluff. “On the contrary, it has never been better. But in their old age one learns not to be greedy.”
“Sure about that? Could say it is greed driving you. Guessing this plea deal you’re about to feed me has me joining the Guild, guessing I might get a pretty Inventor Badge or two, but that I won’t be in charge of those product lines. Guessing even more you already have a nice list of sudden supporters willing to vote your way, provided they get raised to Head Craftsman and have one of my product lines for their own.”
“You are shrewd, boy, I will give you that,” Massey spat from behind my back.
“Boy . . . always end up the boy,” I muttered, thinking for the thousandth time how much I hated that word. It’s for your own good, boy! You need it so you’ll mind, boy! I love you, boy, I heard my dad shout in a drunken rage as the blows landed on my back.
Wonder if that’s how come I find saying those three little words so hard? Wonder how many times he said them as that belt ripped across my skin? With those fists of his that thud . . . just like mine do . . . “Think the golems could stop me before I smashed your face in, Massey?”
The Guild Master inhaled sharply. “Defiance will get you nowhere, Artificer Price.”
“Defiance is what I am,” I rebutted.
“Yes, I see that. Don’t be proud of it, you are far from the first or the only geomancer to be born from the rougher aspects of our discipline. Still . . . defiance is made to end, is it not? Why not listen to my offer instead of snarling threats?”
“Listening ain’t acceptance.”
“No,” he agreed, “and even if you listen, I don’t expect it all to end this moment. No, I still expect you will go through with this distraction for a few more days, maybe even the entirety of the hearing. I can’t say I won’t enjoy watching you squirm, watching the weight of justice grind down upon you . . . but the both of us are searching for a way out of this dispute and you must eventually realize it will only come through an arrangement between us, not in a blast of anima or a swing of our fists.”
“I suspect it will,” I swung the double edge again.
Arrangement I want, not you, Cocksucker Prime.
Over the head the second time as Massey laid out the terms of my surrender. “You will join the Guild as you should have following your graduation. You will create the one-hundred classical designs needed to be named a Full Member in Artifice. The artifacts you have so far invented will be put under review and Inventor badges will be handed out within a year of your acceptance. Should product lines be formed to craft them for market, you will receive all the usual percentages.
“One year after you are judged a Full Member, you will be raised to Master Craftsman and be moved into the Research and Development Department. There you will stay for five years, researching various artifacts that I wish you to investigate for me. You will also sign a confession for your actions while rogue from the Guild and will further sign a message of support for me that stipulates you never should have taken any other course besides this one, urging other Artificers not to follow in your footsteps.
“As for our personal wager over the Elven Blade, we will call it a draw. I will seize and hold the artifact in the Guild Vault, but it will still belong to you. You will be paid an allowance for letting us keep it in safety for you and said allowance will pass on to your heirs in perpetuity.”
This is how he exists. This deal making. Same sickness affects all of them. Lady, Ceinwyn, Massey, same virus taking them all over. Sure a parasite as the other blood suckers that rule this world. Same sickness I might have to accept sooner rather than later.
“Not seeing what’s in it for me.”
Massey came around the bench finally, all to give me a blast of his thin, unsympathetic smile. Could’ve described it like Vega’s, but it wasn’t that. Not a politician. Not like Ceinwyn playing the god sees which way you’ll jump. Not that beam of joy from Vicky Welf, or that one that’s on the edge of laugher from Val. Functionary’s smile. Lifeless. Bought and paid for. Fake. Smile of time itself whispering tick-tock. Smile that made you glance up at those eyes, shimmering like the sands of an hourglass. Uniform in size, uniform in color, uniform in grain. All draining away. Join us for the plunge, dear boy. Haven’t you heard? It’s what we’re supposed to do.
“As I said, I expected you would need more time, so I am not disappointed in you, Artificer Price. Still, the information is yours now to do with what you wish. Will not today be so much eas
ier for you, knowing your future before it even begins?” he asked me, honestly trying to put me at ease.
But in reality just making me want to take a swing at him all the more. “Still don’t see what’s in it for me.”
Massey nodded. More dealing it is, his expression said. “Besides the vast fortune in inventor percentages and the allowance for the Elven Blade? Or the fact you’ll be a Master Craftsman within two years?”
“Paid for with my freedom.”
“You are not free, Artificer Price. Your master has merely lost you for a time as you have gone wayward. Even if you somehow succeed at defeating the censure, she will reclaim you in the process and she is not likely to let go of your chains a second time. Your life as you knew it before is over one way or the other, surely you see that?”
“Suppose I’ve started to,” I admitted. Take my beating and go my way, that’s what I wanted. Got used to them beatings as a kid, but this might end up worse than anything a fist could do. Part of me knew it from the beginning. Some other tired part of me has started to hope I can stop the fall before it’s too late, before change grabs on too tight for comfort. Flung yourself into the abyss, Price, what you expect? Everything will change . . . might have already changed. Why you trying to put on the airbrakes now? Why you think you can?
Cuz I don’t think change is some hope or a dream. Think it’s a choo-choo train gonna crush your skull. Got to jump off the tracks or hop on for the ride. Or be run over and go splat.
Or take option number four: suplex that choo-choo bitch like the BAMF boss you are.
Maybe I do belong in the Pit, since I’ve started having conversations with myself. Or maybe I’m just a lot more tired than I thought I was. Realizing I’d been sitting silent too long for comfort, I forced out, “Still . . . if either side of the coin leads to slavery, what do you have to offer that Ceinwyn don’t, Massey?”
“I have London,” Massey callously pointed out. “I have the same city the woman you love resides in. I would also approve of your coupling, where Dale and Lynch have not. We differ when it comes to a certain philosophy that has kept you two separated, but me, I personally think Valentine Ward would make you an excellent wife and an excellent mother for your children. If you agreed to my terms, then I would protect and foster the both of you where Ceinwyn Dale has only driven you apart.”
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 34