Stiletto (72 page)

When they arrived at the Reading Room, one of the guards checked and confirmed it was empty before Myfanwy went in alone and closed the door behind her. The room was dim, and most of the light came from a fire crackling in a large fireplace, with a few lamps contributing a negligible glow. Dark oak bookshelves lined the walls, and the gilt lettering on the books’ spines caught the flickering light.

She settled herself in a leather-covered armchair, taking a moment to arrange her dress’s train about her feet.
Honestly, I can’t wear a nice dress without some ridiculous bullshit ruining the evening.
She closed her eyes and thought.

Earlier that evening, she had sat in a concealed chamber that opened off the corridor to the assembly room. The room was small, designed to hold one or two soldiers. It, and others like it, had been built against the possibility that the Apex might someday be besieged and breached by an enemy. Checquy warriors could be salted throughout the building to burst out to attack intruders. The Rook had sat gazing through a cunningly hidden spy hole as, in dribs and drabs, the Grafters walked by on their way to the party. She had gently run her powers over them with the softest touch she could muster. There had been some extraordinary features and designs in the bodies of the guests but none was wearing any face but his or her own.

Immeasurably relieved, she had immediately reported her findings to the Lord and Lady.
Did they tell the Prime Minister? Is that why he made his announcement?
she wondered.
Or did he simply think revealing privileged information would make him look powerful?

The door opened, and the Prime Minister entered, accompanied by the forbidding figure of Bishop Raushan Attariwala. The Bishop’s eyes tracked Myfanwy as she stood and walked up to greet the head of His Majesty’s Government.

“Excellent speech, Prime Minister,” said the Rook.

“Thank you. It’s going to mean a hell of a lot of work for a lot of people, I know,” he said. “But this situation must be addressed immediately.”

“I quite agree, sir,” said Myfanwy. At that point the door opened again and Sir Henry entered.

“Sorry about the delay, Prime Minister,” said Henry. “Had to wait a bit after you’d departed. Didn’t want tongues wagging, not that they’ll lack for things to talk about.”

“Will the rest of the executives be coming?” asked the Prime Minister as he settled himself into one of the seats.

“We thought it best not,” said Sir Henry. “The absence of the entire Court from the reception would draw questions. We’ll brief them later. Now, drinks. Port, Myfanwy?”

“Yes, thank you, my Lord,” said the Rook.

“Prime Minister?”

“Please.”

“Raushan?”

“I’ll take it,” said the Bishop, “but you know I’ll just be holding it in my hand for the look of the thing.”

“Of course,” said the Lord of the Checquy. “And a tonic water in case you actually get thirsty?”

“Much obliged.”

“Surely the Belgians must have pictures of these extremists,” said the Prime Minister. “Since they’re former operatives of the brotherhood.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Myfanwy. “They have already provided us with detailed files.”

“When do you propose to make the photographs public?” asked the Prime Minister.

“We have been advised,” said Bishop Attariwala heavily, “that there would be little point.”

“Little point?” repeated the Prime Minister incredulously. “Raushan, if we can show the public that we have already identified the culprits, it will do a great deal to reassure people.”

“We quite understand, Prime Minister,” said Bishop Attariwala. He looked over to Rook Thomas. “It seems, however, that these targets are quite capable of changing their appearance.”

The PM’s face twisted in distaste. “I really loathe this sort of shit,” he said. “It’s difficult enough running a normal country without all these abnormal issues cropping up.”

“That’s why you have us, sir,” said Myfanwy.

“Yes, it appears to be doing me a mountain of good,” he replied sharply. “Your function is to keep this kind of thing from affecting the citizens of this country. I would not say that you are succeeding at the moment.” The Rook flushed. “These attacks have come as a result of this...
amalgamation
that you have brought to us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think it possible that these radicals might still have contacts among their old allies? Even within the Checquy itself?”

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

“I cannot take this risk. The Checquy must not be divided against itself, Rook Thomas. The nation cannot afford that. And it cannot afford to have an enemy that is willing to use unnatural weaponry against the public. The clouds of gas were plausible — just. But Sir Henry advises me that the extremists are escalating. They are angry and they are reckless. The next attack might be impossible to explain away. It would change the world forever.”

“I don’t believe they would do that, sir,” said Rook Thomas.

“Oh?” said Bishop Attariwala. “Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “After all, from what we’ve heard of these ‘Antagonists,’ they could have unleashed monsters like at the Isle of Wight, or worse. Why are they being so discreet?” He pursed his mouth sourly when he realized that he had described the suffering and mutilation of hundreds of innocents as
discreet
.

“The same thing that keeps the Checquy discreet,” said Myfanwy simply. “Upbringing.”

“What?” asked the Prime Minister, bewildered.

“It’s the Estella principle,” she said. “If you take a child and teach it to hate and fear something from before it can understand language, it will be supremely difficult for the child to overcome that. Like graduates of the Estate, these Antagonists have been brought up to keep themselves secret at all costs.

“The Broederschap taught them to be afraid of more than just the Checquy,” continued the Rook. “The Antagonists will be frightened of revealing too much in public, in case they draw the attention of other predators.”

“Marvelous, so they just reserve the patchwork thugs for attacks on Court members,” said Sir Henry.

“They don’t hate the public,” said Myfanwy. “They just hate us.”

“This all sounds very speculative, Thomas,” said the Prime Minister dubiously. “I was not elected to take chances with the well-being of this nation. And you were not appointed to your position to do so either.”

“No, sir.”

“Any more attacks of this sort, and drastic steps will have to be taken. It is not essential that the Checquy merge with this brotherhood, but it
is
essential that this problem be solved.”

“I understand, Prime Minister.”

“Two days, Miss Thomas. That is all I can give you.”

“Sir.”

“Sir Henry, Raushan, is this acceptable to you two?”

“Very reasonable, Prime Minister,” said Bishop Attariwala. The Lord of the Checquy nodded.

“Forty-eight hours from now, then,” said the Prime Minister. “If the problem isn’t solved one way, you solve it the other. Quickly and quietly. It is now” — he looked at his watch — “ten past nine. At eleven past nine on Sunday, the Grafters will no longer be a problem.”

“I’ll begin making the arrangements,” said Rook Thomas quietly.

“I expect we’d better get back to the party, then,” said Bishop Attariwala finally. “Myfanwy, you and I will have a little chat later.”

“Yes,” said Thomas. She rose as the men left and then placed a telephone call. “Ingrid, can you please come to the Reading Room, and bring Security Chief Clovis.” She sat down again, brooding in the shadows.

Two days. The Prime Minister has given me two days. But that presupposes that the Antagonists won’t do anything in the meantime. If there is another attack, then all bets are off.

Why are they delaying? Is it to build up tensions in the Checquy?
If that was their goal, then it was certainly succeeding. When the Prime Minister had revealed the true nature of the Antagonists to the guests at the reception, there had been a moment when she had genuinely feared the Checquy would turn on the Grafters present.

What would I have done then?
she wondered.
Would I have used my powers against my own people? To protect a peace they don’t want? Or would I have stood aside and let them kill our guests in front of civilians?
And what was she to do now? The tension would only heighten as word of the Antagonists coursed through the ranks.

It would take so little, even now,
Myfanwy thought.
A simple strike, a simple wound, placed precisely, and this peace will be smashed forever.

She wondered if the Antagonists had agents within the Checquy who were feeding them information. The Grafters had possessed such spies, after all, although Ernst had finally turned over the names.
They knew when we’d be leaving Hill Hall,
she mused.
They had attackers waiting for me on the road.

Suddenly, ridiculously, she wished she could speak with Thomas — the first Myfanwy Thomas, the woman who’d worn this body before she herself came into existence. Thomas had been shy and meek, but she’d possessed years of experience and training. She would have given good advice, or at least been someone Myfanwy could confess her fears to, could show weakness to.

I have to ensure that nothing happens in the next two days. How can I make the Antagonists wait?
And then the revelation came to her.

Odette! They won’t strike without retrieving her. Christ, look at the effort they went to before. Thank God Clements was prevented from killing her when I gave the order or we’d have no leverage at all!

I need to place her somewhere beyond their control, somewhere they cannot access but that raises no questions. I can’t simply put a hundred bodyguards around her — Ernst and the Broederschap would know there was a problem, that the Checquy does not trust them. And I can’t send her overseas, or the Antagonists will feel free to strike on British soil.
Myfanwy turned the problem over and over in her mind, certain there was a solution.

There was a knock on the door, and her EA entered, followed by Security Chief Clovis. Myfanwy explained the situation quickly, and they both looked horrified.

“So, Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid. “The Prime Minister...”

“Yes?”

“He’s given you two days to eliminate the Antagonists.”

“Yes,” said the Rook.

“And if you don’t, he means to shut down the negotiations?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Which would mean war,” said Clovis grimly.

“Maybe,” said the Rook. “Although if I manage to make all the arrangements I need to, it might simply mean a quick, discreet one-sided slaughter.”

As they emerged from the Reading Room and made their way back to the reception hall, Myfanwy kept turning the problem of Odette over in her head.
There must be a way,
she thought.
But if there isn’t, I need to prepare for every other eventuality.

“Ingrid, I’ll need to talk to the team leaders of the Barghests immediately,” she said. “All of the domestic ones.”
I’ll need them ready if Sunday comes and we have to eliminate Ernst and the Broederschap.

When they came to the assembly room, she looked about automatically for Odette.
I’m going to feel really bad if she’s still standing alone with no one to talk to except her kid brother and Clements.

The room still seemed to be somewhat subdued and there wasn’t much cross-pollination between groups. Finally, she saw the Grafter girl talking to a tall man in his late twenties. Judging by their postures and hands, it seemed to be quite a civil conversation. At least, no one was getting slapped or stabbed.

“Who is that?” she wondered aloud.

“He’s a Pawn,” said Ingrid. “Louis Something. He works in Analysis and Assessment.” As they watched, the Pawn stepped out on the dance floor and extended a hand to Odette. She took it, and even from a distance they could see that she was both nervous and delighted. The two began to waltz, easily and beautifully.

“Did you tell him to do that?” asked Myfanwy.

“No, I didn’t,” said Ingrid. “I don’t think anybody ordered him to do that.” She was smiling as she watched the two dancers. “So maybe there’s hope for us all yet.”

Yes, maybe,
thought Myfanwy grimly, the ultimatum she’d just received replaying in her head.
But not much.

It had been a pretty good evening all in all, thought Odette in satisfaction. Some low points, certainly, but the high points had outnumbered them.

And the Prime Minister’s speech was very encouraging,
she thought.
He really put his support behind the negotiations.
After that, she and Alessio had milled around a bit, and Alessio had continued to interrogate her frantically about the Antagonists. Of course her brother had known them all, but he’d been ignorant about their turning against the Broederschap. He’d been told a milder version of the story that had been given to Clements — that they had been killed by a supernatural enemy. He was particularly distraught to hear about Dieter, whom he’d known well. Odette had tried to keep her answers reassuring, but it was hard to sugarcoat the fact that his family was responsible for the atrocities they’d been watching on television all evening.

People had begun looking at the two of them with increasing distaste, and Alessio was almost in tears when, with impeccable timing, the headmistress of the Estate, a well-rounded woman with a German accent, swooped down and engaged him in conversation about his studies and the field trips. Odette, grateful for the break, had looked around for Clements and seen her a few feet away, talking to an acquaintance. Felicity had nodded permission for her to mingle, so Odette drifted through the crowd, listening to snatches of conversations.

“...either have to apply for emergency funding or dig into some of the bequests. I simply have no idea to what extent the government will pay for all this...”