Uncertain Allies cg-5 Page 6

  An hour drained away with my second beer, and I ordered another. The bar became louder and more crowded. More serious pool players arrived, the casual amateurs fading to the sidelines. Every once in a while, I did a sensing sweep for Banjo.

  The mountain elf spoke into her cup. “He’s outside on Oh No. Follow him, but don’t talk to him until he says it’s okay.” Nothing about her posture indicated she was talking to me, but no one else was nearby. She watched the game and finished off the last of her drink, then spoke without looking at me. “Banjo says he hasn’t got all night.”

  For whatever reason, Banjo didn’t want to come inside the bar. He and the solitary were exchanging sendings, so I guessed he didn’t want to engage in a conversation right then. I slid my almost empty glass mug onto a ledge and pushed out of my position against the wall.

  Halfway across the floor, a tremor prickled against my feet. It hadn’t been that intense, but by the curious looks on some faces, others had noticed it, too. The office door swung open. Heydan paused in the doorway, prominent ridges of bone curling from his temples to the back of his head. His concerned glance swept the room before settling on me. A fine touch of essence wafted against my face, subtle enough not to disturb the dark mass in my head. Heydan’s forehead relaxed in thought. He stepped back and closed the door. Meryl once said Heydan watches and listens for something, but she didn’t know what. An uneasy feeling told me he might have heard what he had been waiting for. I didn’t like that he looked at me.

  I spotted Banjo as I left the alley that led to Yggy’s at the end of the next block of Old Northern Avenue. He didn’t acknowledge my presence but walked away deeper into the Weird. I followed, comfortable with the clandestine behavior. When you worked in the bad end of town, trying to find out things someone else didn’t want you to know, people tended to be careful. After several blocks, he ducked into a store surrounded by shuttered businesses.

  Instead of a bell ringing when I entered, a moan of pleasure sounded. Different Desires catered to the erotic toy market. Being in the Weird, it offered goods and services not found anywhere else. At the entrance, a subtle incense that prompted the desire for sex wafted over me. My body shields flickered but didn’t activate. Sex apparently didn’t threaten the black mass.

  A dreadlocked kobold with long, beaded hair dyed three or four colors worked the register. The Teutonic kobolds had a vague relationship to Celtic brownies except their passive and aggressive natures were more integrated. The cashier had a bland expression tinged with annoyance belied by a soft voice as she explained the benefits of lubrication to the lone customer in the store.

  Silicone products filled the shelves in an impressive array of shapes, sizes, and colors. For the right price, every need could be met with something that vibrated, pulsed, pumped, rotated, glowed, flashed, or undulated. Books and DVDs lined the back wall, featuring action that required a scorecard for the uninitiated.

  Banjo perused the leather goods, sorting through belts, straps, and harnesses studded with steel nubs and spikes. He tested the tensile strength of a strip of leather. “What do you think? Buckles or snaps?”

  “You can go tighter with buckles, but you can get out of snaps faster.”

  Bemused, he arched an eyebrow. “Really? Do tell.”

  “I’ve been a few places, seen a few things.” The fey had few sexual hang-ups. When they weren’t at war with each other, they threw themselves into pleasures of the mind and body without the same taboos and restrictions so many humans had. I had been to my share of parties. Having said that, dwarves could be prudes, but only in comparison to other fey.

  Banjo pressed his lower lip out in consideration and picked up a matching set of cuffs and collar. The kobold finished her sale and escorted the customer out the door. She called over her shoulder. “I’m going on break. You got ten minutes. Don’t steal shit.”

  Banjo continued looking at harnesses. “I wonder if they do custom work.”

  “Yeah, they do,” I said. He glanced at me. “So, I’ve heard. What’s with the cloak and dagger, Banjo?”

  He replaced the harness and crossed his arms. “People seen with you tend to end up in the hospital or the morgue.”

  “That’s a little exaggeration,” I said.

  He cocked an eye at me, then went back to browsing. “What do you want, Grey?”

  “I was wondering if you had heard about this blue essence that’s been tearing up the neighborhood,” I said.

  He pursed his lips. “Heard about it. Seen it, too.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “Why ask me?”

  I followed him around the end of an aisle. “You’re the closest thing I have to a connection down there. You guys aren’t the friendliest bunch.”

  He strolled along the aisle and picked up a rather large box that contained a lifelike facsimile of an unexpected body part. “Depends on how you define friendly. For instance, I don’t have to be here, ya know? I don’t have to tell you that someone’s looking for seers and scryers simply because some elf queen sent you down here, right?”

  “You’re absolutely right. What else might you not want to tell me about seers and scryers?”

  He pulled out a pair of half-glasses to read the back of the box. “Someone’s offering big money to talk to any dwarf who has been here for the last century.”

  “Why dwarves?”

  He replaced the box and picked up something I didn’t recognize. It had its own remote and lots of buttons. I tried to read the label over his shoulder. “Resonance. Dwarves have been here a long time.”

  “Come again?”

  He cocked his head at me. “You used to scry, right? You got better at it, didn’t you? At least until you got all screwed up?”

  I did my best not to feel insulted. “Sure.”

  He nodded once sharply. “It wasn’t only skill. Scrying’s about time, and spending time in one place attunes your ability to the time of that place, makes your scry better. Don’t they teach you anything in those druid camps you guys go to?”

  They didn’t teach me that. Dwarves and druids had a long history of competition over who were better at predicting the future. “So, whoever is looking for dwarves wants to have as clear a picture of the future as possible?”

  Banjo winked. “Now you got it.”

  “But that’s what everybody wants,” I said.

  “Yeah, but not everyone has the cash to pay for the real deal,” he said.

  Contrary to popular belief—or hope—scrying wasn’t an exact science. Seeing the future was about possibilities. The best scryers—who were few and far between—knew how to read the consensus of their visions and turn possibilities into probabilities. They weren’t exact, but they were better than most everyone else. “So someone has a lot of money to spend.”

  “That’s the rumor,” he said.

  Banjo was one of the best scryers in the city. “You biting?”

  “Nah. Money like that is dangerous. Bad things happen to you if the payer doesn’t like what they hear,” he said.

  “Wait a sec—that dwarf that ended up dead the other night—did he take the bait?”

  “Could be. He was a long-timer. Not very talented, though. Maybe that’s why he ended up dead,” he said.

  “Or maybe whoever killed him didn’t want what he knew going anywhere else,” I said.

  “Well, that strategy might backfire. Dwarves are used to being taken advantage of, and when they are, they disappear. Notice many around lately?”

  “Are you saying this blue essence is related?” I asked.

  “I’m saying not everyone missing is lost. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Is that why you didn’t come into Yggy’s?” I asked.

  Banjo made a cutting gesture. “Nah. That place feels bad lately. Too many refugees from bars that burned down or something. It’s not the same.”

  “It’s Yggy’s. It’s never the same,” I said.

  He picked up a large bottle of m
assage oil and dropped a few bills on the counter. “Yeah, well, change isn’t always good.”

  8

  I grabbed lunch at the Waybread the next afternoon. The place was cheap and didn’t attract many locals, which was fine by me. From the size of the lunch crowd, though, the restaurant wasn’t attracting much of anyone. Between the police clampdown and the media scaring the public about the Weird, neighborhood businesses were suffering.

  As I ate a burger, I mulled over the conversation with Banjo. While it was obvious that he had concerns about being seen in public, Yggy’s had always had a strange collection of patrons. Banjo’s not wanting to be seen there said more about him not wanting to be seen at all than it did about the bar. On the other hand, he knew this blue essence seemed to be targeting dwarves, so I couldn’t say I blamed him for being cautious.

  Dwarves always looped me back to Eorla. The clans were secretive, had their own rules, and, like Banjo, were not keen on talking to Celts. Eorla had asked me to check out the blue essence. It stood to reason she might know more than she said. We were friends but not always confidantes.

  I left the Waybread with a satisfying bloat in my stomach. I didn’t get nearly the gym time I should, but hiking everywhere I needed to go helped. The Rowes Wharf Hotel made for a good jaunt to work off some grease. When I entered the lobby, a cluster of Eorla’s house guards surrounded me. They said nothing, maintained a discreet distance, and escorted me to her meeting room. The extra security hinted that something more was going on. When the guards left, Rand let me into the room.

  Eorla rose from her worktable and kissed me on each cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

  “After what you did, how could I not? You left the Guildhouse so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to thank you properly,” I said.

  She made a dismissive gesture. “When you are privy to political scandal, it’s easy to make investigations go away.”

  “Still, you didn’t have to do it. Why did you?” I asked.

  “Ryan macGoren needed to see that I have my resources. Besides, what he attempted to do to you was wrong, never mind everything else,” she said.

  “Maeve might not take kindly to your helping me.”

  She shrugged with a smile. “All the better. My sources tell me that she is already nervous about me.”

  I inhaled and held the breath a moment. “Eorla, I have to be blunt. If you’re going to ask me to leave Bergin Vize alone, I can’t promise that.”

  She nodded. “Ryan called me to that meeting to hear his bribe. I think he truly expected you to take the deal. There was no downside for you. By formally committing you to apprehending Bergin, he thought he would drive a wedge between us.”

  “You know I want Vize taken into custody,” I said.

  She placed her hand on my forearm. “Despite my personal feelings, Connor, I understand your motivation and accept as it as valid. I may not pursue Bergin or encourage you to do so, but I would be foolish to think I can protect him from everyone. He’s done what he’s done and will answer for it one day. That is the Wheel of the World.”

  I bowed my head. “Well, thank you anyway. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

  She resumed her seat at the table. “Well, then, how about something new? I have a special visitor, who has been waiting all morning. I thought you might be intrigued to meet him.”

  “That you think that intrigues me. Who is it?”

  “Aldred Core, one of Donor’s advisors. I have no doubt threats will be involved. It should be entertaining. Would you like to stay?”

  “With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?” I asked.

  Eorla gestured to Rand, who positioned himself in front of the table and faced the entrance. I wandered to the side of the room, uncertain where to stand. Two men entered, one I knew. An ancient elf dressed in the traditional dark blue robe of a shaman glided forward in a smooth gait. Bastian Frye was the private counselor to Donor Elfenkonig, who ruled the Teutonic fey from his fortress in Germany. Bastian and I had never met until recently, but we went way back. When I was a top agent for the Guild, he led the opposition from the Teutonic Consortium. We had tried to kill each other, directly and indirectly, about a dozen times apiece over the years. We didn’t hate each other, though. It was business.

  The other man piqued my curiosity. He wore the formal dress of an elven courtier, a vermillion tunic over black pants. Gold braid wound about his shoulders. On his chest, he wore a series of ribbons that might have impressed me if I knew what they were for. A thick gold chain, with a large blue gem amulet pierced by a gold sword, hung around his neck. He radiated power, both in his bearing and his essence.

  The two men paused when they reached Rand. Leaning on his staff, Bastian bowed stiffly. “Your Royal Highness, I present the Baron Aldred Core, ambassador of His Majesty, Donor Elfenkonig.”

  Despite denouncing the Elven King, Eorla was still a Grand Duchess of the elven royalty. Propping her elbows on the arms of her chair, she steepled her fingers. “How pleasant to see you again, Aldred. It has been many years, has it not?”

  He bowed enough not to give insult. “It is a pleasure, as always, Your Royal Highness.”

  “You must be tired from your trip. Bastian, fetch a chair for my guest,” she said.

  Frye showed no annoyance but retrieved one of the large oaken chairs. Eorla enjoyed treating him below his station. Aldred lowered himself into the chair, glancing at me, then Rand. “I have communications from His Royal Majesty. Might I share them with you in more private circumstances?”

  Unimpressed, Eorla leaned back. “So shy, Aldred? What topic would we speak of in private? Shall we share confidences on how you’ve risked treason against the crown you hold so dear? Or shall we perhaps discuss your rather creative forays into the royal accounts?”

  Amused, Aldred licked his lips. “I would tread lightly on the issue of treason if I were you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I have done no treason, sir. Perhaps His Majesty has been ill informed as to my words and deeds. Speaking of deeds, Aldred, did the king ever discover your dalliances among his women?”

  Aldred shifted in his seat. “You do no good thing to distract us.”

  Eorla twisted her lips into a smile. “ ‘Us,’ Aldred?”

  He set his jaw. “I speak for His Majesty.”

  Eorla chuckled. “Indeed. Enough pleasantries, then. Let us speak plainly with no need of privacy or subterfuge, shall we . . . cousin?”

  Bastian stiffened by the ambassador’s side. Aldred murmured a chuckle. “I warned you she would not be so easily fooled, Bastian. You have always been perceptive, dear Eorla.”

  His face blurred and shifted in a rainbow smear of color. The fey used spells and amulets to create glamours to change their appearance, sometimes minor improvements, sometimes complete identities. Aldred’s face lengthened along the jaw and widened at the forehead. A deeper glitter appeared in his dark eyes, and, pinned tightly against the back of his head, a short-cropped ponytail appeared. His essence shifted, the removal of the glamour revealing his true body signature.

  Donor Elfenkonig pursed his lips in amusement. I had to admit that a small thrill went up my spine. I had met many high-powered people over the years, but being in the presence of the Elven King of the Teutonic fey was fair cause for being starstruck for a moment.

  “It has been many years, cousin. You look well,” he said.

  “As do you, dear cousin. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” she asked.

  The corner of Donor’s lip curled down. “My condolences on the premature death of your husband. Had I known Alvud wished to be buried in this country, I would have surely made plans to attend his funeral.”

  From what I knew, Donor despised Alvud Kruge. The late Marchegraf was an internationally known diplomat and frequent critic of the Teutonic Consortium. Eorla’s marriage had found ill favor in the Elven Court. She didn’t care. Like now, seeing this man smile at the mention of her husband�
��s death, she didn’t show the least bit of annoyance. “Thank you, cousin. I appreciate the visit. Shall I call for a car to take you back to the airport?”

  Donor sighed with an exaggerated disappointment that I was sure struck terror in his Court. “As much as I would prefer it, I have other pressing matters to attend.”

  “Such as?”

  “Come, come, dear cousin. You realize the position you’re placing me in.”

  Eorla mimicked his casual pose. “I resolved a situation that demanded resolution. A situation, I might add, that had more than a little to do with the intrigues of that pet assassin behind you. He hid Bergin Vize among the solitary fey, which led directly to the riots that tore apart this city. I stopped the riots and prevented a confrontation that would have led to more bloodshed. That blood would have been on your hands, cousin. You should be thanking me.”

  Frye hid his feelings well when he needed or wanted to. It was what made him good at his job. I’d heard enough about interactions between him and Eorla to know their mutual animosity was rich and deep. Donor smiled with feigned apology. “Mistakes were made, I grant you, cousin, but Bastian has always had our best interests at heart.”

  Eorla frowned. “That’s the crux of the matter, though, cousin, isn’t it? Your best interests and the crown’s best interest are not one and the same thing.”

  Donor let annoyance cross his face. “You dare to criticize my rule in my own presence?”

  “I dare to criticize your obsession with returning to Faerie. The Wheel of the World has turned, cousin. We are here. We need to move past this death match with Tara and find a new way in this world. You do the Consortium no good by setting us against the Seelie Court.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And you think defying my rule is the answer? You have no idea of the situation you’ve caused. Maeve suspended the protocols of the Fey Summit. She’s moving her troops around like a drunken slattern. One misinterpreted action by either of us could spark a war the likes of which these humans have never seen.”