"What was that all about?'' Will asked as they left the building.
"The priest's dick goes limp, he screams, and the sacrifice is suddenly labeled off-limits." The vixen had a short, barking laugh. "I just created the cult's first sacred virgin."
"You and Nat are two of a kind."
"I'll take that as a compliment." They resumed their posts at the alley. "Not everybody would."
A gong sounded and the mages lowered their arms. Time resumed.
Will and the vixen removed their hoods and gloves and lit up cigarettes while they waited for Zorya Vechernyaya to finish an interminable conversation with a Teggish agent. The mages dispersed in waiting limousines. Not long after, Esme came running up. "Unca Will! Is this my Auntie Fox?"
"Yes, I am, hon." The vixen picked her up and held her upside down until she squealed with laughter." Pop-Pop told you I was coming, huh?" When she set Esme down, they were both standing in the alley's shadows, out of sight. "We have to be careful here. I don't have Nat's luck."
"Is that how he gets away with all the crap he does? It's all good luck?"
"No, it's strange luck. Not good, not bad— just unlikely. Nat must've inherited it from you, eh, little grandmother?" Esme shrugged. "I guess." "Wait. Esme's literally his grandmother?"
"Why do you think he was in the refugee camp in the first place? He had a premonition that his mother was going to die, so he went to see her." The vixen pulled a five-dollar bill out of Esme's ear and swatted her on the rump. "Run along and buy some ice cream, sweetie. We'll play later." She peered out onto the street again. "They're breaking up at last. What does it say on the back of my moon suit?"
Will looked. "ATF."
Zorya Vcchcrnyaya strode down the sidewalk, looking grim. She passed by the alley just as the vixen was stripping off her suit, almost but not quite showing more flesh than might be expected. Behind her, Will doffed his suit more circumspectly.
The vixen thrust her bundled suit into the policewoman's arms. "Hey, babe. Be a doll and hold this for me for a sec."
"Do i know you?" Zorya Vechernyaya asked in a tone that said that she did not.
"Kim Freydisdottir. Alchemy, Tobacco, and Firearms." She jerked a thumb toward Will "This is Dan Picaro. My intern. And today's your lucky day."
The policewoman glanced once at Will, and then glared at the vixen. "Is it?"
"You betcha. You just met me. And I'm a gal like nobody you ever met before." "How so?"
"I lead your quintessentially charmed life. All these years in ATF and I never been shot. Never been ensorcelled. Never been hurt in love."
"Oh?" Zorya Vechernyaya said. A small, cruel rosebud of a smile bloomed on her mouth. "Let me buy you a drink."
Le Wine Bar's interior was overgrown with jungle vines through whose foliage green and yellow snakes slowly twined. A satyr led them through the foliage to an orchid-strewn table beside a pool of black water from the depths of which corpse-pale faces peered up at them.
"Boodles martini, very dry, straight up with a twist," said Zorya Vechernyaya.
"I'll have a Bloody Mary," the vixen said. "Nothing for my intern. He's on duty."
"You want me to drown a mouse in your drink?" the satyr asked. "What the hell."
When their drinks arrived, the vixen took a long slug and said, "So. You think this guy is really His Absent Majesty's bastard?"
"We won't know until we find him, of course. But nothing discovered so far contradicts the possibility. Looks to be an innocent fallen in with bad company. The perp he's lodging with is a small-time criminal with so many aliases I doubt even he knows who he started out as. Which explains why the target's so fucking elusive."
"I was talking to a guy who said you'd have the target in custody within three hours."
Zorya Vechernyaya snorted.
The vixen fished the mouse out of her drink and, holding it by its tail, threw her head back, and swallowed it whole. Zorya Vechernyaya watched her intently. Then the vixen swallowed and said, "So what's the next move?"
Zorya Vechernyaya casually placed a hand on the vixen's forearm. "Next we put in for supplementary handing so we can send a compulsion to find this guy back in time two years to get a head start on the investigation."
The vixen whistled. "That's pricey."
"Tell me about it."
"Chancy, too. Suppose they kill him."
"It hasn't happened. So it won't. We just want to get a good, solid start on the investigation—and we have. How do you think we got this close so fast?" Zorya Vechernyaya slugged down the last of her martini and shouted, "Hey! Who do I have to flay alive to get another drink around here?"
Will had had a lot of practice maintaining a deadpan face since taking up with Nat. Now, though, it was all he could do to hide his shock. So this was why the witches from the political police had invaded his train on the way to Babel! They'd been searching for him not because of any crime he had unknowingly committed but because they thought him the rightful heir to the Obsidian Throne. It would also explain why the minor of the heir's return had spread so quickly and convincingly. The ground had been prepared years ago and doubtless the whispers had since spread beyond the circles of governance. It was all beginning to pull together now. It was all beginning to make sense.
He just didn't know what to think about it.
"Say. You're in investigative, maybe you can help my intern," the vixen said. "The kid's looking for someone." "Oh, yeah? Who?"
"His father. Only the kid doesn't know much about him. Not even his name. But he does know that he owns a hippogriff."
Zorya Vechernyaya accepted her new martini from the satyr. "Hippogriff or simurgh?"
"Hippogriff." Will said.
"Purebred or mongrel?"
'Considering the owner, probably purebred."
"So your old man's an aristocrat?"
"Blue blood, with a touch of crimson," the vixen said. Mortal blood was red, for it contained iron. "We're pretty sure he's got money."
"You'll be wanting to look into gizzard stones, in that case. A serious 'griffer will have his own distinctive mix. Moonstones, opals, gold nuggets... Do you have any idea what colors your rider might favor?"
Emeralds, Will thought. To match her eyes. Rubies to match her hair. He knew it tor a certainty. Aloud, he said simply, "No."
"Too bad." Zorya Vechernyaya turned back to the vixen. "Tell me a little more about yourself."
"Not much to tell. I'll sleep with anyone who thinks he or she or they can break my heart. 'Cause I know it can't be done and it's fun to watch 'em try."
Zorya Vechernyaya's eyes narrowed. "I admit to liking a challenge. But to be frank, you're not my usual type and I don't know if I care to get involved."
"Oh, you want me," the vixen said. "My primary orientation is straight, I'm willing to try anything, and I've never been hurt. Emotionally, I mean. I am, to be equally frank, the hottest little weekend you've ever seen."
Under the table, she kicked Will's ankle.
Will looked up to see both women staring at him expressionlessly. Red-faced with embarrassment, he left.
Dwarf jewelers always set up their shops like caves, with clutters of boxes stacked in the corners as casually as boulders, and rows of tiny little drawers like strata of rock that hid precious stones, rare minerals, and magic rings. You could ask for Charlemagne's sword and, after the mandatory glass of oversweetened hot mint tea, a flunky would appear from the shadows with a canvas-wrapped package whose cardboard tag read, in neatly calligraphic letters faded an almost invisible brown, JOYEUSE.
The firm of Alberecht & Ting, Gastrolitheurs, however, was as posh as they came and almost all the racial signifiers had been scrubbed away. Normally, chairs in dwarf establishments were too small and too low to the floor to be comfortable to sit in. Except for the dwarf. They'd fit him perfectly. Will was ushered into an easy chair that looked no larger than Alberecht's, but was a pleasure to abide in.
Alberecht smiled as though Will
were a personal friend. "As I'm sure you know," he said in the easy manner with which the discreet enlighten the ignorant, "the purpose of gizzard stones is to break down the hard parts of your mount's food—the seeds and bits of bone—into smaller pieces to be better exposed to the digestive enzymes. These rest in the muscular gizzard, or true stomach. Now, the opening of the pyloric sphincter is very tiny, which keeps the gizzard stones from escaping. But as the gizzard churns, the stones are ground against each other until eventually they are so small that they escape through the sphincter. Thus, you need to begin with a mix of varied-sized stones, and follow up with a regular replacement regimen."
"I see."
"Our product has been chosen specifically for its gastrolithic qualities and artisan-cut in a manner designed to be both attractive to the eye and safe tor your mount. Try one yourself." He lifted up a ruby from the display tray with a pair of tweezers and proffered it to Will.
Will rolled the stone in his mouth as the connoisseurs did. It tumbled over his tongue smoothly. The facets were crisp but did not cut his flesh.
Satisfied, he spat the stone into the discard dish set discretely to one side, as if the stone wouldn't simply be washed and returned to the stock.
"Excellent. You can provide references, of course." "References?" Never had absolute astonishment been so mildly expressed.
"Satisfied users. For those who have used this particular formulation, I mean. A turquoise-and-sapphire user's acclaim would be worthless. And Schuyler is more than just a racing beast to me. I daren't take chances."
"Hmm," Alberecht said. "Let me see what can be done." He disappeared into the back room.
Minutes later, he returned with an envelope. Will opened it and glanced down at a short list of four names, nodding with casual recognition. The first was Pippin Droit-de-Seigneur. "Oh, yes, old Stinky," he murmured. The second was Fata Melusine Sansculotte. He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly, as if she might be beyond his asking, a former lover, say, who knew how to carry a grudge. The third was Eilrik von Fenris. He grunted noncommitally. Then he came to the fourth:
Alcyone L'Inconnu.
15
The Rousing of the West
The offices of the Mayoralty coiled like a snake around the air shaft at the core of Babel nine loops up and then another nine down, so that it crisscrossed itself like a parking garage. This meant that there were two floors per level, intersecting and interpenetrating each other in a manner that, when taken in combination with centuries of alterations, subdividings, security glamours, and curses laid down by disgruntled office-seekers, guaranteed that only the cognoscenti could find their way about its endless warren of rooms. All others were lost in a matter of minutes and had to hire a local guide if they hoped to ever get anywhere.
Alcyone had an office on the third gyre of the upward serpent. Will hired a grig who claimed he had originally come to the Mayoralty to obtain a business license, lost his livelihood in the years-long and ultimately futile pursuit of that document, and now never left the building, eating at public receptions when he could and from vending machines and employee cafeterias when nothing better presented itself, and sleeping in the visitors gallery of the City Council caucus chamber. He was a cheerful little cricket of a fellow, and Will tipped him a silver dime when their journey ended safely at an undistinguished door whose brass plate read:
308
A. L'lnconnu Asst. Director
Signs & Omens
Will opened the door without knocking and stepped inside. Alcyone looked up from her desk. For a long moment neither spoke.
At last Alcyone said, "It's you, isn't it? Tell me that the bastard prince and heir to His Absent Majesty that everyone is talking about isn't really you."
"Well... it is and it isn't, if you see what I mean. May I sit?"
She nodded with chill grace toward a chair.
"I used to have a job that brought me to this building two or three times a week," Will said musingly. The office had good furniture and a grim view. Its window faced across the air shaft to the Criminal Vengeance Division, where the heads of malefactors insufficiently notorious for a place above the city gates were routinely hung from spikes on the windowsills like so many cheeses in a delicatessen. "I had no idea you were so near."
"And why should that matter to you?" Her manner was all business. There was not a scintilla of flirtatiousness to it.
"You know why," Will said. "I'll say it out loud it you like." "That won't be necessary." Alcyone lifted a stack of papers from her inbox and let it fall again. "There was a rain of snakes two weeks ago. A three-headed calf was born in Hell's kitchen the day before yesterday. Just last night, a blood-red comet sped across the sky shrieking. Citizens spontaneously burst into flames. Tap water turns to blood. Tatzlwurms infest the Upper West Side. Statues weep and hogs fly. On Sixth Avenue, a merchant tries to give his goods away. There's never been such a season for portents, signs, and plagues of owls. My sleepy backwater office has suddenly become one of the focuses of governance. All of which, apparently, is your doing. And for what?"
"Wealth, obviously."
"But you won't live to enjoy it!" Alcyone slammed her hands down on her desk and stood in a fury. "Yours is a fool's ambition, Master le Fey. I have seen the death that awaits those who, with whatever rationale, are ambitious enough to seat themselves down upon the Obsidian Throne, and I assure you it is far from pleasant."
"Please," Will said mildly, "don't use that name. I have reason to believe it's been compromised. As for the Obsidian Throne, I plan never to get that far— quite."
"Then what is the point of this elaborate charade?"
"How can I best explain this?" Will cast about in his mind. "Let me tell you a story."
Raven was walking, just walking (Will began). He wasn't looking for trouble. But he wasn't looking to avoid it, either. That's just the kind of guy he was.
Well. He came to Scorpion's house and Scorpion invited him in. Scorpion poured him a drink. "Will you stay for supper?" "Yes, I will do that thing."
So Scorpion got out his good silver and his best china and served Raven a fine meal. Then he said. "Would you like coffee? Would you care for some tobacco?"
"Oh, I will do those things as well and I will stay the night, too."
Scorpion brewed Blue Mountain coffee in his samovar and gave Raven Turkish tobacco to smoke in his hookah. He showed his guest all the rooms of his house but one. And afterward Raven said, "I hear that you have a room full of treasure. Everybody says so."
"There's nothing special about it," Scorpion said. But he showed it to Raven anyway. The room was full of gold and silver and gems. But Scorpion was right—there was nothing special about it. It was just ordinary treasure.
Nevertheless, Raven's eyes gleamed with avarice. "This is excellent treasure indeed," he said. "But I do not think it is very safe. Somebody could climb through the window at night and steal it all."
"I never thought of that," said Scorpion. This was long ago when everyone was better behaved. "Could such a thing really happen?"
"Oh, yes. I think I should sleep with your treasure tonight to guard it from thieves."
But innocent though the times may have been, everybody had heard about Raven and his roguish ways. So Scorpion said. "No, no, no. That is too lowly a job for a guest. You must sleep in my own bed tonight. It has silk sheets and an Irish lace coverlet. I will guard the treasure myself." And so it was.
Scorpion went into the treasure room and locked the door and piled all the treasure in a heap, and crouched over it, pincers open and tail raised, ready to sting. He did not sleep a wink that night for worrying about what sort of tricks Raven might be planning.
When morning came, Scorpion emerged from his treasure room to discover that Raven was gone. Along with his bedclothes, silver ware, plates, samovar, and hookah.
Will spread his hands to indicate the end of his story. "That's all."
After a brief, tense silence, Alcyone sa
id, "In what sense is this an allegory?"
"Well... I have an associate. While I'm being prepped for the coronation, hell set up an enterprise to sell titles and offices to the ambitious and gullible at prices just barely steep enough to be plausible. Those who suspect I am a fraud—and there will be many such—will refrain from arresting him, lest I become aware they are watching me. I will be housed in the Palace of Leaves, after all, and the treasure there is not at all ordinary. A nimble man could stuff enough in his pockets to make him rich forever. So my adversaries will set traps for me, baited with such wonders as no cracksman could resist. But while they're guarding their glitters and geegaws, I'll skip town. My profits will be relatively modest. But I'll have my life and that's worth something, too."
Alcyone scowled and pinched the bridge of her nose as if she were coining down with a headache. "Oh, you idiot. Why, out of all the denizens of Babel, should you tell me these things? I am a functionary in His Absent Majesty's governance. I'm a Lady of the Mayoralty and heir to the female line of House L'Inconnu. There's a legislative seat in the l.iosalfar in my future when my brother has moved on to bigger things, as he surely will, and with luck I might even rise to the Council of Magi before my dotage. I am all your enemies rolled into one."
"No." Will stood and took her hands in his. "I don't believe you are. I came here today wondering how much of what I felt for you was but a romantic illusion—the image of freedom I saw in the Hanging Gardens the day I emerged from the underground—and how much was mere aspiration for the unattainable adventuress I met at your brother's masked ball. You received me coldly, proffering not one kindly word nor a single smile. And yet I find—"
A russalka stuck her head in the office. "Allie, we've just gotten word that the West is moving."
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