Stiletto

  “Tragic,” said Felicity.

  “Since they’re normal people, that might explain why they’re so vulnerable in the middle of the face,” mused Odette. “Whatever’s capturing them, it can’t layer that stuff over their eyes, or they wouldn’t be able to see. Apparently they can see through the liquid and the membrane, but the hide is too tough.” She poked gingerly at the membrane. “It’s much stronger over the mouth and nose. I suppose the eyes are the only weak spot.”

  “Good to know. But we should get out of here,” said Cawthorne, and he struggled to his feet. “The gaping holes in the walls and the floors are probably a good signpost to other creatures that we’re here. And the gunshots probably gave the game away as well.”

  “Agreed,” said Felicity. “But we need to let the Checquy know about this. Killing them may not be necessary if there’s a possibility these people can be saved.”

  “Let’s make the call from somewhere else,” said Cawthorne. “And I can tell you now that if we see any of them before backup gets here, I’m shooting them.”

  “Agreed,” said Felicity.

  “Agreed,” said Odette.

  They let themselves out the back door and decided to find a place that was easily defensible and then wait for rescue to arrive. After shuffling along painfully for a while, they came to a passage where two houses leaned so close together that the sky above was just a narrow strip of smoky blue.

  Cawthorne sat with his gun pointing in one direction, the women sat with Felicity’s gun facing the other way. Felicity was about to call the Checquy when faint voices came through over Felicity’s headset and Cawthorne’s earpiece. A voice identified as Pawn Bourchier was advising all Checquy operatives in Muirie that backup troops had arrived and were moving in. Anyone needing medical attention should advise. Various Checquy people chirped in from around the village, but there were very few injured. It sounded like most of the combat teams were dead.

  “This is Pawn Clements,” said Felicity. “Party of three, serious injuries on . . . one?” She looked to Odette, who shrugged and nodded. “Also, we have important information about the threat.” She explained its true nature. Bourchier did not sound best pleased with this revelation but thanked her for the information. He advised that he would send medics to treat Cawthorne.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “We’re in the snackwallets,” said Odette.

  “The what?” said Bourchier.

  “Or whatever the hell you call them,” said Odette sourly.

  “The snickelways,” said Felicity.

  “The what?”

  “The fucking alleyways,” said Felicity.

  “You would be astounded at how little that narrows it down,” he said.

  “No, we wouldn’t,” said Felicity. “We’re off Broy Lane, just next to number ten.”

  “Roger that, we’re on our way. Sit tight.”

  They sat.

  46

  Early the next morning, before the sun had even begun to rise, the plane lifted off from Dundee bearing two extremely tired women.

  “You know, the doctors could have taken a look at your arm,” said Felicity.

  “The painkillers were enough,” said Odette, but she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Besides, I’ll need to get Marcel to reweave the musculature. A regular doctor would probably . . .” She trailed off.

  “Fuck it up?” suggested Felicity.

  “It’s best to get a certified repair agent to work on these things,” said Odette.

  “Otherwise it might void the warranty?” asked Felicity.

  Once the troops had rescued them from the snickelway and brought them to the encampment a mile outside Muirie, doctors had swarmed over them. Cawthorne was spirited away, and the doctors had been aghast when they finally took Odette’s coat off and saw the gnarled muscles that wound up her arm and across her shoulder. She had waved them off (left-handedly) and ordered a special cocktail of painkillers that had them blinking in bewilderment. By the time she and Clements had been checked over and debriefed, it was too late to go back to London. They’d slept uneasily on camp beds and were woken at four in the morning and transported back to Dundee.

  They were dozing in their plush seats when word came through from the cockpit that the troops had finally infiltrated the church crypt and found the source of the problem. The pilot didn’t have many details: “A humanoid, very quick, and coated in layers of secretions.” The Checquy had “subdued it,” which could have meant any number of things but definitely meant that the problem was over.

  This briefing complete, Felicity was just drifting off again when her phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said, without opening her eyes.

  “Pawn Clements, this is Trevor Cawthorne.”

  “Hi,” she said in surprise. “How’s your arm?”

  “In a cast,” said the Retainer. “But still attached.”

  “And your brain?”

  “Light concussion.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Felicity.

  “Thanks. I have some news for you and Miss Leliefeld,” he said.

  “I’ll put you on speaker,” said Felicity, plugging her phone into the console. “It’s Cawthorne,” she explained to Odette.

  “The historians finally found something in the records about Muirie,” said Cawthorne.

  “We already know the monster’s been taken care of,” said Felicity sleepily. “I don’t really care about its provenance.”

  “I think you might,” said the Retainer. “The mention of Muirie was in the Checquy burial records.”

  “What?”

  “A Pawn Hamish Reid was buried in the crypt of the Muirie church in 1502.”

  “No,” breathed Felicity, coming completely awake.

  “Served in the Order of the Checquy from 1460 until his death. Regular hero—helped put down some big monsters in his time. The records say he could sweat a sort of paste, ‘livid in hue, that bent men’s minds to his will and gave them vigor.’ It sounds like a junior version of the crap that was coated all over the people we fought. The Pawn was laid to rest in his home village.”

  “So you think that a dead Pawn of the Checquy, decorated for service to his country and buried with full honors several hundred years ago, suddenly started snatching innocent people and turning them into his drones?”

  “I think people can change,” said Cawthorne. “Especially if they’ve been buried alive for a few centuries.”

  “If Pawn Reid wasn’t dead, not the way they thought, then who knows how his powers—and his mind—might have warped?” put in Odette.

  “This is one of the reasons the Checquy has developed such intricate burial procedures,” reflected Felicity.

  “Oh?” asked Odette.

  “Yeah, Rook Thomas instituted them a couple of years back. It was one of the things that got her into the Court. Before her, people were just buried any old how. Now their bodies get shot in the head and incinerated, and the ashes are spread from four different mountains around the country,” said Felicity. “It’s a very beautiful ceremony.”

  “She got a program under way to retrieve all the Checquy bodies that have ever been buried,” said Cawthorne. “But apparently, they haven’t disinterred everyone yet. Anyway, I thought you might like to know.”

  “Thanks for that, Mr. Cawthorne,” said Felicity. “And thanks for everything else.” Odette chimed in with her thanks, and the Retainer said all the appropriate things before disconnecting. The two women drifted into sleep.

  I still can’t believe how well that worked out!” exclaimed Odette as the car drew up in front of the hotel.

  “I still can’t believe we survived,” said Felicity.

  “That’s what I mean,” said Odette.

  “I am completely exhausted. When I get back to my room, it’s a hot shower for me, followed by a hot bath, followed by a hot meal, followed by bed.”

  “Throw in a massage from a hot masseur, and I’ll foll
ow your lead,” said Odette. “Even once they’re repaired, my muscles are going to be aching for days.” Leaning on each other, they limped through the lobby. Dressed in their Checquy-issued plain tracksuits, they caught some disapproving glances from the staff and other guests. God knows what they think of us, thought Felicity. Before, we were in evening gowns. Today we look like we’ve been in a bareknuckle boxing match. It took all her strength to push the elevator call button, and the wait seemed interminable.

  Finally, the doors slid open, and the inevitable Checquy security guard eyed them flintily for a moment before recognizing them and stepping forward to help them in. They slumped on his shoulders, and he awkwardly leaned them against the wall and pushed the buttons for the Checquy and Grafter floors.

  “Hold the lift!” came a voice, and a blond woman slid in. The Checquy security guard stiffened a little. “My shift is over, I might as well go up instead of sitting in the bar all day,” the woman said. “Odette, you look exhausted. I heard you were going out to a site. Looks like it was a rough one.”

  “Sophie, it was amazing,” said Odette, smiling. “Insane and terrifying, but amazing. I don’t know how you people can do this every day.”

  “Well, we don’t do it every day,” said Sophie wryly. “Some of us just pull guard duty in the lobby of a five-star hotel.”

  “Do you two know each other?” Odette asked Felicity.

  “I don’t think so,” said Felicity.

  “Ah, Pawn Felicity Clements, this is Pawn Sophie Jelfs,” said Odette. “She’s one of the security guards for the delegation.”

  “Good to meet you, finally,” said Pawn Jelfs.

  “Thanks,” said Felicity. “You too.” She leaned back against the wall of the lift and then noticed the elevator security guard was frowning. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t recall a Pawn Je—” he started, but Pawn Jelfs snapped up her arm and chopped the side of her hand into his throat. Then, with the same dizzying speed, she held up two tiny aerosol cans and sprayed them into the faces of Felicity and Odette. They crumpled to the floor.

  47

  Odette opened her eyes and felt incredibly happy.

  Saskia!

  Her delight was instinctive, rooted in her heart. Her friend’s arms were around her, holding her close, and she could smell Saskia’s familiar perfume. Then she remembered everything and felt her face crumple into tears. No! No, no, no.

  “Je suis là, ’Dette,” she crooned. I’m right here. “Nous sommes tous là.” We are all here. Despite herself, Odette held her friend tight in a one-armed hug and pressed her face into Saskia’s shoulder. She felt a kiss on her hair. “It’s all right, Odette. You’re home.” Odette allowed herself one more moment of that comforting embrace, one more moment not to have to worry about anything at all, and then she drew back.

  “It’s really you,” Odette said in French.

  “It really is.”

  And it was. Sitting on the end of the bed, barefoot, Saskia looked completely unchanged from when Odette last saw her that horrible day in the hotel. Her friend’s hair was pulled back loosely from her face, and she was wearing a short skirt and a T-shirt with a cardigan over it. So completely inappropriate for a terrorist, Odette thought fondly.

  “You’re wearing your own face,” said Odette. “I’m glad.”

  “Yes, we have different ones for when we go out—they’re very simple, clumsy things,” said Saskia. “Not a real face, but an overlay. Very clever; we even have ones for different races. Gloves too. Pim came up with them.” Odette nodded and looked around to take stock of the situation. She was sitting up in a queen-size bed made up with soft cotton sheets. The room was hardly bigger than the bed and had no windows, but a gentle light glowed from overhead.

  Am I in a cell? she thought. I don’t think so. The walls were the sort that were put up in offices when the renter had a large space to fill and wanted to create rooms. A metal frame covered with plasterboard. Unless there’s some sort of material reinforcing it, I could kick through it, she decided. There was a print on the wall, an ink engraving of buildings she recognized from Prague. Nice picture.

  “It’s not a cell,” Saskia said, and Odette started. She was no longer used to someone who knew her so well. “It’s just a room we had available. We have to make do with what we’ve got, I’m afraid.”

  Odette looked down at herself. She was wearing a fresh T-shirt, plain orange. A peek under the blankets revealed that she was wearing her original underwear. On her left thigh there was a fresh bandage. Her right arm was in a sling, one of those rigid polyester ones that held the injured limb against her. When she tried to wiggle her fingers, however, she couldn’t.

  “Simon took a look at your poor arm,” said Saskia. “He said you must have done something to your muscles without any prep at all?”

  “Yeah,” said Odette. Saskia raised her eyes to heaven and shook her head.

  “I expect you had your reasons, but it will take a good bit of work to rearrange and repair them,” she said. “One of us will get to it once we have a free moment. In the meantime, it will need to remain immobilized. Believe it or not, a sling is actually the best thing for it. That, and a little judicious paralysis to make sure the muscles move as little as possible.”

  Odette nodded but carefully flexed some other muscles. Her spurs remained firmly, and pointedly, sheathed. Saskia was looking at her with calm eyes.

  “We’ve taken a few precautions, Odette,” she said. “Don’t be hurt, please. We love you, but you’re still torn, and we can’t take any chances. Not that it would make a huge amount of difference. The reservoirs for your spurs were completely drained,” she sniffed. “Do I want to know what you were doing?”

  “I was fighting something,” said Odette. I was saving the life of someone who saved my life, she didn’t say. Saskia nodded.

  It was odd, almost like a dream. Saskia was so calm and so obviously delighted to see her. Odette simply had no idea what was going to happen. What do I say? Are we going to talk about what they’ve done? Then she caught sight of the shoes that were standing by the door. Black heels with a cream canvas sheath coming up from the leather and metal buckles.

  “Nice shoes.”

  “Vivienne Westwood,” said Saskia, pleased. “I’ve gone very London since we arrived. It really is amazing to be here, despite everything. Have you been able to see much during your stay?”

  “A bit,” said Odette. “Mainly I’ve been working.”

  “Oh, too bad,” said Saskia sympathetically. “I really do love this city. So much culture, things I never thought I’d get to see with my own eyes. Of course, I’ve done a lot of shopping too. All the lovely brands, and I got some marvelous cloth from Joel and Son. But also the museums and the galleries. I got that print on the wall just for you. Pim and I spent two days going through Kew Gardens, and then we went in at night and took samples from at least a hundred plants.”

  “You’ve been busy,” said Odette. It was jarring. Her thoughts of the Antagonists had been muddled, her memories of who they were overlaid by visions of them plotting in a smoke-filled room or surreptitiously laying explosives. The Checquy should have been staking out the tourist spots and boutiques, she thought. “How long have I been under?”

  “Not long,” said Saskia. “An hour, maybe?”

  “From the hotel?”

  “We moved quickly,” said Saskia. “We had to, since we have one more thing to do, and we don’t want the circumstances to change.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Odette, dreading the answer.

  “We need to have a talk,” said Saskia seriously. “All of us. Can you stand up?” Odette swung her legs over the side of the bed and shakily stood up. Her leg trembled a little under her. “We took your scalpels out,” said Saskia delicately. “The muscles are still probably a bit wobbly. Let me help you.” Odette braced herself against the wall as Saskia brought her a skirt and put it on her. It was knee-length, bla
ck, well cut.

  “Thanks,” said Odette. “Let’s go.” The floor was carpeted, and they both remained barefoot as Saskia took her arm and led her out the door into a hallway with more of those dividing walls. The carpet looked as if it had been freshly laid. It was all very sterile.

  “So, where are we?”

  “In the City,” said Saskia carelessly. “We rented a floor in one of those dull office buildings. We were lucky to find it; real estate in this town is insane.”

  “You’re in an office building?” asked Odette incredulously.

  “You actually can’t do much better,” said a voice behind them. Odette shuffled around awkwardly to see him. He wasn’t wearing the face he’d sported during the Blinding. Instead, he was just as Felicity had described him: shiny white skin, nodules along his head. At least he’s wearing clothes.

  “Simon,” said Odette. She reached out and took his hand.

  “’Dette. We finally got you.” He leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks. His lips felt strange on her skin. But his eyes were the same, with so much merriment and genuine delight that it made her want to cry.

  “It’s good to see you too, although . . .” She trailed off awkwardly.

  “I know, not ideal circumstances,” he said, grinning.

  “You replaced your eye.”

  “Twenty minutes’ work.” He shrugged. “Anyway, let’s keep moving, I expect the others are waiting.”

  “You were saying this was such a good location,” Odette said.

  “Right, yes,” said Simon. “Very convenient. It’s got all the space one could need, air-conditioning, lots of power outlets, easy access to public transport, reserved parking, and Claudia got the owner to set us up with good Internet connections.”

  “You’ve gone corporate.”

  “Actually, we do have a little company,” said Simon. “Registered and everything. Of course, it doesn’t really do anything, but the corporate credit cards are handy, and I’ve set up an account with a furniture rental place that has proven very useful.”

  “And there’s a nice Indian restaurant downstairs that delivers,” said Saskia.