by Andy Hyland
“What are they playing at?” the redhead demanded of her colleague. “Big event, no notice whatsoever, all leave cancelled – sure, that’s not exactly a big deal. What his lordship wants, his lordship gets, same as always. But if half of them are here early for afternoon tea, why the hell aren’t they eating together, same as always?”
“Beats me,” the blonde said, sighing and pulling a small bottle of gin out from behind tins of instant coffee. “How many rooms do you have to cover?”
“Three. You?”
“Lucky bitch. I got five.”
“Bloody hell,” I said, feeling the need to join in. “What did you do to deserve that?”
The blonde looked over, apparently noticing my presence for the first time. “More like what I didn’t do. Barry’s running the duty roster, and let’s say I haven’t exactly been accommodating to him lately. Lech.”
“Total bastard,” the redhead confirmed. “Hands like a…well, whatever. Too many hands. Out of control.”
“You new?” The blonde asked.
I nodded. “Started today. Just got told I was doing afternoon tea. Only two rooms, I think. Barry must be taking it easy on me.”
“Yeah, well I don’t think you’ve got what he’s after, babe.”
“Hey,” I said, “which rooms do you think I’ll get?”
The redhead blew air out and tapped the worktop counter as she thought. “Well they’re using the conference suites on the third floor. But they’re pretty spread out, which makes life that much more difficult. Charlie’s got the guest list at the bar. That’ll tell you who you’ve got. Pray it’s not Elissa Mayhare.”
“Damn right. Total bitch,” said the blonde, necking the bottle of gin. “And you’d best get moving.” She checked her watch. “They arrive in twenty, and you’re supposed to have taken the sandwiches up already.”
“Thanks for that,” I said, getting up and following Zack to the door. “I owe you.”
“Yeah, well remember that when Barry’s after volunteers for a double-shift.”
I called the girls and we met in an elevator. There was a camera in the corner, but I doubted they’d be paranoid enough to regularly monitor audio. Nevertheless, we kept our voices low and tried to look as if we weren’t having an animated and slightly heated conversation.
“Did you two get anything?” I asked the girls after filling them in on our little intelligence-gathering excursion.
“Well, we checked out the kitchen,” said Julie.
“And poisoned all the food,” said Arabella. I looked at Zack. “No, I didn’t,” she sighed theatrically, “but tell me it wasn’t a good idea. Way better than whatever you’ve not bothered to think up.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously, nothing,” she said. “Got hit on by a guy though.”
“Oh, my baby’s getting all grown up. Tempted?”
“No. He was a junior sous chef. I’m out of his league.”
“You’re a dealer in rare Barbies and unicorn junk,” Zack pointed out. “Maybe he’d look down his nose about what you do.”
“Trust me, he can’t afford to be choosy. You didn’t see him. He needs to get out more. Experience daylight.”
“Stop squabbling,” I said. “First job is to get that guest list from Charlie at the bar. Girls, you’re up.”
Damn. Julie could flirt like a pro. I stood at a distance with Zack, pretending to rearrange some informative tourist brochures, while Ms Duval and Ms Fairchild hit Charlie with a very effective two-pronged attack. It was a quiet period for the guy, so he was more than happy to be approached by Julie, all dolled up and fluttering her fake eyelashes. He was even more happy when she leant just far enough over the bar to make him think he had a fighting chance of looking down her shirt if he got the right angle.
A detached part of my brain started wondering where on Earth a good girl like Julie had learned this stuff. I could only conclude that the private school system was to blame. For the most part, though, I simply stood and admired the first class stitch-up job being performed before my eyes.
Charlie was understandably reticent to hand over a highly exclusive guest list to someone that he’d never met, even if she was coming on strong. He held it up, looking it over and trying to make his mind up. Eventually he figured that even a girl like Julie wasn’t worth his job (what a fool - she was worth ten jobs at least) and shook his head.
Which didn’t matter, because behind him and at the other end of the bar Arabella had been using the zoom on her phone to get a copy of the list. She prided herself on taking the best detailed pictures of rare dolls on the internet, and was often complimented by the bunch of weirdos, or as she would call them ‘valued customers’, that sought after her wares. Three seconds later my phone vibrated and a copy of the list was in my possession.
I twirled my finger in the air, the signal to the girls to wind it up. Arabella backed away nonchalantly, while Julie sashayed off with a firm swing of the hips. Which was, I noted, utterly unnecessary. We’d have to talk about that later. There’s such a thing as overplaying a role.
We reconvened in a quiet corner, where Julie shrugged off a stern look and demanded to view the photo. After a quick scan, she nodded. “This is the who’s who of the Mage-born. No family has sent anything less than their key player.
“So we move to plan B, and bomb the place,” said Arabella. “See? That’s the second great idea I’ve come up with since we’ve been here. I’m on fire. Someone should start listening. Take notes.”
“Conference suite thirteen,” I said. “Edmund O’Neill. Git from the opera?” Julie nodded. “Okay, so why’s he got two asterisks next to his name.”
“Irish name,” Zack pointed out. “Clover Hotel. Limerick City Hotel. Connection?”
“Worth checking,” I said, and sent off a text to Liberty. “Okay, Zack, we’ll scope out Edmund’s room. Julie, of all the others, who else do you think is the biggest player here?”
“I’d say Patrick, normally. His connections trump anyone else’s, even if his family isn’t in the top five. But he’s not listed.” She tapped the phone, making her mind up. “Elissa Mayhare. Seriously screwed up family, but she rules them with an iron rod. Nothing gets past her.”
“I’d heard she was a real bitch,” I said, remembering what we’d heard back in the canteen.
“No arguments there. But if anything’s going down, she’ll demand to be right in the middle of it. If we can get close, we’ll find something out.”
“Fine, that’s decided.” I looked round at the three of them. “It’s absolutely key that nobody gets caught. We’re up against it as it is. If we have to enact a rescue mission then our chances of getting what we came for drop to zero. At the same time…”
“We need intel,” said Zack. “Got it. Third floor it is, then. Let’s get there before they all do.”
We headed up the back stairs at a fast trot. Just before we went through the door into the main corridor, Julie pulled me into a tight embrace.
“You want a hug as well?” said Arabella.
“No, I’m good. Thanks anyway,” said Zack. “Some of us have got to keep it professional.”
I stuck my head into a few of the conference suites as we passed. Most were empty but tastefully laid out for the coming meetings. Number thirteen was altogether larger and grander than the others, with a lush red carpet, and vintage-looking wallpaper.
A circular oak table sat in the center of the room, with eight chairs. One of the chairs was more ornate, with a high, carved back. “I’m guessing that’s for Edmund,” I said, a suspicion that was confirmed with a text from Liberty. “Yep. Go three shell companies back and he owns both hotels.”
“Great. We’ve hit jackpot. And if I might suggest a way forward here…” Zack pointed over to the side of the room where three long tables held a selection of wine and fruit, and silver trays covered with sandwiches. Silver silk cloth covered them, falling all the way to the floor where it pud
dled on the carpet.
I nodded. “At least the carpet will go easy on my knees.” We grabbed a sandwich each, I slapped Zack’s hand away from a bottle of wine, and we crawled under.
“You never see James Bond hiding under freaking tables,” Zack moaned, but then he got stuck into the sandwich and looked visibly impressed. “Does the security at this place strike you as, well…shit?”
“I hear you. I think the problem is they’ve never had a stand-up, fight-for-your-life threat. They’ve got money, they’ve got power, influence and knowledge. They’re too comfortable. I think that’s it. Still, you’d think Patrick would make more of an effort, given that Max is dead and someone out there is clearly gunning for the Mage-born.”
“Unless he really did do it himself,” Zack mused, chomping away. “That would explain why he’s not too strung out about everything.”
“It would, but like Julie said, I just don’t buy it. I saw them together. Utter loyalty.”
We looked at each other as voices sounded in the corridor outside. Zack almost put his sandwich on the carpet, then changed his mind and pocketed it instead.
“Please, Mr O’Neill, it’s just in here.” Patrick’s voice.
“I do like this room,” said another male voice, which could only be Edmund O’Neill. Heavy and gravelly, and not a hint of an Irish accent. The old country blood must lay way back in the past. “Always have done. I saw Peter with Elissa Mayhare in the lobby. Do we know what they’re up to?”
“Exactly what you’d expect,” said Patrick, closing the door with a firm click of the lock. “She’s gathering support. Already has Mary Jacobson on side - they’ve been tight with each other as long as I can remember. And Caesar Lamarchand has already seized power in that family. She met with him early this afternoon.”
“Damn. Mary could be dealt with. Caesar, though - could he be persuaded that he, rather than Elissa…?”
“Great minds think alike. I spoke to him earlier and planted just those seeds. If they go at each other’s throats, as I expect to happen in approximately half an hour in conference suite three, the way will be clear. I myself may drop in on them to stir things up suitably. She suspects nothing of me. With them divided, all we will need is a strong voice.”
“And I can certainly supply that,” said Edmund. I could almost hear his chest puffing as he spoke. “When, do you think?”
“Tonight. Immediately after the confession. Speak up, speak clearly. Issue a rallying cry, a call to battle. I will stand with you. Most will follow you.”
“Most? That is unexpected, from what you’ve said. Will ‘most’ be enough? With what you propose -”
“Most will follow you, as I say. For the two or three families that may prove persistent, we will need to act swiftly. Tonight or tomorrow. You must begin with an iron fist.”
“I agree. You are right, of course. Damn good to have you onside, Everheart. Part of me is…surprised that you didn’t make a move yourself. Max’s right-hand man. There are those who would automatically look to you.”
“I have no interest in such a high position. My joy is in service. For the Mage-born to hold fast, to be safe, particularly against the current threat, we need strength in leadership. To my mind, that is you.”
The chime of a phone. “The key people I’ve selected for you are in the lobby. Why don’t you meet them and I’ll have you all escorted back here with pomp and ceremony? Impress them. Recruit them. Remember our keywords: security, progress, privilege.”
“I will, as always, be guided by you, Everheart. When I rise and lead, you will be by my side.”
“I ask nothing more. Please, Edmund, after you.”
Zack couldn’t help himself, and grabbed another sandwich on our way out. We cleared the room and the corridor before anyone else showed up. Ideally I’d have preferred to get back to the staff canteen, away from the prying eyes of anyone who might raise a fuss, but in the interests of staying alive and hidden it was still a good idea to stick as close to Julie as possible. We slunk into one of the smaller conference rooms that looked like it wasn’t scheduled for use. Once inside, I locked the door and Zack grudgingly gave me some of his food. An hour later, my phone vibrated.
“It’s the girls. They’re out. Time to find out what they heard at their end.”
“Shit, that was intense,” were Arabella’s opening words. “That’s the first and last time I stand around serving wine to people who want to kill me.”
“You did what?” I nearly shouted, before getting myself under control. “Why didn’t you skulk and hide, like us?”
It turned out they’d arrived at precisely the wrong time, and were pressganged into standing around holding trays of drinks and nibbles. Elissa Mayhare was one of the council members who’d been flinging vicious hexes at us only hours earlier, but the wigs and false smiles held. Helped, no doubt, by the fact that servants and lackeys were just part of the furniture to these people. As long as they were there and doing their jobs, why pay them any attention?
Interestingly, when Patrick turned up half an hour into Mayhare’s recruitment drive (which was what the whole thing essentially was) he was singing to a different tune. The girls, along with the other serving staff, were ushered out into a side room, but thanks to the thin walls and raised voices, nothing was missed.
“So he told her that the prime spot in the Mage-born was hers for the taking?” I said, barely able to believe what I was hearing.
“Exactly,” said Julie. “And that if she stands up after the confession and issues a rallying cry -”
“Rallying cry?”
“Patrick’s exact words - if she does that, then barring a few unpleasant skirmishes that will have to be fought in the next couple of days, position numero uno is all hers.”
“Bloody hell,” said Zack, “he’s playing them all off against each other. He wants it for himself.”
“Yep. His joy is to serve - my ass it is.” I shrugged. “Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised. Max said running these people was like herding cats. He wasn’t exaggerating.”
“So it’s all kicking off tonight,” said Arabella. “That’s interesting and all, but it doesn’t actually tell us what we came here to find out, does it?”
“No,” I admitted. “So we just go looking by ourselves.”
“Big place,” said Zack. “Conference facilities, staff areas, guest rooms. That’s going to take some time, and that’s without dealing with whatever security they’ve got in place, which is bound to be higher than in the public areas. Where did you want to start?”
“Let’s just go with the obvious shall we?” said Julie. Which we all agreed was a great idea.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The elevators down to the basement and sub-basement levels required special key-cards, which we didn’t have. Our standard cards just produced a small bleep and a flicker of a red light. The stairs, fortunately, weren’t too hard to find, and produced the first real security issue of the day.
“Hey,” a suit said when he saw the four of us approaching. We were carrying wine bottles, some food trays and a box, just to keep up the level of realism. He was about a foot taller than me, and disconcertingly wide. Not someone I’d like to get within arm’s length of. Behind him was the door which we’d established, thanks to some floor plans in one of the back offices, would take us all the way down.
“Hey, man,” said Zack, smiling affably and continuing to walk forward while the rest of us hesitated. “Just got to dump this stuff.”
The suit looked at the bottle Zack was carrying. “I don’t think so. No reason for wine down here.”
“No? Look I’m just doing what we were told. You want me to call management?” A decent, standard ploy to get an underling to roll over and go away, but this time it backfired.
“No, don’t you worry about that. I’ll give them a call.”
He was halfway through raising his hand to the lapel mike on his jacket when Zack stopped him. “Look, I don’t mind
you doing that, but this bottle - it’s kind of special.”
“Special how?” said the suit, his hand hovering two inches away from putting in a call.
“Well, see, it does this,” said Zack, swinging it upwards with all his strength straight into the guy’s chin. He was out for the count even before the back of his head smashed against the wall.
“Magic would have been quiet and efficient,” Julie pointed out.
“You think that wasn’t quiet and efficient?” said Zack. “That was a work of art. I’m saving magic for when I really need it.”
I gave the guard the once over. “Well even if he was still conscious, which would be a miracle, I’d say his jaw’s fractured in at least three places. He’s not talking to anyone in the near future. Still, can’t have him lying here - that’s a bit of a message by itself.” Five minutes later he was safely stowed in a laundry cupboard just along the corridor, beneath half a floor’s worth of linen.
Back at the door, I threw my senses into the area down and beyond. “No more guards for at least three rooms,” I told them. “And no magical defenses that I can see.”
“Maybe we got it wrong,” Arabella said. “Maybe, just for once, the bad guys aren’t doing crappy stuff in the basement.”
“Unactivated runes?” Zack suggested. “That would explain the lack of activity.”
I sensed deeper, trying to let myself seep into the stone itself, but came up empty. “Nothing obvious, but if there are dormant runes they’d be a bugger to spot anyway. Everyone throw a ward up. I’ll take care of Julie.”
The first flight of stairs led us down to a standard storage area, full of vacuum cleaners that had seen better days, and other disused or broken machinery. We moved slowly and stealthily - if we controlled our physical movements and noises, then Julie’s dampening field should, in theory, stop magical detection by anyone looking. After the machinery room came two rooms of boxes that had been gathering dust for years. The floor, however, showed signs of more recent movement. People didn’t go here, but they did go through, which was promising. We stopped in front of the next door and threw out our senses again. Another flight of stairs down. Still no obvious arcane security, but there were four mages - two at the top, two more at the bottom.