The hotel had recovered its haughtiness and was open for business despite being practically ground zero for the outbreak of the fog. The doormen even stood a little more stiffly at attention, as if to say that an inexplicable, possibly terrorism-based disaster was absolutely no reason to let standards slip. One of the lifts had apparently been commandeered for the exclusive use of the Checquy, because as soon she entered the lobby, she saw the guard standing by the doors politely but firmly direct an elderly couple to a different lift. He might be dressed in knickerbockers and a witty allusion to a newsboy’s cap, but he’d been in her class at the Estate and could grow razor-sharp tusks from the sides of his jaw and unbreakable horns from his forehead in moments. She’d once caught him cheating off her math test.
“Kevin!” she exclaimed.
“Fliss!” he exclaimed back, then he put on a sober, serious face and spoke in the respectful tones suited to a man disguised in the distinguished but ridiculous uniform of a hotel employee. “How you doing? I heard you got caught in the manifestation.”
“Right. Is that all you heard, Kev?” she asked as the lift rose.
“I heard you kicked the shit out of some muppet who managed to get away.”
“Anything else?”
“I heard you got the very best treatment in the whole wide world,” he said meaningfully. His eyes flicked upward for a moment.
“And is that a problem?” she asked levelly.
“Not for me,” he said.
“For anyone else?” she asked. He shrugged. “Yeah, I know how it is.”
“They’ll get over it. Just don’t get involved with anything weird,” he advised.
“Course, ’cause nothing weird is likely to happen. My life’s just full of unweirdness at the moment. In fact, it’s full of unweirdness generally.” The lift doors slid open.
“Hey, at least you’ll have fun at the party tonight,” he said encouragingly.
Oh, right, thought Felicity. The reception. Shit.
41
A note on the table led Felicity to the fridge, where there actually was a little parfait waiting for her.
Well, that’s cute, she thought. Admittedly, it contained kiwifruit, which she loathed, but she appreciated the sentiment enough to choke it down. She settled herself on the couch with the parfait and brooded about the prospect of the reception. In the whirl of everything, she had clean forgotten about it.
It’s probably ridiculous that I would prefer to fight that bastard in the fog again than go to this bloody function. But it was the truth. Felicity did not enjoy fancy dos. The evening with the Court at Hill Hall had been the second-worst event of her life, surpassed only by the death of her teammates, but still worse than the time she’d had two teeth backhanded out of her head by an elderly woman in a poke bonnet, or the time she was stung into unconsciousness by an ambulatory fern, or even the time she almost had her head pulled off by an insane straw golem that had been wandering around Hampshire pulling people’s heads off.
Couldn’t Leliefeld have ordered me to have an extra day of bed rest? she thought wistfully. As she sulked and ate her stupid kiwifruit parfait, the door opened and Leliefeld walked in.
“Hello,” said the Grafter cautiously.
“Hi,” said Felicity. “It would have killed you to botch the surgery just a little?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” she said grimly. “Thanks for the parfait. And, you know, the gift of sight.”
“My pleasure,” said Leliefeld. “In truth, keeping Alessio off the parfait was the harder task. So, you’re settled back in?”
“I am on the couch with the shattered remnants of a dessert,” said Felicity. “What more could I ask for? I haven’t even looked in my room.” She narrowed her eyes. “No one went in my room, right?”
“No. We were allowed back in the hotel only after two nights of sleeping on cots in a warehouse.”
“I expect it’s one of our backup business-continuity facilities,” said Felicity. “There are a few dotted around the country. In case of disaster, they can transfer us there to keep doing our work. At least they didn’t put you in the abandoned mine in Cornwall.”
“Yes, I count myself very lucky, but the place we stayed was also a warehouse for tractor parts. The first morning, I almost got run over by a forklift while standing in the queue for the breakfast buffet.”
“Our accountants would never let a warehouse lie fallow,” said Felicity sagely. “Budgets are tight, and they can’t really offer voluntary redundancies to Checquy operatives. You can’t just tell someone whose shadow is a portal to Spain that there’s no room in the budget for him and he’ll need to move into the private sector.”
“It’s nice to know I won’t have to worry about job security, then,” said Leliefeld.
“So, you’ve spent the past couple of days hanging out in a warehouse?”
“No, we’ve just been sleeping in the warehouse. Grootvader Ernst volunteered Marcel’s and my services to assist with the fog fallout. After I operated on your eyes, I was asked to help analyze the traces of chemicals they’ve recovered from other victims.”
“And?”
“And I have earned an undeserved reputation for genius. Well, slightly undeserved.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Felicity.
“I was able to give a lot of useful insights,” said Leliefeld. “The Checquy scientists thought it was because I have astounding expertise. Which I do. But it was because I’ve seen this stuff before.”
“Well, it’s Grafter-made,” Felicity said, shrugging.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t let anyone know that. Anyway, the toxin’s not pleasant. It normally has to be processed inside a living creature before it’s released.”
“That’s . . . disgusting.”
“It’s science,” said Leliefeld. “Everything’s disgusting. But I’ll admit, this is kind of especially disgusting. The host has to be substantially adapted and needs to be swimming with antirejection products and antibodies. We’ve always used swine or sheep, but I think that homeless-looking guy Simon was with must have been the delivery system. I have no idea how they managed to get him ready in such a short time, though. It takes months to reach the appropriate levels of chemicals and hormones, and as far as I know, you can’t just pump them into the host.”
“He was the recipient of an organ transplant,” said Felicity. “All the abductees were.”
The Grafter’s jaw dropped. “That’s brilliant,” she said. “You find very few animals who are given new organs, but people? That’s very clever.”
“Yes, very smart,” said Felicity.
“So, after that, Marcel and I were in surgery working on people’s eyes. Apparently, a small percentage of the populace suffered a horrendous allergic reaction to the fog. We got flown to a few different cities with various large guards escorting us.”
“They assigned you new bodyguards?” said Felicity, feeling an unexpected jolt of jealousy. Leliefeld was her charge.
“I don’t know that bodyguards is the right word,” said Leliefeld. “We were performing the operations with guns pointed at us.”
“Oh. Well, did they go all right?”
“I think so,” said Leliefeld. “We had to fly in several punnets of eyes from Bruges and Seville.”
“I don’t know why I ask you questions when I know the answers will inevitably make me feel nauseous,” remarked Felicity.
“It wasn’t that bad,” said Leliefeld. “I mean, installing the new eyes was long and tedious, but it took almost as much time to make sure that the colors matched their previous eyes.”
“Is it such a big deal if there’s a little discrepancy?” asked Felicity. “People aren’t as observant as you think. I know of at least one situation where the Checquy successfully replaced someone’s station wagon without his noticing after the original was turned into a column of chutney during a manifestation.”
“Well, cars are one thing,” said L
eliefeld, “but people tend to pay a lot more attention to themselves. It’s going to be awkward enough that they’ll no longer need glasses without their eyes suddenly going from blue to brown.”
“How many people were you able to help?”
“Quite a few,” said Leliefeld. “There are going to be a lot of feel-good miracle stories in the press. Anyway, rest assured, no one went in your room, although seriously, I was very tempted.”
“Why?” asked Felicity warily. All the classified documents and files she’d been given were locked in the room safe, but she still didn’t like the idea of anyone sifting through her stuff.
“Because I wanted to see the dress they got you for the reception tonight!” Felicity stared at her blankly. This sentiment was even more alien than the idea of carrying scalpels around in one’s thigh. “Aren’t you even mildly curious about it?”
Be diplomatic, thought Felicity, and she managed to pull her upper lip back from her teeth in a sort of approximation of enthusiasm. “Do you want to go take a look?” she said finally.
They regarded the dress in respectful silence. It was the kind of respectful silence heard at ceremonies held to commemorate disasters.
“I’m no expert in dresses,” said Felicity finally, “but that . . .that’s not a good dress, is it?”
“I know what I want to say,” said Leliefeld, “but I am mindful of my role as a diplomatic envoy here to make peace between our peoples.”
“Just say it.”
“Look, I’m a trained surgeon.”
“Yeah?” said Felicity.
“And as someone who has seen living forms changed and twisted beyond recognition . . .” She trailed off awkwardly.
“Yeah?”
“I hate to say it, but this dress is the worst crime against nature I have ever seen in my life.”
Felicity cringed a little. The dress lay on the bed, malignant and resentful, like an angry jellyfish. It was technically an evening gown, in the same way that dirt is technically edible. The benighted designer was apparently committed to the principle of “accentuate the negative” and had made the assumption that whoever wore it would have cubical breasts. There were folds and pleats where God had decreed that no folds or pleats ought ever to be, and some sort of structure had been built into the back, giving the impression of a prolapsed bustle. The color could perhaps have been described as sky blue, but it was the blue of a sky that would drive even the cheeriest and most tuneful of novice nuns to slash her wrists. It was a blue that had given up.
“Did you offend someone in the quartermaster’s office?” asked Leliefeld carefully.
“I don’t know,” said Felicity. “I think maybe it’s intended to establish that I’m there in a functionary capacity.”
“It certainly does that,” said Leliefeld. “It practically screams ‘duenna-slash-janitor.’”
“Perhaps they were worried I would overshadow the higher-ranking guests,” suggested Felicity.
“Well, no fear of that,” said Leliefeld. “Although they may try to deposit their rubbish in your cleavage.”
“The quartermaster’s office is more used to sourcing armor and weaponry,” said Felicity, spurred by a feeling of defensive loyalty. “I don’t think they’ve had to do much with evening wear.”
“I’m sure their intentions were honorable, but there’s no way you can wear that,” said Leliefeld firmly.
“I don’t have anything else even vaguely appropriate at home except a bridesmaid’s dress,” said Felicity, “and that is fuchsia and has puffed sleeves.”
“What about the dress you wore to Ascot?”
“At the dry cleaners,” said Felicity grimly.
“If Judas Iscariot were alive, and a woman, and attending formal functions, wearing this dress would still represent a disproportionate punishment for his sins.”
“Her sins.”
“Right,” said Leliefeld uncertainly. “Anyway, I have a spare dress you can wear.” Felicity looked at her and tried to think of a diplomatic way to express her thoughts.
“That’s very kind of you, but you’re too short and your breasts are too small. Any dress that fits you would make me look like a whore or a sausage.” Maybe I should look at going into diplomacy, Felicity thought, quite pleased with herself.
“It’ll fit you,” Leliefeld assured her. “It’s very adaptable.”
The news channels had not calmed down about the Blinding at all, not even after the unrelated revelation that a married member of the House of Lords had been having a homosexual affair with a married foreign spy. Felicity, Leliefeld, and Alessio all sat on the couch and watched the constantly shown footage of the Blinding. Felicity had listened to the radio broadcasts, but it was different seeing it on television. The image of that yellow-green cloud spreading through the cities was somehow just as terrifying as actually being there. To make matters worse, they were also showing pictures of the victims, focusing on those few who had suffered the very worst reactions.
“Were you able to help that boy?” asked Alessio. They were all looking at one of the most famous photos from the attacks, a small dark-haired child who had been blinded by the fog.
“We probably could have done something,” said Leliefeld sadly, “but I’m afraid word came down that too many people had seen the picture, and his getting new eyes would strain the boundaries of a believable medical miracle. There’s no mainstream cure for losing your eyes after a biological attack.”
“And why not?” asked Felicity.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, you have a cure, and as you never tire of telling me, your work is based on science,” said Felicity. “Why don’t you people just go public and make billions?” The two Grafters exchanged glances. “What?”
“You’ve just described our worst nightmare,” said Leliefeld.
“Apart from attending a party with the Checquy,” put in Alessio. The two women shot him a look, and he subsided back into the couch cushions.
“There’s a lot of dangerous implications in what we do,” said Leliefeld. “For the world, and for us.”
“Why? After all, it’s science, our best friend in the whole wide world.”
“You know I don’t see it like that,” said Leliefeld. “And it’s complicated. To begin with, much of our work is still illegal in most countries. We’re talking genetic engineering, harvesting organs, cloning, weaponizing human biology. Alessio keeps human stem cells in his thermos.”
“For experiments, not for drinking,” Alessio assured her.
“Plus, people think that sort of thing is creepy,” said Leliefeld.
“It is creepy,” said Felicity. “It’s incredibly creepy. But you know they would throw those laws out the window if there was the possibility of curing cancer or doubling life spans.”
“It’s too big,” said Leliefeld, shaking her head. “If just one country gained unfettered access to our capabilities, it would become the world’s unquestioned superpower. It’s the equivalent of the Roman Empire suddenly being gifted with nuclear weapons. You of all people should understand that.”
“Yes, but it’s different,” said Felicity. “I was born with this ability, but anyone could learn how to do what you do.” Odette and Alessio both opened their mouths, and she hastily cut them off. “Anyone who’s extremely brilliant.” The Grafters looked somewhat mollified.
“You have to understand, we are literally centuries ahead of mainstream science,” said Leliefeld. “Even if we released the knowledge to everyone, it wouldn’t make things better. It would make them worse. Mainstream culture is not ready for what we can do. That’s why the negotiations are not just about how much money we can keep and whether we can be called in to help put down a giant malevolent porcupine. Protections are being put in place about the knowledge we possess and what can be done with it. We are not going to be making house calls so that the moneyed classes of Great Britain get a few extra centuries.”
“So, no new eyes for the li
ttle boy,” said Felicity.
“No new eyes for the little boy,” agreed Leliefeld sadly. “But Marcel is looking at amping up his other senses, maybe throwing in a little rudimentary radar. People seem quite willing to believe in that sort of thing.”
“What about that guy?” asked Alessio as a new picture was flashed up. This one featured a man clawing at his own face. “Did you help him?”
“All right, I think it’s time we start getting ready,” said Leliefeld.
“But we’re not leaving for ages yet,” Alessio objected. “And I only take a few minutes to get dressed and ready.”
“Well, take them now,” said Leliefeld as she turned off the television. “We’re going to need the larger room, so you can get changed in Pawn Clements’s room.”
“But don’t touch anything,” said Felicity.
The boy grumped, but he hauled himself off the couch and into the bedroom. “I’d like it if he took a bit of time away from the news,” Leliefeld said to Felicity. “Plus, the hotel will be sending someone up to do our hair in a bit, and we want to be dressed by then.”
“They taught us at the Estate that you do makeup first, then hair, then gown, then shoes,” said Felicity cautiously. The Socializing with Civilians class at the Estate had always been her least favorite, but she’d managed to remember the order of preparations through the handy mnemonic Monsters Hate Getting Shot. She and her friends had actually made up an obscene variation, Monsters Hate Getting Shot In The Face, but she could remember only what the Face part stood for, and she didn’t anticipate any of that going on that evening.
“Yes, that’s how I normally do it,” said Leliefeld. “But these dresses are a bit complicated and I want them all settled before any civilians wander in.” She sat down in front of the mirror and began dotting foundation onto her face. Felicity expected her to start blending it together, but instead, the Grafter unbuttoned her top and took it off. Despite herself, Felicity ran her eyes over the other woman’s body, evaluating and comparing. The Grafter looked as if she went to the gym only when she remembered to, but she had a lack of self-consciousness that Felicity couldn’t help but envy. It was all very well having no shirt on when the entire team was getting changed in the back of a truck, but that was part of the job. Felicity had never been the type of girl to strip off casually in the changing rooms.