by Jes Battis
I called the house. Derrick picked up after the first ring.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Back at the lab. Did you honestly think I’d get reception in Trinovantum?”
“Maybe. It’s only a matter of time before the iPhone goes multidimensional. When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago. I need you to come to the lab. Is Miles with you?”
“He’s watching TV with Mia and Patrick.”
“You got the closed captioning to work?”
“Yeah, Patrick figured it out. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to turn it off again, though. There was this crazy sub-menu under SAP—”
“That’s fine. I need you to bring everyone with you.
Miles, Patrick, and Mia. If Mia argues, tell her it’s non-negotiable.”
“What are you planning?”
“It would take too long to explain. And I’m barely holding on to the idea as it is, so I don’t want to jinx it. Just get here as soon as you can.”
“Okay. Wait—” I heard him saying something inaudible. “Patrick wants to know if he can drive.”
“Only if you sit in the front seat with him. And if he doesn’t obey the speed limit, you have to make him pull over.”
“He’s probably going to complain about that.”
“He owes me a favor. Just remind him of that, and it should be fine.”
“All right. We’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks, hon.”
I closed the phone and walked back into the lab. Cindée was in the middle of talking to Lucian. She saw me, and her eyes narrowed.
“You called her?”
“I did.”
“And did she bite your head off?”
“She said she’s changing her cell number.”
“That’s an empty threat. She’s said that dozens of times.”
“She said you’d say that, and I should tell you that she really means it this time, and that you owe her a coffee the size of her head.”
“Wow. She was pretty articulate. Usually she just swears.”
“At any rate, she’s on her way.”
“Good.” I turned to Lucian. “Done stirring?”
“I think so. It’s gotten much more solid.”
“It’s faster than most dental stone. We’ve been experimenting with injecting semisolid earth materia into the gypsum.”
“I’m not really sure what that means.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re just here to look pretty.” It came out before I could stop it. Cindée raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Lucian just smiled.
I took the plastic mold, sealed it, and put it in the fridge. “Just like Jell-O. In a few hours, we can send it down to the morgue, so Tasha can take a look at the casting. I’m willing to bet that the serrated edge of the bone shear matches the wound-track left in Ordeño’s neck. Even if the weapon disappears, we’ll still have the impression.”
“I guess the killer didn’t count on that,” Lucian said.
“No. They never do.”
“What’s next?”
I heard footsteps in the hallway. Selena emerged into the lab, wrapped in a full-length trench and looking a few shades away from pissed.
“Jesus, how many red lights did you run to get here so fast?”
She hung her coat up. “I took a cab. At one point, we were driving so fast down Cambie, I thought we might go into orbit.”
“You got here in one piece, though. That’s what counts.”
“No.” She folded her arms. “What counts is the story you’re about to tell me. It’s going to be riveting. It’s going to involve concrete physical evidence, and an amazing reason for dragging me back here.”
“Actually, you’re right on nearly every count. I’m not sure I can deliver fully on the physical evidence part, though. Our murder weapon is dissolving as we speak.”
“I already don’t like where this is going.” She turned to Lucian. “Did you take her to Trinovantum? Did she wreck anything?”
“Yes to the first, and no to the second.” He inclined his head. “She was actually quite professional.”
Selena blinked. “And then what happened?”
I stepped between them. “It was nothing important. I may have insulted Lord Nightingale. And I almost puked while riding a Nightmare. But I’m pretty sure that I made friends with a glowworm.”
Selena looked at Cindée. “Is she drunk?”
Cindée shrugged. “I already asked, and she said no.”
“There’s some delicate trace evidence in the fridge,” I said. “Once the dental stone hardens, we’ll have an impression of the weapon that—possibly—killed Ordeño. But the weapon itself is like one of Cinderella’s pumpkins. It won’t last.”
Selena sighed. “I’ll admit it. I’m slightly intrigued. But you’ll need to give me more than a casting impression.”
“Oh, we’ve got more. Lucian?”
He looked at me. “What?”
“Get out your pipe. We’re going into the evidence closet.”
“Sure. Tu eres el jefe.”
“No,” Selena said, “I’m el jefe. That does mean ‘boss,’ right?”
“It does.” Lucian smiled. “You speak Spanish?”
“My husband’s from Uruguay. Mostly, I just know profanity.”
“And how to make milaneses, I’ll bet.”
Her eyes softened. “God. They’re amazing, aren’t they? But I always end up with bread crumbs all over the kitchen floor.”
“The secret is to—”
“Can we stop talking about food?” I asked. “All I’ve had to eat today is a blueberry bagel, since someone wouldn’t let me have anything in Trinovantum.”
Lucian rolled his eyes. “Did you want to end up as a slave to the city forever? I was only trying to save your soul.”
“Maybe I was willing to sell it for one of those black watermelons.”
“They are pretty good. They kind of taste like licorice.”
Selena turned to me. “Fine. Why are we going into the evidence closet? I don’t want to have to clean it afterward.”
“You’ve got half of a Polybius Book in there. Now that we’ve got the other half, we can put them together. Cindée, can you unlock the door?”
She chuckled. “Why not? This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all night. Before you arrived, I was cataloguing fiber evidence.”
We all filed into the secure evidence locker, which was really a museum-style room exhibiting several precious artifacts. The most recognizable was Ordeño’s suit of armor, with its wings and eyes, sitting sedately under glass. Next to it was the first half of the Polybius Book, still smoking within its own glass cage.
Cindée closed the door behind us, then punched a code into a keypad on the wall.
“I’ve turned off the chemical sensors. Otherwise, the alarm will sound if there’s a one percent change in the atmospheric composition of the room. It’s designed to keep out everything, including materia.”
“I’m not even sure this falls under that classification,” I said. “What exactly would you call a Polybius Book, Lucian?”
He was already taking out his bone pipe, delicately carved into the shape of a blooming lily. “Dangerous. And not to be read lightly.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Selena said. “We weren’t sure that Ordeño’s book was one of those. It could have been any number of unpleasant things. But this isn’t the kind of book that tries to eat you, right?”
“No,” Lucian said. “I promise it won’t eat you.”
“And you took the second half of it from Trinovantum?”
“It’s not going to last,” I replied. “But Lord Nightingale gave us a crucible to hold it in, so I think we’ve got a few hours at least before—” I paused. “I was about to say before it goes up in smoke, but it’s already made of smoke. Before it evanesces?”
“I’m not sure you’re using that word correctly,” Luc
ian said.
“When did you become such a grammarian?”
“I’m not a grammarian. I’m just a perfectionist.”
Selena gave me an odd look. This was definitely descending into overly familiar territory. We needed to pull it back.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the second half of the book, which was encased in the glowing red matrix of Lord Nightingale’s crucible. Its tendrils of smoke moved silently against the invisible barrier of the cube. The smoke didn’t smell or taste like anything. I’m not sure what I’d expected. It was a grimoire, not BBQ.
“I don’t think we’re insured for this,” Selena said. “Cindée, do you have a fire extinguisher handy?”
“Don’t worry. Lucian’s done this before.”
“Right.” He sprinkled some tobacco into the pipe. “No pressure.”
“None at all.”
Selena’s eyes widened. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
“Just watch,” I said. “It’s actually pretty cool.”
“Your definition of cool is exactly the sort of thing that I usually run from. I feel like I should be wearing protective gear.”
“I can get you a lead apron,” Cindée said. “Would it make you feel better?”
She shook her head. “At this point, nothing will. Just get on with it. We’ll figure out what damage forms we need to sign later.”
I placed the Polybius Book on an empty pedestal. “How do I release the crucible again? I don’t want to lose a finger.”
“Just breathe on it,” Lucian said. “That should be enough.”
I blew on the glowing crucible like it was a bowl of soup. The lines of light shivered, then vanished. The Polybius Book began to curl and expand. I saw points of light flickering within its depths. Its tendrils moved toward the glass case, where its other half was resting.
“Can I lift the case?” I asked.
Cindée punched in a code. “There. Security’s off.”
“Just don’t lean too close to it when you remove the lid,” Lucian said. “You don’t want to get a mouthful by accident.”
Gingerly, I lifted the glass case. Both clouds of smoke began to swirl and roil, as if a storm had awakened inside of them. As I watched, they hovered in the air for a moment, and then flowed into each other.
Lucian lit the pipe, and the tobacco burned orange. He inhaled. I thought of Gandalf. I couldn’t help it.
A long tendril of smoke from the unified book rushed into the bowl of the pipe. Lucian closed his eyes, taking a long, luxuriant hit.
“Is this legal?” Cindée whispered.
“Of course,” I replied. “He’s only smoking the words.” Selena shook her head. “I should have stayed home. Why can’t I just learn to stop answering the phone when you call?”
“It was Cindée who called, not me.”
“But I knew you were behind it. You’re always behind it.”
“And that’s why you love me. Because of the intrigue.”
“You’re giving me an ulcer. I’m almost sure of it.”
“I thought I had an ulcer once, but it was just gas pains.”
Lucian exhaled a large ring of green smoke. It trembled in the air for a few seconds, revolving slowly. Then it spread out, like a transparent sheet of paper. Those familiar serpentine characters began to glow within the smoke.
“Should I take a picture?” I asked. “Maybe we could read it later.”
Lucian coughed. “It won’t show up on film. Not even digital.” He scanned the Polybius script. The runes moved before my eyes, flicking their calligraphic tails and dancing with one another.
“What does it say?”
“I’m not sure yet. It’s a kind of journal, and it’s written in shorthand.” He frowned. “There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense. Weird measurements and calculations. Almost like a recipe.”
“A recipe for what, exactly?” Selena asked.
Lucian stared into the smoke. “I’m not sure. Some of the notes are written in Catalán. I can barely read them. Other parts are in Old Castillian, mixed with Latin and Old French. I think he was trying to make it as illegible as possible.”
Lucian passed his hand in front of the smoking book. The characters trembled and shifted before him. I guess it was the equivalent of turning the page.
“There’s a refrain that keeps repeating,” he said. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“What’s it say?”
“Ve por ella. It means ‘look through her,’ or ‘see right through her.’ But I don’t know who the ‘her’ is that he’s talking about, or even if it’s a real person.”
“I think there’s a way we can find out,” I said. “But first we have to call Becka. We need her to prep the Nerve.”
Selena stared at me. “What are you going to use the simulation room for?”
I smiled. “Art appreciation.”
19
The Nerve was full of people, and its egg-shaped white walls made it appear as if everyone had been trapped inside a genie’s bottle.
Mia and Patrick were talking to each other, probably ironically making fun of everything while unironically trying not to be freaked-out by their surroundings. Miles and Derrick were signing back and forth to each other, but their fingers moved so rapidly that I couldn’t quite get the gist of what they were talking about. Whenever Miles talked to me using ASL, his gestures were slow and deliberate, in the same manner as one might talk to a six-year-old. But when he was speaking with Derrick, all bets were off, and I always felt bad about asking them to slow down. I didn’t want to interrupt the conversational flow.
Even Baron had come along. He slept curled next to the door, his tail thumping the ground slightly as he dreamt. Probably he dreamt of Miles, who was the center of his canine universe. Lucian stood near the dog, watching him sleep. Their minds were equally unfathomable. But at least Baron was trained not to run away.
Becka and Selena were standing on the mezzanine level, where the controls to the simulation room were located. Through a mixture of arcane energy and sophisticated computer graphics, the Nerve could reproduce nearly any type of virtual reality. It worked on the same principle as a forensic total-mapping system, which recorded crime scenes digitally using a 360-degree bank of cameras. The only difference was that the Nerve used alternating materia flows to create images that you could actually touch, and it could even see through physical substrates using infrared light.
At the moment, we weren’t using this priceless technology to re-create a crime scene. Not yet, anyway. First we were doing something completely different. And if it didn’t work, I’d probably get fired. But that was nothing new.
“I’ve loaded both simulations into the computer,” Rebecca said. “We have to wait another minute for the lens to calibrate. We just installed a new emerald laser, and it’s a bit persnickety.”
“It also cost nearly as much as this building.” Selena grabbed Becka’s extra-large coffee and moved it gently away from the screen. “So I don’t care if it’s persnickety or not. Let it warm up, and don’t spill anything on the controls.”
“I am a professional, you know.”
“Is that why your blouse was on inside out when you got here?”
Becka looked chagrined. “I was sleeping when you called.”
“It’s fine. Just make sure the machine keeps humming smoothly.” Selena turned to me. “Where did you get this idea from again?”
I smiled. “An article by Frederic Chorda on computer-aided painting analysis. Becka was the one who made me think of it, actually. She was talking earlier about computer techniques being used to analyze paintings like Las Meninas.”
Becka inclined her head. “Happy to be of service.”
“Where did you find the article?” Selena asked.
“JSTOR.”
“I didn’t know we subscribed to that database. And I just approved our electronic licensing agreements last week.”
“Sorry,” Becka said
. “I may have slipped that one in.”
“Did you slip any others in?”
“Just a Shakespeare archive. And the Women’s Studies Index.”
Selena stared at her. “What do those have to do with forensics?”
“Nothing. I like blank verse and feminist theory. Is that a crime?”
“It might be in Texas,” Mia said.
“Oh, snap.” Becka grinned at her, then returned her attention to the monitor. “Okay, this is almost ready. I’m going to dim the lights.”
“Is there popcorn?” Mia asked.
“You’ll have to ask el jefe over there,” I said, pointing to Selena. “She approves all the refreshment decisions in the lab.”
Selena sighed. “Let’s just get on with this, okay? I’d like to get home at a decent hour, if that’s still possible.”
“Why did you take this job again?” I asked her.
“Honestly? The dental is superb.”
The walls began to hum softly as the circuitry within the white ceramic panels came to life. I smelled the tang of ozone, and I could feel an active materia field stirring the hairs on the back of my neck.
“I’m running the simulation,” Becka said. “Now.”
There was a pulse of white light. I felt static electricity move over the length of my body, like an invisible spiderweb.
When the light cleared, we were standing in Las Meninas.
The reproduction of the artist’s studio in the Alcázar palace was perfect. The white walls of the Nerve had become dark wood, terminating in a high ceiling. A door with recessed wooden panels stood ajar, revealing an entryway where natural light streamed through, and a flight of stairs that led up. There were paintings on the walls, and I recognized them now because Derrick had explained them to me. Mostly, they were copies of scenes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Everything was a copy of a fable, or a fable of a copy, the whole scene wrapped within a devious simulacro.
A small mirror hung on the far wall, reflecting nothing. It was supposed to offer up the image of the king and queen, but Becka had erased that. Now it was blind and dark, adrift and waiting for an impression of any kind.