Pacific Fire (19 page)

“Turns out I like truck stops more than palaces.”

“The point is, my lord, that castle or campground, it was your choice to make.”

“Did you try to kill me?” he said.

She seemed neither surprised by the question nor affronted.

“Did someone try to kill you, my lord?”

“It didn't work, obviously, but I can't let that go unanswered.”

She seemed to take this as a given. “There are any number of people made nervous by the fact that you're still alive. I acknowledge that I'm on that list, but I shouldn't think I'm at the very top.”

“The venom was custom designed for me. Whoever crafted it must have had access to my essence.”

“Ah,” she said, as if she'd just solved the last clue in a crossword puzzle. “Your teeth. Yes, I do know your teeth. Your father brought them to me when he wanted to know how to extract the most magic from them. He wanted to use them to make a golem from you. I did try to warn him.”

The light changed, growing cooler, darker. Clouds outside must have drifted in front of the sun.

“Warn him?”

“That it was an ill-advised notion, making a golem from teeth. Teeth are potent sources of osteomancy, but they are fire, and rending, and consuming passion. For a golem, you need large bones, through which great quantities of blood have flowed, soaking their osteomancy into the hollows. Or else the golem is a sad thing. Broken. Incomplete.”

Daniel had met his golem, very briefly, when they were both children. He was just as Sister Tooth had described: damaged.

“The attempt on me was to snatch the Hierarch's golem,” Daniel said. “And now he's missing. Do you know anything about that?”

Sister Tooth's unblinking pale eyes were almost white. “I have tried to procure your boy many times. I don't want you as an enemy, but the Hierarch's golem is simply too rich a treasure to leave alone. Nonetheless, I would never send assassins for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I take your teeth, my lord, I'll have them from your living head.” She smiled. Her teeth didn't match. They were many colors. Many shapes. They came from many different creatures. “I have answered your questions. Now I have one for you: Will you fight me, here, in my own house? Or will we wait another day?”

“Moth, by the way,” Moth said, waving. “My name is Moth. I'm standing right here, part of the world.”

Daniel remembered the satisfaction of plunging his hands into the Hierarch's chest. Cracking through his breastbone. Grasping his heart and pulling it free. He remembered biting into it and tasting the flavor of his magic. Sister Tooth wasn't as richly osteomantic as the Hierarch, but she'd make someone a very fine meal.

“Later,” Daniel said.

*   *   *

The La Brea Tar Pits were the historical heart of osteomantic power in Los Angeles. The first magic excavated by the Hierarch came from there, and it was the land upon which was built the byzantine castle of the Ministry of Osteomancy's headquarters. The Ministry now made do with drabber quarters on less hallowed ground, and the castle belonged to Mother Cauldron.

The building had been closed to the public for nearly a decade and showed its neglect. The flags that once snapped defiantly, regardless of the breeze, were now limp tatters. The plaster sculpture of a mammoth that spent decades trapped in the tar, bellowing to her mate and calf on the grass shore, had finally succumbed and rotted into black muck. Only the rusty steel skeleton of her superstructure remained.

Daniel and Moth went around to the side of the building, where a bored-looking guy sat on a stool in front of a door, reading the racing forms. He looked like a shlub, but he gave off smells of smilodon and short-faced cave bear and dire wolf and griffin. He was no shlub.

Daniel approached him, with Moth striking a menacing loom behind.

“I'm Daniel Blackland, son of Sebastian Blackland, and I want to see Mother Cauldron.”

The guy folded his newspaper, got up off his stool, and went through the door and locked it behind him.

Moth shook his head, exasperated. “I think your subterfuge might be a bit rusty. You keep using your real name.”

“And my dad's name. I'm the guy who killed the Hierarch, Moth. I can't move through the capital without people finding out who I am. It'd be like John Wilkes Booth catching a matinee at Ford's Theatre the morning after.”

“Which he was not stupid enough to do, I can't help but point out.”

The door opened. The guard had brought two bigger friends with him. They loomed at Moth, but Moth was simply the best loomer Daniel had ever met, and he made them look ridiculous.

“This way,” the guard said.

He brought them down a long metal staircase barnacled in red rust, many levels down, into heat and steam and bubbling and hissing. The smells of sulfur and charred dirt blanketed the inside of Daniel's head.

The guard stopped on a rather rickety and crowded landing. “You go one more level down. She's expecting you.” He smiled. “Good luck.”

He and his two big friends climbed back up the stairs, leaving Daniel and Moth alone.

Daniel peered down the rest of the stairway. He couldn't see the bottom. Just steamy darkness.

“Wait up here,” he said to Moth. “I won't need you for this.”

“Right-o,” said Moth, and when Daniel continued down, Moth remained glued to his back.

They pushed their way through the steam, Daniel leading the way by smell, moving toward the sounds of running water and clanking metal. Overhead turned a great contraption of wheels and blades, like a giant egg beater, clearing enough air to reveal a vast kitchen. Ovens burdened with copper kettles stretched into the mist. Hundreds of spoons and spatulas and knives and cleavers hung from racks. Bowls of powders and bones and bales of dried herbs covered marble-topped islands. All of it was built atop a concrete platform hovering over sluggish tar.

The air was nearly solid with the aromas of griffin and sphinx and gorgon and dozens of other osteomantic creatures. And in the center of it all was Mother Cauldron.

Daniel had always heard Mother Cauldron was an enormous woman with flesh the color of cooked mushrooms, with as many as six arms to stir her pots. Indeed, she was all this. But when she favored Daniel with a warm smile, he could see nothing monstrous about her. She seemed kind, welcoming, comforting. And that's how he knew how dreadfully powerful she was.

“Come in,” she said setting down several spoons. “Are you hungry? I'm making soup.”

In fact, she was making at least a dozen pots of soup, and it all smelled amazing, and he was tempted.

He moved around the kitchen, leaning over the various pots and kettles and reaching into his cells for regenerative hydra essences, just to be careful, just in case he touched something poisonous. Mother Cauldron was the best osteomantic mixer in the realm, and most of her preparations were deadly, weaponized magic.

“I'd just like to talk to you,” he said.

“Whatever about, dear?”

“The Hierarch's golem.”

“Is he for sale? If I recall, I once sent representatives to negotiate for me, but you weren't persuaded.”

“You sent nine guys with cleaver-clubs to raid the motel where we were staying.”

“And that was the last I ever heard from them. I inferred that you weren't interested in my offer. Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Daniel said.

“Then it seems doubtful we have anything to talk about.”

“I was visited by more negotiators this week. They attacked me with tsuchigumo venom. It was potent stuff. It even managed to make me queasy.”

“I would imagine so. I can still smell its traces on you.” She sprinkled herbs into one of her kettles. “You think that was me?”

“Sophisticated osteomantic poisons are kind of your signature move, Mother.”

She lifted a spoon to her lips and tasted her soup. Trilling a little song, she shaved some slivers of bone into the pot.

“Poisons are only part of my repertoire. Some of my mixtures are crafted for delight. Some for love. Some for the most wondrous things.”

Daniel moved to a small green kettle, simmering on a stove. A spoon immersed in a pea-green paste rested against its side. “This one actually smells good. What is it?”

“Just a tummy-warmer. It's very nutritious. Try some?”

Daniel dipped the spoon in and lifted it to his nose. He did not inhale.

“Jesus,” he croaked, jumping back and flinging the spoon away. “You just tried to kill me, didn't you?”

She sighed. “Why are picky eaters always the most dramatic?”

He backed away from the kettle as if it were a hooded cobra. “The tsuchigumo was yours, Mother Cauldron. No one else can cook something that nasty.”

“Well, dear, I'm flattered. You're absolutely correct. Tsuchigumo is my recipe, and it can't be reverse engineered. If you were attacked with it, it was mine.”

“Mercy me,” Daniel said. “You just admitted to the man who ripped the Hierarch's heart from his chest that you tried to kill me.”

She smiled sweetly. “I admitted to providing the mechanism to have you killed.”

“The subtle difference eludes my angered perception. Who'd you sell the poison to?”

She frowned and wagged a finger. “I don't reveal my customers.” And then she laughed and flounced with all her hands. “But of course, it was Otis Roth. Who else could afford it? He's always wanted your boy, and I like his money very much.” She flicked her tongue at Daniel, as if tasting him. He shuddered. “But you already knew this. What do you really want, Daniel?”

“My boy is missing. I think he might be in LA, and I want him back.”

She adjusted the heat on a few of her burners.

“I don't have him.”

“Who does?”

“Perhaps you might consider asking Otis,” she said, with withering sweetness. “Though it's really not any of my business. My kitchens provide half the magic in the realm. I certainly can't be held responsible for its deployment.”

“I could make you responsible,” Daniel said.

“Yes, you could fight me. You're a very powerful young man. Perhaps you would even rip out all my hearts. But it would cost you, and I think you might want to save some strength for whatever confrontations lie in your future. Don't spend yourself on tantrums, my dear.” She dipped a spoon into her cauldron and lifted it to her nose. Strands of black, viscous fluid oozed down. “Are you sure you won't have some soup before you leave?”

Daniel turned to the stairs, but Moth held his place.

“I'm just going to point out one thing,” Moth said. “Daniel's still alive. So, you might want to keep working on that tsuchigumo recipe of yours.”

Mother Cauldron slurped from the spoon. “Why, dear heart, what is it you think I've been doing?”

*   *   *

On their way back to the boat, Daniel whistled a happy little tune. Moth eyed him.

“Okay, why are you being so smug?”

“You'd be smug, too, if you were the best thief in the kingdom.”

“Daniel…”

“You know when I almost ate from the green kettle and freaked out and threw the spoon?”

“I was there,” Moth said. “I would have laughed at your lack of dignity except I was scared to make a peep.”

Daniel fished out a jar of bone from his pocket.

“Misdirection, my friend. Sleight of hand.”

Moth rumbled a laugh. “That's my boy. What is it?”

“I don't know, exactly. But if there's a toxin capable of melting a patchwork firedrake, this is it.”

Moth leaned away from the jar. “So that's what this drop-in was about?”

“No. But when opportunity knocks…”

“You make sure it knocks you right in the teeth.”

 

TWELVE

Gabriel Argent shepherded a flock of headaches, from his throne.

A tugboat had gone over the embankment of the 405 flumeway and landed in the 10 flumeway, bringing traffic to a standstill between West LA and downtown. That was in addition to the jammed 110 and 5, caused by a baseball game at Chavez Ravine.

He turned some valves and diverted water to spillways to bleed off at least some of the afternoon commuters to surface canals. The red alarm light on his map turned yellow.

A new red light appeared on a different part of the map, at the Hyperion water treatment plant. A cracked pipe had sent eight hundred gallons of untreated solid waste into the sea off Playa del Rey. Gabriel turned some more valves and leaned over the edge of his seat to peer into the black pool below his throne. Colors swirled in the water like drizzled paint. Images came into focus, and he watched plant operations with his remote eyes until he was satisfied the leak was being dealt with. Still, some heads would have to roll. Not literally, of course. But the longer he stayed in this job, the more he feared that “literally” would become inevitable.

Incompetence was one thing. Not a good thing, but not a thing he was willing to kill people over. Sabotage, however …

He paged through a leaflet the Northern California Kingdom had airdropped over the border. It instructed saboteurs on simple, safe techniques they could use to inhibit the Southern realm's ability to make war.

Transportation
: Make train travel as inconvenient as possible for enemy personnel. Issue two tickets for the same seat on a train in order to set up an “interesting” argument.

Telephone
: At office, hotel, and local telephone switchboards, delay putting calls through, give out wrong numbers, cut people off “accidentally,” or forget to disconnect them so that the line cannot be used again.

Organizations and Conferences
: When possible, refer all matters to committees, for “further study and consideration.” Attempt to make the committees as large and bureaucratic as possible. Hold conferences when there is more critical work to be done.