Silence again.
“Planning more at this point wouldn’t do much good,” Drum said. “When the Lord of Entropy here gets me an appointment with this Celerity, I’ll find out if we can make an ally. Then I’ll talk to Eden.”
“I guess,” Jay said, “that Alice and I had better practice crossing the interface. It wouldn’t be a good idea to find out too late that we can’t swing it.”
It wasn’t much in the way of an apology and he knew it, but Alice smiled and punched him lightly on the arm.
“I can hardly wait.”
Death looked at them all. “And don’t forget to get your rest and sustenance. None of you are aions, nor will you have the sweetened charges the Most High give their lackeys to sustain them.”
In twos and threes, the conspirators thanked Caltrice and took their leave. As Death was about to depart, Reese Jordan spoke.
“Sir, I haven’t been strong lately, but everyone has their role. Is there anything I can do? I’ve been weak, but maybe you can…”
The Lord of Deep Fields slowly shook his head. Reese whitened. Caltrice arose from her waters.
“Lord?”
“Death comes for all,” the Lord of Deep Fields said to her. “Reese
Jordan has lived longer than most, and through the time tricks you have played here, he has gotten more out of that life.”
“Will I see the moire?” Reese asked, his voice breaking.
“Only those of Virtu see the moire,” Death said. “Bansa did; Donnerjack did not. I cannot say which it shall be for you.”
“Don’t tell Jay,” Reese said. “He’ll learn soon enough.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll be seeing you then.”
“I sincerely hope so, Reese Jordan.”
With that, Death took his leave. Reese Jordan took Caltrice’s hand.
“Wait with me?”
Her answer was a tightening of pressure, a falling of water that might have been tears, might only have been rain.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Alice, you’re safe! When will you be home?”
“I’m not quite finished with this yet. Give my apologies to Grandma and Grandpa, please, but I won’t be able to make the Celebration.”
“If it’s the young man, you’re welcome to bring him.”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“Mom! I’m being serious. There’s something I need you to do for me—and maybe it will help Ambry, too.”
“I’m listening.”
Jay D’Arcy Donnerjack wandered the corridors of Castle Donnerjack, wishing that he would hear the banshee howl. He knew he wouldn’t, of course, but he permitted himself to dream. Opening the much-depleted bottle of Laphroaig, he filled a saucer and set it on the windowsill.
A clanking of chains and the crusader ghost was there, sniffing appreciatively at the liquor.
“You made it back safely, then.”
“Aye, laddie, so did we all, all but your lady mother.”
“Then those who vanished from the field…”
“Were banished, not destroyed. You were right when you said that those who were dead could not be easily slain again. We did you some good, though, didn’t we, young laird?”
“Aye.”
“Then hae a wee nip and a nap, laddie. That battle’s won and the next nae yet begun.”
Ben Kwinan was surprised to hear a knock at the door to his hogan. Momentarily, he considered observing good old-fashioned Navajo manners and ignoring his caller, but the novelty of an unexpected guest was such that he went to the door.
The rough features of the sandy-haired man who stood outside were schooled into polite neutrality. He extended a hand with a calling card.
“Mr. Kwinan, I’m Desmond Drum. I wondered if 1 might have a word with you.”
Kwinan blinked, glanced down at the card. “Desmond Drum, Licensed Investigator” read the printed legend. Beneath was handwritten: “You really want to see me.”
“Come inside, Mr. Drum.”
“Thanks.” Drum followed him in, turned to the left around the fire. “Nice place. Is it secure?”
“Yes.”
“Even from your genius loci?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want you evicted.”
“What is this about, Mr. Drum?”
“I’ve come to ask you to set up a meeting between myself and Seaga.”
“What? Why do you think I could do that?”
“Because your secret identity is Celerity—the messenger to Highest Meru.”
“You know a lot for a Veritean.”
“Keep my ears open.”
“Even if I am who you say, why would I arrange such a meeting for you?”
“Several reasons: it’s your job; Seaga is going to want to hear what I have to say; Skyga would be very interested in knowing about your fence-sitting. I understand he’s in a touchy temper these days.”
“You must keep your ears open, Desmond Drum. Tell me, how would you inform Skyga of my activities if you need me to get in touch with Seaga?”
“I have a friend in low places… very low places. He could arrange a message.”
“Ah.”
Ben Kwinan considered what he had heard lately about a battle in Deep Fields, a raid on Meru, Bansa lost or transformed, secrets stolen.
“Seaga will want to know what this meeting is to be about.”
“Alliance between him and those I represent for the purpose of resisting Skyga’s latest ambitions.”
“You’re pretty open about this. How do you know I won’t go to Skyga with it?”
“I have friends in low places. I understand that divinities who violate their essential roles in the cosmic order can rapidly find themselves demoted—and vulnerable.”
“Ah.”
Pause for thought. (This manifestation only. Other aspects continued busy with carrying messages, coordinating ticketing for the Celebration, conferring with underlings. Near omnipresence could be a trial.)
“Desmond Drum, inform those you represent that I will carry the message. Where will you wait for a reply?”
“Here is just fine. I understand that deities can do things pretty quickly.”
“And why should Seaga do so?”
“Because the Celebration is in three days RT and the bookies are giving really good odds that Skyga’s going to be Most High when it’s over.”
“Ah. I shall return.”
“Do better than MacArthur on that one, would you?”
Flash of gold. The messenger was gone, leaving spots dancing before Drum’s eyes. The detective leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. No need to get zapped again when the god returned, and he was so tired.
“Seaga will see you.” Kwinan’s return had been noiseless. “If you would take my hand, I will transport you to him.”
“Thanks.”
Flash of gold. They stood in what appeared to be a gigantic shell beneath moving water. Fish with enormous mouths and phosphorescent highlights swam through the dark water. Seaga surged at one end of the shell, manifesting as a cuttlefish with eyes as large as Drum’s clenched fists. Kwinan, now transformed into a long-bodied, swift-moving minnow, darted in the shelter of his master’s many limbs.
“Sire.” Drum sketched a bow.
“You bring a proposition from the Lord of Deep Fields.”
“I never said that, but yes, the Lord of Deep Fields is one of those I represent.”
“One of? He has ever been a loner, that one.”
“And remains so, but for the duration of this crisis he has allied himself with those who oppose the current crossover attempt.”