I'd been so preoccupied with the spectacle that was Mingde that I hadn't immediately noticed that she was talking until Mircea nudged me with his foot. I looked away from the dancing fans to liquid black eyes set in a tiny oval face. Mingde looked all of about twenty and yes, she was startlingly pretty. I sighed. Of course she'd wanted to see Mircea.
Only she wasn't looking at him. I wondered if maybe I should get a sign VICTIM OF ROGUE SPELL, NOT A THREAT before anyone started planning to remove the competition. Ming-de held out a hand with ridiculously long, bright red nails. I was so focused on them—the thumbnail alone had to be six inches long and was curled outward, like a spring—that it took me a few seconds to notice that she was poking something at me.
It was a staff with an ugly brown knot on the end. I shied back before it could cut out my heart or something. But it followed me until I managed to focus, despite having it almost shoved up my nose. The knot resolved itself into a shrunken head wearing a tiny blue captain's hat on its thin hair.
"Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Ming-de, Holy Highness of the Present and Future Time, Lady of Ten Thousand Years, would like to ask you a question," it said in a bored monotone that managed to convey absolute disgust with me, its mistress, and the world in general.
I blinked. "You're not Chinese." The British accent sort of gave it away, that and the fact that the remaining strands of hair were red.
The head gave a long-suffering sigh. "I wouldn't be much bloody use as an interpreter if I were, now would I? And how did you know?"
"Well, I just—"
"It's the hat, isn't it? She makes me wear it so people will ask."
"Ask what?"
"D'you see? It always works. It's part of my punishment, to have to tell the story of my tragic life and painful death to every Tom, Dick and Harry before they'll answer a simple question."
"Okay. Sorry. What's the question?"
It eyed me suspiciously. "You don't want to hear about my tragic life and painful death?"
"Not really."
It suddenly looked offended. "And why not? My death isn't interesting enough for you? What would it take, eh? Perhaps if Robespierre was hanging here, damn him, you'd care to have a listen, hmm?"
"I don't—"
"But a simple East India Company captain who made the mistake of firing on the wrong ship, oh, no, not enough to trouble yourself about?"
"Look!" I said, glaring. "I'm not having a great night here. Tell me, don't tell me—I don't care!"
"Well, there's no cause to yell," it said huffily. "The mistress simply wants to know the name of your seamstress."
"What?"
"The mage who enchanted your gown," it explained, in a tone that made it clear that the biggest trial in the afterlife was dealing with people like me.
"He isn't…available right now." Which was true enough, since he hadn't been born yet.
"Trying to keep the secret all to yourself, eh? Mistress won't like that," it said gleefully.
Mircea and Ming-de had been chatting while I talked with the help. I hadn't even tried to follow their conversation, which was in Mandarin, but I did recognize the phrase "Codex Merlini." And even if not, Mircea's suddenly tightened grip would have gotten my attention.
"We're here for the Codex?" he whispered.
I looked at him, wondering what all the fuss was about. "Yes. I told you—"
"You said a spell book!" Mircea started bowing and murmuring a rapid stream of Chinese and pulling me away from Ming-de.
"That's what it is!"
"Dulceata? describing the Codex Merlini as a spell book is roughly the same as calling the Titanic a boat!"
I didn't get what was going on, but I couldn't help but notice that we were heading straight for the door. "Wait! Where are we going?"
"Away from here."
I pulled backwards—why, I don't know since it did exactly no good at all. "But the bidding is about to start!"
"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered, just as all the lights went out.
The room hadn't had much light before, only a few random candles, but now it was pitch-dark. I felt an arm slip around my waist and yelped, before recognizing the thrill of the geis. People were murmuring and milling around on all sides as Mircea made a beeline through the crowd, practically carrying me.
I didn't understand what was wrong with him; no one seemed happy about the sudden blackout, but nothing threatening appeared to be taking place, either. By the time we reached the stairwell, my eyes had adjusted enough to see by the light my gown threw off. The room was all starlight and shadow and appeared just as before. Until a bunch of dark shapes crashed in through the windows.
Mircea pulled me into his arms and all but flew to the foyer, where we met another half dozen dark shapes coming up. My eyes couldn't focus on them, but I didn't think that had anything to do with the lack of light. And then we were back upstairs, in about the same time it would have taken me to shift. Mircea paused at the library landing to avoid the mage who stumbled backwards out the door, Ming-de's flying fans buzzing around his head like angry wasps. One of them hit a candle sconce in passing and sliced it clean in two.
I glanced in the library door and saw nothing but a firestorm of spells, crashes and yells, all of it too bright to let my eyes pick out any details. Then Mircea grabbed a mage who was blocking the stairwell going up, and threw him downstairs. He hit the group of dark shapes who were all trying to fit up the narrow stairway at the same time, and most of them tumbled backwards. The fans followed like they were on a mission.
By the time I blinked, we were on the next level, where a mage was facing off with the contessa. Her pretty mantilla had expanded into a glittering net that wrapped around him like a spider's web. Right before we took the last flight of stairs, she jerked him to her, fangs already bared and glistening.
Someone grabbed my foot as we reached the attic level, but Mircea made a backwards kick and I heard the sound of whoever it was tumbling down the stairs. He wrenched open the door to what looked like a servant's bedroom, got a window open and had us out onto the slick, icy sill before I could protest. Then he paused, staring down at the main entrance below, where several dozen dark figures were heading in the front door. They must have run out of windows to break, I thought blankly.
"Can you do what you did at the casino?" Mircea asked, his voice a lot calmer than it had any right to be under the circumstances.
"What? No, not yet." The dizziness and nausea of that many shifts in close succession had mostly passed, but I still felt wiped out. I doubted I could have shifted myself, much less two of us.
Mircea didn't ask any questions, just moved me into a fireman's carry over his right shoulder. Which left me able to see the cloaked figure who burst into the room behind us. It was the hooded party guest. Still didn't want to see what was under there, I decided.
"I am going to have to jump, dulceata?" Mircea said, giving the newcomer an uninterested glance.
"Jump? What?" I was sure I'd heard wrong.
The cloak sent a spell hurtling down the stairwell, then barred the door by shoving a heavy wardrobe against it. "If you're going to jump, do it, or get out of the way!" it snarled.