The Office of Shadow (36 page)

By boat they traveled south along the river to Glaum, the gold mining
center. Dressed as mine officials, they walked on board a transport ship bound
through a waterborne industrial lock connecting the river with a shipping
port in Mag Mell, a few days' sail from Isle Cureid. When they arrived at the
embassy, Aranquet greeted them with open arms.

If the Seelie ambassador was surprised to see them alive, he gave no indication of it. Either he wasn't the one who'd sold them out to the Annwni, or
he was an exceptionally good liar. He feted them with shellfish and liquor,
and brought them as his special guests to a water ballet in the atoll's lagoon.
The male and female partners performed a complex and deeply stylized
dance, part above the water and part below. Beneath the water, female spectators watched the bottom half of the dance. Aranquet explained in whispers
that there were in fact two different ballets occurring simultaneously; the
Dance Above and the Dance Below. Each had its own secret meaning, and no
one except the gods knew it in its entirety.

Silverdun tried to pay attention to the performance, but all he could
think about was the hand.

A Chthonic priest complained to me about the tax on
his property. I told him that the tax rules applied to
everyone in my lands. He responded that the rules
clearly did not apply to everyone, as I myself was exempt
from them.

I doubled his tax.That shut him up.

-Lord Gray, Recollections

hen Silverdun and Ironfoot arrived in the City Emerald, it was the
middle of the night. That was despite it having been midday in Mag
Mell, which they'd just left. The time change was disorienting, but Silverdun
was still thrilled to be back in Faerie. The air was cleaner, more pure. Silverdun felt lighter on his feet the instant he emerged from the lock.

They stepped outside onto the street from Chancery Station, and both of
them breathed deeply.

"Here we are," said Ironfoot.

"We are indeed," said Silverdun.

"It appears to be just past two in the morning. I can't say I'm particularly sleepy, though."

"No, neither am I," said Silverdun. "And I don't want to wait until the
morning to talk to Paet."

"Nor I. Let's go drop off our things at Blackstone and then go to his flat
and wake him the hell up."

"Best idea I've heard all day."

Their plan, however, was thwarted by the fact that when they arrived at Blackstone, Paet was already there, wide awake, waiting for them in the main
office. A few analysts, translators, and copyists sat at desks, their heads down,
intent on their work.

"Welcome home," Paet said once they were in his office. He looked genuinely relieved. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have you both back." It was
the first time Silverdun could remember him expressing an emotion that
wasn't anger.

"I lost a hand," said Silverdun.

Paet looked at Silverdun. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"An Annwni guardsman lopped off my hand, and five days later it grew
back."

A thin smile crept across Paet's lips. "Is that so?"

"What did you do to us?" asked Ironfoot. "At Whitemount. Something
happened to us there. Jedron did something to us. I've been puzzling over it
ever since we left, and I can't think of a single thaumatic explanation for it.

"And I'm very smart," he added.

"I think it's time you told us what it was you did to us," said Silverdun.

"Anything else unusual happen?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Silverdun. "I burned down an entire
building with a single burst of witchfire, and Ironfoot here turned a man into
his willing slave."

"I see."

Paet took a bottle of whiskey from the sideboard next to his desk and
poured three glasses. He handed one each to Silverdun and Ironfoot and
raised his glass. They drank.

"I told you to expect some unusual aftereffects, did I not?" said Paet. "It
appears as though these effects have begun sooner rather than later."

"I assumed you meant nausea or headache," said Silverdun.

"I was purposefully vague because it's different for everyone."

"What is?" asked Ironfoot. "What is different for everyone?"

"Something happened to us at Whitemount, Paet," said Silverdun. "And
you know what it was. So tell us."

"I can't," said Paet. He looked tired, strained.

"And why not?"

"Because the less you know about it, the better," said Paet, raising his
voice. "Knowledge is everything in this business. The more you know, the
more of a liability you are."

"And here we go with this routine again," said Silverdun.

"Listen, you," said Paet. "I slit the throat of a woman I loved to protect
the very same information. Do you think I was happy about it?"

Silverdun had no response to that, besides horror.

"Anyway," said Paet, "what we did to you is less important than what
you do with it."

"That's not good enough," said Ironfoot.

"Here's what I can tell you," said Paet. "You're stronger than you were.
You've realized that, I believe. Both physically, and with your re. You are
much more difficult to hurt, and you regenerate very quickly when injured.

"There are other ... advantages as well, but I'm not at liberty to tell you
what they are unless it becomes necessary for me to do so."

"And what circumstances would be required to make that a necessity?"
asked Silverdun.

Paet drained his whiskey. "You don't want to know."

He poured another glass. "Now if you'll excuse me, there are more
pressing matters that I must attend to."

"What would those be?" asked Silverdun.

"I take it you haven't looked at a newspaper since your return." Paet
handed a folded copy of the Register across the desk. It was folded to a story
whose headline read, "The Inquiry into Guildsman Heron's Death Widens."

"Heron?" said Ironfoot. "Is this the husband of the secretary of states?"

"The very same," said Paet. "It's the scandal of the day at court, and
there's already pressure on the secretary to resign."

Silverdun glanced down the article. "A murder. Are we to investigate it?"

Paet grimaced. "Oh, no. We already know who the murderer is."

"Who?" asked Ironfoot.

"Our own Sela," said Paet. "Everess put her up to it."

There was a silence in the office.

"Why?" Ironfoot finally said. "Is it within our purview to do such a
thing?"

Pact shrugged. "One of the benefits of being a Shadow is that we have no
official purview. Though I imagine if this were traced back to the foreign
minister, he'd soon find himself looking for another job, if not another head."

"What's his explanation?" asked Silverdun.

"That's what I intend to find out."

The next morning, Silverdun was awoken by the sound of someone ringing
the bell at the front door. It was just barely sunrise outside, and he'd had no
more than four hours' sleep.

A moment later, his valet Olou strode into his room without knocking,
as was his wont.

"Knocking," Silverdun said, "is a civilized practice. In every corner of the
realm, Olou."

Olou shrugged. "I may be your valet, sir, but I'm also an officer in the
Foreign Ministry. And as far as the ministry is concerned, this is my house,
and you're the invalid uncle that I attend to."

"I knew there had to be a catch," said Silverdun. He rose and began
dressing, inspecting the clothing that Olou had laid out for him. "Nice
outfit," he said.

"I do my best," said Olou.

"Who's knocking at my door-forgive me, your door-so hellishly early
in the morning?"

"Abbot Estiane from the Temple Aba-Nylae."

"What does he want?"

"It wasn't my place to ask, sir."

Silverdun finished dressing and left the room with a sneer at Olou. By
the time he found himself in the sitting room of his apartments, he was in a
better mood, and he greeted Estiane with a smile that Estiane did not return.

"What's wrong, Estiane? Did they finally discover your cache of liquor?"

"I am going to speak this morning with Lord Everess," said Estiane.
"Depending on the outcome of this conversation, I may ask you to reconsider
your choice of employment."

"Says the man who practically pushed me into it."

"A situation has arisen," said Estiane, "that has made me question that
decision."

"Trust me; I've questioned it plenty for both of us."

"For what reasons?" asked Estiane. The abbot's eyes were red; he
appeared as though he'd been crying.

"I'm not sure if I can say," said Silverdun.

"Ahh," said Estiane, folding his hands in his lap. "Secrecy. You have
indeed entered a world of shadows, Perrin."

"This is the way of things," said Silverdun. "I knew that before I joined
up with Everess, and I've had it confirmed more than once since."

"We will speak more of this later. 1 just wanted to let you know."

"Abbot," said Silverdun, "what is the extent of Aba's forgiveness? Just
out of curiosity."

Estiane sighed. "The Scripture says it is infinite, child. Let us hope for
both of our sakes that the Scriptures do not exaggerate."

Lord Everess's office was spacious and homey, dressed with antiques and old
religious artifacts: an Arcadian censer from the Ram cycle; a Chthonic candelabra with twelve candles of different hues, each representing both a god and
a Gift; a bronze statue of a Nymaen god, who was a grossly fat man with his
hand held up in benediction. Everess himself held no particular religious
beliefs, having been raised in the high nobility where such things were typically frowned upon. An Arcadian opponent in the House of Lords had once
snidely remarked from the floor that power was Everess's only religion. That
had gotten a good laugh from the gallery.

Religious types didn't worry Everess, nor did political opponents given
to cliche. There were only two in all of Faerie that sincerely worried him:
Regina Titania, and Chief Paet. The queen's power was perhaps not what it
once was, but that was like saying a dragon's flame was perhaps a bit cooler
than it had been; one could still easily be incinerated by it.