The Waking Engine (41 page)

But something felt wrong. Some lights burned too brightly and seemed agitated, others pulsed irregularly, fading to the point of vanishing before strobing back to life. As he spiraled toward the city, Cooper sensed a foulness that offended the senses—a stopped-up drain, a sink gone foul. Sewage and offal and . . . sludge, invisible sludge clogging the lambent arteries of the living worlds.

No sooner did the bubble of that thought pop inside his head than Cooper was falling into the lights, not a pinwheel now but a rushing smear of cosmos growing larger and larger as he fell headfirst, the interstitial ether glowing around his shoulders like the shroud of superheated gas surrounding a rocket during reentry. The distant dot of the city grew until he saw the streets and parks spread out beneath him—and beneath the streets, the inverted skyscrapers where the Winnowed made their stalactite-homes, and beneath those, in fact directly beneath the gleaming Dome, a sphere of black and gold metal that pulsed with electricity and . . . music. He had no time to try and veer himself toward the buried machine before he tumbled in the direction of an H-shaped building and fell faster, faster, toward a green mansard roof and greener grass encircled by a high wall.

Trees shaded the mansion from view, but Cooper noted a familiar black-lacquered carriage with red-trimmed wheels. Lallowë Thyu. He had no time to curse before he shot through the copper and timber of the roof. Floors and rooms flapped through him like the pages of a flip-book, and then he hit something hard that knocked the wind from his chest.

Blinking his eyes, Cooper lifted his head, relieved that his body seemed intact; he found himself lying on the ground in a space too similar to the golden cathedral-forest to be accidental. Similar, but opposite. Gray instead of gold- green; bone rather than bark; built and not grown. Pillars of bone rose in the place of trees, but at the same angles, if on a smaller scale. Conical vaults made of—skulls?—rose above his head in imitation of the golden boughs, and little enchanted lights hung at their apexes, burning inside tiny round cages. Rib cages. Babies’ rib cages.

Fucking delightful.

“What in the name of the King Beneath the Hill are you?” a voice asked. “And how did you find your way down here?”

Cooper tried to climb to his feet but lost his balance when he saw that the floor he pushed himself up from was made of finger bones. He let out a cry of disgust and scrambled to regain his purchase.

Across from him stood a lovely man dressed in a green coat over black livery, with hair like a fox that fell over his eyes. The man’s ripe lips were rubbed with just a dab of pink petal dust. He held a femur bone in one hand and a bucket of bitumen in the other.

“Don’t panic.” Cooper held out his hands, realizing he was still wearing no more than a plaid workshirt and a makeshift sarong. “I’m here on official business.”

“You’re the gray man’s human!” the valet exclaimed, pointing. “Yeah?” Cooper cleared his throat and straightened his back. “You must be the mean lady’s butler.”

Tam narrowed his eyes. “I am not a butler.” Then hefted the bone in his hand and lunged at Cooper, swinging for his head. Cooper blocked with his forearm and punched Tam in his exposed armpit. It was an awkward but lucky blow—Why didn’t I take those self-defense classes? Cooper asked himself as his fist connected—he’d struck the sensitive bundle of nerve ganglia hidden under the armpit, and Tam’s arm went momentarily dead.

“Mab, that hurts!” Tam cursed when he’d blinked away tears, cradling his numb arm and the mass of pain beneath his shoulder. The two men looked at each other and reached a wordless accord that they were neither of them fighters.

“Look, I just don’t want to be fucked with, okay?” Cooper bargained for parley, as if spontaneously manifesting in an enemy’s bone cellar weren’t something to get jumpy about.

“You stupid boy, how was I ever as green as you?” Tam sounded exhausted. “I haven’t any power to fuck with you or leave you unfucked-with, but I can tell you this: why ever you’re here, you’ve saved my mistress another kidnapping. Now put your hands down and leave me be.” Tam flicked his eyes toward Cooper’s crotch. “Or the marchioness will find a different member to sever.”

Cooper said nothing, until Tam tossed his head and said, “Fine. Can I get you some coffee?”

Upstairs, for lack of a better idea, Tam marched Cooper into the kitchens, where he sat on a stool, sulking. He looked around the large white- tiled room lined with steel sinks the size of bathtubs and an army of oven and stovetop ranges; a pile of china on the counter beside him bore the red-and- black coat of arms of Oxnard Terenz-de-Guises. Although his back was no longer a mantle of pain, he nevertheless resented Alouette for dumping him here. Whatever she was—Cooper had felt the touch of her true self thrice now, he thought, and no longer accepted her protestations quite so glibly. He cursed her silently. Lady, goddess, sea mammal— any way, I hate you.

Tam poured coffee, pained by the responsibility of keeping Cooper contained until his mistress returned. Cooper seemed to have little- to-no appreciation for the horrors awaiting him when Lallowë discovered him, which made Tam suspicious and tremendously uncomfortable. And a little bored, said the part of him that had been amidst faeries for too long.

“I must say, you’re making me tremendously uncomfortable,” Tam told Cooper. “. . . And a little bored.”

Cooper just nodded. Tam wrung his hands. Cooper closed his eyes and listened.

LaLaLaDon’tRun, HmmHmmStayPleaseStay OhOhOhIHateItHereHmm. Tam’s thoughts, even his fears, were strangely musical, not quite unhinged but definitely tainted with what Cooper could only guess was faeriestuff. A hundred years of singing flown by in a single night, that sort of thing; Tam reeked of it.

It still felt odd to hear fear and see identity. Since recovering from his torture atop the towers and the dawning awareness of the cumulative effects of his recent deliria, dreams, and hallucinations, Cooper’s abilities seemed not only stronger but also linked to a vaster body of intuition than he could possibly merit: looking at Tam, he could see a pale blue note above a bowl- shaped guitar, a sign that fluttered over the majordomo’s throat. A rather delicious throat, as well as the rest of him, Cooper couldn’t help but notice—if a little over-painted. Tam’s forearms—he’d rolled his shirtsleeves to wash dishes—were more muscled than his thin frame suggested, and his lower body filled out his trousers admirably, especially tight around the thighs and rear.

“How does she keep you here?” Cooper asked the fox-haired domo.

“Pardon?” Tam tossed his head and pretended not to have heard.

“Lallowë Thyu. You’re her slave, right?”

This appalled Tam. “Certainly not! I am no slave.” Then, reluctantly: “I just can’t ever leave, and must obey at all times.”

Cooper swirled his dregs. “I thought I was conflicted. Are you fucking her?”

“Not lately.” Tam smiled, suddenly chummy, then darted back into formation, quick as a minnow. “No, I’m being saucy—Lallowë Thyu inherited me. I’ve been passed down from one fickle fey to another like an heirloom that cleans house. I haven’t been pleasurable to the marchioness’ family for a thousand years or more, although the reason I was originally . . . acquired . . . was, ostensibly, for my pleasing looks as much as my skill with the lute.” The golden note and bowl- shaped string instrument glowed brighter as he spoke.

That sign is who he is. Cooper reminded himself. It’s his name. “What is a lute, anyway? It’s the sort of thing I’m always hearing referenced in period films and fantasy stories, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard any, um, lutations? Does it sound like the guitar? God, this coffee is good.”

“It’s a funny little guitar that sounds, to me, like home. Why don’t I fetch you some cheeses? I think you’ve had enough coffee.”

“Are you kidding me, faeriefucker? Do you know how long it’s been since I had a cuppa joe?” Cooper moaned in a caffeinated glow. Tam just stood there, not understanding Cooper on principle. “Nevermind, I don’t know why I bother with you people. Might as well try to pull the donkey’s head off Nick Bottom.”

“You know Nick?” Tam lit up.

Is this guy for real? “I know his work, sure. Top me off, Tam-tam.” Tam dispensed a miserly amount of coffee from the pot and shook his head, apparently sincere and not a little distraught. “Poor Asshat Nick. Seelie bastards ate his mind. They say they’re the good ones but, really, if you want to know the absolute truth—”

“—And you know I do, Tamela—” Cooper drained the demitasse with gusto and slapped it onto the countertop. Bardic references aside, he had no idea what Tam was talking about. So far, that seemed about par for Cooper’s insane course. I should not feel this good, he thought, before dismissing the idea as a letdown.

“—There’s no such thing as a good faerie. Just different flavors of fuckwith-Tam. I spent time in the Summer Court too, you know. Ah, now I’ve gone and had too much myself, see what comes with forgetting one’s place?” Tam patted his vest nervously, then pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s past time. Am I late or am I early?”

“No offense, but your job sucks.” Cooper picked up a cube of pink rock sugar from the sugar bowl, popped it into his mouth. It tasted like Turkish delight.

“None taken.” Tam shrugged. “Wait till you meet her. You have no idea.”

“Well”—Cooper shrugged—“she can’t be worse than her mother.”

Tam dropped his pocket watch, which swung on its chain. “She . . . what?” He narrowed his eyes at Cooper. “You can’t have met the, ah, Cicatrix.” That word hurt him to say.

“Ha. ‘Met’ is a strong word.” Cooper held his arms over his head like horns. “Giant black helmet with dung beetle horns, big as a dinosaur? Slithering cybernetic dragon body, powered by little imps on metal skewers?”

“Ah, Mab’s menses, you’re not lying!” Tam’s eyes grew wide as harvest moons. “Lallowë is going to skin you alive for that, you know.”

“In that case, she’s late.” Cooper laughed a little too loudly. “She can try, if she dares, but my skin is damaged goods and I’ve been in an increasingly shitty mood for the last few days. For some reason. This has been a nice talk, Tambellina. You’re the most normal person I’ve met in three days—not counting the pilot in the beer barrel, I guess he was pretty normal too, all things considered. He seemed like a guy who makes good choices.”

Tam cocked his head sideways. “You’re a strange young man, CooperOmphale.”

“Well of course I am. You’d be strange too if you started your week as a magic turd who’d been dragged across the universe—metaverse, whatever— by a goddess, kidnapped by a faerie princess, drugged by Cleopatra, met the Cicatrix from the inside out, fucked and flayed by a dead gigolo from the motherland, saved an angel-thing from an undead monster straight outta Vogue, dumped in cave of tears, and thrust into the mansion of an evil elf who’s sounding more and more like Cruella De Vil every minute. Does she wear puppies? Oh, and Nixon was there.”

“You don’t say.” Tam had the look of someone too well-mannered to flee the room in which he was trapped with a crazy person.

“He tried to steal my t-shirt.”

“Is that a fact.” Tam collected Cooper’s cup and tossed it into one of the tub-like metal sinks.

“Yeah,” Cooper harrumphed. “But I think he got adopted by a redhead.”

“That sounds nice.” Tam’s cup and saucer followed with a clatter.

In the corner of the ceiling and the wall, a silver bell began to clatter. “Oh thank goddess!” Tam exclaimed. “And fuck, fuck.”

“You. Atrium. Now,” he spluttered, pointing at Cooper.

“Me. Cooper. Always.” Cooper started to rant, but then something happened. His heart flipped inside his chest and the world stopped. Light froze through the windows, motes of dust stopped drifting midair, and everything became a single sound. A song. His ears filled with the song of breaking glass, glass that broke without stopping, a glacier of glass grinding itself into sand against the hammer of the world. Louder and louder until his eyes pulsed with the sound, and then the cacophony stopped as suddenly as it had begun. When his ears stopped ringing, something about the world was different, though he couldn’t have said just what.

Tam still stood there blabbering about Lallowë, unaware of what Cooper had just experienced. A sudden dark impulse urged Cooper to grab and yank, shake, and pull until Tam’s neck snapped and his skull separated from his spine. Tam’s skull would float loose inside the sack of his skin and he could play with the body like a broken doll. Break the doll.

Cooper stumbled and braced himself against the wall. He couldn’t . . . couldn’t breathe, even though he felt the air moving in and out of his lungs. He couldn’t see, even though his brain parsed the photons his retinas captured.

Then it passed. His head cleared and he was himself again, but the image came unbidden of the haunted look in Asher and Sesstri’s eyes when they’d discussed the svarning. Tam stared at him like a cornered fox, and Cooper couldn’t help but wonder how long Lallowë Thyu would corner the market on monstrosity.

The atrium was empty when Cooper entered. A long, glass-paneled geodesic greenhouse connecting the rear end of both wings of the manse, Lallowë had filled the atrium with traditional plants. Traditional, that is, to a woman raised to inherit seven universes: a red flower the size of a dog pouted in a pot, its stamen thick and swollen and stinking of burnt pork. Pulsing blue stalks with red fur stood watch over a carpet of moss- sized fronds that tickled the feet, fresh blood dripped dripped from carnivorous pitcher plants, and so on. A fern that grew tall as a palm flexed its roots into peat like nervous knuckles, tensing and relaxing. Sprays of jasmine that seemed ordinary until Cooper saw the way they pulsed, petals fluttering in and out: breathing. Everywhere the smells of loam and leaf and wet stone.

Beside a banyan, a chaise longue sat within an immensity of white blossoms, tiny and redolent. Near it was a small table and, at the foot of the chaise, a tiny stool for a second person. Cooper sat on the chaise longue instead. He shut his eyes when he heard the clip of boot heels in the hallway, and kept them shut until he sensed her presence at the threshold.