“Look, mate,” Streak said with some feeling, “I know I’m getting the mushroom treatment here. Kept in the dark, blah blah. Why don’t you level with me? You trusted me to watch your back down in Chelsea. That turned out to be life and death. And as it happens, if you’re in deep drek I’m currently available for work. I also have a vested interest in finding out who’s wasted some of the few people I could trust with my life. I’m not going to be blabbing anything to anyone.”
Geraint thought long and hard. Serrin’s expression was clearly urging him to come clean.
“Well, it was Michael’s job originally,” Geraint said truthfully. “A decker is threatening to do some heavy-duty sabotage to some corp systems. He left an identifying icon behind that seems to have some occult or religious significance. Not that we really understood that at first, but we certainly do now that people are taking an active interest in us and applying the thumbscrews. Its big corporate nuyen on the one hand, and some very odd occult stuff on the other.”
“All right,” Streak said slowly, still unsure that he was getting the full version. “So if it’s sleeping beauty’s job, how come you guys enter the frame?”
“We go back a way,” Geraint said simply. “Michael thought I could help with the corporate angle and that Serrin could help with the magical, occult angle. Not to mention the money.”
“That sounds hopeful,” Streak grinned.
“We could use him,” Serrin suggested, looking to Geraint. “We’re hardly a bunch of street samurai, are we?”
“Maybe, maybe,” Geraint said. “But we need to discuss it with Michael. It’s his job, after all.”
“That’s reasonable enough,” Streak said, satisfied, or at least content, for the moment. “Like I say, reasonable rates and I can scan bodies for damage, crates for bombs, shoot an apple off your head at half a klick and I have specialist friends available if need be. Easy terms. All major credsticks accepted.”
“All right, all right,” Geraint grumbled. “I got your CV first time round. We’ll wait for Michael.”
The phone rang, and after exchanging a few words. Geraint handed the receiver to Serrin. Whoever was calling wasn’t willing to use a telecom. Serrin put the communication through the external speaker so the others could hear, and then realized that maybe he shouldn’t have. Geraint he wanted to hear the conversation, but Streak…
“Greetings, chummer,” the Brooklyn-accented voice said cheerfully. “Did some legwork among the crazies. Not too much on the grapevine, but you know how it is with everyone being so interested in Chicago and Dee Cee and all that drek. Got some background and a name, though.”
“Give me what you got,” Serrin said.
“Well, chummer, I drew a blank on the Seratini guy. No real connections I could find. Must be small beer. Maybe just a contact man.”
“Oh. well,” Serrin said.
“But this Serrault turns out to be a bit more interesting. He may be-and I say may because if there’s a membership list no one has access to it-a member of a hermetic group that goes way back. Take this down: the Priory of Sion.”
“Don’t think I know of it,” Serrin said, even as he dimly sensed that he’d heard the name somewhere and completely forgotten it.
“Not sure how long they’ve been around. It depends on linkages-whether you believe one cult combined with another, that kind of thing. There’s one version that says they go back to the time of those crusaders, the Knights Templar.”
“I’m listening,” Serrin said as the hair rose on the nape of his neck.
“Serrault’s not a member of major importance, but word is he’s a possible recruiter. Be’s a socialite and hangs around to see if he can turn up any interested, talented people the Priory can use in some way. Middling mage, by all accounts. Not drek-hot, but capable enough.”
“Finding people he can use for what?”
“Well, now that depends. The orthodox heresy”-the New Yorker chuckled-“is that the Priory serves to protect the bloodline of the descendants of Jesus Christ.”
“Oh great. More freak-show stuff,” Serrin lamented.
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it don’t matter. Maybe the idea is emotive enough that it’s important as a myth in itself Life’s just a big myth, Serrin, you know that.” The voice trailed away into a gale of laughter and then calmed down again. “Sorry about that. Anyway, the HQ of these boys is a place called Clermont-Ferrand in the Languedoc. Did I get that pronunciation right? Down south in France, virtually in Spain.”
The room was deadly quiet.
“I’ve heard of it,” Serrin said, and waited.
“Right. Well, before you head off to warmer climes, if you have some reason for that, and I’m not asking, I’ve got a name closer to home. You want to trawl MagicNet. you can get half a dozen bonehead stories on the Priory, conspiracy theories and the usual pile of drek. You know how mages just spin drek day and night, chummer.”
“Spare me,” Serrin said. “Just give me the name’
“Yeah, sure. Guy down in Glastonbury. All these quaint English names, love it. A German exile, name of Karl-Heinz Hessler. Keeps pretty much to himself, and it’s not really a question of whether you want to see him as whether he wants to see you. Supposed to live in a little place close to the Tor. Serrin, what the frag is a ‘tor’?”
“It’s a small hill,” Serrin said. “Now, anything else on him?”
“Not really, except that he’s the man to speak to. Well, not man, elf rather. One of your people. Might help. He’s an old guy, too, which makes him a bit unusual.”
It certainly did. Elves had been born into the Sixth World for less than half a century and, with their as-yet-undetermined but definitely extra-human lifespan, they hadn’t grown old yet. Serrin was intrigued.
“Oh, and he has a sense of humor too, he’s got some kind of spirit about the place, an ally, I guess. Calls him Merlin. So be respectful. I heard he took up with a cat, too, or it took up with him.”
“Any more trivial details?”
“The cat isn’t trivial. It’s one of those blackberry cats. Like I said, be respectful. OK, chummer, that’s a favor you owe me sometime. Toodle pip, old chum, and cheerio and all that. Must pop over for some crumpet some time.” There was more chuckling.
“You got it. Thanks, McCarthy,” and Serrin placed the receiver back on the handset.
“Clermont-Ferrand.” Serrin simply restated the name and looked at Geraint. “There’s our second interested party, then.”
“I don’t get it,” Streak said as Geraint nodded. Senin gave Geraint a full-on “Shall we tell him?” look.
“He was there, we’ll tell him,” Geraint said, and retrieved the package for Streak to examine.
“I think we should hire him,” Senin suggested.
“I think I might” Geraint said slowly.
“This is music to my shell-likes,” Streak grinned.
“For seven days,” Geraint said, “starting now.”
“Seven days?”
“That’s how long we’ve got, and that includes today, which is almost over, so we’ve got six days really. Before the systems crash. Oh, well, let’s get this over with,” Geraint sighed, and he told Streak the whole story. More or less.
10
Michael woke around five in the morning with a head full of murder. He felt like he’d had a head-on collision with the entire Giants defense, and his head throbbed horribly. Groaning, he tried to get out of bed and found himself tottering backward. So he stayed put for a few minutes, took a drink from the bottle of mercifully still-cool mineral water, and then stood up and poured the rest of it over his head, He managed to stagger into the bathroom, stuck his head under the cold faucet, and waited and hoped for the best.
By five-thirty, after two cups of Geraint’s finest coffee extracted from the espresso machine, he finally felt able to peer out between the veins of his savagely bloodshot eyes. He went back to the bathroom, showered and shaved, and by six-fifteen, dressed in one of his best blue Saville Row suits, felt almost human. He was on the verge of contemplating getting something to eat, his hunger having finally overcome the residual nausea from the gas, when Kristen managed to hang on to the doorframe of the kitchen and focus her uncertain gaze on him.