“Well, we can have that discussion for the hundredth time some other day. Tell me what the message about Arcadia is.”
Geraki raised his eyebrows. “Arcadia? Ah, that makes sense. The vision that came to me last night was that you’d be going into a hostile land and that you would not be going alone.”
“I know that,” snapped Justin, irritated as always at the asinine nature of prophecies. “What I want to know is what he finds so interesting there. The ravens support the trip, so I assume he has an ulterior motive.”
“It’s Thought and Memory that have driven you to me, hmm? Well, they do know our master’s mind.”
Flattering, said Magnus. But no one can truly know it. We are simply more privileged with insight than you two.
Justin didn’t bother correcting Geraki. “Was there anything else? Basically what you described could be any of my other jobs. What’s so special about this one, aside from the magnitude?”
Geraki shook his head. “That’s not for me to know—or even deal with. Our master has left it to you. He says there is a force there that threatens his plans and that you must eliminate it.”
“Eliminate it?” Justin nearly dropped his cup. “I accept that I might be able to sneak in some investigations to check out the religious scene there, but I’m certainly not there to make some decisive strike.”
Geraki met his gaze levelly. “He says it affects our country as well. If you feel no loyalty to him yet, surely that will persuade you.”
“Those types of threats are for people like Mae and the other military to deal with. I’m there to observe—nothing more. Unless, by chance, you have any specific details about this threat?”
Geraki shook his head, which didn’t surprise Justin in the least, and then said almost hesitantly, “In my vision, I saw a golden eagle.”
Justin waited expectantly, but nothing else came. “That’s not particularly helpful.”
I don’t suppose that means anything to you guys? he asked the ravens.
No, admitted Horatio. Except that eagles are arrogant.
And, added Magnus, that if Odin sent his prophet a vision about it, it is a dire matter, one you should be taking seriously.
Give me more details, and we’ll talk.
But the ravens had none to give, and Justin could only write it all off as another part of the frustration of working with gods.
“At least go in prepared,” Geraki told him. “Have your weapons ready.”
“I don’t use weapons either,” said Justin.
“You know what I mean,” Geraki told him. “You’ve learned many of Odin’s secrets from me, from the ravens.”
It was true to a certain extent. In the last couple of months, Justin had unwillingly received a crash course in Odin’s lore and the Nordic runes: the mystical symbols his followers used both for guidance and spellcasting. It was part of the oath Justin had taken to learn such things, and his quick mind couldn’t help but take it in. But he’d gone out of his way not to put what he’d learned into any sort of practical application, aside from the charm that had hidden him as one of the elect in Nassau.
“Learning isn’t the same as practicing,” said Justin. “And I’m doing just fine with the former.”
Geraki sighed and crossed his muscled arms over his equally bulky chest. “Then you’re a fool. If a god told me I was walking into danger, I’d take every precaution necessary.”
“I don’t need him to tell me. And I’ve got more faith in our military than him, I’m afraid.”
“You’re a fool,” Geraki repeated.
The words had little effect on Justin, seeing as he heard them pretty regularly during their meetings. Geraki always spoke them with a kind of grudging fondness, though, like Justin were simply an unruly child. After a few more ominous words from Geraki, Justin was able to ascertain that the other man truly knew nothing more about Arcadia. The ravens didn’t either, save that Odin had a task in mind. Satisfied he’d get nothing else, Justin took another cup of coffee to go and then headed back to his office to meet up with Mae for the briefing.
Fortunately, she was back in business mode and made no mention of her earlier pleadings or subsequent gratitude. Over in the senate, they were led to a conference room filled with a dozen men and women in suits and several black-uniformed praetorians. Mae didn’t let down her guard as she and Justin took seats near the end of a long table, but he saw her flash a smile to many of the praetorians, who smiled in return. Conversation buzzed around them in small clusters, with no one really taking charge of the meeting. It wasn’t until ten minutes after the start time that Lucian burst in with aides and security trailing in his wake.
He beamed at the room with his trademark smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Got waylaid by some lobbyists who just couldn’t seem to understand that our country’s security was more important than setting up a golf date.”
There were polite chuckles around the room, and from the shining eyes in some of them, Justin found it hard to believe Lucian had anything to worry about in the polls. These people were eating out of his hand.
A man named Atticus Marley soon took charge—after making sure Lucian was comfortable, of course—and Justin learned he was the closest the RUNA had to an ambassador in Arcadia. He’d been instrumental in many negotiations and was an expert in their culture and social systems. Lucian might be the mascot in their party, but Atticus was the unofficial leader and guide. Most of the suits in the room were advisers staying in the RUNA, and he introduced them to the other key personnel who’d actually be traveling to Arcadia. One was a man named Phil Ramirez, who would be working on some technology and trade issues as a sign of good will toward the Arcadians. The other man, named George Yi, was posing as a professor of comparative cultural arts but was, in reality, a military analyst hoping to spy out any illicit doings on the Arcadian side. He seemed pleasantly surprised that Justin was, in fact, a real religion expert.
“Here,” said Atticus, turning on a screen at the front of the room, “is where we’ll be staying. Although there are inns and hotels in Arcadia, it’s considered bad form to put high profile guests there.” A satellite image appeared, showing a top-down view of a cluster of buildings around some land covered in yellowing grass. He chuckled as he glanced back at the group. “So you can take pride at being shown this regard.”
Phil Ramirez looked dubious. “I’d rather have a high-rise with room service.”
Justin silently concurred. The compound looked like a glorified farm to him, and he listened as Atticus explained how their host was a high-ranking government official who’d go to the trouble of displacing his wives and children in order to accommodate them.
“Wives?” asked George Yi. “And here I thought that was just something out of the movies.”
“Not among the more powerful members of Arcadian society,” said Atticus. “They can afford multiple wives and concubines. Some among the lower classes have the brute force to kidnap them.”
One of the praetorians crossed her arms. “What’s the difference between a wife and a concubine?”
“Alimony?” suggested Phil.
“Not far off,” said Attitcus. “A wife is forever in Arcadia—barring rare examples of divorce. A man has certain obligations to provide for her and her children, though you’ll find some fulfill those responsibilities questionably. Wives are also afforded certain status and protection. Concubines are more transient. Sex and other labor only. A man can share or sell his concubine. He can sell her children. And although an Arcadian wife has few rights, as we view them, a concubine has even less.” His eyes fell on Mae and the other three praetorian women in turn. “And you, I’m afraid, are going to be fulfilling the roles of concubines.”
“I beg your pardon?” demanded another praetorian woman.
Atticus actually flushed. “I should be clearer. You’ll be, uh, playacting. Not actually performing any duties. The gender disparity you’re seeing here isn’t an
accident.” He nodded to Lucian, Phil,
George, and Justin. “They—and myself—are the principle players on this trip. This is what the Arcadians will expect. It wouldn’t even occur to them that important, powerful diplomats would be anything but men. And, although their military will certainly outnumber ours, they also would expect us to show up with our own protection—which is what you gentlemen and a number of regulars will be doing.” That was to a group of praetorian men.
“Where do we fit in with our ‘playacting’ then?” asked the first praetorian woman.
“Arcadians would consider it perfectly normal for high-powered men to travel with concubines. Not wives—at least not into dangerous territories. But, they figure men have needs, and if a man can bring his concubine along, then why not?” Atticus let his rhetorical questions hang for a few moments. “Posing as concubines will provide an extra level of security behind closed doors when we aren’t out on official business. You can stay in our bedrooms all night, awake, on guard.”
Mae leaned forward. “Two questions. First: they must know we don’t have the same social order as they do with these wives and concubines. Won’t they think it’s suspicious if we show up matching their customs?”
Atticus smiled. “Yes, they know we don’t have that same formal structure, but they also know we have much looser mores when it comes to sex outside of marriage. Honestly, they all think we’re sinners and whores, and if we’re traveling with women for sex, then they’re concubines whether we call them that or not.”
“Fair enough,” said Mae, hiding any distaste she might feel. “But even if the Arcadians don’t have women in their military, they must know we do in ours. Don’t you think it might occur to them that maybe we’re playing them and sending trained soldiers undercover?”
“Some might,” he agreed. “But they won’t take you seriously. No offense.” He narrowed his eyes as he regarded Mae, seeming to truly notice her. “You’re a patrician, praetorian? Some northern European group?”
“Nordic,” she said warily. “Why?”
“The group makes no difference. It’s more your recessive genes I’m noticing—and the Arcadians will as well. They had no pre-vaccine defense against Mephistopheles, and Cain runs rampant among them. A woman with your coloring who’s also so, pardon me, attractive will draw attention.” He glanced at the other praetorian women and frowned. “Honestly, in my opinion, you’re all too attractive for this mission, plebeian or patrician. A healthy brunette might not be as rare as a healthy blonde, but you’re all going to be head and shoulders above many Arcadian women.”
“Worried the Arcadians will steal our women?” asked Justin. Atticus didn’t laugh at the joke. “This group of women? Not
without a fight. But I’d rather you four didn’t attract any unnecessary attention. I don’t suppose we could find any praetorians marked with Cain? No, I don’t suppose such a thing even exists.” He sighed and focused back on Mae. “At the very least, it might be worth swapping you out for a plebeian. We’re waiting to get another woman assigned to us as it is. I could ask for two.”
Justin stiffened in his chair and sensed a similar reaction in Mae as well. This whole ordeal he’d gone through for her would be worthless if she got cut from the mission. “No. Praetorian Koskinen has to go. I need her. That is, she’s not just here for security. She’s also essential to my work specifically.”
Phil frowned. “What exactly is your work? Are you seriously here just to learn about religion?”
“It’s classified,” said Justin. “Internal security stuff.”
It sounds so official when you put it like that, said Horatio.
That pleased Phil, who seemed to read it as a subtle way of saying Justin was some sort of ballistics expert planning strikes against Arcadia. That seemed to be much more reasonable than anyone being truly interested in local culture. Atticus looked unconvinced, but Lucian preempted whatever protests he might make.
“Best not to interfere with Internal Security’s plans,” he said. “And I’ve seen Praetorian Koskinen’s work in the past. I don’t think we need to worry about some ill-behaved man doing something she doesn’t want.”
Justin wondered if that was a subtle reference to Lucian’s own lack of success with Mae. If so, he seemed to be taking it in good humor. Mae had on her usual poker face, and Justin couldn’t help but think that whatever reason Odin had had for having Justin encourage the two to go out, it apparently wasn’t strong enough to have an effect on her.
Maybe she’s not the one who matters, suggested Horatio.
You’re saying Odin just wants Lucian hooked on her? Why?
Might be a handy thing having a politician dancing at your every command, said the raven.
I wouldn’t say it’s gone that far or that Mae’s encouraging it, said
Justin. And she doesn’t serve Odin, so how can he reap the benefit?
The birds had no answer, and Justin focused back on Atticus, who’d given up his protests about Mae and was finishing off his outline of the mission specifics. Since it was supposed to be a friendly, diplomatic mission, the majority of the time would be spent with Justin and the other key men being shown around relevant sites—together or separately—in Arcadia while they tried to gather as much intel as possible. Justin thought that would wrap up the briefing, but then another touch of the screen initiated a presentation entitled ARCADIAN CULTURE AND CUSTOMS.
“The mission details are easy,” Atticus told them grimly. “Now comes the hard part. Sit back, get comfortable, and forget everything you know about civility.”
CHAPTER 7
Hard Luck Cases
Darius was only the first surprising person Tessa found waiting for her after school the next day. He was standing outside the cushioned room that creative thinkers used to brainstorm their independent projects. Actually, it was more like he was slouching outside of it. Each time she saw him, Tessa was kind of amazed that he managed to get around as well as he did. He seemed to be all arms and legs sometimes, and no encounter went by without him stumbling at least once. But he straightened up effortlessly now, a smile lighting his face.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey,” she said.
They stood there in a moment of awkward silence as her classmates moved around them. Darius cleared his throat. “Are you doing anything right now? Do you want to go get coffee?”
Tessa had two immediate reactions. The first was relief that he was asking for coffee. That was something she understood. On the rare occasions she did get asked out socially by classmates, it was usually to eat Asian food, something she was still coming to terms with. The RUNA’s culture was so inextricably tied to that of its sister country, the EA, that Asian cuisine was pretty ubiquitous. Although she’d made great strides in differentiating between Chinese, Japanese, and Thai cuisine, chopsticks still remained an embarrassing social experience for her. But coffee? Coffee she could handle.
Once she’d accepted that, her next reaction was wariness. Every time Darius wanted to talk to her, it was to ask for something. What could he possibly want from her now? She was pretty sure she couldn’t get any more favors out of Justin. Darius didn’t seem like the type who wanted to hang out with her just for the novelty of gawking at a provincial, but maybe she was mistaken. Whatever his reasons were, she couldn’t guess them and was too polite to make up a lie to decline. That, and her curiosity got the better of her yet again.
“Okay,” she said. The two of them began walking toward the stairs. “But someone’ll have to come with us.”
“Who?” asked Darius, looking understandably perplexed.
“Ah, well . . . um, after what happened last time you were over . . .” Tessa paused, not that there could be any question of which incident she was referring to. “Well, after that, Justin got security for us. I’m not really supposed to go out without a bodyguard, so he should be waiting for me downstairs.”
Darius looked impressed. “You have your own bodyguard?”
br /> “We kind of share a group of them,” she explained, blushing. “Today I’m with a guy named Rufus. He seems okay.”
Tessa had only met him this morning. He’d said very little on the ride to school, which she’d liked. It was nice a change from Mae’s praetorian friends. Rufus might not have a reflex-enhancing implant in him, but she would gladly go without that extra protection in order to not be constantly reminded of the Miscreant Terrorist Girls Reform Camp.
Only, it wasn’t Rufus who greeted Tessa when she reached the bottom of the stairs. A woman she didn’t know was standing there, one whom Tessa’s eyes initially passed over until she did a double take and saw the stranger staring pointedly at her.
She strode up to Tessa on five-inch heels that were a perfect match to the tight red blazer and skirt she wore. A plunging neckline showed ample cleavage and left one to wonder if there was anything on underneath it. The woman’s lacquer lipstick was the same shade of red, providing a bright contrast to her dark eyes and wavy hair. She held out a hand to Tessa and smiled with gleaming white teeth.
“You must be Teresa,” she said. “You look just like your picture, except dressed better. You ready to go?”
Tessa came to a halt. “Go where? Who are you?”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “I figured they would’ve told you. Or that you would’ve recognized me.” She waited for a response from Tessa and then glanced at Darius. Both shook their heads. “I’m Daphne Lang.” There was an expectant tone in her voice, like her name should’ve meant something. After a few more moments, the woman threw up her hands in frustration. “Really? Nothing?”
Tessa shook her head again. “I’m sorry.”
”Everything okay here?”
Rufus came strolling up to them, hands in his pockets and body language casual. But his eyes were fixed sharply on Daphne, and Tessa realized he’d probably been waiting down here and watching the whole time.