Stiletto (74 page)

“Clements went down to the Checquy security floor,” he said hurriedly. “She said she’d be back in a bit.”

“Okay, you have a good time,” said Odette. “I’ll see you tonight.” She turned on the TV and saw nothing but footage about the attacks.
I don’t need to see any of that.
She sat on the couch and thought crabby thoughts about the world in general.

For God’s sake, you’re in a five-star hotel. There’s a million things to do.
Full of resolve, she stood up.
World-class gym, a pool, excellent room service, a spa. And Clements to drag along to them all.
To her mild surprise, that final prospect didn’t depress her spirits at all. She picked up the phone and dialed Clements’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Odette. Are you busy?”

“No, we were getting a briefing, but it’s over,” said the Pawn. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing now?”

“I was going to — nothing,” said Clements. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Well, I was kind of at a loose end,” said Odette. “You want to go to the gym?”

“Oh,” said Clements. “Okay, sure. Come meet me here and we’ll go together.”

Odette changed into exercise clothes and made her way to the elevator, stopping by Marie’s suite to let her know that she was going off the floor, that she was taking her minder, and that she wouldn’t leave the hotel or talk to strangers.

“That’s good,” said Marie absently. She was staring intently at her computer screen and typing feverishly. “You could do with some more time at the gym.”

The two guards at the elevator nodded to her when she approached and waved off her explanation. “Clements alerted us to your intended movements,” said one of them, pointing at his earpiece. As he spoke, the elevator slid open. Inside was a man wearing civilian clothes and a bored expression. Odette recognized him as one of the Checquy guards. He didn’t have any weapons, but presumably he didn’t need them.

“Going down,” he said.

“So you’re guarding the elevator all day?” she asked.

“This hotel has six elevators,” he said grimly. “And as of last night, each one has a Checquy guard in it. Plus two in the service elevator.”

“It looks like a plum posting,” she said.

“This is what happens when you lose the poker game.”

She made a sympathetic face and disembarked on the Checquy floor. It was very different from the Grafter floor. Still nice (although not
quite
as nice), but it had a different air about it.
Probably because there aren’t armed guards at every junction,
she thought. Also, many of the doors were open. As she passed by, Odette couldn’t help sneaking a peek in. They were in an almost military state of tidiness. Many rooms contained people doing things on computers, and all of the people looked startled when they saw her walk by.

Clements was standing in a room with another Pawn, a woman in shorts and a tank top who appeared to be covered in thorns. Despite herself, Odette looked at the twin beds, checking for signs of shredded sheets, but they were both immaculate.
Maybe she can retract them,
she thought. The thorny woman gave her a level look and nodded silently before Clements hurriedly ushered Odette out of the room.

“She’s just coming off the night shift,” the Pawn explained. “Best to leave her to sleep.”

“Ah,” said Odette.

“The Rookery upped security overnight, so they’re hot-bunking it.” She caught Odette’s look of complete incomprehension. “That’s where we schedule the shifts so that beds are always occupied.”

“Well, if they’re short of beds, it’s fine if they want to share the ones in our suite,” said Odette in the generous tones of a person who knew no one would be sleeping in her bathtub. “We’re not using them during the day, after all.”

“I’ll let them know,” said Clements. “So, you want to go to the gym? You don’t want to go out?”

“I’m having a day at home, apparently,” said Odette. “Everyone else got assignments. I was assigned to stay in the hotel.”

“Which means I’m having a day at home as well,” remarked Clements. “Well, then, the gym it is, I’ll just —” She paused as her mobile rang and she saw that the call was from a private number. “One second, I’ll just see who this is.”

“Hello?”

“Pawn Clements, this is Rook Thomas. Don’t say anything.”

“...”

“Good. Shortly you’re going to be assigned to a mission. Request permission to take Odette with you. Present it as your idea. Now hang up.”

Clements terminated the call, and stared at her phone.

“Wrong number?” asked Odette.

“Survey,” said Clements.

“Pawn Clements!” came a call down the corridor, and they looked over to see a Pawn leaning out of a doorway. “They want you in the ops room.” Clements turned her gaze back to Odette.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she said.

*

The operations room was actually a suite with an armed guard posted outside. She regarded Odette warily and had to mutter something into a throat microphone and, presumably, receive an answer in her earphone before they were let in. Inside, a number of people sat at desks that obviously did not belong to the hotel. They were all talking on headset telephones in low tones and typing madly. Whiteboards with grids marked on them lined the walls. Odette caught a glimpse of her own name paired with Clements’s. One of the bedroom doors opened, and a man in tactical armor came out. She caught a glimpse of gun racks and other weaponry before the door closed.
Were those halberds?
she thought incredulously.

Clements led her over to one of the other bedroom doors and knocked. A call of “Come!” came, and they came. It was quieter in there; only two people sat at desks typing. The bed was covered in stacks of files. Near a low desk stood an extremely short person. As in, coming up to just above Odette’s waist. Alessio could have rested a drink on his head, although, judging by the man’s manner, his muscles, and the two pistols in his shoulder holsters, that would have been the second-to-last thing Alessio ever did (the last one being dying messily while apologizing profusely). The short man was talking on one phone and scrolling madly on another. He glanced at them and held up an imperious hand for them to wait. Clements nodded, and they both stepped back and waited. And waited. Finally, Odette turned to Clements.

“He’s not, like, a dwarf, is he?” she whispered. Clements looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I mean, he’s not a
mythological
dwarf? Like in Tolkien?”

“There’s no such thing as mythological dwarfs,” said Clements. “Commander Derrick isn’t even a Pawn. The Checquy recruited him because he’s brilliant at what he does. He arranged the security for that pop star who got drunk and made all those comments that managed to offend every major religion.”

“Right!” said Commander Derrick, finishing his call. “Both of you sit down.” They sat. He spoke with an Irish accent and had a deep, growling voice. “So, Pawn Clements, you’re wanted at a site in the Scottish Lowlands. Some sort of manifestation in a church in a little piece-of-shit village up north. A few civvy deaths. They’ve got it contained to the building, but the Rookery wants you to scope the place out before they send in the team.” The Pawn’s brow wrinkled as she took in the order.

“A car will be along in a few minutes to take you to the nearest helipad,” he continued. “They’ll fly you to London City Airport, and from there a private jet will take you to Dundee. Briefing file will be in the car.”

“Yes, sir,” said Clement. She seemed a little uncertain and looked over at Odette. “Um...”

“It’s all right, Pawn Clements,” said Odette. “I know that you need to go. You have responsibilities.”

“We’ll assign another minder for her,” said Derrick. “No problem.”

“Yeah,” said Clements. “Unless... you’d like to come along?”

“Oh!” said Odette, startled. When she thought about it, the idea was tremendously exciting. Certainly it would be far more interesting than staying in the hotel, and she was rather touched that Clements would invite her.
She didn’t have to ask me along.
“Would that be allowed?”

“Buggered if I know,” said Commander Derrick sourly. “I’ll have to check with the Rookery, and that’ll probably take longer than we can afford. Clements is supposed to be departing shortly. Maybe if we get permission, we can send you up after her.”

He put a headset on and muttered some words into the microphone. As he waited for an answer, he stared at them. Odette heard a tinny little response come through the headset, and Derrick looked surprised.

“They say it’s fine with them if it’s all right with the Broederschap.”

“I’d need to get permission from Grootvader Ernst,” said Odette. “Although I really don’t think he’d have any objection. He’s always saying we should get out more. Do you know if he’s in a meeting at the moment?” she asked Commander Derrick. He muttered into his headset and then shook his head at her.

“He’s receiving a haircut from the hotel hairdresser.”

“Thank you.”

Odette was put through to Grootvader Ernst by his assistant and he approved the idea immediately. “It sounds like an excellent plan,” he said. “It will do you good to get out of the city and away from the paperwork and tension here. Combat can be very invigorating.”

“I’m just going as an observer. I don’t think I’ll be engaging in actual
combat,
” said Odette doubtfully.

Although once this is done, I really should learn how to fight,
she mused.
I expect the Checquy will insist on it, regardless of whatever role I move into. Apparently even the librarians are death machines.

“Good to see combat done, anyway,” said Grootvader Ernst. “Do me proud. Endeavor not to get killed or eaten. Oh, and don’t forget to wear your coat.”

“Yes, Grootvader.” She sighed. “But be sure to let the Checquy know that you’ve given your approval. And you should probably make it clear to them that if I get hurt at all, you won’t hold the Checquy responsible,” she said and hung up.

“Is it likely to be dangerous?” Clements asked.

“You’re a Pawn of the Checquy,” said Derrick. “What kind of fuckin’ question is that?”

“Not for me, sir,” said Clements. “For her.”

“Oh, well, I don’t expect so,” said Derrick. “You won’t be going into the actual church, and she’ll be staying in the command center. Plus she’ll be surrounded by armed troops — the Rookery just sent up an additional lot of soldiers. Hard-pressed to find a safer place for her.”

Clements looked a little relieved at this news. Then, with remarkable alacrity, the Pawn hustled Odette out of the operations suite, down to the front entrance of the hotel, and into a waiting car. As the car swiftly took off, Clements began reading through a file that had been waiting for them in the backseat.

“Can I take a look?”

“It’s classified,” said the Pawn, and she paused. “But then, so are
you,
and you’re going to the site.” She handed over the folder.

As she read it, Odette began to feel less and less certain about everything.

In Muirie, a village tucked away in the Central Lowlands of Scotland, no fewer than fifteen people were believed to have been killed by forces unknown over the course of the previous night.
Believed
was the operative word, since no bodies had been recovered, but the moans had endured for several hours before stopping abruptly shortly before dawn.

What in God’s name happened?
thought Odette. She skimmed over the history of the village itself.

Muirie was a small community of about two hundred houses clustered around a dour-looking church. Historically, its primary industries had been agriculture and a sort of willful illiteracy. The earliest mention of the place dated from a history of Macbeth, the king of Scotland, who had been struck down with food poisoning whilst passing through (an anecdote that was somehow left out of the play). Apparently, between bouts of vomiting, the monarch had expressed his mild incredulity that the town continued to exist, and that had been in 1050.

Since then, the village had grown somewhat in size, and the demographic had shifted from subsistence-level barley and cabbage farmers to information technology and legal professionals, who were drawn by Muirie’s quaint alleyways, authentic gray stone houses, and the willingness of the local council to let newcomers tear the guts out of the homes’ interiors and renovate (for a suitable fee).

The place had one village store (now stocked with a selection of gourmet ingredients) and no fewer than five exquisite little restaurants serving food of extremely specific ethnic origins. The village’s children were bused to a nearby town for school, and most of the residents spent at least two hours a day commuting between their homes and their jobs in Perth (which boasted reliable Internet connections and legal problems that didn’t exclusively involve sheep). Some residents predated the arrival of the young, wealthy professionals. These proto-Muirites tended to be older, somewhat weathered-looking, and prone to making pointed remarks about the kind of limp fancies who felt the village shop needed to stock six kinds of salt.

The church, as far as the Checquy could tell, was the origin of the problem. It was a squat structure that (judging from the photos) had not been so much built as laboriously chiseled out of a single sullen boulder of granite. As a result of its rugged construction, the building had withstood the centuries easily, and the village’s new denizens had resisted their natural urge to renovate the interior, feeling that it was their duty to preserve it for future generations whilst simultaneously not attending services. It had caught the eye of a visiting academic, who exclaimed over its untouched qualities and returned a few months later with a team of archaeology graduate students and permission to use them.

The archaeologists had been laboring away inside the church with their little brushes and their distilled water and their digital cameras, and though they hadn’t discovered anything astonishing, they were getting some insights into the history of the place and had found some nice examples of local craftsmanship. Then, on Friday afternoon, around the time that Clements had been grimly surveying her assigned dress, something had happened. It was not immediately clear
what,
but the caretaker’s wife, who had been gardening out front, had heard a brief flurry of shouts coming from within, followed by faint moans and a sound like that of “a large dog when it laps at a bowl of water on a hot day.”