The final room was an office. Hardwood on all sides, and bookcases, heavy golden spines peering out from behind glass doors. The room smelled of hot metal and must. There was a desk and a chair. Valentine was sitting at the desk, his hands folded, the unnatural bulk of his shoulders slumped forward. He was looking down at the desk, facing the door. He didn’t move as I went past.
I had my hand on the doorknob leading out, waiting, listening to see if Valentine would try to stop me. There was no noise, only the slight metallic creak of Valentine’s machines and my groaning heart. Whoever was upstairs shuffled, something dragging across wood, like a boarding hook on a ship’s hull. I backed up and went into the office.
“Hello, Jacob,” Valentine said. He didn’t move, his eyes still calmly on the desk in front of him. I came into the room and found a chair, leaning against the near bookcase.
“Valentine.” The room was hot, all the windows shut up and covered, the morning light only getting through in thin streamers of dust. I settled into the chair and looked the puzzlebox man over.
People approach cog-modification two ways. The guy outside, with the eyes like dead stones, they go for the machine look. He’s a pure, straight killing factory, an algorithm of danger and intimidation. Guys like that don’t hide it, they leave the metal plates showing. But Valentine? No, Valentine isn’t like that guy. That guy’s machine. Valentine is art.
It’s mostly his face. Valentine’s head is carefully carved darkwood, polished bright, no metal showing at all. His face is a minimalist sculpture; darkwood lips, cheekbones, the impression of a chin and nose and eyebrows suspended over an emptiness of shadow and the bare twitchings of gears. The individual pieces are animated, moving silently on hidden tracks, clacking softly against one another when he smiles or talks or scowls. He was scowling, looking at me, waiting.
“Busy day you’re having,” he said. His voice was a trick of metal, the kind of voice a harp might have.
“Yeah. I mean…” I wondered how much he knew. “Yeah.”
“Me too. Having a busy day.” He sat up a little and spread his hands across the desk, like a blind man feeling up his environment. I always felt like his hands were a little too big, almost awkwardly proportioned compared to the rest of his body. They seemed clumsy. “I wonder if our days are similar at all. If maybe we’re having the same… complications.”
“Could be.”
He nodded absently. “Could be. Where’s Emily, Jacob?”
“Emily. I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be asking Cacher that kind of thing?”
“I think Cacher would like to ask you that himself.” Valentine gazed over my shoulder, staring at the wall. The machines of his face went a little slack. “I think him asking you would be a lot less pleasant.” He refocused on me, leaned forward. “For you. So. Where’s Emily?”
“I said I don’t know. Haven’t seen her since that job.”
“I have a lot of wheels spinning, Jacob. Which job?”
“The Tomb thing, and the deal with Prescott. You sent me up the Heights to take care of it.”
“I sent you up the Heights. And the deal with Prescott.” He nodded. “I tasked Emily with making the deal with Prescott, and I take it she contracted you.”
“Correct.”
“And you arranged to make the deal,” he paused, his eyes on his hand. “Up at the Heights?”
“Emily said that was part of it, that Prescott would only make the deal there.” Of course, I knew that wasn’t entirely true, at least according to Prescott. But I told the story I knew. “And while I was there she had me do the Tomb thing, too.”
“The Tomb thing.” He folded his hands. “She had you on another contract, for another outfit?”
“No, I…” and then realized that I didn’t know. She had said the Prescott deal was from Valentine, but she hadn’t been specific with the Tomb part of the deal. “She implied the deal was from you. That the Tombs had been making overtures and that you wanted to lean on them a little. She gave me something to give Angela Tomb, figured I could make the meeting because of my history.”
“What was it that she gave you?”
“A music box. Some old hymn.”
He was quiet for a while, just staring at me. His face ticked slightly, clenching and unclenching, the darkwood tapping. I squirmed in my seat, trying to look calm but probably not doing much of a job of it. There was an uncomfortable line forming in my head, running from the Cog to the inexplicable events on the Heights and intersecting with Emily. I was worried for her.
“Is she missing?” I asked. “Is she okay?”
His face evened up, like he had been absent and was now re-summoned to his body. “We don’t know. She missed an appointment with Cacher yesterday, and another last night. No one has seen her. There’s been a lot of trouble, Jacob.”
“We should be looking for her.”
“We are. But like I said, a lot of trouble. Council’s been tumbling a lot of my operations. Kicking in a lot of doors. It’s unpleasant.”
“You have a mole in the outfit,” I said.
“I know. That’s what I’m getting at.”
“It’s Pedr. He broke into my place this morning. Told me he’d been hired by a guy, someone who looked official. It’s Pedr you should be talking to, not me.”
“Pedr is a known quantity. He’s been a fink for the Council for years. I only let Pedr see the things I want the Council to see. He’s been a very useful tool, Jacob.”
I could hear muffled clawing upstairs, like heavy cloth being torn. I glanced up. Valentine followed my gaze.
“The Henri-Bearings. Owners of the house. By the time they get free or someone misses them, we should be well on our way. Unless the Badge is already on their way, Jacob. Say, if someone who came here was being followed. Or escorted.”
“Oh. Oh, you don’t think it’s me?” I leaned back in my chair, very careful to keep my hands on my knees. “You can’t think it’s me.”
“Tomb has been talking to me, but no one knows that. Not Emily, not Pedr. But you know it.”
“Emily told me. She said…”
“You have family on the Council, Jacob. You went to the Academy.”
“Which is why I’m good for you. That’s the very reason you hired me in the first place: the people I know, the places I can go without causing a stir. Valentine, seriously, you can’t think it’s me.”
Again, he was quiet, unmoving. Upstairs someone shifted, slid heavily across the floor.
“I don’t. It’s an interesting angle, but I don’t think it’s the right one. See, these Council goons who are tumbling my operations, they’re looking for some people. Specifically, they’re looking for you. And they’re looking for Emily.”
“That’s not good. Maybe I should duck down for a while, find a deep hole and bury. You have a place I could do that, Valentine?”
He shook his head. “I can’t have it, Jacob. I can’t have the Council tearing down the industry I’ve built. It’s a fragile thing, depends on trust as much as it depends on gold. People need to feel safe with me, Jacob. I can’t offer that with officers of the Badge kicking in my doors, can I?”
“You can’t… you aren’t going to turn me in, are you?”
He smiled. It looked like a theater mask, a wild grin playing to the back seats. “I’m not. That’s also bad for business. But look, I can’t have you around. I can’t help you. And I can’t help Emily. Whatever’s going on, you need to fix it.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Stay away from my outfit until things are cleaned up. It’s been good working with you. Cacher will leave your piece out back, behind the house.”
He walked out of the room, just like that.