Given the emphasis on the last word, Serrin couldn’t really argue. He could only wait and listen.
“ ‘This is a reasoned warning’,” the elf read out. “ ‘We kill those who shed our blood, but we do not kill without honor. Desist from your enquiries. This reasoned warning is also a final one. Our honor will not be impugned.’ Phew.”
“That’s it?”
That’s it.”
“No signature?”
“What did you expect, the Spanish Inquisition?” the elf said with contempt. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Serrin had him absolutely trumped.
“Well, actually, more or less, yes, that’s exactly what I expected.”
Streaks jaw dropped and he just stood and gawked. “You’re fragging serious, aren’t you?”
“You wanted an explanation and now you’re going to get it,” Serrin said with the triumph of an absolute advantage. “Just get Michael into the elevator and into the flat and we’ll talk.”
Geraint was entirely unprepared for the scene he encountered upon returning home sometime around midnight. Using his magkey to let himself in, he entered to find two elves sitting on his sofa so deep in discussion they barely even acknowledged his presence.
“Well, excuse me, but I just live here,” he said tartly while hanging up his coat. “Where are Michael and Kristen?”
“Sleeping,” Sethn told him.
“They retired early,” Geraint observed casually. “They didn’t have much choice,” Serrin shot back, then explained for Geraint’s benefit. Whatever it was hasn’t worn off. Face slaps, cold water, we tried it, it didn’t work.”
“But they’re fine,” Streak put in quickly. “I scanned ‘em. Not the same as a doc, but I didn’t know if you’d want one summoned here and Serrin didn’t either.”
“What are you doing here?” Geraint asked. He hadn’t expected to see the elf again; he’d just been someone useful commissioned for a job, to be paid and then forgotten.
Serrin told him that Streak had a right to know something, what with half his team either dead or incapacitated.
“Since whoever we’re up against has it in for them as well as us, I thought we owed him something,” he finished.
“Thanks for consulting me about it.” Geraint was obviously not pleased.
“You weren’t here to ask. And, be fair, he checked those crates. They could have been rigged. He opened them and took his chances.”
“So he knows everything?” Geraint asked. Serrin paused for the merest instant to let him know that no, the other elf didn’t know everything, but he could hardly tell the Welshman what he hadn’t divulged here and now. It would have to await Streak’s departure.
“So, another warning,” Geraint concluded, after sitting down and reading the missive Serrin handed him. “This is getting ridiculous. They got to my boss as well; he warned me off. That makes three so far-this, him, and old Joan of Arc last night. These bloody Jesuits don’t do things by halves.”
Streak asked him what he meant by referring to Joan of Arc, so Geraint told him about the commotion of the previous evening. Clearly, Serrin hadn’t gone into all the details on that score.
“Well, whoever sent the spirit-if that’s what it was-it wasn’t the NOJ,” Streak said. “I’ve come up against these blokes before. Little job down in, oh well, never mind. But I had to learn some stuff about them, and I know enough to tell you that’s hardly on the menu. That wasn’t them.”
“How can you be sure?” Geraint asked.
“My sources say the same thing,” Serrin added. “Joan of Arc was, after all, a woman.”
“Well, frag me,” Geraint said, “I never knew that.”
Serrin ignored the sarcasm. “it’s just that, well, the NOJ thinks of her as a heretic. A bit too florid. Catholic politics, misogyny, rumors about Pope Joan, that sort of thing. Anyway, they certainly don’t care for her. They wouldn’t summon a spirit to take that form.”
“Then you’re saying that at least two groups, or a group and an individual maybe, have been telling us to sod off and stop doing what we’re doing sharpish,” Geraint said incredulously.
“It would appear so,” Serrin said.
“How the bloody hell did they get on to us so fast?”
“Good question,” Serrin said. “It’s not one we can easily answer, since we don’t know the second interested party. As for the NOJ, well, they have people all over the place.”
“Yes, but why would they be interested? We’re investigating a-” Geraint stopped for a moment, realizing that he couldn’t speak freely with Streak in the room. “Well, a computer dysfunction. Hardly red-hot Catholic politics, is it?”
“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.”