“Graces on you,” said Angus. “Big ones. I like that. My own chiefs, Alpson, Moon, Captain Walbert, who’ll be your personal pilot, are in Neckerdam. And what—” he stared openly at Adonis “—in the name of all the gods is that?” The redcap began laughing.
“The best I could do.” Alastair gave an embarrassed shrug. “Devisement is not an easy process on the grim world, and I had to work with the materials I had available. This is Adonis, which is, as they say, better than nothing. No replacement for Joseph, though.
“Now. My list is done. We can begin cutting.”
Angus left off his chuckling and nodded.
“And your list?”
“Done . . . but for the additions you so graciously sent us.” The redcap’s voice was anything but gracious.
“Ah. Well, we will eliminate them as well. Once that’s done, we can begin rebuilding. Building a new world.” Duncan looked over the small fleet of aircraft arrayed in the hangar, especially the largest of the ships, the one with the name Storm Cloud painted on its side. “You’ve done quite well, Angus.”
“I want you to have all the conveniences you need.”
“Angus? Is the ceremony done?” That call came from the far side of the hangar, and the speaker soon trotted into view: a blond man, elegant, almost inhumanly beautiful. “It is,” he continued. “I wish you’d told me.” The blond man slowed to a walk, approaching almost tentatively.
Angus waved him over and brought him face-to-face with Blackletter. “Duncan, let me present the boy, Darig. He has learned the business well. He will make you proud. Darig, this is the great man himself.”
Duncan took the young man by the shoulders and stared intently into his face. “I have not seen you since you were an infant.”
“I know, sir.”
“You are as handsome as your mother hoped you would be.”
“More so, I trust.”
Duncan smiled. “You know you will have to go to the grim world for a while.”
Darig shook his head. “I’d rather stay.”
“Well, if you do, you’ll have to die.” Duncan’s tone was friendly, reasonable.
“I know.” Darig smiled shyly. “I’d like to die as my world does. Help bring it about, even. Have you any need for a sacrifice to the gods? I’ve always fancied dying on an altar. Perhaps seeing my own beating heart before death takes me.”
Duncan beamed down at Angus. “You were right. He does make me proud.”
Harris settled into a schedule. Up just after dawn. Down to the gymnasium for a workout alone. Noriko would join him for instruction. Then she’d teach him for a while—techniques with knives, her sword, some of the grappling and tripping maneuvers she’d grown up learning in the land of Wo, not too different from the little bit of hapkido he’d learned once upon a time. When he told her that he barely knew one end of a gun from the other, she began taking him to the range on the same floor for practice with firearms.
Back to his room for a bath and clothes. Then he’d descend to the lab floor to graze from the food perpetually laid out on one of the tables. He might bump into anyone there, but it was usually Alastair, eating, smoking, reading Neckerdam’s newspaper, happy to talk. Doc was sometimes on hand, doing tests on Gaby, assembling a piece of equipment, or testing the reactions of chemicals introduced to one another; at such times, he would usually not notice any greeting short of a gunshot.
Then it was back up to his room to watch the talk-box for the rest of the day.
The programming was mostly local broadcasts from Neckerdam nightclubs—live music. Good stuff. Some sounded like big band music, torch songs, swing—but with more strings than brass. Some was the vigorous, fast-paced stuff that sounded like Irish dance music.
After a couple of hours, he’d had a month’s worth of Neckerdam music. But he left it on and kept watching.
Because if he went down to the lab, he’d get in the way of Gaby’s tests. If he went to the library, he’d probably bump into Gaby there, too—it seemed to be her retreat for the occasions she could escape Doc and Alastair. If he went for a walk outside, the Changeling’s men might be waiting, might kill him on sight. Maybe he should take a brisk walk out on the eightieth-floor ledge and say hello to the gargoyles and griffins.
He’d get hungry in the evening, go down to the lab floor for another grazing run, then return to his room to lie awake on the bed until he could drift off to sleep.
By the second day of his new routine, he was sick of it.
At breakfast of the third day, Alastair took a call from the lobby. He hung up and said to himself, “This should be interesting.”
Harris, Jean-Pierre, and Gaby heard him; Doc, across the room, did not. Harris asked, “What should?”
“That was the elevator captain. Joseph is on his way up.”
“You’re right. It should.” Harris rose and looked around.
“What do you need?” asked Alastair.
“A hammer and chisel. I’m going to try to get Doc’s attention.”
They were waiting for him when Joseph, somber as ever, stepped off the Foundation elevator. The giant was dressed in lighter, brighter garments than before, not work dress, and carried an enormous green cloth bag over his shoulder. Harris saw Gaby shudder; doubtless she was remembering her last experience with large cloth bags.
Doc stepped forward. “Grace on you, Joseph. I’m surprised. I thought that this was the last place you’d ever wish to visit.”
“It was,” Joseph said. “But I am ruined for work. Ruined for living. The dreams wouldn’t let me go. You stirred them up. I cannot work or sleep. So I am here.”
Doc considered a brief moment. “Joseph . . . Duncan is still alive.”
“On the grim world. I know.” He gestured at Gaby. “She told me.”
They all gave her a look. She shook her head and asked, “Was it on the talk-box?”
“Yes.”
“Then it was Gabrielle. The twin I’ve never met.”
“It does not matter,” Joseph said. “Duncan must die, or I must. So here is the place I must be.”
“And you are welcome,” Doc said. “Jean-Pierre, would you set him up in a room?”
Jean-Pierre and Joseph left for the residential floor; Gaby, visibly upset, took the stairs up to her room. Doc returned to his experiments, Alastair and Harris to their breakfast.
“Joseph acts like he expects the hammer to fall at any time,” Harris said. “Poor guy.”
“One of several.” Alastair gave him a sympathetic look. “Harris, why don’t you go home?”
“Back to the grim world?”
“You can go back anytime. It’s not a trivial effort, but we can do it. Doc has recovered, and I can also do the ceremony. All we have to do is find a spot that’s usually clear on both worlds. You were talking about a spot on something called Liberty Island.”
“No, thanks.”
“Why not?”
“Do you want to get rid of me?”
“No. I just want to know why you’re so determined to stay in a place that makes you so unhappy.”
Harris grimaced. “I don’t want Gaby to feel alone. You know, surrounded by strangers.”
“Strangers. Harris, she’s fitting in better than you. We haven’t had one jot of success trying to figure out how she can use that well of Gift power she has, but she learns, she asks questions, she suggests, she makes Doc think—I’m a betting man, and my money says Doc will ask her to stay as an associate when all is said and done.”