Jim Butcher - Dresden Files Omnibus

by Jim Butcher

  “. . . et, quae cum ita sint, censeo iam nos dimittere rees cottidianas et de magna re gravi deliberare—id est, illud bellum contra comitatum rubrum.”And given the circumstances, I move to dispense with the usual formalities in order to discuss the most pertinent issue before us—the war with the Red Court. “Consensum habemus?”All in favor?

  There was a general murmur of consent from the wizards in the room. I didn’t feel any need to add to it. I tried to slip unnoticed into the seat beside Ebenezar, but the Merlin’s bright blue eyes spotted me and grew shades colder.

  The Merlin spoke, and though I knew he spoke perfectly intelligible English, he addressed me in Latin, quick and liquid—but his own perfect command of the speech worked against him. He was easy to understand. “Ahhh, Magus Dresdenus. Prudenter ades nobis dum de bello quod inceperis diceamus. Ex omni parte ratio tua pro hoc comitatu nobis placet.”Ah, Wizard Dresden. How thoughtful of you to join us in discussions of the war you started. It is good to know that you have such respect for this Council.

  He delivered that last while giving my battered old bathrobe a pointed look, making sure that anyone in the room who hadn’t noticed would now. Jerk. He let silence fall afterward and it was left to me to answer him. Also in Latin. Big fat jerk.

  Still, it was my first Council meeting as a full wizard, and hewas the Merlin, after all. And Idid look pretty bad. Plus, Ebenezar shot me a warning glance. I swallowed a hot answer and took a stab at diplomacy.

  “Uh,” I said, “ego sum miser, Magus Merlinus. Dolor diei longi me tenet. Opus es mihi altera, uh, vestiplicia.”Sorry, Merlin. It’s been a very long day. I meant to have my other robe.

  Or that’s what Itried to say. I must have conjugated something wrong, because when I finished, the Merlin blinked at me, expression mild. “Quod est?”

  Ebenezar winced and asked me in a whisper, “Hoss? You sure you don’t want me to translate for you?”

  I waved a hand at him. “I can do it.” I scowled as I tried to put together the right words, and spoke again. “Excusationem vobis pro vestitu meo atque etiam tarditate facio.”Please excuse my lateness and appearance.

  The Merlin regarded me with passionless, distant features, evidently well content to let my mouth run. Ebenezar put his hand over his eyes.

  “What?” I demanded of him in a fierce whisper.

  Ebenezar squinted up at me. “Well. First you said, ‘I am a sorry excuse, Merlin, a sad long day held me. I need me a different laundress.” ’

  I blinked. “What?”

  “That’s what the Merlin said. Then you said ‘Excuses to you for my being dressed and I also make lately.” ’

  I felt my face heat up. Most of the room was still staring at me as though I was some sort of raving lunatic, and it dawned on me that many of the wizards in the room probably did not speak English. As far as they were concerned, I probably sounded like one.

  “Goddamned correspondence course. Maybe you should translate for me,” I said.

  Ebenezar’s eyes sparkled, but he nodded with a grave expression. “Happy to.”

  I slipped into my seat while Ebenezar stood up and made an apology for me, his Latin terse and precise, his voice carrying easily throughout the hall. I saw the gathered wizards’ expressions grow more or less mollified as he spoke.

  The Merlin nodded and continued in his textbook-perfect Latin. “Thank you, Wizard McCoy, for your assistance. The first order of business in addressing the crisis before us is to restore the Senior Council to its full membership. As some of you have doubtless learned by now, Senior Council member Pietrovich was killed in an attack by the Red Court two days past.”

  A gasp and a low murmur ran through the theater.

  The Merlin allowed a moment to pass. “Past conflicts with the Red Court have not moved with this kind of alacrity, and this may indicate a shift in their usual strategy. As a result, we need to be able to react quickly to further developments—which will require the leadership provided by a full membership on the Senior Council.”

  The Merlin continued speaking, but I leaned over to Ebenezar. “Let me guess,” I whispered. “He wants to fill the opening on the Senior Council so that he’ll be able to control the vote?”

  Ebenezar nodded. “He’ll have three votes for sure, then, and most times four.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  “You aren’t going to do anything. Not yet.” He looked intently at me. “Keep your temper, Hoss. I mean it. The Merlin will have three plans to take you down.”

  I shook my head. “What? How do you know that?”

  “He always does things that way,” Ebenezar muttered. His eyes glittered with something ugly. “A plan, a backup plan, and an ace in the hole. I’ll shoot down the first one, and I’ll help you with the second. The third is all yours, though.”

  “What do you mean? What plan?”

  “Hush, Hoss. I’m paying attention.”

  A balding wizard with bristling white eyebrows and a bushy blue beard, his scalp covered in flowing blue tattoos, leaned forward from the far side of the table and glared at me. “Shhhhh.”

  Ebenezar nodded at the man, and we both turned back to face the stage.

  “And it is for this reason,” the Merlin continued, “that I now ask Klaus Schneider, as a long-standing senior wizard of impeccable reputation, to take on the responsibility of membership in the Senior Council. All in favor?”

  Martha glanced at Ebenezar and murmured, “A moment, honored Merlin. I believe protocol requires that we open the floor to debate.”

  The Merlin sighed. “Under normal circumstances, Wizard Liberty, of course. But we have little time for the niceties of our usual procedures. Time is of the essence. So, all in—”

  Injun Joe interrupted. “Wizard Schneider is a fine enchanter, and he has a reputation for skill and honesty. But he is young for such a responsibility. There are wizards present who are his senior in experience and the Art. They deserve the consideration of the Council.”

  The Merlin shot Injun Joe a frown. “Thankyou for your perspective, Wizard Listens to Wind. But though your commentary is welcome, it was not asked for. There is no one present senior to Wizard Schneider who has not already declined a seat upon the Senior Council, and rather than run through meaningless nominations and repeated declinations, I had intended—”

  Ebenezar cut in, sotto voce but loud enough for the Merlin to hear him, in English. “You had intended to shove your favorite down everyone’s throats while they were too worried to notice.”

  The Merlin fell abruptly quiet, his eyes falling on Ebenezar in a sudden, pointed silence. He spoke in a low voice, his English carrying a rich British accent. “Go back to your mountain, Ebenezar. Back to your sheep. You are not welcome here, and never have been.”

  Ebenezar looked up at the Merlin with a toothy smile, Scots creeping back into his vowels. “Aye, Alfred, laddie, I know.” He switched back to Latin and raised his voice again. “Every member of the Council has a right to speak his mind on these matters. You all know how important the appointment of one Senior Council member is. How many of you believe this matter too serious to leave to a consensus? Speak now.”

  The theater rumbled with a general “Aye,” to which I added my own voice. Ebenezar looked around the room and then raised an eyebrow at the Merlin.

  I could see frustration not quite hidden on the old man’s face. I could almost taste his desire to slam his fist down on the podium, but he controlled himself and nodded. “Very well. Then, in accordance with procedure, we will offer the position to the senior-most wizards present.” He looked to one side, where a slim-faced, prim-looking wizard sat with a quill, a bottle of ink, and pages and pages of parchment. “Wizard Peabody, will you consult the registry?”

  Peabody reached under his table and came out with a bulging satchel. He muttered something to himself and rubbed some ink onto his nose with one finger, then he opened the satchel, which held what looked like a couple of reams of p
archment. His eyes glazed over slightly, and he reached into the papers seemingly at random. He drew out a single page, put it on the desk before him, nodded in satisfaction, then read in a reedy voice, “Wizard Montjoy.”

  “Research trip in the Yucatán,” Martha Liberty said.

  Peabody nodded. “Wizard Gomez.”

  “Still sleeping off that potion,” provided a grey-cloaked Warden standing by the wall.

  Peabody nodded. “Wizard Luciozzi.”

  “Sabbatical,” said the blue-bearded and tattooed wizard behind me. Ebenezar frowned, and one of his cheeks twitched in a nervous tic.

  It went on like that for close to a quarter hour. Some of the more interesting reasons for absence included “He got real married,” “Living under the polar ice cap,” and “Pyramid sitting,” whatever that was.

  Peabody finally read, with a glance up at the Merlin, “Wizard McCoy.” Ebenezar grunted and stood. Peabody read another half-dozen names before stating, “Wizard Schneider.”

  A small, round-cheeked man with a fringe of gauzy white down over his scalp and a round belly stretching his robes stood up and gave Ebenezar a brief nod. Then he looked up at the Merlin and said, in Latin with a heavy Germanic accent, “While I am grateful for the offer, honored Merlin, I must respectfully decline your nomination, in favor of Wizard McCoy. He will serve the Council more ably than I.”

  The Merlin looked as though someone had grated slices of lemon against his gums. “Very well,” he said. “Do any other senior wizards here wish to present themselves for consideration over Wizard McCoy?”

  I was betting no one would, especially given the looks on the faces of the wizards nearby. Ebenezar himself never moved his eyes from the Merlin. He just stood with his feet spread wide apart and planted, his eyes steady, confident. Silence fell over the hall.

  The Merlin looked around the hall, his lips pressed tightly together. Finally, he gave his head a very slight shake. “All in favor?”

  The room rumbled with a second, more affirmative “Aye.”

  “Very well,” the Merlin said, his upper lip twisting and giving the words an acid edge. “Wizard McCoy, take your place upon the Senior Council.”

  There was a murmur of what sounded a bit like relief from those in the hall. Ebenezar glanced back and winked at me. “One down. Two to go,” he murmured. “Stay sharp.” Then he hitched up his robes and stumped onto the stage, to the empty podium between Martha Liberty and Injun Joe. “Less talking, more doing,” he said, loudly enough to be heard by the whole hall. “There’s a war on.”

  “Precisely what I was thinking,” the Merlin said, and nodded to one side. “Let us address the war. Warden Morgan, would you please stand forward and give the Council the Wardens’ tactical assessment of the Red Court?”

  An oppressive silence settled over the room, so that I heard every sound of Morgan’s boots as he stepped up onto the stage. The Merlin moved aside, and Morgan placed a glittering gem or crystal of some kind upon the podium. Behind that, he set a candle, which he lit with a muttered incantation. Then he framed the candle with his hands and murmured again.

  Light streaked from the candle into the crystal in a glowing stream and sprang up out of the crystal again in a large cone stretching up above the stage, several yards across at the top. Within the cone of light appeared a spinning globe of the Earth, its continents vaguely misshapen, like something drawn from a couple of centuries past.

  A murmur ran through the room, and Bluebeard, at my table, muttered in Latin, “Impressive.”

  “Bah,” I said in English. “He stole that fromReturn of the Jedi. ”

  Bluebeard blinked at me, uncomprehending. I briefly debated trying to translateStar Wars into Latin and decided against it. See, I can have common sense, too.

  Morgan’s low voice rumbled out in Latin phrases, rough but understandable. Which meant he spoke it better than me. Jerk. “The flashing red spots on the map are the locations of known attacks of the Red Court and their allies. Most of them resulted in casualties of one form or another.” As he spoke, widely scattered motes of red color began to form on the globe like the glowing lights of a Christmas tree. “As you can see, most of the activity has taken place in Western Europe.”

  A mutter went through the room. The Old World was the domain of the Old School of wizardry—the “maintain secrecy and don’t attract attention” way of thinking. I guess they have a point, given the Inquisition and all. I don’t belong to the Old School. I have an ad in the Yellow Pages, under “Wizards.” Big shocker—I’m the only one there. I have to pay the bills somehow, don’t I?

  Morgan droned on dispassionately. “We have known for a long time that the main power center of the Red Court is somewhere in South America. Our sources there are under pressure, and it has become difficult to get any information out of the area. We have had advance warning of several attacks, and the Wardens have managed to intercede with minimal losses of life, with the exception of the attack at Archangel.” The globe paused in its spinning, and my eyes fastened on the glowing point of light on the northwest coast of Russia. “Though it is presumed that Wizard Pietrovich’s death curse took a heavy toll on his attackers, no one in his household survived the attack. We don’t know how they got past his defenses. It would appear that the Red Court may have access to information or aspects of the Art that they have not before had.”

  The Merlin stepped back to the podium, and Morgan collected his crystal. The globe vanished. “Thank you, Warden,” the Merlin said. “As we expected from Council records, our various retreats and Paths through the Nevernever are threatened. Frankly speaking, ladies and gentlemen, the Red Court holds us at a disadvantage within the mortal world. Modern technology so often disagrees with us that it makes travel difficult under the best of circumstances and unreliable in a time of conflict. We vitally need to secure safe Paths through the Nevernever or else risk being engaged and overwhelmed in detail by an opponent who can move more rapidly than we. To that end, we have dispatched missives to both Queens of the Sidhe. Ancient Mai.”

  My eyes flickered to the podium to the Merlin’s left, where stood another of the Senior Council members, apparently the Ancient Mai. She was a tiny woman of Oriental extraction, her skin fine and pale, her granite-colored hair worn in a long braid curled up at the back of her head and held with a pair of jade combs. She had delicate features only lightly touched by the passage of years, though her dark eyes were rheumy. She unfolded a letter written upon parchment and addressed the Council in a creaky but firm voice. “From Summer, we received this answer. ‘Queen Titania does not now, nor will she ever choose sides in the disputes of mortal and anthrophage. She bids both Council and Court alike to keep their war well away from the realms of Summer. She will remain neutral.” ’

  Ebenezar frowned and leaned forward to ask, “And from Winter?”

  I twitched.

  The Ancient tilted her head and regarded Ebenezar in perfect silence for a moment, somehow implying her annoyance at his interruption. “Our courier did not return. Upon consulting records of former conflicts, we may confidently assume that Queen Mab will involve herself, if at all, in a time and manner of her own choosing.”

  I twitched more. There was a pitcher of water on the table, along with some glasses. I poured a drink. The pitcher only rattled against the cup a little. I glanced back at Bluebeard and saw him regarding me with a pensive gaze.

  Ebenezar scowled. “Now what is that supposed to mean?”

  The Merlin stepped in smoothly. “It means that we must continue whatever diplomacy we may with Winter. At all costs, we must secure the cooperation of one of the Sidhe Queens—or at least prevent the Red Court from accomplishing an alliance of its own until this conflict can be resolved.”

  Martha Liberty lifted both eyebrows. “Resolved?” she said, her tone pointed. “I would have chosen a word like ‘finished’ myself.”

  The Merlin shook his head. “Wizard Liberty, there is no need for this dispute t
o devolve into an even more destructive conflict. If there exists even a small chance that an armistice can be attained—”

  The black woman’s voice lashed out at the Merlin, harsh and cold. “Ask Simon Pietrovich how interested the vampires are in reaching a peaceable settlement.”

  “Contain your emotions, Wizard,” the Merlin replied, his voice calm. “The loss of Pietrovich strikes each of us deeply, but we cannot allow that loss to blind us to potential solutions.”

  “Simon knew them, Merlin,” Martha said, her tone flat. “He knew them better than any of us, and they killed him. Do you really think that they will be inclined to seek a reasonable peace with us, when they have already destroyed the wizard best able to protect himself against them? Why should they seek a peace, Merlin? They’rewinning .”

  The Merlin waved a hand. “Your anger clouds your judgement. They will seek a peace because even in victory they would pay too high a cost.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Martha said. “They will never sue for peace.”

  “In point of fact,” said the Merlin, “they already have.” He gestured to the second podium on his left. “Wizard LaFortier.”

  LaFortier was an emaciated man of medium height and build. His cheekbones stood out grotesquely from his sunken face, and his bulging eyes looked a couple of sizes too large. He had no hair at all, not even eyebrows, and on the whole it gave him a skeletal look. When he spoke, his voice came out in a resonant basso, deep and warm and smooth. “Thank you, Merlin.” He held up an envelope in one thin-fingered hand. “I have here a missive from Duke Ortega, the war leader of the Red Court, received this morning. In it he details the Red Court’s motivations in this matter and the terms they desire for peace. He also offers, by token of goodwill, a temporary cessation of hostilities in order to give the Council time to consider, effective this morning.”

  “Bullshit!” The word burst out of my mouth before my brain realized I had said it. A round of snickers, mostly from brown-robed apprentices, echoed through the theater, and I heard fabric rustle as every wizard in the place turned to look at me. I felt my face heat again, and cleared my throat. “Well, it is,” I said to the room. Ebenezar translated for me. “I was attacked by a Red Court hit squad only a few hours ago.”