Dead of Veridon (35 page)

"Well, it's clear what kind of rough Jacob likes in his women. So." He clapped his hands together. "How shall we proceed?"

"Boss," a man said from the back of the boat. "Not my place, but maybe could you keep them down. We've been spotted."

We all looked upriver. The boat that I assumed dumped us was just visible through the coils of fog that walked across the surface of the Reine. They were turning slowly around, to come our way.

"Inevitable that this would happen. Jacob, Lady Bright. If you would be so kind as to get into the forecabin. There are clothes, although we were only expecting one, and not a lady. My apologies for your sensibilities." Valentine held up a hand. "And before we go, please apologize to Mr. Cacher. He's a rough man, but that's no way to thank someone for saving your life."

"You have to be kidding," Veronica said.

"It is not in my nature to kid. Your brief demonstration was impressive, and I'm sure you're more than capable of handling yourself. However, I promise you, I can have you over the side of this boat in half a breath. Now. Please apologize."

"I'm sorry I don't like being talked about like a piece of meat, and won't tolerate your bullshit. Thanks for saving my life."

Cacher pulled himself to his feet and, mumbling, sketched a short bow to the Lady Bright. Valentine smiled.

"Sufficient. Now, let's be about our business, shall we?"

"Valentine, what the hell are you doing out here? Did you follow us?"

"All shall be answered. Let's leave it at saying that I offered you help once before, and you declined it. And that cost Emily her life, and nearly cost the city its god. I will not take that risk again."

"If you're offering me assistance again, I'm going to go ahead and decline. Thanks for saving our lives and all, but we'd rather you set us in a lifeboat and let us go on our way."

"You misunderstand. This time I am not giving you the opportunity to decline. You will help me address the current crisis, or I will put you away and deal with it myself."

We stared at each other for a second, his empty eyes churning darkly in that beautiful face. Veronica grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into the forecabin. She was stripping off before I had a chance to turn around.

"It's not a horrible thing to see," she muttered. "You're going to make a girl feel bad."

"It's not that. It's complicated. Never mind." I started fumbling with my shirt. The clothes available were simple fisherman's garb, but there were several mismatched shirts and pants in a pile. We would both be able to find something that fit.

"And who are these strange friends of yours?" she asked, her voice muffled as she pulled a shirt over her head.

I told her; explained how Valentine was my boss when the famous events of two years ago went down, how he had my back until things got too complicated, then shoved me to the dogs. And when it became advantageous for him again, came back and offered to help. How I took that offer poorly, and held a gun to his head. Told him we were done being friends.

"He doesn't hunt me," I said. "That's the best thing I can say about the relationship."

"So what's he doing here now?" she asked.

Before I could answer, Cacher opened the door without knocking. Leered at us as he held out two pistols, grip first.

"You're arming us?" I asked.

"Boss says. Jacob Burn ain't the same man without a little iron dick to wave around."

I took the revolver. Veronica took hers, but held it daintily. Without another word, Cacher closed the door.

"Beats the hell out of me," I said, answering Veronica's question of a moment ago. "But we should find out."

Dressed, and with our weapons tucked into waistbands under baggy vests, we went back out on the deck. The fog had lifted some. We could even see the distant majesty of the Church of the Algorithm, perched on the banks at the confluence of the Ebd and the Reine. The other boat was awfully close, and steaming at us.

"We gonna get out of their way, Valentine?" I asked. He was standing on the edge of the boat, resting his hands lightly on the side. Staring down the other vessel as it approached. He turned his head slightly to me, then back to the boat.

"I have strange allies, Jacob. Are things prepared, Mr. Vaunt?"

I looked down and nearly jumped out of my skin when a face slid out of the water. Green and bloated, with teeth like popcorn.

"They are, sir," the face said with a voice that was all water and mud.

"Then let us end this encounter, shall we?" He waved jauntily to the boarding party that was gathering at the rail of the other boat, bristling with longrifles.

There was a thump that I felt in my knees, and a boiling tumor of water rose up from the side of other boat. Its hull tore like party paper, and the whole thing bent. Suddenly heavy, it leaned to one side, its bow pointing sharply away from us, and then it ripped open. A second thump, and deep inside, something exploded. Fire rolled along the deck, and she was sinking.

"There. Doesn't that feel good?" he asked, turning to face us. "All those bad men who put you in a box and rolled you into the river? They're on fire now!"

"What happened to you?" I asked nervously.

"I've started taking action. I've always been a brutal man, Jacob. I've just become very intentional in my brutality. Now, if you'll come with me."

We followed him to the back of the boat. Several floating corpses pulled themselves from the water and approached us.

"You're working with the Fehn?" I asked.

"Of course. I had a number of loyal subjects among their race. When," he looked at me funny, "the event occurred the other morning, they came to me for solace. There's something I've learned from you, Jacob. Never turn an ally away, no matter what the consequences may be. They can be so useful."

"A little late for that to be much use to me," I muttered, thinking of the time he had kicked me to the street, just as I needed his protection the most.

"But it's not, Jacob. I've learned a lot in the last two days. Probably more than you, in fact."

"This I doubt. But try me."

"I know that there's an Artificer in town," he said, cocking his head.

"Not news."

"There are many dead on the Council. Several of the families are said to be near the brink of war. And the Patron Tomb is about to die."

"Oh, gods, Valentine. I used to have such respect for you." I watched the shattered remains of the other boat slip beneath the river. "The last son of a purged and exiled Founding Family, associated with the Artificers, came back to Veridon to take revenge on those who did his family wrong. He killed people who held their former property, toyed with and murdered those on the Council whose ancestors originally declared a purge on his ancestors. Including my father and, yes, the Patron Tomb. But his true target was the Church. And when he struck, the Angel Camilla was waiting for him."

Valentine looked at me with unmasked awe, even through that nearly blank face. His eyes went to Veronica.

"Near as I can determine, Camilla has somehow absorbed him and is using the Artificer's magic to hold herself together."

There was a moment of stunned silence around the tiny boat. Even the Fehn looked shocked. I smiled and crossed my arms.

"So what have you got, Valentine? What do you know that I don't?"

"Well," he started, and took several breaths to collect himself. "For one thing, I knew you were floating down the river in a barrel. And I think that ought to count for something."

"Granted."

"And I know what the Fehn have told me," he said, giving me a sly look. "Which is the only thing that really matters right now."

I looked to the popcorn-toothed Vaunt and shivered.

"What have they told you?"

Valentine strutted around the deck, his hands in his pockets. "Besides the unusual arrival of a barrel from the Church, a barrel that screamed when they loaded it? Well, they told me that whatever you delivered to them, Jacob, was like a disease. It spread quickly, it killed many. Those who survived either bunkered down in the underwater hives that house the Mother..."

"Mother?" I asked.

"The prime Fehn. Slug zero," he said, then waved the matter away with his hand. "Anyway. They either bunkered down, or they hid on the surface with their friends. These gentlemen of the river came to me. They were quite shocked by the attack." He placed a hand on the Fehn's soggy shoulder. "In fact, they're quite unhappy with you, Mr. Burn."

"They can get in line, Valentine. I was tricked, just like the Tombs. Just like my father."

"Yes, well." He folded his hands in front of him. "The point is, while they were at first in communication with their brethren beneath the river, the situation has changed."

"Changed?" I asked.

"They have lost touch."

"The Mother is silent," Popcorn Mouth said. "The histories are empty."

"Histories are empty," I repeated.

"All of the past is closed to use. All of the present." The Fehn looked shaken, as distressed as a soggy corpse can look. "We have nothing but these limited forms."

We were all quiet for a minute. The Fehn was inching closer to me, his hands out as though to rest his fingers against my chest. I stepped back.

"Do you know what the hell he's talking about?" I asked Valentine.

"Only in very limited ways. The Fehn have a sort of hive mind..."

"That's a gross misunderstanding," Veronica said. We turned to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize we had a scholar among us," Valentine said. "Please, continue. I happily yield the floor."

Valentine does not happily yield anything. I tried to warn Veronica, but she seemed immune to my glares and subtle hand motions.

"Well, it's more like..." She held her palms up, her vision unfocused and slack. She was looking for the words. "I'll start with your analogy, Mr. Valentine..."

"Simply Valentine," he murmured.

"Valentine, then. It's like a library. The Fehn seem to be units in a larger, continuous organism. Like books in a library, or notes in a song. They're not a hive mind, not at all. But they are in harmony. I would go so far as to say that they
are
a harmony. And all of it comes from the Mother, as you say. The prime slug."

Mr. Vaunt the Fehn stared at her, open mouthed. His hands were still hovering over my chest.

"Yes," he said, eventually. "The song of history. Yes. That is what we are."

"And that song has been disrupted," Valentine said, resuming his role as moderator. "Which has never happened, in however many centuries the Fehn have drifted through our fine river. These gentlemen have lost contact with the Mother. It didn't happen until well after the cog-dead virus worked its way through their population. Something else plucked the Mother from their minds."

"Like what?" I prompted.

"It seems that someone, and I assume that it is this Mr. Crane you mentioned, has been screwing around with the Mother Fehn. Tapping it for knowledge. And using that knowledge to get inside the Church. That was the whole point of the attack you participated in. Because of the peculiar way the Fehn communicate, taking control of a large portion of their population gave Crane a kind of back door into the Mother."

"Why would that matter? Why would the Fehn know the first damn thing about the Church of the Algorithm?"

"We know everything," Vaunt said. "We know what this valley looked like when the city was born. What the river tasted like, and why it tastes different now. We know what is upriver, and down. We know why the sky fell, and when it will fall again. All of these things, mortal. And so many more."

"Okay." I cocked an eye at Valentine. He shrugged.

"I have learned that whatever the Fehn are now, they were once something very much like a library. And the Mother, as they call it, is the only fragment of that library left. And while it has gone a little mad, it still collects data, and stories, and preserves them as best it can."

"And Crane? What has he learned from her?"

"Who knows? But you say that Camilla was waiting for him. As if he didn't know she was there? I promise you this. Anyone who has had access to the Mother Fehn would know everything there is to know about Camilla. More even then our little angel knows about herself, I suspect."

This gave me pause. I wasn't sure which was worse; Camilla tricking Ezekiel Crane into freeing her and giving her his power, or Crane tricking Camilla into thinking she had tricked him. Too much tricking. Too much thinking things through.

"So is Camilla free," I asked, "or is Crane manipulating her? And if so, to what end?"

"He was pretty clear about that," Veronica said. "The end of Veridon."

"Which is why I'm not willing to take 'no' for an answer, Mr. Burn." Valentine put his heavy arm around my shoulders. I nearly buckled under the weight. "You are going to solve this problem. I'm going to see to it."

"In case you missed it, she's already kicked me out of the Church once. And she has Wilson. And an entire army of zombified holy men." I shrugged Valentine's arm off and crossed my arms. "I'm happy for your help, I really am. But there's no way we're getting into..."