"Nothing will stop war," said Heron. "And war with Mab will soon be inevitable, as it has been twice before, and nearly was a year ago.
"I could not disagree more," said Everess. "We are entering the age of a new kind of war. What matters now is not just where our troops are placed. What matters is information and influence. We need to know what Mab's game is. We need to know what Mab's allies are up to, and where our own allies stand. We need to know how many of these accursed things Mab's got, how many she plans to build, and how long before she decides to fly south and begin incinerating the Seelie Kingdom. And we need to do whatever we can to disrupt that process at all costs."
He stared at Heron. "With the right tools, we can prevent that war."
Everess smiled at Silverdun. "And I believe that you are just the man to help in that endeavor."
"You want me to be a spy?"
"More than that," said Heron drily. "He wants you to become a Shadow." Heron made a melodramatic spooky face at him.
"You mean the mythical spies from the Second Unseelie War?" asked Silverdun. "I was under the impression that they didn't actually exist."
"Oh, but they did," said Everess. "And they shall again."
"This is a lovely fantasy," said Secretary Heron. "But the way to stop Mab is through diplomacy and, if it comes to it, war. All of your playing at spies won't change that, Everess."
Glennet had been observing without comment. "I understand your objections, Madam Secretary," he said, leaning in. "But I'm afraid that the Foreign Committee in Corpus is willing to give Lord Everess the benefit of the doubt." He paused, giving Heron a conciliatory look. "For the time being."
He looked at Silverdun. "And for what it's worth, I agree that Lord Silverdun would be an excellent choice."
"Fine," said Heron. "Play your games. But understand that I will expect complete reports of all your activities."
"Done," said Everess. "I'd be a fool not to keep you apprised of our progress."
"And if I find out you've been keeping vital information from me," she said, "there will be repercussions."
"If all goes as you believe, Secretary Heron," said Everess, sniffing, "then there will be nothing of value to withhold."
The conversation moved on to other topics, though the chill between Everess and Heron never thawed. Silverdun, however, barely paid attention.
"What the hell was that all about?" said Silverdun. They were at a table at a cafe on the Promenade, just outside the Foreign Ministry building, a few blocks from the Evergreen Club. It was night, and the Promenade Green was filled with musicians, jugglers, and solo mestines. It was dark, the Green illuminated only by witchlit lanterns. Nightbirds sang from hidden perches.
"If there's one thing that ought to be obvious," Silverdun continued, "it's that I have no interest in politics or governance. When I left school and took up my title, I sat in Corpus exactly once, and I was so bored I stopped paying attention after about ten minutes. I voted on six bills, and to this day I have no idea what they were."
"Oh, stop it," said Everess. "That's not why I asked you here."
"Then why am I here? You come to the temple with vague presentiments of doom, talk me out of my cozy monastic life, and now suddenly you're offering me a job as a spy?"
Everess took two glasses of brandy from a passing waitress, a wisp of a girl with conjured wings who fluttered a few inches off the ground. He handed one of the brandies to Silverdun.
"Calm down, lad. There's someone I'd like you to meet before we begin the sales pitch."
Everess looked up over Silverdun's shoulder. "Ah. Here he comes now."
Silverdun turned and looked. At first he saw no one. No one that Everess might be referring to, anyway. A jongleur, a skald, a mestine conjuring dancing bears. "Who might that be?"
As he said it, he noticed someone approaching, someone vaguely familiar. The recognition of his presence was like that of an optical illusion in which the eye is required to swap the foreground of an image for the background. Two faces or a vase. No one there or someone.
This no one was nearly upon them before Silverdun recognized him. Odd. Not only did his dress and manner cause him to stand out boldly in the mostly upper-class Promenade, but he also walked with a heavily pronounced limp, dragging his left leg behind him, using a thick wooden cane in its place.
"Lord Silverdun, I'd like you to meet Chief Pact. Pact, Lord Silverdun."
"Hello," said Paet simply. His expression was affectless, his eyes slightly squinted though it was night. The winged waitress was passing back by, and Paet took a drink from her tray without her noticing. He sat.
"I'm no expert on manners," said Silverdun drily, "but I believe you're supposed to bow and tug a forelock when you meet a lord of the realm, Paet."
Paet looked Silverdun in the eye and shrugged. "Drag me before the Sumptuary Court then."
Silverdun looked to Everess, who was saying nothing. "Well, this is a kick in the teeth, isn't it? Insolent one, this Paet."
"That's `Chief' to you, milord," said Paet. His expression hadn't changed at all during this exchange.
Silverdun frowned. "I believe I'm supposed to kill you for talking to me like that. I'm an iconoclast, however, so I'll wait to hear why Everess here has inflicted you on me before I do."
Everess laughed out loud. "Ignore him, Paet. He won't really kill you."
Paet shrugged. "He's welcome to try."
Everess sighed. "Now, now. This isn't how I wanted this meeting to go at all. Paet, calm yourself. Silverdun, shut your mouth for a moment and listen."
Paet and Silverdun eyed each other carefully. Silverdun wasn't as disapproving of Paet as he'd let on. The impropriety was nothing; he'd been treated far worse at Crete Sulace, by prison guards who, due to their low birth, could have been hanged for looking him in the eye. It was important to keep up appearances, however, lest someone mistake him for a tiresome social reformer. Still, there was something disquieting about Paet.
"Earlier this evening," said Everess, "we discussed the Shadows. The mythical spies,' as you put it."
Silverdun pointed at Paet. "Are you telling me that this fellow here is a Shadow?"
"Not a Shadow," said Paet. "The Shadow. There's only one. Now, anyway."
"This is true?" asked Silverdun.
"He's quite serious," said Everess, nodding. "When the group was disbanded after the Treaty of Avenus, it was decided to keep one Shadow in service into perpetuity. In case they were needed again."
"And you believe they are needed."
"It requires a certain type of person to do the work that must now be done. And I know that you are exactly that sort of person."
"I?" said Silverdun. "The `rude villein' whose most recent distinction was being the first monk in history ever to be given the sack?"
Paet smiled at Everess. Under the squint, which appeared to be a permanent feature, the smile looked rueful, whether it was or not. "He makes a fair case against himself, Everess. Perhaps he's not the man you thought."
"Yes he is," said Everess, who had developed his own squint now. Silverdun had a feeling this wasn't a good thing. "And despite his endless protestations, he knows it. He only needs to realize it."
"So, what? You want me to become the new Shadow? Take over from Paet here?"
"No," said Everess. "You're going to lead a small team of Shadows. The group is being re-formed. Chief Paet here runs the day-to-day affairs of the Information Division. You'll be the lead Shadow."
"You want me to work for him?" said Silverdun, incredulous.
"You need him," said Everess.
"More than you can possibly know," said Paet.
Silverdun scowled. "Are you always this ... ominous?"