The Dragons of Babel (39 page)

The doors to the mirror-closet burst open and the manticore bounded into the room.

“Mistress!” he cried. “We've got a security situation. There's a—” He stopped. “Oh, hello, Enoycla. And you've got the ring-thief with you. This must be Old Home Week.”

“Focus
, you wretched creature!” the fetch cried. “What security situation are you talking about?”

“It seems there's somebody very powerful and covered with flames who wants something inside House L'Inconnu. Hrothgar's having a hell of a time holding him back.”

“That would be the Burning Man,” Will said. “He's after me, I'm afraid.” He should have felt more alarmed than he did, he knew. But he could not. This was simply what his life was like. He'd gotten used to it.

“You don't seem overly upset by this news,” Enoycla said coolly. “And exactly where do you think you're going?” This last was addressed to the manticore, who had started to slink away.

“I'm going to have to tell Florian this guy's here,” the manticore said sheepishly. “It's kind of my duty.”

“Just as my reluctant duty is to keep ‘this guy' safe,” the fetch said. “You can give Florian a detailed report later.”

“Um… I should do it now, I think.”

“Do you really want to get involved in a fight between my brother and me? Do you think that would be wise? Do you honestly believe things would go any easier on you because I'm the fetch rather than the original?”

The manticore put its head down on its front paws, lifting its haunch in the air submissively. “No,” it mumbled, “not really.”

“Wise creature. Niceums pussums. Now heel, sirrah! You”—she pointed to Will—“climb on his back.”

Will wasn't at all sure this was either wise or safe. Nevertheless he obeyed. “How will I get in touch with Alcyone again?”

The fetch plucked a hair from his head. “I'll give her this for a token. If she wants you, she'll find you.”

“But—”

“Scat!”

The manticore surged beneath Will and abruptly they were halfway down the hall and then descending a stairway in long and shallow leaps. The monster looked over his shoulder at Will, grinning a great crescent moon of a grin. “I bet you didn't think I'd recognize you without the clown mask,” he said. “But I remember your smell. You oughta lay off the fried foods.” He rounded a corner, sending throw rugs flying on the polished wood floor. “Thanks for the bribe, incidentally. It's been spent and Florian made me promise I wouldn't take any more from you, but it was great while it lasted.”

“Watch out for the fire pit!” Will shouted.

They flashed through a kitchen, cooks looking up in startlement and scullery lads clambering onto countertops, and vaulted over a roasting oxen. There was a blur of lobby and then they were out on the street.

“I hope you didn't get into any trouble on my account,” Will said, holding on for dear life as they soared to the top of a moving autobus and then bounced down onto the sidewalk on the far side. A hot dog cart overturned and a covey of winged schoolgirls scattered and Will and the manticore were speeding down Fifth Avenue.

“Naw. The boss knew what he was getting when he hired me.”

The terrifying ride ended at Grand Central Station. Swarms of passengers were boarding Uptown and Downtown express elevators, and a Midtown freight elevator was disgorging fleets of Mercedes and BMWs. Will deemed it safest to be dropped off here, for when the manticore made his report it would give Florian L'Inconnu no hint as to where he might be squatting. “I'm sorry for all the trouble you've been put through,” he said when there was pavement safely beneath his feet again. “I apologize for all the trouble I've inadvertently put you through, and I apologize for any humiliation you may have undergone. I didn't want Alcyone's fetch to treat you as she did. It's very wrong of them to behave so shabbily.”

The manticore leered. “Yeah, I'd be a socialist, too, only the money's better working this side of the street.”

Then he was gone.

“
H
ot date?” the vixen asked when Will sat down at her booth. She'd taken over a dark corner of a diner and, with small bribes to the management and generous tips to the waitstaff, made it her office. Unlike Nat, she did not require that her center of operations serve alcohol.

“I was with Alcyone,” Will admitted. The vixen snapped
her fingers for the waitress and pointed at Will. An undine nodded and began pouring a cup. “I'm not sure how she feels about me, though.”

“Ah, youth!” The vixen accepted a cup of coffee and handed it to Will. “Trust me, she likes you. I can tell because you've got that gingerly way of walking that men get when their dicks are rubbed raw.”

“Vickie,” Will said irritably, “you're taking something that's sweet and romantic and—”

“Don't let's start passing judgment on an affair until we know how it comes out, eh? It ain't romantic till it's over.” The vixen knocked over the saltshaker and muttered a cantrip over the spill. “Let's see what this slut looks like.” She blew on the salt. The grains tumbled this way and that and finally formed a recognizable image of Alcyone. She passed her hand over the salt portrait and it took on color.

“Well. The apple doesn't fall from the tree.” The vixen sniffed. “A redhead, too. I suppose I should feel flattered.” By her tone, Will knew she did not. Yet, looking down upon Alcyone, he could not help but smile.

“She came that close to telling me she loved me,” he said.

“Oh, kid, you've got it bad! You do realize that when this scam is over, we'll have to leave Babylon? We'll be traveling fast and we'll be traveling light and we won't dare come back for years.”

“I know that,” Will said sullenly.

The vixen studied him silently for a moment. Then she lit a cigarette. “Well, enough of that. Listen. You're gonna have to be careful going out in public nowadays. The polits know what you look like. They've got hold of a photo.”

“How'd they get that?”

“How d'ya think? I mailed it to them.”

16 M
NLIGHT
S
NATA

The hawk came flying, swift as an arrow, down the center of the street and then straight at Will's face. He flinched away as it snapped out its wings at the last possible instant and, swerving, creased his cheek with the tip of one flight feather. Something fell into Will's hands. A cell phone.

It rang.

“Some friends and I are going clubbing,” Alcyone said. “Wait where you are and I'll pick you up.”

Will stepped back into the shadowed doorway of a defunct art deco bank building and waited. Not much later, a white stretch limo, longer than life and pale as death, glided up to him. A footman leaped out to open the door.

“Hop in,” Alcyone said.

Will did, and the car drove off. He and Alcyone kissed long and hard. “I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be seen in public with you,” he said, hoping inwardly that she would suggest they retire to someplace private instead. “My face is known now.”

“Tish. I have an invisibility potion.” Alcyone led him deeper into the stretch, past masses of orchids and a small waterfall, and flipped down a vanity table. She donned disposable plastic gloves and opened a jar. “Take off your shirt and I'll rub it on you.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Will looked in the mirror, a brown-skinned fey stared back at him. Alcyone brushed a pigment into his hair that turned it cobalt blue. “There! Now anybody who looks at you will see a rented escort and give you not a second glance.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out.” Alcyone gestured just so and a silver bell tinkled. A haint servitor appeared with a bundle of clothes. “Change into these.”

Ignoring the haint, who stood unobtrusively ready for any further commands, Will wriggled out of his jeans and into a pair of tight pants. He was coming to realize that a great deal of being high-elven was having a perfect disregard for what one's inferiors—which was to say, almost everybody—saw or thought. The shoes fit perfectly and the socks as well; Alcyone hadn't bothered to provide underwear, so he did without. She handed him a white silken sark and when he had donned it, undid the top three buttons and then leaned back to admire her handiwork. “You clean up good.”

“You should see me in morning clothes.”

Alcyone handed Will's old clothes to the haint who, upon her saying “Take these away and burn them,” vanished as silently as he had come.

“I can't help but notice,” Will said, “that you're wearing that which your brother called the greatest treasure of House L'Inconnu.” He touched the plain moonsilver ring and smiled. “Ask me if I love you.”

“No.” She drew her hand away.

“Then tell me that you love me.”

Alcyone fixed him with those astounding eyes. “I would do anything for you, Will. For you, I'd do things that would make an ogress blush.”

Will's heart soared. Nevertheless, he persisted, “But do you love me?”

She looked away. “I… dare not say.”

“It's a simple enough thing. Three words and no witnesses to hold you to them.”

“Tie me up and whip me if you like. Fist me, piss on me, dress me up as a milkmaid if you must. Ask me anything except that.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm a fucking aristocrat, is why!” The limo came to a stop. “We have to put in an appearance at a party first. It's a fund-raiser for the Fata Bloduewedd's reelection campaign, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it anyway.”

T
wo dwarves, one red and one black, fought grimly on the balcony. Their bodies were slick with sweat and their knives gleamed in the floodlights. Their feet kicked up puffs of the sawdust that had been strewn on the flagstones to soak up blood. They were both naked.

Alcyone's friends watched from the roof garden, drinks in hand. They were as tall and glittery up close as their kind always appeared on TV. The males stood with a hand in their slacks pockets jingling coins. The females looked elaborately bored.