Immortal at the Edge of the World (5 page)

She was probably a goblin. I was in love with her anyway.

“Would you be Francis Justinian?” she asked. Her accent was a creative mixture of Southern Italy and Lower East Side.

“Today? Yes. And you might be?”

“I might be Mirella. And I might be here to help you.”

“As you’ve said. And the sword?”

It was a narrow, straight-edged sword that fell somewhere between a katana and a medieval half-sword. Probably a custom job.

“It’s here to help you, too. This is my resume,” she said.

“It’s very impressive. Could you lower it now, please?”

She hesitated long enough to make me reconsider the not-falling-backward-and-slamming-the-door decision I’d just made, and then lowered it. “Earlier today a person fired a gun at you, and now you open your hotel room door to a stranger without hesitation.”

“I was just beating myself up about that, yes,” I agreed. “But in my defense I didn’t know you had a sword.”

“Was it because I’m a woman? You didn’t see me as a threat?”

“No, it was because you’re a really attractive woman,” I said. I am usually more tongue-tied around women I find attractive, so this was actually sort of impressive for me to come right out and say. Either there was something about her that made me comfortable, or the liquor I’d been drinking all morning was having a larger impact than I appreciated. There was also the possibility that I could see no way to screw this up given she was already
at
my hotel room.

She was nonplussed by my response, and tried again. “And so because I am a really attractive—”

“Oh for goodness sake,” I interrupted. I was in no mood to get a speech on not underestimating her because she was pretty. “Why don’t you come in?” I stepped back and opened the door wider. Mirella shrugged, sheathed her sword—the sheath was strapped to her thigh—and more or less glided in. I could tell already that having her around would be difficult because just seeing her walk was a singularly captivating experience.

“So why
did
you open the door?” she asked. As she spoke her eyes darted around the room. She was examining angles and obstructions, and possible exits. Definitely a pro.

“I opened the door because this is a private suite. The hotel wouldn’t have allowed you up unless you had permission.” This was a
post facto
rationalization, but it sounded pretty good.

“And so how did I get here?” she asked.

“You had permission, naturally. Did Mr. Heintz hire you directly, or do you work for a service?”

She smiled. “Both. My employer was contacted by your man, and I was requested. Your Mr. Heintz knows enough to ask for the best.”

That was a distinct possibility. It was also possible Heintz was aware of just exactly how difficult it would be to decline Mirella’s services once I’d had a decent look at her. It was further possible that my banker knew me a bit too well. “I’m sure that’s true. I’m also sure you’re difficult to turn down. Would you like a drink?”

Mirella treated me to a raised eyebrow. “It’s much too early for either of us to be drinking. Also, I
am
the best. And why would you even consider turning down my service, which incidentally is only of the bodyguard variety?”

“Of course it is,” I said. I retreated to the bar to refresh my own beverage. “And it’s past noon. Since when is that too early?”

“Fine. I’ll have a scotch.”

“Really?” I was surprised. I was just being polite.

“The room is secure, and you don’t look like you’re going anywhere, so why not? Although I don’t know if you realize this, but there’s a tiny naked woman flying around this room.”

Clearly a goblin. Nobody else has eyes that good. “That’s Iza. And she’s unhappy with me right now because you’re not someone else.”

“
How
unhappy?”

“Only a little bit. She’s not a threat.”

“Yes, I was worried about an aerial assault from a Barbie. This is a creature I’ve never encountered before, and I find recognizing the moods of new things as soon as possible is an advantage.” She lifted the scotch I’d set down for her on the end of the bar and took a decent-sized gulp. I honestly couldn’t recall if goblins were good drinkers or not. “What is her kind called?”

“She’s a pixie. And when she’s upset she just . . . flies around faster, I think. Anyway, as I was getting around to saying, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Mirella took her eyes off Iza for long enough to finish her drink and place the glass on the edge of the bar. “Most of the people I work for, Mr. Justinian? If someone took a shot at them and then they saw me at their door, they wouldn’t be asking why I was there, they’d be asking where the rest of my team was.”

“You have a team?”

“No, I don’t like teams.”

“Right. Anyway. This situation is different.”

“Different because you’re bulletproof?”

Being bulletproof would have been fantastic. I got universal immunity instead, which was probably better, but still. “Unfortunately no. But the door was, and that’s what the bullets were meant for. Those shots weren’t to hurt me, they were to warn me to get out of there.”

Mirella gave me a look that implied she was hearing this particular excuse for the first time. I wondered if she often found herself trying to convince someone that they needed protection. “And why is that?” she asked.

“Because the pawnshop was about to explode.”

And that was definitely something new for her. “Maybe I should get a refill before you explain.”

*
 
*
 
*

My assumption was that Dugan the limo driver had submitted some manner of report to his bosses and the report had been forwarded to Heintz, and this was how I ended up sharing scotch with a goblin bodyguard. But that report clearly did not include the words “exploding pawnshop” so I had to back up and present the entire case to Mirella.

Well no, I didn’t
have
to. Technically, she was there at my whim, since someone I was paying had paid someone who pays her to be there, but as long as I had her I saw nothing wrong with telling the long version of my theory. Possibly just to show how clever I thought I was.

“So this Russian is the one who shot at the door,” she said. “This is what you’re suggesting.”

“I am. And Tchekhy likes me.” I’m pretty sure this is true, since he takes my calls even when I’m not paying him to. Sometimes when you have a lot of money this is the only way to identify friends. Also, his dad made him promise to do right by me, on his deathbed. That carries some weight.

I continued. “As I see it, he had already cleared out the shop and knew what was going to happen next. When he saw me getting out of the car he did what he could to get me to leave quickly. Best way to do that was plant a couple of rounds in the door.”

“I see gaping holes in this theory,” Mirella said. She was nursing her third scotch and did not appear to be feeling any of the effects. I considered this more impressive than the sword, to be honest.

“Well, a couple of holes. They aren’t gaping.”

“Gaping. Why was your friend destroying his own shop?”

“That I don’t know.”

Tchekhy had lined the walls of his basement—which was where all of his computer equipment was—with aluminum foil. The idea was to turn the entire room into an oven that would destroy all of the equipment completely before anyone with a fire hose was aware of the fire. I knew this because he had peeled back the wallpaper down there once to show it to me. And since I knew he had his share of both real and imagined enemies I never really got around to asking him what kind of circumstance would be required before he did this.

“And there is the coincidence,” she added. “You tell me you haven’t visited this man for a long time, then decide to drop by on a surprise visit at the exact moment he’s busy immolating his own shop.”

“I agree that does seem like an impressive coincidence.”

“Unless it isn’t a coincidence, and the reason he did this has something in common with you being in town.”

“But almost nobody knew I was going to be in New York, aside from the man who hired you and the people who he hired.”

“Yes. And it’s the people who know what they shouldn’t that ought to concern you. Wouldn’t you agree?” She gave me a remarkably winning smile and for a moment I forgot what we were talking about.

“I suppose I would, yes,” I said. Truthfully, I’ve found that most of the time coincidences are just the result of a poor understanding of what actually happened. I probably would have gotten around to realizing this on my own once I’d separated myself from the bar for a long enough period.

“But, you don’t need a bodyguard.”

“What I need is someone around who is thinking faster than I am, and in that regard you appear to be ideally suited.”

She smiled again. “Excellent. Let me fetch my go-bag from the concierge.” She put her glass down on the bar.

“Is there a passport in this bag?” I asked.

“Will I need one?”

“I expect so. Unless you think the dangers I’m facing are confined to this city.”

“I have a passport, and I’m fluent in four languages. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

I’m fluent in more or less all of them, but this didn’t seem like the time to brag about that.

“And incidentally,” she added, “not that I have any desire to talk you out of your decision, but I suspect your mind will work much faster without so much alcohol running through it.”

“Thanks. Now you sound just like a woman I used to date.”

Chapter Four

My encounters with goblins and elves are too numerous to recount, as their species has always been plentiful, if not particularly well identified, through history. Unlike demons and pixies, and even vampires, they look enough like humans that it’s entirely possible to spend your life around them without knowing they’re there at all.

This would not be the first time I traveled with a goblin, nor the first time I employed one as a bodyguard, mercenary, or warrior. They are very good creatures to have on your side in a fight, provided you are fortunate enough to be at least as clever as they are. I happen to be, but I’m something of an exception in a lot of ways and that’s one of them.

The first goblin I called friend was named Hsu, and I made his acquaintance sometime following what you would probably call the fall of the Roman Empire.

*
 
*
 
*

I have a lot of problems with historians. I think they spend too much time looking at the past as if the entire point of history was to lead up to the present. But people one and two and three thousand years ago weren’t any dumber or less evolved than they are now. They had their own prosaic understandings of how the world worked, certainly, and while a lot of those understandings were—when analyzed from a historical distance—somewhat facile, the same could be said about a lot of what people believe today.

Ask a scientist why a tornado happened and you might get a complicated weather-related response that underlies the random destructiveness of nature. Ask someone else and they might tell you God did it, and surely He had His reasons. The second answer implies an ordered universe, which is nice, even if it’s an ordered universe run by an angry god who appears to have overreacted somewhat. I personally find the second answer a good deal less comforting than the first, but that’s just me. The point I’m trying to make, though, is that this is the same answer you might have gotten to the same question if it were asked ten centuries earlier. The only difference, possibly, would have been the name of the god.

One thing I can agree with historians about is that the Early Middle Ages—you might call it the Dark Ages—was a complete mess. I lived through it, but if you want me to explain to you everything that happened back then I might have to turn to the nearest historian and ask them because they probably have a better shot at putting it all together than I ever will.

This is a thing that is true about history, whether you lived through it yourself or not: If there was no major unifying force in existence during the era in question, it’s basically impossible to figure out what went on.

For a very long time the Roman Empire was that unifying force. Now, I’m on record as hating the Romans, but my reasons are fairly petty. Basically, they were boring as hell, and when you’ve lived as long as I have you find yourself judging dullness much more harshly than dullness itself might deserve. Especially in this instance, because being boring did have its advantages.

The Romans were literate, culturally advanced, and had established an enormous boring kingdom that made it possible for one to know what happened in every part of that kingdom as it was full of people who were documenting it and marking it on a calendar everyone agreed to use, and communicating what they had learned. Granted,
what happened
was usually
not much, thanks
, but history was recorded nonetheless.

The reason it was so boring was that taxation will never, ever be interesting, and taxes were the key to the entire Empire. Sure there was military might and political savvy, and they had the highways and the aqueducts and the literacy and the public education. All of that was good. But Rome was built by taxes.