Stiletto (15 page)

“Perhaps we could bring in some Chimerae from the Continent,” suggested Marcel. Odette looked at him, surprised.

The Chimerae were the elite of the Grafters’ soldiers — humans who had been completely transformed into weapons. They were rare, not only because they were recruited from the best but because they were fabulously expensive to create. Rigorously trained in combat, each one represented months of work by the Broederschap’s most skilled artisans. Each had multiple offensive enhancements drawn from across the biological kingdoms. No two were alike, but they all, as a baseline, could easily break every human record for speed and strength.

In the olden days (which meant up until a few months ago, when Ernst had made his announcement), they had been stockpiled in preparation for the moment the Grafters brought their revenge against the Checquy. Until then, for the most part, they had served as guards of the brotherhood’s most valuable holdings. In hidden vaults and strong rooms dotted across Europe, they stood vigil over hoards of wealth and precious biological specimens — though each of them was as much a treasure as the riches he protected.

On those rare occasions when they were unleashed, they solved problems.

For instance, in the eighteenth century, a brilliant young student from the University of Ingolstadt caught the eye of members of the Broederschap. His work with galvanism and chemistry was deemed to have tremendous potential, and they recruited him. He was given a thorough grounding in the core principles of the brotherhood’s techniques, but he chafed at their restrictions and eventually went rogue, disappearing to pursue his own research. Agents scoured the known world for him, but it was years before five Chimerae were dispatched to the Arctic, where he had constructed and animated a monstrous being using cadavers and lightning. Four of the five troops were killed, but the rogue doctor and his creation also died out there on the ice.

In the late nineteenth century, a Grafter research facility stood on Noble’s Isle, a remote island in the Pacific. The head of the facility designed and oversaw a private project in which more than one hundred animals were surgically altered and augmented with heightened strength, rudimentary intelligence, and opposable digits. In a development of outstanding predictability, the subjects rose up, briskly slaughtered the Broederschap staff, and began constructing crude vessels with an eye toward escaping. Seven Chimerae were sent to address the problem. None of the experiments left the island.

In the early 1990s, when a Colombian drug lord decided not to pay the Broederschap the agreed-upon price for a significantly extended life span (one unencumbered by cancer, male-pattern baldness, or impotence), he retired to a fortified estate and surrounded himself with a private army. After several increasingly emphatic invoices went unpaid, ten Chimerae descended on the fortress in the dead of night and systematically slaughtered almost everyone. (Graaf Ernst had felt that it would be inappropriate to punish the domestic staff, and so their memories were instead forcibly readjusted.) The Broederschap had then pillaged the drug lord’s private zoo for some rare specimens, leaving only his hippopotamuses to gambol about freely in the jungle and terrify the local fishermen.

Despite the Chimerae’s effectiveness, the Grafters’ paranoia about the Checquy (and any other possible Continental equivalents) was such that their soldiers were deployed for only the most serious situations, and even then measures were taken to ensure that they left no trace. Odette assumed that substantial safeguards had been built into the Chimerae’s very frames to guarantee that no incriminating skin cell or drop of blood would ever be left behind for examination.

“Deploying the Chimerae here is a terrible idea,” Nikolina, the communications liaison, said flatly. “If the Checquy found even one Chimera trying to enter the country, they’d take it as a declaration of war.” Odette nodded in agreement. The Chimerae were unmistakably the creation of the Broederschap; some of the Chimerae’s organs would literally have Grafter fingerprints all over them, and the nature of their enhancements would leave no doubt as to their purpose.

“There are eighteen Chimerae in Cardiff,” said the graaf. “They are in hibernation in an apartment there.” The entire table was silent for a moment in horrified awe. If he had declared that he had a couple of nuclear weapons tucked away in Wales, they couldn’t have been more startled.

Another one of his arrangements,
thought Odette, impressed.
The canny bastard
.

Looking at him, one could easily forget that Ernst van Suchtlen was centuries old, with all the cunning and foresight these years had taught him. His strategies were hugely complex, spanning decades, and very few others in the Broederschap were privy to his plans. When he had announced that, as the culmination of years of work, the Grafters would be entering into negotiations with the Checquy, Marcel had been the only person she knew who was unsurprised.

It was only when she was told that she would be joining the delegation that Odette learned about the extensive preparations Graaf van Suchtlen had made before he presented himself to Myfanwy Thomas with his proposal. He had not been interested in simply throwing himself and his brotherhood on the dubious mercy of the Checquy, and so, while he had extended the open hand of peace, his other hand had been holding a selection of weapons — just to make peace as appetizing a prospect as possible. To that end, he had put in place two weapons of mass destruction in British urban centers. He had suborned Checquy operatives. He had even purchased the loyalty of two members of the Checquy Court.

None of his measures proved very successful — Myfanwy Thomas had smashed them all before he could even enter her office. But now it appeared that there had been other preparations, other contingencies.

Always planning ahead,
mused Odette.
But he wasn’t prepared for the enemy behind us
.
He never foresaw the possibility of the Antagonists, and now they are threatening our future.
She wondered what other schemes he had put in place. He might very well have more facilities and operatives dotted around the country. In the back of every Grafter’s mind was the knowledge that, should the negotiations fail, they would need to fall back from the wrath of the Checquy.

“All right, then,” said Marie, and for the first time that Odette could recall, she sounded uncertain. “So we’ll activate the Chimerae and bring them here. But I’m still not convinced of the wisdom of this. Even with the soldiers, how will we find the Antagonists in London? This city is huge!”

“But it’s a great deal smaller than Europe,” said the graaf in a very reasonable tone. “I have utter confidence in you. This problem must be taken care of without letting the Checquy know that it ever existed.” There were murmurs of subdued agreement around the table. “And if we are finished with this subject, then Alessio can come in, and we will go over the schedule for today.”

Anabella scurried to open the door, revealing Odette’s brother waiting in his Estate uniform. It was, if anything, even more ghastly when placed on a human being. He walked in stiffly, as if trying to make as little contact with his clothing as possible. Odette kept her face carefully blank.

“You look very nice,” said van Suchtlen warmly.

“But you’re not wearing the hat,” said Odette in a helpful tone. Alessio shot her a look that promised retribution of the direst sort, and then, with absolutely no expression, he placed the boater on his head. The entire table clapped politely, Alessio closed his eyes in an effort to endure the agony, and Odette took the opportunity to snap some pictures with her phone.

“What a fascinating outfit,” she said quietly when Alessio sat down next to her. “I’m sure it’s full of historical and cultural significance.”

“I’m sure it’s so that I’ll make an easy target if they need to shoot me,” said Alessio.

“Is that a teapot on the crest? Why would there be a teapot?” asked Odette.

“To torture me,” said Alessio. “This uniform is probably revenge for my ancestors’ invading their country centuries ago and slaughtering their people.”

In unison, they looked to the end of the table, where one of the ancestors in question was drinking a cup of tea and playing with his smartphone.

“Well,
you
can take it up with him if you like,” said Odette. Alessio made a little moaning sound as he picked at his blazer. “It’s not that bad,” she said soothingly. “And Grootvader Ernst likes it.”

“Grootvader Ernst was born in a time when men wore tights. And hats with feathers in them!” Great-Uncle Marcel shot them a look, and they both went quiet.

The schedule for the day was quite straightforward. The entire delegation would travel to Apex House, the administrative headquarters of the Checquy. They would be scanned and registered by a security detail before Alessio went off with his school group and the rest of the delegation was formally welcomed to the negotiating table by half the Court (the Lord was obliged to meet with the Prime Minister every Wednesday morning, Rook Kelleher had the flu, Chevalier Whibley was on his way back from a journey overseas, and Bishop Alrich would apparently crumble into greasy ash if he appeared during normal business hours). After that, everyone would split up into work groups to address various issues.

“And be polite at all times,” said van Suchtlen. “They are as wary of us as we are of them. Be professional, be normal. Endeavor not to do anything that will result in them obliterating us.”

Blackness. Blackness and cold, and a terrible weight pressing down on every part of her. That was all Felicity knew. It was everything. There was no room for any thought. All she could do was cling to the one warm thing that existed. She buried her face in its softness and felt arms closed tight around her. All around them, the cold darkness moved, surging, compressing, pushing them along. And it lasted for a long, long time.

*

Light!

It unfolded all around her. And it was not the terrifying green glare of Pawn Jennings’s power but a soft, gentle warmth that soaked pinkly through her eyelids and stroked her skin. There was heat against her front, and the chill on her back was not as bad as it had been. For a few seconds, she floated in the light.

And then she fell, flailing, untangling, for perhaps a meter before she flopped down onto a softish, yielding surface. The smell of plastic and nylon was familiar.
Crash mat,
her brain supplied vaguely.
Like in gymnastics at school.
She tried to open her eyes, but they were sticky, and she had to rub at them before she could see. On her hands, she could see little crystals that melted away into water.
Frost.

Felicity was exhausted, but she managed to lift herself up on her elbows and look around. She was sprawled on a blue Olympic-style crash mat in a white room with windows that looked out onto a gray sky. The crash mat appeared to be the only furniture. The whole place felt delightfully warm.

If this is the afterlife, then everyone has been extremely wrong about it.

Next to her was the curved brown back of a naked man.
Great, another one,
she thought weakly.
At least this one seems to be a little more standard-issue.
This naked man had a nice back, from what she could tell, but he did not seem to be doing well. All she could see of him was covered in a rime of frost, and he was shaking. The muscles in his shoulders and arms twitched violently.
Well, that’s not good,
she thought.
I’d better do... something.
It took all her strength, but she sat up. She could feel her head wobbling on her neck like a baby’s.

It was at that point that Felicity realized that she, too, was naked. Her armor and coveralls had vanished. There was no sign of her gun or her wristwatch. Even the smears of rubbish-based visual and olfactory camouflage were gone. All she was wearing was a thin, swiftly melting coat of ice and frost. She gave a moment’s thought to spreading her Sight out beyond the room, but even the idea left her exhausted.
I think it’ll be easier just to stand up and open the door.

There
was
a door, and somewhere beyond it, a bell was ringing. She was just getting to her knees when the door opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform bustled in. She was black and in her late fifties or early sixties. The nurse’s eyes widened when she saw the two naked people on the mat.

“Oh Lord,” she said in surprise. “He’s brought another with him!” she shouted back through the doorway. She spoke with a strong Caribbean accent. “You all right?” she asked Felicity, who nodded. The nurse cast a quick diagnostic eye over her and then descended on the naked, twitching man and hurriedly gave him an injection. His shuddering eased, then stopped completely, and the nurse carefully rolled him onto his back. It was Pawn Chopra. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was settling into an easy rhythm.

The nurse briskly toweled Chopra dry, spread a blanket over him, and kissed him on the forehead. Then she took a pair of glasses out of her pocket and put them on the mat by his head.

“His contact lenses will have been lost in the journey,” she explained to Felicity. “And he always likes to wake up and find his glasses waiting for him. Now, let’s dry you off and get you a robe.”

“But I’ve got to let them know we’re still alive!” exclaimed Felicity. “They’ll think we all died in the fire. And the naked Homeowner in the OOM!” She stopped under the nurse’s politely uncomprehending gaze. “Are — you
are
with the —” began Felicity, but the nurse held up her hand.

“I’m not with your little group,” she said.

“You’re a
civilian?
” squeaked Felicity, aghast. She was aware that not only had she mentioned highly classified matters to an outsider, but she also probably sounded insane.

“I’m just a nurse in the hospital, but don’t worry, we called your people as soon as you came through. I’m Cedella. Please don’t tell me your name, I don’t need to know it, and I really prefer to keep my knowledge of you people to a minimum.”