Four Roads Cross (33 page)

But she was not alone.

Abelard lay beside her, moaning. He flickered in and out, by turns old and young, corpse shriveled, rotten, infant, empty robe, man-shaped inferno.

The dream's third occupant stood with her back toward them—a slender woman in a dark suit, with short storm-white hair. This was a strange angle from which to see Elayne Kevarian. With her back turned, she might be anyone.

She was not.

Ms. Kevarian took a silver watch from her pocket. She snapped it open, consulted its face, closed it again.

Tara gripped Abelard's shifting shoulder. “Pull yourself together.”

The shivers slowed, and his form congealed. She helped him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said. In the crystal globe's silent center, even a whisper carried. “Does everything you do hurt this much?”

“Are you both decent?” Ms. Kevarian asked. “I have a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” Tara said.

Her old boss's footsteps were loud as drumbeats as she turned. The face was much as Tara remembered: sharp, marked with thin lines cut by decades of Craftwork. Black eyes flicked over Tara, right to Abelard, and back to Tara for a second review. The mouth, efficient as a lizard's, turned up at one corner. “It is good to see you, Ms. Abernathy. I've heard much about your work with the Church of Kos. The community is palpably relieved Kos's church finally has a competent full-time advisor—even if their gain was my loss.”

She felt a thrill. Once she would have done anything to please this woman. Once? “It's good to see you, too,” she said. “You remember Abelard?”

“Of course. You have come up in the world, Technician. Congratulations.”

He bowed his head, too nervous for the formality to take. “Thank you.”

“You're on a case?” Tara said.

“As ever. The Shining Empire this time. A member of their Divine Guard has died. I'm charged to resurrect her without disturbing the giant monster whose consort she is. An interesting problem. What can I do for you?”

“I don't suppose you can tag out of your current case for a few days? We have a situation here.”

“Kos is in trouble,” Abelard said. “And Seril.”

“In three days,” Tara explained, “our creditors and shareholders will challenge Kos's by attacking Seril. I have to focus on a long shot that might save us, and I need—we need,” she corrected with a glance to Abelard, “to stall the enemies at the gates.” She produced a folded document: a copy of Ramp's challenge.

“Who's the opposing counsel?”

“Madeline Ramp, with Daphne Mains assisting.”

“Ramp. Interesting.”

“You've worked with her?”

“A practicing theorist—the most dangerous kind.” Ms. Kevarian flipped through the document. She nodded at various points. “Ramp was involved—you're aware of the Alt Selene outbreak, in the eighties?”

“I know she lives in Alt Selene. I didn't realize—”

“She waded into the singularity and killed it before the city died. She wrestled omnipotence into submission. I'm sure she has a raft of interesting stories.” Ms. Kevarian shrugged. “Also a prominent contributor to the
Forum on the Will and Its Transformations,
the misguided knitting circle Alexander passed off as a journal. She's competent. I wish I could help.”

“You can't?”

“The Shining Empire case is consuming the overenthusiastic murderball coach's proverbial one hundred ten percent of my time. In a week, I could assist. But you do not have that week.”

“This is a formal request from the Church of Kos,” Tara said. “There's budget behind it. We're not asking for a favor.”

Abelard stepped forward. “Technical Cardinal Nestor and Cardinal Evangelist Bede sent me to retain your services.” He seemed proud he'd said the whole line without stumbling. Strange he should be so daunted by a pro forma request, yet able to deliver that speech in front of the tribunal. Tara always found heart-baring stuff harder. “Ma'am.”

“I wish I could abandon this project,” Ms. Kevarian said. “But several hundred miles of coastline and a hundred million people are in danger of attack by, I swear, giant moths, if I abandon my work. However.” She slid the folded paper into her pocket; Tara felt the information slip from dream to dream, like playing cards sliding past each other. “Thankfully, my firm has other partners.” A black notebook appeared in her hand; she paged to the end, frowned. “Young Wakefield should be through in Regis by now, and has experience with this sort of thing. Wakefield's no friend to gods, but the challenge won't require empathy to defeat. If that's all…”

“It's not,” Tara said, “actually.”

“Is this the part where you ask for your old job back?” But from Ms. Kevarian the jab felt easy. “I'm afraid you may be too expensive for us at the moment.”

“Nothing like that,” Tara said. “This long shot I have in mind. I need to talk to people who might not take a meeting from me otherwise.”

“I can make introductions. With whom do you wish to speak?”

“I need to see the King in Red.”

“We have not spoken in a while,” Ms. Kevarian said. A deep pit lay beneath those words. Tara felt that if she stepped wrong she might tumble through them and fall forever. “We are not so close as once we were.”

“We need Seril's lost portfolio. The custody chain stops with him. There's no time to bring formal action against the King in Red—I doubt we could win in court. His pockets are deep. But I need to try, and the Deathless King of Dresediel Lex won't take my card.” Ms. Kevarian darkened in the dream. Don't press her, a wise inner voice counseled Tara, but Tara never had much truck with wise inner voices. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize there was bad blood between you.”

“I'll contact him,” Ms. Kevarian said. “I cannot guarantee it will help your cause.”

“I'll take the chance.”

“I should go. The Imperial guard needs its monsters. It has been pleasant to see you both. I must visit Alt Coulumb soon, in peacetime.”

“I'd like that,” Tara said.

Ms. Kevarian turned to leave.

“Um,” Tara said, which stopped her. Stupid syllable, but she'd spent the entire conversation curious. “When we worked together, I called you Boss. I'm not sure what I should call you now.”

She blinked owl-slow. “Elayne, Ms. Abernathy.”

“Tara.”

“Tara.” She seemed to find that amusing. “Good luck.”

And as Elayne smiled, the glass world shattered into day.

 

42

Black cuts lined the lips of the man in the hospital bed. When he spoke, his skin pulled against fresh scabs. “Water.” His Kathic bore an accent Cat didn't know.

She nodded to Lee, who poured him a cup and passed it over.

“You're in Alt Coulumb,” she said. “In Blacksuit care.” She rested one hand on the rail at the foot of the bed. “We recovered you from an exploitative indenture two nights ago. I'm Officer Elle. This is Officer Zhang. You can call me Cat, if you like. What's your name?”

The
h
in “Ko'hasim” had a rough edge Cat didn't look forward to failing to imitate. “Call me Hasim.”

The name structure at least she could place. “Talbeg?”

“I am a Doctor of Divinity from Agdel Lex.” He finished the water. Lee poured him more. “Alt Coulumb. Are the others here?”

“A few went to intensive care. Most are unconscious. The girl, Ala”—she pointed to where the child lay asleep—“told us we should talk to you, or to the woman with the braids, who's passed out. She's fine,” she said when he opened his mouth, “just sleeping. You all had a long night.”

“What happened?”

“We hoped you could tell us,” Lee said.

“We found you in the hold of a smuggler ship called
Demon's Dream,
captained by Maura Varg. That sound familiar?”

“I do not know either name.” Hasim seized the rails at the side of his bed. Muscle in his thin arms corded as he pulled himself upright. “If this is Alt Coulumb, we seek asylum.”

“We'll get there,” she said. “But we need to know more about you. How you got into that hold, for example. You're responsible for some confusion.”

“Last night,” Lee said, “when Officer Elle tried to wake you up, demons crawled out from inside you. Caused a lot of trouble before we stopped them.”

Hasim's fingers trembled as they traced the scabs around his mouth. “What my partner's trying to say”—Cat frowned at Lee, who crossed his massive arms, unconcerned—“is that we're wondering how you got in that ship. I know this is hard, but if you think back—”

“There is war in the Gleb.”

“I heard.” She wished she'd heard more, or paid attention when she had. Even Criers mangled the names. “Didn't realize it had reached Agdel Lex.”

“Refugees have,” he said. “I run a clinic for small gods. In the backcountry, desert spirits devour the bodies of gods fallen in the Wars. They claim one town at a time. They come to the villages to eat their gods, or bind them to service. Some survive. Some run, and many to our city. I take them in, if I find them.”

“When did you start using dreamdust?”

Cat made a mental note to talk with Lee about interviewing witnesses. Lee spent most of his shifts Suited.

“I have never taken dreamdust,” Hasim said. “It is a distraction.”

“How did a smuggler end up with your indenture, then?”

“I do not know.” Hasim peered around Lee's shoulders to examine the rest of the room. Eight beds, each occupied. He relaxed—recognizing the others, Cat thought.

“The rest are nearby,” Cat said. “I have names of the ones who've woken up so far. I'll give you that once we're done here, but I need the whole story. You ran, what, a hostel?”

“A sanctuary. We took in those we found. Such an endeavor requires protection. To afford that protection I, ah, borrowed. The demand grew. One day, it struck me all at once. The children collapsed first. I tried to save them, but I was not strong enough. I remember nothing until I woke here.” He shook his head. “I have never dealt with demons.”

“Thank you, Doctor. The nurses will bring you the list. Could I have the name of the bank you worked with in Agdel Lex? The one that issued the loan?”

“Grimwald Savings.”

Cat kept her poker face, barely. The Grimwald Concerns dotted the world, shadowy presences with massive holding networks and questionable morality. She'd never heard of a Grimwald convicted of anything, but they hovered in the background when you read about Craftsmen going down in flames. Legitimate businessmen, people called them, with an emphasis on the first word that no one ever used when talking about, say, a bakery. “Thank you. As for asylum—you're in Alt Coulumb under the protection of Seril Undying.” For whatever good that does you. “She'll accept any thanks you offer.” And she needs it, Cat did not say.

“Seril,” Hasim said. “I thought her epithet ironic.”

“Nope.” It felt good to tell the truth to someone who wasn't already part of the conspiracy. “She's alive. The doctors say most of you will be good to go after a physical. We'll reach out to the Talbeg immigrant community in Alt Coulumb. The Church of Kos has guest houses for new arrivals, too. Your choice. If you need anything, go to the Temple of Justice and ask for me—Catherine Elle.”

As they descended the hospital front steps, Lee gripped the back of his own neck in one hand and squeezed. His biceps were a sharp-cornered prism under his uniform shirt. “Refugees, Cat. I don't know.”

“Don't know what?”

“They're a foreign problem, from a foreign war. Don't we have enough of those?”

“They're here,” she said. “You want to send them home?”

He grunted.

“Just you wait. If the next few days go poorly, we won't have to help them after all.”

“Why not?”

“Because we'll be in the same boat. Come on.” The Suit covered her like liquid bliss, and its strength made the world seem simple.

*   *   *

The moon rose in Cat's mind as she ran across midday rooftops toward the temple. She leapt in a silvery arc over a rushing train and lost herself in the logic wash of Justice, her mind a riverbank down which a clear stream of dispatch orders and deductions ran—flash of gutted corpse in Hot Town back alley, calculated vectors for an arrow's flight, analysis of last night's criminal activity patterns, comparisons of faces and fingerprints, the thrum of arriving and departing ships, a chorus of half sentences. Then she jumped again, and the river stilled into the silver silence of a smile.

You want to talk with me?
the Goddess asked.

She did, though she hadn't realized it yet. You need help, Cat said.

Yes.

Cat landed with a skid on a tar paper roof, cornered hard, and scaled the building next door, fingers spidering into cracks. It felt good to run. If you broke Justice, ended the Blacksuits, you might be strong enough to fight Ramp.

An interval of surf-rushed quiet followed. Cat swung from a flagpole to the next roof.

The last time I rode to war, I trusted my city to my children. When I died, they went mad, and their madness left scars. If I broke Justice, I could use its power, but then Justice would be no more. And She has Her cold uses. She protects my city, even against me.

You might die.

This reply too was a long time coming.
I was born to protect Alt Coulumb. I failed it in my death. These people once feared me as the rabbit fears the hunter, though the hunter comes not for the rabbit but for the fox. Now they fear me as children fear those who strike them. I will not be that Lady again.

If you don't win, we all lose.

But Justice will remain.