Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles (35 page)

“You do not understand. This is part of an extremely valuable weapon system.” Toru reached for the ashtray, but Meat Cleaver, who was a chunky, red-faced, angry sort, started jabbering again. Toru paused. “Out of respect for our mission, do not make me gut this imbecile.”

There were a bunch of people staying at the safe house, and every one of them who wasn’t on guard duty had come in to see what the commotion was about. Luckily, Zhao was one of them. The kid looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, which was to be expected, because expending that much Power at one time was physically exhausting. Zhao barked an order, and Meat Cleaver, though he was probably twice Zhao’s age, immediately complied, dropped his weapon on the floor and took two steps back. He did not, however, stop arguing.

“What’s he saying?”

Zhao looked at Toru with barely concealed hostility. “I would prefer not to translate. It may upset our
guest.
”

“He’s my responsibility,” Sullivan said.

“I am taking this helmet. I do not care what this wretched pig-dog has to say—”

“Shut it, Toru.”

The Iron Guard clamped his mouth so tight that if he hadn’t had Brute-hard teeth they probably would’ve shattered. It was either that or let out a response that would’ve surely started a gun fight. After a few seconds his jaw muscles unclenched enough for him to mutter, “Fine.”

“Pang says he killed an Iron Guard in a fierce battle, and he was wearing this armor.”

Toru snorted. “It is more likely they murdered him in his sleep and stole his helmet. This tub of fat could not best an Iron Guard in
fierce
battle, especially one wearing Nishimura Combat Armor. The only thing he might be able to defeat an Iron Guard in would be a dumpling-eating contest.”

“Pang is a powerful Brute,” Zhao warned.

Pang puffed up his chest and flexed his muscles. It didn’t help his case any.

“I killed fifteen
Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu
yesterday,” Toru stated flatly. “Can he even count that high?”

Sullivan took quick stock of the observers. There were a few of the Shanghai Grimnoir present, and most had quietly placed their hands inside their clothing, surely to rest on firearms. There was another young Chinaman standing off to the side, and unlike the blustering Pang, this one was quietly confident, watching Toru, surely with some Power ready to go. That one had the stance of a fighter. There were a few Americans and one marauder, and none of them would lift a hand to help Toru out either, so he really didn’t know how stupid their Iron Guard was about to get. Lady Origami had arrived, and she was surely just looking for an excuse to set him on fire.

“Now, now, my friends. Let us not be hasty. I personally find murdering people in their sleep to be an excellent method, because since they are asleep it is rather difficult for them to retaliate.” Heinrich walked into the center of the room, trying to defuse the situation. “So regardless of how our friend Pang actually killed this Iron Guard, what is this combat armor you speak of?”

“It is from one of our most brilliant Cogs, the same man who invented the
Gakutensoku
. It is a suit of battle armor, perhaps the most capable design ever, each one heavily connected to the magic of the user and driven by the Power itself. Very few were ever made. They were far too labor intensive, and each one required so many kanji that they were never mass produced. Just this one piece could add incredible capabilities in battle.”

“How capable are we talking about here?” Sullivan asked. “Because, no offense, Zhao. If that ashtray can help fight the Pathfinder, I’ll buy Pang a new ashtray.”

“Let me phrase this diplomatically,” Toru said, which meant he was about to do nothing of the sort. “I have seen that glorified heavy suit which John Browning and Buckminster Fuller built for you in preparation for our mission. Compared to Nishimura Combat Armor, it is archaic junk, as if fashioned by monkeys using bones and rocks as tools. So you can see why I must claim this helmet—”

Pang shouted something.

“Ashtray,” Zhao corrected.

“Helmet,” Toru growled. “I will claim this and hope that it salvageable. If these barbarians did not do too much damage to it, perhaps I can still put it to some use.”

Zhao translated all of that, and from the reactions of the Shanghai Grimnoir, Zhao had done so in a much nicer way than Toru had. They still seemed either angry or ready to fight, but whatever he said did take it down a notch. Zhao and Pang began debating back and forth, but at least it wasn’t so heated anymore that somebody was likely to get hacked to bits.

Something brushed his sleeve. He hadn’t even heard Lady Origami approach. Everybody else was still paying attention to the loud, dangerous ones. She stood on her tippy-toes, and he still had to bend a bit so she could whisper in his ear. “I understand some. I know some Mandarin.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Many Marauders from China. These men are trying to save face. Pang did not battle Iron Guards. These men are brave, but not stupid. He stole a crate from an Imperium train. The armor was inside. They did not know what it was.”

“There’s more of it?”

“The Icebox child is saying they could not make the magic work, and it was too heavy to wear. Only Pang was strong enough to carry it all, but he was too fat to fit, so it was left in the crate and hidden.”

Zhao made eye contact with Sullivan. He didn’t need to be a Reader to know they were on the same wavelength. “I would suggest that our guest apologizes to Mr. Pang, and perhaps an arrangement can be worked out.”

“Hey, Toru. You heard the man. Apologize.”

Toru’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, Sullivan?”

“Well, I ought to let you suffer for insulting John Browning’s craftsmanship, but if you want the rest of this armor, then you’ll apologize to Pang.”

“What?”

“The
whole
suit.”

That obviously got him. Sullivan had no idea if this Nishimura stuff was as great as Toru made it out to be, or if it was more of his usual smug superiority about all things Japanese, but either way, it was enough to make him swallow his pride. He turned to face the fat Brute and gave a small bow. “I apologize for insulting you.” Toru had to pause to lick his teeth, like the words left a nasty taste. “I acted impulsively.”

Zhao translated. While he thought it over Pang stroked his pointy little beard, which was the only thing on his entire body which could be described as thin. Pang answered. Zhao turned back to Toru. “And?”

Surely the Iron Guard had to call upon his Diplomatic Corps training to utter the next bit without laughing in Pang’s face. “I am certain now that you defeated an Iron Guard in battle. You are obviously a great warrior.”

“That must be some damn impressive armor,” Heinrich whispered.

Zhao translated. Pang responded in the affirmative and then it was smiles all around, except for Toru, who immediately ripped the helmet out of the floor and dumped the cigarette butts everywhere. He ran a hand down one horn, almost reverentially. “Take me to the remainder immediately.”

Pang just stared at him for a second, and then said something to Zhao, who didn’t even need to translate.

Toru sighed.
“Please.”

Zhao was grinning. It wasn’t every day you got to humiliate an Imperium killing machine. “It is stored downstairs. There are dry pockets on the first floor where no one would ever think to look. Come. We will show you.” Several of the Shanghai Grimnoir filed out for the stairs, Toru right behind them, cradling his precious helmet. He would probably hold a grudge and plot their deaths, but as long as they held it together until the Pathfinder was dead, Sullivan could deal with it.

Lady Origami waited for the others to leave before addressing Sullivan. “Earlier, I made a mistake.”

“What about?”

“Toru’s apology. I was wrong. He can lie.”

Wannsee, Germany

“I thought you said
you were leaving after one day?”

Jacques jumped. He had not heard Faye enter the hotel room. But then again, Faye didn’t
enter
anything in the normal sense. She simply willed herself into existence wherever she felt like and scared the hell out of whoever was there.

The elder made a big show of putting one hand over his heart. “I’m an old man. Don’t do that to me.”

Faye was bone-tired weary, and coated in the grey dust of Dead City. She wasn’t in the mood for Jacques’ banter, so she merely walked past him and flopped into the nearest chair. It knocked a choking cloud of dirt off of her clothing, but she was too tired to care. She’d spent days studying and thinking about the drawings, and then another day collecting them after she gave up on the studying. The satchel which had been filled with art supplies was now filled with Zachary’s drawings, and it made a loud thump as it hit the hotel room’s floor.

“I . . . I was going to take the train, but I decided to give you more time. I am glad I did. Are you alright, dear? Can I get you anything?”

Like she’d ever drink or eat anything from him again, what with all those pictures of him thinking about poisoning her.
“I found Zachary.”

“You did?” Jacques pulled out the other chair, sat down on it, and leaned way forward, curious and eager. “Is he all right?”

She shook her head. “He’s dead. Not alive dead, but dead dead. Zombies are so complicated. Real forever dead, I mean.”

“Did you . . .”

“Oh, Jacques,” Faye gave a tired smile. “I’m still not the monster you think I am.”

“I did not mean to imply—”

“Naw. He stuck himself in a furnace when we were done talking. He was just plain worn out and didn’t want to hurt no more. Can’t rightly blame him.”

His expression was unreadable. “Zachary was a good man.”

“I could tell.”

Jacques leaned forward in his chair until his elbows rested on his knees. “What did he show you?”

“All sorts of stuff. Things that have happened, will happen, might could, maybe, heck, I don’t know. I’m still sorting it out. I gathered them all up.” She touched the satchel with one foot. “But I do know one thing for sure.”

“That is?”

“Me and you? We’re done.” Faye kept her voice even, and though it was hard, she was exhausted, starving, and trying not to be emotional. She didn’t deal well with betrayal. “You were aiming to kill me.”

“No.” Jacques looked her in the eye. “I have kept my word. You are aware of how I voted. I explained to you my reasons. That was never a secret, but I have stayed my hand since we first met.”

“I know it’s been hard for you. You can’t shake your doubts. You’ve seen too much of what it means to be the Spellbound. I know about the poison in your pocket,” Faye stated. “Surprised you didn’t poison all those cookies, but then you’d likely have gotten yourself by accident too. I bet you never met a cookie you didn’t eat eventually.”

To his credit, Jacques didn’t flinch or try to lie his way out it. The elder played the vapid man of leisure really well, but Faye knew he was just as hard as any Grimnoir. He reached for his shirt pocket and removed a small vial. “It is a lethal neurotoxin. The effects are immediate and painless. Of course, I thought about using it many times since we met, believe me. Yet, I have refrained. I would ask you to show me the same courtesy now. Since you did not immediately take my head upon your return, then I can only assume Zachary showed you the future, and perhaps now you understand my dilemma. Was it the same one I saw?”

“You saw
a
future, but it ain’t the only one.”

“So there are more possible outcomes now? That is certainly better than before.” There was a glimmer of hope in Jacques’ voice.

And then Faye took that hope and squashed it. “More, sure, but most are still evil. So darn many evil ones that I couldn’t even guess which one it was you saw that got you spun up enough to have Whisper murder me in the first place. You’re still more than likely right, and I’m more than likely going to meet a bad end. So today’s your lucky day, Jacques. I get it. I know why you’re willing to do what you’re willing to do.”

“I am so very sorry.” And she knew he was totally sincere.

“So yeah, you’re right. One day the society will probably have to turn on me, and the only real question is, do you do it now while you can maybe still handle me, or do you wait to see, hope against hope, that maybe I get lucky and master this thing, but if you have mercy, and wait, and get it wrong, then you know I’ll beat you all. You didn’t say that before, but you know I’m already stronger than Sivaram ever was. Hard as he was, you
know
I’m better. If the Power is experimenting on Actives, you know I’ll show it better than Sivaram ever could manage. I scare you now. You give me time and you know you’ll never be able to take me.”

Jacques nodded slowly. “You are correct, Faye. We have taken an oath to protect man from magic. You understand now what your magic is truly capable of. That is the quandary I find myself in. You are not yet, but may well be, the greatest threat to innocent life we have ever seen.”

“Only I’ve got a bigger problem for you.” Faye reached down and opened the satchel. The pictures she wanted had been left right on top of the stack. They were easy to find, all crumpled up by Zachary’s frustrated hands. “There’s something bigger coming. Something Zachary couldn’t even draw, and as scary as the Spellbound curse is, the Enemy is
worse.”

Jacques took the picture and looked at the ragged, blood-smeared hole torn in the page. “What manner of madness is this?” But much as when Faye had studied it before, the longer you started at the chaotic patterns, the more the Enemy took shape. Jacques gasped and dropped it almost as if it burned.

“You can feel it looking back, can’t you?”

“It is real, then.” Jacques unconsciously rubbed his hands on his pants, as if he’d touched something icky and wanted it off his skin. “Sweet, merciful God, it is real.”

“Told you so. I was right. Mr. Sullivan was right. Even the Chairman was right. Most of all, the Power was right. And all the bad endings you can imagine from the Spellbound curse won’t make a lick of difference, because if we don’t stop that first, then there won’t be any future at all. So evil as you think I may become, that thing is evil
now
. I ain’t got nothing on it.”